Joseph F. Clark, Ph.D.

While skateboarding was good transportation and exercise, it was not a regular exercise regimen. So I decided that I needed more exercise. I had done some karate in high school and was impressed by some friends who were very good at it, so I took up karate again. There was a large selection of karate classes available at Michigan State University and I looked into a couple of the clubs that offered classes and decided on one of them. I went with a Shotokhan Karate class that focused on conditioning and sparring. Classes were three times a week and well attended by a wide range of people with varying skills. I soon realized that I was not in as terrible shape as I had feared and that I was still quite flexible from my high school karate class. The skateboarding must have helped maintain some physical conditioning, too. I could make class after doing research and on my way home in the evening.

Within karate they teach organized forms called Katas. Katas are a choreographed series of blocks and blows that help people practice punches, kicks and defensive moves. There are many katas and some are done fast and some slow, so they can also help with conditioning. I remembered a lot of the karate katas from high school, so I moved up the ranks quickly. The karate ranks are designated by different colored belts. A white belt is the first rank and black belt is the highest. Between white belt and black belt there are different colored belts: yellow, orange, blue, green, purple and brown.

A black belt can also have stripes, kind of like sergeant stripes to designate higher degrees of black belt. There are ten degrees of black belts.

To get promoted a person must test on certain skills. Generally the skills are: karate knowledge, katas, general skills and sparring. Sparring can be like a controlled boxing match or can be structured with just one punch and one defense. Sometimes both methods are tested for a karate promotion. I moved up the ranks quickly and felt good about the skills I was learning as I got in better physical condition. Every year the university had a karate tournament to demonstrate skills and pit martial artist against martial artist. There were multiple competitions including katas, katas with weapons and demonstrations like breaking boards and cement blocks. I decided to participate the sparring competitions only, in a non-black belt category. This gave me an incentive to keep up the training and something to work for. The sparring rules were very strict—you were trying to obtain points and not to hit, hurt or knock someone out. It was definitely a test of skills and not killer instincts. Ann was concerned at first that I might get hurt, but she was soon convinced that it was quite safe as well as a good diversion and good exercise.

I trained for several months in my limited spare time to prepare for the tournament. It got very busy in the lab just as the tournament was coming around, so effective training became difficult. I had little time to meet and train with sparring partners, which is very important for sparring competitions. But I did the best I could to get ready.

In this type of martial arts sparring there are basically two types of fighters. There are the street fighters who throw lots of punches and kicks. This can be effective in a single fight, but on a tournament day the participants can be expected to have 5 to 10 sparring matches. The street fighting technique will make someone very tired after a few matches and the other competitors will see this technique and be ready to defend against it. The defense is to let the person get tired and strike when they try to take a break from their barrage, which by now is usually not too effective. The other type of fighters are the tacticians, who conserve energy and pick and choose their moves to maximize points. These sparring matches are won on points from punches and kicks.

I was more of a tactician fighter. I thought about my moves like a chess player and tended to want the other person to make a move and then I would try to force them into a mistake, where I could score points. There were no knockouts and no knockdowns. The tournament really had little in the way of injury because the scoring was on points. You could get points even if you do not hit someone. So a punch to the head that does not connect but could have is a point. A punch to the head that hits someone can be a disqualification, especially if the person was not looking. This was a rule because if you did a kick and got turned around, it was forbidden to hit someone in the back of the head.

Chapter 18. The Lighter Side of Being a Graduate Student

In nice weather, as noted earlier, I would often skateboard to and from the university. Ann drove to work, so sometimes I would get a ride with her and carry my skateboard as a means of local transportation. It was good exercise, and since leaving athletic training I had not done as much exercise as I probably should. I was very fond of my board and felt entirely comfortable as a skateboarder commuter. Not only would I carry my research materials to and from home, I would go shopping and pick up groceries to skateboard home with bags in each hand. It was actually easier if there were two bags, to keep me balanced.

I would often load valuable chemicals and other materials in my backpack and skateboard between labs. If that was the only way I had to transport stuff, why not, I would say. Dr. Dillon didn’t seem to mind. I had teaching assignments with the Department of Physiology and one day I skateboarded into class, set my stuff on a chair in the front row, and started writing on the board. There were some students in the room waiting for me as the guest lecturer and one of them advised me that they were about to start class and the instructor would be arriving soon.

“I am the instructor,” I informed him.

The students looked surprised and I suddenly realized that it must be pretty unusual for instructors and even graduate assistants to arrive at class on a skateboard. They were comfortable with students on skateboards and in line skates, but apparently not the teacher. I just shrugged, smiled to myself and got back to putting the notes on the board. The class went smoothly, and at the end a couple of guys asked me about my board, I told them I got it in New York. They recommended a local shop to make custom boards or to trick out mine. I thanked them, but I was happy with it just the way it was.

