John Lovas Festschrift Messages

Earth's the right place for love

Dan Mitchell — Thu, 21 Jun 2007 02:18:23 GMT

Two years ago tomorrow's sunrise, I had the call from Mary, my cousin, John's sister: John died during the night.

He was a sweet influence on all of the cousins in an extended family of Cleveland Irish. We are all descended from Annie Stanton and Peter Noonan. Those two left County Mayo on the rugged west coast of Ireland, the Connacht. Annie from Westport, Peter from Newport, six miles up the road. They never met until both had emigrated to Cleveland, Ohio. Annie worked for the "swells," the fat cats in Bratenahl on Lake Erie, a domestic servant. Peter, three years (or thereabouts) younger than her, went to work as a structural iron worker. There is a picture of him with a large crew that had just completed the original ore dock (iron ore, shipped in from Minnesota on the lake boats) at the mouth of the Cuyahoga River. But, he died in 1919, in the midst of the great flue epidemic, leaving four children under the age of ten, and a frail fearful widow.

He's gone and we miss him. Though we were both raised in a traditional Catholic family and parish and schools, I don't think John clung to any of those mythic notions about an enduring life of the soul, a life that continues eternally either in heaven or hell, based on an omniscient god who functions as an accountant, totting up our offenses and good deeds.

"Earth's the right place for love; I don't know where it's likely to go better".

And he did indeed live it and pass it on. I am consoled by the thought that he taught hundreds of students every year. And that he did it for forty years running. If there is any immortality to be had, I think it is entirely in the legacy we leave, the imprint we make on our students, friends, colleagues, family. Woody Allen famously debunked that stuff. His take on immortality? "I don't want immortality that comes from the legacy I leave. I want the immortality that comes from not dying."

We could have had him longer. But, we didn't. Remembering him will have to do.

Jim Bouman Waukesha, Wisconsin

Farewell From a Grade School Friend

jgardner@... — Sat, 21 Jan 2006 16:11:10 GMT

John was a classmate of mine in grade school and high school. It was obvious he was not just an ordinary person, John was an individual that you knew even back then would be destined for something clearly above the average.

We had a chance to renew our acquaintances when John attended our 50th grade school reunion, and it was there that everyone could see the fruition of what we all knew John would become. It was quite a while since we had exchanged emails, and I was really looking foreword to seeing John again at our High School 50th reunion this summer. When I saw his name in the "In Memoriam" list of our high school news letter, I was truly saddened and shocked.

John; you will be missed by many "old" friends. I speak for myself and I know for many of your grade school and high school classmates.

- Joe Gardner

What a Writing Teacher Can and Should Be

alingerfelt@... — Mon, 19 Dec 2005 20:08:59 GMT

One of the wonderful things about the blogosphere is that it provides for connections that would otherwise not be made. This is an incredible facet of online communication, and it is especially helpful in academic discourses, where feeedback and revision is necessary, if not crucially vital.

In 2003-2004, I probably had more "blog" conversations with John Lovas than any other academic. He challenged my ideas, especially in rhetoric, composition, and pedagogy, and he helped define one of the most important seminar projects I did as an MA student--The Classroom Blog: A Moment for Literacy, A Moment for Giving Pause.

Even when I periodically stopped blogging in the late fall of 2004, I continued to read my regular list of blogs, but sometime in the late spring/early summer, I noticed that John Lovas was no longer updating his blog. This was a blog I had come to know and loved reading, particularly because Lovas represented a compassionate pedagogical voice in a community I love--writing teachers.

Today, I googled John's name and came across a memorial page. I wish I would have known when Lovas passed. My tribute may be a bit late, but I feel it is in order:

John,

You challenged my ideas, critiqued my thoughts, and compelled me to hone my own reflections. You also provided me with a pertinent, relevant, forward-thinking, and compassionate example of what a writing teacher can and should be.

Thank you.

It saddens me that I could not say "good bye," even if only in a blog comment or in an e-mail, and in retrospect, that our online discourse about blogging and technology within the classroom came to an end...far too soon.

Blessings.

John truly was an incredible writing teacher, and he served his community for over 40 years. Were it not for the blogosphere, I would never have known John, nor would his feedback shaped my own ideas and writings.

My Thanks to John Lovas

milesmye@... — Wed, 07 Sep 2005 19:10:11 GMT

Teacher union organizing (CFT), California community college politics (Where were the CCs in the master plan?!), UFW, Vietnam, TYCA and NCTE---so many memories of those wonderful times crossing paths and working together. To John--Composed and passionate, and always with a gentle civility. Miles Myers

Grateful

Dan Mitchell — Tue, 30 Aug 2005 02:40:32 GMT

I am a non-native speaker and an engineering major, but the summer before I transferred, I decided to take a chance on English Writing 1C because it would save me one semester course at a four-year school. I was glad I did.

John was a great teacher. He kept the class varied and interesting. He introduced me to many new things. Art Spiegelman's comic "Maus" and Dave Eggers' "A Hearbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" were very fresh and interesting reads. For written assignments, John encouraged us to take risks and gave us the freedom to decide on the content and style of our papers. We also went on a poetry walk in Fremont Older Open Space Preserve. And last but not least, I went to see a musical ("Bat Boy: The Musical") for the first time.

John was also a great story teller. He had so many interesting stories to tell. On several occasions, we stood outside (one time under the blazing midday sun) for a good hour and conversed: about Palo Alto, about the Internet, about his car, about his childhood and college years, about the early days of De Anza College, and many other things. I was very much addicted to his stories.

And more importantly, John was a caring person and a great friend. I'm grateful to have known him. He will be missed.

Giang Nguyen

In memory of John Lovas

gr8gorio@... — Mon, 08 Aug 2005 06:25:04 GMT

Dr. Mr. Lovas,

I would like to thank you for the years of dedication and patience provided to us students from your most generous well being. You inspired me to go out of bounds and live, to think freely and openly and express my personality through a pen and show my character on paper. You will be remembered.

To the family and friends who've lived and shared their lives with such an inspirational person, I would like to express my warmest condolences of his passing.

Student of Spring '05 EWRT 1C,

Greg Miguel

Remarks on the Occasion of the Memorial Service for John Lovas, Teacher and Friend

Dan Mitchell — Fri, 29 Jul 2005 18:03:57 GMT

Martha J. Kanter, Foothill-De Anza Chancellor
July 27, 2005

John was first and foremost a teacher. He was an extraordinary teacher. He understood and lived his art. For he was at the same time always a student. He loved the uniqueness of people and the originality of their ideas. I was continually awed by how he was able to draw ideas from his students so effortlessly. That always struck me during the many times I came to his classroom. John was also a friend, a good friend, an honest friend, and that mattered to me, that he could be a teacher and friend.

Each quarter he invited me to visit a class. He always chose a class of students who entered the college without much academic preparation. First he prepped me about the methods he was using to engage them. Then, he had me sit with different students and listen to them explain what they were writing about, and why it mattered to them. I always left his classroom inspired and mostly amazed at how easy it was for John to teach them so well. His students were hungry to learn and it was crystal clear to me that they loved and respected John the many gifts he gave them.

To think that John taught them well for more than forty years is an inspiration in and of itself. It is a rare person who can do that: who can, as John said in his own words, “keep it challenging, but not in ways that you lose them.”

Since John’s passing in June, I’ve been rummaging around my office and house, picking up things he wrote or edited like the book on Leadership and Governance with Tom Fryer, or De Anza’s History on the Occasion of its 35th Anniversary, or an accreditation self-study from the 80’s, or De Anza’s 1999 Educational Master Plan, or the national award letter from ECTYC he sent me, or a book of student writings he published himself on 8 1/2 x 11 paper.

I remember him coming to my office during my first week as president, telling me not only what mattered to him, but what mattered to the college and what I needed to do. He welcomed me to the college and district during a very tough time in its history. Together we wrote about new designs and new models for learning; he patiently tracked me through the history of the college, the planning documents, the books, and the events that shaped its traditions and formed its future. John understood that making a difference takes time and effort. He understood the relationship and interplay between time and effort. But he also knew that you had to have important ideas, ideas that matter to people, ideas that can make a difference, as well as time and effort.

It’s hard enough to have a truly original idea or two in a lifetime, but even harder for us to connect one idea to another and another in order to create something that is profound, something that will make a difference to others, something that really matters. John was able to make that difference in people, to teach them the art of creative expression so that they could do things that matter.

We all know that John delighted in controversy, partly because controversy makes us think more deeply about what really matters to us, partly for the art of it, and mostly for the personal risk it requires of us. One of the first things he said I needed to understand was a part of Foothill’s history that involved “Tubesteak City,” a hydraulically powered bun that opened and closed around a hot dog, a controversial sculpture in the 1970s that ended up at the Oakland Museum of Art sometime later as a gift from the college. In that same conversation, we went from Tubesteak City to academic freedom to the future of La Voz and why the students’ voice through its newspaper really mattered to an institution. He had a remarkable way of searing the steak, if not the Tubesteak, time and time again.

I came to De Anza at a time of great controversy and transition. John reminded me that in September of 1968 he had worked with a number of faculty on the “Brown-Black-White Project” report that led to the initiation of multicultural programs on the campus from which was born the Ethnic Studies division in 1969. He always had a way of grounding the challenge of today in our history.

We have lost a great teacher and a great friend, but he has left us a legacy that we will treasure and use to guide us as we move our next big idea to fruition.

