In Memoriam Elaine M. Plackner, 1941-97 Business Manager, PCC, 1985-97 Bonnie J. Niswander, 1932-98 Director of Education and Training, PCC, 1984-96 James B. Ashbrook, 1925-99 Teacher, Consultant and Colleague

Three colleagues whom I loved dearly have died in the past two years. Through the abundance of their lives and the facing of their own deaths—just like Morrie—Elaine, Bonnie and Jim taught us how to live. There’s nothing startling about the lessons. We have heard them all before. What was and is startling is how fully each embodied them.

Be open.

Bonnie knew better than most that each of us constructs our reality based on an elaborate set of cultural assumptions. She knew how much injustice and oppression rests upon our not being open to stepping into the shoes of another and looking at reality through their eyes. Bonnie was relentless in her commitment to stepping out of her own shoes and into those of the neighbor she did not understand. Several months before her diagnosis of ALS she went mountain climbing—so she could see the world from another vantage point.

Be honest.

Elaine and I lived on different sides of the political fence. Colleagues moved back from the lunch table when we squared off for our periodic battles over some political issue. I think it’s why I trusted her so deeply. I knew she would never shave the truth as she saw it to keep my favor. But it was an honesty accompanied by good will and compassion; her challenges never undermined her relationships. When she learned of the malignancy that would take her life in a few short months, she told us of the anger and sadness that welled up in her, just as she later told us of the acceptance and love which followed.

Be passionate.

Jim was a relentless searcher for truth. That is the creed of an academician, but few pursued truth with more passion than Jim. It was a passion that drove him to delve deeply into the structure and function of the brain in search of new ways to understand the foundations of religious faith. But it was not just in his academic life that his passion burned bright. Several weeks before his death, Jim worried about who would prune the bushes in the wonderful oriental garden he had created in his back yard. When my wife volunteered, he walked her to each shrub that needed attention and explained in detail how they might receive the appropriate care.

Be disciplined.

I have always admired, and been a little envious of, people who are self-disciplined. As soon as I achieve a modicum of discipline in one arena, I fall to pieces in another. Elaine was wise enough to allow indulgence in areas that didn’t matter much and to engage discipline in those that did. She and her husband started every morning with readings and prayers that kept them rooted in the love that flowed through their lives. It was that same discipline that carried them through the painful days of her illness and that helped create the serenity that characterized her death.

Be loving.

An encounter with any of these three was an encounter with a loving human being. You could tell by the way they listened to you. They could be distracted and preoccupied like the rest of us, but most of the time they paid close attention, listening to more than just the words. There was a hospitality in their souls which made you feel welcomed—and loved.

There are more lessons than these for living a good life and dying a good death; and there are more people than these who have shown us the way. The benefit in lifting up the lives of Morrie and Elaine, Bonnie and Jim and all the others is to remind us that we are surrounded by a great “cloud of witnesses,” a “communion of saints.” They are our brothers and sisters whose lives continue to shape us long after their deaths.

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