Saint Patrick's Day tears, and watercolor, for Bob

"To Bob," 6 x 14, St. Pat's Day tears

We toasted my and our dear friend Bob Illidge this week, at an early Saint Patrick's Day  gathering of the old Journalism Department (now the Mass Comm department at the University of Central Oklahoma).
We always do that at every gathering, even after all these years since he died April 1, 2005. The new, "young whippersnappers" as he would call them,  join in, even though they don't know the story of Illidge and "The Booth," which is still reverently observed with humor and good cheer.
But this morning for me, there were tears as "Danny Boy" played on the St. Patrick's Day TV show. We played that at his retirement long ago.
I teared up, and then asked Alexa to play Irish Music.
More good spirits, and more tears, and memories.
Thus today's watercolor, painting what I feel inside, what the story is, of a unique friend, who brings laughs as we quote him, and tears as well.

The story of "The Booth" and Bob runs throughout this blog in series and photos and more. Just search "Bob" and "The Booth," and you'll see. Here's a link to letter to him: https://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2014/05/letter-to-bob-from-old-world-booth-redux.html
His legacy lives on. As we were leaving Sean Cummings Irish pub after toasting Bob one more time, someone stopped me at an adjacent table, and asked what Bob's last name was. I told him, and he knew who I was talking about.
"To Bob," and his "little sweet pea," Liz who died just this past year, in their Wichita hometown.
"Come ye back when summer's on the meadow," my friend.

The Booth is a transformational verb--chapter 2

From August, 2009

...the higher education metaphorical circle cribbage board..."

Chapter 2

And on the second day, after enduring students who couldn’t spell, fuming about students who thought assignments were optional, and ruminating about students who thought average work was excellent, the duo gathered in the afternoon near the hive of the Queen bee to recuperate. They dropped into their chairs, with greatest of sighs and moans, seeking to wash away the greasy taste of the lunch and mediocre students with the bitter dregs of that morning’s coffee.

Alas, even after much commiserating, and exchanging understanding jocularity with the Queen, still persisted the sourness in their mouths. Whereupon, the Clark, because as chair he was supposed to have great ideas, suggested another trip to the booth, even though he knew he would probably again lose the battle of the cribbage board, but he knew the frivolity and ferment of the drinks would offset it. Up perked the ears of other equally frustrated faculty members—especially the German complainer, the public relations princess, and Friar John, the photographic monk--who happened to come into the office to kill time and postpone grading papers or avoid attending meaningless committee meetings.

" ...a pedagogical concept had transformational  learning possibilities..."

"Booth?" they asked—because they had already heard intimations of immortality from the Illidge’s boasting, and the Queen’s complicity--and when once explained and located, they affirmed that such an pedagogical concept had transformational learning possibilities, because, lo, all were as thirsty as the Ancient Mariner for more than the dregs of everyday life. Whereas, it was only 3 p.m., and early perhaps for liquid refreshment, the Clark, because he was chair and was experienced in scheduling meetings and wished atonement for his sins, proposed a 4 p.m. rendezvous with reality, and the bosomy bartender. The frustrated trio immediately departed the hive, heading to their offices to finish grading, turn off computers, clear desks, or otherwise waste time.

Then it was that the Illidge said, in his great and superior wisdom, “It’s five o’clock somewhere. Let’s go.” And with much insult, he did challenge the Clark to another embarrassing loss on the higher ed metaphorical circular cribbage board. And lo, forth they did sally to the booth, and the evening’s debauchery began.

To be continued….

The booth, chapter 1, the story retold

Ye olde, and actual, cribbage board of "The Booth"

"…cribbage...a game of cards and counting and moving pegs in holes endlessly around a board…somewhat like teaching in college, and certainly like being an administrator, other than it was fun." 

From 2009, on the blog, The Booth, chapter 1, because these words have high import

Chapter 1

And on the first day of the booth, commencing at 4 p.m. one sunny fall day, which was unremarkable and unmemorable to the profs as the years passed, they joked and the Illidge taught the Clark how to play cribbage…a game of cards and counting and moving pegs in holes endlessly around a board…somewhat like teaching in college, and certainly like being an administrator, other than it was fun. As the afternoon unfolded, with only grading to be done for tomorrow, the two shared war stories. Under the watchful eye of the bosmy student-bartender however, they would not share their preferred refreshments of vodka on one hand, and rum and coke on the other, which helped them forget the frustrations and stresses of higher education.

Lo, the Illidge, since he knew the rules, soundly thrashed the Clark in the card games, though the cards, dealt repeatedly for two hours, perchance did get sticky from their glasses’ condensation circles.. And in spite of several games and matching drinks, after generous tips, it is well reported that both were able to drive home safely, vowing to return. 

Henceforth, though they knew it not, the one-sided results of the card games, as well as their exclusive occupation of the booth, would not always be so.

On the morrow, as was their habit, they arrived early in the less-than-august halls of the university, yea, before most academics and administrators had even heard alarm clocks. It was, as it were, an unsaid competition between them, to see who would be first to start the coffee. Whoever was second, even at 7 a.m.,  would be greeted with insults, as in “It’s nice you came to work this afternoon."

