PersonalReflectionsOnJim
I read this at the memorial that MIT held for Jim on December 4, 2021. -E.M.F.
Words about Jim
As an educator, your work is to provide nudges or a helping hand to students and trainees as they grow and learn. But for a few under your watch, little pushes propel them to great heights — much higher than you can reach yourself. You travel along with them a bit, then marvel as they continue rocketing upwards! It’s a joy to experience this. It was a joy to watch Jim rocketing upwards!
To me, Jim was a collaborator, a close friend, a frequent confidant, an academic younger brother with talents and a personality that were like a radiant fire.
Jim joined my research group after graduating at Caltech under John Brady's supervision. We had been collaborating together on a large NSF grant, and as Jim neared graduation, I recruited him to Delaware. I made the pitch that the Department, which was especially rich in soft matter experimentalists, would be a good place for him to stretch out and develop his ideas in pursuit of a faculty position. Did he ever develop! "Develop" really became "vigorously expand in many directions", and it was a little glimpse of what we would see in the explosion of collaborations and work that was sparked at MIT.
When Jim joined my group, he laid down two conditions: one, that he would need a larger whiteboard installed in the office, and two, he had a budget of $300 a year in Expo dry erase markers. Done and done! These were two of the easiest and best investments that I ever made as a faculty. I also kept the paper and pen supply amply stocked. Having grown up in a family of campers, I knew how to keep a fire stoked and burning bright.
Jim was incredibly curious and also generous with his many talents. While at Delaware, he embraced and contributed to a collaborative culture. He engaged with undergrads, graduate students, fellow postdocs, and faculty colleagues and applied his knowledge and skills to their questions and work. Over the past few weeks, several former students told me how they would tentatively approach Jim, lab notebooks held tightly, with questions about their projects. They were afraid to bother him, but he was always eager to help. Jim took that same interest in others and curiosity and continued to give to his advisees as a professor.
Jim was deciding about my postdoc offer around the time he and Laura learned that they were expecting Henry. Our own kids were five and six at the time, so having a family just a little ahead on the academic track was comforting, I'm sure. We had fun family adventures together over the years -- from group dinners at our house (I have a beautiful picture of four-month old Henry asleep on Jim's shoulder) to exploring Lisbon at the 2012 International Congress on Rheology, and in 2016 hiking Rigi in the Swiss Alps -- the idyllic surroundings of green meadows, Swiss brown cows, a blue sky overhead, and cheese from a farmer's cold, spring-fed Wanderweg stand.
Starting from when Jim and I met over breakfast at the 2010 Society of Rheology Meeting in Salt Lake City to discuss postdoc positions, I treasured our chats and discussions over the years. My last trip before the pandemic was in late February 2020 to Boston to give a seminar at Northeastern. I made sure to arrive into town early to check in with Jim at the office and grab dinner together. We talked for a few hours about new research ideas, family, and future plans.
After nearly two years of "Zooming" and occasional phone calls through 2020 and 2021, it was pure delight when, just a little over a month ago in Bangor, Maine, Jim and I had the opportunity to finally catch up in person. We took two long walks together (many Smoots) and talked about new ideas for our scholarship, teaching pedagogy, advising students, the meaning and purpose of higher education, even some of our small professional frustrations, and of course we caught up about our families -- fencing, Scratch coding, and hybrid family Zoom pandemic Dungeons and Dragons campaigns.
Seeing Henry and Laura in person for the first time in four years, well, it doesn't feel like that long. The way Jim and I shared family news together, I felt more like a neighbor on the block.
Beyond my own relationship with Jim, I enjoyed watching his increasing influence and leadership in our international science and engineering community. Jim truly brought out the best in those around him and made deep technical contributions to our field.
Jim had intellectual talents and capabilities that, in some people, might make them poor listeners, or impatient with those, like me, whose processor operates at somewhat lower clock speeds. But he was an attentive and engaging listener and a fun partner when charting out new ideas and plans. During sometimes inevitable disagreements after a talk he was giving at a technical meeting or workshop, I would watch as Jim expressed a thoughtful reflection on a challenger's ideas, while simultaneously revealing the more solid and higher technical ground that he stood on.
I think of these moments and I can immediately conjure an image of the spark in his eye, a raised eyebrow and sideways glance, his direct and focused gaze, the deliberate cadence of his speech, the care he took choosing his words, his empathy and genuine interest in others thoughts, ideas, and feelings -- all of this bundled into a kind spirit and humility. Part of the twinkle in Jim's eye was also his sense of humor. As often as we discussed serious and technical matters, we joked and laughed, too. I will miss his laugh.
Henry and Laura: When I think of Jim, despite the sorrow that I feel, it is impossible not to smile with the joy of the moments that we spent together. I admired Jim. He gave so much to us, his colleagues and friends, in so little time.
To his students: Those of us who worked with Jim carry a little bit of his radiant fire with us. We'll use that little spark of him to kindle new fires of knowledge, marvel in the sublime beauty of our glimpses of nature's laws like he did, and do so with the kindness, respect, and generosity to others that he showed us.