Alumni magazines (including this one) are occasionally parodied because of their relentless coverage of spectacular success—news and features about smiling, chronically content men and women whose hard work and good fortune are models for having Made It. And, typically, we focus on persons of accomplishment for good reason—they’re interesting. But any sophisticated reader knows that a true picture of the Stanford family includes members whose lives did not work out so well.
English professor John Felstiner called me a few days before Christmas last year, introduced himself, and began to unravel such a story. A former student of his, Elizabeth Wiltsee, ’70, had died under strange circumstances—homeless, bereft, having walked 45 miles from her refuge in Watsonville to a remote section of woods. Her body was identified by forensic experts weeks after her disappearance.
Felstiner had discovered this news completely by accident: he had made an inquiry to the Alumni Association after a foray into his old files turned up an honors thesis Elizabeth had written 30 years ago. Her work was brilliant, Felstiner says, and her words unlocked a recollection of the author. What had happened to her? Then Felstiner heard the word “deceased” come back from the other end of the phone. Just when Elizabeth had re-emerged in his memory—lively and engaging and full of promise—she was gone. In fact, she had been gone for more than a year when Felstiner learned of her death.
It was like an existentialist nightmare. For Felstiner, the reality of Elizabeth had no definition beyond what he could extrapolate from her words and a few distant memories. He was left groping for answers. How had she died? But first, how had she lived? When last he knew her, she was bright and vigorous, babysitting his children. Thirty years later, a pile of bones in a lonely patch of forest, stumbled upon by fishermen.
Felstiner set out to renew his acquaintance with Elizabeth Wiltsee. His journey produced a story (page 58) that is part memoir, part biography, part meditation, and a profound reference to the relationship between student and teacher.
I am moved by the decency contained in Felstiner’s quest to honor and dignify Elizabeth’s life. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything quite like it. He spent hours on the phone talking to her classmates, family members and co-workers. He haunted the Watsonville places where she had hung out, getting to know her daily routine and the people whose paths she crossed, however briefly. One day last March, I visited John at his home, where he showed me a student film he had uncovered—a low-budget wise-guy drama in which Elizabeth plays an unassuming character. As the scenes unfolded before us, John pointed out tiny details about her mannerisms, as if, by accumulating enough objective information about her, he might resurrect some dormant memory.
For me, Felstiner’s search was emblematic of the enduring quality of the teacher-student connection. The best students remain in a teacher’s memory, and perhaps in their heart, like embers waiting for a puff of oxygen. When the oxygen comes, in the form of a letter or a chance meeting or, in this case, an accidental encounter with a decades-old thesis, the warmth returns.
Elizabeth Wiltsee turned a corner somewhere that led down a dark, strange path, and she couldn’t find her way back. But her descent into mental illness was only part of her story, a story that Felstiner has attempted to make whole. In his care, she emerges alive and full of expression, a sonnet to the undiminishable beauty of a verdant mind on display.
Thank you, John, for calling me first.
We introduce two redesigned sections in this issue. The first solves an identity crisis for the two- or three-page collection of brief items that historically has kicked off the Farm Report. Since so many of these items involve alumni off campus, they don’t quite belong in the campus news section. So, while the substance and style of the former news Digest will not change, the name will. From now on, it’s Red All Over.
Farther back in the magazine, we’ve expanded and renamed our Shelf Life section to represent the breadth of artistic expression in the Stanford community. This new section, Showcase, still features book reviews and author profiles but now also incorporates music, dance, film, theater, art and culture. We think you will find these stories among the most interesting and engaging in the magazine.
You can reach Kevin at jkcool@stanford.edu.
