One of my favorite colleagues at Carthage has stepped away after 39 years with the school, and Sunday afternoon was finally an opportunity for some of his many friends, admirers, colleagues, and former students to pay him tribute for his great work and for the indelible mark he has left in his wake. Sam Chell was a Professor of English extraordinaire, with one of the most brilliant and wide-ranging intellects I have ever encountered. . . but I think what made him so special is that his quotient of intellectual brilliance versus down-to-earth approachability is the highest I’ve ever seen. Most people as brilliant as Sam are downright scary, intimidating people – around whom you are scared to speak for fear of dangling a participle or splitting an infinitive, to say nothing of perhaps saying something foolish or asking a needless and irritating question. But Sam has this uncanny ability to make you feel like you are actually on the same intellectual plane that he is, even if you know full well that you’re not. He listens intently without giving the slightest hint that his mental wheels are already spinning on to the next conversation – and he has always had an exceptional gift for making people feel like they matter.
Sam has never struck me as someone hungry for the spotlight, so I was not surprised to hear that he was hoping to slip very quickly out of Dodge without any fanfare whatsoever (I’m pretty sure he tendered his resignation after the school year was over) – but I am so glad that he was persuaded to allow a small little celebration so at least some sort of closure might occur for those of us who will miss him so acutely.
I should mention why I know Sam as well as I do. First of all, he’s been a fairly faithful listener to the Morning Show over the years – and on several occasions I have had the tremendous pleasure of interviewing as a guest – a couple of times to talk about Frank Sinatra / another time to talk about cult movies – and once to talk about Connie Francis. I have also had the pleasure on quite a few occasions to sing with the John Bunic Big Band, and Sam was their keyboardist over the course of many years- and almost invariably when I would get done with my rendition of S’wonderful or whatever the song happened to be, he would have a kind and encouraging word for me. Coming from such a master musician when it comes to big band and the great american songbook, his compliments meant the world to me. At WGTD, Sam has been hosting a tremendously popular program called Saturday Night Bandstand over the last couple of years and it has been so neat to see him succeed so spectacularly in this venture. Finally, the last time I taught heritage at Carthage, Sam was one of the teachers in my cluster of fellow teachers meeting together to brainstorm. He actually didn’t make it to very many of those meetings, but via email I was the lucky recipient of all kinds of valuable suggestions- and almost more important than that, Sam made me feel like I was doing good work myself in something which takes me far outside of my own comfort zone – music. In all these ways, it’s been my pleasure to know Sam Chell.
One of his colleagues in the English department, Maria Carrig, spoke so sincerely and with heartfelt admiration about Sam’s many contributions to the school and especially the department- and at one point she quoted William Faulkner as saying that in order to truly understand the universe, one has to understand Mississippi. I’m no English scholar, but I think the quote refers to the fact that sometimes we come closest to grasping the loftiest of concepts and the most intricate truths about our existence when we really get to know what is around us and especially that which might at a glance seem to be terribly ordinary. In the case of Sam, she might have been making reference to his love of film, his love of jazz, of Frank Sinatra, etc.
When Sam spoke to us, he offered one memorable line after another – and all with that keen wit that so deeply appreciates the effectiveness of understatement. At one point, he quoted Oscar Wilde as saying – and I dearly hope I’m remembering this correctly – that which is most important to teach is ultimately unteachable . . . or words to that effect . . . which led Sam to say in turn that a good teacher needs to teach himself. I think he means that a good teacher brings all of himself or herself to the classroom and to the task of teaching – including all of their knowledge of the discipline at hand plus everything else in their life that informs their perspective on things. So Sam stepped into the classroom not only with all he knew about English literature – which was boatloads – but also his passions for all kinds of other things / plus all the quirks which make him Sam Chell, the one and only. That fearlessness about being one’s self in the classroom is something worth emulating. I also appreciate that Sam held to high standards for his students, even though that meant a life of almost perpetual disappointment and frustration for him. But Sam was unwilling to water down courses to satisfy the mediocre mainstream – he taught for the top and challenged students to meet him on that higher ground. And many did. And some of them were there on Sunday to join in the tribute.
As Sam finished his remarks, he said that what would make him truly happy is if everyone gathered there would join in singing a song to him – the song which was sung at Frank Sinatra’s funeral. I can’t remember the title of it off the top of my head, but it’s something about Putting Away Your Dreams – and we did the best we could, singing along to the accompaniment of Sam’s jazz combo (which played at our wedding reception 16 years ago.) It was so Sam . . . I sort of shudder to use such marginal grammar, but that says it best.