[As I noted a few months ago, I assign my students in a class called “History and Me” to write their own eulogy as if they have lived to their projected life expectancy (for them about 60 more years). Eulogies are usually entirely retrospective, but they have a relatively small base of historical facts to work from, so I use this assignment as an exercise in projection. It only seems fair that I take a crack at the same assignment for myself, even though (according to the Social Security Administration) my life expectancy is in the neighborhood of sixteen years. On the other hand, I have a lot more history to cover than they do. So, here’s mine:]
What is the point of a eulogy?
There is scant historical evidence for the proposition that a person can “defeat” fate or fortune. Of the (+/-) 100 billion people who have lived over the past 100,000 (+/-) years, I am no outlier. Nor, despite the efforts of historians, Wikipedia entries, or vast and interconnected genealogical tables, little is remembered for long; so, is there much solace in the idea of a good historical reputation? Even if 10 billion of those 100 have left some recorded mark, it is doubtful that more than a million or so have accomplished anything of lasting and visible effect. And of those, only a passing few can be pointed to with respect and distinction. Besides, what worth is a memorial to the dead.
For most of us (i.e., the “other 99.999%), it is only to ourselves during life and to those with whom we treat that anything we do can matter. For myself (or what was myself), I now can remember nothing. So, for you still here, I can only ask you to consider your own experience of me and assess whether my own goals and perceptions comport with those memories.
I write this at 70 and can only hint at the balance [although I may update the report from time to time].
Steve Harris was born July 8, 1954, the first child of Merle and Shirley Harris, a young Jewish couple (Shirley was only 21 at the time) in suburban Detroit on their way to the upper-middle class. Steve was shortly joined by Jeff (1955) and Julie (1957). Steve’s grandparents were always in the picture, indeed his first family funeral was not until he was 31. There were many family holidays with cousins, particularly on his dad’s side, and it was a great gift that he was in regular contact with them throughout his life.
Steve was affable, but always pretty shy; insecure about his social position and, later, his lack of athleticism. He compensated by applying himself at school; generally near, but not at, the top of his class. These days, we would call him a “nerd.” He was an avid reader, a vocation which lasted throughout his life; science fiction was on-going staple of his reading lists from adolescence onward. He had a sharp wit; punning from an early age. Indeed, Steve always enjoyed his own humor and wordsmithing; others sometimes agreed. He moved away from religion early on, and wrestled with the crafting of a life of meaning in the real world.
Steve enjoyed many benefits, financial security, and opportunities for travel and enrichment. He went to Temple Beth El Sunday School from kindergarten on, and summer camp in Wisconsin from the age of 7. He went to public schools in Berkeley and Royal Oak through Grade 7. Then his parents decided to send him to Cranbrook, the premier prep school in Michigan, from which he graduated in 1972. Cranbrook was an extraordinary opportunity. Fine mentors and an extraordinary set of classmates fostered good academic skills and a range of curiosities; however, he was best known there as the manager of several teams—particularly track and soccer—a way to part of a group without being athletic.
His two best and life-long friends, Mark Schatz and Bruce Benson, date from 1964 and 1969 respectively: Mark at camp, Sunday school, and Cranbrook; Bruce at Cranbrook, Brandeis, and law school.
After a brief and problematic freshman year at the University of Chicago, he transferred to Brandeis where he majored in Politics, dabbled in legal studies, and graduated in 1976. Leaning into his academic strengths and not pushing very hard against what was “expected” of him, Steve went to Law School at Michigan where, again, he ended up towards the higher end of the class, focusing on international law.
He worked in law in Philadelphia and Washington, blown by circumstance from an international legal matters to telecommunications, a brief stop in the government, and on to San Francisco where he lived for the last fifty years. Work was fine, often interesting, amid new technologies and new ideas, but though bureaucracies were stultifying, conventionality and inertia kept him going. For breaks, Steve went traveling and trekking in obscure corners of the world, collecting rugs, discovering the provinciality of modernity, and expanding his eating tastes far beyond the “suburban Chinese” food of his youth.
It wasn’t until his late thirties that, despairing at loneliness, he pushed himself into a more social stance. Steve was lucky beyond words to find someone who, like him, was willing to work at living better; someone to help him and whom he could help. Gina was bright energy and, fortunately, different in style and interests. The fact that, to Steve, she sometimes “made absolutely no sense,” was the key to opening his overly-tight self-image, coldness, and arrogance. Gina brought with her a therapist, Bob Thur, who labored for decades to help Steve figure things out; together they made some progress.