Let me close my remarks with a short reading from John’s blog of May 31, 2005:

“Hunting around for something else, I came upon this 5 x 7 note card where I had recorded the opening of a student essay from about 25 years ago. Should the student read and recognize this, I'll happily give credit:

‘Life is in a sense, a life long process. Many things come into it and many things go out of it. Changes occur everyday. If it takes a lifetime to live, how can it be possible that one single event can change a life so drastically for better or worse?’

Most teachers of writing will recognize this kind of problematic opening, full of cliches, circularity, wild generalities, yet raising a fundamentally profound question. In one sense, this represents the heart of teaching college composition. A student has an idea. The student has even formulated that idea as a question, which could easily drive an essay to consider the ironies and paradoxes we face each day. But the student has no sense of the particularities related to the broad question. The student says the obvious, not recognizing that the only effective means of conveying these ideas is through the texture of time, place, person and event. We need to know if the life changing moment came through a parent's death, being left by a lover, suddenly losing or finding faith--or hope, seeing the ocean for the first time, feeling the romance and pull of the full moon, or understanding some text in a way that re-educates perception (a term from John Dewey).

And so the teaching challenge is to get the student to connect the banalities to real experiences, observations, or recollections. When that happens, there's a real chance for a paper worth reading.”

Thank you, John. You will forever be here with us.

Remarks by Paul Bodmer at a Memorial for John Lovas

Dan Mitchell — Fri, 29 Jul 2005 18:01:51 GMT

I am here in an official capacity to represent the National Council of Teachers of English, both staff and members, and to honor a man who, in my estimation, represents the best of our profession. When I told Kent Williamson, the Executive Director of NCTE, about the arrangements for the Memorial Service, he asked if I would go to represent the Council, and to bring official condolences to Brenda and the family, and his friends and colleagues.

When Ralph Waldo Emerson defined the American public intellectual in his “American Scholar” address, he articulated a vision that I saw in John Lovas. Emerson described this person as an intellect engaged in public action. Informed by, but not lost in, books and theory. Engaged in action for the wholeness of the society. This was the John I knew.

I arrived home at the end of May, opened my email, and saw the note John had sent to Kent and me, informing us of the diagnoses he had received. I immediately called him. When I asked about the diagnoses, he told me what he knew in about five minutes. And then we spent at least an hour in a classic John Lovas conversation. We talked theory, practice, students, administration, family. He wanted to know how my granddaughter was doing. Was she walking, talking? And were they in the right order. But overall, the conversation was, as always with him, all over the map but all connected. One theory informs another relates to an action that spins off another one.

This ability of being able to see small parts and the larger whole at the same time was an invaluable asset for his work with NCTE. I met John through Don McQuade. Don was setting up the 1990 CCCC convention in Chicago, and he wanted to have a 25th anniversary celebration of the two-year college regionals within NCTE. We decided on the breakfast, which would be a one-time event. At that time, California two-year colleges were not in the NCTE regionals, but Don saw this as an opportunity to bring them in. He gave me John’s name. I contacted John, John put me in touch with the right people, and the California two-year college English teachers were invited and came to the breakfast celebration. That breakfast was, in a symbolic sense, the beginning of TYCA. I was aware of some of the history and political maneuverings that had led to California two-year colleges being outside of the regional networks. John was, as well. When we began trying to find a way of including ECCTYC in the TYCA network, John kept insisting that we move beyond the political stuff from the past and build something for the future. “Let’s figure out a way to make this work,” was his comment. So we did.

This quality of his, to recognize and see the immediate, the everyday workaday world at the same time he could see the larger picture, the wholeness of what we could be, and to act for the future, was an invaluable asset when he served on the NCTE Executive Committee. While he was there because he represented a particular constituency, whether TYCA or CCCC, when he appeared to be arguing for that constituency, it became apparent that he was really arguing for the whole of NCTE. When writing became an issue in the academic public mind through the new SAT requirement, we knew we had to say something about writing. John told me he would start a sacrificial draft. I expected it to reflect our conversations about writing from a two-year college perspective. But he immediately put together a very comprehensive draft that included all levels of the council. While many of the individual constituencies might argue more or less inclusion than was in his draft, his vision encompassed all. While not fully articulated from all levels, it contained a working understanding of writing from pre-school through collegiate work. A few years after he penned his draft, NCTE adopted a statement of the values of writing, and if one compares the two statements, John’s draft was the framework.

And he was knowledgeable. He made it a point to know the academic background of all the NCTE EC members. It was smart politics. But it was also because he was, indeed, interested in all the different intellectual areas represented on the Council. And then there was that boisterous sense of humor, the hearty laugh in the midst of a serious negotiation that helped us all to recognize that we were good colleagues, working together to find a common answer.

And ultimately, he represented that center of all NCTE’s work, the nexus between teacher and student. The complicated, exciting area where learning occurs because both student and teacher realize they are moving into a new area of thinking. Teaching isn’t delivery, and learning isn’t reception. It is that complicated area where the ground shifts and teachers are learning while students are teaching—a strange combination of the personal with the abstract.

Which is what I always felt was a part of a conversation with John. What made John special is that he made all of us feel that we had a special relationship with him. I always had the feeling when he was talking to me, that he was talking specifically to me. For the moment when we were individually in his presence, he gave us his full attention. He would look over his glasses and focus right on you and you knew he was talking to you and he could see your particular point. And then he would, “But, but, . . . “ and he would show how what you were looking at was very valid, and in the huge scheme of things, it meant this. You were honored in your view, and your view was worked into the larger view.

In my job at NCTE headquarters, I relied on John for west coast help. If a professional meeting was being held out here, and I had to attend for a particular session, I would tell John what it was about. I never had to ask, I just tried to act as if I was informing him of my work. He would say, “Well, that sounds interesting. Have you thought about this angle? By the way, when is that meeting, I think I can get away.” And there he would be, his large frame with his white hair standing above all the others in the room as he would come forward. And during the discussion, the point I wanted to make, but couldn’t for whatever political reasons of my position, would be made by John, as I knew it would. And afterward we would go for dinner. Always a good place because if the food wasn’t, the conversation was. Last January, after a meeting out here, we went for dinner. He told me that he was losing some weight, or should, and that he had figured out that the secret is not a fad diet, but portion control. I agreed—it had worked for me. So, we split the appetizer and the dessert. Portion control. I gained.

Another dinner story. I came out to San Diego to attend the ECCTYC convention two years ago. John arrived in time for a reception, I think on Friday night. He suggested we get some real food, and I was game, so we headed out. In his new Audi. He said he wanted Asian and he knew of a little place someplace over there, and he pointed off to the left. Okay, let’s go. An hour later we still hadn’t found the place, but in driving around, both getting hungrier and hungrier, he found a hole-in-the-wall place. Chrome tables, oilcloth coverings, plastic menu. We sat down to eat, and the waiter came over. John asked to see the wine list. I said, “John, the wine list is two boxes, one labeled red and one labeled white—that’s as good as it gets!” John held up a finger to shush me, and while the waiter mumbled something to that effect, John, eyes twinkling and with an elfin grin, said, “I saw a bar just down the street, could you bring us a bottle of,” and he gave some name to the waiter. We had a decent, but not great, bottle of wine with our decent, but not great dinner, and, of course, a far-reaching and eclectic conversation.

In Robert Frost’s poem, “Birches,” Frost describes the image of a boy climbing a birch tree to the heavens and then swinging down to earth. One needs to see the wholeness of the forest one gets from the height, but one needs to stay rooted to the earth, the particular, that tree. Frost concludes the poem, “One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.” John showed us how.

Paul Bodmer
Senior Program Officer for Higher Education
National Council of Teachers of English
1410 King Street
Alexandria, VA
202.316.6827
800-369-6283, ext 3615 (messages)
mailto:pbodmer@ncte.org

Thoughts on John Lovas

Dan Mitchell — Wed, 27 Jul 2005 19:37:46 GMT

From Sterling Warner.

John Lovas stood as a giant in the field of college English, and I count myself fortunate to have known and worked with him in various capacities for over 20 years. Back in 1985 when teaching as an adjunct instructor at De Anza College, I recall Lovas being the first full-time faculty member I ever spent a great deal of time to because he always was accessible and interested in what other English instructors were doing.

To his credit, Lovas did his best to nurture new leaders in the profession. For instance, he was personally responsible for getting me involved in ECCTYC (English Council of California Two-Year Colleges)—also known as TYCA Pacific Coast. Quite busy already with my own classes, the YRC Conference, and writing projects, John persuaded me that I was the best person to succeed him as ECCTYC Region III Co-director, a position he had filled for 17 years. Naturally, he comments flattered me, but his sincerity convinced me that serving as an ECCTYC Co-director, and later other national English offices (including when I ran but did not win the CCCC Chair) would be a privilege. I know Lovas has inspired and mentors a multitude of English instructors in one-way or another.

As so many others have noted, it will be next to impossible to replace John Lovas as one of the more dominate 21st century voices in college English—particularly his advocacy on the part of two-year colleges. His contributions to local, state, and national college organizations are legion. Knowing John and his tenacious spirit, he’s probably still trying to blog us and reminding one and all of the riches to be had as strategists, practitioners, scholars, and leaders in college English. John also would want us all to embrace change as a positive rather than a negative, for nothing is frozen in time because it would interfere with the sort of innovation that John loved). I would like to conclude my thoughts on John Lovas with a choka poem by Yakamochi Otomo from the Manyoshu.

