Reflections on Loss, Gratitude, and Hope

By: Jeffrey L . Bernstein

Last week, as I was walking across campus on a beautiful day, I had the opportunity to hear the trumpet section of the EMU marching band rehearsing our school’s fight song. I was struck by the sense that our campus, after lying mostly dormant through the summer, was now waking up and coming back to life. As one who has spent his entire professional career living life according to the rhythms of the academic calendar, this rebirth and rejuvenation never fails to excite me.

My thoughts at the beginning of this semester are both tempered and enhanced since learning of the passing of Professor John Sprague, an influential undergraduate mentor of mine at Washington University in St Louis. I remember Professor Sprague as an old guy when I had him in class in the fall of 1988 - not middle-aged, but old. I learned upon his passing, with chagrin, that when he was my professor, he was exactly one year younger than I am today. I've done the math multiple times to be sure that I'm correct. Yikes!

I remember Professor Sprague so well, as it was because of his class that I decided to go into academia. That fall, he was teaching a senior/graduate level course on American electoral behavior. With the Bush-Dukakis election coming up. I very much wanted to take this class. I have no recollection how I had the chutzpah to go to his office and ask if he would let a sophomore into this class; I have even less insight why he readily agreed. I joined the class which, as I remember, had about a dozen graduate students and three undergrads; I was the youngest in the class. 

The course material was fascinating. Clearly, I was not as well read as the other students in the class, but they accepted what I knew, coached me, shared other resources, and were unfailingly kind to me. As class proceeded, I became interested in anticipated Black turnout in Chicago that November. Jesse Jackson had run for the Democratic nomination that year and lost. He and the eventual nominee, Governor Michael Dukakis, had somewhat frosty relations, and Jackson and his supporters felt marginalized by the Democratic Party. Internal politics in Chicago were also “interesting.” All of this led me to believe that black voter turnout would be down in Chicago, which could cost Dukakis a vitally needed state in his pursuit of 270 electoral votes.

I fervently dug into the research. I'm pretty sure I was the only Jewish student at Wash U who had a subscription to the Chicago Defender, the city's premier African-American newspaper; I also spoke with their political reporter once a week during the campaign.  I taught myself multiple regression so I could analyze voting patterns and make predictions. 

Professor Sprague invited us to his house on Election Night, tempting the class with the variety and quality of beers we could have (it was a different time…). I vividly remember, in the middle of the beer conversation, when he looked at me, recalibrated in his head, and announced that “Mr. Bernstein can have milk.”

Early results out of Illinois suggested that my analysis was incorrect and that I had badly miscalled the state. As Professor Sprague and the other students teased me, I kept saying, with astounding confidence, “Stay tuned. Don't worry, I'm going to nail this.” Ultimately, I did nail it, predicting the results of the election within 5000 votes (objectively, that’s pretty darned good!).  

Later that semester, I approached Professor Sprague in his office, saying to him, “It seems to me, from what I can tell, that you spend your time teaching political science and then researching political science. Is this really what you do?” Professor Sprague could have mentioned, in that moment, the myriad of committee responsibilities and service obligations academics have. He did not. Instead, perhaps sensing he might have a convert in the mix, he minimized that and said something like, “Yeah, that's pretty much what I do.” I looked him in the eye and said, “Sign me up. How do I get there?” And the rest, as they say, is history.

I still feel so much gratitude for how well Professor Sprague treated me. Without a doubt, I helped to make my own breaks once the opportunity was presented to me. But as I reflect on this story and the indelible impression Professor Sprague made on my life, I think of the possibilities inherent in higher education. We never know from one moment to the next which student we might influence and whose life we may change. Professor Sprague changed my life, and I remember him with deep appreciation and affection. 

As we begin this semester, I will think about Professor John Sprague and try to carry forward his example to my students (who likely will one day remember me as an old man). I hope you can do the same for your students. 

Good luck with this semester. We got this.