Waking up this morning to the terrible news that Cheryl Wall had died was a devastating and completely unexpected blow. I've been thinking all day how best to memorialize her. It's impossible to do so adequately, but certain things stand out.
Cheryl was the Chair of the Rutgers English Department when I was hired back in 2001. She Without Cheryl, I think it's fair to say, the last 19 years would have unfolded completely, and unimaginably differently. She led me through the negotiations, and through my introduction to the department. It's only when I look back that I can see how tolerant Cheryl was of someone who understood the American academic system very imperfectly indeed, and how gently she educated me. One of the means through which she did this was by putting me, right away, on the department's Executive Committee: my first meeting of this took place in my first full week's teaching, on September 11th. As the news of terrorist planes and falling towers kept arriving, Cheryl was unflappable, and gallantly carried on with business, despite the increasing jitteriness of the room: we only disbanded when a message came through from the University President that we should all go home. Cheryl was, indeed, a model Chair. I learned so much from her in this respect: how to steer a discussion; when to remain quiet - sometimes very quiet; how so very much depended on making sure that the office staff are kindly and fairly treated; how to try to be fully present, always.
It's impossible for me to write of Cheryl without using - probably over-using - the word gracious. Gracious, and elegant: she had an extraordinary and enviable collection of striking scarves, which she would drape around her neck to great effect. And she was also extremely kind and hospitable - witness numerous start-of-year parties at her house, where she would go out of her way to welcome the most junior. And she had a terrific, and sometimes wicked sense of humor, often built on her deep sense of human absurdity. I remember after one job dinner that was held at my house, she - characteristically - stayed to clear up. We didn't even need to discuss the decidedly full-of-themselves (and unsuccessful) job candidate who had just left: we caught each others' eye, and it was minutes before we stopped laughing. I will miss her laugh; I realize that I often tried to make her laugh for the sheer pleasure of hearing it.
And there are so many other things I could say. We had a shared enthusiasm for Paule Marshall's fiction - it was a treat to discuss books with her. Cheryl was one of the few people I've ever met who was genuinely afraid of cats (which meant that some doors had to be firmly closed in our house when she visited) - but somehow she held it together at a dinner party at Barry Qualls' house when one of his cats jumped on the table mid-dinner and inadvertently put his tail in a candle. Cheryl had, indeed, extraordinary poise, even under such circumstances.
Others will write far better than I about Cheryl's scholarship, but she was compelling in her clarity, and in the deep sense of justice that also infused her writing. I can't believe that she's left us. I owe her so much, and it's unbearable that I'll never get to tell her so.
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