I learned of Prof. Alker's passing while looking for his contact information so I could belatedly thank him for his mentorship and kindness as a teacher, both while I was an undergraduate at MIT and afterwards. In lieu of that call left unmade I'll offer these memories of a very special scholar and man.
I was privileged to be in Hayward's undergraduate course on international conflict, "Just Wars, Total Wars and Nuclear Wars". For we students, Hayward's masterful synthesis of mathematical insight and sweeping historical perspective opened our eyes to the possibility of a more profound understanding of the affairs of nations. Moreover, Hayward was determined to afford us fair representation of a multiplicity of viewpoints, many of which were not his own. To do these alternative ideas justice he would bring in prominent guest lecturers with whom he'd engage in dialogue, drawing the students into the discussion. One time his guest was Daniel Ellsberg, and the lecture happened to take place shortly after the 1986 American airstrike against Libya. Ellsberg took a very dark view of Reagan's action and the attending collateral damage, and when Hayward began soliciting student comments I got up the nerve to suggest a defense of the attack, an argument informed by game theory Hayward had taught us and articulated in a tone which, regardless of where one stood on the issue, could be kindly described as cool. Ellsberg expressed considerable discomfort at so callow a mind embracing this stripe of realpolitik, and it was then that Hayward stepped in, looking up at me in the lecture hall and asking whether I was yet twenty years old. When I said I was not, Hayward remarked "You're leaving yourself no room here. You're young now - this is supposed to be a time of idealism, even naiveté. If you're this cynical today, what in the Lord's name will you be like when you're forty?" This brought down the house, and occasioned the first beginning of a dialogue with Hayward that I was fortunate enough to engage in for the rest of my time in Cambridge.
Of course Hayward was by no means naive, and could be very wry. In the mid-eighties the "Owl" school of thought was ascendant, and when I spoke to him admiringly of this line of thinking he pointed out that this approach's utility to its adherents might extend beyond intellectual substance. To illustrate, he strode to the right side of a very large blackboard, wrote "HAWKS" above his head, and, just below, "(Nuts!)". He then walked across to the left hand side of the board and wrote "DOVES" , and, below again, "(Wimps!)". He then hopped to the midpoint, wrote "OWLS" and "(Sane! Reasonable! Confirmable!)" above himself with an arrow pointing down, under which he the stood making a thumbs-up sign and exclaiming: "Acceptable on a bipartisan basis and available for the staff or Cabinet position of your choice, Mr. President!"
Hayward was generous enough with his time to dine with me on a few occasions, as well as put up with my endless questions during his very flexible office hours. He managed to convince a very skeptical physics major that mathematics applied to human affairs need not be a soulless enterprise. Indeed I never saw Hayward analyze a problem without remembering the humanity behind the equations. He would often attribute this trait to his Quaker background and perhaps this is so, but I suspect his was a rare spirit among any tribe or creed. When some time after MIT I struggled with the question of continuing my graduate work in physics or pursuing a doctorate in a social science, it was to Hayward that I turned for counsel, and his advice and empathy were both a decisive influence and a great reassurance.
Today I'm an economist, and around the age of cynicism Hayward warned me about. Once in a while I get a chance to speak truth to power. Whenever I do I think of what a wise and very decent man taught, and try never to let calculation become an excuse for callousness. I'm sorry I never really thanked you, Hayward. You will be missed.
Jeffrey J. Trester
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Memories of a Very Special Mentor
When I first came to MIT for graduate studies, Hayward hired to help “clean” the FACS dataset. I was initially surprised that the case codings were drawn from multiple sources, written by scholars from both the US and abroad. I came to realize that this openness to other perspectives was the hallmark of Hayward’s approach to scholarship.
I enjoyed working as Hayward’s assistant, but he was not initially the chair of my dissertation committee, though he was a member. After about a year of researching a rather pedestrian project – and thoroughly falsifying my core hypothesis – I stumbled across something intriguing. As I researched agricultural trade disputes, I found that different narratives of what was ostensibly the same case told different versions of what had happened, what was happening and what ought to be happening. I thought that the differences in how the parties to a dispute understood what was, what is, and what ought to be would provide the framework for my dissertation.
