To the Editor:
Nearly one year ago, Dartmouth professors Susanne and Half Zantop died. They were murdered while my family was gathered next door to celebrate the 76th birthday of my husband, Bob. He was summoned to the ghastly scene.
Across the world, the Zantops' families, colleagues, neighbors, friends, and students have grieved intensely. Many still do. Many have vented rage that a couple at the prime of their productive lives were so cruelly cut down. Many have groped for answers to the harrowing question: Why did this happen? Atrocity devoid of meaning erodes the sense of control we all need; it breeds anxiety.
For our family, it is time now to revisit the incongruity of celebrating Bob's birth while our cherished neighbors lay dying. It does seem eerie; it could taint all of Bob's birthdays yet to come. But to lessen that risk, we remind ourselves that nature is pervaded with cycles of birth, death and regeneration -- often enigmatic.
Half and Susanne loved the natural world as much as their scholarly realms. Bob and I shared their delight in spying a rare morel on an Etna roadside, or the golden gleam of chanterelles in the forests surrounding the Appalachian Trail. Wild mushrooms, which so often grow on or near dying vegetation, are symbolic of renewal.
After a year of mourning, we need to meld with that elemental drive toward regeneration. It is time to move beyond proclaiming our friends' exemplary qualities, and to incorporate some of them into our own ways of being. Thus each one of us can serve as a living memorial.
When I met Susanne in 1982, she was active with Amnesty International, writing letters of protest on behalf of victims of terrorist regimes. The day she died, she had sent me (and others) an email opposing John Ashcroft's appointment as Attorney General. Were she here now, she would write letters of protest about Ashcroft's support of secret incarcerations and military tribunals in our own nation. She cannot do that, but we can perpetuate her spirit by writing letters of our own.
Half, the earth scientist, had a millenial perspective that sometimes tempered his wife's passions. Firm in his own convictions, he was an exemplar of strong maleness that was also warm and gentle. While it was still uncommon for fathers, he was fully involved in their daughters' lives. Sometimes, while Susanne was absorbed in her brilliant scholarship, he was the more nurturing parent. Any contemporary man would be enriched by incorporating him as a model.
We could all enhance our lives by emulating the Zantops' compassion, generosity and readiness to help -- intellectually, emotionally or materially. Why not celebrate their years among us by choosing at least one of their attributes as a compass that guides our actions and responses? In time, the chosen qualites will become internalized and we will keep Half and Susanne's essence alive.