Since that time far off
When heaven and earth began,
The world has been a place
Where nothing goes unchanged—
So it has been told
Over the ages.
And when I look up
To scan the fields of heaven,
I see the bright moon
Waxing and waning,
And those treetops there
On the foot-wearying mountain—
When spring comes,
Their blossoms open and shine,
But with autumn,
Dew and frost will blanket them,
The winds worry them
Till their yellow leaves have scattered.

And we of this world are the same, it seems—
The glow of red faces
Fading away,
Hair black as leopard-flower seeds
That loses its color,
The morning smile
Vanished by evening;
Like the buffeting wind
That no eye can see,
Like flowing water that never rests,
Nothing is constant,
Everything changes,
And seeing it, my tears
Fall in sudden showers
And I cannot make them stop.

Even the trees that speak no word
Flower in spring
And when fall comes
Scatter their yellow leaves—
For nothing goes unchanged. Thank-you John for being with us so long.

Sterling Warner
Evergreen Valley College

Not a Five Paragraph Essay

Dan Mitchell — Wed, 27 Jul 2005 19:13:21 GMT

In no particular order, some thoughts and recollections of my dear colleague John Lovas.

I don't recall exactly when I came to know John as a friend, but it was sometime early in my sixteen-year tenure as a member of the full time faculty at De Anza College. At first he was simply one of those senior faculty members who seemed to understand those things that are often mysterious to new faculty, and who was able and willing to articulate them.

One of my earliest specific recollections is of a time when I was concerned about missing a class to attend a conference. I didn't want to leave my students in the lurch, and I was probably obsessing about how to get a substitute or perhaps wondering whether I should even go. Somehow I ended up talking to John about this. As John would frequently do, he responded to my concerns with a notion that was pretty much the polar opposite of what I was thinking. To paraphrase, he said, "You know, Dan, your students may survive a day without you. In fact," he said with that wry smile that we all remember," there is a pretty good chance that they may even enjoy the day off."

I still think of this virtually every time I have to miss a class. As a new teacher who was probably still undergoing tenure review this odd little bit of "John Wisdom" was very important to hear. First, it reminded me that, stunning as it may seem, I am not the center of my students' lives. Second, as I understood as I came to know John better, he was reminding me that learning is about the students, not the teacher.

That idea was key to John's teaching in a very real way. While as conscious as anyone of the technical aspects of writing, it seemed to me that his passion was engaging students with writing as a tool of personal expression. Beyond the proverbial five-paragraph essay, John had his students writing and considering just about every form imaginable, from poetry to street texts. As John wrote on May 31, 2005 at his blog:

And so the teaching challenge is to get the student to connect the banalites to real experiences, observations, or recollections. When that happens, there's a real chance for a paper worth reading.

Recently John and I worked together to understand blogging and its potential in education. He started his own blog over a year ago where he wrote significant material every day for a year or more, finally allowing himself a few days off after posting hundreds of daily messages. Then he moved to having his students use blogs as a writing tool. They experimented with class blogs, collaborative group blogs, and individual blogs.

John loved to talk - but you already knew that. ;-)

As he and I worked together over the past few years we encountered one another more frequently around campus; in the quad outside the Administration building, in the mail room, and walkng cross campus. On virtually every occassion, "Hi, John" would turn into a 90 minute conversation. (Yes, I like to talk, too.) Most of these encounters would occur late in the afternoon when many faculty had perhaps left the campus for the day. It became a regular event for me to call my wife to say, "Sorry, I'll be late again." (Pause) "Yeah, John."

Recognizing that the most minimal greeting ("Hi, John.") would likely lead to well over an hour of conversation that neither of us could break off, eventually we adopted a mutual but unspoken arrangement. When we encountered one another we would stop and think about our responsibilities during the next couple of hours. If they were minimal or flexible, we'd launch into conversation. If not, one or both of us would smile and say, "No time today" and we'd keep walking, knowing that to stop at all meant that we would miss our appointments. In truth, most of the time we stopped and talked.

These conversations covered a wide range of topics. John, of course, knew the history and personalities of De Anza College as well or better than virtually anyone. I came to value this knowledge more and more during my tenure as Academic Senate President, when understanding the precedents and history of the place became more important to me. John also had great hopes for renewing and revitalizing the campus community. We spoke of his desire to see faculty debates and discussions. And, of course, we would talk about blogging, usually with the goal of figuring out how to use it as a tool for effective teaching and learning. On occasion he had opinions about Bay Area sports teams.

The reality of John's absence hit me on a late June afternoon as I walked across the campus between the L-Quad and the Administration building. I think that I come to anticipate running into him as I crossed this part of campus. On this day I understood that I would not meet my friend this way again, and I felt the loss deeply. However, as I looked around the campus I began to understand the deep and enduring effect of a personality like John's, and my sense of loss was tempered by gratitude for the chance to know John as a friend and colleague.

Dan Mitchell

Memory lives on

coastalpoint@... — Mon, 11 Jul 2005 17:25:47 GMT

John,

Words will never be able to express what impact you had on my life. I suppose the fact that I'd look you up every now and then from the other side of the country let you know that I never forgot you, but that token gesture seems trivial now. When I was raw, you sanded. When I went too fast, you pulled me back.

I've sat here and smiled as I've read stories from people who love you, and how all those stories just made me shake my head. That's what made you who you are, John. Stories. People held on to these moments in time with you because you made an impact. I guess it's now time for mine:

I remember when I was writing columns at La Voz, and I hit a stretch where I just felt like I got into a rut. I mentioned it in passing to you, and you nodded in understanding. You explained how you fell into dry spots in your own writing and we just keep writing until we break through. Good advice, to be sure.

But then, the very next day, you invited me to lunch and pulled out a collection of columns from other writers you carefully clipped. You said I shared traits with these particular columnists and told me what direction I should go. The ideas helped, but the fact that you cared enough to really try meant more.

I'm still writing columns today, as a professional, and I owe you for that, my friend. God bless

— Darin

Goodbye Neighbor

Dan Mitchell — Mon, 04 Jul 2005 02:43:31 GMT

Over the 30 years I have known John and his family we would share time at a 49er, GIants, Sharks game or MIke's Cafe---we would have a meal and share our excitment about the Bay Area sports. Sports were times away from the daily routine...an enjoyable time.

Marge and I sold our home in 2001 and moved away from the neighborhood but kept in touch through John's blogs and emails. We felt we had a contact in the neighborhood and now it is gone....certainly a life cut short and missed by many. We miss you John.

Walt Petersen

TestStory

Dan Mitchell — Fri, 01 Jul 2005 19:52:49 GMT

empty

Dear Professor John Lovas

mikimel@... — Fri, 01 Jul 2005 03:12:59 GMT

Dear Professor Lovas,

Thank you for everything. Thank you for your help, and for understanding and encouraging me. I really wanted and needed to see you to say thank you before you’ve gone.

The first time we met was when I took your EWRT1C (Literature and Composition) honors course in Spring 2003. At first glance, I thought you looked like Mr. John Swensson because of your hair and figure. (Now I can definitely distinguish you from him.) At first, I was afraid because the books for the class, Homer’s The Odyssey, Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Art Spiegelman’s Maus, Al Young’s Heaven: Collected Poems, and Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, seemed difficult for me. The class was for honors; therefore, the books were not so easy, I thought at first, but as I got used to them, I realized your purpose in choosing the books. You wanted show us a variety of unique writing styles, right? Those books were very helpful later when I was writing my “Magnum Opus” (Personal Intellectual History) at the end of the term, because I was greatly inspired by them.

It was fun to write the “Magnum Opus.” I think I have never in my life written such long paper about myself. I wrote it in 23 pages. Also, it was a good chance to look at myself. I could acknowledge what I am and find what I wanted to do from then on. The activity was one of the most important to figure out my goals. In addition, you invited all of the students to your place to celebrate the completion of our Magnum Opera. I saw the small “jungle” in your back yard, and the fruit from your garden was delicious. We had a really good time, right?

The most memorable activity in this class was the “Poetry Walk.” You brought us to the Fremont Older Open Space Reserve in the Saratoga hills to hike to the top; then, we read out the poems of Al Young one by one and discussed. It was nice weather with cool breeze in a brilliant open space with a 360-degree panorama. I was so happy and enjoyed it. Just a few weeks ago, for the first time in two years, I went to the hill with my husband and dog. Somehow and suddenly, I had felt like seeing the view with my family. Nothing changed there from when we had gone. I felt peace.

Then, in Winter 2005, I took your class again. It was Linguistics1 (Introduction to Linguistics). Again, I was afraid of one of the books because it was hard for me to understand. The reason why I took Linguistics was that I wanted to have more knowledge about languages to reinforce my job as an ESL teaching assistant. However, since it was not easy for me to catch up, and I was worrying about my grade, I told you I was dropping the class right before the drop deadline.

Miki: I think I’m going to drop this class. It’s too hard for me to get an “A” grade.

Prof. Lovas: There is no reason you drop the class. You are doing well, and your cumulate grade is A so far. Just do all of the assignments.

Miki: But I cannot understand the book. I think this class is too high a level and too excessive. This is De Anza College. I don’t need any Stanford things here.

Prof. Lovas: (Smiling) Well, you are lucky because you can experience Stanford things at De Anza. You don’t have to go to Stanford. Also, you need this class because you are going to be an ESL teacher, right?

