JOHN SLOAN DICKEY Jr.

When I found John had died, too much time had passed to be of any use or comfort to Lynn. I just stare at the Christmas card with the two wonderful people and their beloved dogs, read the poems, and comb through the memories I have of the fruit in her salad, the dream house on the cliffs, my discovery of their amazing minds, and wonder: how did I ever lose touch. ? No return address remained on the Christmas card, the email no longer worked, phone? `Twas pre cell phone period for me,...

I was an undergraduate and a Masters student at MIT when John was a professor there. My first close contact with him was in a so-called Special Studies course, a one-semester curriculum developed by us together. We met in his office every Friday afternoon in the Fall semester of my senior year to discuss recent important petrology papers. We'd chat for an hour or two, smoking cigarettes (this was decades ago), and then go downstairs for Happy Hour. I came to respect his remarkable, agile...