Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Thomas Salem Manganaro
Hi
all, I just got back from visiting Michael [in hospice November 14, 2011]. First I went to the house,
where Pam was, gave her a long hug as she sobbed, happy to see me, and
sat around in the kitchen with their friend Jeanne who was visiting
from NY and staying with Pam. I just saw Alex and Jacob quickly, they
were running in and out. Then I followed Pam to the hospice center, and
was able to sit with Michael one-on-one (Pam left us there) for at least
30-40 minutes.
First thing I did was read the two letters to Michael. He laughed
at Dad's story about the trip to Glastonbury, and after reading mom's
letter, he said, "It required some effort and diligence to find
postcards at each location." I told him how Anthony has been eager to
hike the Appalachian trail, and remembered recently how we hiked up the
"blue" trail in High Point to the top, and Michael said, "Well...Maine
or Georgia?" Michael said he remembered we would take a few steps in
each direction. He also remembered dad telling us at 7 a.m. after
camping (maybe chastising us), "Guys, this is not TV". Michael's memory
for these kinds of things is spot-on; I told him he was talking clearly
and coherently, and he said, "Good, I appreciate that." Of course he
talks slowly and softly, and I often missed things he said. I think I
caught him at a good moment though. He remembered about my burnt foot,
and how Dad was en route from the west coast at the time; Michael added
that "We never thought you were going to make it," and remembered buying
prescriptions for me regarding ear/antibiotic problems. I reminded him
how Rania was doing theater stuff in Chicago, and Anthony was doing an English PhD like me, and he said, "Amazing" (he had remembered us
telling him last time we visited); I told him genetic determinism must
be strong, and he offered the anthropologist's answer that being around
certain kinds of people must have had a strong effect. I told him my
earliest memories were those first years in Highland Park, because I was
just 2 coming over from Hawaii, and Michael remembered how "Rania was
still in diapers." Later I was reminiscing also about Marjorie as a
prevalent friend early on, and he said, "Your parents managed to
surround you guys with the best people." I told him I was really glad to
be able to babysit Jacob some years later, as a kind of reciprocation,
etc. I told him my earliest memory of him was with Sasha, though I
didn't remember much about him, so Michael told me about how he was a
foster child he took on (age 14-16), who was a good companion because of
his "affinity to nature," but that it was mainly a comfort for Michael .
. . . At one point he said, "I feel like I have just been tiptoeing
down memory lane." I asked him if he had been in contact with George
Levine, he said he had written a beautiful letter, and that revisiting
memories with George were almost "too strong" and difficult to handle.
He asked me what I was doing later that day, I said I would go back and
read and read some more, and then do some more reading; he asked what I
was reading, I told him Beckett, Heidegger; he said, "Ah, light
reading." After I unsuccessfully tried to snag a nurse at one point, I
told him I wasn't a very good hospital assistant; he said, "Not your
discourse;" I said, "No, my discourses are much less practical"; he
said, "Classic Manganaro." I asked him what he remembered about the Lebanese family, he said he remembered Paul taking one of Michael's
adventure stories (though he may have been referring to our canoe trip)
and turning the story into "a version of 'Heart of Darkness.'" I told
him it was odd coming upon academic works as a grad student by people
that I knew personally; he thought that was interesting, said "Different
matrices."
Michael has a birdfeeder outside the window. He looks extremely
thin and sick. At one point, he said he was getting tired, I stood up,
then he started to lose bearings, saying, "I don't know where I am," but
then I looked at him and said, "It was really nice to be able to
remember these things with you, Michael," and he said, "Yes, yes," and I
think he came back. Then I got a phone message from Dad, and talked to
him on the phone, and I could tell Michael was hearing Dad's voice
through the phone. He said it would be difficult to talk on the phone,
but I relayed Dad's message; I could tell it meant a lot. Pam returned,
big smile, big hugs, she was extremely grateful I was there, very very
warm. I said goodbye, and the goodbye was in the context of "Come back
and visit, we'll be here for a while." I may return and visit, it
doesn't seem clear what the timeline is. I could tell Michael was very
glad to be able to talk and reminisce. There may be more that I'm
forgetting. Pam will be putting up both letters on her blog. I would
like to return and see them; I feel naturally close, and it feels
important and powerful, and it was nice to see Michael's personality and
memories still shine through.
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Monday, December 5, 2011
Rania Salem Manganaro
About
Michael. I don't have any particular memories to share that are any
different than the ones that you [Lisa Salem] might remember. For example, going to
his house on Halloween after Thomas burned his foot...or his true care and
compassion towards me while I was experiencing my unfounded fears while canoeing.
The treasure of receiving a series of golden paged encyclopedia books.
Tales of faraway lands.
