![]() In the spring of my sixteenth year, I was given a black mountain bike. It quickly became my favorite possession, because it gave me a newfound freedom. I rode miles and miles each day after school, and spent entire days in the summer riding it around the countryside and throughout the village. One of my favorite destinations was to Milligan Road, where Jack and Ruth Esau lived. Jack was a local historian, proud Marine, and beloved friend to the community. (You can read more about Jack in a previous post here). Ruth was a remarkable woman. Her father died when she was just two years old. She contracted polio as a child, and suffered from post-polio syndrome as an adult. But Ruth’s “sad past”, as she often referred to it, did not keep her from leading an extraordinary life. She went to college, married, had children, enjoyed her career as a teacher, and was active in community affairs. While this may not seem unusual today, for a young woman in the 1930s and ‘40s, she was quite progressive. When I met Ruth, she was nearly 90 years old, but her mind was sharp and her elocution (a word she taught me, I think) was precise. I was cautious with my speech around her, because, ever the teacher, she would sometimes stop me mid-sentence to correct my grammar. (We once had a week-long discussion about the distinction between “who” and “whom”). Considering that I knew Ruth for only a couple of years, she had an inordinate and profound impact on my life. Our conversations--sometimes in person, other times by phone or letter--went deeper than the weather and the latest news from the village. We talked about history, art, music, and the two topics we did not agree on--politics and theology. Although I’m sure she did not realize it at the time, Ruth taught me how to disagree with someone on fundamental issues, yet still be friends with that person. I remember, early on in our friendship, that I made the mistake of inferring from something she said that the Esaus were Republicans. Ruth laughed, a glimmer in her eye. “We are diehard Democrats!” Jack answered. I stood corrected. Ruth’s impact on my life was that of a truly great teacher. She corrected my grammar and taught me things I did not know; but her greatest lessons came to me in a far more powerful way. She influenced me. While doing research at the library one afternoon, I came across a note Ruth had written to a prominent community leader back in 1965. It was a note thanking the woman for the work she had done on in spearheading the town’s centennial celebration. How remarkable, I thought, that Ruth wrote a note to this leader, not for something she had done for Ruth, personally, but something she did for the community at large. That simple note, unbeknownst to Ruth, had such an impact on me that I have adopted her practice, writing brief notes to those whose work I appreciate and want to encourage. Another lesson Ruth taught me, and one I am still working at, is writing with clarity. She once told me that she wrote the way she spoke. My English teachers and professors have cautioned their students against such a practice; but it worked for Ruth, because she spoke perfectly. I don’t remember her even using contractions in her speech (she would probably correct this sentence). I often hear her voice when I am writing, critiquing my style and grammar. Of greater importance was the way in which Ruth welcomed everyone into her home. As a long-time friend of the Esau family once wrote, “One of the great joys of visiting [the Esaus] was that one could never anticipate what new ideas, inspirations, or for that matter people that you might encounter.” Indeed, Ruth was liberal, in the true sense of the word, and I loved her for it. She enjoyed talking about a range of topics and welcomed into her home an equally wide variety of people, even those with whom she might not agree (even a young, 15-year-old Republican, like me). Recently, a cultural commentator was asked why he never ran for political office. His answer was profound. He said, “Politicians want power over people. I’d rather have influence on people.” This morning, as I remember Ruth on the eleventh anniversary of her death, I smile, because that was Ruth’s secret power: influence. And I am a better person for it.
1 Comment
Shirley Shaw
2/6/2019 10:45:27 am
Loved reading this,Ty. I was blessed to meet Ruth Esau in the fall of 1966 when our oldest son, Mark, became one of her Kindergarten students. She immediately impressed me as a teacher who genuinely loved her profession and her “kids”.
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AuthorTy Perry is a writer and blogger living in metro Detroit. Archives
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