I never took an official course taught by Wayne Booth… but during my years at the U of C, he became one of the most important figures in my life.

I couldn’t get into Mr. Booth’s core humanities course so I started visiting him during office hours. I told him I was entering the Foundations: Issues and Texts program and explained my area of interest. He gave me a list of books I might find interesting, and we continued to meet for discussions as I worked through the list.

He later agreed to serve as the adviser for an independent study of James Joyce’s Ulysses. Word got out and I asked if he’d mind allowing eight other students to join in, basically turning an independent study into an extra class. He laughed and agreed.

Each week the nine of us gathered in a tight circle in his office at the top of the west Harper tower, surrounded by walls of books and a window looking out over the quad. We read aloud from each chapter and Mr. Booth guided our conversations through that great maze of a book.

During our last meeting, Mr. Booth read the final section of Molly’s soliloquy. As he approached the end, his voice began to tremble. I looked up from my text to see Wayne Booth crying as he read.

yes I said yes I will yes

Today, the memory of that moment confirms the deep power of great art and pushes me onward in my own work as a sculptor. In my role as a professor, the dear memories of Wayne Booth’s generosity and his dedication to both the act and art of teaching serve as a model for the sacred relationship between teacher and student.

I am one of thousands of students who have been inspired and deeply touched by this great man. We miss him dearly but know he continues to live in the way we live our lives and the notes we made in the margins of our books.