One of the most important and memorable days of my life was when I sat before my dissertation committee and told them of the new direction my dissertation was taking. Hayward turned to his colleague and said simply, “I think I should supervise this.” That is when I knew that I was on the right track. Having Hayward as my dissertation advisor was infinitely valuable for me. He read my work with extreme care and often seemed to understand more about what I had written than I did. He saw possibilities and insights that I had not yet discovered. He didn’t want to let go of a dissertation until its richness had been fully mined. He was my advocate, pushing me to greater depth of understanding.
And then there was the personal side of Hayward, the caring, considerate person who delighted in his students successes, but who worried about the student who was hospitalized or the one who might be lonely. He was a person who knew joy from his family, and we, his students, knew that from the way he spoke so warmly of Ann and of his daughters and their families.
I will always remember Hayward as the paradigmatic mentor: the scholar-teacher who cares about his students as people, trains them to be independent thinkers, lives his life with a sense of wonder, and dedicates himself to the cause of justice. He taught me in the classroom, through supervising my dissertation, by continuing to mentor me until his too early death, but most of all, just by providing the example of his own, well-lived life. I feel very privileged to be an Alker student, a member of a very special club. I know that with this privilege comes the responsibility of trying to approximate the kind of mentor he was, a daunting task, but an important one. I miss his infectious enthusiasm, his boundless curiosity, and his kindness.
Although it’s impossible to give a complete list, here are . . .
A Few of the Lessons I Learned From Hayward
Statistical significance does not equal truth.
Language matters. Words are data.
Dialog requires listening as well as speaking.
Time is too precious to waste it cleaning your desk.
Partial world orders are overlapping and inter-penetrating, and that’s a good thing.
Seek balance in your life and take time to sing.
Love your family.
Care about your students.
Be heterodox.
Normal behavioral social science is boring.
Being neatly dressed is optional.
Get excited about interesting ideas.
A quickly moving index finger makes an excellent exclamation point
Publicize the work of people who have insightful things to say.
Read widely.
Forgive your research assistants when they make mistakes, even if the mistakes cost real money or time.
Transgress disciplinary boundaries.
Don’t hide your light under a bushel basket.
Seek wisdom from other cultures.
It’s OK for your footnotes to have footnotes.
Travel.
Help younger scholars even if they aren’t “officially” your students.
Be generous with your time when asked to write letters of recommendation or tenure reviews.
Support political causes you believe in.
Be charitable – in all senses of the word.
Not only is it impossible for social science to be value-neutral, it is an ethical imperative to seek moral ends with one’s research.
No matter how much you wave and flap your arms around in class, you won’t become airborne.
Renée Marlin-Bennett
I enjoyed working as Hayward’s assistant, but he was not initially the chair of my dissertation committee, though he was a member. After about a year of researching a rather pedestrian project – and thoroughly falsifying my core hypothesis – I stumbled across something intriguing. As I researched agricultural trade disputes, I found that different narratives of what was ostensibly the same case told different versions of what had happened, what was happening and what ought to be happening. I thought that the differences in how the parties to a dispute understood what was, what is, and what ought to be would provide the framework for my dissertation.
One of the most important and memorable days of my life was when I sat before my dissertation committee and told them of the new direction my dissertation was taking. Hayward turned to his colleague and said simply, “I think I should supervise this.” That is when I knew that I was on the right track. Having Hayward as my dissertation advisor was infinitely valuable for me. He read my work with extreme care and often seemed to understand more about what I had written than I did. He saw possibilities and insights that I had not yet discovered. He didn’t want to let go of a dissertation until its richness had been fully mined. He was my advocate, pushing me to greater depth of understanding.
And then there was the personal side of Hayward, the caring, considerate person who delighted in his students successes, but who worried about the student who was hospitalized or the one who might be lonely. He was a person who knew joy from his family, and we, his students, knew that from the way he spoke so warmly of Ann and of his daughters and their families.