I slept in one Saturday morning and Ann was gone. I couldn’t remember what her schedule was this weekend, but I needed to head in to the university. I couldn’t find my skateboard. I looked through the whole apartment and Ellie helped too, but still no skateboard. It had to be here somewhere, but it wasn’t. I was upset about it, but I needed to get to work. Could Ann have it, I wondered? It wasn’t at work, either, although I had been pretty sure it wouldn’t be. I tried to call Ann, to see if she knew something, but couldn’t get through to her.

The research work I did that morning was adequate, but I was very distracted by the disappearance of my skateboard. When I finally caught up with Ann, she said that I had left my skateboard in her car. That was impossible. She insisted that was the case, and got kind of upset with me. I was glad to see my skateboard, but confused because one of us was losing our mind.

A few days later, I learned the truth. Ann and borrowed my board as a prop. My birthday was coming up soon, and she had some provocative photos of herself taken, at a professional photography studio, some with my skateboard as a prop to personalize them. I hasten to add that she was always clothed in the photos, although playfully. She gave me the photos and some contact prints to get more before my birthday because she wanted to come clean about the skateboard as soon as possible. I appreciated all of her trouble and loved the photos. The skateboard was a nice touch, but she was without a doubt the centerpiece of this surprise birthday gift.

“Great, I can’t wait to tell everyone that you had studio photos taken of the ‘board for my birthday.” I said jokingly.

“I was thinking about having the guy take some shots just the board alone for you, but I was afraid I might get jealous. So you have to suffer with me in all the pictures,” she responded teasingly.

We laughed and enjoyed a quiet evening at home.

Renee and I continued to communicate via Fax and email to get my grant materials written and keep the postdoc planning going. We rarely needed to talk on the phone, so I was surprised to receive a call from France while at work in the lab one day. The caller identified himself as Guy Vassort and he was Renee’s Unit director. He informed me that Renee’s oldest son had died. A motorcycle hit him as he was crossing the street. Obviously Renee would be taking a significant amount of time off and he or she would be in touch with me if and when the plans for my postdoc with her changed.

Renee had told me a fair amount about her kids as well as her husband, and I was profoundly saddened for her and her family. A twelve-year-old just should not die. It was now about 5 months before I was to leave for France, so I wasn’t worried about my job with her, but I really felt for their loss. I felt an overwhelming need to do something. But what could or should I do? I asked my French teacher, Flavie Laurant, what was traditional as far as expressions of sympathy in France and she suggested a handwritten card, on blank parchment paper using a quality ink pen. She said that a personal note was much more important than a purchased card.

So I purchased some fine card stock and a pen that would write well on parchment and drafted several letters, in English. I showed them to Flavie and she said they were all nice, but did not have a favorite. I sent the card to Renee at her work address, the only address I had for her.

Meanwhile, I increased my efforts to find a postdoctoral position after France and advised those potential bosses of the situation with Renee. Many of them were able to be flexible such that I could start after the postdoc was finished, assuming Renee would still welcome me, or arrange for me to start earlier if things fell through with Renee. Most people were extremely accommodating with these extenuating circumstances. I was assured of some opportunities in nearby Michigan if that were to be necessary.

Ann too felt deeply about the loss of such a young life. We talked about the possibility of having to stay in Lansing, or elsewhere in the USA. Although the idea of moving to France was intimidating to her, she knew how much it meant to me. We decided to let providence take the lead and to give Renee time to get past this tragedy. Whatever small inconvenience this might cause us, it was miniscule compared to its effects on Renee’s family.

About this time a good friend from Susquehanna University, Tom Banks, invited me, and guest (AKA Ann) to his wedding. I knew his future wife, Celeste, albeit not well. I was not going to be in the wedding party, just a guest with a date, but I felt it was important to go and planned to bring my photo album with some pictures from those days with me (to share some old memories and scandalous stories with Tom’s bride). Tom was always a ladies’ man in college, so we had lots of stories to tell about him.

On the Friday morning before the weekend of the wedding, I met with an enzyme expert to discuss how I analyzed some of my data. She was quite concerned about my choice of mathematical algorithms because there were three or four different ways that the analysis could be done. This was a subject I knew well and I explained that I was using what I thought was the most commonly used method. She strongly encouraged if not admonished me to repeat the analysis of all my data using a minimum of three different methods. She would be away for two weeks starting next Tuesday, so the only time she would have time to review my work would be Monday morning. What she was saying took me by surprise. I would have to work on the lab computers all weekend to get the information she wanted by Monday. Otherwise I would end up dangerously behind my schedule for my thesis submission. I had to make a difficult decision but there was really no choice. I cancelled the trip to the wedding and got to work.

