Pressman Memorial

Jack David Pressman
5 May 1957 - 23 June 1997

Memento Mori
the prospect of death
is reason enough
to embrace life

The linden trees are blooming in Bloomington, Indiana, home of Indiana University. All the other trees-- redbud, crabapple, dogwood -- have long since shed their spectacular blooms earlier in the springtime. Only the linden waits to bloom at the start of summer
.
It is not a show flower. Yellow-green in color, it blends in with the leaves. But it has a delightful, fresh fragrance. It is also the scholar's tree, having an association with libraries and places of study since medieval times, when it was planted at the first universities.

When I first learned of Jack Pressman?s death on Monday, I went home, riding my bicycle, baking in the summer sunshine, smelling the linden trees as I made my way through campus, thinking about my friend Jack. I wondered: Why did you leave us? An unanswerable question.

In the days since Jack's death people who knew him and loved him came together to share the sad news. Many people who wanted to be here today could not make it. I cannot speak for them individually, but I can try to express some of the grief that we all feel collectively.

Jack entered my life in 1980 in Philadelphia, at Benjamin Franklin?s university. It was an exciting time to be a graduate student in the Department of History and Sociology of Science. I didn't?t fully realize it at the time, but I discovered a true friend and kindred spirit in Jack. Intellectually, we formed a partnership to explore the history of the behavioral sciences. We had a wise faculty guide, Riki Kuklick, to lead us, and student compatriots to join us. The sense of community and shared culture in the department was unmatched anywhere. It was truly a golden age at Penn, and Jack and I flourished in it. The rest is literally history -- a lot of history.

Jack's work as a scholar is part of public record, and will be duly noted and celebrated for its real achievements. But the loss we feel goes beyond the scholarly career cut short. In fact, the loss we feel goes beyond words. How to capture Jack?s smile? How to convey the power and richness of his voice? How to evoke the quality of his mind?

We each have different memories of our time with Jack. All we can do right now is to share them freely with each other, to try to repair the rupture in the very fabric of our lives brought about by Jack's passing.

I will return to Bloomington where the linden trees remain in bloom. I will be remembering Jack, and thinking of the words of Albert Camus:
In the midst of winter
I finally learned that there was in me
an invincible summer.

Thank you, Jack, for teaching me the meaning of those words. Farewell. I will miss you.

Delivered at the funeral services for Jack Pressman, Home of Peace Cemetery, San Francisco, California, on 26 June 1997 at 2:00 p.m., by James H. Capshew.