Laughing Matters – Travels With Brian: Levitating, Ljubljana & Festetics (Eastern Europe & Me #20f)
When I was growing up a trip to South Carolina meant one thing, fireworks. North Carolina where I lived had banned fireworks, South Carolina could have cared less if you blew yourself up. As long as you had fun doing it what could possibly be the problem. Brian never really liked North Carolina where he spent part of his life. The last fifteen years of his career he chose to live over the state line in Georgia. He often referred to North Carolina as the nerd state of the South. On the other hand, he thought highly of South Carolina which was filled with wild asses both historical and contemporary. It was only fitting that Brian spent his final days in upstate South Carolina. This scholar of the ancient Romans was in a place where they extolled the virtues of Roman candles. I am sure the idea of such absurdities gave him the greatest pleasure. One of his most endearing qualities was an incredible sense of humor.
The Same Difference – A Case of Curiosity
Brian and I had two very important things in common. The first was curiosity. He tolerated my Eastern European obsession because he was as fascinated by my interest as I was appalled by his lack thereof. He came of age in a world that viewed anything east of the Iron Curtain as irredeemably backward. For him, communism was a bad idea that the Russians had made worse. The collapse of the Iron Curtain could set the newly freed nations once again fighting each other. The region was filled with strange ethnic groups who spoke unintelligible languages and adhered to customs that were the antithesis of British pragmatism.
The distinction between us and them could not have been greater in his mind. Whereas I saw the Orthodox religion as mysterious, he saw it as superstitious. Whereas he saw the culture as insanely provincial, I saw it as adhering to time worn traditions. There was also the subject of German reunification. For Brian, this was to be feared rather than celebrated. I found it difficult to refute this argument from a man whose mother had been forced by Luftwaffe bombing raids to take him into a bomb shelter as a toddler. My passion for Eastern Europe was not going to change Brian’s heart or mind about the region, but as always, he was willing to listen. That was what really mattered.
Levitational Advice - The Rise & Fall
The second thing we had in common was that neither of us took ourselves too seriously. Despite, or perhaps because of his many accomplishments in the field of historical scholarship, Brian never missed an opportunity for an irreverent remark. He was an intellectual powerhouse to the point that Cambridge provided him a full scholarship to any university in the United States in pursuit of a doctorate. Brian told me on multiple occasions that a doctorate was a ridiculous idea. A pointless show of pretension for professional students. After the intensity of Cambridge, his time at Vanderbilt University where he gained his Ph.D. was something of a joke.
His greatest memory of that time was not writing his dissertation on President James K. Polk. A man whom he referred to “as an insufferable nerd.” Instead, it was of a Polish gal he met at a local Catholic Church in Nashville not long after arriving there. She confided in him her avowed belief in levitation. As a matter of fact, she claimed to be proficient in the art of levitating. Perhaps she was trying to get a rise out of him. I found this story a source of endless fascination, Brian less so. As I sat there wide-eyed asking him to provide me with every detail, I could not help but ask, “Did you ever see her levitate?” He only replied with a single word, “Christopher”. This was followed by a look which made clear I might just be as crazy as the girl.
Humor Over Hubris – History & Hilarity
Brian loved to make jokes out of whatever material was at hand. When I told him about my trip to Ljubljana, he confessed to having an affinity for deliberately mispronouncing the name of the Slovenian capital. Instead of the proper pronunciation “loo-blee-ah-nuh”. He pronounced it Jubal-jana. Such harmless jokes were some of my most memorable moments with him. Our all-time favorite was Festetics, the name of a famous Hungarian noble family and their Baroque Castle in Keszthely, close to the shores of Lake Balaton. One afternoon I mentioned to Brian that the name was pronounced FESH-tat-itch. We both agreed there was something about this strange name which sounded more like a skin rash than a noble family. Anytime one of us said Festetics, this would be followed lead by endless scratching. As Brian liked to say, “guys like to sit around and act real stupid.” We did plenty of that together.
The rather ridiculous side of Brian was lovable. He did not have the pretensions of most academics. He was still the guy who grew up in Stockport, the only child of a father who worked in a steel mill and a mother employed in the school cafeteria. Hubris had no place in their home, but humor certainly did. He never lost his sense of humor no matter how serious the subject. I still vividly recall one of his lecture courses on Ancient China which strangely segued from the Huang Ho (Yellow) River to a digression on square dancing. This gave rise to the idea of a Huang Ho dosido. A laugh out loud absurdity that was lost among most of his uber serious students. Brian was always poking fun at his profession. The subject matter gave him ample opportunity to blend history with his incredible sense of humor.
Brian was not above poking fun at himself. This was true, even when it came to the most serious of subjects, including his own death. I once nagged him about making sure he settled all his affairs in advance. He was indifferent to the idea. I could hardly blame him. Who among us wants to admit their own mortality? His willful disinterest exasperated me to such an extent that I finally asked in scarcely disguised frustration, “Aren’t you worried about all the stuff Candace and the girls will have to deal with after you die?” He raised his voice and exclaimed, “Christopher, I’ll be dead so there will be nothing for me to worry about.” As you can imagine that settled it. I had to stop myself from laughing. Unfortunately, his death would be no laughing matter for me or those who loved him so dearly.