Michael Forman
Michael Harvey Forman of Grantham, NH passed away peacefully at home at age 57 on January 19, 2010 after a long and courageous battle against scleroderma. Michael, known to many as “Mick”, was born in New York City on Dec. 11, 1952, the son of Leon and Muriel Forman, both deceased. He grew up in Flushing, Queens and spent most of his adult life in Brooklyn, NY. He and his family moved to the Upper Valley in 1999 and have made New Hampshire their home since then.
Michael spent most of his working life as a journalist, primarily for several small financial publications. Soon after moving to the Upper Valley, he attended the MALS program at Dartmouth and received his MALS degree in Creative Writing in 2003. His experience at Dartmouth was a profoundly transformative time for him. His earlier educational experiences were quite difficult, having grown up with learning disabilities in an era when they were misunderstood. In midlife he learned to overcome these challenges allowing his innate intelligence to flourish. He made many friends at Dartmouth, among both fellow students and faculty, and deeply cherished these relationships.
After graduating from Dartmouth he began a Second Act as a teacher of writing, philosophy and history at both the Community College of Vermont and Keene State College. He was a gifted and compassionate teacher who inspired many of his students to push themselves beyond their expectations and discover new potential. He considered his short career as a teacher the most rewarding and important work of his life.
In addition to being a teacher, he was a voracious learner and educated himself throughout his life about anything that caught his interest. He had a lifelong passion for music and was a talented slide guitar player. He was a black belt in Aikido and when his illness prevented him from practicing, he began learning Tai Chi, and in his last year became a serious student of Tibetan Buddhism. This brought him much peace during the difficult final phase of his illness.
In all his endeavors, humor was the core of his personality and his family was the center of his life. His 32 year marriage to his wife Judi was one of deep love and friendship. He also enjoyed extraordinarily close relationships with his children, Hannah, 28, of Keene, NH and Noah, 24 of Brooklyn, NY. Another son, Robin, predeceased him in 1983. In addition to his wife and children, he is survived by his sister Freda Hansburg of Berkely Heights, NJ. Mention must also be made of his 3 beloved dogs, Boswell, Chloe and Sophie who will greatly miss his deep love and affection for them.
A celebration of Michael’s life will take place on Sunday evening, January 24, 7 PM at the Faculty Club at the top of the Hopkins Center in Hanover. All are welcome. An online memorial has been set up to share your thoughts and memories at michaelformanmemorial.blogspot.com. In lieu of flowers, donations in his memory can be made to OXFAM (www.oxfam.org) , his favorite charity.
Scleroderma is a rare autoimmune disorder that is not well understood and for which no effective treatment exists. However, research into this disease is very active and to help support that effort donations can also be made in Michael’s memory to the Scleroderma Research Foundation (http://www.srfcure.org/srf/home.htm).
Michael - funny, wry, sarcastic - in that good ironic way, chocolate cake lover, garlic enjoyer. A person living life with appetite and gusto. Always intrigued by ideas...supportive, enthusiastic friend - he gave good advice. fabulous salsa maker. And of course a dog lover - one thing I do not share...good writer, the story about the NW Territories diamond fields still stays with me.
ReplyDeleteAs to the wry and the literary: my birthday and Michael's both fell in December, and one year, knowing I'd recently discovered (and was devouring) all the Sherlock Holmes stories, Michael got me copies of Wilkie Collins' The Moonstone and a collection of three H. Rider Haggard novels. Of the latter, he explained, "You how in the Holmes stories there are always these guys who've come back to England after 20 years in Africa, and they're sunburned and glinty-eyed and have a vaguely military bearing? This is where those guys were."
ReplyDeleteI will miss Michael at least four times a year: during the tennis grand slams. I'm pretty sure he's happy that Maria Sharapova--whose grunt drove him crazy--lost in the first round.
ReplyDeleteHe was a graceful and gracious tennis player himself, and athlete in general (as anyone who's seen the video of him tossing Jim Dorsey around can attest to).
--Tamara (capgemlib is my net-name)
Dear Judi, Hannah, Noah and Freda,
ReplyDeleteAs close friends of your parents in Rainberry Bay we came to learn much about Michael and all of you. Their pride in his accomplishments and in yours brought them great joy.
