On the death of a chief, the Akan would say, “A frog's length is only apparent after death,”2 to suggest that a person's accomplishments are often not appreciated during their lifetime. Many who have contributed essays—and perhaps some of you readers—are only now coming to know the full measure of Doran Ross's accomplishments. After a forty-four-year friendship, working with Doran on some fifty-four exhibitions (of which thirty-one were African), traveling four continents together, and sharing many good times, I admit to being awed by the scope of his life—to wit, the depth of his passion, the breadth of his vision, and the generosity of his heart. I share my own reflections here as a colleague of some twenty-plus years and then as his partner for the next twenty. A man I greatly respected and immensely adored.“God, I love life!” Doran would exclaim on the brightest—and yes, even darkest of days. His joie de vivre embraced everything from pondering exhibitions to punning conversations, annotating field notes and interviews to dining with friends, devouring a film and its reviews, to incessantly kidding his best of pals. Doran took his cues for the primacy of hard work from the Ewe: You cannot get to the pineapple without being pricked by its thorns.3 He lived by the rule that you should work and play with unbridled intensity. Doran also jokingly said he only wanted to do projects with friends—and when possible, he lived by that credo. Those exhibition initiatives brought the best of friends together to work, to play, to imagine: If you climb a good tree, you get a push4 (Fig. 1). Because Doran pursued worthy ideals and exciting ideas, folks eagerly wanted to be a part of whatever he was cooking.Former Fowler Director of Exhibitions David Mayo and I recently recalled how really interesting—and admittedly exhausting—it was to be a part of Doran's exhibition development team. Doran was fully committed to a different and what became a “Fowler” way of producing exhibitions—collaborating respectfully as a team and sharing decision-making. Not because it was a trendy approach, but because it was effective and just—the right thing to do. There was also something especially generative about the convergence of the right people, supportive funding agencies, and a sense of great possibility in the project du jour. Our hearts and minds were completely engaged.Doran's generosity of spirit and commitment to inclusivity informed all that he undertook. Several contributors to this issue make note of the unselfish benevolence he extended to them. He sought out their involvement, lent his expertise, assisted younger scholars’ efforts, and opened the tent wide to welcome all. Whether artist, scholar, or community member, Doran always found a way to ensure your participation. I can't think of a single project, in fact, where giving voice to those whose expressive culture was represented was not of primary importance. Even among Fowler staff, if he learned of a person's special interest or expertise in a topic, he made a place for you at the table. Very early in my career at the museum, Doran realized I had a strong background in textiles. This opened up exciting opportunities and encouraged my active engagement in textile projects, even though my principal responsibilities concerned education and exhibition development.Several contributors have written of Doran's special attention to verbal acuity … it could be said that Doran never met a dictionary he didn't love, nor a word he didn't want to pun! I wonder sometimes if Doran's love of clever, smart language wasn't part of what drew him to Akan art—its pervasive play of word and image was a constant delight to him. That same fascination with the power and beauty of language informed all his prose and titling of articles and exhibitions, and for his own amusement and those of his closest colleagues, the alternative titling of exhibitions! A few examples reveal his penchant for imaginative wordplay: “Village People, Macho Men: Body Arts of the Fante Asafo,” a paper given at the 5th ACASA Triennial; “Conspicuous Consumption: Cloth and Liquor in the Art of El Anatsui,” a lecture at the Fowler Museum; and “Fine Weaves and Tangled Webs,” a chapter from the Wrapped in Pride Fowler Museum publication. (And see also his “Ten Commandments for African Art Exhibitions” at the end of this essay.) Affirming his esteem for expressive language, Doran would often invoke an Akan proverb, “We speak to a wise man in proverbs, not in plain language” (Akrofi, quoted in Ross 2002: 93). Couple that with his legendary sense of humor, and verbal exchanges with him were guaranteed to be insightful and entertaining. He would always say, “If you can't amuse yourself, who can you amuse?”In reviewing his archives and library in preparation for its transfer to the Getty Research Institute (GRI), I was reminded yet again of Doran's far-reaching interests: African and African American art, history, and music with Ghana in particular; contemporary art; West African flora and fauna; children's books with African themes; Western classical music history—especially Mozart; film history with an eye for select directors and genres; contemporary African fiction; and dictionaries and atlases galore. His library included hundreds of carefully indexed files and precious ephemera, some 3,000 publications, 5,000 CDs, and 3,000 DVDs. How could one person read so many books, listen to so much music, and watch so many films? He wanted it all within arm's reach so that in the wee hours of the morning he could explore the universe and find answers to his many questions in a treasured book, favorite film, or beloved concerto. Doran's UCSB major professor and lifelong friend Herbert Cole, in his affectionate remembrance, describes him as someone consumed with the infinitesimal details of difference—and I could certainly see that in the card file classification he kept of Akan motifs. This resource was of course pre-computer, but Doran referred to these index cards constantly, and they too will be shelved with his archive at the GRI. Our dear friend and colleague Don Cosentino once described Doran as the ultimate Renaissance man, and I couldn't agree more.Not surprisingly, several contributors to this issue have commented on his home—and for good reason. Its mix of paintings hung salon-style and Ghanaian boutique hangers (his “wives”) (Fig. 2), French ceramic TV lamps (with garishly painted seashells, fish, dancing seahorses, and treasure chests of captured plunder) (Fig. 3), Ghanaian football memorabilia (Fig. 4), sculptures, plush elephants surrounding his computer “to add memory,” a flotilla of Noah's Arks stationed near his shower, and adored elephant memorabilia that filled every inch of his bathroom was something to behold.Back at the Fowler, Doran was fully consumed by the demands of directing a highly prolific and renowned institution. He attacked each day early, often arriving hours before the beginning of the “normal” West Coast work day and leaving some twelve hours later. At night, in the quiet of his home (or his personal storage unit, as he affectionately called it), he would attend to his many scholarly projects and interests. He often said it wasn't the writing that was hard, it was the thinking that took so much time. But it was time he loved—pondering ideas, chasing leads, searching for connections, building a narrative. Not long after he retired in 2001, his colleague and fellow Africanist Marla Berns was appointed director; excited by her experience and vision together with that of Mary (Polly) Nooter Roberts as deputy director and chief curator, Doran allowed himself to relax, i.e., spend more time with his own research and the projects he wanted to pursue.My many years working with and knowing Doran were filled with laughter, discovery, and opportunity. Now, as I write some nine months after his passing, I hold dear those special memories. I can't imagine a partnership so richly and lovingly defined by the professional interests, intellectual growth, and closeness we shared. As I look on my life, it seems every corner has been touched by Doran's generosity and spirit—from works of art that fill my home, travel experiences we enjoyed together, friendships we treasured, to intellectual questions we pondered—and he enriched it with love and sweetness. I remarked to a friend recently that it was going to be a tough challenge to visit museums again without him. When we traveled, we often planned our days around museum/gallery visits—maybe three or four in a day—with a stop in the middle for a long lunch and bottle of wine. Those were just the best of times … of wonderful conversation, good criticism and laughter, and Sauvignon Blanc to sweeten the mix. I, like so many others whose voices are expressed in this issue, remember him with great affection, and miss him profoundly (Fig. 5).