Dr. John Mitchell Hardaway

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Arizona State University Phoenix College

John Hardaway Obituary

Dr. John Mitchell Hardaway.

Good-bye! a kind good-bye, I
bid you now, my friend, And though 'tis sad to speak the word, To destiny I bend. And though it be decreed by Fate. That we ne'er meet again, Your image, graven on my heart, Forever shall remain. Aye, in my heart thoult have a place, Among the friends held dear,- Nor shall the hand of Time efface, The memories written there. ---Samuel L. Clemens (Mark Twain) from the "Hannibal Journal". John Mitchell Hardaway, Ph.D, retired long-time chairman of the English Department at Phoenix College, died on Sunday afternoon. With him were his wife Gail, his two daughters, Samantha and Chelsea, and others who knew and loved him. John Hardaway was a gentle soul—the kind of man they don't make anymore. He was born in Branson Missouri, the son of a vaudeville actor and a radio actress. He moved to Phoenix in 1944, and graduated from Arizona State University with a B.A., M.A. and Ph.D. He went on to be a professor of English for over forty-five years. Dr. Hardaway was beloved by generations of students, including those he taught at Phoenix Union, Alhambra and Central High Schools, and those with whom he shared his love of Mark Twain and linguistics at Phoenix College. John's greatest passions were his children and tennis. A father of spectacular commitment and warmth, he spurred his children to great accomplishments. A southwest-ranked doubles champion, he played tennis regularly for fifty years, teaching everyone who wanted to learn. At his death, he was a member of Phoenix Country Club. Intellectual curiosity was John's forte. A student of language for his whole life, he cherished a dictionary collection and an edition of the Oxford English Dictionary so large it rested on its own stand in his library. He loved learning: about architecture, about tennis, about Mark Twain, about anything. In middle age, he built a solar-powered geodesic dome residence with his own hands during the summer vacations from teaching. Later, he built a cabin in Payson with his beloved wife Gail. His bright blue eyes and generous spirit will be sorely missed. "Manifestly, dying is nothing to a really great and brave man." - Letter from Mark Twain to Olivia Clemens, 7/1/1885. Services will be held on Wednesday, 11 AM at Messinger Mortuary, 7601 E. Indian School Road.

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Published by The Arizona Republic on Dec. 2, 2003.

Memories and Condolences
for John Hardaway

10 Entries

Francine Hardaway

December 15, 2003

I will always remember John as the person who made me what I am: a gloriously proud and happy mother. He was my husband, my tennis coach, my department chairman, the father of my children, and my eternal friend and supporter. As a divorced couple, we accomplished something married couples have a difficult time doing: we raised two fantastic kids. I'll miss John's light in my world, but I will always feel his love.

Gail Hardaway

December 13, 2003

Good-bye, my darling. There are so many things for which I am grateful. Thank you for making me the focus of your life for the past seventeen years. Thank you for fighting illness so hard for the past three. You gave us this extra time together, and they were truly the best years of our lives. We were blessed by several miracles, so many special times, and good friends.

---John accepted Christ into his life in 2001, so I know he is home, and I will see him again.

Your loving wife,

John Ferra

December 10, 2003

I was very sorry to hear of the passing of Dr. John Hardaway. I worked for him some 10 years ago as a tutor in the Writing Center at Phoenix College, back when it was a small room with some tables and a few old computers that were barely usable. I remember his wry smile, his wonderful, vaudevillian sense of humor, and his incredibly sensative and honest demeanor. I also remember his gentle and compassionate smile and his absolute love of language and teaching. He was a great influence in those intellectually formative years when I first began college. I will remember him always, and I will always try to keep a bit of him with me as I now go forward to teach the new generations of students entering our colleges and universities today. My condolences to the family and friends that will miss him the most, and my pity to the rest that never knew such a fine man.

chelsea hardaway

December 6, 2003

My dad was a professor of English at Phoenix College for as long as I knew him, and teaching was his pride and joy. He was an avid student of linguistics and language. He loved Lewis Carroll’s poem, the Jabberwocky, because it told a story without using any real words. I can just hear him –

‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

This is probably why, in my family, we have always spoken to each other in the foreign tongue of Hardaway-ese, and why no one is referred to by their given name. If you’ve ever been around us together, you know that he called me The Baby Welsky, Waby Belsky, Skinner, and Chelska Welska Witzka Fritzka – and we called him Dendy, Dodin, Dendrite, and Pelode. I don’t know why or how these nicknames came to be, but there was an unwritten code by which they evolved, and we all knew they were symbols of love.

My dad was a soft-spoken, gracious and kind man. Immensely polite. And a truly gentle soul. He was the kind of man mothers dream that their daughters will bring home. He had huge hands, and he used them to pet us whenever he could. We were his little cubs.

On the surface he seemed conservative and reserved, but Dendy was actually wonderfully complex underneath. He had a strong independent mind – as evidenced by his progressive lifestyle. He built two geodesic domes in the mountain preserve, cooked our food in solar ovens, and threw our banana peels in a composte pit. We had three afghan dogs named Yavid, Shevid and Mitchvid. He had two daughters, but also two adopted sons, and we were one of the first divorced families to make joint custody work. We spent summers in Amherst, and he wrote three textbooks with my mom. We were everything but conventional. In fact, he insisted that we not be conventional, and encouraged a healthy disrespect for authority.