Then they would sit, in the pre-dawn darkness of the day, office lights not turned on, sipping coffee, dozing, sighing, thinking, occasionally exchanging words, but not constantly yammering as women, about issues and events of the day, but mainly enjoying the silence, the quiet. Until of course, the sun slowly came up, illuminating the aging clock tower of the university with its hands slowly, if ever ticking, as time slid by. Then the Queen bee of the department arrived, early as was her habit, unlocked the department office door, flipped on the lights, to the dismay of the optical pupils of the professors, and their outcry.

Lo, then the Illidge exclaimed to the fair Queen, even boasting, about his previous afternoon’s conquest of the Clark in cribbage. And the Clark could only cower that first day. And the Queen, with the exalted reputation of Dr. Sump, did nothing to assuage the stories, nor mitigate, nor even lessen them, much less deny them. So then the word of the Illidge spread, abetted by the Queen's royal reputation and humor, that there was this spot, this time when there was respite from campus control, from inane dithering, from the Clark’s type-A attitude—a veritable air-conditioned, and thoughtful oasis in the midst of Oklahoma aridity.

To be continued…

Letter to Bob from the Old World Booth, Redux

Letter to Bob

"Here's to Bob!" From left, Himself, Mark Zimmerman, Susan Clark, Mark Hanebutt, Gwen Olivier, Bill Hickman, Christy Vincent

Old World, April 24, 2010

Well old friend, sorry I haven't written sooner. Fact is, writing just slipped my mind, but I was browsing through a Charlie Russell book today, "Trails Plowed Under," written by the artist about a year before his death. The Introduction, written by Will Rogers in 1926, was a letter to Charlie in heaven, and I figured, what a great idea. And he started it out, "Old World."

But of course, it ain't as though we've forgotten you, you know that from the many times you've heard us toast "To Bob," in the booth and elsewhere in the five years since you've be assigned to keeping God in stitches. I figure, given the state of the world, he needs you, maybe more than us, but even if not, he does get to pull rank.

I hope you got to see and hear our party for you on our back porch earlier this month. We had a good crowd, and I'm posting the photos with this letter on my blog, just in case. I know you don't understand this blogging stuff--I remember you having trouble with email. Just think of it as a sort of digital diary and newspaper column. But yes, unlike your lead pencil, it does crash from time to time.

Anyway, in case you missed it, I  thought I'd catch you up on things down here since you left. Frankly, the place has gone steadily downhill, most of which is my fault--actually I'd like to blame you because you weren't around to set me straight. Yep, I got this wild-haired idea to merge with the communication department--I know, I can see you rolling your eyes. We needed to get together with the broadcast folks, but the communication people came with the deal. They're good people, but as you said, they were more "touchy-feely" people than us. They do think differently.

That was five years ago, and as a testament to my foolhardiness, I got elected chair again of the whole outfit--22 full time faculty and as many part timers--a huge department--meaning of course, more problems. Then of course, not being able to get my senses straight by playing you cribbage at least once a week, I got bogged down and lost a couple of administrative battles. The result is that I'm no longer chair, having been given the job of running the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame, which I do enjoy, cause I get to work with journalists and don't have to worry about all those personnel problems, and the endless administrative meetings that waste so much time, but which academics just love. But I've moved out of the building and spend less time with students.

And now, the worst news I can tell you...Sherry Sump is retiring in a couple of months.  I can tell by your silence how stunned you are. You and I used to get to the office at 7 a.m. and sit in the darkness and sign and enjoy silence and talk, and we'd often talk about what a great secretary she is...we'd agree she's the best we'd known.

So the department has changed radically since you've left, and when she's gone, it'll sure never have the same character and spirit.  Students, alumni, faculty, everybody likes Sherry. She's been here almost 15 years now--can you believe it? We joke that she's my "other wife," because we're so much alike and I rely on her so much. We were arguing with each other one day--you know, good natured disagreement like all journalists have...and a student overheard it, stuck his head in the door, and asked, "Are you two married?" Ain't that a hoot?

You can be glad you're gone, because there's more and more official nonsense and paperwork--I swear they're trying to make us all clones--and there have been no real raises since you left.Your "Sweet Pea" and family have been down to visit a couple of times, and we keep wanting to get up and visit. I hear the redbud tree we bought is doing well in your front yard.

We think of you often, almost every day, and you'd be pleased to know it always brings a smile.. Went to a NCAA basketball tournament here with son Travis--he says hello, by the way--and Kansas State was playing. Immediately, I thought of you referring to it as "Silo U."

On personal news, I've got six great grandchildren now, and I hear from Liz that your family  and grandkids are doing great things, including being at Notre Dame. Those are the important things, aren't they?

At any rate, at our party for you, I dug out the old cribbage board, your ugly green coffee cup and a photo of you and I playing cribbage in the "Booth." They were on our back porch during the party, and you were toasted many times. I used good Irish Catholic whiskey, Jameson, for the toasts. The booth has moved about a mile south of where we played, but the plaque is hanging there, and we visit it almost every week. But I haven't played cribbage since our last game.

