By Joe Nigota's Colleagues Dan Rogers, Mike Thomason, and Richmond Brown
When you lose someone, it hurts a little more if you realize you can't remember the first time you met him. I know I must have encountered Joe Nigota, who died last Friday at the age of 68, during my job interview at the University of South Alabama in January 1991. But when did I first shake his hand, hear his name, or look him in the eye? It's all lost to me, and I'm saddened at the oblivion created by my faulty memory.
For over forty years Joe taught in our History Department. He arrived in 1966, while he was still a grad student at Emory. His master's thesis and his Ph.D. dissertation, which he finished in 1973, concerned medieval England. He taught courses on Western civilization, medieval and early modern England, and medieval and Renaissance Europe. From the very first quarter I taught at South Alabama in 1991, I realized the students thought he was special. I struggled to figure out why, because I wanted to be a good teacher too. And I couldn't see it based solely on the Joe I knew outside of his classes.
He was slight of stature and slow of gait. He didn't walk: he ambled. And not only did I never see him run; I can't imagine him running if I try. When not lecturing, he talked in a low deep voice that my poor hearing struggled to understand every single time. He always sat off to the side in our department meetings and said little. When he did speak, of course, I never understood a word. I couldn't figure out how he could transform himself into the great teacher I'd heard about.
I finally decided he must be like an accomplished actor, far more skilled at losing himself in his role than most of us who adopt a different persona when standing in front of a crowd. He truly came alive in ways he never did outside of the classroom. That may well be why he continued to teach into a fifth decade, even though he probably could have retired and made more money from his pensions and Social Security than from remaining as a full-time faculty member. He positively needed to be in character, and the rest of us sometimes made morbid jokes about how they were going to have to drag him out of the classroom one day because he'd never leave willingly or alive. In the end it didn't quite go down like that, but almost.
I finally decided he must be like an accomplished actor, far more skilled at losing himself in his role than most of us who adopt a different persona when standing in front of a crowd. He truly came alive in ways he never did outside of the classroom. That may well be why he continued to teach into a fifth decade, even though he probably could have retired and made more money from his pensions and Social Security than from remaining as a full-time faculty member. He positively needed to be in character, and the rest of us sometimes made morbid jokes about how they were going to have to drag him out of the classroom one day because he'd never leave willingly or alive. In the end it didn't quite go down like that, but almost.
His teaching relied heavily on slides, and he continued to use them despite the advent of PowerPoint and the unconditional surrender of the academy to its cognitive style. But he had been adapting, slowly and steadily. This semester, his two classes bracketed mine in the same room; i.e., he taught, then left for 90 minutes, then came back; and in between my class took place in the same room. Thus I was pleasantly surprised to discover he was using the computer and projector system before me and I wouldn't have to turn it on from scratch or shut it down each time. I was delighted to see him striving, like any great teacher, to find new ways to reach and seize the attention of students.
He would hate being talked about like this. He would hate even more having his photograph displayed as it is below. He was a perfectionist of the sort that I understand all too well, because I'm one too. Usually "perfectionist" is meant to connote someone who won't rest until something is just right. It's an overt obsession. With Joe and me, it was and is different. We got the idea sometime in our childhood that being good or perfect was essential to our survival. Our lives thereafter would thus always be a struggle to reconcile the mess of the world with the standards fabricated by our earliest caregivers in order to teach us to become healthy and functioning members of our families and societies. We don't constantly adjust things to make them perfect; we tend to just give up in frustration. For us the perfect becomes the enemy of the good. We know it and struggle with it all our lives.
I wish I could talk about his teaching. I never witnessed it. A close friend who has a Ph.D. in history from Oxford and is a renowned scholar in his field once visited me here in Mobile. He asked to sit in on a typical class, and I asked Joe if my friend could do so in one of his classes. My hidden motive was to get a first-hand report on Joe's teaching style. Now, not only was Joe's professional specialty English history, he loved most things about England and was happy to have an English visitor. My friend came out of the class amazed -- he blurted out: "every department should have someone like him!" But I never had the pleasure and honor to see this for myself. Joe's techniques often involved using maps on stands, and he would usually put one in front of the window in the classroom door. I couldn't even spy on him as I walked past his room, much less hear him. He must have wanted it that way, to be the star of a one-man show hidden for 50 or 75 minutes at a time from the outside world.