Unfortunately when I called Tom to advise him of this, he was not in and his answering machine was full. I kept trying to get a message to him, but also had to make sure my Ph.D. project was going to get done. Ann was disappointed, but she understood how myopic and focused I was, as many graduate students are when it comes to our degrees. The degree and the work towards that degree become all-encompassing.

Ann was incredibly supportive in this sudden emergency and offered to help if she could. She and I spent much of the weekend in the lab on two different computers. I was analyzing data and she was working on the format of my thesis. I was so conflicted about missing the wedding for my thesis, I never did reach Tom, or write to him afterward, to explain why we missed his wedding. At our college reunion several years later, I apologized and finally explained it to him. He was gracious as always when accepting my apology.

I finished analyzing the data late Sunday evening. Ann had gone home and I looked at it disbelievingly. Hours of work, letting down a good friend and incalculable personal turmoil had produced a result. The new math didn’t change my thesis results to any significant extent. It only reinforced my original data and interpretations. It was ironic that I missed Tom’s wedding for the sake of my thesis, yet my thesis was not changed by that work.

As I have since learned, hiccups always occur when doing research and/or writing a thesis. Making those corrections seemed so important to me then, and what I remember now is I missed a friend’s wedding. I am not attempting to judge whether skipping the wedding was a good or bad decision. I made the decision based on the priorities and time I had at that time. Obtaining a Ph.D. is full of personal sacrifices, and missing Tom’s wedding was one that I had to make.

Because those extra calculations were so personally costly to me, I included them in my Ph.D. thesis even though they were redundant. I explained in my thesis that the extra calculations were done in an abundance of caution to enhance confidence in the numbers I was reporting. I also added a couple of figures based on those calculations, and those figures, too, were somewhat superfluous. But every time I open my Ph.D. thesis and see that additional data, I remember and regret the wedding I missed.

Kathy’s wedding itself was a great day. I took lots of photos and did a great job as fourth best man; if I say so myself. During the service, after saying their vows Pete and Kathy had their backs to the crowd. I caught Kathy’s eye for a second and smiled, she smiled back and gave me a confident thumbs up. I suppressed a laugh. It was a private moment between us that no one else saw. The wedding party filed out and greeted people as they left the church. We then had to go take the wedding party photos. I brought my camera and Ann went to the reception to wait for us. I took some photos when I could and asked one of the bridesmaids to take photos when I was being posed. I got some nice photos of Mom and Dad too as well as the grandparents.

I sat at the head table but visited Ann, who was sitting with some of my cousins, several times. She said she got here before almost anyone else, but that there were employees of the hotel catering service preparing the food and setting up the tables, so she had nothing to do. I laughed politely, having half expected her to say something like that. Ann had also checked into the hotel where the reception was and brought my overnight bag to get changed into casual clothes. I took her picture sitting next to my cousin Rick and continued to circulate.

Ann and I danced many times during the reception and as the evening wore on I took a whole bunch of photos including black and white photos and did some catching up with a lot of my relatives. Ann was introduced to all sorts of people, friends and relatives, and had a chance to ask them about my prom experiences. I think she had finally started to believe that I did indeed attend 22 proms. Actually one of the proms I attended was in this very hotel banquet room. I opted out of telling Ann that factoid.

At the wedding I was talking to my Aunt Linda, my father’s youngest sister. She told me that her oldest son Chris was going to spend a year in Paris during his junior year in college. He was leaving in a few weeks. This was a big coincidence because I was leaving for Paris in a few months, and our time there would overlap for several months. Chris was at the wedding dancing with a group of other guests as Aunt Linda was telling me this. I needed to talk to him to make sure we could connect in France. Chris was an Architecture Major and would be studying French architecture, which is a great thing to be studying in Paris. With several thousand years of civilization in Paris going back to the days of the Roman Empire, it is an architect’s dream to study there for a year. Chris was a couple of years younger than me and we hadn’t had much opportunity to socialize over the years, but he was family and a genuinely nice guy.

When I caught up with Chris I told him that I was going to be in Paris at the same time he would be there. He was surprised and we talked about our agendas there. He would be staying in south central Paris with a large cadre of other college students studying there, and I would be going to work on a train line near where he was going to be. We agreed to exchange contact information and I would hook up with him once I got there. Aunt Linda and her husband Uncle Garry were happy that a relative would be nearby for Chris during his school year away, and I was happy to know someone in Paris besides Renee.