With deepest sympathy on your tragic loss,
Bobbie and Richard Handel
Delray Beach, FL
Dear Family and Friends of Michael,
ReplyDeleteIn 2006, I took a class in at the Upper Valley site for CCV, with an instructor who was teaching his first course at CCV. That instructor was Michael Forman, and the class was Seminar in Educational Inquiry. Wow! What a class we had. Michael urged each of us to delve into topics and ideas that we normally would not think or talk about, and each and every class went by way too fast.
Being that the final class was in mid December, Michael asked that we each bring something from our memories as we were growing up, that represented our holiday experiences. We each brought something totally different, as we were a small group with a lot of different faiths represented. What a great night that was. I was very sad that the class had to end, and wished I could take many more like it. I have yet to experience what I did in Michael's class, or take a class from a leader such as him.
Michael e-mailed me after I received my two year degree to congratulate me and to see how I was doing. I was thrilled that he kept in touch and looked forward to his periodic correspondences on the computer. I had only recently learned that he was ill.
I will miss you, Michael.
Michael helped me through a very rough year of medical treatments like no one else. I once showed up to our writing group after an especially grim prognosis, and he was the first to have arrived. He immediately switched from his usual laconic manner into a listener and sympathizer that reminded me of a loving grandmother. I swear his khakis turn into a billowing skirt. I have seldom felt in my life such a beacon of warmth and sympathy.
ReplyDeleteHis students, especially those who struggled, were very, very lucky.
Love to you, Judi, and to your children,
Ann Brandon
I met Michael in one of my first MALS classes, a really stupid and annoying class on how to do a proper bibliography. I was in the back, along with Michael and the rest of us "grown up" students. After telling us that we were going to break into groups to discuss proper citation, the teacher-- an unbearably perky person -- cheerily told all of us in the back could be our own group. We were all doubtfully turning toward each other when Michael said, "We are so having this meeting at the Dirt Cowboy Cafe."
ReplyDeleteThat was it, as far as I was concerned. Michael is the person who turned us from a disparate collection of individuals into a group. He is the one who brought us together for coffee, for dinner, for conversation. He is the one who organized our writing group, in the most beautiful library on the Dartmouth campus, an experience I told him was the highlight of my Ivy League experience.
Of his many gifts, one of Michael's was to encourage people to be the best incarnation of themselves they could possibly be. And given that he was so ravenously curious about all of life and people and experience, he never made me feel judged for my fears or neuroses or quirks. Rather, I brought my whole self to the coffee table with Michael, and felt like more of myself when I left. In many ways I feel that I came into being as a writer with Michael, and his faith and belief in me live inside my heart.
Of course I can hardly stand that he is no longer with us, but because it is what Michael wanted, I am doing my very best (through tears) to live deeply and truly and joyfully. We are all blessed for having known him.
Catherine Faurot
Given Michael’s sophisticated and informed taste in music, it bothers me to borrow a line from Cher. But if I could turn back time…
ReplyDeleteIf I could turn back time, I would have kept in touch. I would have written fewer entries in my journal and more e-mails to him. I’d have brewed fewer pots of coffee and met him somewhere for a cup. I’d have called him up. “Let’s take our dogs for a walk on the rail trail,” I could have said. But I didn’t. Often in the last few years I’ve gone into the Dirt Cowboy Café in Hanover, half-expecting to see him there.
He always managed to find a parking spot for that car that only Michael could drive and still remain Michael: the purple RAV 4. I asked about his gift for finding space on Main Street. “I’m from Brooklyn,” he said, as if that should be all the answer I needed. He went on. “I envision that the space will be there, and it is.”
Whenever I ran into Michael, I felt like he’d seen me first. Perhaps that, too, was just another Brooklyn thing. But I think not. Michael had an uncanny sense of the energies that moved into his environment, as if his spirit not only completely filled his body, but partially hovered outside of him as well, watching himself and the rest of us.
Michael and I were in MALS together. I wrote some of my best work in the writer’s group he formed. He asked great questions that begged answers from deep within. When he offered direction, it was subtle: “Have you ever read…” “Have you ever seen the movie…” How did he refer to so many works of music, poetry, philosophy? He had time for family, food, reading, writing, teaching, friends, music, dogs, and still knew about all these movies. He must have been able to watch a two hour movie in a half-hour.
There are two places in my house that remind me of Michael. One is the full wall of books in our living room, where our writer’s group often met after MALS. Michael would be the first to arrive and would go to the rows of old cloth and leather books: works printed by Tichnor & Fields in the 2nd half of the 19th century: Mark Twain, Poe, Greeley, Dickens. I’d watch the conversation between Michael’s finger tips and the book spines before he made his choice. Then he’d mention some fact.