I will always remember Hayward as the paradigmatic mentor: the scholar-teacher who cares about his students as people, trains them to be independent thinkers, lives his life with a sense of wonder, and dedicates himself to the cause of justice. He taught me in the classroom, through supervising my dissertation, by continuing to mentor me until his too early death, but most of all, just by providing the example of his own, well-lived life. I feel very privileged to be an Alker student, a member of a very special club. I know that with this privilege comes the responsibility of trying to approximate the kind of mentor he was, a daunting task, but an important one. I miss his infectious enthusiasm, his boundless curiosity, and his kindness.
Although it’s impossible to give a complete list, here are . . .
A Few of the Lessons I Learned From Hayward
Statistical significance does not equal truth.
Language matters. Words are data.
Dialog requires listening as well as speaking.
Time is too precious to waste it cleaning your desk.
Partial world orders are overlapping and inter-penetrating, and that’s a good thing.
Seek balance in your life and take time to sing.
Love your family.
Care about your students.
Be heterodox.
Normal behavioral social science is boring.
Being neatly dressed is optional.
Get excited about interesting ideas.
A quickly moving index finger makes an excellent exclamation point
Publicize the work of people who have insightful things to say.
Read widely.
Forgive your research assistants when they make mistakes, even if the mistakes cost real money or time.
Transgress disciplinary boundaries.
Don’t hide your light under a bushel basket.
Seek wisdom from other cultures.
It’s OK for your footnotes to have footnotes.
Travel.
Help younger scholars even if they aren’t “officially” your students.
Be generous with your time when asked to write letters of recommendation or tenure reviews.
Support political causes you believe in.
Be charitable – in all senses of the word.
Not only is it impossible for social science to be value-neutral, it is an ethical imperative to seek moral ends with one’s research.
No matter how much you wave and flap your arms around in class, you won’t become airborne.
Renée Marlin-Bennett
Monday, January 21, 2008
In the Fond Memory of Hayward Rose Alker
August 27, 2007
Dear Hayward,
I have received the sad news about your passing, but yet part of me cannot believe nor accept it. You were always so full of life and had enough energy to fuel any project you might desire. I cannot imagine anyone more dedicated to life, professionally and personally. I feel so thankful to you, for giving me a small part of it, as your assistant, student and friend.
Your professional enthusiasm was built on knowledge and respect, but also on humanism. You had a wholeness about you, that most people don't ever achieve in the span a lifetime. Your scholarly journey went from working on econometrics at MIT to hermeneutics at USC. You had strong epistemological preferences, but always respected those that thought of the world differently. As opposed to most scholars, you understood people who looked at the world through lenses different than your own. Whereas most scholars stay true to the epistemological traditions that they were formed, you never stopped evolving. I believe that your genuine interest in the practical implications of theory and research fueled your hunger for knowledge and the constant evolving of your ideas. Rather than condemning people you disagreed with, you tried to understand and engage in a dialogue with them. You were building bridges
As much as your professional achievements were impressive, was your humanism beautiful. You cared about your family, friends and students. You were surrounded with people that loved you and you always spoke with such warmth and fondness about your family, especially of your wife, daughters and grandkids. If anyone needed a hand, you were the first to reach out with an extraordinary willingness to share and genuine interest in helping. You didn't ask anything in return and always gave people the benefit of doubt.
For me you have been instrumental in the shaping and maturing of my own scholarly foundation. I came to USC to work with you 11 years ago, knowing that there were many gaps to fill in my education. I laugh now, remembering how intimidated I was by the way you expressed yourself and by your eminent intellect. I am not intimidated any more. Rather, I remember with fondness how you would sparkle, expressing excitement over your work and interests in ways that most of us outgrow. You taught me that stories can be written in many languages, that realities have many truths, pointed to the issues never raised and to connections never drawn.
I could never have asked for a better advisor than you and I will miss you dearly. You and Ann have always cared about your students and involved yourselves in their lives like nobody else. You would call me early in the morning about an idea for my dissertation and you would always find time to see me when I needed it, even if it meant opening your home during your free time or taking 2 hours of your busy day to discuss my work. You would always emphasize how busy you were, but carve out time for me regardless.
