When you wake up in Ireland your relatives see you. They look at you. They come around you. They don’t say “Welcome to Ireland” but they do say “Welcome Home” to you. My dad went home this week. I miss him already, miss him like crazy. I miss his voice.
It’s so silly. I get the news in Hershey, PA, in the middle of the carnival atmosphere at Hershey Park from your sister and my Aunt Peg. I text you on the phone and said three words - I love you. How pointless, huh? You would like the irony.
This is from “Stealing Home”:
He has another, more obvious, power. He can go straight from the stop sign to the road at the far end of town, the quickest route home, put the station wagon in the garage, and remain. He guesses the girls are still awake. He’d probably end up answering Annie’s questions about the ball game; finding out what Suzie did today at the Andersons’; listening to Marilyn talk about the fabrics she’s been working on; waiting up to talk to Bobo. None of that would be unusual, yet in his power he knows that none of it would be quite usual either. He’s reminded of the way a certain hit or pitch can turn the course of a ball game, always a matter of inches and small angles. The championship game, played yesterday or tomorrow, might have ended differently. Even played today it might have. Suppose, he thinks, Moose had thrown just a few inches higher than the one Bobo sent back against his foot…But the speculation is pointless and could lead to others, as pointless. The game has ended; he has seen it through. Elsewhere nothing has ended.
The light has again turned green.
Seeing it, he raises his hands to the steering wheel and presses his foot softly against the accelerator.
Tonight, at least, there is only one place to be.
Your spirit survives. In all of your writing your characters wrestled with issues.
I wish I would have talked to you more dad, asked you more about so many things. But it’s all speculation now and that could lead to others. This game of life has ended; you have seen it through. My relationship with you just started, the dialogue continues.
Thank you for leaving your thoughts and comments by clicking below:
August 19th, 2008 at 11:28 am
I remember the first class I took with Professor O’Connor. It was formative, it not only structured my literary style and voice, but my life. The lessons learned translate from the classroom to the boardroom over and over again. Thank You!
August 20th, 2008 at 12:30 pm
O Phil. A poet, I never had a class with you. We just spent time once in a while, and the talks were always genuine and warming. My personally inscribed copy of Stealing Home is well worn. I never steal home, though I admit to stealing lines. Is that license or justice? The empty space in the dusty corner of my consciousness where you used to live. Goodbye, Phil.
Zalman (Stewart) Lachman
MFA Poetry ‘76
August 20th, 2008 at 1:33 pm
It is hard to imagine that Phil is dead. He seemed so solid and permanent. He picked me up at the Toledo Airport in June of 1971 when I came to be interviewed for the Director’s job. And for the next twenty-nine years I saw him several times a week when the university was in session.He could always be depended on to defend the Creative Writing Program from all attacks and slights, and his loyalty to his students was unmatched. We shared more than most people knew–failed first marriages and very happy second marriages, with wonderful children from both. Phil wrote wonderful and original books which rightly received great praise. He had a vision which encompassed the complexity of human relationships and the nuances of style required to
express it. He was a master of prose.
He was a dear friend to me, and to my wife Jennifer, and we will miss him greatly. Our condolences to his children and to his wife, Martha.
Howard McCord
August 20th, 2008 at 3:41 pm
Phil was so important to me as a young writer. It was his phone call to me to let me know I was accepted into the MFA program as BGSU that made me want to go there. I still joke with my students sometimes about something he used to say about occasional stories that would come through workshop: “Send it to the New Yorker!” He had a good heart that way–passionate belief in his students. I am so sad to hear about his passing.
August 20th, 2008 at 9:03 pm
I just now found out that Phil has died. I couldn’t agree more with Howard McCord. He was so solid, so permanent. It is hard for me to believe he is gone. He supported me so strongly when I was an MFA student and also afterwards by writing letters of recommendation for me. He believed in me as he believed in all his students. I am sad, very sad tonight. Thank you, Phil–for everything. Including the rocking chair you gave my family out of your house!
August 21st, 2008 at 12:09 am
Phil touched us all in a very special way and left a lasting impression on all that met him. He was a very friendly and open guy who would spend hours on the phone with me just talking about anything that was on my mind. Nothing could bring up your spirits like a conversation with Phil. He would have me laughing for hours. Phil truly opened his heart up to me, and for that I can say that I really love him. I know like many other that read this, I will miss him terribly. I’m so glad I had the chance to met Phil, and he will be with me always.