After the reception a bunch of us ended up in Kathy’s room. How a group of reception guests and family ended up in the bride and groom’s room on their wedding night is hard to say, but it happened. We raided their mini bar and tried to have a post-reception reception for them. That idea did not really have legs and we eventually everyone made their way back to their own rooms. Ann and I slept soundly that night. By my reckoning, if Ann could manage meeting all my family members and hearing all those tawdry stories of my younger days, we were made for each other. None of the stories of ex-girlfriends or multiple proms seemed to faze her, which they shouldn’t and they didn’t. This was like a rite of passage in my mind because if there had been gaps in my history, Ann now had them filled in. Our relationship had taken a big next step.

Anyway the conversation kind of slowed down after our reminiscing about Ward, so the guys gave Ann a big hug before we left, we were asked to give their regards to Pete and Kathy for their wedding and we finished our errands.

When we returned to the homestead things had only settled down a little. Some of the throng had dispersed to prepare for the rehearsal. Ann and I dropped off our packages and drove back to Jim’s. We had a little more than an hour to get to the rehearsal. Ann and I took turns showering. Ann showered first and I was ready first. Jim got back to the house when Ann was “almost” ready. Jim was ready to go in about 2 minutes after throwing on some clean-ish clothes. Jim and I waited for Ann to finish getting ready, then the three of us went in Jim’s car. Jim was the designated driver, so Ann and I could have something to drink at the rehearsal dinner. Jim prided himself on never drinking. Well, almost never. He had two shots of vodka once on a bet. He won the bet and never drank again. Jim was squeaky clean when it came to drugs, alcohol and even caffeine. I don’t know if it made him a good cop, but it made him a great designated driver.

The rehearsal was uneventful. We learned where we would be standing and what to do and say. I was not doing any readings or the like during the ceremony so it was a low-stress thing for me. Mom was stressed about her duties and Dad said he was going to be following Kathy down the aisle when the music played.

Dinner was nice. We went to an Italian place that served great wine. Ann and I drank most of a bottle of a California red between just us two. We sat with my brother, his girlfriend and one of Pete’s brothers. My brother Jim was regaling us with funny cop stories and we were all laughing hysterically.

“How can a sober guy be so funny?” Pete’s brother blurted out during a brief lull in the antics and we all started laughing again.

Jim is exceptionally funny. I think he likes to entertain people who have been drinking. My personal theory is that he is trying to see if anyone will spill their drink on themselves because of his jokes. Or maybe have the drink go up their nose while laughing. Ann seemed to enjoy it all. She asked my brother if he knew anything about my “prom” reputation. Well, yes, he did, and he related a story to us about a prom that the two of us went to.

“Joe was going to one of his proms.” Jim said, “He was all dressed up in that dark blue tux of his and heads out from the homestead to pick up the guy who was going on the double date with him and his girlfriend Cyndi. A short while later he comes back and I am on the phone with a girl I am flirting with. Remember this is high school, so the phone is key to early dating interactions between a girl and a boy. Anyway, as she is talking about some soap opera at school, Joe informs me that the other guy cancelled at the last minute and that it was a blind date anyway with a friend of Cyndi’s named Jane. A blind date to the prom, folks; if you can imagine that. He begs me to be the second on this double date, blind date with Jane, to the prom. So I ask Laura on the phone if she wants to go out tonight, she says no, and I say ‘OK, goodbye,’ and hang up. I tell Joe ‘I guess I’m going to a prom,’ and head upstairs to change. I get changed in record time and pile in Joe’s car. I do not have a tuxedo like my brother does, but if you wear a black suit, bow tie and a tuxedo shirt, it passes for a tux. Joe the fashion plate taught me that and he had spare tuxedo shirts. Anyway we get to his date’s first. Joe had called and told Cyndi about the switch and got an OK from everyone on it. Joe had picked up the corsages on the way over, so Joe and Cyndi are exchanging flowers now and her mom’s taking pictures. The dad comes in and says, ‘Jane’s parents just called— they’re trying to get your date out of a tree,’ as he looks right at me.

I don’t know this guy and am mortified. Cyndi’s mom admonishes Dad and he keeps a straight face and nods, yes it’s true, he seems to say. We get to Jane’s house and there are her Mom and Dad at the door looking at me. Me, I’m looking in the trees and carrying a box with a corsage in it. Cyndi greets the parents, asks about Jane, and is told she is upstairs still getting ready. Cyndi goes upstairs quickly, trying to look like she is not too worried or concerned. I’m beginning to get a bad feeling about this. All I want to do is kill Joe and get out of there because by now I am sure there is something majorly wrong with this girl. After what seems like an eternity, Cyndi and Jane come downstairs. Now I don’t want to say Jane was ugly, she did have a nice body, and have a nice dress on, but there was something about her face. She had a more or less normal face but something was wrong with it. She had a ton of makeup on, so I figured she might have had acne. As she proceeded down the steps the amount of makeup became real obvious. When she got right next to me, I noticed she also had a huge cold sore on her lip. Apparently this poor girl was painfully shy and never went out. And when she got stressed, like for exams or PROMS, she would get cold sores around her face and mouth. So she was not popular with the local guys. She was kind of cute and very sweet, but it was hard to get her to say anything. We exchanged dead plants, I mean corsages, had our pictures taken by the parents and went to the prom.

