John Foster West

I just saw John Foster´s obit. He was my creative writing teacher at Appalachian State University 1975-1979. I adored him!

John Foster, I'm thinking about you tonight as I write up something for the upcoming NC Writers Conference in Black Mountain. I'm writing about the time in 1995 when you were the NC Writers Conference honoree and "Bathing Beauty Paper Dolls" performed a little skit to honor you - we have the photo of you standing behind the six of us smiling as you always did. The literary community misses you very much.

I'm nearly thirty years out of Appalachian State, and no professor had as much of an impact on my college career or my life as this man. Thank you for believing in me, when I didn't in myself. Thank you for inspiring me to be true to that self. Thank you for believing I had a book in my head. When it finally comes out, I'll dedicate it to you. Thank you for teaching me how to laugh at some of my more embarrassing personality quirks. I love you.

As a high school student in Boone, NC, I was blessed to be able to take John Foster West's Creative Writing classes at ASU. No words can express all that this generous, talented and inspiring teacher/writer passed on to those fortunate enough to study with him. His influence on my work is overwhelming. It was through his guidance that I discovered a pride in my Appalachian heritage. I can still recall his booming laugh as he watched my first produced play. No audience response has ever...

I only met John just over a year ago, through his daughter Leah. He came with his daughter and son-in-law to Smith Mtn. lake on the weekends. Many weekends you could find him sitting under the B dock trees. I will miss seeing and talking to him there, he was a very interesting person. Rest in peace.

John Foster West was my great-uncle (my maternal grandmother's brother) and one of the most important and influential people in my life. He inspired me to become a writer and a college English teacher, often telling me what I needed to hear instead of what I wanted to hear. He was my mentor, my idol, my wise man on the mountaintop. I loved him dearly.

John was a star in all circles. Whenever I taught one of his novels or poems, the students, young and old alike, wanted to know him personally. I felt that way too and got to be his friend. My sympathy to his family and other friends,

West, as the old souls that we are, Reba and I tip our glasses to you as we have so many times before and as we will so many times to come. Wry wine tastes of purple mountains that blend into blue beyond the wind through the pines we have known all our lives. That you know what I mean, to the roots of all our poetry, simply burns tears into my eyes. You are the only one I ever called my teacher as Reba is the only one I ever called my best friend. In your honor, West, I try to give...