E-mail to some of Curtis’ friends and acquaintances on the Earlham faculty, 11/10/1999.

Friends,

All of you were involved in a variety of ways, happy and infuriating, friendly and scary, in the life of my student and advisee and friend Curtis Walton. As I reflect on his life and death, I’m therefore thinking of you as well; and I wanted to share with you some thoughts and stories that have been on my mind the past three days.

As some of you knew, Curtis could be a remarkably sensitive and considerate and thoughtful person, passionate about his work, and a person I am pleased to have called a friend. I liked Curtis. I admired his honesty and integrity and deep seriousness. I’ve grown by knowing him.

As all of you know, though, Curtis could also be profoundly and infuriatingly insensitive and self-centered. I’ve tried to understand that based on the myriad of difficulties in his life, and based on the obvious seriousness of his condition; my excuses have partly worked. One must be realistic, though–most of us who knew Curtis spent significant periods angry at him or frightened by him, especially during the past few months. At least, that is true of me, who spent 4 years with Curtis, and who loved him.

It’s therefore natural to feel uncomfortable, as well as saddened, by Curtis’ death. Could we have done things differently? Were our feelings toward him appropriate?

I’m writing in large part to share my utter conviction that Earlham made a difference in Curtis’ life, and that Earlham could not have made a further difference. In e-mail and over the telephone, I watched Curtis slip away over the past months despite a lot of efforts of people to reach out to him. I would have expected to find myself today painfully dissecting my actions to find the point at which I could have made a difference. I am not. I am convinced we could not have done more than we did.

I’m also convinced we did make a difference for Curtis and for his family. In several conversations with Earlham folks this week, Curtis’ mother has voiced two strong messages. First, she hopes we believe, as she does, that Curtis’ anger at Earlham in recent months did not reflect his deepest self. I think she is right, and that there was a light within Curtis that went deeper than the darkness of his rage. She also believes that Earlham’s love and support for her son gave Curtis 4 years of life, and I think this may also be right. Institutionally and individually, our compassion and our hope and our love overcame our frustration and our fear and maybe our good sense. We continued to offer Curtis a place to be loved and a place to do the mathematics that was for him the thing of transcendent beauty and value that kept him alive. I don’t know if we were smart to do that; I am grateful that we managed.

I’d like to share another conversation of the past few days, this one with the Dean at Bryn Mawr, where Curtis was pursuing graduate studies in math. He phoned to make sure we had heard about Curtis’ death, and to help us reflect on his life. I had wondered what sort of relationship Curtis, who was obviously not in good shape by September, had managed to form with the people at Bryn Mawr, and I was touched by the care I heard about there. Bryn Mawr knew they were taking a chance with Curtis, and indeed found him frustrating. But I also heard from the Dean how much sensitivity and thoughtfulness he found in Curtis, and how enthusiastic the mathematicians were about his talents and his work, all the way down to a reportedly clear and deep seminar Curtis delivered this past Tuesday. Like us, they saw Curtis’ potential, and like us, they struggled to help him realize it. Each of us thanked the other for our care for our mutual student and friend.

Two years ago, when Curtis was getting ready to go to Budapest, I asked if he thought this was wise. He had recently attempted suicide at Earlham, and I was worried about seeing him leave for a stressful program in a foreign country. Curtis said to me then that one thing true about him was that he had suicidal thoughts. He thought he understood how to get help when those thoughts became too intense, and that things would therefore be OK. In any case, though, those thoughts were part of what Curtis was, and were not going to change. Curtis’ view was that he could allow those thoughts to make him a cripple and to deprive him of opportunities like the mathematics of Budapest, or he could refuse to be a cripple and could find as much joy and excitement and opportunity as possible in life, knowing that a shadow always accompanied him. That’s the basis on which he went to Hungary, and the basis on which he lived the rest of his life.

Curtis’ mother expresses relief that Curtis has at last found a peace that eluded him here. I hope we as a community and as individuals are also at peace, knowing we did all that we could to help a remarkable young man blossom. I’m proud of what we offered Curtis, and proud of what he achieved. I thank you all for being a part of his life with me.

Curtis frustrated and worried and frightened me; he also challenged and inspired and taught me. As we mourn Curtis’ death, I hope we also celebrate his life and the role we played in it singly and jointly. May Curtis find peace, and may the love of the God with whom Curtis wrestled and in whom he longed to believe be with him, and with us all.

Tim

Tim McLarnan, Department of Mathematics, Earlham College

Richmond, IN 47374 USA (765)983-1351