All night long I tried to get Jane to string two syllables together, and the closest I got was ‘uh huh’ for yes. Well I think it was yes. We danced a bit, but she eventually just shook her head if I asked her to dance. Now, I can understand that. I am an embarrassing dancer. You’ll see that tomorrow at the wedding. Cyndi danced with me a couple times, but it was a long night. At the end of the evening Jane seemed genuinely happy to say goodbye and insisted that she had a great time. What? Great time? What did she mean by ‘great time’ except great time saying goodbye?

Thanks, Joe.”

The rest of the rehearsal dinner was enjoyable. At home that evening I half expected Ann to ask about Cyndi, but she didn’t. Nor did I volunteer anything.

The four of us reminisced for a while, while Ann learned many of my secrets. One of the stories that came up was how my deli and ambulance lives kind of collided one day. I lived closer to the deli than the owners and would often open the deli on weekend mornings. I was in high school then, only 17 years old, and so I really couldn’t open it before school. One Sunday morning I was opening the deli and Ward Taylor (real name, now deceased) was hovering in the alley nearby as I walked up to the locked door with key in hand. Ward was a regular customer of the deli, someone we often joked with and a very congenial guy. He did have a bit of a rough exterior and was a very active member of a local biker gang, but at heart he seemed to be a kind soul who just wanted to fit in and have a good laugh. He was not laughing now—he looked like he was in distress as he came out of the shadows of the alley. His face and the front of his white t-shirt were bloody and battered. I went to him and asked if he was all right.

“Can we go inside?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, and he followed me in. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” I asked.

“No, no hospital, no police. I got in a bar fight and the police may not be too friendly right now. I just want some first aid supplies.”

“Listen, we don’t have the greatest first aid supplies here, but I have a great first aid kit in my car. Stay here, and I’ll go get it.”

I was pretty sure Ward knew this and knew that I was trying to get a job on the ambulance and that I would be willing to help him as needed. The first aid kit in my car was like that found on many ambulances. My mother was on the local volunteer ambulance, and I wanted to join them, but they did not allow members under the age of 18. Mom was trying to change that rule, but I had taken all the first aid courses I needed to join as soon as I was 18. Anyway, I had the supplies to help Ward.

With the first aid kit at my side, I looked closely at Ward’s face and injuries. He had cuts on his hands consistent with punching someone in the mouth. Sometimes these were called fight-bite-marks. He also had a broken finger and several cuts on his head, face and ears. Some of them needed stitches, but nothing too life threatening. I started to clean the blood off of his face and he said he didn’t care about the blood, he just wanted the wounds tended to. I told him that the blood could foster infection or make the bandaging not stick, so it was important to clean the blood off first. I also reminded him that if he got an infection he would need antibiotics and that meant a visit to a doctor. I could disinfect the wounds and minimize the risk of infection. He begrudgingly agreed. So, I cleaned him up, splinted his finger and put steristrips on the cuts on his face. Steristrips are like a combination of sutures and Band-Aids to hold skin together. I told him it would be best to get stitches or he would have scars from the cuts. He said scars were badges of honor. I wanted to ask him about the fight, but I resisted the temptation. The less I knew the better.

I finished bandaging and cleaning him up and gave him some supplies to change the bandages when needed. He nodded and said thanks, and then kind of shocked me.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said, unable to hide my surprise. “Remember, I’m in training to get on the ambulance, so this is good practice.”

Ward smiled, although it was painful for him to smile, said thanks, and left. I cleaned up the first aid debris, made a mental note to restock my first aid kit, washed my hands thoroughly and got back to work. I checked my watch and realized how little time it had taken to tend to Ward.

I checked the police blotter later and found two stories that might have involved Ward. Two different fights/disturbances that involved the police, but fortunately no details. I was glad. I didn’t really want to know if Ward had done something really bad; I preferred to think of him as a guy always willing to share a laugh.

Ward was killed in a car accident less than a year later. I had started working on the ambulance by then and was the one who checked for and confirmed no vital signs. We transported him to the hospital and immediately after the call I went to the deli to confide and decompress with the guys there. Since this was one of the nerve centers of the town, they had already heard that Ward was dead before I returned from the call.

