"Things fall apart; the center cannot hold." -W.B. Yeats
Last Friday, after leaving our offices, we stopped by the Zantops' house to borrow two extra pairs of snowshoes for friends who were visiting for the weekend. We were on our way to see the newborn baby daughter of our mutual friends. On the spur of the moment, Susanne decided to come along with us -- and she quickly selected a pot of little spring daffodils from her greenhouse to bring.
We all held the cute little newborn and then, as we drove Susanne back to her house, she spontaneously suggested we share the dinner she had planned to prepare for Half and herself. Within 20 minutes, the table was set with Mexican dishes they had brought back from one of their many trips, the wine was poured, and we enjoyed the delicious sauted shrimp and garlic, broiled trout, roasted potatoes, asparagus and salad that Susanne magically produced for us all.
As usual, our dinner conversation was animated and wide-ranging. No one spoke faster than Susanne. We talked about Dartmouth, and U.S. politics -- but also about March vacations, longer-range plans, and about the conference on German colonialism Susanne was planning for June. Together, as we had so often done before, we decided to top off that end-of-week evening by going to the movies at the Hop. Before we all left, Half prepared one of his special little espresso coffees to fortify the four of us for "Best in Show," the comic film we had long looked forward to seeing.
When we parted later that evening, we were in a wonderful mood, happy to have shared some hours together, pleased that we would see each other again Sunday morning at a cross-country skiing and snowshoeing birthday party in Vermont.
But then came Saturday.
And now our world will never be the same. Our lives, like the lives of so many people in this community, were multiply interconnected with Half and Susanne. They were like a nucleus at the center of an atom, holding us and so many friends, students and colleagues within their orbit. The ways in which they lived as a couple provided them and all of us with balance and dynamism, cohesion and vitality. Their mutual devotion was based on the respect they held for each other's ways of being -- she for Half's methodical, exacting, attention to detail, for his calm and thoughtfulness, his ingenuity and expertise; he for Susanne's tireless energy, critical and quick mind, her strong opinions, her intensity and passion for her work. What they had in common was their endless generosity, the openness of their home, their commitment to social justice, and the high standards they set for themselves.
Most academics that are as accomplished as they were are seduced by professional advancement and arrange their personal lives around their careers.
Yet Susanne and Half reminded all of us that what matters most in life is love, friendship and community. When we considered moving to take another job last year, we were held back by the dailiness of the life we have shared with them and other friends over many years. That life is made up of those spur of the moment dinners, of birthdays we celebrate in each other's houses, ideas we exchange, books we read, the work we discuss, the arguments we have, the politics we engage, the vacations we plan and the trouble we sometimes make. We teach each other's students and watch each other's children grow; and we've come to love each other's parents and friends.
Half and Susanne reminded us that we've built something together here and they insisted that it was just too valuable to leave behind.
We've depended on evenings such as last Friday's -- sustaining and enriching gatherings such as only the Zantops could provide. Things have fallen apart. Yet, in our immeasurable grief we are grateful for the friends who have reached out to us and to one another.
Marianne Hirsch and Leo Spitzer are members of the Dartmouth faculty and were close friends of the Zantops.
