I was a student of his at Dartmouth in the early 1990s, toward the end of his career. I not only enjoyed his classes, but his conversation, his stories of fishing trips to places like Peru and Northern Quebec, and his omnipresent Labrador. At Dartmouth, he was known as quite a character. He loved to see himself as vinegary curmudgeon--in class he loved celebrating the gouty old gentlemen of early British novels--, but of course he was himself the exact opposite in temperament: generous, open-minded, and extremely good-natured. He was a great teacher who was extremely invested in his students. Years after I had graduated, and after he had retired, he continued to offer plenty of career advice. He was also extremely funny. I once saw a lecture in California, and it turned out that the profssor giving the lecture was a friend of Chauncey's from Korean war. The lecturer told me that he had recently seen Chauncey give a paper at conference and wondered how Chauncey was able to remain polite as academic after academic got up to critique the paper. Chauncey told him, "It's easy these days, I just turn off my hearing aid."
I will miss him a lot, as I'm sure will countless others. But his character will certainly live on through the ideals-- literary, historic, philanthropic, eccentric--that he has inspired in so many students.
"As the shadow of the kingfisher moved up the stream, a big trout shot upstream in a long angle, only his shadow marking the angle, then lost his shadow as he came through the surface of the water, caught the sun, and then, as he went back into the stream under the surface, his shadow seemed to float down the stream with the current unresisting, to his post under the bridge where he tightened facing up into the current."
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