He loved fiddling with his computers -- perhaps too much. I'm often frustrated that some people who ask me for help won't spend time just exploring programs to see what they can do. Many of the features they want to know about would be obvious if they'd just looked around a bit first. Joe looked around all right, but had a penchant for going a little too far. Basic settings would get changed, and I'd be at a loss to help. His final battle was with Vista. He sent me this e-mail last August:
Dan,Just a note. Vista has won. I'm so overwhelmed and unnerved by it all that I can't do basic things. Like typing this---or sending it. I typed the address wrong the first time! Thanks for "lending me your ear." I'm trying hard not to go over the edge. Joeeeeee..........
Later he reported the score in his struggle against Vista as if it were a football game. He claimed to be far behind in the first quarter. In the end I think he'd pulled ahead to stay.
For many years he was our liaison with the University Library. He sorted thousands of cards and slips we were sent containing reviews of new books in history. His tedious work of selecting the cards or slips to send to each faculty member meant we would receive only the ones relevant to our fields. He passed along the task to a colleague recently, but for decades I think he knew more about our library, and cared more, than anyone. I can imagine our librarians will mourn him as much as anyone. He was a true standout as a bibliophile among the many bibliophiles in our profession.
If I had any real issue with Joe, it was because of the cigars he used to smoke in his office several doors down from mine. I hate breathing tobacco smoke. I've seen the stuff kill people I've loved and cared about, and it also stinks and annoys me. But he was my senior colleague, and for me, the way I am, it was impossible to say anything to him. He probably sensed it, but he never said anything to me and I never said anything to him. He would only stop with the cigars after bypass surgery several years back.
In 1998, during one of his last summer sojourns in London, my British friend and his wife, along with me and my wife at the time, visited Joe and his wife at their summer flat overlooking the Thames across from what was then called the Millenium Dome, but is now "The O2." Joe delighted in sharing the history of London with us and anyone else who saw him there. He was no snob: he made it a special point to indicate a church that had recently been used to film an episode of Friends, "The One with Ross's Wedding," that had aired the previous May. He treated all six of us to dinner at a Chinese restaurant on a docked barge at nearby Canary Wharf. That evening meant and means the world to me still.
You don't get to choose whether to be photographed if you're in public (only whether to turn and hide your face if you realize you're being shot), and you don't get to choose how people remember you when you die. They will do what they need to do to begin processing their grief for you. So while Joe could successfully insist his University web page have no photo of him and that there be no public funeral, I feel I have to do things like post photos and reveal details and share observations, all of which would have made him cringe or request silence. One of my final encounters with his shyness and perfectionism came when I tried to nominate him for our college's teaching award. He refused because he believed his teaching had suffered setbacks since his heart attack. There was no way to nominate him without his cooperation, so I demurred. But it was a shame. I and others could see a lifetime of success, but he was concerned with what he saw as a slight recent decline, so concerned he blocked any attempt to honor him.
I took this photo of Joe in 2005. I've cropped out a student with whom I asked him to pose at our department's awards day, since he never would have stood still to be photographed by himself. In mandatory group photos he often hid or mostly obscured himself by standing in the back behind taller people. This is not unusual, I know. I have many family members who feel the same and who scowl silently and briefly when they see me take out my camera. Like so many things, though, the photographs are not for the subject alone, but also for those near to him or her.
An essay like this one would normally have at least a few words to say about Joe's childhood and youth. I know nothing of either. That would indicate we weren't close friends, which is true: his colleagues from the earliest days of the University in the 1960s would have to share such details. It also speaks for his general reticence about the circumstances of his private life. For example I found out only due to an offhand remark that he'd gotten married some years ago.
An essay like this one would normally have at least a few words to say about Joe's childhood and youth. I know nothing of either. That would indicate we weren't close friends, which is true: his colleagues from the earliest days of the University in the 1960s would have to share such details. It also speaks for his general reticence about the circumstances of his private life. For example I found out only due to an offhand remark that he'd gotten married some years ago.
If in writing these words I've violated that maxim that Joe would have known so well, de mortuis nil nisi bonum, of the dead speak only good, it's only because we have differing ideas of the good. To me, at this moment, the good involves showing and sharing more about this amazing, kind, loving man than was possible while he lived. He was a far more interesting and complex person than I and most ever got to experience first hand. Perhaps by sharing some of the more poignant things in my memory -- even and especially things Joe would have wanted to leave unspoken -- I can encourage others to speak or write. And then just maybe we can start to assemble what we all want but never had: a fuller image of this brilliant scholar and teacher, this self-effacing and helpful colleague, the soul of our History Department, the lovably imperfect man who walked among us as Joseph Anthony Nigota.