Then, I changed my mind to stay in the class. The enjoyments were waiting for me after two-thirds of the quarter.

One of the most enlightening assignments was the “Course Project.” I used one of my workshops (the Popular Song Workshop for ESL students) as the topic of the course project because I have been an ESL teaching assistant in Listening and Speaking Lab (ATC304) for three years, and it was high time to make sure whether the workshop worked well or not. When I was making the survey sheet, you gave me some good suggestions that were from a very professional aspect that I hadn’t thought of. After I completed the project, I could find what was good and lacking in my teaching methods. You gave me a high reputation with the results, too. Also, I felt more confident because I realized what I should do next.

The other fun and thought-provoking assignment was writing about “Shilgen in Thear.”For this, you assigned us to describe the language, “Shilgen” [a reverse of English], on the setting of a mirror planet named Thear [a reverse of Earth], as if we were linguists. The assignment had reviewing the course combined with the enjoyment of creative writing.

***

Although I often visited your office without an appointment, you always accepted me. When I had problems with my classmates or instructors in other classes, you gave me wise advice. In spite of my “ambushes,” you were always in good humor and listened to me well. I told you I was afraid of becoming an ESL teacher because I’m not a native English speaker, and many people tell me I cannot be a good teacher because my pronunciation is not perfect. You said, “Some people need explanations in their first language when they are leaning the second language because they don’t understand the explanation in the second language. It’s not always right that an English teacher should be a native English speaker.” These words from you encouraged me a lot to be a candidate for an M.A. TESOL in the near future. I think I still need your help, but if I say that still, maybe you are not happy. I really miss you, but I will stand and go ahead on my own. And if, in the future, I could be an ESL instructor, I will take your unique teaching stance and methods to my students.

Again, thank you very much, Professor Lovas.

---

Voice of Color

Gold

Blue

White

Silver

Green

Cobalt

Sunshine

Sky

Cloud

Breeze

Grass

Voice

There is Poem.
Poem is inspired by Voice.
Voice is filled by Youth.
Youth is painted by Voice of Color:

rose Voice of Anita
aquamarine Voice of Jonathan
olive Voice of Brian
lavender Voice of Juanita
dandelion yellow Voice of Dima
pink Voice of Ling Mei
russet Voice of Samuel
tangerine orange Voice of Jennifer
buff Voice of Szehon
peacock blue Voice of Sam
purple Voice of Patrick
iris violet Voice of Julie
chartreuse green Voice of Eli
turquoise Voice of Joseph
parrot green Voice of Ben
light peach Voice of Jihai
lime Voice of Corey
apricot Voice of Jessica
lapis lazuli Voice of John

in peace.

(Miki’s poem from Poetry Walk, Spring 2003)

Respects,

Miki Melton

A Wonderful Colleague in the Profession

Fmadden@... — Thu, 30 Jun 2005 18:53:30 GMT

I worked with John for more than 10 years in a variety of roles in the NCTE, CCCC, TYCA, and the MLA.

I was priviliged to present him (in absentia) with the NCTE/TYCA Nell Ann Picket Award in San Antonio in 2004. John couldn't be there because he was caring for his wife Brenda. And it was the only time I can recall John missing anything. But, on his behalf, I read some excerpts from his blog--excerpts that addressed his deep love and concern for Brenda, while he waited for her recovery from major surgery. It was classic John--highly articulate, witty, compassionate--and very self effacing.

I will miss you, John--and I will never forget our long chats--and your commitment to Brenda and your colleagues (at DeAnza and all over the country)--and especially to your students.

Thank you for being the wonderful person that you were and for caring about all of us so much.

Frank Madden

A Great Friend

dtromero@... — Wed, 29 Jun 2005 18:38:24 GMT

I was saddened to hear about the loss of my friend. I was a great privilege to have known John over the past 10+ years. I have so many pleasant memories of John, and I hope I can be a friend to others as he was to me.

John and I had many things in common. We were both: Giants/Niners fans, Mac users, English majors... and we always had something to talk about.

While I was working up in Northern California, John also took me to my first Giants, Niners and Sharks games.

Whenever I hear that Mark Twain quote "The coldest winter I ever spent, was summer in San Francisco", I will always think of John and our trip to see the Giants on a cold summer day at Candlestick Park.

Thanks for everything, my friend. I will miss you.

God Bless You!

Dale

At the edge

k.l.custer@... — Wed, 29 Jun 2005 10:00:29 GMT

It doesn't seem possible that a spirit as huge as John's could actually be gone in such a short time - and clearly, based on these messages, much of his spirit remains. At the first CCCCs I attended, John was the keynote speaker as the chair, and I was mesmerized by his risk-taking at the edge of media.

A few years later, when I began a dissertation project, he was one of the names I decided on as a participant, and I began to get to know him through his blog and our exchanged emails. He became something of a father figure to me, this larger-than-life, always straight-forward presence who seemed to wrap up the entire world in his energy. When I came to Palo Alto to interview him on the day before Father's Day of last year, he invited me to his home, his office, his neighborhood, his life, and a corner of his heart. He was outspoken and adamant about his beliefs - how could anyone not be taken in by such passion for teaching and for life?

Rather than say he was a great man, which is what all epideictic writing wants us to do, I must say that he was a very good man doing great things. He seemed devoted to his family, his students, and his work, and I was very fond of him. I am still shaken by his death, and I will miss him. My thoughts and best wishes are with his family - B, B, and T. Comfort to you.

Kelli Custer

Tributes to John Lovas on the Web

Dan Mitchell — Tue, 28 Jun 2005 04:03:00 GMT

Remembering John Lovas at the Revisionspiral web log.
John, I'm Going to Miss You at the timna web log.
John Lovas at yellow Dog
John Lovas at the Vitia web log.
John Lovas at the Community College English web log.
John Lovas, Former CCCC and TYCA Chair, Dies at 65 at the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) web site.
John, You Will Be Missed at Dr. B's Blog.
None of us is promised tomorrow at Collin vs. Blog
On the Passing of John Lovas at the Essaying CCCC--A Chair's Blog.
Remembering John Lovas at the Culture Cat web log.
A Writing Teacher at earth wide moth.

For a humble giant

pricefamilyforever@... — Tue, 28 Jun 2005 02:59:55 GMT

As one of his students, it was a life-altering experience to be taught by and know John Lovas. Those two ideas don't often go together, but to sit in his classroom day after day was to get to know him. With all of his expertise as an educator, his humility and openness are what stood out most to me. He didn't put up walls between him and his students. To be able to do that and fulfill the teacherly roles of coach and critic at the same time was a masterful feat. I suggest that that was to a large degree what made him so effective, and so inspiring to me personally. I remember the day he came back to De Anza with a handout of a timeline of events during a day spent that past weekend lobbying politicians in Washington. It was so simple. His sharing it with us was so disarming, such an act of trust. It was also a really fun example of how to use language. One time I wrote a letter to the editor which was published in La Voz, the college paper. He complimented me on it one evening and we discussed it and many other things for close to two hours outside his office as is got dark. To see a teacher so excited about learning was a magical experience. He was so engaged and turned on by things that he really couldn't help sharing with others. It took his teaching to another dimension. One that has seldom if ever been reached by other teachers I've had in my life. His shoes will never be filled, but I hope at the very least that the Linguistics classes remain part of De Anza's offerings, and that they include the fantastic text by Trask called "Language Basics".

For a Humble Giant

pricefamilyforever@... — Tue, 28 Jun 2005 02:57:34 GMT

Still a Dynamic Presence

liz.kleinfeld@... — Tue, 28 Jun 2005 02:39:46 GMT

I knew John Lovas through his articulate and passionate writings about the work of community college compositionists and through his blog. As a blogger, he was an accessible and supportive colleague to so many of us. He was classy, earnest, smart, inspiring, and just so cool. For me, his dynamic presence through his blog and his engaged comments on others’ blogs make it hard to believe he’s gone. He’s still everywhere. I think for me, he always will be. Peace, John.

Liz Kleinfeld

John's Great Grin

walkertisa@... — Mon, 27 Jun 2005 22:10:07 GMT

I could go on at glorious length about how much I enjoyed serving with John on various committees, and sharing with him the experiences of being faculty in the Honors Program.

But right now, I just want to recall the first time I meant John. I was newly hired as a full-timer, feeling very eager and a little overawed. John was in line ahead of me on opening day, looming in his space, so to speak. Feeling a bit nervous, I introduced myself and tried to engage him in light conversation. At first he was pleasant-but-reserved. (I had no idea how girlishly naive I must have sounded!)

But as we talked and discovered shared interests, John began to twinkle at me over his glasses. And the twinkle was accompanied by his impish grin -- all coming from his commanding height. I was enthralled with what he was explaining to me about the campus community, and with his avuncular wit and wisdom as an old DeAnza hand.

And so, for the many years since then, and the many conversations, he always twinkled at me over his glasses, gave me his impish grin, and regaled me with his special bon mots.

We will all cherish the time we had with John.

Thanks for Your Leadership

rsmithwick@... — Mon, 27 Jun 2005 20:08:05 GMT

17 June 2005

Dear Friend John,

I read with extreme interest in LA VOZ of your impending retirement. And what a huge "closet" of memories that opened for me.

John--Foothill and De Anza have a long established history of excellence over the past four decades. I realize, probably better than most, that this reputation was created and earned because of the conscientiousness and professional contributions you and other faculty members have provided over the years.

