If I only had words

There is so much of my career and my life that I owe to Hayward Alker. I can think of all of that, though, and the first thing that occurs to me to write is that, in the years that I knew him, I never saw Hayward not smiling. I gave him reason, often - but I never saw him give in to the temptation to frown, if he ever had it.

When I met Hayward, he was the graduate program director at USC, where I was a first year graduate student (too young to be there) with no idea why I'd gone to graduate school. Hayward's enthusiasm challenged me; his knowledge motivated me; the breadth of his interests inspired the breadth of mine. I always knew (whether he was telling me that I could not do something I wanted to, or forcing me to do something I did not want to) that Hayward was on my side.

In the fall of 2002, I started a (short-lived) graduate student tennis club in the school of international relations at USC. Hayward was the most faithful attendee and far and away the best tennis player. We would have lunches afterwards at the sports dining hall, and talk of everything from geography to football. Hayward and I shared a lot: a love for Negro Modelo (its a beer), a tendency to have long, drawn-out but always interesting conversations, a keen sense of strategy about professional life ... but we also had many lively debates, which were often much more interesting than the agreements.

Like Abbi remembers, Hayward was always encouraging me to do things that would be good for my education and my career. Hayward personally sponsored my attendance at the Institute for Qualitative Research Methods, which was a key step in focusing my dissertation research. He suggested that I refine my dissertation topic in a way that made it ultimately both doable and publishable (that went well), and suggested that I submit part of it to APSR (that did not go well, but I now realize the pedagogical strategy behind it).

Several years out of grad school, Hayward still sent me links, contacts, suggestions, and articles whenever he saw something that I just might be interested in. In fact, I had an email from him sitting in my inbox, a few days old, unanswered, when he died ... which I regret deeply.

I will miss Hayward because the world was a little bit better place for the rest of us knowing he was in it: brilliant, successful, happy, and always enthusiastic. I will miss Hayward because my world was better knowing he was in it: Hayward stretched me to my intellectual limits, as a member of my dissertation committee, an advisor, a mentor, and a friend.

When I told Hayward I wanted to go to law school after only a short time in the program at USC, he was uncertain I would finish my Ph.D. (much less finish it well), and resistant to the idea. I told him that I needed him to write me a letter of recommendation. This was about a week after I had defended my dissertation prospectus, in early September. Hayward was not particularly interested, and told me that he would, if he saw a full draft of my dissertation before the mid-October deadline. He knew and I knew that this meant "no, I will not write you a letter of recommendation for this disasterous decision." I went home, did not come back for a month, and wrote 450 pages of the first draft of my dissertation. I put it on his desk and asked for my letter of recommendation. Hayward, to his credit, was a man of his word, and wrote the letter. Also to his credit, however, Hayward was right and I was wrong: though I did get a law degree, finish grad school, and pursue my career - I spent the full three years in law school wondering why I had not just listened to Hayward and not gone.

I addition to being challenging, Hayward was enthusiastic and inspiring. My first year in graduate school, I took an "Advanced IR theory" course with Hayward. Nick Onuf sat in on the class, then there were four senior male graduate students, and me. Though I am sure a few years later I would have been capable of engaging in the course's banter, I was very much over my head. There are two days that I remember like they were yesterday, though. The class met on Wednesday morning at 9:00. The first morning answers the question "where were you" during the 9/11 attacks? I was in Dr. Alker's class, not even knowing they had happened, because I had just moved to LA (didn't yet have TV and radio) and was terrified about the presentation that I had to give that day. I don't know why I felt compelled to share that part - perhaps, because, as I keep writing, I realize how few memories I have of my graduate and professional life that don't include Hayward Alker. Anyway, why I wrote about the class is the second day I remember vividly, which I aspire to match someday. Hayward came in right as class was about to start - with socks that didn't match, his shoes untied, and his shirt unevenly buttoned. He started talking immediately about having discovered that java programming could be an important language in understanding complex systems in international relations - and had been so engulfed in though since this realization that, literally, he overlooked getting fully dressed. Someday, I will have a thought that inspiring and interesting; one that takes on a life of its own; the sort that Hayward had on a daily basis.

Hayward protected me when I had trouble in grad school. He introduced me to people who would become important in my career. He corrected me when I was wrong, and let me decide my own path when I was determined. He praised, critiqued, fixed, and promoted my work - and my life - on a number of occasions. If you looked up the meaning of support in my dictionary, it would be Hayward - who was key in both inspiring my dreams and making them a reality.

The world will be a sadder place for the loss of Hayward; my world, much more so. I've never known someone so full of life ... and will therefore know few if any more tragic deaths. A lesson I take from knowing Hayward is that there's no replacement for energy and enthusiasm - and no time to waste forgetting their value.

Laura Sjoberg