August 21st, 2008 at 11:06 am
I just spoke with Phil a couple of weeks ago and, as usual, his spirits were high. We always exchanged stories about our kids or grandkids that made us laugh (usually Phil’s twins and my twin grandsons who are about the same age). Having been the secretary for the Creative Writing Program at BGSU for the past 20 years, and a BFA student in Creative Writing before that, I came to know Phil pretty well. Both he and my husband were Irish descendants. One time, when Phil was irate because of rumors that threatened the demise of the BFA program, he stopped mid-sentence and said to me–almost as an apology for his anger: “You did say you understand the Irish temperment, didn’t you?” I answered, “Yes, but…” “But what?” he asked impatiently? “My husband is a leprechaun,” I said. “Oh my god,” he replied. “That’s the other kind!” And that’s the Phil I’ll always remember– always a staunch defender of the MFA & BFA programs he co-founded–always ready to take up arms if need be. I’ll always remember his humor, his gusto and enthusiasm and, of course, his talent as a teacher and a writer. (I still think DEFENDING CIVILIZATION should have been made into a movie!)
Bye Phil. I’ll miss you.
Mary McGowan
August 21st, 2008 at 11:32 am
Martha, We’re so sorry to hear that Phil has died. You and the children are in our thoughts. Please accept our condolences.
August 21st, 2008 at 10:45 pm
I learned a lot from Phil as a student, but maybe even more from him outside of the classroom. On his wedding day, I rolled into Sycamore, IL, scruffy and grateful after some moments of desperation, afraid I’d be lost within 4 miles of my destination and never find the hotel. Phil was coming down from the hotel room to go to lunch with his kids and some other people, and spotted me, and came over right away. He told everyone else to go ahead without him, and he and I went to McDonald’s and had cheeseburgers for lunch. We had a really honest talk about what we were both about to embark upon - he talked about marriage and I talked about moving to NC with my girlfriend. We were both a bit freaked out by the future, but looking forward to it.
Later, I moved to DeKalb, IL, just up the road from Sycamore. I used to have crystal clear flashes of memory of that conversation every time I went into that McDonald’s on Sycamore Rd/ DeKalb Blvd. I think it’s the time when Phil was most himself, honestly and openly, with me, and I will always value that time.
I learned about lean writing from Phil. I learned about having guts when you write. I learned how (as a teacher) to respect the will of the class rather than impose my will. When I teach, so much of what I learned came from being enabled to learn by Phil. But the best thing was cheeseburgers on his wedding day, and an honest conversation about the future.
Peace.
Matt Duncan
BFA ‘93 Poetry
August 22nd, 2008 at 12:38 am
For the family — I knew Phil during the first years of the MFA program (MFA ‘71) and remained friends after I left BG. He was what a friend should be — honest, open, giving of himself in classroom and conversation as he did in his fiction. He was the ‘real deal’ — a wordcrafter and a risk taker — and an embattled man fighting each day for his fledgling writers and program against the ‘powers that be.’ Had it not been for Phil’s tenacity and courage, the MFA program may never have survived. Instead, it flourished, which is a piece of creative work as worthy as a novel. I hope his last years were joyful, in that lovely place of his youth, and I am sure he is being remembered by former students in all walks of life around the globe who join me in raising a glass to his name and praying that light surrounds him in the blessed land.
August 22nd, 2008 at 10:49 am
Another BGSU MFA fiction student of Phil’s called from California yesterday to say that Phil O’Connor had passed away.
While I’ve not kept in touch with him very much since those workshop years in the 80s, I fondly remember discussing mimeographed short stories in his living room and hanging on his every word. Phil was an original, an Irishman, a warm and gracious man, and the world was a more interesting place with him in it.
My condolences go out to John and all of Phil’s family. I’m sorry for your loss.
Sean Kelly
August 22nd, 2008 at 5:07 pm
Dear Bowling Green Creative Writing Program and O’Connor Family,
I’m very sorry to hear about Phil’s death. I was in the undergraduate creative writing program from 1988-92, when Phil was teaching some of his final classes. I always hoped that I could take one of them; it never worked out.
But how could I not know Phil O’Connor? His presence in Hanna Hall loomed large. We all knew he was back there, in that room behind Mary’s desk. He was generous with his time: when I was 16 and inquired about the program, he invited my mother and I down from Michigan to talk about it with him. He presided over a program reunion my sophomore year — the first time I’d seen a big group of writers come together, in what amounted to a weekend reading marathon. They half-competed, half-celebrated, and I was fascinated by the way all divisions fell away, and I wanted to be part of that tribe as much as anything. I knew Phil as an echo, too, through his daughter Erin and his son John, who taught my craft of fiction class. He kept telling me, “Go talk to my dad; I’ve told him about you,” and I never did. Phil O’Connor was white-bearded, enormous, and powerful, and I was eighteen and shy.
When my partner Tim Haas died in 1994, Phil came to the funeral, then to the house. I remember very little about that time, but I remember how kind he was to me. He stood with his drink — well over a foot taller than I — as he spun a yarn about Jim Whitehead, a former defensive tackle for Vanderbilt and the founder and director of my own graduate creative writing program in Arkansas. In my daze I thought, Maybe every writing program in the nation is run by a big, tenacious man and a natural storyteller. I liked Phil O’Connor because he made all of us students feel that what we were up to was some serious business.
