In Memory of Art Getis

And in Praise of Academic Friendships

There should be a stage of the academic life course called, “the passing of the guard.” It’s the time of one’s career when the morning email notifications arrive increasingly frequently, announcing that someone who was a constant in your professional life—a star in your academic firmament—has died. I’m finding this a complicated time of life. For one thing, it reminds me that I, too, am getting older and will one day be an email in someone’s morning inbox. But it is also, in its own way, encouraging me to reflect, and to remember that many of these folks have lived incredibly long, rich, and fulfilling lives. It pushes me to reminisce and “remember when.” Most importantly, it is a time of grieving and sadness for each person who is no longer with us.

Art Getis is a person whose loss I especially grieve. Others who knew him as a peer or as his student will have their own words to write. In my case, for over two decades, Art was more of an academic grandparent: in the background, supportive, and occasionally weighing in with advice, insight, or gentle critique. His imprint is all over my CV, the visible and the invisible one. He was the one to first suggest attending a CSISS workshop in Santa Barbara. He was present at my very first academic job interview at San Diego State. He encouraged me in my leadership of the Western Regional Science Association (WRSA) and it was through his instigation (and financial underwriting) that we created the Getis-Ord Annual Lecture in Spatial Analysis. It was an offhand comment of Art’s, suggesting to someone that I would make a good editor of Geographical Analysis, that instilled the germ of the idea in my head.

I first met Art at a WRSA conference (Ojai, 1999) as a first-year PhD student. The conference (and the Association) is an important element of the story. WRSA was, and remains, a small and intimate community, but one that also has traditionally drawn the very top names in quantitative human geography and regional science. The remote venues and small numbers meant that students like me had ample opportunity not only to mingle and chat with people like Art over coffee and reception drinks, but also to go to dinners and, eventually, build long-lasting professional relationships and friendships. Many conferences excel at facilitating friendships. Fewer, I would argue, succeed at fostering intergenerational friendships.

But back to that conference. WRSA is also a quirky and idiosyncratic institution, which explains how my very first exposure to Art in Ojai was as a member of his luncheon audience as he gave his presidential lecture—a lecture that featured a poem he had penned in honor of spatial autocorrelation and regional science (WRSA: A Spatial Association). It was this poem that made me want to be a regional scientist.

An excerpt of Art’s special spatial poetry

Art was one of a kind. He was sharp and direct, perceptive, and possessed of a dry sense of humor. In conversation, he’d make eye contact and, with sparkling and mischievous eyes, deliver pointed opinions and insights that might, in other circumstances, be difficult to digest. He had a distinctive voice, too. A voice that I can still hear in my head, discussing how things were, how they are, and how they should be. He could be a forceful personality and I think I’m glad I was never on his bad side. He was also generous and supportive and always willing to provide advice. He will be greatly missed.

Art, Waldo Tobler, and Bill Clark

The Way Academic Life Should Be

The WRSA motto is, “the way academic life should be.” It appears in conference programs and newsletters. I have no idea where it originated, but younger generations—by which I mean mine—have adopted it as our own and we often tag our favorite academic moments with the phrase. Frou-frou drinks with an academic friend in an exotic locale? The Way Academic Life Should Be! Big, happy group dinners on a restaurant terrace? The Way Academic Life Should Be!

Art’s death—and those of the many others who have preceded him in recent years—remind me how grateful and happy I am for my academic life and community. The research, the writing, and the teaching are all fundamental components of my identity, but the parts I cherish most are the personal. This includes my own strong and supportive network of peers, people whose careers I’ve had the opportunity to see flourish but also whose children I’ve seen grow and spread their own wings. It includes the traditions that develop over the years, the people I always have lunch with at a conference or always meet up with for a local donut expedition.

For me, “the way academic life should be” is captured by memories of the “space cadets” and, often, their partners, all seated around WRSA conference reception tables companionably, continuing to build on decades of shared experience, friendship, and collaboration. It’s getting to observe the immense future pay-off of investing in academic friendships today.

Here’s another thought, especially for the mid-career or sandwich cohorts. When done right, the “way academic life should be” and the academic life course perspective mean that, yes, we will suffer an inevitable stage of loss, as friends in older generations leave us. And in building our own strong current cohorts of academic friends, we also implicitly build in a future stage where we experience the loss of our own contemporaries. But—and here is the important thought—we want to be missed, too, when our time comes. That requires firing up our inner Art (and so many others) and building ties and friendships to the generations below us. We’ve got to give them something to miss when we’re gone!!

A photo for the archives