A Paean to Everett Emerson Daphne O'Brien (bio) The door to Everett Emerson's office was always open. He would look up, delighted, rising to meet us as though our visits were not the interruptions that they surely often were. I rarely went in without meeting a classmate coming out. We beat a steady path to his desk, seeking his critical comments, his reassurance, his humor, his practical advice, and his passion for early American literature, for Mark Twain, for music, for growing roses. We waylaid him in the stairwells, at the library, at lunch. We called him at home. Through all of this, he drew us into his circle of intellectual exchange with respect and joy. He was best-loved—exacting but kind, not suffering fools gladly but suffering us gracefully, nonetheless. For three years Everett Emerson and I labored together. On Fridays, when I arrived panting at the top of the two long flights of stairs to his office, clutching my fragments of dissertation, he never asked, "Is this all you've done?" but always only, "Shall we meet again next week?" Friday by Friday, he guided me through section by agonizing section, drawing ideas out of me, helping me say what I knew but didn't know I knew: "Would this be useful?" "Would this be helpful?" "Could you think about it this way?" "I'd like to hear more about that." "Could you find a better word?" "Did you walk here in the rain?" "Have you had to wait?" "Did you carry all those heavy books?"When the journey was over, we rejoiced and were sad together. The last day that I visited him in his office, he met me with his own armload of books. He had chosen those that he thought would be most useful to me in building my own critical library—works on John Smith,William Byrd, Benjamin Franklin. With his customary generosity, he was distributing books among his students, offering mementos of his life's work—a metaphor for the indelible mark he made upon us all. For the next nine years, we exchanged Christmas letters, enjoyed the occasional lunch visit and phone call, and tried to keep up with each other's lives. I looked forward to hearing about his travels and his ongoing projects. I asked about [End Page 7] Twain and Crèvecouer; he asked about my young son, always remembering his name. Everett Emerson taught by example that scholarship enhanced life, was a necessary part of it to those of us wired up a certain way, a complement to family and friendship and other pleasures. He taught that we were privileged to be where we were, doing what we loved, and that our minds were made to be exercised. He had little patience with intellectual sloth. By his own industry he inspired us to work, showing what a life of scholarly labor could bring through his extensive network of professional and personal friendships, through the books and essays that were the fruit of his busy mind, and through his powerful classroom presence. We will miss you, Everett Emerson—scholar, teacher, friend. [End Page 8] Daphne O'Brien Daphne O'Brien, Early American Literature's editorial associate, received her Ph.D. in American literature from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She currently works as a contract editor for Oxford University Press and lives on a flower farm in eastern North Carolina. Copyright © 2003 The University of North Carolina Press