Yours,
Katrina Vandenberg, BFA 92
August 22nd, 2008 at 6:25 pm
I have just been to one of the most beautiful, moving ceremonies celebrating the life and loves of one of my friends, Phil.
As we exited St. Anselm’s I felt rushed to get my children (friends of Phil’s youngest, Hanlon & Ingrid) out of everyone’s way so I wiped my face, embraced & dashed to the car to head home. On the way, though, I felt myself stopping traffic as I drove towards our Town’s hub and looked up at Red Hill, tears rolling down my face….I recalled my favorite of many of Phil’s stories. It had taken place during his childhood and was about Red Hill. I had been so surprised & touched to hear one of his own children recall Phil’s feelings about Red Hill at today’s ceremony as well.
In fact, I had asked Phil to retell the story so often that one day I came home to find Old Morals, Small Continents, Darker Times on my doorstep….it was lovingly signed with a dear message from Phil.
The message begins with “Jump ahead to page 33 whenever you need to hear your favorite tale”
(of course My Imaginery Father”)
The message ends “with much admiration, Phil”
I thought then, as I do now, it is with much admiration that I have had Phil in my life.
August 22nd, 2008 at 10:13 pm
No one could tell a story better than Phil O’Connor– his voice, his timing, that look in his eye when he knew he had you there with him– he was truly a master tale teller and a fine, fine writer. I’m grateful to Phil for many things; his was the key vote in my getting hired at BGSU; he helped me and my family when we were struggling, he got his agent to read a manuscript of mine, that and much more. I salute Phil for his generousity, his warmth, his humanity, his marvelous sense of humor, and his great and gentle heart. I offer my sympathy to All his family; I feel I share in your loss.
August 23rd, 2008 at 8:26 am
Phil was one of my parents’ best friends while he lived in Bowling Green OH, and (at least in my eyes) he was a special friend and mentor to me. As a child and a young adult, I enjoyed my conversations with him, talking about life, politics and much more. Phil gave me some of my first tastes of intellectual, creative thought. His impression on me has lasted, and always will. I am sad about his death, and I will always remember him.
August 23rd, 2008 at 12:32 pm
Hi John…never knew your father, however you were on my flight going to his funeral…..sounds like he was a great man and will be missed more then you, or anyone can imagine. i’m sorry for your loss.
G
August 27th, 2008 at 8:33 pm
Dear John–
I knew your dad in the 60’s. I was one of his first MFA students and was proud that he selected me to teach for a year in the program. Something I’m very proud of is that one night, fortified with several Buckeyes, I praised a story that he pulled out of a desk drawer and read to me. I told him to get on the stick and send it someplace. It was the story that got him in BEST SHORT STORIES. Of course, looking back, I figured he knew how good it was and that he was just giving me some kind of test. I kidded him about that years later and could tell by the little light that went on in the corner of his eyes that I’d hit the truth. He was a fine writer, a dear friend, and a first rate teacher. No one I have ever met could find the center of a sentence or a story better than your dad. It was a pleasure and an honor knowing him. Please look me up (you have my email) for more stories and so that I can get a chance to know you a little better,too. I remember you kids as mostly rug rats who climbed around on all of us as we sat in the living room drinking those beers. I bet you turned out to be the kinds of people who made your father’s great Irish heart smile.
October 14th, 2008 at 11:33 pm
John:
My sincerest condolences to you and your family.
November 20th, 2008 at 5:20 pm
Dear John,
I’m a current MFA at BGSU, and am right now involved with arranging a reception at this year’s AWP to commemorate Phil. We’d love it if you could make it, and please contact me even if you can’t.
I never knew Phil, but his echos certainly still linger on campus. Theresa Williams, one of Phil’s students, is now leading my fiction workshop. She occasionally shares some stories. Until recently, I didn’t know much about Phil, but every bit I learn shows me he’s exactly the kind of writer I relate to and appreciate: hard-working, passionate, open. I’m currently reading “Old Morals” and already am struck by his sharp prose and the voice he seems to capture so effortlessly. His work will certainly inspire generations of writers to come.
My condolences to you and your family. I hope to hear from you.
–Dustin
March 12th, 2009 at 10:26 pm
John and family,
I worked with your Dad while a student at BGSU. I actually spent a great deal of time typing and re-typing Stealing Home. Over the course of the two years we worked together, he helped me see the lady I was meant to be. In typical college style, I was a wild one who was just out to tear life apart. He helped me so much find and grow my inner beauty.
Life quickly took me away from BGSU and with his dating Martha, I didn’t really fit (or so I felt). I met Justin a few times and always cherished how he spoke of you and your siblings.
About a month ago, I searched for him and found your website. I’m so saddened that I missed out on his friendship for the last 18 years.
My thoughts are with you and your family,
Lisa
June 17th, 2009 at 7:09 pm
Hello John,
I wrote a tribute for your father’s first anniversary of his death. Would you like to read it? I have already sent it to Erin and Justin. Let me know.
Donna Fentanes