My first after-school job was in the Katonah Deli and it is where I learned to do catering and a lot of cooking. The owners were John and Manny, and they had several regular employees that I always enjoyed seeing. They were usually there and if I hung out in the deli long enough, I would always see others I knew. It was an easy way to catch up on the local gossip.

When Ann and I walked into the Deli I could see Manny and Richie in the back, and John in the front helping some customers. Despite the customers John yelled “hey” and called Manny and Richie.

“Joe!” Richie exclaimed as he rounded the corner of the counter. We hugged and then I hugged Manny too.

I introduced Ann to Manny and Richie, and then John came up and gave me a big hug too. As I was hugging John and saying hello, Manny and Richie had already started teasing Ann about being “stuck” with me.

“What do you see in this guy?” they were asking.

Ann was nonplussed. I had forgotten to brief her on their sense of humor.

“If you need any secrets or blackmail, on Joe, let us know—we have it all,” Richie said.

“Oh, NO!” I exclaimed. I tried to change the subject. “Did you know that Kathy is getting married tomorrow?”

“Yeah, to Pete Fullerton.” “He comes in all the time. We knew about the engagement the day before he gave her the ring.”

The guys in the deli knew everything that happened in town even before it happened.

We had a great visit and Ann warmed up to their jocular style. We hung out in the back of the deli and took turns tending to customers as they came and went. On occasion someone I knew would come in and we’d catch up. When introduced to Ann, almost to the person they would have a teasing remark like, “You must be crazy to hang out with him!”

Ann caught on quickly and soon had several comebacks, including: “I do charity work” and “He reminds me of a lost puppy.”

Manny stood next to me, put his arm affectionately around me and said, “Joe the kid. Still a lucky guy with the ladies.”

My eyes widened as I stared at him, imploring him to not say anything more or bring up any long-lost secrets.

“Did he ever tell you about the proms?” Manny asked Ann.

“No,” Ann responded timidly.

“Joe, here, went to more proms than anyone else – ever.”

“What?”

“Yep, what was it—20 proms?” Manny asked looking at me as the embarrassment of the situation started to take hold.

“22,” was all I could choke out.

“You went to 22 proms?” Ann asked.

“Yeah, well I had a van, I don’t drink and drive, I was an ambulance guy and safety conscious; parents liked me because I was a safe date.”

“It was not the parents who asked you out, was it?” asked John. John once told me he lived vicariously through the exploits of the younger employees in the deli.

I was mortified but at the same time kind of proud to show off to Ann because this subject had never come up.

“I was invited to my first prom as a Freshman in high school. It was a Junior prom. The next year, I had a car and was invited to several at John Jay as well as two neighboring high schools. My junior and senior years I was going to proms at numerous schools, driving hordes of students to proms. I had purchased a tuxedo by this time, so it was cost effective too.”

Ann just stared at me and the guys started to bring up details of certain dates: they had met every single one. They always seem to remember the girl who “wore a towel” to the prom.

“It was a terrycloth dress.”

“It was no wider than any of the towels I have at home, and went from here to here.” John gestured with his hands between his chest and upper thigh.

“That was the style then,” I said.

“We want to see that style again!” the three of them said in unison.

 Chapter 17. Two More Weddings and a Tragic Death

My sister Kathy was getting married to Pete, her longtime boyfriend, and both my brother and I would be in the wedding party. I would be “fourth best man” or “second to worst man” in the 6-man party (including the groom and 5 groomsmen). Ann was invited to the rehearsal dinner and the wedding as well, and we would be sitting with my cousins for the reception. We flew back to New York a few days ahead to get ready for everything. My sister had lost a lot of weight due to the stress of planning for the wedding and was having her wedding dress taken in again when we arrived. Pete, my future brother in law, picked us up. Pete looked tired and as if he had been through the wringer. I asked him if he felt ok.

“Weddings are bad for your health,” he said when Ann was in the restroom.

Taking his cue, I continued with, “Engagements and weddings are a three-ring circus you know. There is the enCAGEment ring, the wedding ring and the suffeRING.”

Pete laughed and said, “Don’t tell your sister that joke.”

“Deal, if you don’t tell Ann.”

We were giggling like kids when Ann got back.

Pete said he would be taking us to my brother Jim’s house directly. I had thought we would go to my parent’s house first, but he informed us that things were way too hectic at “the homestead” as he called it. Mom and Dad were not getting along, Kathy was being a frantic bride, the caterers were messing up the orders, and the seamstress was pulling her hair out over all of the last-minute changes. No one seemed to know what needed to be done next. Jim’s house was the perfect place to go.

