In Remembrance: Elizabeth Fernea

I found myself unexpectedly writing an obituary today.  Elizabeth Warnock Fernea — BJ, to just about everyone — passed away yesterday afternoon.  

Saying that BJ was “a member of the faculty” is such an unfortunate understatement.  I lamented to two former coworkers this afternoon, “How do you sum up someone who was so much bigger than life?”  She put this University on the map.  Heck, she and her husband were the reason why I didn’t bust out laughing when someone suggested I move from Washington, DC, to Austin, Texas, to enroll in the Middle East program.  Otherwise, could you imagine?  Forgoing Georgetown or Chicago for Texas?

It was always a bit painful to see BJ these past couple of years.  The eyes still sparkled, but she looked so frail and fragile — these are not adjectives that one would have normally used to describe the woman who followed her husband to a rural village in Iraq in 1956 with a rudimentary knowledge of beginner’s Arabic, and thus began a career that, so far, I couldn’t even hope to match.  Not many can.  That’s kind of what made BJ unique.

I’ll admit that her determinism was sometimes a bit … annoying.  Good Lord knows that I dodged enough of her phone calls and hid in the closet once because I heard her coming — you couldn’t say no to her.  No matter how busy or overworked you were, when BJ wanted you to do something, you did it!  But her heart was always in the right place, and the number of people who’ve been exchanging messages today, offering up remembrances, memories, and tribute to their advisor, lecturer, colleague, and friend is heartwarming.

It’s kind of hard to imagine this place without her — she cast a shadow that was bigger than life.  And she will be missed.

Update: The University has set up a guestbook on their literary blog, ShelfLife@Texas. Those who knew BJ are invited to leave memories and reminiscences.