There is a void in the world and there is a void in my heart. Your journey is over, but I wish you could see how many of us are carrying your memory and legacy with us. I will always be an Alker student
With sadness, thankfulness, pride and respect
Anita Schjølset
Friday, January 18, 2008
Dr. Alker is a mentor who continues to impact my life on a professional, musical and personal level even after his passing. The last time we spoke was this past summer when I was headed off to Korea for the summer on the Critical Language Scholarship Program. Without fail, Dr. Alker is one of the first people that comes to mind when my favorite season comes around - summer - because of our common bond with the arts.
The first close interaction I had with Dr. Alker was during my first days in the Honors Thesis Seminar, which he led in Dr. Odell's absence in 2003. I was one of six SIR students who were fortunate enough to have Dr. Alker's mentorship for the Honors Program during the one season which he was in charge of it. At first, I, like many other SIR students, were intimidated by Dr. Alker and even considered dropping out of the Honors Program because I my grasp of my research methodology paled to that of my colleagues.
However, I had one conversation with Dr. Alker that changed my entire outlook toward life. During his office hours, I determinedly sought Dr. Alker's guidance on my research topic and ended up telling him that often times I felt my decision to pursue IR over clarinet studies was foolish because it seemed as though I hit a plateau in my growth in both areas. As strange as I thought it was going to be, Dr. Alker completely understood what I meant and told me that he turned to singing in chorus to mentally recharge every summer at the Block Island Conservatory.
After that conversation, my passion for foreign affairs and music alike was rejuvenated and I stuck with the Honors Program until the very end. With the blessing of Dr. Alker and Dr. Tickner, our seminar participated in the Undergraduate Research Symposium and published our theses as individual chapters in a book he authored. From these experiences, I spent time with a great man who I respected more and more as a leading IR theorist, fine instructor and musician as well.
When I learned of Dr. Alker's passing, I was at a complete loss for words. I wondered if he made it back to Block Island Conservatory before he passed and was happy to learn that he did. My heartfelt memories at SIR will always link back to Dr. Alker, my mentor who inspired me never to force myself to embrace the challenges in life, whether they may be in foreign affairs, music or personal struggles. For that, I will forever be inspired and blessed.
- Brandon Marc Higa -
The first close interaction I had with Dr. Alker was during my first days in the Honors Thesis Seminar, which he led in Dr. Odell's absence in 2003. I was one of six SIR students who were fortunate enough to have Dr. Alker's mentorship for the Honors Program during the one season which he was in charge of it. At first, I, like many other SIR students, were intimidated by Dr. Alker and even considered dropping out of the Honors Program because I my grasp of my research methodology paled to that of my colleagues.
However, I had one conversation with Dr. Alker that changed my entire outlook toward life. During his office hours, I determinedly sought Dr. Alker's guidance on my research topic and ended up telling him that often times I felt my decision to pursue IR over clarinet studies was foolish because it seemed as though I hit a plateau in my growth in both areas. As strange as I thought it was going to be, Dr. Alker completely understood what I meant and told me that he turned to singing in chorus to mentally recharge every summer at the Block Island Conservatory.
After that conversation, my passion for foreign affairs and music alike was rejuvenated and I stuck with the Honors Program until the very end. With the blessing of Dr. Alker and Dr. Tickner, our seminar participated in the Undergraduate Research Symposium and published our theses as individual chapters in a book he authored. From these experiences, I spent time with a great man who I respected more and more as a leading IR theorist, fine instructor and musician as well.
When I learned of Dr. Alker's passing, I was at a complete loss for words. I wondered if he made it back to Block Island Conservatory before he passed and was happy to learn that he did. My heartfelt memories at SIR will always link back to Dr. Alker, my mentor who inspired me never to force myself to embrace the challenges in life, whether they may be in foreign affairs, music or personal struggles. For that, I will forever be inspired and blessed.
