One of my college professors passed away this week. Dr. Harris Parker was a professor of religion at my alma mater, but I took a freshman orientation course from him, a course I was so convinced would be a complete waste of time. But because of Dr. Parker, it was the opposite.
I applied for college during a blizzard, so I applied to schools where there would be a very small chance of snow, if even a chance at all. I ended up at Columbia College of South Carolina, a women’s college of, at the time, less than 1000 students. I was for three years, I think, the only Yankee. I didn’t say “Ma’am” (though boy howdy I do now), I talked too fast, I was too loud, and I didn’t know diddly crap about the South, its culture, or what that cultural divide meant. I was different. Not always in a good way, either. I was convinced I’d transfer elsewhere in a year. I didn’t think there was any way I’d be happy there. I was wrong there, too.
Freshman orientation was a semester-long course that yielded a 1 hour credit – you can see why I thought it would be a waste of time. But I was encouraged to register for it, so I did, and ended up with Dr. Parker was the instructor. I don’t remember all that much about the syllabus, except how he spoke to us, and that, more importantly, he listened.
I do remember the first day of class. He had a very slow and lyrical way of speaking, and a Southern accent of a type I’d never heard before. Now, Pittsburgh has its own accent – we have a whole dialect, mostly referring to food. And if you ask me, I’ll demonstrate the Pixburgese.
I’d never heard a Southern accent quite like Dr. Parker’s. I’ll be honest: I had trouble understanding at first, not because it was uninteligible. He was actually very clear and articulate. But he spoke very slowly, deliberately, and with a verbal demonstration of the thought that went into his words. Me? I talk fast, faster still if I can move my jaw that quick. But Dr. Parker was my verbal opposite. And in his orientation class, it was like having a quiet conversation with a small group. We could have been on a porch or in a park instead of in those weird chairs with the one-arm desk area for writing (if you’re right-handed). His class more than any other was my crash-course in how to slow down, and appreciate where you are right now.
He had us take the Myers-Briggs personality test – which yielded that I was a very solid way-off-the-edge-of-the-scale introvert. Like, “Stick me in a cave, please” introvert. I remember the class laughing at the idea that I was an introvert. But Dr. Parker nodded thoughtfully and said, “I think that’s right.” He’d not only noticed who I was in an hour a week, but he noticed how I was.
We spend a lot of time here talking about the prevalence of the alpha hero, the loud and brash warrior male who is tamed partially by the magic hoo-hoo of his lady fair. In real life, men like Dr. Parker represent a different kind of hero: the quiet gentleman of intellect and grace. Compassion is itself a form of tangible strength. And while the quiet gentlemen heroes are not as prominent in our discussions of hero archetype, they are themselves powerful. The thoughtful, intellectual hero who is a source of abiding and dedicated strength is a pleasure to read about. Heroes like Christy in Patricia Gaffney’s To Love and to Cherish, or Colin in Julia Quinn’s Romancing Mister Bridgerton, who may not stamp around and pound their chests but whose dedication is equally dominant and powerful.
Last night I did an interview about chivalry, and how it, much like romance, has not vanished from our culture. Dr. Parker would have been an excellent example of its presence. He was, in every sense, a gentle man and a gentleman. He had an unfailingly powerful intellect, limitless compassion, and a quiet sense of humor. The lessons I learned from Dr. Parker are many, but indelibly one simple truth remains: you may never know how far, or for how long, your existence may touch another person. Dr. Parker never taught me a liberal arts course, but he taught me about some very, very fine and crucial arts. Think before you speak. Always, always listen. And sometimes, strength is being quiet. (I’m still working on that last one).
Who are the quiet, gracious, intelligent men who have shaped your life? And why is it so difficult to portray them in fiction, either visual or literary? What hero do you think of in romance when you think of that type of gentleman hero?
Definitely yes to Atticus Finch and to Ruck (assuming Beatriz means the hero from Kinsale’s For My Lady’s Heart). Patricia Gaffney wrote two wonderful gallant heroes: Christy, as mentioned by Sarah, and Michael, in Wild at Heart. Many of Nancy Butler’s heroes and almost every one of Carla Kelly’s. I like alpha heroes, but I more often find myself falling for the gallant beta ones.
Very nice tribute.
For me, I’m very blessed as it made me think of my husband.
This made me tear up. So sad to hear that a man like that has passed away.
I agree with Atticus Finch as the quiet, but strong hero. To Kill a Mockingbird is and probably always will be my favorite book—mostly because of Atticus. He reminds me of my late father in a lot of ways and I think he is truly one of the greatest heroes of literature.
What a wonderful tribute. I had a few teachers like that. One a High School history teacher who I still see every once and a while and a College Pol.Sci. Professor.
I too was a Pittsburgher transplanted to the south (Southern VA). Imagine my surprise during college orientation when my Southern Belle friends got up at 5 am to put makeup on before Volleyball practice. Or the looks of utter confusion when I asked for a gumband to tie my hair back. Then there was the look of complete disgust when I put french fries on top of my salad at lunch. Ahhh, memories.
I always did say “ma’am” though and never called an adult by their first name until invited. My mom would have had my hide for that.
Oh, definitely Caz. I adore Miles Vorkosigan, but Caz is the very soul of honor.
cent33—I wouldn’t give 33 cents for one of those walking barrels of testosterone.
I love how many of us are married to men like this, rather than the alpha types who populate our reading material.