Dan Rogers
February 22, 2009
===
Joe took refuge in his teaching and in his trips to London in the summer. Marilyn and I had been there and we returned after coming to Mobile until the arrival of children made it difficult. Joe kept going and introducing colleagues and students to that wonderful place. He did careful research in medieval documents, including the scrolls in the PRO, which very few could read. He did so. Scholars who worked with those documents were my heroes, as I had no idea how anyone could do that. Many years later I read an entry in the English Dictionary of National Biography he had written. Based on such research, the article was just wonderful. He brought his subject to life and wrote about him as if he had known the man personally. Joe had to let me read it as I was on a department promotion and raise committee, and it was in his file which he had to submit. Otherwise he would never have shown it to me. He just refused to accept that he was gifted as a scholar, writer and even as a teacher. He would not allow us to honor him, but he couldn't stop the students. Year after year he was voted as the department's best teacher. And simply put: He was.
Marilyn and I lived in Hillsdale the first four years in Mobile. We had parties from time to time and Joe would come and I think he enjoyed himself. At least once we got him to do an imitation of Milton Cross explaining an opera being broadcast from the Met. Joe had been submerged in opera and classical music as he grew up in midtown Manhattan. He knew the characters and plot lines of most operas and that knowledge allowed him to invent an opera and describe it as Cross would have done, if it had been real. He had us laughing so hard that I cannot remember most of what he said, except for, "And the heroine says, 'For you I do this!' and stabs herself, dying on stage." Thereafter, "For you I do this!" became a catch line for any outrageous action. Joe had a wonderful sense of humor, laced with a fine sense of irony.
Dan Rogers
February 22, 2009
===
When Marilyn and I came to Mobile in 1970 we felt very much like fish out of water. One of the History faculty, Joe Nigota, who had been here for several years at that point, took pity on us. I suppose being from New York City and a Medieval history scholar, he knew what it felt like to find yourself in this strange place, Mobile. Now, Joe was not the only member of the faculty to extend him or herself, but he was very kind. One evening he drove us down Dauphin Street and as we went along the street east of Wentzell's he pointed out the new sky scraper, the First National Bank Building. He called it the "Running Building," because as we drove along it seemed to be running. Joe pointed out that no matter how fast it ran, it couldn't escape Mobile! Neither could we as it turned out, thanks to the shortage of jobs in History after the early 70's, so we were here, for better or worse, and here we stayed for the rest of our lives.
Joe took refuge in his teaching and in his trips to London in the summer. Marilyn and I had been there and we returned after coming to Mobile until the arrival of children made it difficult. Joe kept going and introducing colleagues and students to that wonderful place. He did careful research in medieval documents, including the scrolls in the PRO, which very few could read. He did so. Scholars who worked with those documents were my heroes, as I had no idea how anyone could do that. Many years later I read an entry in the English Dictionary of National Biography he had written. Based on such research, the article was just wonderful. He brought his subject to life and wrote about him as if he had known the man personally. Joe had to let me read it as I was on a department promotion and raise committee, and it was in his file which he had to submit. Otherwise he would never have shown it to me. He just refused to accept that he was gifted as a scholar, writer and even as a teacher. He would not allow us to honor him, but he couldn't stop the students. Year after year he was voted as the department's best teacher. And simply put: He was.
Marilyn and I lived in Hillsdale the first four years in Mobile. We had parties from time to time and Joe would come and I think he enjoyed himself. At least once we got him to do an imitation of Milton Cross explaining an opera being broadcast from the Met. Joe had been submerged in opera and classical music as he grew up in midtown Manhattan. He knew the characters and plot lines of most operas and that knowledge allowed him to invent an opera and describe it as Cross would have done, if it had been real. He had us laughing so hard that I cannot remember most of what he said, except for, "And the heroine says, 'For you I do this!' and stabs herself, dying on stage." Thereafter, "For you I do this!" became a catch line for any outrageous action. Joe had a wonderful sense of humor, laced with a fine sense of irony.