- Brandon Marc Higa -
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
EULOGY FOR HAYWARD
I last saw Prof. Alker (I could never call him by his first name) a few months before he was to leave to sing in Italy with his chorale. I had gone to Santa Monica to have lunch with Ann and had driven her back home after that. I had meant to drop her off and quickly leave, when Hayward high jacked me at their doorstep to talk about their upcoming trip. As he described how he was going to sing in San Marco’s Cathedral in Venice, his eyes glimmered with excitement. I remember telling Ann he sounded like a child, full of awe and amazement for life and beauty. I also remember thinking I would like to invite his chorale to sing at my church.
When I went to his memorial at USC, a colleague described him as bouncing off the walls with excitement when sharing the news of an award that I had won at the ISA meeting in 2007. And I remember that he and Ann had called me from their cell phone to give me the news. At the time, Ann was president of the ISA, so as soon as she gave me the news, off she had to be to another meeting. So Hayward stayed on the phone and gave me an account of what had happened at the FTGS meeting where my award was announced.
He was so concerned that Ann herself should be able to personally hand me the award certificate and the check that he practically snatched them away from a friend who had offered to accept the award on my behalf. He was happy and proud of me as a student of Ann’s. He cared for Ann’s students as for his own; he felt committed to us as he was to his own students. And committed he was! In the midst of a difficult year that had forced me to temporarily abandon my dissertation to fight a battle against cancer, he knew that award would tell me what he had told me many times before: that I had some worth as a scholar, that I had to fight the battle and get back to work, that I had something important to say. And he felt that reminding a student of her own worth was important and exciting.
When I learned about his death, I remember thinking I had lost the opportunity to hear him sing with his chorale. I remember thinking I would never hear his voice. At his memorial at USC, as I listened to student after student mourning their loss but also celebrating what he had meant to them, I realized I had been wrong. His song remains with us. All we have to do is join him in his singing. We might not have his tenor voice, but he taught us that what we have is both good enough and worth the work it takes to make it better.
- Catia Confortini -
When I went to his memorial at USC, a colleague described him as bouncing off the walls with excitement when sharing the news of an award that I had won at the ISA meeting in 2007. And I remember that he and Ann had called me from their cell phone to give me the news. At the time, Ann was president of the ISA, so as soon as she gave me the news, off she had to be to another meeting. So Hayward stayed on the phone and gave me an account of what had happened at the FTGS meeting where my award was announced.
He was so concerned that Ann herself should be able to personally hand me the award certificate and the check that he practically snatched them away from a friend who had offered to accept the award on my behalf. He was happy and proud of me as a student of Ann’s. He cared for Ann’s students as for his own; he felt committed to us as he was to his own students. And committed he was! In the midst of a difficult year that had forced me to temporarily abandon my dissertation to fight a battle against cancer, he knew that award would tell me what he had told me many times before: that I had some worth as a scholar, that I had to fight the battle and get back to work, that I had something important to say. And he felt that reminding a student of her own worth was important and exciting.
When I learned about his death, I remember thinking I had lost the opportunity to hear him sing with his chorale. I remember thinking I would never hear his voice. At his memorial at USC, as I listened to student after student mourning their loss but also celebrating what he had meant to them, I realized I had been wrong. His song remains with us. All we have to do is join him in his singing. We might not have his tenor voice, but he taught us that what we have is both good enough and worth the work it takes to make it better.
- Catia Confortini -
Monday, October 8, 2007
How did Hayward Alker influence you?
Please share your personal memories honoring him by using the comments option. Thank you.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
His inspiration will live on
Hayward was a force of nature, something well known those of us who were lucky enough to get within range of his whirling dervish intellect, passions, and heart. Only after he's gone do I realize how much I always expected him to be around -- that even when I hadn't seen him for a long while, his mere existence had become an inspirational anchor for me.
