In the wake of his death, his students remember him. Here are some of their comments.
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He took great pleasure in making sure we understood all the possible innuendoes present in “Canterbury Tales,” shared with us the fact that he always identified with King Lear, and that Percy Shelley made no worthwhile contributions to English literature. There was always delight in his voice when he would tell the story of how he went to a staff meeting in 1987, didn’t like it, and hadn’t been back since …
He was profoundly influential in my academic life at LU. Specifically in his Satire class, where he taught me how to incorporate my subversive self into my understanding of what it is to be “academic.” I’ve always wanted to write him to let him know how meaningful his classes and views on literature were to me, so I guess now will have to do.
In the last three years, I was lucky enough to hear many of his memories and make my own with him, ranging from escaping an evening bat attack in Main Hall together to riding back from 2009’s senior dinner in his car, trapped under an umbrella. However, these were the most thrilling adventures; most of my favorite memories of Professor Goldgar take place in his office, on worn-in chairs with a thermos of coffee, where we talked about our mutual hatred of Octoberfest and old people… One of my favorite exchanges took place one one particular night when I stopped in to say hi on my way back from the YMCA. I updated him on life and told him about a recent incident in which I’d been caught stealing a cookie off a full, pristine recital table outside Harper Hall. “Why would you feel bad about that, Nicole?” he asked incredulously. “If I see a cookie, I take the cookie. If it’s on a table, on a friend’s plate, I don’t care – I take the cookie.” I love telling this story and thinking about the solemn look in his eyes as he told me to “take the cookie,” which I suppose is tantamount to”follow your dreams” in the world of Goldgar. I consider myself lucky to have known Professor Goldgar, who gave his all to me from the time I first met him three years ago until the very end. He always treated me first and foremost as a friend, rather than merely a student and for this I will always be grateful.
I can’t sum up BG of course, but if I were to try, I’d say he was a lovely curmudgeon who was fiercely dedicated to his students and took absolute joy in being hilariously naughty while also imparting great truths… BG was lovingly sarcastic, right to the end. I visited him a few weeks before he passed away and gave him a card expressing how much he meant to me. He read it, and looked up with tears and love in his eyes, and said, “Laura, you’re such a damn sap.”
[A]lthough he has a well-earned reputation as a purveyor of caustic wit and curmudgeonly satire, the moment I will remember most from his classes is his reading of the final stanzas of Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” in a lilting cadence with the famous drawl now turned to serious and transparent purpose, making Eve’s words to Adam on the threshold of Eden come alive – I still cannot hear those lines in any other voice than Bert’s. So he lives on.
[H]e had a way of criticism, which made the receiver almost proud to have gotten his attention. Once he came to class carrying a poster, which he read aloud to us: “Avoid jokes that target people or groups of people.” He read this with a deadpan glare, daring the class to come up with a joke that meant something without targeting people or a group of people. With his wit, his critical ear, and his high standards, Professor Goldgar reminded everyone to take learning seriously and to take loving it seriously, too.
October 24th, 2009 at 8:39AM
link well worth pursuing:
E.g., Bertisms:
"We’ve got a lot to do today, so let’s get started. [Pause.] I think I’ll start with some jokes, though."
"Why, of course you may write your paper on Kurt Vonnegut’s ‘Slaughterhouse-Five’! I will read it, and I will puke all over it as I do so."
"This is a good paper, but not as good as it thinks it is."
"I knew I could count on you because you all had childhoods and I never did. [Pause.] I sprang full-grown. [Pause.] From the head of Satan."
"He cites one of the best possible sources on Swift, ahem."
"Life is too short to read John Fowles."
"As Rik Warch stated in Sunday’s newspaper, Lawrence is no longer going to dispense knowledge in the classroom, so there’ll be no more lectures here. Instead, we’ll put on some music, hold hands, and just hold the poems up to our foreheads."
October 24th, 2009 at 8:55AM
Thanks so much for posting this! Bert was a wonderful colleague and good friend for many of us at LU. His death has hit us very hard.
Peter Blitstein
Department of History
Lawrence University
October 24th, 2009 at 9:20AM
Dear Peter: My pleasure. Wish I’d known him. Our profession makes fewer and fewer like him, sadly.
UD
January 15th, 2010 at 6:50PM
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