June 25th, 2010
Father’s Day was last Sunday and tomorrow would have been my father’s birthday. I feel really bad that I’ve never talked about him. Not that I would have talked about my mom, but since she killed herself it eclipsed everything on the family front. I’ll relink that story here for newer readers but I took it off the menu because it’s not something you want in your face all the time. Anyway…
Both my parents were New Yorkers and architects. They moved to Vermont, then DeSilva Island, CA, where I was born. When I was 4, my dad got a teaching position at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, so my parents, my brother and I moved to the bible belt – a strange place for a family of Jewish athiests/agnostics. But it became home.
Btw, it’s funny that when I talk about my father, I call him “my father” or “my dad”, but he was neither of those things, he was always Papa or Pop.
He became a professor of architecture; I loved visiting him at work, hanging around those giant marble halls where everything seemed so important and at the same time intensely creative. He loved technology and I remember him being thrilled when the University got one of those humongous computers where he, the 2-finger typist, could happily entertain himself for hours. It’s safe to say I get my humor and technological curiosity from him.
His students loved him. I still have a t-shirt made so many decades ago when his entire 5th-year class surprised him by wearing his face across their chests – the “Mort” shirts. His friendships were deep, his personality self-deprecating, loving and kind.
When I was 12, my parents divorced, ending that screaming match of a marriage. He moved just a few blocks away so we were still able to spend quality time together, but abbreviated as it is when you’re not living with a person anymore. I didn’t notice it at the time, busy growing up as I was. The suck of it is that I moved to NYC when I was 17 and didn’t go home that often, so my memories are cloudy and mostly through the eyes of a child.
He died in 1988 at age 61 of a heart attack. He’d been remarried for less than a year which was heartbreaking in its own right.
But I’m not writing this with sadness in mind. He’d have gotten a huge kick out of all the adventures I’ve had, am having.
Anyway, that’s about all I wanted to say, just to acknowledge him. Love you, Pop.
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Wow, that’s intense and touching. Thanks for sharing. I’m sure your dad would’ve been tremendously proud of what you’ve accomplished since his passing. My dad passed away 8 months after we moved back up to PA from Florida. I’m incredibly thankful that we had the time we did, but I still miss him a lot. I do believe they’re still with us in so many ways, though. Happy Birthday, Pop
Very nicely written
Tears……
Very sweet Flo. My Dad passed away in 1988 also..a life to brief. I always like to think they are with us through our continued journey in life. Your Dad sounds like he was a wonderful man who left his mark on the world in a very positive way.
My dad passed away 9 years ago. He got to see me run my first marathon and was excited beyond words. I think of him during every one of them now.
No doubt he would have been proud of you Flo, not to mention just gotten a total kick outa who you are.
Thanks for sharing!
That’s AWESOME! What a great story.
thanks for sharing this. your dad sounds like a really awesome person
Thanks. So your dad was a professor too, by all accounts well-loved by students. And you had screaming matches at home as well. My father died when I was 14 (booze, he was 49) and they say I am quite like him in looks and mannerisms.
Wow, Joe, looks like we have a lot of things in common, though I’m sorry to hear your dad died sooner and had booze to blame. Hugs.
Nice tip of the hat post. I had no idea you had so much architecture in your DNA. (Perhaps, that is why it seems you had fun in creating your training plan..a plan is plan). I approach my running and my architectural process in similar ways- and not in the obvious base=foundation ways.
My kids call me “Papa” and “Pop” as well
I forgot you were an architect! A funny thing (and one my dad would have thoroughly enjoyed) is that, while I never knew or cared anything about architecture, I ended up being an ACAD drafter for over 10 years. Funny how twisty life gets.
And I bet you’re a fantastic Papa, for sure.
to bring this full circle. The name for my firm (where I do my side work) is Flow Architecture.
Hah! Now that’s Kismet.
Thank you everyone, love and hugs for you all.
Nice, Flo. Your pop sounds like quite a guy. I see you spent your early years just a few miles from where I’m now sitting.
Nice post.
Is that a “pocket protector” I see?
My dad still has his old slide rule.
- rovatti
Thank you for sharing Flo. He sounds like an absolutely wonderful person and father. I’m sure he would be VERY proud of you.
Thanks for sharing. Awesome photo. He’d love reading your blog, for sure.
That’s sweet. Very nice Flo
Thanks Flo. He’d be proud of those words. 61 is far too young.
At school I went through a stage of wanting to be an architect. I did tech drawing, but only ever used my ‘skill’ to draw plans and maps for a surveyor. That was before computers, so I used those ancient tools of pen and ink.
Thanks for sharing, too, Flo. My dad died in 1995, well before I started running – I suspect he would have been baffled at my running marathons (hell, many days, I’m baffled myself). I always smile when I think of him – what more could you want out of a relationship, especially a too-brief one. In fact, I often make a side trip through a local cemetery on one of my running routes because it often spurs a thought of him. Even though he’s not buried there, it feels somehow like a way to quietly honor him.
Wishing you many fond thoughts of your father, accompanied by small smiles.
you have an awesome father and role model. we all can learn a lesson from him
Katherine
Very sweet story Flo, you obviously inherited many wonderful qualities from him.
Thanks for sharing Flo, I almost missed this one. I lost my dad 11 years ago. Sadly the last 10 years of his life were spent in a wheelchair, paralyzed from a stroke. I get my sense of humor from him, I am sure. He could tell jokes for hours and never repeat one. Your dad sounds like a great guy.
Awful way spend the last decade of your life. Thank goodness for the humor gene, I’m sure it helped him deal with it and you’re lucky to have it, too.