There's some people up there I'd like you to look up and tell them I said "Hello." There's a one legged artist up there, probably doing portraits and landscapes, name of Terrence. Tell him you knew his oldest son, and  that son has taken up watercolors and is pretty good--not as good as his dad, but good enough that a Clark watercolor hangs in the Illidge manse in Wichita. And my Mom is up there too, a tall slender lady with a great sense of humor, and all her brothers and sisters. They're probably located in the East Texas section. Amble over and tell Mom how much I miss her, and share some stories.

Well, I'm about out of stuff to write. I look forward to sitting down with you for another cribbage game, but I'm not in any big hurry to do so, just yet. We think of you often and miss you. Take care of God--he needs all the good spirits he can get these days.

"Himself"

Postscript on The Booth--"Himself"--Redux

From Sept. 2009

Bob, and the plaque, in The Booth, copies given to all UCO journalism faculty and staff by The Sweet Pea.

Sketch of The Illidge , both photo and sketch by The Brunette

The Clark forgot to tell the story of "Himself." The Illidge would often jibe The Clark after forays in The Booth, by telling The Queen Bee something like, "Well, ask Himself how yesterday's score was. Did Himself smell a skunk?" He oft referred to The Clark as "Himself."

Much laughter and tet-a-tet would follow. The Clark just thought this was an Illidge idiom. He was wrong.

In November of 2008 he was in Chicago, and spent an afternoon at The Chicago Institute of Art.

Strolling down one hall, The Clark noticed on a far wall two medium-sized oil portraits of a man and woman, and he recognized the style. "That's got to be Robert Henri," he thought. Henri is a favorite of his, especially for his book "The Art Spirit."

So he walked across the gallery to get a closer look. Yes, he was right, and he took satisfaction in recognizing a painter's style.

And then he stopped, stunned.

Underneath the portrait of an old Irish fisherman, with a beard much like The Illidge, was the title, "Himself." Underneath the portrait of his wife, was the title of "Herself."

He read on, with wet eyes, learning that those terms were old Irish expressions of the highest devotion for friends and family.

The Clark was very quiet walking back to his hotel.

"Himself."

Booth is a Verb, Epilogue--redux

From 2009

"Can you write about a dead person?" asked a student in The Clark's feature writing class in January, 2009.

"No." The Clark rolled his eyes. The assignment was a profile, and the question came from an older student, with baseball cap on backwards, tattoos stretched over his arms. "How can you interview them?" he sarcastically asked.

Then, for some reason, The Clark also asked, "Who?"

"Bob Illidge."

The Clark is rarely without words, but this was one of them.

Finally, he asked "Why?"

"He's the reason I'm back in school and an advertising major," said the student.

The Clark warned him it would be very hard for The Clark to grade, and that he'd be extra hard on the grading. The student didn't blink, but smiled, accepting the challenge. "It's been almost four years since he died, and I'd like to do it."

Then The Clark starting spouting off stories and people to contact and some of the story of The Booth, much to the delight of the rest of the class, thankful to have him off on a tangent.

The student, completed the story, and it was printed that spring in The Vista.

Here it is:

By Justin Neely

“There was just something there that was special,” Elizabeth Illidge recalls. “People just liked him.”

            Robert J. Illidge, former UCO advertising professor, had an impact on individuals that continues today four years after his death. For those who knew him, thoughts of this gravelly voiced, grey haired man with a beard to match, make people smile and jump at the opportunity to talk about him.

            “He would bring life to the teachings he would deliver,” said Steven Schwartz, UCO alum and advertising major. Other returning advertising majors say that Illidge was the reason they chose advertising as a major and career.

            A breach of contract as the chairperson of Journalism at Wichita State led Illidge to UCO in 1992 at age 61.  His wife, Elizabeth, believed her husband’s age would make it difficult for him to find a job and was a factor during the hiring process at UCO.

            Dr. Terry Clark, professor and chairman of the Journalism Department of UCO, saw otherwise. “Bob had the experience that we valued,” Clark said. “His advertising and teaching experience were who we needed, not just a Ph.D.”

            This new position would require Illidge to drive 300 miles every week while his home and his wife of 39 years, better known to him as his “bride” or “sweet pea,” stayed in Wichita.            

            As a teacher, Illidge had a reputation for being strict and unforgiving, based on his three decades of advertising experience. Those who only heard of him, somehow feared him. As for the students he taught, many will tell you he played a strong role in why they’re in advertising today.

            “He really wanted students to succeed and learn,” said Elizabeth Illidge.

            At the beginning of every semester, Illidge would make one rule clear. Come to class and do not come late. As a result, if a student was late then they were also absent.             
   Illidge had little tolerance for lazy students who didn’t work and even less tolerance for those who were late. Schwartz remembers Illidge talking about a time when he was late for a presentation and was fired. Illidge knew the real world would not accept such behaviors.

            Schwartz became well aware of his seriousness. After being late one too many times to class, he was asked to leave and received an F for the semester. Schwartz apologized and retook Illidge the following semester.

            Today, Schwartz is the Director of Operations for Visual Image Advertising in Oklahoma City. He appreciates Illidge not only for his wisdom but also for his unique mannerisms, engaging personality and “little life lessons”.           

            When people speak of Illidge, one word comes up every time. Humor.           

