Shadows, lies, facsimilies: so much of life was secondhand, weighed down with arguments and explanations. If we stop moving and try to explain anything, he knew, we truly die; if we pause to make maps or poems, if we take our gaze off the shimmering horizon for an instant, we’re surely lost; if we abandon the path in order to reflect or to plot our silly course, we go into exile. And so now my exile begins, he told himself; I am led by a woman, Algernon, and fixed at a desk like a burned-out star in a dead orbit. My life is over.
Oh, Speke.
Oh, Africa.
—William Harrison, Burton and Speke, 1982
When friends would depart Fayetteville for new challenges and adventures, Tammy and I would have them out to the house for good food, good cheer (sometimes too much), and as heartfelt a goodbye as we could manage without tears. More than once in these send offs, I remember beginning a rapturous rant about how much Bill Harrison meant to me, and sometime late in the evening, pulling down Burton and Speke and reading aloud this passage above, hoping to leave the sojourners with something beautiful and unforgettable from one who taught me so much.
I do not live in a cheerless world; I live in one as crazed and frazzled and marvelous as you ever promised. I do not live without you. Rest in peace.
Fiction and History 
8 responses to “Bill Harrison (1933-2013), unforgettable teacher, novelist, short story writer”
I spent part of my morning looking for a fitting tribute. I’m sure more will be coming, but I doubt many will approach the fitting-ness this one.
My dad and Bill were great friends. They are probably up there sharing jokes and puns with each other.
I wish we were somewhere where the two of us could talk, Dan, and lift a glass to Bill. Next summer we have to go to Arlington and bet on every horse with Bill or with Harrison in its name.
And/or… you could make your way to Fayetteville in July, where I intend to house-sit for Heff (and scribble a lot) for the entire month.
One or the other, let’s make sure we get together this next year.
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Bill always told me to keep it simple. When I won the Felix Christopher McCain award for poetry, I was the first undergrad to win, and Bill was the reason. He told me that the simple little poem was exactly what he wished more of his grad students would try. I think about him often, when something I write is too wordy… too descriptive… too long.
With that in mind, I’ll have to let his death stew a few days before I attempt to thank him in a blog post. I just heard this morning from the NY Times obit.
Scott, thanks for writing and for alerting me to the New York Times obituary, which does him justice, http://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/30/arts/william-harrison-79-novelist-and-rollerball-writer-dies.html?smid=fb-share&_r=0