I learned recently from the Knox College alumni magazine of the death of George Bookless last spring. George was a senior in my first year, 1964-5. He was one of the older students known on campus as what was then called a public intellectual--someone involved in campus and political discourse as well as in their field of endeavor. Along with those known as literary writers, they were role models.
There were others I remember. Some, like Gordon Benkler, I knew of mostly through his writing and speaking, or Jim McCurry as a literary writer and scholar. Others I knew a little, like the well-known wild man Cecil Steed, or the poet and editor of the literary magazine Jay Matson. And others treated me as a friend, even if I was still a little in awe, like Gary McCool and Mary Jacobson. (Mary was in her third year then, so I got the chance to know her better the next year, along with Judy Dugan, Bob Misiorowski, Kevern Cameron, Gerry Roe, James Campbell and others.)
In that first year experience, George Bookless was somewhere in between. I remember him as a public presence, but also as a witty and affable raconteur who was often in the company of Gary, Mary and their friends. In fact, Mary Jacobson is the source of two memories. She joked with him that after he became a great success in the world, he should endow a library for Knox, but insist they name it the Bookless Library... It was funnier in those pre-computerized days than it is now.
The other is one of those stray memories--in the Gizmo, with the new Beatles song called "Yesterday" playing often on the jukebox, Mary laughed at the line "I'm not half the man I used to be," something George used to say that she thought was ridiculous but endearing.
But the direct memory that has stayed with me is from a day that spring, shortly before graduation when for various reasons the campus was in tumult. I was staring at the bulletin board near the entrance of the student union after dinner when George surprised me by stopping to speak with me. Exactly how he knew I was an aspiring literary writer I no longer recall, but he talked to me about that, quite seriously. He offered advice and encouragement. (The one specific piece of advice I remember is the one I didn't take--to write about my early adolescence rather than my life now, because I was too close to it. He was right of course, but I was too emmeshed in the fast changes of the moment to yet be gripped by anything else.)
These many years later I am still astonished by the attention these older students paid me, especially this spontaneous moment with George Bookless.
The last I remember hearing of him was that he'd joined the Peace Corps, as did may Knox students I knew over the next years. According to his extensive online obituary, he quickly wound up being witness to a civil war in Nigeria, and in essence a part of the government. Though he was an English major with biology minor at Knox, he'd learned photography from his father, who had served in the Army Air Force photography unit. Photography and related activities became his profession.
George visited historic Galena, Illinois on the Mississippi River to photograph eagles, and decided to make his life there. He became an Alderman at Large and worked on many civic projects including downtown reconstruction, consistent with his advocacy and activism at Knox.
He seems to have led a full life, with family (including two children and I count four grandchildren), a civic and community life, and life outdoors, camping, hiking and canoeing. He displayed a talent for cooking, and in their tributes, one of his children and one grandchild offered that a dish he learned to make in Nigeria remains their favorite. I admire all of it more than I can say.
But the best image I have is of George as storyteller, which both of these tributes and the obit mention. I'll remember his kindness to me and I wanted to acknowledge it here, as well as the kindness of those other older students. But I'll want to remember George Bookless like that: out on his Galena front porch, telling tales.
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