Shortly thereafter, Steve left PacTel and worked for several small firms and projects for a few years until he was willing to recognize that he had no passion for law and business. They were occupations, not vocations. He shifted his attention to the study of history, loving the learning and the teaching, the research, and the intellectual energy. He was extraordinarily lucky; first, to have the financial wherewithal not to worry about “work,” and second, to have found work teaching at SF State. He gained new energy from engaging with students (a half to a third of his age). He found a way to slip in a bit of philosophy and perspective into the substantive history that he taught. That streak ran formally from 2006-2024 and, informally and with occasional outings for some years thereafter. History provided an endless set of engaging issues which, with Steve’s philosophical bent, he used to provoke his own thinking, and share a few ideas with those who read or listened—in classes, discussions, a few scholarly publications, and the blog he started in 2020.
The month he left PacTel, Steve and Gina were in Bhutan—karmic at several levels—a combination of resonant spirituality, intellectual curiosity, and an appreciation of the wonders of the world. They was to go back five times. Certainly to their benefit and with some contribution back to a culture that has held up an important mirror to the rushing modernity of the rest of the world.
Steve and Gina lived quietly. Wealth was in hand, but they shared an aversion to ostentation and consumption. Inheritance enabled resources to give back to the world, a responsibility he also inherited. His studies enabled Steve to recognize that the grand crises of civic culture, modernity, and planet could not be solved by any individual, but that he would feel himself empty if he didn’t make an effort and use his brain and his money to try. He came to recognize that what we humans had done to the planet risked our existence and that fighting that tide was the priority. So he focused time and money on making such difference as one person could.
Steve was never a model physical specimen, but he worked out regularly from his 30s and was fortunate that, into his 70s, his health issues were mundane and merely aggravating. He loved to read and had stacks and shelves to prove it. He loved to travel and see the world, both to learn of it and to get a better sense of where he was at home. He was no fashionista and, as he said, “when you have natural beauty, you don’t have to spend much time enhancing it.” A sentiment his wife did not share.
Steve was focused on order and organization (sometimes to the point of obsession); hoping that such localized control of the physical world could replace the underlying chaos. He often acted conventionally, even if he had a radical streak underneath. Steve had a strong belief in personal integrity, but cheated both himself and others from time to time. Steve was devoted to Gina and good friends and searched for more. Steve was committed to learning, and teaching, and stretching his mind. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, but came to be nicer about it as he realized his own foolishness.
Regrets? Of course, but what’s the point…
Overall, Steve had far, far more good fortune than problems: Gina, family, friends, and the ability and inclination to figure things out. If the Buddha took 25,000 lifetimes to reach nirvana, Steve made some real progress this round.
What is the point of a eulogy?
There is scant historical evidence for the proposition that a person can “defeat” fate or fortune. Of the (+/-) 100 billion people who have lived over the past 100,000 (+/-) years, I am no outlier. Nor, despite the efforts of historians, Wikipedia entries, or vast and interconnected genealogical tables, little is remembered for long; so, is there much solace in the idea of a good historical reputation? Even if 10 billion of those 100 have left some recorded mark, it is doubtful that more than a million or so have accomplished anything of lasting and visible effect. And of those, only a passing few can be pointed to with respect and distinction. Besides, what worth is a memorial to the dead.
For most of us (i.e., the “other 99.999%), it is only to ourselves during life and to those with whom we treat that anything we do can matter. For myself (or what was myself), I now can remember nothing. So, for you still here, I can only ask you to consider your own experience of me and assess whether my own goals and perceptions comport with those memories.
I write this at 70 and can only hint at the balance [although I may update the report from time to time].
Steve Harris was born July 8, 1954, the first child of Merle and Shirley Harris, a young Jewish couple (Shirley was only 21 at the time) in suburban Detroit on their way to the upper-middle class. Steve was shortly joined by Jeff (1955) and Julie (1957). Steve’s grandparents were always in the picture, indeed his first family funeral was not until he was 31. There were many family holidays with cousins, particularly on his dad’s side, and it was a great gift that he was in regular contact with them throughout his life.
Steve was affable, but always pretty shy; insecure about his social position and, later, his lack of athleticism. He compensated by applying himself at school; generally near, but not at, the top of his class. These days, we would call him a “nerd.” He was an avid reader, a vocation which lasted throughout his life; science fiction was on-going staple of his reading lists from adolescence onward. He had a sharp wit; punning from an early age. Indeed, Steve always enjoyed his own humor and wordsmithing; others sometimes agreed. He moved away from religion early on, and wrestled with the crafting of a life of meaning in the real world.
