I was never fortunate enough to have a class with Professor Rostow, but I am well aware of the loss to our school her passing signifies.  A wonderful and thoughtful counselor and instructor, she was committed to public service and teaching up to the day she died at age 90.  I know this from stories, from short conversations with her in the halls, and from her reputation and longevity.  But she lived an incredible life, and instead of mourning her death I want to celebrate what I remember most about her.

Elspeth Rostow, as I knew her, was a small, fervent old woman with a presence that was undeniable.  One couldn’t explain why, but a room seemed dominated by her spirit whenever she was around.  Her fierce eyes didn’t seem to miss a thing, even as her body aged and slipped around her.  Everyone who knew her admired her, and I can’t imagine a more honorable thing to say about someone.  But she was not without humor and charm, as my first introduction to her will illustrate.

The first week of LBJ is consumed with orientation - a week-long event in which students get to know the expectations, the classes, the professors, and each other so that when classes begin everyone can “hit the ground running.”  Part of the event include class panels at which professors of similar classes are given the opportunity to discuss their topics, workload, and teaching styles.  Professor Rostow was the last panelist to speak for the P&P classes, immediately following a young, pretentious, arrogant, newly appointed associate professor in his tweed jacket and elbow patches.  She was so old it was difficult to hear her, even with the microphone.  All of us in attendance in the auditorium found ourselves leaning forward expectantly to hear her speak.  With a sigh, she began.

“It is never good to be last on a panel, so I will end with a story.  There once was a young, impressive, associate professor who had recently moved into town.  It was Halloween, and he wanted to be a good neighbor and give healthy snacks to the children that visited his door, so he bought a bushel of apples for treats.  Very soon he had his first visitor.  She was a darling little angel, with delicate wings and a lovely smile.  She held out her bag and said in her sing-song little voice, “trick or treat!”  This dashing young professor, so proud of himself for his own cleverness, picked up an apple, shined it on the sleeve of his tweed jacket, and dropped it into the little girl’s bag.  The little angel looked into the bag, then looked up at this impressive professor, and said … “God dammit you broke my cookies!”

The entire auditorium erupted in laughter (except, perhaps, the professor to Rostow’s right).  To hear this little old lady, truly LBJ royalty if there was such a thing, say these words was funny enough.  But to see clearly the jab she threw at her self-important neighbor was priceless.  She finished with, “and that is why I never wish to be the last speaker on a panel.”  Nothing about her class, or her teaching style, as her other panelists had detailed fully.  She didn’t need to.  She said it all right there.  It was perhaps the funniest thing I have ever heard an octogenarian mutter, and one of my favorite all-time memories.

I didn’t know Dean Rostow well.  I am sad to lose her.  But I would like to think she was ready, it was her time, and she would want us to remember the best of her as we move on.  I hope her family and close friends appreciate the story, and that they can be comforted by the memory of the wonderful little lady.  Bless her and all those who mourn her loss; I am thankful for the opportunity to have even met her.