A few years ago, a friend and I were talking about
some of the truly great scholars in our field, and what it is that makes truly great scholarship. We were both
touched by the friendliness and openness that had been shown to us by these stars
of the discipline, even when we were just starry-eyed graduate students and
young scholars first finding our way. We developed a theory that great
scholarship and kind natures are connected – that the very generosity of spirit
through which these people had reached out to us and others could be the
impetus behind their wonderful and paradigm-changing work. Perhaps, we thought,
the kind heart that causes a luminary to start a conversation with an unknown
young scholar is the same heart that creates broad-reaching,
inclusively-written criticism or an accessible, useful edition.
It is the reach towards others, the desire to
connect, which distinguishes scholarship that changes things and lasts for
years. Scholarship is, after all, a discourse. A conversation. Someone who
works above all else to be a helpful contributor to the conversation is almost
certain to make the conversation a better experience for everyone else in it. I
am reminded of a mantra shared with me by a wonderful actor that the most
important work in a scene isn’t figuring out how to do what you’re going to do,
it’s figuring out how to make it easier for the others in the scene to do what they’re going to do. Great scholarship
is not soliloquy; it is part of a dialogue.
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| Acknowledgements from Charlotte Scott's Shakespeare's Nature. Just the first one I picked up. |
One of those luminaries my friend and I spoke of
has left the conversation, much too early and to the great detriment of all of
us. The loss is stunning. I did not know Russ McDonald well. I knew him, as we
say in the South, “to speak to.” I feel terribly cheated that I will not have a
chance to know him better. His family and friends and colleagues and students must
be devastated at a level I cannot fathom. I will tell you what I do know. He
was one of the most gracious people I ever met. He asked me about my work, congratulated
me on a recent publication, encouraged me to keep at it when I found myself
stuck on a difficult question. I know he dropped everything to support his
friends. I saw him do it. He loved theatre – LOVED theatre – and when I said I
couldn’t live in London and get anything done because I’d be at the theatre
every night, he laughed and expressed bewilderment about people he knew there
who never went to the theatre. Can you
imagine? he asked. Can you imagine
living here and not seeing all these wonderful plays? I could go broke on
theatre tickets. I know he loved his students and that he meant a great
deal to them. I know he was a sounding board and valued pair of critical eyes
to his friends and colleagues. Read the acknowledgements of scholarly books and
you’ll be amazed how many of them mention Russ.
He contributed thoughtful, accessible scholarship.
He contributed his attention to others and a friendly, kind spirit. If you are
looking for a model of what kind of scholar to be, you cannot do much better
than Russ McDonald.
The conversation will always have what he has
contributed to it. I wish so much that we could have had more.
