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At home, traveling, or socially, we recall Larry with pipe in hand, perhaps a loyal dog nearby, exploring an idea, or concentrating on his next move in a game.
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Larry was the most inspiring teachers when I was studying part time for a Masters in History and Philosophy of Science at University College ,London .I was teaching in East London during the day,and in an attempt to break down The Two Cultures (Humanities V Science ) he gave me advice in setting up a H & P of Science course for 6th formers and ideas for discussing philosophical question-eg is a raibow less or more beautiful if we know the science of it. Several students went on to study philosophy and one ,Garaham Mc Fee became the first Prof of Philosophy at Brighton University,later Fullerton USA,including some H & P of S.So that can be traced back to Larry
I got very ill in the summer when I should have taken my degree,and on recovering ,went to BBC TV Education where I got so busy I never got back to studying. On my BBC Staff Training Course ,I needed to make a studio based programme I contacted Larry,and spent a fine evening in his lovely flat in Hampstead persuading him to write and be the presenter .He wrote a terrific script where Copernicus beats off the challenges from a Ptolemyian . I was able to get two good actors who .loke Larry ,got peanuts for a fee,because it was an exercise.Larry took to the studio,with 4 cameras,reading autocue as if he had done it years, took cues to change viewing camera ,linking his presentation with the dialogue of the actors – and that dialogue flowed so naturally ,the actors congratulated him.
Some time later I proposed a series on H & P of Science ,and it was carefully considered,but at the last was cancelled.I was looking forward for Larry to present it.Oh well..
I wonder whether he did any TV work in the US.
I reently checked BBC Library ,for that programme ,but it seems lost.However I still have the Studio Camera script and would be pleased to send it to anyone interested
I wonder if he ever mentioned making a BBC TV programme
I met Larry as a Law and Philosophy student at the University of Texas at Austin in 2006. Inspired by his course in legal epistemology, I wrote a paper that only someone like Larry could appreciate. There was too much math for the average philosopher and too much philosophy for the average mathematician. Larry invited me to UNAM to present my paper, and this kicked off a number of exchanges over the span of a couple of years. One my fondest memories is of Larry telephoning my home in Austin. My wife, Janet, answered. Larry asked to speak with me, introducing himself as my friend. I was touched by that. I am very sorry to hear the news of his passing and find the world a little less bright today.
My deepest sympathies on the passing of your father, Heather. The parallels between your father and mine are striking — college professors, a love of (addiction to?) intellectual conversation, disinterested in physical activity / sport, etc. Having an unusual father may have resulted in embarrassment as a youngster, but any related intrepidation, for me, was replaced by a deep appreciation as I matured. I hope the memories of your father continue to encourage, challenge, comfort, and sustain you.
Larry me contagió su gusto por “Hallelujah”, la joya de canción compuesta por Cohen. En alguna reunión, tuve la oportunidad de tocarla en la guitarra para él y su amada Rachel. Revisando la correspondencia que mantuvimos por muchos años, me encontré con un correo de 2012 en el que, haciendo referencia a aquella ocasión, Larry simplemente ponía: “Edgar, I thought of you when I saw and heard this brief BBC video on the history of Leonard Cohen’s HalleluJah. Enjoy!” Su partida ha hecho que en mi interior resuene, como dice uno de los versos de Cohen, un “… cold and broken hallelujah…” Mis más sentidas condolencias para su familia, amigos, alumnos… especialmente para Rachel Laudan
Universidad Autónoma del Estado de México
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMrZ7lChK-g
I always knew my Dad wasn’t like anyone else’s.
That was as it should be, from my perspective, though there were times (mostly around the age when I was questioning whether, and if so, how, to be more like my peers) when I wished he followed the script.
Some of my earliest memories are of sitting on our front porch, counting cars, hoping for the next one to be my Dad coming home from work, looking forward to playing with him on the floor of my room. I didn’t recognize that it was anything but a game on my floor, but the early Boolean logic practice carved a groove in my brain. He and Mom also snuck memory tests into games on the kitchen counter, where I was blindfolded and quizzed on what spices I could name by smell. I loved going with him to the enormous Carnegie Library for a big bunch of picture and story books and exploring the dinosaur exhibits at the Carnegie Natural History Museum, where my many questions and speculations were met with thoughtful and thorough responses, or sometimes a curious “I don’t know – let’s look into this more together”.
Dad showed me how to find my way in new places and cultures, starting (in my memories) when our family lived in Vienna in the early 70s. Together, we explored historic and scenic sites. Brimful of sureness as a 5 year old, I was encouraged by both my parents to help them at the market, restaurants, etc, using my superior (Kindergarten exposure to German kids) German. I smile at how parenting norms have changed when I think of them sending me downstairs and across the street solo to buy our favorite dessert Topfentorte. Were they really that confident in me? Or perhaps they were tired? They were tending a baby, and that bakery was 87 steep marble stairs down from the apartment! I would head down daily with a handful of cash, and return upstairs, brandishing dessert for all, and we’d settle in for my next English-language reading lesson with flashcards (intended for teaching German kids English), or an exciting new book.
On day trips from Vienna, we’d take a ski lift to a lodge and enjoy wiener schnitzel, I recall the haze of drifting in and out of sleep in the back seat of our shiny bright orange VW Bug while I eavesdropped on my parents, and pretending to be asleep when we got home because I enjoyed the feeling of being carried up those 87 steep marble steps and settled gently into my closet/bedroom nest by my Dad.
As a young girl, I had a doll collection on display. One of my grandmothers may have started this for me. Grandmother likely contributed many of the “international” Madam Alexander dolls with bland uniform faces (perhaps slightly different skin/eye/hair shades, but the same mold). Mammam probably contributed some of the American stitched and china dolls. But as Dad traveled for work, he was also adding to it. Dad’s dolls weren’t like my other dolls. They had unique faces, materials, dresses, and (in my imagination) adventurous lives in mysterious places.