            Jill Kelsey, professor and department intern coordinator, remembers Illidge using his dry sense of humor, excellent storytelling, and off the wall expressions to uplift and make anybody laugh.

            “He put his unique stamp on everything,” Kelsey said. For Illidge, it wasn’t just about unexpected life changes; it was about the “vicissitudes and vagaries of life” as he put it.

            “He was exactly who he was…life was fun for him,” said Terry Clark.

            Illidge’s humor was just a small part of who he was. For some, the impact he had on others came from his endearing personality, the respect he gave others, and the fact he never took himself too seriously. For others, it was his sense of perspective, honesty, and intelligence. However, for most it was all of the above and much more.

            Some of UCO journalism professors’ favorite memories of Illidge took place at the “the booth.” The booth was just that, at Bennigans Restaurant in Edmond, now Old Chicago. It’s a place Illidge and Clark would occasionally unwind in the afternoon, share stories, and play a few hands of a card game known as cribbage. Within time, the booth became a magnet,  a place for all UCO journalism faculty to unwind and share a few laughs.

            “The booth was the release of the day,” said Jill Kelsey. “It was collegiality at its best.”

            Illidge retired from UCO and teaching in 2004 after a 15-year-long battle with leukemia including three painful years of shingles, a disease caused by the reactivation of the chickenpox virus.

            “He never complained or felt sorry for himself,” said Clark. According to Mrs. Illidge, had it not been for Clark’s persistence to keep Illidge at UCO and encouragement, Illidge would have retired a few years earlier.

            “Keeping busy was a godsend,” said Elizabeth. Illidge would have three farewell parties prior to retirement. 

            During Illidge’s final weeks, his impact on others would prevail more than ever. UCO faculty he barely knew offered their sick leave to him.

            “Correspondence, letters, phone calls, and flowers from students was amazing,” said Elizabeth.

            Robert J. Illidge died at the age of 74 on April 1, 2005 in his hometown of Wichita. 

            Perhaps a big part of who Illidge was came from his own passions and values. His wife and five children came first and foremost. Illidge was a man of faith and valued loyalty and professionalism. Throughout his career, he remained passionate about advertising, teaching, and cared a great deal for young people.

            Illidge, born September 15, 1930, served time as a staff sergeant in the Korean War prior to receiving his Bachelor’s in Journalism in 1958 from the University of Missouri-Columbia. He later went on to work for several adverting agencies in the Kansas City and Wichita area as well as fulfilling his passion of teaching at numerous universities. He received his master’s in 1984 from Wichita State where he later became the chairperson for seven years.

            On his free time, he enjoyed listening to jazz music while hoping to emulate his jazz idols, Dave Brubeck and George Shearing, on his own piano.

            “Music was a big part of who is was,” said Mrs. Illidge. Illidge was also known to be a devoted Notre Dame and Missouri fan and was a “respectable golfer” as his wife put it.

            Today, while the original booth doesn’t exist, when UCO mass communication faculty get together in a new booth they always toast Bob Illidge. “Many departments have legends, Bob’s exceeded that,” said Clark. 

Booth is a verb--chapter 15, redux "-30-"

From Sept, 2009

A gospel of friendship and resilience

Chapter 15 

"'Let's Booth!"

"That was the cry one afternoon soon afterward, and the journalists did congregate once more that spring, where hung the plaque.

"'To Bob,' rang out to clinking glasses, and stories and tears did flow. But The Clark left The Cribbage board in the office, and one seat was vacant.

"Summer came and was a blur, but the following fall, The Clark thought about retrieving the plaque and displaying it in the department. It was not to be. Forsooth, he went to the restaurant, and found the business closed, and the plaque and The Booth locked up. He was sore vexed.

"The Booth is no more," he despaired to his colleagues, to their dismay and gnashing of teeth. This was the same time The Department merged with another on campus, doubling its size in faculty and students for the good of the students. Verily that stress also was a shock to the former journalists. They seemed to wander in a daze, trying to find who they were. They'd lost a friend, a Booth and a community in one fall.

There was no Booth to booth to.

"Eventually, they tried other gathering places in Edmond (There be Republicans there), but it was not the same. The was no Booth to booth to. Even some of their new colleagues from the other department joined them, and began hearing tales of The Illidge, who they knew by sight, but not by stories. "To Bob," was still the introductory toast, but it was not the same.

"One day The Clark noticed the old Booth location was being remodeled, and he hastened there, seeking The Plaque, only to be forbade to enter. He considered breaking and entering to rescue the artifact. The next day he tried again, describing the item he sought, and was successful in bringing it out, to be displayed in the office of the Queen Bee.

"But still there was no Booth to Booth to. The faculty tried the new restaurant at the old location for several weeks, but still it was not the same, and heavy with ghosts. Eventually, The Clark, because he got paid the big bucks to do such things as an administrator (forgive the profanity and pray for his soul), found a restaurant a mile away that had a booth.

"Boothing was back, and over the years the numbers of people attending swelled. Teetotalers, assistant deans, broadcasters and communication profs and others from the merged department frequented the location, usually on Thursdays, to joviality and the best of collegiality. All were invited and welcome.