Jim was home asleep even though it was 3:00 in the afternoon. Jim was a cop and had worked the night before. But, Pete and I had permission to wake him up, which we did gently. Jim had guns in the house and you didn’t want him thinking you were an intruder. He had also completely light-proofed his bedroom, so that in the brightest day no sunlight entered. Jim had two dogs. “Thunder” and “Lightning” were brother and sister Rottweilers and very friendly. Lightning was not too bright, Jim had often said, and Thunder was very gentle and quite playful. The dogs were happy to have guests and made a lot of noise that woke up Jim.

After the usual introductions, Pete went back to the homestead and Jim briefed Ann and I on the details of the wedding schedule. The rehearsal and rehearsal dinner were tonight and we were all invited. We also all had rooms at the hotel and reception center so no one needed to be driving home. Mom and Dad had pre-paid for all the immediate family members, which was quite nice of them.

Ann and I got cleaned up, changed and headed to the homestead with Jim. There were a ton of people at the house, since members of both families, friends, wedding party people and neighbors had all converged on it. After we kissed and said hello, Dad gave me the keys to his van to use if I needed wheels. Mom looked harried, kissed Ann and me, and started to rattle off a list of foods and treats in the ‘fridge.

Ann and I helped ourselves to some goodies and started to get caught up in the fray of last-minute wedding preparations. When it was announced that someone was needed to go pick up some accessories for the wedding, I volunteered Ann and I. I grabbed her hand and we scurried out of the bustling kitchen and headed downtown. I was raised in Katonah, New York, and had had little opportunity to go back and catch up with people, so an errand downtown was very welcome. Before running the errands, Ann and I stopped in the Katonah Deli to see my old bosses.

While editing my thesis Dr. Dillon would give me handwritten comments and I would make the changes and often expand the text to make things clearer. Then I gave the new drafts back to Dr. Dillon and the process would repeat itself. I kept the hard copies of all of the stages of my thesis, including the handwritten pages. I was not keeping them for posterity, to prove I did the work, or because I had a fond attachment to them. No, I kept them because I planned to have a bonfire using the drafts of my thesis once I was done. I was accumulating quite a large pile of canary yellow tablet sheets and computer printouts for this purpose. I was on track to graduate in winter, which is the perfect time to burn stuff—in the snow of a Michigan winter.

I must have been on the third or fourth set of corrections of a key section of my thesis when I got a new bunch of corrections back from Dr. Dillon. I had been living with the thesis as an all-consuming entity. It was more like a nurturing a child than writing a 164-page document. Every word on those pages represented time, thought and hard work. Each page represented 68 hours of work over the course of my Ph.D. thesis studies, so these were important and hard-earned pages. Dr. Dillon handed me some red-lined text and said we should discuss his corrections. He had made some changes and suggestions and I noticed that he changed the construction of one sentence back to a version I had written previously. He was changing his corrections to be more like my writing. I told him that and he said,

“That’s interesting. When I was writing my own thesis Dick Murphy did the same thing to me. That means you’re ready and I need to let you go.”

Dick Murphy was Dr. Dillon’s former Ph.D. supervisor. Dr. Murphy was a very senior and highly respected scientist, mentor and author. Dick Murphy might be considered my intellectual grandfather in my own educational pedigree. Pedigrees in science are as important as pedigrees in horse racing, and his was a good line to be in. Dr. Dillon paused for a second and I was trying to comprehend the significance of what he had just said.

“I don’t need to see any more versions unless you have specific questions or requests. The thesis reads well and the science is solid. Finish what you have and start the process for scheduling your thesis defense.”

Again, I heard his words and was slowly processing them. This meant I was very close to finishing the thesis and he was giving me the go-ahead to move forward. I felt a sense of accomplishment and even some pride at getting such a positive reinforcement of my writing, a hint that the end of my Ph.D. journey was close at hand. This was an important moment but I remained calm and finished our briefing and left Dr. Dillon’s office with a growing sense of confidence in my work.

I went home and told Ann about my conversation with Dr. Dillon. She wasn’t all that impressed. Perhaps she thought it was a foregone conclusion that I would get to the point of independent writing of my thesis, but it was something I had been concerned with from the beginning, so it was a big deal for me. I took the whole thing as a good sign and a big step in my career.