“They say Dickens was the second greatest writer in the English language,” he said once.
“Who would they say was the greatest?” I asked. Michael just looked at me. I got the answer on my own.
His next question was “What have you got for a single malt?” The cabinet where I keep the good stuff is the other place that reminds me of him.
So what do you do when someone who has been so influential in your life passes out of it? As I recall, Michael wasn’t a huge fan of Tolkien, but I think it wouldn’t bother him if I refer to a passage from The Return of the King. I’m probably butchering it, but it goes something like this:
The hobbit, Merry, comes of age under the care of the King Theoden. When Merry regains consciousness after the battle in which Theoden dies, he asks for his pipe. Then a shadow passes over him. “I don’t think I shall ever smoke again,” he says. “I won’t be able to smoke without thinking of him.”
Aragorn says, “Smoke, then, and think of him.” He goes on to say why—I won’t try to quote that.
Once, Michael asked me to bring him some Cuban cigars after a trip to Montreal, I didn’t know him as a smoker, and I won’t take up the smoking to think of him. I will, however, think of him when I pull an old book from those rows of the shelf. I’ll think of him when I go into the Dirt Cowboy. When the waiter brings the coffee to my table, I’ll mix it with deliberation and I will savor that first sip. I’ll contemplate the selection on tap at Murphy’s before I order my pint. I’ll let my dog jump in my lap and touch his enthusiastic wet nose to my face. I’ll keep on buying good single malt. And if you’re in the neighborhood, I hope you—any of you—will stop by. And we can think of him.
Ken - I have a couple of very nice single malts at the house. You're more than welcome to come over and drink a toast to him. I love what you wrote and I know he would have been very pleased that you were there on Sunday.
ReplyDeleteAlan Lelchuk, one of Michael's writing professors, asked me to post this comment:
ReplyDelete"Michael was a wonderful student in MALS, with a sharp mind and merciless wit, and a pleasure to have around and to teach. He wrote a memorable thesis, in which all his fine qualities as a writer were on display: his humor, his warmth, his Yiddish irony, his engaging prose. We at Dartmouth will all miss him very much, and will remember him fondly."
Michael Forman and I became friends at Dartmouth College in September, 2000. We met the first day of Alan lelchuk's creative writing class, Short Fiction. Michael was sitting on the steps of Baker Library. I sat down, we discovered we were taking the same class and thus began our creative rapport.
ReplyDeleteDuring our time at Dartmouth we supported each other in class work and creative writing.
Marion, my partner/girlfriend and I began spending New year's Eve at Judi and Michael's house. It was lovely getting to know Judi, and Hannah and Noah when they were home.Also, the dogs were always glad to see us. Thrilled was more like it. I have never known people who love dogs before.
Michael told me some important things about myself. Before taking Alan Lelchuk's class I had never written a short story. I had always wanted to but didn't.
" Maybe I should drop the class before I make a mess of it," I said.
Michael put his arm over my shoulder and said, " You have a lot of stories to tell. You'll find a way."
And, Michael taught me how to fly without drugs. Airplanes terrified me so much I had to anesthetize myself whenever I flew. Marion and I were delayed for four hours once and I didn't know it.
Michael showed me a meditation exercise he used whenever he flew and it worked.
Now, Michael had a sweet tooth. While at Dartmouth we both took our Independent Study with Alan Lelchuk. Every two weeks we would get together with Alan and he would read us a story. When Marion learned that Michael and I were going to have story hour she made us cookies. She calls them Lucifers because they're sinfully delicious.She packed them in a basket and provided bags so Alan and Michael could take the extras home to their families. After Alan finished reading we discussed the story munching with delight. Then Alan and Michael filled their bags and we left.
About a week later I was at Michael and Judi's house and I asked Judi and Noah how they liked the cookies.
" What cookies?" asked Judi.
" I gave them to Michael," I began. All three of us turned to him. He was without guile; at first he looked like a little boy. Then he drew himself up, and declared, like some force of nature: " I ate them. They were delicious."
We visited Michael and his family about a week before he died. Judi told us that a short visit was best. I sat with him, we talked but mostly we were quiet. Before leaving we shook hands. We looked into each other's eyes and our hands stayed clasped for a while.
January 24, 2010. Spoken at the Memorial Service
"Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, / When I give I give myself."
ReplyDeleteThat was Michael--always willing to listen, to help, and to share.