"All newcomers heard the story of The Illidge. All toasted, 'To Bob.' All waitresses at the new Booth knew each of the Boothers and their drinks and food preferences, and always greeted them with great joy, because yea, verily, there weren't like other stuffy professors, and they did tip grandly. Talk was about everything, and rarely about work, but about people, and ideas, and yea, even griping seasoned by laughing about The Illidge, and how he was probably keeping Yahweh in stitches with his humor.

Where there is sunshine, someday there will be clouds.

"But where there is sunshine, there will someday be clouds, as the Psalmist should have written. One recent year, one insecure and bloated Recalcitrant who never attended The Booth did disapprove and complain to Mission Control, though the Booth was ecumenical and all were invited. Recalcitrant spoke with ignorance and arrogance about The Clark and his "cronies." Hence did also insecure and micro-managing Mission Control complain to The Clark that he was making departmental decisions in a 'bar.'

"The Clark was floored by the blasphemy, not about decisions--which were never made there because adult beverages wash away the inanity of academic decisions--but by disparaging The Illidge and The Booth. While it was a temporary setback, it only strengthened the bond of The Boothers, and, pun intended, 'got their Irish up,' assuring their belief in The Booth, a faculty retreat from thus proven inanity of higher education, from the 'vagaries and vicissitudes' of life.

"Yea verily and forsooth, today, Booth is an active verb. The plaque will soon be hanging on the wall when they Booth again."

-30-

P.S. Only journalists know the significance of the -30- and it carries a double meaning here.  But Yea Verily, the booth is no more dead than The Illidge. The Clark has found since initially writing those numbers, that the story continues. In the years since, Booth has moved to various locations, but it always starts with a toast, "To Bob." And the stories grow.

The story continues: An epilogue, a postscript, and two appendices (of sorts), and an afterword will follow.

A redbud tree grows, Booth, chapter 14, Redux

From 2009

Chapter 14 of a gospel of friendship

"The Call" came.

April 1, 2005.

"How do you go to a funeral for someone who is literally 'larger than life'?  A few days later, the  faculty and staff of the Journalism Department somberly headed north, in several groups,  to Wichita. There they found an elegant Catholic church, only a few blocks from The Illidge manse. 

The Illidge manse, and the Redbud tree

"First driving by the manse, on the red brick streets, under the towering elms, past the porch and memories, they arrived early.

"All but one of the group, The Afghan Traveler, were Protestant, and at first uneasy walking through the front doors. But there was a photograph of The Illidge, in a Missouri sweatshirt, to welcome them, and down front were two reserved pews, near the family, for the Okies.
"In came the Sweet Pea and the 'chillen' as The Illidge called them. Sons Bob and Andy, daughters Fran and Sarah and Little Liz, and lots of grandchildren. Behind the Oklahoma pews were many of the parishioners who knew The Illidge from long before his Oklahoma sojourn.
"Then the graying priest stood up, before Mass, and made the 'visitors from Oklahoma' welcome with the kindest of words. During his homily there were tears, and laughter, as it should have been. During Mass, as The Traveler stood, along with the parishioners, and the other Oklahomans were seated, but no longer strangers in a strange land, but welcomed.
"Afterward, downstairs a scrumptious meal was served, again with photographs of The Illidge on the tables. The Okies were greeted as members of the family, and there was considerable conversation and introductions.
"At last, the Okies left, headed back south, somber, but also telling stories, espcially about the ceiling fan.
"Instead of flowers for a funeral for someone dead, they combined funds and bought a living redbud tree from a Wichita nursery, which was planted in The Illidge's front yard.
"It still blooms every spring.
"Only one chapter,  an epilogue and a postscript remain in this narrative, which has become exceedingly difficult  for The Clark to write. The PR Princess this week told him that if Bob is reading it, he would say 'That's OK, Boss.' The Queen Bee said The Illidge, the jazz man,  might forgive The Clark for writing the previous rap. It accompanied the only retirement reception for a professor ever organized by the students at UCO. "

To be continued...

Booth is a verb--chapter 13--Saying goodbye

From September, 2009

A gospel of friendship on a deathbed

Chapter 13

"The Four's trip north to the Wichita hospital, as the sun rose, was quiet, except for a few memories of The Illidge. They remembered his love for music, especially jazz, which he would often discuss with another graduate of "The Old School," The Woody. But he knew and enjoyed much for an old geezer, including Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac. On his bulletin board, he had an autographed photo of Martina McBride.

"At the hospital, they found The Illidge flat on his back but alert, Sweet Pea and daughter Fran, and the conversation was light and enjoyable, and a smile crossed The Illidge's face. The Clark mentioned that he'd smuggled some spirits into the hospital with him and proposed a toast, in the spirit of The Booth. Sweet Pea asked if he wanted it, and he readily agreed. Then it was that the spirits were poured into several glasses used previously as Fleet phosphate doses for cleaning out digestive systems, and the toasts were made.

"The talk turned to many things, including air conditioning, and the anecdote, in the midst of unsaid goodbyes, that comes next is still told in every Booth with great relish and laughter, and tears. 

"After air conditioning, someone mentioned preferring attic fans, which all agreed were wonderful inventions. And then The Illidge commented on the one in his and Sweet Pea's manse.