Steve enjoyed many benefits, financial security, and opportunities for travel and enrichment. He went to Temple Beth El Sunday School from kindergarten on, and summer camp in Wisconsin from the age of 7. He went to public schools in Berkeley and Royal Oak through Grade 7. Then his parents decided to send him to Cranbrook, the premier prep school in Michigan, from which he graduated in 1972. Cranbrook was an extraordinary opportunity. Fine mentors and an extraordinary set of classmates fostered good academic skills and a range of curiosities; however, he was best known there as the manager of several teams—particularly track and soccer—a way to part of a group without being athletic.
His two best and life-long friends, Mark Schatz and Bruce Benson, date from 1964 and 1969 respectively: Mark at camp, Sunday school, and Cranbrook; Bruce at Cranbrook, Brandeis, and law school.
After a brief and problematic freshman year at the University of Chicago, he transferred to Brandeis where he majored in Politics, dabbled in legal studies, and graduated in 1976. Leaning into his academic strengths and not pushing very hard against what was “expected” of him, Steve went to Law School at Michigan where, again, he ended up towards the higher end of the class, focusing on international law.
He worked in law in Philadelphia and Washington, blown by circumstance from an international legal matters to telecommunications, a brief stop in the government, and on to San Francisco where he lived for the last fifty years. Work was fine, often interesting, amid new technologies and new ideas, but though bureaucracies were stultifying, conventionality and inertia kept him going. For breaks, Steve went traveling and trekking in obscure corners of the world, collecting rugs, discovering the provinciality of modernity, and expanding his eating tastes far beyond the “suburban Chinese” food of his youth.
It wasn’t until his late thirties that, despairing at loneliness, he pushed himself into a more social stance. Steve was lucky beyond words to find someone who, like him, was willing to work at living better; someone to help him and whom he could help. Gina was bright energy and, fortunately, different in style and interests. The fact that, to Steve, she sometimes “made absolutely no sense,” was the key to opening his overly-tight self-image, coldness, and arrogance. Gina brought with her a therapist, Bob Thur, who labored for decades to help Steve figure things out; together they made some progress.
Shortly thereafter, Steve left PacTel and worked for several small firms and projects for a few years until he was willing to recognize that he had no passion for law and business. They were occupations, not vocations. He shifted his attention to the study of history, loving the learning and the teaching, the research, and the intellectual energy. He was extraordinarily lucky; first, to have the financial wherewithal not to worry about “work,” and second, to have found work teaching at SF State. He gained new energy from engaging with students (a half to a third of his age). He found a way to slip in a bit of philosophy and perspective into the substantive history that he taught. That streak ran formally from 2006-2024 and, informally and with occasional outings for some years thereafter. History provided an endless set of engaging issues which, with Steve’s philosophical bent, he used to provoke his own thinking, and share a few ideas with those who read or listened—in classes, discussions, a few scholarly publications, and the blog he started in 2020.
The month he left PacTel, Steve and Gina were in Bhutan—karmic at several levels—a combination of resonant spirituality, intellectual curiosity, and an appreciation of the wonders of the world. They was to go back five times. Certainly to their benefit and with some contribution back to a culture that has held up an important mirror to the rushing modernity of the rest of the world.
Steve and Gina lived quietly. Wealth was in hand, but they shared an aversion to ostentation and consumption. Inheritance enabled resources to give back to the world, a responsibility he also inherited. His studies enabled Steve to recognize that the grand crises of civic culture, modernity, and planet could not be solved by any individual, but that he would feel himself empty if he didn’t make an effort and use his brain and his money to try. He came to recognize that what we humans had done to the planet risked our existence and that fighting that tide was the priority. So he focused time and money on making such difference as one person could.
Steve was never a model physical specimen, but he worked out regularly from his 30s and was fortunate that, into his 70s, his health issues were mundane and merely aggravating. He loved to read and had stacks and shelves to prove it. He loved to travel and see the world, both to learn of it and to get a better sense of where he was at home. He was no fashionista and, as he said, “when you have natural beauty, you don’t have to spend much time enhancing it.” A sentiment his wife did not share.
Steve was focused on order and organization (sometimes to the point of obsession); hoping that such localized control of the physical world could replace the underlying chaos. He often acted conventionally, even if he had a radical streak underneath. Steve had a strong belief in personal integrity, but cheated both himself and others from time to time. Steve was devoted to Gina and good friends and searched for more. Steve was committed to learning, and teaching, and stretching his mind. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, but came to be nicer about it as he realized his own foolishness.
Regrets? Of course, but what’s the point…
Overall, Steve had far, far more good fortune than problems: Gina, family, friends, and the ability and inclination to figure things out. If the Buddha took 25,000 lifetimes to reach nirvana, Steve made some real progress this round.
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