We earned--and have-- a great legacy--and your work with students and staff was vital to its creation.

Thanks so much, John, for your contributions and your friendship. Cordially,

Bob S.

Grateful to John

stephen.ruffus@... — Mon, 27 Jun 2005 20:02:09 GMT

I am grateful to John for his tireless efforts on behalf of two-year colleges. He was a credit to the field in general, but particularly to schools that sometimes must fight to gain credibility. On a more personal note, I'll always remember the kindness and compassion John showed me at a particular NCTE meeting in Atlanta. I had gone there as a member of the CCCC Executive Committee. However, I never made it to the meeting. Instead I spent the conference in the hospital. John showed up with a card signed by the entire committee. As busy as he was with his officer's duties, he took the time to check on me. I was very moved by this gesture and have remained so.

My deepest regrets to John's family.

Stephen Ruffus

A Hard Act to Follow

fjlovas@... — Mon, 27 Jun 2005 19:18:50 GMT

John Lovas was a hard act to follow. As the first born of Frank and Ann Lovas, he was in the lead for life. As the second born son, I know too well what following the footsteps of a big brother meant. He was bigger, smarter, better at sports, and seemingly anything he did. He even got the better paper route, the Cleveland Press, versus mine, the Cleveland News in that he had the same number of customers in one block of our street (224th) compared to my six blocks (all of 223rd and 224th). He was very competitive, actually all the Lovas kids were, probably inherited from our father. For most of us, we only had close interaction with John until he was 16 or 17 when he went off to John Carroll University. In the next few years I and other siblings dispersed as well for school, work, etc. But those early years were up-close and very personal, sometimes too much so. Perhaps our dispersal helped us to be closer as a family and made family get-togethers over the years more enjoyable.

I've read all of the comments posted until now on the DeAnza "festschrift" to John and found them to be very complimentary, and many of the attributes each has expressed have resonated with my experiences and interactions with brother John. I thought I would collect here those that best fit my image of John. He was a genius, a brilliant leader, reassured, stimulating, witty, engaging, insightful, and passionate. He was also genuine, professional, personal, confident, and never backed down. He was a master politician, creative thinker, gifted, dynamic, fresh, and eager, a fountain of ideas, persistent, dedicated, and a visionary. He talked a good bit, was articulate, a big talker, he could talk, talk, and talk with a booming voice and commanding presence. He was not universally liked and provided his listeners with moments of exasperation and irritation. These are words excerpted from the festschrift, but they represent John's essence and spirit. Thank you all for jogging my memories of him through your words.

As I read the accounts and recalled my experiences with John, it seems to me that his life was a performance with him the central character and us the audience. It was interactive to be sure, but usually he was in control. He was a class act. I miss you John, now and always.

Frank Lovas

I Never Did Get That Drink

Dan Mitchell — Mon, 27 Jun 2005 16:27:33 GMT

(The following message is excerpted from a post on Dean Carrico's blog.)

[It] started with my journalism classes. After over a decade of staying outside of the educational system, I enrolled at De Anza Junior College. I wasn’t expecting much, and when I went to my first classes I got exactly what I was expecting. The only thing that kept me from walking out was a desire to see if I could survive in the academic world, since I had been told so many times that I couldn’t.

Years and years of saying I wanted to go into journalism finally gave way to me actually trying it, and I signed up for a beginner course in news writing. The class was a distance learning course, meaning I did all the work on my own at home. That may sound ideal, but what I was looking for was direction and guidance, something I never had while in school.

My instructor for the course was John Lovas. The first thing I noticed was that he looked exactly like the bass player for NoMeansNo. We has our first meeting, whereupon he explained what textbooks we would need and said that this was a new course, so we would all be working out the kinks.

There were eight of us in the class. If we were to be the test subjects, the course seemed doomed to failure.

Lovas gave us our first assignments, telling us to find a government meeting of any kind and then report on what happened. He seemed distracted, like his mind was somewhere else. The next week I returned with a lame play-by-play of what happened with the city council meeting.

Our group of eight had dwindled to three students. Since it was a distance learning course, it didn’t get dropped from lack of attendance, although the administration apparently suggested it. Fact was, the entire journalism department was in trouble. There were almost no courses in the field. The campus paper was entirely volunteer run, and it showed. The administrative student body was ready to cut all funding and ties for publishing costs. Lovas was trying to bring the paper back from the brink of oblivion.

In the meantime, I was lamely trying to be a student for the first time since I was a sophomore in high school. I didn’t have a computer and had to write all my papers by hand. I didn’t have glasses or contacts, and even sitting in the front row I couldn’t see what was written on the board and had to ask instructors to not erase anything so I could stand up at the front after class ended and take any notes I had missed during the lecture.

But during this rocky start, me wondering what the hell I was doing here John Lovas took me under his wing. He looked at my report of a standard city council meeting and helped me find where a story might be fleshed out. That was his strong point — he didn’t tell you what to do, he simply talked about what you had written until you realized what angle you could use to make an interesting story. He did that with my piece until I found the actual story buried beneath the lines, a story hat meant the entire graduate requirements were changing, affecting the entire first year students with no notification.

After my revisions, he suggested I let the piece be printed in the campus paper. I agreed and after it ran, the administration contacted us and asked for permission to put it in a required textbook for new students.

We lost another student in the class, and the sole other student made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t interested in reporter work. Lovas put pressure on me to join the newspaper staff.

I was hesitant, unsure of my writing or reporting skills. I knew I wanted to do it, but wasn’t sure I was ready or capable. Working for the paper meant an increased workload with no payoff — you didn’t even get course credit. I was working full-time and taking classes at night, giving me a 16-to-18 hour workday. But I agreed to go to a staff meeting, and from there I had a tentative handshake agreement to work on stories that I found, rather than having set assignments.

Lovas seemed a little disappointed in that, as he was obviously trying to build a staff. But he worked closely with me, encouraging me when I did well and patiently offering roundabout suggestions when I was stuck. I kept my eyes open for stories, determined to put some actual news in what was supposed to be a newspaper, rather than the jokey, hokey, insider gossip rag it had become.

Going back into an educational environment could have easily been a failed exercise. After all, I still had the same anti-authoritative stance. I still distrusted people in power. John Lovas saw that and rather than trying to break my belief system, he helped nurture the distrust into reporter skills. When I returned to the newsroom after being thrown out of the security office, he looked prouder than a father whose kid just made the game-winning Grand Slam.

Throughout my educational career until this point, I could count less than three people who I felt truly cared about their students, both as pupils and as people. John Lovas did both, and he became more than a mentor — he became my friend.

And being my friend isn’t always easy. After chastising the staff for making a too-easy Nazi comparison in an editorial, he told me about the theory that any heated debate will eventually lead to a Nazi reference. “It’s a cop out,” he told us in his quiet voice as he studied our faces. “It’s supposed to end all debate, but it’s nothing more than cheap name-calling.”

After that speech, every story I turned in for review had a fake paragraph inserted making a comparison with the Holocaust. I’d sit and the other end of the table, watching as he read silently, red pen in hand. Then he’d come across the paragraph I planted.

“Oh, Goddamn it, what the hell is this with the Nazis?” he say, throwing the paper down. I’d start giggling wildly.

I joined the staff on the newspaper, first as a reporter, then as news editor, and finally as Editor in Chief. When I applied for the position, we both knew I was going to get the position, but he made me go through the motions of the application process. I outlined my plans and goals for the paper, making my number three directive to obtain a monkey in a tuxedo who would serve us drinks. When he called me in for my meeting he sat me down in his office, looking serious and scholarly.

“So,” he said, as he looked over my resume, “tell me how you plan to obtain this monkey.”

“Well,” I answered, “I know you’re planning on retiring from the paper, so I was wondering what size tux you wear.”

John Lovas died on June 21, 2005 at his home after a short bout with melanoma. He was 65 years-old.

All too often, when a friend or loved one dies, people talk wistfully about how they wish they had the chance to thank them for what the deceased had meant to them. I don’t have to do that. When I graduated with honors from De Anza and moved onto a “real” university, I wrote him a long e-mail telling him how much I appreciated his tutelage and guidance. I told him I owed him for all the scholarships, writing awards, and drive in school. I thanked him for believing in me.

The friendship continued long after both he and I left the paper. He went to my fake wedding and brought me a bottle of Grand Marnier. When my book was released he came to the reading and bought himself a copy and another one to donate to the campus library. He had this site listed on his official scholastic Web page as a link for pages of interest, listed above Noam Chomsky.

I wrote Lovas exactly one month before he died, telling him that since I was fleeing the continent he needed to get his act together if he wanted to buy me drinks before I left. He wrote back telling me about the melanoma diagnosis, but said he was perfectly willing to watch me drink, and that he’d buy.

I never did get that drink.

Nazi.

- Dean Carrico

John Will Be Missed

kyancey@... — Mon, 27 Jun 2005 12:41:04 GMT

In many places and in many ways, John will be missed.

I met John through our work for NCTE: he was serving as TYCA Chair, and I was serving as Chair of the College Section, and together we served on the NCTE Executive Committee. New to the committee, I could always count on John for a smile and an encouraging word. As is so often the case, we got to know each other a little during that time, and what stayed with me was John's commitment to his students. He spoke about them; he framed his remarks in terms of his interactions with them; he brought their insights about literacy to us so that we could see both how and why--through their eyes--literacy was changing.

