Professor Myron Taube was hovering, midair, the first time I saw him 32 years ago — he’d paused mid-sentence, somehow even mid-leap — as I hefted open the Cathedral of Learning’s appropriately gothic door to Fiction 101. A small man, with a thick, puckery, New York accent and crazily wind-swept wisps of white hair over a balding pink pate, he was, nevertheless, summoning the Spirit with authentic television evangelist éclat.
“Are you excited about writing?” he asked, his infectious enthusiasm resonating out the door, crossing countless gray arches beyond me, as he remained — impossibly — airborn, arms flung wide, embracing the class, the Universe and God Himself.
I leapt up, joining him on the same plane, while 14 other students sat, sprawled and melting into their seats, looking at us as if we had six heads. In my best Steelers’ score voice, I roared, “Yes — I am excited about writing!”(Honestly, to this day, I don’t know how we stayed up there that long, but it was a great moment.)
Finally landing, he rumbled, “Good. You’re going to need it for the editing process.”
At his funeral on Sept. 3, the memory brought chuckles that eased the visitation.
At the grave, however, I was grateful that Jewish burial customarily begins each person’s turn with the shovel, blade upside down, commuting merely a dusting of earth (to demonstrate reluctance) before taking on any more substantial load. Sudden weakness — a shuddering of the heart, a faltering of the spirit needed to heft the clay — caught me for a moment, as the thought struck how I had not been able to express the most powerful piece of why I will miss him.
We all need voices of encouragement. The best comes with constructive feedback — a thing that takes precious time and thoughtful effort.
After I suffered a brain injury, and struggled to get back into writing again, not only did Mr. Taube remember my name (and my writing) from years before, and offered to give me feedback, he never gave up on me — even as 18 years of physical and cognitive setbacks, multiple moves and life upheaval resulted in far too much time passing between submissions.
Others voicing their faith in us, in our life goals, can mean the difference between merely surviving prolonged life traumas — and actually living our lives despite them. When chaos erupts, and disrupts a goal, knowing in our hearts we have it to return to, can carry us through anything.
I have been blessed to have such unwavering voices. Myron Taube and that of my dad, Irv, are the two greatest.
Mr. Taube’s passing is his final gift to me — a reminder that the people behind these supportive voices are not immortal. I need to follow his life example:
His wife, Marion, died two years ago. Mr. Taube, then 84, got himself into the best shape he could — and ran the Pittsburgh Marathon. His words of encouragement to me belong out there, in the hearts of all those with interrupted dreams, who worry they are past the point of being able to succeed:
“Those young people achieving greatness? They typically do so in a short span of time … with intense and focused work. The point being, the passing of years is not a reason to give up — but to renew your resolve — to summon the intensity and focus for working to make it happen!”
Angelle Guyette is a writer living in Crafton Heights.
First Published: September 17, 2017, 12:51 p.m.
