A few days ago, my friend and colleague, Dr. Deane Tucker, a Professor of English, Humanities, and Philosophy at Chadron State College since 1998, died at the age of 64. Deane took it upon himself to be my personal welcoming wagon when I joined the faculty at CSC in 2013. A wagon that often rolled deep into the night, deep into our cups, and deep into conversation.

Some of the most enjoyable, entertaining, interesting, and thought-provoking conversations I have had in my life were had with Deane. He has been on my mind often the last few days, and over the course of those few days I have come to know a few things for certain…first, I miss my friend…second, I am better for having known him…a better teacher, a better person, a better human trying to be better for the good of the order.

Often, we equate someone being a “good conversationalist” with someone who is “a talker.” Granted, Deane was a talker, but more so, he was a good conversationalist because he listened intently and responded thoughtfully. Many times, we sat shoulder to shoulder in a crowded bar and the crowd seemingly disappeared as we spoke of work, spoke of life, spoke of Ireland, spoke of complete and utter nonsense. Whatever it was that we spoke of, Deane was always fully present, and he was always fully engaged with whomever he was in the presence of.

Deane had a strong gravitational pull (good humans have that) and I am forever grateful that I was welcomed into his orbit. His passing has put a few bumps and wobbles in that orbit, but the pull is still there…the pull to carry on trying to be a good human, the pull to live with the same joy and curiosity for life that Deane lived with, the pull to be a serious academic without being too seriously serious.

A kindred spirit, as the dictionary defines it, is “a person who shares the same opinions, feelings, interests, or values as you” and it is said that when you meet a kindred spirit, “you often feel an instant, deep connection and mutual understanding, as if you have known each other for a long time.” Deane was a kindred spirit, someone I instantly connected with, someone I felt like I had known forever, someone I could count on to make a crowd seem not so crowded.

One night, as we sat shoulder to shoulder, conversing and laughing about this and that while orbiting outside the crowd, a burly gentleman walked up to us and said, “I don’t care if you are. I’m just curious. Are you two married?” Deane and I both busted out laughing, and I told him that although we were both married to women, if I were to marry a man, Deane would be a fine catch. Though we’d probably end up annoying each other as much as we did the bartender who begged, “Would you two stop!” when we got stuck in Irish brogue mode one St. Patrick’s Day.

I know he’s gone. I know I’ve lost that shelter from that crowd. I know that it is unlikely that anyone will ever request me to sing “Kilkelly Ireland” ever again…but I’ll sing it, and when I do, I’ll sing it for Deane. It’s a song that’s a bit happy, a song that’s a bit hopeful, a song that’s more than a bit sad, a song of life, longing, love, and loss. So it went with Deane. So it will go with us all. So it goes.