A few years later, we served together as officers of the Conference on College Compositon and Communication, and again--as John delivered his multimedia Chair's Address, as he brought people together in small groups to consider the issues then defining the organization, and as he helped us choose a really good wine to drink with dinner--he adeptly wove together the personal and the professional.

I've always looked to my seniors--which term I mean in the most respectful way--to see what might be next. John modeled the best in this regard. Asked by Patti Stock to serve on the NCTE Resolutions Committee, he quickly said yes. Thinking about how to stay current as a teacher, he began a blog--and with that act, also met an entirely new circle of colleagues. Interested in how assessment practice at DeAnza might be improved, he initiated a portfolio assessment project that is ingenious in its ability to connect program standards and classroom innovation.

Although John is gone, John's gifts live on--in his students, his colleagues and friends, his family, and the professional organizations that so defined his life.

kathleen blake yancey

Mr. La Voz's Laugh

oceanlife2000@... — Sun, 26 Jun 2005 23:54:12 GMT

Dear Mr. Lovas,

I’m not going to write to you in past tense. Writing this post to you is cathartic. Maybe I'm still in shock that someone with your presence is no longer in this world physically but my gut tells me that you are very much alive in spirit and reading all of our posts. I hope mine reaches you well.

I’m so touched that you always remember me—the quirky, odd duck of a former ad manager and one-time humor columnist of La Voz from ten years back. I’m remembering right now a few funny moments from the La Voz days.

I remember asking you, in my charming naïve way, “Mr. Lovas, is the student newspaper called La Voz because your last name is Lovas but with the letters switched around?” I remember you laughed and explained to me the etiology of La Voz, meaning “the voice”.

On another occasion, I remember asking you about your voicemail greeting: “Mr. Lovas, it’s hard to tell but in your voicemail greeting, are you saying this is John Lovas’ clown or clone?” Again, you had a good laugh.

And then there was the day when Alex, me, and Darin McCann were preparing for a hilarious photo shoot to accompany our senseless but very funny three-person humor column for the last issue of the Spring quarter. I had blown up a balloon and stuffed it down my shirt so that I could look like a Pamela Anderson babe in the photo. I was goofing off, strutting my stuff in front of the staff when you walked in the office. In that instant, I must have had the deer-in-the-headlights look. I thought that I might be in trouble. But I remember you laughing and commenting, “Wow, Ramona got big!” I remember all of us laughing a lot after that.

That’s the thing about you that I personally remember and hold in my mind—your elfish smile, your rosey-faced laugh, your sense of humor. You love to laugh and you find humor in so much, it is inspiring. Thank you for being you, and for laughing along when I was being “me”.

Much love & laughter, always,
Ramona Lum

A Note from Barbara Reid

Dan Mitchell — Sun, 26 Jun 2005 19:59:47 GMT

John was a true value to the college and the district. His talents and skills were many and he shared them wilth students , administration, staff and the community at large. His contributions will continue as those he worked with pattern their work after him. I was a privileged to work with him.

Indians and Giants

Dan Mitchell — Sun, 26 Jun 2005 00:17:04 GMT

"John, you're in charge," our Irish mom's standard refrain to her eldest of seven kids. My brother learned the art of management early on: how to plan the mischief, how to sustain the interest, how to spin the blame when things headed south. One favorite family story was when we all went on vacation and John stayed home alone. We returned a day early to find every bed had been slept in and unmade and the dining room with the remains of beer, cigars and poker games. "This wouldn't be a problem if you hadn't come home early," he logically explained.

We still debate the 1954 World Series where the Giants swept the Indians. Dad had two tickets for game 5 that never was. The argument was always which kid would he have taken. John wasn't concerned. He would have scalped a ticket and been there. It foreshadowed his dream World Series that has yet to come: the team he grew up with and the team he grew old with. He also waited for his dream Super Bowl between the Browns and 49ers. "I couldn't lose in that game," he would say.

I didn't know him well growing up. He started college at 16 years of age when I was three. He escaped a family of nine in a cozy, three bedroom, one bathroom house that was our parents' home for 61 years in Fairview Park, Ohio. To me he was this big guy that showed up from time to time. When I was seven he gave me my first "real" book (more words than pictures), "Ben Hur". It took me three months to read it and I couldn't wait to tell him the next time he came home. He went into the Army as a Lieutenant at the age of 20, then headed west to Utah and finally California.

It was only in the last ten years that I came to know, appreciate and love my big brother thanks to the internet. Our family correspondence on the web brought a long distant family close together. I will miss his point of view, humor, backslaps, faceslaps, compassion, provocation and insight.

When that dream World Series finally happens, I'll look for you Bro', cause I know you'll have scalped a ticket to get there.

Kevin Lovas

A Commanding Presence

lampadu@... — Sat, 25 Jun 2005 19:02:56 GMT

I remember John as a commanding presence on the CCCC Executive Committee. When I was a new member, he and several veterans sat in a section I dubbed,”The Amen Corner of Wisdom.” I looked forward to their engaging dialogues, which taught me the meaning of true professionalism. At the meetings, John’s voice constantly boomed—whether provoking ideas, clarifying policies, or advancing motions. Even though he was no longer Chair of CCCC, he continued to be a remarkable leader for the remainder of his tenure on the committee. I am a much richer person because of the legacy of dedication and excellence he has left.

Lena Ampadu

Towson University

Towson, Maryland

Remembrance

clcasper@... — Sat, 25 Jun 2005 17:24:56 GMT

I can't say I knew John Lovas in the conventional sense of the word. We never had dinner together, talked over a cup of coffee, or met at a conference. But if you define a friend as someone who supports, advises, humors, and consoles, then John was my friend, regardless of the "virtual" nature of our friendship. When I began blogging just over two years ago, John was one of the first commenters on my site, and thus began a relationship conducted on blogs and in e-mails that I came to treasure.

When his blog went silent a few weeks ago, I wanted to believe that it was the result of the summer lull that seemed to be affecting many of us. However, I suppose on some level, I knew something was wrong. But being the queen of denial, I told myself John was just taking some much deserved time off, and that even if his health was a factor, he deserved his privacy. I never knew he was close to death. How could someone so vibrant, so excited about his work and life, leave us?

John was a great gift, to his students, his colleagues, his family. I believe I can say that even without ever meeting the man face-to-face. There are things you can't fake on the page--honesty, compassion, enthusiasm, dedication, integrity. John had all of them. He inspired me and helped me and delighted me. I will miss him.

An Overarching Force

markmolander@... — Sat, 25 Jun 2005 06:57:52 GMT

I just got back from a trip, and I was saddened to hear of John’s passing. John was one of the good guys. I first met him at Superintendent’s Cabinet thirty-seven years ago. I was in awe of him from the very beginning because he forcefully confronted our Superintendent, Cal Flint, on more than one occasion concerning faculty rights. Big deal! Right? But you can’t imagine the patriarchal environment of our campuses in the 1960s, and what courage and willful resolve those brazen confrontations must have elicited for him to survive the outrage that followed. John was an original union leader and activist, but he had a guiding vision that the best way of changing the system was by way of the system. John was both a gifted leader and a master politician. He survived both assaults and sieges and was one of the most respected members on the Foothill staff. Over the next few years I found myself involved in some of the same struggles as John, and he was always an overarching, stabilizing force. What I remember most about him, though, are the intimate moments talking about our families, about poetry — about baseball. John loved sports, but he loved baseball almost as much as life itself. He had worked out an elaborate metaphor for baseball as a perfect metaphor for American life. It took about an hour for him to introduce the particulars — how each applied — but if you had the time, it really was worth the mental gymnastics.

John was a most generous man. A few years back, my wife and I attended a conference on Lowell and Bishop that was to be held in Cleveland. Knowing that John grew up in Cleveland, I asked him where to stay and what to see, since we had some extra time. Not only did we schedule lunch to plan (he had the perfect spot in Palo Alto — no interruptions for the whole afternoon), but also on two other occasions before we left, John and I met to talk about the trip. He gave me a useful history of recent Cleveland politics so that the renovations of the downtown area along with the “don’t miss” culture centers, made our trip one of those times I will always remember and treasure. John had that kind of influence on people because he was a generous mentor and friend. I will miss him greatly. But having said that trivializes all that he was. He was large. I said above that he was generous, and that’s true, but he was no pussycat. His convictions were held with severe and absolute conclusions reached as a result of many years of wrestling with many issues. And he would argue with you for hours about premises he held and why he held them and why you should as well. And it wasn’t college debating. It was serious stuff that he lived by. But he was not one to hold grudges. He was open and generous of spirit. He was a genuine and good human being. I will miss him. I will miss reading his daily Blog.

You always had time

jane.west@... — Sat, 25 Jun 2005 05:04:14 GMT

Jocalo, I only knew you as a blogger - but that knowledge was a rich one, and I am immensely grateful to you. When I first 'discovered' blogs in 2002, I spent nights on end exploring them. I was initially drawn by the hyperlinks, the sense of somehow going deeper and deeper into a new universe of discourse. At some time, just after you started blogging, I discovered 'A Writing Teacher's Blog'. It was perhaps at that moment that the new excitement of blogging and the older, familiar peacefulness of literature and writing fused in my understanding.

You inspired me and have continued to do so: today, for the first time in a long while, I re-read your site, your links, your early posts. For the first time, I noticed in your Guided Tour to Blogging these words: 'Yikes, you've found my weak spot. I'm not a techie...' Neither am I, John, and perhaps that was the gift you gave to so many of us who were teachers or writers - but not techies: the confidence to try different ways of working, to accept different challenges, and to see our teaching each day as exploration and discovery.