I never heard Joe teach. I knew if I did I would feel obliged to kill myself because I was so awful by comparison. As the years went by I think he got better while I got worse. He lived to teach, while I lived despite my teaching ability. I finally became so disillusioned I retired early. Despite serious health issues, Joe just couldn't desert his students. He and I corresponded via email after I left the university. We talked about the university, students and music. I asked him to take the WHIL listener survey, as we both were disappointed in its changed programming. Sadly, I sent that email on the night he died.
There are many things to be said about Joe Nigota. We should have found a way to see him promoted to full professor, but he just wouldn't play that game and it never happened. He probably should have been paid more, and over the years he served the university he got few rewards from the institution. He deserved more, but simply refused to play the game that most of the rest of us embraced. As time went on he taught, read, researched and got books for us for the library but gradually lived apart from most of us. He was a very private person, neither aloof nor unfriendly, just reserved. There was a sadness there too, though he took great strength from his wife Carolynn, and her love meant the world to him.
There is no way I can think of to end this essay. Like Joe's life, which didn't have an especially happy ending, this won't either. Marilyn and I will miss Joe as one of the more remarkable people we have known, as a good friend and an inspiring colleague. All sounds rather grandiose and Joe would dismiss this without a word. But, nonetheless, we will miss you, my friend.
Mike Thomason
February 23, 2009
==
My dear colleagues Mike Thomason and Dan Rogers (and they will be my colleagues wherever I happen to live and work and whether they claim me or not) speak with enviable eloquence about Joe Nigota, our dear friend and role model, who, as many had predicted, kept teaching right up to the very end. I started at South a year before Dan did and left about two and a half years ago for the University of Florida. I still wrestle with the move and often think (or hope) that I will awake from this dream and be back in Mobile with my friends at USA. I often think of Joe Nigota and Lenny Macaluso, his inseparable friend of more than 40 years, and miss them deeply. I'll be damn sure to tell Lenny that as soon as I can.
Like Dan and Mike, I learned of Joe's amazing teaching mostly vicariously, through the comments of students. His classes were always the first ones to enroll to capacity. Good thing our classrooms were mostly limited to 45 seats, so the rest of us got a few students. The closest I ever came to seeing his gifts firsthand was during a colloquium he once presented on Christopher Columbus as a man of medieval Europe. He held the audience transfixed. I often wished we could videotape his classes for posterity. I'm sure he would never have indulged the idea. Like Dan, I was struck by the personality transformation that Joe seemed to undergo when he entered the classroom. Outside the classroom, he always seemed on the verge of exhaustion, mumbling and shuffling down the hallway, barely seeming to have the energy to make it to his office where, until the campaign against smoking in public buildings finally forced him to do otherwise, he took refuge in his microfilms and his cigars. But then there would be another class.
I wish I had gotten to know Joe better. I never made it to London for the kind of visit Mike and Dan were privileged to experience. It would have been great to see Joe in another place, away from the third floor of the Humanities Building. He was a big sports fan and we shared a common rooting interest in the Braves and Saints, hapless franchises for most of our lifetimes. The 14 consecutive division titles for the Braves seemed somehow an aberration and their losing efforts of the past three years more in the natural order of things. Of course they did only win the ONE World Series, so they could still be the lovable losers our psyches seemed to demand. Lenny can have his Yankees and their 27 championships! Joe and I needed to pull for the underdogs. At least the Saints never let us down.
Like Mike and Dan, I was sometimes frustrated by Joe's seemingly misplaced humility and refusal to be acknowledged. I'm sure that this was an essential part of who he was and governed the way he approached the world, but I wish he had thought better of himself and his amazing talents and I hope that he had some sense of the way his colleagues and students felt about him. His perfectionism and his reluctance to publish perhaps deprived the scholarly world (in part at least) of the vast knowledge he had to offer. But perhaps that knowledge was saved for his kids, his beloved students. I can still see them lining the halls in little Nigotavilles frantically trying to finish their blue book exams because Joe never had the heart to take the test booklets out of their hands and he had to yield the classroom to another instructor.
More than any of my colleagues at USA, Joe was the one that our former students (they always seemed to be working at restaurants and bars around town) would ask about if they knew or learned I was a history prof at South. Students would have majored in Nigota if they could and some of them no doubt tried. I've been pondering Dan's acting analogy. I'm not sure that it was the case that Joe had to stay in character so much as that he poured everything he had into his 50 or 75 minutes in the classroom (and the long nights preparing) and it left him exhausted once he was outside the arena.