Education and hard work were extremely important to my daddy. He reveled in my achievements, and he remembered them all. Every honor, every award, every kind word anybody ever uttered about me. He kept every editorial I wrote for my high school paper and recently gave me a garbage bag full of notes I passed to my friends in fifth grade. All six feet four inches of him stood in awe of all five feet two inches of me.

My dad was also my tennis coach, and this was a source of great pride for both of us. He put the first racket in my hand at the age of five, and started teaching me the merits of a continental grip vs a western one. We spent hours busting shots cross-court and down the line, and practicing what he called the “Little drill shot.” He’d take me to Phoenix Country Club and put me on center court, just so the other tennis players could see his little girl play. And he would tell me tennis is a game of angles. And percentages. It’s a game of thinking. And strategy. It’s not about how hard you hit the ball. It’s where you place it. And the most important point is 30-5, because after that, it would either be 40-5 or 30-all. He thought about little things like that.

He hated sauerkraut and acidopholous milk, and rested his bread on his upper lip between bites. He was an avid flosser, and a fantastic driver. He would park a hundred miles away if it meant he could be in the shade. He preached the principle of compound growth, but lost his shirt hanging onto Qualcomm long after he should have sold it. And he wore big straw hats to protect himself from the sun.

From the time I left home for college, until last weekend, my daddy called me every Sunday, without fail, several times a day, until he got ahold of me. Never one to embrace technology, he would leave strange messages on my answering machine that showed how uncomfortable he was with the thing. “This is your faaaaaaaaattttttttthhhhheeer. Call me back.” He could shovel guilt like none other. When he finally got me, he would always open the conversation with “tell me the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuullllllll story.” Then he would sit back and delight in whatever I had to report, no matter how menial.

Lest you think I wear rosed-colored glasses, I can tell you that my dad did have some faults. For one thing, he was always late. He refused to get call waiting, and because he would never tell anybody he had to go, his phone was constantly busy. He never used an ATM, and I couldn’t get him to embrace e-mail or the internet. There were only three times he ever got mad at me – even though I was not an easy kid to raise. Those were when I sucked my thumb, slept through a john Denver concert, and wouldn’t eat my chicken pot pie dinner. That night, he stood over me, coaching as always, saying “Eat. Chew. Swallie.” They’re words we laughed about for years.

My dad and my mom are very different people. And I like to think my life’s journey is to combine the best attributes of both. Since I didn’t get his long legs, or his bright blue eyes, I’ve tried to emulate some of his other strengths. Like his sensitivity, his fierce loyalty, his interest in language, his love of writing, and his unfailing devotion to those he loved. He was the kind of person where you could actually see the depth of love in his eyes.

For my birthday this year, my dad gave me an incredible gift. He flew up to the Bay Area to see my house. Because he rarely traveled, this was a big deal. He walked right into my house and started moving things, fixing things, and suggesting things. Things I didn’t even know needed fixing. It was like everything he touched turned to gold. He left me with a list of upgrade ideas, and when I arrived at the hospital last Wednesday, I dutifully reported to him which ones I had completed. Although he was very sick and on a ventilator, he mustered the energy to raise his little fingers to a piece of paper with the alphabet on it, and slowly spelled his last words to me: S-H-E-L-L-A-C. Shellac? Then he spelled nails. He was coaching me still.

My name is Chelsea Jon Hardaway. “It’s a girl’s Jon,” I used to tell people, “without an h.” When I was young, I was embarrassed to have a boy’s name. But today I could not be prouder to carry on the great name and spirit of a man who truly was … MY HERO.

Suzie Fraizer-Lemke

December 4, 2003

Although I hadn't seen John in probably 40 years he and my father used to be very good friends back then. What I remember the most was the swimming pool he had in his back yard and how DEEP it was. He was always very patient with me as I clung to the edges.

I was very sorry to hear about John's passing when my father sent me the notice. My thoughts are with his family.

Susie Gerald

December 2, 2003

Dear Gail, Chel and Sam, My heart aches for your loss. How lucky he was to have you girls in his life, and how blessed you were to have him in yours. Thinking of you with such love, Susie Gerald

kari majewski

December 2, 2003

"Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.

-Mark Twain's Notebook

Dearest Chelsea, Temple, Francine, Sam and family,

I found this quote and thought it was perfect for the man who loved Mark Twain and lived exactly this kind of life because all of you were in it. My deepest condolences on the passing of your father whom I never met but know through the incredible strength, courage and humor he has given to each of you.

You are in our thoughts and prayers

Love Kari, Larry, Zeus Bones, Joey and Egk

Jon Warshawsky

December 2, 2003

My deepest condolences to Chelsea and family. I never had the honor to meet Dr. Hardaway, but I am acquainted with one of his very gifted daughters. The brilliance -- and the blue eyes -- live on.

Bruce Fraizer

December 2, 2003

John was my very close friend during our days at Arizona State College (ASU). We shared many good times both at church and school.

My thoughts often remember those good times.

May God bless and comfort you all. John will always be in my memory.

Valerie Arena

December 2, 2003

My condolences to the Hardaway family. Gail, my thoughts and prayers are with you. I did not know your husband, but I am sure our paths crossed! I was a student at Central High, a student at Phoenix College and a lover of languages as well! Best wishes always.

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