Once a while I google Mort’s name for some unexplainable reason. I had met you in school, then you were in NY, you probably don’t remember me. Mort was my 5th year teacher (1977) and friend. We kept contact almost until he died, once I called him from Baghdad when I was working at the time. We planned to meet but…Well, if you ever make it to this part of the world (Greece) do call me, you may stay with us, show you around and make sure that Mort would keep smiling. My wife Dahlgren is from Fayetteville, and friend of Mort’s last wife (they were in music school together), but have not kept contact. I am glad that you posted this article and his photo, he diserves to be remembered, well,anyway, it’a just to say hello.
What a wonderful surprise! I can’t remember your face but your name is definitely in the memory banks. Thank you so much for making yourself known. And what a lovely invitation for Greece. If you ever get to Philly, please look me up as well (though of course, it’s a rather lame destination next to Greece, but it has some virtues
). Again, many thanks, it’s really sweet knowing his friends are out there and looking for him.
Flo, my wife and I just came across this post and were touched to hear more about Mort and see the photo of the home he lived in on Lunsford here in Fayetteville. My wife and I are both architects and currently own the house @ 1516 Lunsford. I have heard a few stories here and there about Mort and how he was respected as a professor of architecture.
We love our house and have done a lot of renovation work to continue the legacy of the home. I have my own architecture firm now and if you want to take a look at the renovations my wife and I have done…here is a link to my studio’s website: http://www.modusstudio.com/private/1516-renovation/
Thanks for sharing!
Baribeau, you just gave me goosebumps. The house is absolutely gorgeous! I am thrilled beyond belief that you made it into something so special and am sure that Pop would have loved it as well. Huge thanks for sharing this with me. Wow. Just wow.
Florence, (I address you as Florence because that is how I remember you)
I came across this because, for some reason, I was in a reflexive mood today and was googling people that have profoundly influenced me. I was one of Mort’s students.
I was an awkward kid with a lack of self-confidence and Mort was the first person who took me seriously. I remember struggling with a grant proposal and thinking “who am I to think that I have anything to contribute to this?” Mort came in and said, “Look, you know as much about this as anybody in the world.” Whenever I have doubted myself I have played that back in my mind.
I got drafted and sent to Vietnam in the middle of my fifth year, so I didn’t finish. After I was discharged, I returned to re-do my fifth year and Mort took me under his wing.
I also remember your mother. I was in her Fine Arts lectures that took place in a vast auditorium. It was a basic Liberal Arts requirement and I remember her impatients with the southern belle sorority types who had little interest in the knowledge she had to share. I admired how she did not suffer fools and had somewhat of a crush on her. I am saddened by her passing.
I remember being at your house on several occasions when you and Aaron were there and your parents weren’t speaking and I would get drawn in as an intermediary – “You tell Eleanor I said…” – “I heard him. You tell him I said…” I found it somewhat amusing and didn’t take it too seriously and was really surprised when they split.
When I told her that my wife and I were expecting a child I remember her saying, “That’s a nice thing for two people to do.”
After I left school, I would return to Fayetteville just to spend some time with Mort, talking about whatever I was excited about at the time. He meant a lot to me and, at the time he died, he seemed hopeful.
Thanks for the opportunity to share my memories with you.
JTM
Another Wow! It’s almost scary reading this, like the past hurtling back.
Your relationship with my dad sounds incredibly sweet and while I can’t picture you (I was so young) I love hearing these bits of history. I easily imagine everything you mention, even my mom saying that about your baby…so typically her. And I had forgotten about the non-speaking silliness, but this brought it all back. It eventually became full-on constant yelling so you being go-between would have been a peaceful day at the Karp house.
Thank you, John, for taking the time to share this – it’s touching, funny and odd to read. I appreciate it so very much. Cheers.
I wasn’t unfamiliar with the yelling. I had a particularly intense shouting match with Mort in his small office. It must have been after I returned from the army because I wouldn’t have had the nerve to stand up to him earlier. I don’t remember what it was about but I remember it ending with him declaring, “Goddamnit, I believe in the sequential order of things.”
It is strange how clear he is in my mind. He was a passionate man.
JTM
LOL! I love that. I don’t remember a shred of subject matter they yelled about at home (of course, I can guess) but this is too funny, and yes, shows his passion completely. And cool that you came back from the army able to stand up to him. Sounds like that’s when it went from student to friend. Good stuff.
Flo,
I too was one of Mort’s students (as well as a classmate of John Miller) from 64-69. I remember you as a 7 or 8-year old when our Urban Design class met at your house on Saturday mornings. Eleanor was a welcome participant and a gracious host. The last time I saw Eleanor was when my wife and I ate dinner at their/your house (on Cleveland, I believe, behind the women’s dorms) when we moved back to Fayetteville in 1970. Mort continued as a friend until his death. I don’t believe he ever called me anything but “Saar” or “Mr. Saar” to my face.
It’s interesting after all these years to see where your life has taken you; the last I knew was that you had gone to NYC to pursue a theatrical career. Aaron has been much easier to follow; I’ve even seen him on TV once talking about some weapons system or the other. I found your eleanorkarp.com web site a couple of years ago; it’s an elegant (a word I remember her using often) tribute to her life.
My goodness, yet another eye-dampening comment that simply amazes me to read. Thank you so much for (re)introducing yourself here. Having such kind witnesses to a former life, years I can’t even remember myself, goes beyond words.
And thank you also for the comments on my mom’s website, that means a lot to me.
Many hugs to you, Saar. No…Michael.