For my Friend Bruce Carter

I met Bruce when he joined our faculty several years ago. From the first, the halls echoed with comments about how great Mr. Carter was.  Over his time with us, Bruce taught ethics, humanities, and our college intro course.  His students created art in humanities class.  Others encountered concepts of ethics and diversity for the first time in his courses.  Just watching him teach inspired me.  We often used the same classroom, and I would hear him and watch him gesture as he taught.  Bruce didn’t walk, he flew down the halls, carrying on conversations and writing down ideas in his notebook.  He and I soon became friends, and I was privileged to be a guest on Art Talks, as were a couple of my other colleagues.  Bruce inspired us just by being himself; he lived at being an artist, and his generosity of spirit was contagious.  I will miss his enthusiasm, and above all, his friendship.  Room 100 will never be the same.

Elegy for a Friend

I see him still,

Sailing down the hall,

Writing in a worn notebook

All the way.

How the beret

Stayed in place,

I’ll never know.

He reigned the

Airways,

The Radio his

Second home.

Art he talked,

Believers he made

Of those he interviewed.

Believers in ourselves.

He called us writers,

Artists, playwrights and

Musicians.

And, we were.

His students he taught-

Taught them to, to

Believe,

Believe in their

Futures.

And they did.

It’s true as FDR

Said, that

Every time an artist

Dies

Part of the vision of

Mankind passes with him.

He’s taken part of our

Visions and dreams

He inspired with him,

To another realm,

And there,

Like Chaucer’s man,

Gladly will he learn,

And gladly teach.