Some guy ruining a great picture of Dr. Teska & me and two Sigmodon hispidus (cotton rats) in 1994.
It has been over 22 years ago since I had a class at Furman
University with my undergraduate mentor, Dr. William R. Teska—Bill Teska to
many, but beloved Dr. Teska to me.
I have four folders in my file cabinet at work from the two classes I
took with him, Ecology and Field Zoology.
Nearly everything else from that time has been parted with—I am not a big
saver—but those classes and the professor were precious to me. What is interesting to me, as I look through
those folders, is all the information that was in my notes, about how much he
taught us so long ago that I still use in my work and in my classes. I was expecting to see notes where I wrote
the funny sayings he had about doing things “for funsies” or how we should be “quick
like a bunny” or advising us not “to stand around with our teeth in our mouths.”
Or his famous advice that “you only go around once,” a mantra that I have
reminded myself over the years when feeling particularly cautious. But the folders are full of good, solid
information—and what is lost in my notes is the magic that I remember him
creating in telling about the Nile Perch or the distribution of ecosystems from
global circulation patterns or the global amphibian crisis, back in 19 and 93
and 19 and 94. Turns out I didn’t
need to write down the magic—that I have remembered.
His death at the end of June has been laying heavily on
me. I would hear from him maybe only once
a year or so, but I placed great value in knowing that I would and that he was
out there, now at Pacific Lutheran University in Tacoma, WA, continuing to
teach and inspire undergraduates and develop innovative classes. That he was there if I ever needed a bit of
advice or thoughts on teaching. That I would hear, eventually,
of his tropical adventures leading students or discovering a new species of
mammal in his summer research. That he was an email away if I
ever needed to tell someone I saw a Sigmodon
hispidus, the adorable species of cotton rat that he studied for his
graduate work at Savannah River Ecology Lab in Aiken, SC. (“Any day you see a mammal is a good day to
be alive.” Indeed. )
When I started college, I knew I wanted to be involved in conservation work,
but I did not know how to get from the point of having a vague idea for future
employment to having a career. Dr. Teska
provided a road map. He helped me get an
internship with the US Forest Service (where I also met my future husband) and
then at Savannah River Ecology Lab where Dr. Teska had worked and where I had
some of the best research experiences I could hope for (and where I also met my
graduate advisor). (Meeting both the
future husband and graduate advisor were very good things.) He may have been the faculty member that took
me on my first class camping trip. He
helped me see that I could be a scientist—and that it could be wonderful (no
lab coats or goggles necessary). And,
later, when I had a job here at Miami U, he sent me one of my very best
students. In faculty jobs, especially
when universities are squeezing the life blood out of you, it is easy to forget
that many of the students do not quite know how to make the leap from student
to scientist. I am so grateful that he
took the time to help me find a path through the forest. I hope I can always remember to be as generous to the students as he was to me; it is much easier not to be that generous, but he was
generous and one should be as Dr. Teska was.
The world has lost a wonderful laugh—as well as a serious
biologist and educator. It is a laugh
that I will remember until the day I die.
His lessons, all of them, I will cherish. I will hope to be half the mammal he
was. Well, maybe we are both equally
mammals, but perhaps you know what I mean.
He was the very best. Rest in
peace, Dr. Teska—until we meet again, at which point I will want the scoop over a
nice camp fire and a bag of M&Ms, while the heavenly Sigmodon hispidus run through the grasses, free from worry of being
caught in a Sherman (or worse, snap) trap.
Dear Michelle, you have written such a lovely and loving tribute to Billy (as I call him). I knew first hand of his quirky humor and serious pedagogic feats! Although I never had him as a professor, as a friend, I too, have had to face the fact that I can't just call up Billy when I need his mentoring or friendly ear, that always came along with sage advice. Thank you for taking the time to write such beautiful words, and I share in your grief. Bobby Rosenberg, Bogotá, Colombia
ReplyDeleteThank you, Bobby. Dr. Teska rocked. Sending you my warmest wishes.
DeleteDear Michelle,
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing your memories so beautifully. So much of what you wrote is an echo of my memories of Bill. He was tremendously special. I had the amazing fortune of not only traveling with him, but also of having an office across the hall. I will treasure our long chats on patios, rocks, boats, hillsides, hallways and offices. Plus that rich and deep laugh. You are so very right. I will never forget it. Heidi Schutz, Pacific Lutheran University.
Ah, Heidi. Sending you good thoughts as you start the semester without him.
DeleteMichelle,
DeleteThanks so much. Our first faculty meeting will feel quite empty, but I look forward to celebrating him in a few days.
I was so grateful to be able to watch the live stream of the memorial. There is no replacing the irreplaceable. Warmest wishes to all of you who will feel his loss the most.
DeleteHi Michelle,
ReplyDeleteI just stumbled on your wonderful tribute to Bill Teska. I am a 1980 graduate of Furman and, along with Tom Gower, Allison Haller, Jim Custer, and others, was part of Bill's first undergraduate cohort at FU. We gave him hell, but also loved him dearly. It was the late 70's and we were rebellious, upstart kids who enjoyed life, but also enjoyed learning. I am proud to have been part of Bill's early teaching experiments - independent projects in Ecology that could, in some cases, have past for masters theses now, middle of the week evening field trips in Field Zoology to catch frogs in waist-deep water, spring break excursions to the Okefenokee, Everglades, and Florida Keys, etc. He was a wonderful person and, like you, I looked forward to his holiday card each year. Sometimes when I have students complain about doing a research project in a class I will whip out my 1979 Ecology project investigating temperature tolerance in bluegill. When they complain about the tedium of keeping a field notebook, I will produce my 1978 Field Zoology notebook where even the squiggly line had to be placed just so. They are always impressed and it is then that I realize Bill demanded high levels of achievement and somehow extracted it from us. He was my first true science mentor and I miss him. But I smile every time I pull out the South Carolina Wildlife Cookbook that my wife and I received from him as a wedding present in late 1981. Live on Dr. Bill!
Cheers,
Danny Gleason
Prof. of Biology, Georgia Southern University
Danny: Thank you for your wonderful message, which I somehow missed earlier. I just told my conservation biology class (on filling out the obligatory notecard) that as Dr. Teska said: There's only one way to do this, and that's the right way. Yes, our first true mentor. May he rest in peace.
DeleteMichelle - I knew Bill from way back when I was a student at Michigan State University. When I had Rollin Baker's class, Mammalogy, Bill was a graduate student. I got to know him while cataloging the research collections at the MSU Museum. He and another graduate student delighted in watching me take a mammalogy exam, thinking they would trip me up trying to identify a squirrel specimen. I identified it correctly as the black phase of the Fox Squirrel. Bill figured I would think it was a Grey Squirrel. The joke was on Bill because I had cataloged it in the collection and knew the number series. He and I had a laugh about that over many years. We continued to stay in contact over the years, especially at the holidays. I was saddened when I received a note at Christmas time the year he passed and my card had arrived. I always looked forward to his card every year. I particularly missed it this year. The older we get, the more special the memories. Laurena Jenkins Hoffmeyer
ReplyDelete