'The Windhover' has always been my inspiration, too - it's funny but I never noticed that on your site before. Why do I feel I know you so well? Is it perhaps because in Community College English- you took the time to explain to me - an English woman living in Austalia - what Advil was? The professional - and the personal: nothing was too trivial for you.

Today I was thinking of Sir Christopher Wren. His son wrote his epitaph, on his grave in St Paul's Cathedral, and it says, simply, 'Reader, if you seek his monument, look around you.'

Thank you, Jocalo, for your monument, your outstretched hand to many of us who never met you, but knew you through a network, a community, of blogs.

Memorial Services for John Lovas

Dan Mitchell — Sat, 25 Jun 2005 04:54:50 GMT

There will be a Requiem Mass for John Lovas on Wednesday, June 29, at 10 AM at St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church in Palo Alto. The address is 751 Waverly, Palo Alto CA.

The family requests that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to the Melanoma Research Foundation:

Melanoma Research Foundation
240 Georgetown Road
Princeton NJ 08540
http://www.melanoma.org
1-800-mrf-1290

---

The De Anza Memorial Service will be on Wednesday, July 27, at 3 PM in Conference Rooms A/B in the Campus Center.

Farewell to John Lovas

epsteinthelma@... — Sat, 25 Jun 2005 03:07:10 GMT

John Lovas was a writer, a creative thinker, and a teacher. On any major subject over the years, John had strong opinions. He would share his opinions and views through his writing, often in essays addressed to everyone at Foothill-De Anza. His words were often the heart of our accreditation reports. His words were repeated by everyone from our chancellors to our faculty, administrators, and staff. John was a brilliant writer.

John was a creative thinker. He truly enjoyed his years in our District, often prodding us to improve the Honors Program, to be more effective faculty in the classroom, and to really care about our college community. Our last conversation ranged from the state of our college to his suggestions for leadership in Honors at De Anza. He did not merely bring forth ideas, he was willing to work hard himself to make each program or class the best it could be.

John Lovas was an outstanding teacher. His students were his first concern everyday that he was in the classroom. He taught with dignity while serving as the best role model for his students. John always raised community college teaching to the highest level possible.

I was proud to know John and to be his colleague over the years. I will miss his stimulating conversation and his challenging ideas. Bon voyage, John.

Thelma Epstein

Re: The Longest Day

mjlovas@... — Sat, 25 Jun 2005 02:51:23 GMT

Thanks for sharing all this. You captured my brother, right up to the end.

A Great Brother

mjlovas@... — Fri, 24 Jun 2005 23:44:59 GMT

John is my brother. He is the oldest in a family of seven kids, and I am number five down the list. As an older brother, he of course was always first to do everything -- drive a car, go to college, be in the army, get a job, have a career. And we all followed -- with all of us attending college and making our parents and our older brother proud of our own individual accomplishments. Our older sister Jacqueline is also a teacher, grade school, teaching fifth grade right now. So, the two of them would know the experience of teaching, mentoring, guiding, grading and all the aspects of teaching. I can only admire his dedication to his craft and how serious he took his work. It is not something I could do for a short period, much less forty years. He would be right proud of all the comments made on his behalf in this forum because he was all about teaching and enjoyed the hell out of it. Many of the stories he would tell at family gatherings were about his students, many of whom have gone to be incredibly accomplished in their own right.

We enjoyed sports together, especially the Giants and Sharks. He had season tickets to the 49rsand we both had tickets for the Sharks. We attended a couple 49r games each year, though the last few years at the stick there has not been much to cheer about. He used sports to decompress, relax, get away from the daily pressures of work and family and we spent many a night having dinner in San Jose, then cheering on the Sharks. He missed those nights a lot when the Sharks did not play this last year. And it is sad for me to think we will no longer have these times to share together.

My thanks to all who have made posts and comments here. It is very gratifying to read so many nice thoughts about your brother who clearly has touched many lives through his teaching and BLOG at DeAnza. Mike Lovas

John, I'm going to miss you

parktimna@... — Fri, 24 Jun 2005 19:10:31 GMT

John Lovas was one of the people I corresponded with in real life, before I had a blog, and he made the connections. I wished before that I'd gotten to 4C's this year and now I'm really sad that I didn't.

John helped me through a transition from being a candidate to being a teacher. No, I didn't get the full-time job, but I came back and worked as though I would have been a great choice. I let go of my "candidate" persona and got a lot of courage from his words. He challenged me via his blog and his suggestions were always helpful when I tried something new in the classroom. I wrote to him first when my students wrote midterms that sang after they'd read the 9/11 Commission Report (his suggestion). I was timid, it was an election semester, and he showed me that I really could do it.

Thank you, John. I'm missing you already.

Remembering John

mbertoli@... — Fri, 24 Jun 2005 13:23:44 GMT

I only saw him once (presenting at CCCC’05 in San Francisco), but the person he was—professional, personal, confidant, caring—was clear and unforgettable that day. That night warming myself by a wireless connection in my hotel lobby, I found his weblog and entered his world. From, time to time I’ve dipped back in to that world over the last three months. Once, when he posted about his son’s passing, I had to close my computer and walk away—so moved was I by the words of a man I hardly knew. Again, when I read his post about his own retirement, his moved me once more. I felt for such a man 40 years of teaching was not enough. I teach in a small four year college, where it is easy to feel at the center of the universe, but the work of educating the country really happens elsewhere in large two year colleges such as John’s where he taught 265 students a year to become better writers and to take their place in the mainstream of educated, articulate adults. Clearly, a star has passed from the earth, but he has left such a legacy behind. To his family, colleagues, students, friends, I offer my condolences. May those of us who can try to advance the work he loved. As for me, I’m closing my computer for a while. May flights of angels sing him to his rest.

Mary Ellen Bertolini
Middlebury College

Good Bye, Friend

Dan Mitchell — Fri, 24 Jun 2005 05:38:15 GMT

Grief numbs my words. Our profession lost a gifted and dynamic member, and I have lost a mentor and friend.

Had you told me in March that the vital, warm person with whom I was presenting at the 4 C's would not last more than three months, I would have told you that you were crazy.

Although I have only known John for a year, communicating through blogs and emails, I feel that his friendship and mentoring has been among the most valuable of my professional experiences. His passion for teaching carried into the sensitivity and depth of the comments he gave to all of us who got to know him through our blogs. I will be forever impressed with the way that he could take other bloggers' ideas, reflections and rants and frame them in some larger question about the profession. And when John went on a tear about something, it was backed by forty years of experience in a field he loved.

To borrow a line from Hopkins, John Lovas will forever "Easter" in my heart, and his influence on my teaching will resonate in the years to come.

- Joanna Howard

Our Windhover

dlarson@... — Thu, 23 Jun 2005 22:27:15 GMT

Mine being a blogger's association with John, I have left what I wrote yesterday at my own site, where I first met and, now, I'm afraid, must always miss John's ever-spirited presence.

In Memoriam, John Lovas -- Our Windhover.

I shall miss you, John.

A Generous Spirit

Dan Mitchell — Thu, 23 Jun 2005 21:35:14 GMT

Going through the CCCC officer rotation, as any past chair will confirm, you tend to develop a strong relationship with the officer whom you will replace and find yourself suddenly paying attention to everything that person does, knowing that you will have to assume that role the next year. So watching John Lovas became for me a daunting task, because as I observed him perform the various duties in his bodacious and forthright manner, I came to realize that I was in big trouble. He really was the act I had to follow. And what an act. Other tributes on this page give testament to his larger than life image and even to his often overwhelming, but not mean-spirited, in-your-face affect.

John never stopped with taking a position. He acted on his beliefs in ways that mattered--with words--because he realized what we all claim to understand, that words have power. He was always sending links to letters he had written to various publications or to sound bites from talk radio shows, as if to say, “See, this is the public discourse we need to engage in.”

What I respected most about John Lovas was his fierce and constant advocacy for two-year colleges and for the teaching of writing. He never backed down, even when you hoped he would. But because I felt that he was always genuine—the John you saw was the John you got-- I found myself frequently defending him to those who had not experienced his generous spirit.

John has set a high standard for those of us who hope to bring about change in the profession and in the world. A hard act to follow, indeed.

Shirley Wilson Logan
University of Maryland
College Park

Too Young

breeves@... — Thu, 23 Jun 2005 19:50:25 GMT

Helpful isn't the word. Intensely interested doesn't do it. Enthusiasm comes closer. John gave a real boost to Diablo Valley College English Division's efforts to articulate with our local high schools; he invited five of us to make a presentation of our program in Denver a few years ago, when he was chair of 4Cs.

He and I shared some similar histories, including that of a lost child. I will miss him.

Too young. Damn.

Bruce Reeves Walnut Creek, California

Thanks, John

Dennydave@... — Thu, 23 Jun 2005 19:42:02 GMT

John Lovas taught me (and I'll bet many others) how to teach English composition. Newly emerged from the cocoon of grad school, I was hired to teach a couple sections of freshman comp. I had only taught creative writing courses at that point. I could talk (and write) at some length about literature, film, creative writing, and a few other areas of specialty, but I knew very little of the pedagogical theory that John had emersed himself in his entire career. So one day we had lunch at "Good Earth," just a stone's throw from campus. We ordered lunch about noon. Three hours later, my head spinning from numerous cups of that delicious but highly-caffienated Good Earth Tea, the table strewn with diagrams and notes written on napkins and torn notebook paper, I knew what to do. He was a gracious mentor. In the twenty years or so since that lunch, not a day has gone by when I haven't put to use something he taught me there in my own private grad seminar on the teaching of composition.

