Oh Captain, My Captain
Grieving the loss of an amazing scientist, mentor, and friend
Jeremy Clark
I’ve been writing this letter in my head for years now, thinking I’d say these things at my defense, when I came back to his lab, or at his retirement. What always came out wasn’t a perfectly articulate series of words that magically described Jeremy and what he means to me, but rather a series of memories that on the surface, one would may think were insignificant, but in reality –– far from it, because every day something brings me back to the years we shared together. Every time I put a rat in ear bars, I remember how he could never do it with gloves on. Every time I reach for a Q-tip, I remember how I picked up the autoclaved Q-tips by the wrong end and they fell all over the floor, right when he had just started surgeries, and how he never stopped making of fun of me for that. Every time I look up at a cover slip, I see him modeling the same technique. I could go on for everything I do in lab. Every day, we would laugh from start to finish. I was always happy to go into work because I had a buddy who I could laugh with and a close mentor, who was truly invested in making me the best I could be. We gave each other so much shit, and I was so sassy with him that before I went to graduate school, he reminded me how unique our relationship was and that other bosses would fire me for my back-talk; but Jeremy got me, and I hope and think, I got him. He was told multiple times that he didn’t belong in science, that he wouldn’t ‘make it’ and he, much like me, set out to prove them wrong –– which he clearly did, winning the Presidential Award and producing incredibly important work.
We were a team, I was his people, and he had my back no matter if I was successful or a failure, and that’s saying something in this field. He’d called the two of us ‘mac and cheese’, because he nicknamed me the ‘machine’. Sure, I would churn work out, but I would also whine, asking, “isn’t there a machine that does this for me?” and he would laugh and say, “yeah, that’s you, kid”.
He loved Emily with his whole heart and soul. They were what I hoped to attain one day. She would write sweet notes on his bagel sandwiches she made for him every day and he’d show it off and make a joke about how I was going to die alone. He would talk about the issues they’ve overcome and how they parent, and it was clear he was trying to pass these lessons on to me. He would talk to me about life, but always making me laugh at myself. Like when I would go through breakups, he’d come in and ask how I was and how dying alone was going, which always made me laugh at myself. We would share love and praise with insults and giving each other shit, which was exactly how my dad and I would joke around. He was a big brother to me in many ways. I am so happy he got to meet, and most importantly approve of, my husband.
And don’t worry, I gave him a fair amount of shit, too –– I had a running gag of bringing water to him while he was in meetings and acting like a subservient secretary, and he would get all uncomfortable and have to explain he didn’t make me do this, and I would reply, “anything else Dr. Clark?” I laugh every time I think about this.
I drink Americanos and Guinness because of him; I adopted his way of talking about science with his hand gestures, drawing out bar graphs in the air. I put dashes in my texts because he did. I was some back-talking kid with an attitude who loved science; he didn’t have to take a chance on me, but he did and he breathed talent in me. He had an amazing ability to ask important questions and design elegant experiments. He was also an amazing writer. I remember him writing an R01 with a broken keyboard that had keys that would stick. I told him I can get him a new one, but he said, “No, if I can write a great grant on this thing then I’ve earned it.” He never took the easy way out and clearly earned the 1% funding score he received.
I remember moving all the equipment across campus the summer before I left when he started his own lab and I was happy to spend my weekend doing this, because it was with him. We laughed and fucked around the entire time. I couldn’t breathe I was laughing so hard when I accidently rammed the cart into his shins, which of course he never let me forget.
I texted or called him almost every day when I started graduate school; he never ceased to be my mentor and friend. He cared about how I was doing and I hope he realized that my success in graduate school was due to his close mentorship. He was always ready with a pep talk in the bad times, always saying “what do we do when we fall down… we get right back up, kid”. We were a team; it felt like it was him and me in science, against the world.
My first GRC, I felt like the scared new kid at camp, but I had my buddy. We went to town one rainy day and planned our life sitting together on a bench outside on a covered porch. Jeff and I were going to move to Seattle and I would work in his lab. He and Emily would get a cabin and run things from a far while I oversaw day-to-day operations in the lab. That sounded like a very happy life.
2 months later, he was diagnosed. I sincerely hope he knew how much he meant to me. He was my big brother, my Obi-Wan, oh captain, my captain. Though he will be sorely missed every day, he lives in my head and heart as the voice that repeats the advice, jokes, or life lessons to me in the good times and bad. I love you so much Jeremy, and I hope to make you proud as your protégé. Every award I get or success I have is dedicated to you, because if I was not by your side stuck like glue for those years, I would not be who I am today.
Love and miss you Jeremy,
Your Mac the Knife
Annie