TRIBUTES

In Memoriam: Dr. Karl Maurer

I suspect that most former students think of their favorite teachers frequently, but rarely take the time to let them know. So it was for me, with Dr. Karl Maurer. When I did write him, it was to ask a favor (letters of recommendation), announce the birth of a baby, or attempt to discuss poetry. I would dash off, “Hey, look at this Ovid I’m working on!” and he would reply quickly, and at length. When I sent him an article about wine and poetry that I had written, he teased me, calling me a “wretch” for focusing on Horace, at the expense (he believed) of Virgil.

If you judge as the world judges, then Dr. Maurer seemed to be not of this world. His assignments were incredibly demanding, quizzes on Greek endings frequent, and his laser-like intuition for what a student did not know was exceedingly keen. This world loves appearances, and perhaps a few of us had cultivated the extremely diligent student facade. We were Classics majors; of course we worked hard. Then, suddenly, we encountered this man; he cared nothing for our projections, and let us know. He seemed to think of poetry and grammar all the time; he often worked through the night. Then you would realize that he was working those hours for you, to help you. He cared so incredibly much, not just about poetry, but about making you an honest scholar. He reminded us, “All I know, is that I don’t know anything.” Then you could start to work.

When I was in graduate school a classmate mentioned that he couldn’t seem to remember which Greek verbs had which tenses. “I had this professor,” I answered, “ he made us memorize the principal parts of all of the irregular Greek verbs.” He indicated by his response that this had not been his experience as an undergraduate. And for not the first time, I thanked Dr. Maurer. He was hard on us; he was “extreme,” and while we were busy perceiving injustice, he insisted that we make ourselves worthy of the material. I realized that it was a great blessing to have someone in your life who was concerned that there be no dusty corners in your mind.

After a few courses, as I began to fear Dr. Maurer a little less and actually had conversations with him, I realized that he was not only an interesting person to observe. He was an interesting person. I was unsettled to find myself in the same checkout line at Albertson’s with him once. He asked where I was from, and why a person from such a beautiful place as Montana would want to be in Irving. It was awkward; he bought limes, however, and that intrigued me. We worked together a few summers later, and it was then that I listened long enough to learn about his family, and his childhood memories of pick-up baseball games.

Pindar and other poets of antiquity saw poets as bees; they sought beauty as bees gathered nectar, took it, and created something from it. Their work was also inspired by Apollo, and bees were Apollo’s own. Dr. Maurer sought beauty and the noble in the same single-minded manner; if we let ourselves, we can follow.