Dad wasn’t like the other Dads in encouraging or supporting sports or physical activities. I never saw him exercise intentionally, though he sure did walk fast when he was going somewhere! I remember trotting to keep up with him on Pittsburgh sidewalks on our Saturday outings. After my science classes at the Y, we always had Arby’s together.
In the mid 70s, living briefly in a high rise apartment in Munich, a building with a rooftop pool, it was time for me to learn to swim. ~8 years old and not having had any sort of sport or physical activity, I was aghast to see the German fathers and mothers tossing their toddlers into the deep pool – no floaties or people to catch them, just “Schwimmen!”. I’m not sure if this was a thing of that time – the way to teach kids, or if those kids already knew, but it seemed brutal and terrifying to me. My Dad wasn’t like those other Dads – he stood with me and my water wings, demonstrated and encouraged, and took small steps away from the side to increase the distances, and before long I was swimming along with those tortured babies.
Dad was kind of clumsy sometimes. Once I got myself in a bind – I’d climbed a tree and couldn’t figure out how to get down. Dad was there, encouraging, or perhaps needing for us to move on to another location or activity. “Jump, I’ll catch you,” he said. It was more of a fumble than a catch, and I remember maybe a sprain, but I learned that falling isn’t terminal, and to think ahead more on my next climb.
As I got older, I lived a day’s journey away from Dad, and it was harder to stay connected. We had calls, where Dad’s style of intellectual inquiry met my adolescent recalcitrance. Dad made better progress during our limited in person visits. We would spend hours late into the evening playing pool and strategy games. He never let me win, so victory was hard to come by, but sweet. He would share his favorite songs on guitar. I carry his love for playing music, for myself, without expectation of great skill or an audience.
On our visits, Dad often planned trips and adventures for us. He wanted to share experiences and connect, and I think the instruction book for divorced Dads at that time was – go to parks, beaches, ball games, Disney World! We had a trip to Disney once, and I may be totally misremembering, but it seemed like we no sooner set foot in the crowded, noisy, commercially-oriented theme-park than we knew it wasn’t for Dad and we bailed. I hadn’t read the instruction book for divorced kids, or seen the Disney ads, and hadn’t expected it to be a wonderful event, so it was not the terrible disappointment it might be in another kid’s story. Parks and beaches were less chaotic, so there was a less precipitous departure, but outdoors wasn’t really Dad’s thing. I don’t think we ever tried a sporting event – neither of us would have known what was going on. What worked better as a shared experience for us was museums, galleries, aquaria, interesting architecture, and historic sites. But still, you had to walk fast!
Moving between 2 parents and their families made it clear that there are different ways of being and living in the world. In one home, a family member was very concerned about Kevin and my use of “bad words” – that could get your mouth washed out with soap, and wasn’t what good people did. But, Dad talked a lot about words – what they mean, and how and when we use them, and he didn’t think there was such a thing as a bad word. My friends all know my great appreciation for an interesting word, my way of reflecting to find the most expressive word, and my appreciation of a well-placed profanity. Thank you, Dad for these gifts.
Dad was the first person I knew to have a personal computer, and he enjoyed sharing this tech with his kids – soon we had a PC in both homes and Kevin and I would compete for time to explore its capabilities. Of course, Dad shared games and puzzles on the PC, but he also showed me the possibilities inherent in a spreadsheet – how easy it is to organize and interpret data, and to play “what-ifs” with the variables to see how changes affect the whole. Just recently, when one of my kids had a question about some new adulting task, I said “I have a spreadsheet for that”. Kid: Mom – that’s so on-brand for you. Thank you, Dad for introducing me to powerful tools. Someday I’ll figure out those other tools – and which one is called the ratchet wrench – those are things for the other Dads.
Dad was not a fan of churches and had not yet met my sweetheart, but when I called, he was there to share my wedding celebration with our families. For me, for this one time, he was in a church, in tux and boutonniere, looking like those other Dads. My husband, Scott, quickly learned how unlike other Dads he was, and over decades of visits and eventually living in the same city, they became deeply appreciative of one another.
Dad wasn’t like the other Granddads either. When I had kids, the question of what to call him was met with an immediate “Larry” – no GrandDad, Grandpa, Pop, Papaw or baby word for him. And babies were cute and cause for celebration, but not especially interesting until they could put together a logical sentence. For my kids and husband, Larry and Rachel’s life in Mexico was a rich first introduction to another country, language, culture, and way of being. Our visits formed memories we will all hold dear – we climbed ancient pyramids, enjoyed food, music, and markets in bustling stone courtyards, and explored old silver mines. We will never forget our excursion to monarch migration grounds! I also remember with gratitude how Dad and Rachel both braved a precarious-feeling mountain truck ride to the park, and then my surprise when Dad declined to take part in the last leg required to see the massive clusters of insects. It was a hike! – outdoors! Why was I surprised? We returned from our glorious trek to find Dad happily engaged in conversation – it was Spanish, so I can only assume the content was something of intellectual interest.
Dad wanted to share the beauty of Cohen’s Hallelujah with my kids – he was probably disappointed at their reaction – yeah, we like that song, it’s from Shrek.
When he moved back to the US, we had a chance for Dad to share memories about his early years in Austin. When Dad moved to Lexington a few years ago, I was happy to spend more time with him and see our family grow closer.
Dad has given and taught me so much. I’ve described some, but I must also mention a love for good chocolate. Most of all, from his example and support – the confidence to trust and be true to myself.
With love & gratitude, peace attend thee, Dad