That was a wonderful tribute to what sounds like an amazing teacher.I am so sorry for your loss.
I married a man much like that. While I talk nonstop and often don’t recall what someone else had to say during a conversation, he listens to every word and makes you feel that he is very interested in what you have to say. While I will fly mad about something, he stops and considers all sides and never raises his voice when explaining his side. If I didn’t love him so much I’d hate him just for that. This often came in handy when our kids were growing up. As they got older, they told me they would rather have me holler at them and ground them than have their daddy talk to them and make them feel bad. His way definitely worked better as they remembered it much longer than the grounding.
Maybe it’s the female equivalent of the old saying (was it from Gone with the Wind?): Men may flirt with women like that, but they don’t marry them!
Because, c’mon, do we REALLY think rakes can reform? Do we REALLY want to spent 50 years with Lord Dark-n-Brooding, or the Duke of Asshat?
The first day of my first university class in Art History, I, a 32 yr old mother of four, walked into an amphitheater-style classroom thinking I would grind out these last two years and be DONE with academia. Then the lights went out, more than a hundred students inhaled sharply, and the professor walked through the door with a candle in hand and lit more from it before starting a chant. Thus began an eye-opening psyche-shaking episode of higher education, conducted by a short, slightly rotund hero known as the Mad Monk of Berkeley to some. It was not only “higher” it was broader and deeper and more creative and inclusive than anything I’d ever imagined college could be. Thanks SB, for reminding me lo these many years later of MY not so quiet hero professor who integrated people from many nations, art from many cultures and times into an opportunity to throw off conventional intellectual shackles.
Sarah,
I currently live in Columbia, and actually wanted to go to Columbia College. I wound up not doing it for financial reasons, but if I had known there was a teacher like Dr. Parker there, I would have tried much harder to get there. Thank you for sharing your memories.
I did not have any teachers like this in college but I did have two in high school. My 9th grade Algebra teacher and my 10th grade English teacher. Wonderful men both of them.
Like so many mentioned above, I also married a man like this. I have to admit the slow, thoughtful way of talking can drive me crazy sometimes though LOL I have a tendency to finish his thoughts when he’s taking too long to get where I know he’s going. What’s that saying about the things you love the most about someone also being the things that can make you the most crazy? yeah, I’m like Sarah in that I can resemble an auctioneer when talking so….
As far as heroes, the first that came to my mind was Ford from NR’s Tribute.
It’s just a thought, but could it be that we don’t want to think about quiet, thoughtful, inner-strength, beta-type men in a romantic sense because of the relationship we have to these sort of men in real life? Many of the comments above mention fathers or grandfathers as the “Professor Parker” type of man; I would certainly name my own father as that sort of man. Perhaps t’s just too icky to want to make a fictional romantic connection to a man like that when they’re related to us.
I’m reminded of a friend of mine who broke up with a very nice boyfriend because he reminded her too much of her (also very nice) brother: “It seemed like I was crossing a line” was what she said at the time.
Please read last sentence of first paragraph as:
Perhaps it’s just too icky to want to make a fictional romantic connection to a man like that when they’re related to us in real life.
This is a beautiful tribute. Really, really lovely.
Without getting too sappy or sounding kiss-butt-y, this is one of the biggest reasons why I come here: the excellent writing, and the emotional connection and depth.
Oh, and I pretty much still don’t call people by their first names unless I’m invited to!
Late to comment but I just wanted to express my sympathy at your loss. I can understand the connection you felt with this man.
On a personal level, my quiet hero is my husband. His strength of character envelopes me and has held me steady all these years.
The heroes that have been mentioned here are all wonderful examples of the quiet hero. I adore Colin Bridgerton and Sir Phillip from JQ’s Bridgerton series. Those two books, Romancing Mr. Bridgerton and To Sir Phillip, With Love are my favorite JQ books. Persuasion is my favorite Jane Austen book, due in no small part to Capt. Wentworth. I’ll just add one more and that is Rafe from Eloisa James’ ‘Taming of the Duke’. It took him a while to discover his own depths.
Atticus Finch. Check.
Colonel Brandon (movie version). Check.
Lupe dy Cazaril. Check.
The one who I keep not seeing is Remus Lupin (for the Potter-philes). The epitome of the quiet man.
I cried like a baby when I read this and thought about Rob Roy Purdy, my Anglo-Saxon professor at Vanderbilt, who was the epitome of the courtly Southern gentleman. The kind of man who, when I wrote one as a hero or secondary character, my non-Southern former critique partners always said came across as gay because straight men like this couldn’t exist. Thank you for your moving tribute to your Dr. Parker and for reminding me of my Dr. Purdy and all the gentlemen like him I have known.
I recently read Sharon Shinn’s Fortune and Fate, and I’d have to nominate Jasper Paladar from that book as well—an accomplished historian and gentle guardian for his troubled niece who falls for the eminently practical and tough-as-nails heroine who heads up his guard. (It seems as though Cammon from the same series may be of the same mold, but I haven’t read the rest of the books yet.)
What a lovely tribute, Sarah. I’m sorry for your loss.
For the Quiet man of strength, I’m going to say George Cooper from Tamora Pierce’s Song of the Lioness quartet (YA fantasy). On the surface he’s the rogue archetype, but his role in the story and in Alanna’s life is much more the quiet man of strength. He was my first fictional crush, and still the model for the sort of person I’d want to date.