Dave Beck honored me by asking if I would write the foreword to his book.
Here is my reflection on his memoir Fragments. Find his book here.
Professor’s offices in older buildings are quite small. David’s 8 x 10-foot space was where we first met. The discussions we had knocked down walls, opening literary vistas before us. Here I discovered David’s love of detective novels, Cormac McCarthy, Bob Dylan, rock music, and affection for past courses he cherished but would not teach again; a malady of falling interest in literature, much less reading. Tinged with sadness, David lamented the descent of interest for stories that shown a light on human nature.
But then he told of students who reached out in messages thanking him for opening their eyes to writers and writings that continued to inspire. After telling the tale, David would again express regret, “That course will never run again. People don’t seem to read books that will tell them something about life.” Yet there was an unmistakable glimmer in David’s eyes as he talked about student responses years later to his classes.
Then David told me about his daughter’s admonition to write stories about his own life. Etched in my memory bank is the remembrance of David’s first “blog” on social media. I was stunned. Reading, I rode the crest of a wave, a long, delightful surf, that only disheartened me when I reached the end of the ride. I remember writing to David after my first experiences of being swept up in his storytelling.
David’s Facebook page is graced by his visual, verbal presence. Besides personal reflections, my favorite posts are pictures of Hopper’s solitary figures, also peppered with quotes, artwork, music, pictures, poetry and boxing. David writes the way a boxer punches with jabs, uppercuts, right crosses, and body blows. Staccato sentences along with intermittent, seemingly disconnected sections (but they are not), combine quotes, poems, lyrics, memories, etymologies, and Scriptures.
Transported from the digital world, David’s view of life is panoramic in “Windshield 2” but so detailed he remembers bug splatters. David’s pain bleeds through the pages recounting his father’s “Legacy.” When you read about David “holding God’s hand,” tears will stain your cheeks as they do mine writing this foreword. “Praying through clenched teeth” has me at the head of that line. “Time after Time” reminds me of sitting with a worn scrapbook, reminiscing over faded pictures and dog-eared newspaper clippings. “Grace” cuts to the bone; there we are left exposed to horrors in life. You can smell the sweat of the boxing gym in “Professor” where we discover David’s first love. Nothing will prepare you for “Warrior”; the surprising application will make you rethink your sensitivities. “Falling” comes in two parts, a left hook and a right cross – let’s just say this one leaves you on the mat. [And don’t miss David’s visitor in the hospital.]
Each story pulses with neon in the darkness. Surprises, interruptions, providences – call them what you will – David’s experiences are a mirror. When we look, we will all see a reflection, of our own triumphs and tragedies. David’s pacing whipsaws the reader in time as he recounts the past’s impact on the present. If there is self-deprivation in memoir writing, David’s honesty crawls on broken glass.
Straight up honest, I was not prepared for “Endings.” The first time I read the story, I wept. You see, I, like David, am a professor. His words ripped me in two. The salient question is left, mid-page, “What difference have I made in the lives of my students?” Here is what I originally wrote to my friend after reading his words on social media (which you will better understand after you read the story):
As you and I discussed many times, but especially over the last lunch we shared together, we are seed-planters. The growth we may never see, since the seeds fall into human soil, fields which literally move away. And as in Jesus’ parable, the responsibility is not that of the seed or Sower, but the soils. You have done good work my friend. How would I know? I’ve not watched you teach. But I don’t have to. A man who has given himself to his craft is known not only by knowledge (your literary acumen speaks for itself) but the deep care he gives to his appointment and those with whom he has shared that sphere, his students. Your agony of wondering about the difference you have made displays the depth of care. What is left behind is resident in those soils, where you planted, where the student takes the responsibility to grow, or not. Take heart, my brother. I rejoice for you, both here at this finish and for the life you have led. The card survived Providentially. Hear those words again. There will come a Day, That Day, when you may see some “seekers,” who are “friends joining you in eternal dwellings” because you have shared your “wealth” with them (Luke 16.9). You have blessed many. And I know that, because I am one.
David hits on something every one of us struggles with: when we are in the fray, it is hard to see above it, to see if what we’re doing has worth. And at the end of something, we look back and say, “Did what I wrote, said, taught, researched, or lived make a contribution?” I feel it. Even writing this foreword I’m thinking, “I should tattoo these words on the back of my hand.” And then I remember Isaiah’s words, “I have engraved you on the palms of My Hands, your walls are continually before me” (49.16). He knows, He sees, even if we do not.
I would say to anyone reading my words, buy a box of David’s book, and give them away for Christmas presents. Sure, Fragments is the life of one person, but he speaks for everyone: universal strivings for every reader, no matter the culture, time, or place. David’s “intermissions” where he explains social lessons, is a punch in the gut. You will find yourself in his memories.
David and I matriculated from meetings in his office to having lunch together every couple of months. Our palettes bounced between Mediterranean and Cuban food. But we always had the same meal. No, our food orders changed; our camaraderie did not. Our friendship was and is based in the same Faith, the same vocation, the same walk – Christian men, in the words of Sean Rowe, who are Just Trying to Leave Something Behind. In part Rowe says [listen to the song]
Oh, wisdom is lost in the trees somewhere
Oh, you’re not gonna find it in some mental gray hair
It’s locked up from those who hurry ahead
And it’s time to leave something behind
To all I would say, don’t rush ahead. Carefully consider your choices. Allow the wisdom of those who have gone before, to speak to you now. By so doing, the day may come when you remember David’s words and look to see that they have become your own. And your Fragments will “leave something behind.”
Mark Eckel, Lynchburg VA, October 2024