- Dave Denny

John Teaching LART 200

mdpatton@... — Thu, 23 Jun 2005 14:56:28 GMT

I was blessed during Spring 2004 to receive a great deal of help from John when I started to teach ELIT 11 (Introduction to Poetry) for the first time. He guided me with book suggestions, assignment sheets, and ideas for class projects -- all during the time that he was suffering from the eye surgery situation which would have suggested to any regular teacher that one might take a quarter off.

However, the single day which is engraved forever on my mind is the day I went to watch John teach his LART 200 class. This class is for students who have taken the placement tests in Reading and Writing and failed both dramatically. There is no lower placement for native speakers of English. So here was John, brilliant lover of literature, writer for the Palo Alto paper, author of books, not only teaching a "developmental" level class, but teaching the class that presents more challenges than any other.

-- a huge class, well-attended, mostly young men, from extremely diverse cultural backgrounds

-- everybody involved, excited, reading, discussing

-- no textbook at all! Instead, the Mercury News was the subject very single day.

-- real critical thinking!!

--difficult writing assignments that challenged the students but were within their reach

I am still inspired, thinking of the love of students, the skills, the dedication, that John brought to that class -- and to all his other classes. When I get discouraged, I'll remember that day, those students, all that excitement.

JARandall

emptyleash@... — Thu, 23 Jun 2005 06:35:22 GMT

Just a few words,

I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see.

I sought my god, but my god eluded me.

I sought my friend,

and I found all three.

The Longest Day

alansimes@... — Thu, 23 Jun 2005 06:04:10 GMT

I first met John in 1987. I had been hired to teach part-time for Winter quarter 1988 and showed up on campus some weeks before the quarter began to check things out—it was my first real teaching job. I walked down a hallway and there he was at the end of it. I said I had just been hired to teach part-time, and, in that unmistakable voice, and sporting his 70s, Robert Redford-style moustache, he cooly declaimed on the subject at hand. It was thirty minutes before I was able to spy a clock around his shoulder—or get a word in. Little did I know that when I was hired full-time that I would be assigned an office in that same hall just a few feet away from where I first met him.

John was not only the first faculty I met at De Anza he was the most influential. After I had made a mess of the first developmental class I ever taught, I sought him out. Without regard to clocks or notes, he went through his entire EWRT 100B course, the rational, the texts, the grading, the students. I took notes and his approach formed the basis of my own—and I used a very rough draft of what became his developmental textbook as the basis for the readings in the 100B classes I taught for some years after. He provided for me a similar intellectual basis for EWRT 1B as well as grading standard that serves as the basis for the grading rubric I use to this day.

His courses weren’t merely a book order and five essays; they were carefully thought-out, and thoroughly designed, and they always managed to be deeply weird in some respect. He loved subverting the traditional English course expectations with unexpected, free-wheeling gestures and activities, and often did so by using provocative material but in a deliberately played-down style ( I still can’t forget the seemingly life-sized reproduction of an erect penis-in-condom he used for a section on analyzing advertising, just as if it were only one more image to deconstruct).

We were involved throughout the years as collaborative colleagues: a summer 100B experiment called the Goldilocks Project (or was it Perplex?), a 1A course involving team teaching and course planning with five instructors, a Honors colloquia that I taught (badly) using his (admittingly fuzzy) course outline/rubrics, a panel discussion of British literature instructors conducted in a shared class of American and British lit students (our version of the canon wars). And of course there were committees, and department meetings, and division retreats, etc. At one division meeting, the discussion of campus concerns descended to the lower depths when one now retired English department member offered an embittered diatribe about the state of the mens’ bathrooms in the “L” quad classroom. He was in full whine when a voice boomed out, “Grow up, Ted!”

I smile to think of that story now, but there weren’t many smiles in the room that day. For as all of us know John Lovas was not universally liked. Both his voice and his reputation preceeded him, and many could not brook his manner—or sacrifice the minutes and hours a conversation with him demanded. He could be ignorant of personal space, and stepped on many toes. But he didn’t break them. In all the years I knew John I never once heard him engage in the kind of backdoor character assassination now so common.

Unafraid of what other people said—or thought—about him, was often his downfall but also a source of pride. We are both the products of Catholic schooling, right down to the Jesuit colleges we both attended,so I think I can understand how the surety and conviction of belief learned there remained with John his entire life.

Certainly his ideas were not always, or even frequently of late, popular, but they were honest, original, and they got you thinking. Yes, they advanced his own position and certainly he could jockey for power with the best of them. I didn’t share all his views, and I can recall quite a few moments of exasperation, irritation or worse because of something he said or did. But I never discounted his ideas and always learned from them.

But I know people had and still have trouble separating the man from the manner. These last few years he seemed to assume a kind of Don Quixote/Ancient Mariner role at De Anza and I’m not sure many were willing anymore to listen patiently to what he had to say, let alone act on it. So he took his message to cyberspace—this cyberspace—and it flourished there.

I heard about John’s illness Friday, June 10th, from John Swensson and it sounded ominous. On Tuesday the week before his death, Luis Limcolioc and I visited John at Kaiser hospital in Redwood City. John was asleep when we arrived and so, since Luis had written a witty and moving parody of a Hopkins poem (Gerard Manley being John's favorite), I went to dash off a few sodden lines just in case. When I came back to the room he was awake and talking to Luis. It took him a few moments to break through the morphine haze and the lack of sleep (he’d been without real sleep for several days at that point). The morphine was great for pain but hell on every other bodily function. But still he talked and we listened, and he gave no indication that he’d been delivered of his own personal memento mori. I left with him what I had written and we each gave him a hug. We left thinking both that we might never see him again and that he wasn’t finished. And he didn’t believe he was—he was still worrying about the classess and students he had left behind on Sunday night two days before his death. De Anza College was his life, right down to the end of it.

Let me just add, how fitting it is that John Lovas died on the longest day of the year, summer solstice 2005, for he loomed far on the horizon. Against that day his death casts a long shadow, but I don’t see a baleful one, instead one watchful, immense and proud.

A Poem for John

weisnerken@... — Thu, 23 Jun 2005 03:15:22 GMT

For John, Final Boarding

What journey is this?
I don't know, John,
but I know you
have faced the world
openly,
inelegantly,
like almost every animal
I admire most.

Sorry, I can't think
of a sophisticated
literary reference,
only a certain
strangeness,
like a poetry walk
without you in it.

Or shall we
shut up?
Not say we love you?
Not say you are laureate
of these green hills?
Not stand here
and be late for whatever's
on the schedule?
Yeah, why not skip
everything,
just huddle together
as the sun moves
into twilight,
talk a little among
ourselves.

That's the ticket,
isn't it, John;
say it: and even
after it dissolves
into song, pure sound,
into phatic
dust,
say it,
and mean it.

something about fathers

hiser@... — Thu, 23 Jun 2005 00:37:05 GMT

As his conference assistant, I traveled to Urbana with John to read proposals and meet all the NCTE people. For a recent comp. grad this trip to "headquarters" was about as exciting as life can get. After the week in Urbana, John drove me up to my parents house in northern illinois, where I spent about 10 days with my parents before I had to return to California to start planning the conference.

I was so glad I made that trip, because two days after I got home, my father died. Suddenly, like this. I went back to the funeral, of course, but when I returned to california there were all these index cards with CCCC panels on them, and they had to be arranged, and coded, and indexed, and put into "threads". John and I had a conference room at De Anza, where we spread out all these cards and walked around and around the tables trying to envision this conference.

It was hot, and sunny, and on these days John hardly talked at all (and you know, he was a big talker). For this whole surreal week I tried to understand how my dad could be dead, and somehow being around John, arranging and rearranging these cards, was just the exactly perfect place to be. Knowing that John had lost a son, and I had lost a parent, made us like a perfect match. I remember sitting on a bench at De Anza, with John, and a blue butterfly kind of spiraled by, and I thought how incredible it was that there were butterflies, but I had no dad. But I did have John, and meaningful work to do, and that was good.

John had more ideas and enthusiasm than anybody I've ever met. He could really talk and talk and talk, so you couldn't get a word in edgewise, but from John, everything he said was so wild and interesting (from a compositionist's perspective anyway) that it was just so enjoyable to me, to just listen, kind of floating along on this river of energy he projected.

John was a mentor to me, as I know he was to many. When I applied for a position at a two-year college in Hawaii, I know he was happy, and I know he influenced my committment and attitude towards teaching in a two-year college. He wrote me a letter of recommendation that I've never read, and I want to go hunt down those words now in my file, like some lost communicative exchange. I want to read every back-issue of his blog. I'm so glad that he used words the way he did, so that there are so many of them around for us to work with.

John understood the significance of the act of composing writing, and honestly, sitting here posting to this website, with tears stinging my eyes and sadness choking my throat, I feel the significance of writing in a way that I know John felt it every day, in every email, blog, article, and student paper comment.

The world shifted for me when my father died, and I can feel that for me, it just shifted again. I'm not sure what it adds up to, but I'm sure it has something to do with teaching comp.

aloha John, Krista