SOILS IN SAN ANTONIO
On 17 October 2012, my dad was to be honored in San Antonio, Texas for serving over 50 years in the Soil Science Society of America. A symposium was organized in his name to honor his contributions. So, James
organized the adventure, inviting any siblings who could come...
Carma and Patrick
met James for a Seaworld Saturday;
Mom and Dad & I followed along, arriving in the nick of time.
(I got to be side-kick who sat nearby and watched him add and remove slides to his presentation,
running at 8:03 a.m. 600 yards to make an introductory session, watching student after student and colleague after colleague approach him to express the difference that he had made in their careers and their lives.) It reminded me of what heaven may be like--standing with George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life learning the little things that made the difference in someone else's path.
We met Jody W.,
married to a member of the Church for years and years, who worked with Dad at a research lab in southeastern Washington. Jody, acknowledging the consistency of choices in his “Mormon” comrade, designated Dad as “a gentleman and a scholar.” Over time, Jody felt inclined to join his spouse fully in church activities, sending a son to BYU and then on to MIT to pursue nuclear physics. A colleague of Jody reminded us of another friend, Ananda, soils student from Sri Lanka. When my father emptied his suitcase there to fill with souvenirs, he gave Ananda pamphlets and a pair of plaid pants, popular at the time (late seventies). Fifteen year s later, Ananda called, asking my father to attend his orals for a doctoral thesis at a nearby university.
"I would like you to attend my thesis presentation,” was the message my dad heard over the phone, “and afterward, my baptism.” When Dad arrived to offer congratulations, Ananda presented the plaid pants!
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During a break at the symposium, while I dashed to the front to load Dad’s flash drive into the computer near a front podium, a quiet voice near Dad’s elbow, asked my father if he remembered him. Dad looked, puzzled, then prodded, “Remind me of your name! “ His name was Tan, and if my father could not place him, it might have been because 40 years had passed since he had seen Tan as his graduate professor of soils in Durham, New Hampshire. Now managing a soils lab in Canada, Tan was encouraged by one of his work partners to attend the soils meetings, though his travel arrangements included a trip to China the day following his return. Tan opened his Monday schedule to choose classes and found to his surprise, the man who had taken him under his wing and helped him embark as an early student.
Tan insisted on treating Dad and five of his family members with lunch, following the meetings. He told us of his work, his family. He is from Taiwan, married a girl from Shang Hai; was on his way there to visit his extended family that Thursday. As my mom
handed him a signed Book of Mormon pass-a-long card, she told him about their mission to New Zealand, and asked what he knew about our Church, he told her that his brother had joined, then his sister and his mother. “Well, you need to read the book,” she encouraged. “And the reason you need to read it is because it is true!” It is interesting to ponder about people who helped us along in our beginning paths…
to wonder when and if we will ever meet them again, and what we might say. Regardless of words,
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