I first experienced Prof. Alker in the classroom, while taking his signature graduate international security studies course. From day one, there were some there who were put off -- and admitted to being lost -- by the rapid fire delivery, intense focus, voluminous (often unfamiliar) interdisciplinary references, and exquisitely four-dimensional reasoning. By no means can I claim to have followed more than a percentage of what he threw at us (I don't believe I know of anyone who ever could keep up entirely -- including most of his professional peers, from what I could tell), but I walked out of most of those first and subsequent sessions exhilarated, inspired, and, like everyone else to varying degrees, wishing that I had the replay tape available to go back to slowly recover what I'd missed the first time. Hayward challenged us to try to keep up, and he didn't suffer fools gladly at times, but if you rose to said challenge you were treated to some of the most interesting, provocative thinking you'd ever heard in your life.
Along those lines, he gave me (us) permission to aggressively, joyfully integrate not only multiple methods, fields and fresh approaches, but to do it all with a guilt-free (though disciplined) sense of justice and emotional acknowledgment. He never lost track of one of the central purposes of academia -- the hope of making a difference in the world -- and he had refreshingly little patience for artificial intellectual or disciplinary boundaries.
I will always be grateful that he helped sustain me, as only a very few could do, in my long dissertation slog. I took on a then-fairly unconventional combination of subject areas for my IR thesis, but whenever I would check in with him he would reaffirm, by his shear excitement and encouragement of the broad, complicated topic the value of what I was trying to do. I always left his office with a surge of confidence and excitement, and a raft of relevant questions to ponder.
The bottom line was this: He "got" me, and I'd like to think that to some extent I got him. So, even though I still cannot fully fathom that he is no longer with us physically (and quite frankly resent the hell out of it), he will be with me for the rest of my life, urging me to stand up for what's just and what's possible, and to challenge conventional thinking -- academic or otherwise. As I have for years now, I will continue to think of Hayward when I need a little (or a lot) extra courage to defend an idea or position that doesn't fit the standard mold, because he helped teach me, and many of us willing to stand the heat in the kitchen, to try to think broadly, in multi-dimensional, non-linear ways, with both passion and compassion.
I first experienced Prof. Alker in the classroom, while taking his signature graduate international security studies course. From day one, there were some there who were put off -- and admitted to being lost -- by the rapid fire delivery, intense focus, voluminous (often unfamiliar) interdisciplinary references, and exquisitely four-dimensional reasoning. By no means can I claim to have followed more than a percentage of what he threw at us (I don't believe I know of anyone who ever could keep up entirely -- including most of his professional peers, from what I could tell), but I walked out of most of those first and subsequent sessions exhilarated, inspired, and, like everyone else to varying degrees, wishing that I had the replay tape available to go back to slowly recover what I'd missed the first time. Hayward challenged us to try to keep up, and he didn't suffer fools gladly at times, but if you rose to said challenge you were treated to some of the most interesting, provocative thinking you'd ever heard in your life.
Along those lines, he gave me (us) permission to aggressively, joyfully integrate not only multiple methods, fields and fresh approaches, but to do it all with a guilt-free (though disciplined) sense of justice and emotional acknowledgment. He never lost track of one of the central purposes of academia -- the hope of making a difference in the world -- and he had refreshingly little patience for artificial intellectual or disciplinary boundaries.
I will always be grateful that he helped sustain me, as only a very few could do, in my long dissertation slog. I took on a then-fairly unconventional combination of subject areas for my IR thesis, but whenever I would check in with him he would reaffirm, by his shear excitement and encouragement of the broad, complicated topic the value of what I was trying to do. I always left his office with a surge of confidence and excitement, and a raft of relevant questions to ponder.
The bottom line was this: He "got" me, and I'd like to think that to some extent I got him. So, even though I still cannot fully fathom that he is no longer with us physically (and quite frankly resent the hell out of it), he will be with me for the rest of my life, urging me to stand up for what's just and what's possible, and to challenge conventional thinking -- academic or otherwise. As I have for years now, I will continue to think of Hayward when I need a little (or a lot) extra courage to defend an idea or position that doesn't fit the standard mold, because he helped teach me, and many of us willing to stand the heat in the kitchen, to try to think broadly, in multi-dimensional, non-linear ways, with both passion and compassion.
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