In my last few years at South (at least for now!), I became rather involved in the Faculty Senate. Too involved. I don't know what Joe thought of such endeavors--fool's errands perhaps, but I always comforted (or deluded) myself by thinking that whatever I was trying to accomplish in wrestling with the administration on this or that matter, I was trying to figure out how to make USA a better place. My simple guidepost was, "what could we do to make Joe Nigota's work easier, more satisfying, rewarding or recognized?" Because for me, what Joe (and Lenny, and Larry Holmes and others) did in their classrooms was the whole point of the university.
I visit the USA campus as much I can now living 6 hours away and I've tried to make it a point to drop in on Joe and my other old friends. I sensed he was proud of me (he always greeted me warmly as "my friend") and that while he was happy to see me he was also happy that I had escaped USA. I didn't share that sentiment at all (and perhaps I am imagining this). I just know that I became who I am at that place, trying to be like Joe and Lenny and Larry, and that wherever I ended up could not be a better place, or as good a place at that.
I miss Joe deeply but I'm grateful to have been touched by his quiet and unassuming greatness. I'm glad others feel the same.
Richmond Brown
February 23, 2009
24 comments:
Oh Dr. Rogers..I am shocked and saddened..I had NO idea it was that bad. He will be missed on the History Dept. floor.
My favorite memories were of how he would slip in a humorous quip about the Administration or some shocking scrap of intelligence or speculation about their latest atrocities whenever we spoke. That and how he would, from time to comical time, mix me up with Matthew Peterson, talking about how the University was when "my grandfather was here."
I knew Joe since I came here in 1970 and I am still considering what has happened. He was absolutely unique and his life and contributions deserve thoughtful comment which Dan has done masterfully. I cannot do better, or as well and do not feel like trying to tonight. I will think about it and think about Joe, but doubt that I can write anything as moving as Dan has done. We will all miss Joe until the day we die, when I believe we will see him again. If I do not I will certainly be in the wrong place and do all I can to leave! mike thomason
I can't believe he is gone. There were three or four professors when I was at South that really moved / challenged me. He was definitely one of them. I can remember filling up an entire notebook and starting a new one during one of his renaissance classes. His absolute love for his subject shone through. He will be deeply missed. I am sorry for those students who will never have the opportunity to take one of his classes.
I will miss him -- Kathy Jones sent us an email and I was so surprised to hear this even though I knew he hadn't been in the best of health.
Kathy Wheeler
I, too, feel diminshed by this loss.
I had transferred to South in the middle of my junior year, back in 1966. I was established as a history major by then, and was delighted to discover Joe, along with his colleagues Howard Mahan, Taber Green, Melton McLauren, Lenny Macaluso and others. I was particularly fascinated by Medieval history, so Joe was right up my alley.
Later, he became my friend, as well. I was in a class of students who could happily spend an hour discussing some finer points of St. Augustine's writings, Medieval church doctrines and the likes... And Joe led us through some of the brambles and thickets. So absorbed was he that at least once he found himself in the midst of a lecture with a piece of chalk in each hand, having offered some diagrams. I think in his physical memory he probably thought he had a cigarette in one, although I cannot really remember whether a teacher was allowed to smoke in class in those days.
He became a friend, and I, too, was delighted by his humor. My husband and I frequently entertained some of our friends from the history department - and they kindly reciprocated.
His mother and his Aunt Minnie, I remember, would visit, work for days preparing some of the most divine Italian food any of us had ever eaten -- a lot of ravioli, as I remember, with special sausage they'd brought down from New York. They were sweet, tiny ladies, and all of us enjoyed their visits. Aunt Minnie, I think, was on crutches by that point, and we were greatly honored when everybody took the trouble to visit our home (accessible only with certain difficulties) for a dinner I prepared, which was nowhere near as divine.
Joe was a splendid teacher, with a splendid sense of humor. I was also amused when one of my student fellows decided that the way to deal with Mr. Nigota's exams was to borrow all the books we relied upon from the library and keep them out past the exam grading period, so that Joe wouldn't have access. He didn't realize that Mr. Nigota knew what was in them without having to refer to them.