From Dr. Dillon’s example I learned a lot about to how to write a thesis and how to teach my students when writing a thesis. I learned the difference between general suggestions and specific editing. Dr. Dillon would say that a whole section was unclear or incomplete, but not make the changes. He wanted me to spot problems and make the changes. This taught me how to re-read my own work critically and how to spot deficiencies and read text with a fresh eye. Specific editing means making changes to text as opposed to suggestions. Dr. Dillon was a master at making specific changes, while keeping enough of the original text to ensure that I still considered the thesis my writing. As a thesis advisor and committee member I have tried to use these techniques whenever I can because I know that the students want to be proud of the thesis as their work and that they need to use it as a tool to pass the thesis defense. I therefore do not re-write theses, but make specific changes only to improve readability and may request general changes while avoiding altering the student’s writing style.

After my engagement epiphany, the rest of the day with Bill Jacobus passed quickly. I could hardly wait to get back to Ann, all the while galvanizing in my head how to pitch a move to Toledo to Ann, including how this would be a solid step in our relationship.

I still had a one-hour slide show to give and Bill and I talked right up until it was time to give it. We set up the slides and I went through it almost on autopilot. It was exhilarating to present my data to such a distinguished audience, which was made all the more satisfying by the very warm reception it received. People seemed to agree with what I was saying and I was reveling in the moment. This was the first time I had talked at length outside of Michigan State about my work and it was being welcomed with open arms. I had a chance to see what others thought of my work and got a great response. My data and I were ready for primetime, is what I concluded from the feedback I received.

All this positive feedback made me want to get to Paris and Renee’s lab quickly, so I stepped up my efforts to learn French. I was already taking French lessons, and now I purchased some French tapes. I pretty much stopped listening to music when walking around with headphones on and listened to the tapes instead. I had a second set of tapes in my car. This passive learning of words and phrases kind of saturated me with the language. I preferred the tapes that came without books because I would usually listen to a tape when a book was not convenient. I didn’t have a lot of time to do homework or read assignments. I just wanted to try to force words and phrases into my head that I could use when I got to Paris. I listened to the tapes and rarely tried to say the words out loud. I practiced speaking French when I made it to my French class, which was less often than I would have liked. It always seemed as if NMR time would open up for me on the days I had to go to French class. The choice was between getting time on the NMR, which was required for me to graduate, or going to learn a language which I might need after I graduated. So, I usually went to work on the NMR and thus missed many French classes. But, while working in the NMR lab I often would listen to the French tapes, in a weak effort to make up for missing class.

As I struggled through my language lessons I continued my thesis writing. After getting computer-typed versions of my thesis draft, I would proof them and make corrections on screen. Once I was finished with these corrections, I would give sections and chapters to Dr. Dillon. Dr. Dillon was a very good writer and a stickler for grammar and punctuation. Science writing for a thesis is relatively unique in that it generally uses the passive voice, but in the first person because you are telling the thesis committee about your work. Often research papers are written by teams and such papers are written in the third person. Since writing my Ph.D. thesis I have read dozens of other theses and they can be very tough going.

A Ph.D. thesis committee is a group of usually about 5 experts in your field (two in England) who read your thesis and verbally quiz you on it at the thesis defense. These people have the power of conferring the degree or not and can make or break a career of a scientist. Choosing a thesis committee is therefore an exercise worthy of much consideration and lengthy discussions with your thesis advisor. It would be eminently practical and logical to interview a prospective thesis committee member to make sure they had philosophies as yours before inviting them onto the committee. This is not done however because their expertise and knowledge is assumed to be world class and completely objective. Objectivity is important because everyone has preconceived notions and a thesis defense is not a time to change someone’s mind. The department of physiology required two committee members from outside the department and Dr. Dillon and I agreed on two obvious committee members (him and Ron Myer). For the other committee members I wanted people who would understand the thesis but who had no axe to grind concerning their previously published works. So I looked at several of their publications and talked to previous students from their lab. Dr. Dillon and I produced a hit list of key scientists that I investigated and put into a prioritization list based on what I found out before ever talking to them. Some of the committee members I was able to interact with and talk to for non-thesis reasons and I was able to gauge their desirability as potential committee members.

I presented my list to Dr. Dillon and he agreed to it. On the list were three first tier committee members to match up with Drs. Dillon and Myer with three replacements. One replacement for each person in the tier one group. When I asked the committee members I asked them upfront if they would be interested in serving on the committee and briefly told them what my thesis was about. I tried to be complimentary about their work and learn from their experience. Committing to being a thesis committee member is a big job that requires a lot of time and effort, and I made sure they knew I understood the significance of the request. Two of the committee members said yes when in asked them immediately and one said no because he was retiring early. I asked him if he thought my replacement person was a good alternate and he said that she would have been someone he would have suggested anyway. I felt good about that and reported to Dr. Dillon before asking her. He agreed and I quickly confirmed the 5 members of my thesis committee. With them in place the job of writing the thesis galvanizes because the thesis is written for those 5 people to read. Their opinion is the only opinion that matters.