Most
importantly though, I'd like to emphasize the lasting impact Michael had on me
(and Anthony and Thomas) through the fact that when I think about him I am overcome
with the largest swell of warmth, joy, and trust. The rarest thing is
that Michael, as an adult, treasured us (Anthony, Thomas, and Rania) as--what
seemed to us like---friends. I always remember thinking of Michael as an
owl. This wise and powerful force, sometimes cooky and awe-inspiring, but
a staple to our household. The ease, pace, and patience to which he
carried himself has left a lasting affect on me. As I grew older I began
to realize that these qualities are rare for adults. Maybe growing up I
didn't even see Michael as an adult...but just..."a michael".
And I continued to see all those qualities, with Pam and Alex and Jacob
throughout our time together. I think when kids are growing up, one of
the greatest tragedies is a lack of encouragement
and acknowledgment of fears...but Michael would come over to play
with us, or read with us, and open our minds in one way or another testing and
encouraging the boundaries of a our imagination (obliterating any fears of
"failure"). Michael. Adventures. Storytelling.
FUN! And look at us now. Anthony, Thomas, and I's most
important qualities sometimes seem to be those that were nurtured by Michael.
This urgency to play and explore and ultimately EXPERIENCE LIFE...FULLY.
Take it in and love it...all the details...from the grand stories to the
little birds in the trees. These are the things that shape people.
And I treasure it.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Nancy Linn
Michael & Nancy Linn at Breadmen's in Chapel Hill, 2011.
When Mike was in India he greatly enjoyed the spicy Indian
food so when he was a student at Reed College, he cooked for himself that
Indian food. On his way from Oregon to
Connecticut to visit family and friends, he traveled through Canada. The border agents came close to jailing this
tall, skinny, long-haired kid – carrying “drugs” (his little packets of the needed
Indian spices!) A real hippie.
Holly answered the door here in Oswego (NY) and came rushing
back to tell me, “Mom, one of the Beatles is at the front door.” Yep— it was Mike.
Love to you both –
Nancy Linn
Out to Golden Coral with Susan Linn & John Jenkins Valentine's 2011.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Harriet Moffatt
To Mike
You are my big brother.
We are from the same place. You
are older, and a boy. You are smart and
skilled. I have always looked up to you
and wanted you to notice me.
Companion of my childhood: frog-catcher, star-gazer, Tarzan-vine-swinger. You were always out ahead of me somewhere: building, doing, being clever, using your
words, traveling. You helped write a
math book while still in your teens, you corresponded with a Viking researcher,
you hiked and biked the length of New England before it was cool to do so. You could cook, do calculus, build a paper
and balsa wood hot-air balloon (and fly
it and crash it), and of course you drove the family car before I did. You visited different churches until you
found the one you wanted to join. You
became and stayed close friends with some of your teachers.
Your appetite is prodigious.
You used to cook a second dinner for yourself, before going to bed, back
in high school days. You were always
partial to staying up late then sleeping thru part of the day.
We have the same hands and feet.
You are funny and witty, also as well-spoken and
well-written as anyone I know: a true man of letters. You have pursued comedians all your life –and
were always ready to replay a Peter Sellers movie, a Monty Python video, or a
Woody Allen favorite. Before that, there
was Sid Caesar, Jackie Gleason, James Thurber, Tom Lehrer, the Threepenny Opera,
Spike Jones…I think you craved the balance that comedy gave to the darkness
that accompanied you for most of your life.
When you were at Oxford, England studying, I came to visit,
and we ate the hottest food I have ever had at a curry place…You took me punting on the little
river that ran thru the town, we drank mead cider, then I illegally spent the
night in your all-boys dorm, in the morning I had to leave by climbing over a
high wall with broken glass encrusted in the top, WITH my suitcase in
hand! Another time that year you visited
me at the home of my French “family” in Normandy, and in one dinner you cleaned
out their cheese plate, which was intended to feed the family for at least a
week!
Before Alex and Jacob, you parented Alan and Sasha. I would see you hand out and play and joke
with the, take them on hiking canoeing and skiing adventures and later to the
far side of the world for larger adventures.
You cooked for them and there was incessant conversation. I believe you once said that maybe you should
have taught sixth grade instead of college.
Except: you hadn’t a clue what to do with girls!
You spent 15 years after college getting advanced
degrees. We lamented that you might
remain a student forever! But then you
joined the Rutgers faculty, for a distinguished career as an Anthropology
Professor. You lived in a hut in an
Untouchable village in Tamilnadu, India, then later studied these same people
by commuting from Madras on a motor bike.
You wrote a book about them, then later, a popular anthropological book
about New Jersey college students, doing the research by going undercover in
the dorm, passing for a college student yourself! I heard you speak on this book in Amherst,
Mass. The girls in the audience wanted
to know why all your anecdotes in the book were about boys.
Books: you love them.
You told me that, as a kid, after reading your first chapter book, you
felt as though you had just gotten a key to THE WORLD.
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