Lawrence Charles "Chuck" Jorgensen
May 17, 1933 - October 10, 2008
"Cattle die, kinsmen die, I myself shall die; but there is one thing which I know never dies: the reputation we leave behind at our death." - The Havamal
Chuck used to include that quote in the materials he handed out for his provocative history & political science classes at Los Angeles Valley College. And now, he himself has gone.
He used to quote Langston Hughes, too. "Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly."
Teacher, lover, lifelong friend. Frankly, it is impossible for me to imagine the silencing of this immense personality. Already I miss knowing that the boom-sound of Chuck's voice is just a phone call away. Already I miss his irony, his brilliance, his wit, his endless curiosity. I will miss his surprise care packages from his final home in Boise, Idaho: CD's (he said I was the only person he knew who should have "Songs of Fashion" from the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art), books (I received Camus' "Myth of Sisyphus" twice), and numerous articles. But I am beyond grateful that we were in close touch for many years and our recent phone calls always ended with an "I love you."
I was 19 when I took one of Chuck's classes at Valley College, three years after my father's death at 47. I suppose he started out as a father figure, but it was a friendship of equals that evolved and lasted for the next 29 years. Through good times and bad, Chuck helped me hold fast to my dreams and cheered me on when they came true. Few others can cheer you on as Chuck did. But he could also be a harsh and at times unfair critic. I learned from that, too.
He told me of his lung cancer several years ago. Although I believed myself prepared, the news of his death came as an immediate choking shock. Our friend John Apgar left a message on my cell phone as I was driving through Independence in the Owens Valley (coincidentally, one of Chuck's favorite places) on my way to the Lone Pine Film Festival on October 10. Choking up, I immediately turned onto a side street to visit the Mary Austin House. Chuck would have appreciated the appropriateness of that place at that moment. As with the many things I owe to his vast reservoir of knowledge, I learned of Austin and her book, "The Land of Little Rain," when I was his student.
It was as if Chuck was right next to me when I got out of my car to read the historical plaque there, and I allowed the tears to fall. "But if ever you come beyond the borders as far as the town that lies in a hill dimple at the foot of Kearsarge, never leave it until you have knocked at the door of the brown house under the willow-tree at the end of the village street, and there you shall have such news of the land, of its trails and what is astir in them, as one lover of it can give to another."
Now Austin is long gone, and Jorgensen too - but their words and their wisdom endure in their writings.
Chuck was thrilled when I moved to the Long Valley, above Owens Valley. My love of this region grew in part because of his teachings about the fascinating history here, the water rights wars, and above all our mutual love of the California high desert. Chuck would say Long Valley isn't exactly a desert, with a clarifying lecture (unintended as such, but delightfully coming across that way) about ecosystems and how the region changed when water was diverted to L.A. Surely he would then also thunder a bit about Mulholland, reserving special scorn for the dastardly Eaton.
I encourage everyone who reads this post to visit the global trends and issues site that Chuck created with colleagues and friends, www.mmmfiles.com ,for a glimpse into his work as a professor of political science and U.S. history, and as an environmental activist. He was absolutely brilliant, if, at times, too edgy in his expression for some. Thought-provoking, necessary, deeply authentic and honest. It was an honor when he bestowed four boxes of books from his library on me in 2004 before his move from West Los Angeles to Boise. This gift included numerous volumes and first editions of California history. Now, of course, I will cherish those volumes more than ever.
Chuck's voice, now silenced, contributed greatly to keeping it real in an age when sound-bite mediocrity has become the norm. But aside from his intellectual achievements, he had an immense capacity for joy and aliveness and hilarity. "If I can't dance at your revolution, I'll pass," he used to quote from Emma Goldman. I will cherish my memories of this very special, generous, brilliant man until I, too, pass from this earth.
