For many years my family’s home was Doc’s Thanksgiving destination. When I was 7, Doc gave me a model of the Queen Mary to build, and when I graduated from high school he gave me a piece of luggage to symbolize the idea that I would soon be traveling on my own. We corresponded throughout my college and professional years. He tended to address his letters to me as “old son.” I could not have been prouder. Occasionally, when I was in college he would send a $10 bill with orders to “go sow one wild oat!” He taught me to be serious about my studies, but also taught me to enjoy life. He even taught me how to make the perfect martini.

I remember Doc as a very social person. He had a deep commitment to the University and the academic life, yet he never seemed overly concerned with his “position.” He surrounded himself with friends from all walks of life. He was friends with athletes (I still remember him calling Bart Starr from our house — I was in shock), yet I also remember one of his closest friends during his final years in Tuscaloosa was a retarded man.

Honestly, I never realized that Doc was as special as he was until after he was gone. When he died, I was working on my master’s degree at FSU. Doc had counseled me for years to go into the university life, and in many ways I consider myself Doc’s last graduate student. My dissertation is dedicated to him. His life is still the model of what I would like to be; yet, I never realized how difficult it was being “Doc.” All the pressures of academia (the challenges of tenure and promotion, publish or perish, and departmental responsibilities) seem to push one away from personal relationships, especially with students. I am now an assistant professor at a large university in the SEC, and I truly wonder how he did it. I think that his “secret” was simply enjoying life and the pleasures gained from sharing himself with his extended family. His legacy, at least to me, was to enjoy life — all of it. Work, play, family, and friends, all are treasures to enjoy and share.