"To Bob," tales and toasts of humor on his deathbed

"'Turn that baby on, and it's so powerful it'll suck the grandchildren right up into the attic.'  Still the tales are told in the Booth even today, of The Illidge, his Catholic faith, and ability to joke on his deathbed.

"The joviality couldn't last, and it came time to say goodbye, with hugs and wet eyes and many words to him and his wife and daughter.

"The Clark waited till all had left, and sat down briefly on the bed by his friend. They looked at each other and shook hands. The Clark can't remember what The Illidge said. All The Clark could say, was to mumble, 'I love you.'

"Nobody talked on the way home to Oklahoma.

"The next Booth, later that week, and all the rest since, begin with a toast, 'To Bob.' Those Boothing knew The Call would be coming, and another trip north soon."

And so it came to pass."

To be continued

Booth is a verb--Chapter 12--a saddening, Redux

From September, 2009

A gospel of friendship and endurance

(The story, now nine years old, enters the last few chapters, as we all must.) 

Chapter 12

"After The Illidge retired, The Clark, in late spring, called The Illidge one day, and asked him if he would teach a night section of advertising sales, expecting him to say "No," and explaining he could drive down and back in the same day that way. The Illidge's voice rose on the phone, eagerly accepting, and saying he'd just stay the night. More Booth was in the future, they both thought.

"Alas, it was not to be, because his condition worsened, and a tumor developed on his upper chest. He called in the summer apologizing for having to change his mind, downplaying more affliction that had set in. On the first day of fall classes, the parking lot was empty to those of the UCO Journalism Department, because his car was not parked early in the spot closest to the building, as it had been for more than a decade. Sweet Pea called to ask how things were going on that first day, and in Edmond they were smooth. They were not in Wichita. They talked with The Illidge, and still he did not complain, but explained some of the developing tumor.

"No longer was The Illidge sitting in the chair in the Queen Bee's office, sipping coffee as the others showed up. The Booth became a necessity for the faculty, probably that first week, as they fled one afternoon to gather their spirits as the little 4" by 6" plaque with The Illidge's name still hung there.

"From then on, Booth sessions always began with a somber toast: "To Bob." But the clinking glasses couldn't obscure his absence. 

           Booth  always began with a toast: "To Bob."

"As the semester wore on, so did the cancer, and numerous phone calls back and forth told the story of him upstairs in his manse, in worsening pain. Prayers for relief flowed back and forth too. His chair was vacant, his green coffee cup was empty, the cribbage board was unused.

"When hospital became necessary in the spring, The Clark, The Brunette, The PR Princess and The German Complainer headed north, carrying a liquid token of The Booth with them."

To be continued

Booth is a verb...chapter 11--The office, redux

From September, 2009

A gospel of friendship

Chapter 11

"Abandon all hope, Ye who enter here."

Sign above the door of the office of The Illidge.

(Since 2009, the office area has been appropriated and transformed with university money into part of the new offices of a new department in the building)

"That sign was taken down, when The Illidge retired. But not so the letters he had attached to the window of his office behind The Vista in 107 C2, long before the uniform signage was adopted around campus. They may be little noticed, but he is oft mentioned in the department and always toasted in The Booth, as one who was bigger than life. He still inhabits this department.

Forsooth, you can tell more about a person from their office and bulletin board than their resume, The Clark believes. and The Illidge posted annual calendars of the University of Missouri, usually featuring the historic columns which are the second most photographed scene in the state.

There were notes from students, prank messages from The Clark, photos of the family, and all kind of whatnot The Clark wishes he had a photograph of.

His computer was right underneath the bulletin board, and it surely did vex him mightily. Either The Farsooth or the Queen Bee kept having to help him with email. When talk turned too technical for him, he'd hold up a pencil, finely sharpened, and exclaim, with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face:

"'Here's my computer. It never crashes.'

his office was a sanctuary for faculty

"Verily, his office was also a sanctuary for faculty...you could go in there and he would listen, and most of all, most people never knew where you'd disappeared to.

"After he retired The Razorback Prof inherited his domain, and has been there ever since...until this week. She will move upstairs to where The Clark had temporarily pitched his tent this summer and fall. Yeah, verily, we are all sojourners in strange lands.

"So it is written. As the eldest and most wizened of the old Journalism department, in the various vagaries and vicissitudes of life, The Clark will ironically, or appropriately, as he is writing the story of The Booth, move into the former office of the Illidge.

"He has no plans to take the yellow lettering off the glass, unless the ghosts are too strong."

To be continued

Booth chapter 10--The afflictions of Job, redux

From August, 2009

A gospel of friendship and affliction

Chapter 10

"Forthwith that fall, The Illidge returned to teach his classes, to regale his colleagues with stories, to Booth with his buddies, to win and lose at cribbage; the Gospel of The Booth spread throughout the land. Even Sweet Pea and son Andy drove down to indulge in The Illidge's redoubt.

"Little did they know that Boothing would change drastically within two years.

