Over the past few months my geologist brother, Steve, and I have spent considerable time together owing to the death of an older brother, and our attempts to unravel his poorly organized affairs. We also both attended the May 2022 Nevada geologic symposium in Reno, where I was pleased to see some old FSU buddies, and we could catch up on some news. Since we’re both mostly retired now, we don’t circulate that much anymore, but we’re both still geologists.
And since I began roughing out this addendum but did not post it, we’ve learned that our friend, Tim Percival, another FSU geologist who did well as an explorationist, has also crossed the Shadow Line. Perhaps that’s a gentle reminder to do and say what you can (and ought to) while you still can.
Steve and I graduated out of the Fresno geology department within a few years of each other, and over the years we’ve had many fond discussions of our days there. Recently, we again drove down the east side of the Sierras to see our younger brother in Taft, which took us through all that prime field trip and thesis-area terrain. Bob Merrill’s glacial elements and Blackerby’s cinder cones, domes, lavas, and tuffs of the Coso field were the more subtle backdrops to all that granite and the magnificent range front, but our own undercurrent was a journey in remembering how central Fresno and all the people we interacted with were to how our lives have played out.
Steve’s MA thesis was a study of the rocks around Mt. Dana, and my spouse and I got to know each other because we were in the same field party when 108 was held on the Log Cabin roof pendant in the mid 70’s.Steve still regularly hikes the high country, and Kim and I honeymooned at Virginia Creek. She later worked for the Bureau of Mines in the same area. The Sierra escarpment is incorporated into our DNA.
I bring up all this as preface to me mentioning to Steve that I’d recently received another memorial date note regarding Bob Merrill’s passing. Every year we’re reminded of the anniversary (they seem to come around more quickly these days), and some years new material has been added. I usually just look, and reflect, then go on; what else can we do until we, too, drop off?
The conversation with Steve, however, prompted me to comb my memory for details, and a few items were recalled that might be of interest to those who were associated with and fondly remember Dr. Merrill.
Steve enrolled in Merrill’s Geomorphology class in Spring of 1971 (yes, that long ago) while he was also finishing up an industrial arts degree, and that class clearly figured in his decision to switch majors. By then he and I were also making trips into the back country learning to climb and backpack, and, of course, his enthusiasm for this new discipline of geology was contagious. I was a declared math major in junior college (for what it was worth), but I wasn’t that bright or suited and was open to a change.
Steve decided to take me by the FSU geology department that summer (I’m going to say in August), and Bob happened to be in his office. He was shockingly young, with shaggy brown hair, sporting a white cotton cowboy shirt, and also wearing a big smile of greeting and bright, friendly eyes. He persuaded me that geology was a great field to go into, but what I mostly remember him talking about was University of Texas football and the Wishbone offense. His enthusiasm was that of a novitiate graduate student selling, without trying to, how joyful the pursuit of geologic understanding can be, rather than a professor seeking headcount for his classes.
Long and short, I took four classes from Bob while at Fresno, and every one taught me something that has stayed with me. They were Geology 1 and, naturally, Geomorphology, but Map Interpretation and Depositional Systems, as a grad, were the ones that showed Bob in true light. He LOVED showing students what they could decipher from maps, and learning to comprehend how sediment, water and gradient were all inter-related was one of those 2 or 3 Eureka moments when you begin to understand the beauty and wonder of natural systems.
Dr. M is the principal focus of this remembrance, but we can’t think of him and those times without also fondly recalling all the others who made our education so valuable. All of those professors (Mack, Blackerby, Bereskin, Avent, Lang, Warren N., Stan, and Cserna, and that other Professor of Sorts, Gus) were bright enough and had enough “jazz” and ability to have made a splash at more renowned (publish-oriented) schools, or more money in industry, but we thank them for their dedication to teaching. Anyone can collect a paycheck or co-author a paper on the latest climate change or snowball-earth lollapalooza, but not EVERYONE can teach effectively. We know we won the lottery in that regard and benefited from a geology department that prized field study.
The last time I recall seeing Bob was, oddly, at Gus’ field memorial gathering, at Westgard Pass. I don’t believe Steve made it to that one, but Dr. Blackerby was present, and I especially recollect how happy Bob Merrill was to see the three of us (including Kim and our son, John) when we arrived in camp from central Nevada.Of course, Bob was older, although I don’t think retired yet, but the eyes were still bright and the smile just as wide. He also had that same endearing throat-clearing and slight stutter to his voice, but that only reminded you that his brain and speech were fully engaged. Bob rightly considered Steve (I suspect doctors Bereskin and Avent would have concurred) one of the half-dozen exceptionally gifted geologists to pass through the department in their day, but he was always happy to see anyone that was a member of this CSUF geology fraternity. It was a fun, if sad occasion.
What, someone may well ask, does the title of this remembrance have to do with Bob Merrill? The reference may seem lame or obscure, but I recall seeing the Sierra Club poster of that title serving as the back of my brother’s bookcase in his Clovis trailer +50 years ago. I think it actually sums up my engagement with this period in our life, although it takes a very little explaining.
The photo shows the famous Grand Canyon section as carved by the Colorado, with the loops of the river crawling across the view and captured in a moment of its rapid yet (to us) unimaginably ponderous cutting. Anyone looking for deeper context or “meaning” will quickly relate our short human lives to a twig or leaf floating on the stream, quickly entering and leaving the scene. Bob has floated out of view, and we, too, will follow, soon or latter, but all too soon. The scene, in contrast, looks timeless and unchanging, but we (as Bob knew) know better.
