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Gene's youngest daughter Lynn is my first best friend. Our mothers met at the pool when we were about one or two years old. Jackie and Connie became friends, and so did Lynn and Nannette. I loved play dates at the Melander home in College Heights. Their cute Schnauzer "Duffer" would greet me at the door. Lynn and I would scamper around the house with free reign playing hide-and-seek. The smell of cookies that Jackie baked filled the air along with the sounds of beautiful music coming from Gene's record player. A great lure of the Melander household was the puppet theatre in the basement. We were free to create whole narratives between the puppets. As teenagers, I remember a special dinner at their home with almost-rare roast beef, which was delicious (but perhaps why Lynn became a vegetarian). That evening was pivotal for me because of the free-ranging exchange of ideas. Gene deftly steered the conversation in a philosophical direction, which I found to be stimulating, fascinating, and validating. My obligatory "thank you for having me" at the door that night was different because my heart filled with gratitude toward Gene. He had made me feel that my opinions were worth hearing. It was a tremendous gift. Together with Jackie, Gene always seemed to me like the quiet, strong, thoughtful center of the Melander household. I'm sorry I didn't know him better, but the Farrells send their love & comfort to all of you.
I didn't know Gene well at all, but about a decade ago, as a novice member of Lit Club, I found myself sitting next to him at dinner. I shared one thing that we had in common--daughter Jodie, who I remembered to him as one of my favorite Penn State student of all time. Gene listened as I explained my regard for her and queried me about it, and it was apparent from the interaction that he dearly loved his wonderful family. That's how I'll always think of him. (And you remain one of my all-time favorites, Jodie! So sorry that you lost your dad!)
To me, Gene was the ultimate lifelong learner. Years ago I discovered that he and Jackie knew and appreciated contemporary poetry, a passion I share.
One day Gene turned up at my house and presented me with an elegant canvas bag bearing The New Yorker logo. It was so heavy I could barely lift it because it was full to the top with poetry collections by W.S. Merwin, Jane Hirshfield, Louise Gluck, John Ashberry, and most of all, Mary Oliver.
Just like Gene, he'd included books about poetry including The Poetry of Everyday Life: Story Telling and the Art of Awareness; Ten Windows: How Great Poems Transform the World, and How to Read a Poem and Fall in Love with Poetry.
Some were new to me; some were signed.
Such a priceless gift and a perfect expression of Gene's generosity and his impulse to share what he learned and valued.
Each time I dip into these books I will think of Gene with love and admiration.
One of many things I loved about Gene was his insatiable curiosity. He seemed to have an interest in everything and everyone. And he was eager to share what he knew and learn what he didn’t. Gene was a delightful conversationalist. He always had something to add, but he was also a thoughtful listener who could ask a probing question or two that could make you look at something with fresh eyes. It wasn’t unusual at lit club for Gene to start a conversation in some rarefied realm of philosophy and end it in a mildly bawdy joke or a groaner of a pun. The last joke I can remember him telling me went like this:
Descartes walks into a bar and orders a drink. He belts it down quickly. The bartender says, “Would you like another?” Descartes says, “I think not.” And disappears.
Because of his wide range of interests and expertise, I once asked Gene if he considered himself a Renaissance Man. He replied, “No, my dear, I am very much a work in progress.” He truly was the epitome of a life-long learner. Which is why it’s so fitting that he had just recently taken up cello. With his penchant for bad puns, I can almost hear him explaining his new hobby: “There’s always room for Cello.” I will miss his quick wit, ready smile, and gentle spirit.
I will never forget how Gene invited me to give a talk at the Lit Club. Only after I had done it, did he tell me that no woman had ever done that before!!
He was full of new ideas and loved earnest discussions about theatre and art as well as philosophy and education. He was rightly proud of his amazing family and my heart goes out to them in their loss.
Gene and I worked in adjacent offices in Old Main. He was a wonderful colleague, generous mentor, and a valued friend. I learned a lot from him about Penn State and about higher education -- but more than anything, about being a decent person.
I have so many fond memories of Gene. For example: Years ago, we were deep into a difficult and contentious meeting in Old Main. One committee member in particular had been getting carried away and was being especially argumentative. Many of us in the room had had enough., including Gene. But rather than further ramping things up, Gene waited for a pause, then quietly said something like, "Oh, now we're just being silly" -- no doubt followed by some lengthy and intellectual philosophical disquisition. But what I remember is the "we're being silly" idea. Anyhow, because Gene didn't necessarily try to win an argument, he was often a calm and thoughtful voice of reason.
Maybe it was due in part to his Midwestern roots, but Gene had a humble vibe that I, and many others, respected so much. He was a terrific guy and a person of integrity and compassion. I'm so grateful to have had the chance to know him.
Gene was a mentor to me as a young professional and doctoral student, teaching me so much about the wonders of Penn State and the world of higher education. We both had offices on the 4th floor of Old Main and many conversations started in the men's room and continued down the hallway for many minutes. Gene was a great listener, and he would always probe with questions and offer insights until there was better understanding. That was his gift -- and he shared his wisdom and grace so freely with others. Through the years, he provided great leadership to many projects at Penn State. And I remember he would end every meeting by saying "thanks for sharing," a phrase I adopted as well and use to this day in my teaching. Well, thanks for sharing, Gene, and thanks to his wonderful family for sharing him with all of us.
Always with a kind word for everyone he encountered, Gene had a positive and lasting impact the lives of many of us. He was a significant asset to both town and gown communities.
I only had the pleasure of meeting Gene once. Leigh's Imaginal Institute put on a conference in Ojai, and Leigh's parents came out and fed us all weekend. Her dad also participated in a panel discussion about finding our places in the academic world. This kind and wonderful man fed us all both physically and mentally. He was a kind and gentle soul, and I know that his family keenly feels his loss.
Every time I had a conversation with Gene, I was educated and stimulated. I will miss those conversations. I am sure I am not the only one.
I learned of Gene only a very short time ago, and it was through that very image above: Leigh's father befriending the cello. To say I was struck by his forging this relationship with an instrument so stirring, so generous, so loving and reflective is an understatement. It seems as though he might very well have met a reflection of himself. I remember thinking Leigh and her family had been blessed to have enjoyed a father such as Gene for so long. For surely that in itself must be a testament to such a clear and resounding musical note that is Gene and his family. My most sincere condolences to all who loved him.
I met Gene through lit club about 10 years ago. It was a pleasure to see him at our monthly event. He always had a good question about a paper and a word of encouragement. However, what I remember most was his true interest in all of us as individuals. It was a great pleasure to know Gene. There are few people one meets in life like him and I will carry his memory with me.
David