"That fall, The Illidge, who had been suffering from mild shingles even before the heart problems, due to a weakened immune system, encountered another foe as the leukemia worsened. His shingles became permanent, a painful disease known as post-hepatic neuralgia. It attacked him ferociously and kept him awake at night, and hurting in the daytime. Every cure was tried, from medical to hypnotism to 'blue stuff.' Nothing worked.

"Yea though, The Illidge would not complain, though he wore loose clothes and winced often. If you heard him lecturing in the classrooms, with vim and vigor, you would not of know of what vicissitudes and vagaries were vexing him. Some days were better than others, and some were worse than others. Sitting in the Queen Bee's nest early in the mornings with The Clark, or later in the day, he'd have his right hand up under the left armpit, almost constantly, trying to ease the pain. In the classrooms, he always stood, and most students never knew how much he hurt, his hand under his arm.

"Let's 'Booth' today," was good medicine

"One medicine did seem to help...'Let's Booth today,' The Clark would say, about 11 in the morning.

"'When? 4?'" The Illidge would answer, a twinkle back in his eyes.
'Sure.'

"But by 3 p.m. The Clark needed respite, and so did the Illidge. The Brunette would sometimes say, 'It's early yet.'

"'It's five o'clock somewhere,' quipped The Illidge, sometimes between pain-clinched teeth.

"Off they would go to that special Booth, medicating his afflictions with vodka, Irish whiskey, appetizers, banter, stories, and countless cribbage games, until latecomers would arrive to add joviality. The Illidge could hold his liquor, and only twice in those years did either The Clark or The German Complainer drive him 'to his very own apartment' where he could 'have some gruel.'

"His humor never ceased. Some poorly performing students in beginning advertising questioned him from time to time about their grades.

"'Go into dry-cleaning,' was his answer. Increasingly poor performance by students on tests vexed him more and more. The Clark repeatedly advised him to curve grades so at least 50 percent could pass. When The Clark, the patient man that he is, would be upset with lazy students, as would others on the faculty, especially The German Complainer, he would advise, gesturing with his free hand, 'Breathe deeply. In...and out...in and out. Ommmmm.'

The banter was like a tennis match

"He thought about retirement, as the pain and semester droned on, but decided for one more year. In between, The Clark did visit the Illidge and Sweet Pea in The Manse on Quentin in Wichita, to play cribbage, to lose scrabble games to Sweet Pea. To watch the continual banter between The Illidge and The Sweet Pea was like witnessing a championship tennis match, the lobbies of words and gestures and rolled eyes and humor bouncing back and forth. The Clark's neck got tired turning from one speaker to the other.

"And, the trio did visit the 24-hour greasy spoon, The Beacon, right next to the downtown newspaper,The Wichita Eagle. Pictures and photos of lighthouses lined the walls of the smoke-filled eatery, and the breakfasts were bountiful. In those years, so also did The Clark and The Brunette visit, sitting on the porch swing and enjoying the evening and banter, and going out to a smokey neighborhood bar--the kind that don't exist in Oklahoma.

Illidge was a beacon to all who knew him

"It occurred to The Clark years later that The Illidge was a beacon to all who knew him.

"The last year at UCO, the beacon began to falter. It was the hope of The Clark, The German Complainer, The Queen Bee and others that they could raise enough money to send him to Ireland. That didn't happen and remains a regret to this day. Many Booths occurred...probably twice a week.

"What was held was a retirement party, with all his family present, his granddaughter dancing to the music of an Irish band, and the day closing with 'Oh Danny boy.'

"Ever since, The Clark tears up when he hears the words, and he would hear them often in the coming year."

To be continued...

Booth chapter 9--The Heart of the department, Redux

(Present tense interlude, all these years later. At a gathering of faculty celebrating graduation last night, The Clark and a friend, lifted a glass, clinked them, and toasted, "To Bob." Such is the lasting power of friendship.)

From, August, 2009

Chapter 9

"As the semesters rolled by, so did the gatherings at The Booth, much as pegs moving sporatically around the cribbage board, the tales multiplied. But so did the woes of The Illidge.

"'I think I'm having a heart attack,' he told The Clark one spring morning. The Clark thought he was kidding because of his low key, dry wit. He was not.

When the Queen Bee arrived, he commented that his left arm was bothering him, and she told him that was a classic sign of a heart attack. She ordered him to go to the hospital. Instead, he taught his first class, and returned to her nest, saying the arm still hurt and he was feeling worse. Then, instead of calling an ambulance, he drove himself to a nearby hospital where he lay for hours essentially unattended before being transferred to a healthy hospital. 

“'Heart attack' turned into a requirement for heart bypass surgery, and it was accomplished, with much worry and prayer from his family and his colleagues. Sweet Pea, Elizabeth the Strong, was there throughout. When the The Clark and faculty did gather in The Booth, it was somber, and initiated with toasts, 'To Bob.'

"It seemed as though the heart and humor of the department was in jeopardy. He convalesced through the summer, and returned in fall to his classes and more joviality in The Booth. But that joviality was soon tempered with yet more health problems. The effect on his colleagues was of wonder and admiration and disbelief and a desire to enjoy each day, for yea, they had nothing to complain about in comparison. And The Illidge did not complain."

To be continued…

Booth is a Verb, Chapter 8, Farsooth! redux

From August, 2009

A gospel of friends and special students
(Note, Farzie is still in New York, and regales us of her adventures there).

Chapter 8

The Clark presenting an award to The Farsooth years ago.
(She is still trim, young and svelte. The Clark not so much so.)

"Much of the lore and legend of The Booth came not from the faculty, but from the 'chillen' as The Illidge would refer to them, his students. While he had little use for those who didn’t take their educations seriously—'I’ve got a tip for you, change majors!,' he became a favorite teacher and mentor to many. He is still credited, almost with awe, by students for leading them to success. Even last year, one returning student, a survivor of some rough times and tattoos, said The Illidge was why he was going into advertising.

"Indeed, The Illidge’s teaching was always passionate, and whether a freshman class or a senior class, presented with fervor and humor, as was his wont. For three straight years, his influence helped three minority advertising majors be ranked in the top 25 minority students in the nation, and he accompanied them to ceremonies in The Big Apple, where all got jobs. His colleagues held him in the highest esteem for his reputation for being a demanding, effective and well-liked professor, especially since his experiences with students led to many humorous stories when they 'Boothed.'

"the kindred spirits of inquiry, stories and good times"

"Few students visited The Booth, because of the backward Baptist belaborments of the buckle on the Bible Belt which blindly banished booze by the university, which frowned on students, even of legal age, being recognized as adults, and ignored the long established practices of students and professors learning best when they gather informally, watered by the kindred spirits of inquiry, stories and good times.

"Perhaps the first student to sample the spirit of Boothing was the Department Sweetheart, Farsooth the Malay. Her official name is Farzana Abdul Razak, known to us all as 'Farzie,' though always adddressed by The Clark as 'Farsooth,'A tiny woman with gigantic spirit, humor, talent and smile, and perfect English, better than Okies, The Farsooth distinguished herself in all things computer and writing, and served as editor for the student newspaper and yearbook, winning top faculty awards, including outstanding service to the department. Yea, she returned to complete her masters’ degree. She has since moved to the Big Apple, where she’s survived 9/11 and much more, but still doth correspond, by facebook, email and phone, with the department, especially the Queen Bee, and The Clark.

"Reading this account recently, she wrote that she 'teared up,' and The Clark asked her about The Illidge.

"Herewith her response is relayed, because her views are so typical of so many students:

"Forsooth, Farsooth, Farzana!"

“'I think I've been to the Booth once. All I remember is I got drunk from the margaritas. Mr. Illidge was very special to me. He was the reason Carmen and I moved to NY. I remember coming in to The Vista/Bronze Book office every morning and greeted by him with a Shakespearean quote and coffee. I got him a book of Shakespeare quotes one year, and we would pick out an appropriate quote that reflected our day. I often helped him format his emails...God forbid there were any misspellings or grammatical errors.'

“'He always asked about my family, knew each one by name and personality. And he often told me he wished I could see my family as often as he did. I miss him and think of him often when I get bummed out in this big city. Thanks for keeping his memories alive.'

"Forsooth, Farsooth! Merci mon ami."

To be continued…

Booth becomes a verb, chapter 7 redux

From August, 2009

A gospel of friendship continues

Chapter 7

The Clark and The Illidge, the Cribbage Board, The Booth, and The Plaque

--photo by The Brett

But the tears came not from The Illidge, who, unlike Job, never complained about his physical discomfort. He did complain, and oft, about students who couldn’t pass tests, or construct simple sentences, or show up, or work hard. He was unsettled, but not complaining, when he and The Clark went to the university president, The Politician With Only a Bachelor’s Degree, to ask for a promotion based on The Illidge’s masters degree, only to be summarily dismissed.
"But in The Booth, there was no weeping nor wailing nor gnashing of teeth. The Booth buddies only learned about his leukemia when he’d mention his trips to the doctor to check his blood levels, which were slowly changing. Still, his humor and fortitude inspired students and faculty—and those stories continue to this day, and shall shortly be revealed..

"Thus it was that his colleagues, in admiration and thanksgiving, pitched in and had a small plaque made, with walnut wood and green metal to match the colors of The Booth.

"And then The Clark and the others petitioned their bartenders, who talked to the managers, and convinced them, in view of their conviviality, large bar tabs and tips, to hang the plaque in The Booth. The Clark brought hammer and a nail, and one afternoon, did drive, with much audacity and firmness and joy, the nail into the paneled wall where they usually set, and did hang the aforesaid plaque, all without knowledge of The Illidge.
"Then it was that the faculty planned a dedication for an afternoon to surprise The Illidge, and invited the entire department, visitors from other departments, and even The Good Dean—He Who Dances With Penquins. Yea, they all attended, including the Queen Bee, and the plaque was unveiled to The Illidge’s honor and humility, among much raucous ramblings, laughter and “spirited” conversation.
"Forsooth, it was at about that time that The Booth became a verb, adding to its legend and influence with faculty and students in the department. Instead of, 'How about a Booth this afternoon?' the conversation evolved to 'Booth?' and then to 'Let’s Booth!' Eventually, it became 'Booth!' as in 'Charge.' And so it was that Booth became a verb, and always in active voice."

To be continued