He was fun, and he made the classes fun and profitable, as well. He was a good friend, and I will miss his presence in the vicinity. So, I suspect, will the University of South Alabama.
Please let me know if anyone establishes a memorial fund. I can't send enough money to make much of a difference, but would like to contribute.
Cammie East Cowan, Class of 1968
I'll always remember Dr. Joe's stories of his parents; growing up as a boy in Hell's Kitchen; wanting to be a priest when he was younger; all of his adventures in England and even meeting his lovely Carolynn. Time had no meaning while we talked in his office and I always felt privileged anytime he shared his life with me. I am truly a better person for knowing him.
Thank you, Dan, Mike and Rich. Yours are touching and even humorous eulogies. I hope they get a wide readership from all connected with our department.
To me Joe epitomizes this line from William Wordsworth's poem "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey":
…that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love.
When Martha Jane called me last night with the news, I was shocked and saddened,even though I knew his health had not been good for quite a while. He was my cheerleader and patron saint as both an undergraduate and graduate student. There will never be another Joe Nigota.
It really is a shame that neither Dan, Mike, nor Rich ever saw him teach. If a student came away from one of his classes and hadn't learned something; that person evidently never showed up.
Some of my favorite memories are when he reenacted ancient battles ala Monty Python.
One day at a Phi Alpha Theta meeting, I suggested we ask Joe to present a program. Rich, who was the advisor, suggested that Joe could fascinate and entertain by just reading the telephone book. He was that talented.
As an older student, I appreciated his wit, his dedication, and his determination to make a difference in the life of each and every student who crossed his path. May light perpetual shine upon him.
I, too, would like to know of a memorial fund.
My heart is so saddened. My life was truly impacted by Dr. Nigota in the best way possible. It is because of him i chose to become a History major and teach. I will never forget how kind he was to me. I'm in his class again this semester. I am one of those students who would have been happy to just major in Nigota. This semester he had began our England classes with saying "if you went to England and heard this phrase, what do you think it means?" On the last week he was in class he came in and had began the class in the same way.....this lesson's phrase was "keep your pecker up" needless to say a classfull of college students smirked and some blushed, while others outright laughed. When everyones composure had returned, including his own, he said it means "to keep your chin up". Thanks Dr. Nigota, because i feel thats what you would have wanted.....us to keep our chin up. You've touched the lives of so many and mine will never be the same for you have touched a piece of my heart forever.
with my chin up i thank you my teacher and friend,
Alison
I just found out about Dr. Nigota tonight and, although it has been around 13 years since I last saw him, I truly feel a sense of loss. He was my advisor after my Uncle Leroy passed away and was amongst my favorite professors in my long academic career at USA. All these years later I would still think about some of his lectures and smile with fond memories.
His style made it easy to stay focused and was also very entertaining, especially when background music was involved!
My condolences to his friends and family. Rest in Peeace, Dr. Nigota.
William P. Rodgers, Jr.
Potomac Falls, Virginia
I too had to take a little time before composing myself to write something worthwhile on here about Nigota. I loved learning from him so much. He is 100% the reason I switched to History and yes like many others would be happy to major in Nigota. I just had him last semester for the 4th time and I cant...truly I cannot believe he is gone. My heart is broken many times over and I just hope he knows how much we will all miss him so terribly much. I'll never forget him ever and his essay test questions. I always chose the one he loved students to do so much. The "pretend your someone from some period and place in time and write about ______" Rest in peace the best teacher most any of us have ever had. -- Melissa J.
Dr. Nigota was a study in contrasts, in oposite sides, of a love of history, only fully shared while in class. Outside the classroom he was so quiet and reserved that if you get not know him, you would miss the sly sense of humor that he possessed.
I remember the times as his student that he would tell me all about London and show me the page 3s of the Sun with their innocent (by today's standards) pictures. Every time he would talk about England, he would grown animated and let me ask him for more stories.
My best memory of Joe will be in class one day back in 1980 when he was teaching a class about the Hundred Years War. He literally ran from one end of the room to the other, acting out the battle, alterating his accent to become the English and French generals in the battle. It was Monty Python meets Masterpiece Theatre. It was magnificent, it was moving, it was a indicative of a gentle man that inspired many students and touched many lives.
I only wish I could have told him all this to his face and let him know how much he meant to me. Cheers, Dr. Nigota, you will be missed...
I remember when I'd talk to him after class and the conversation would turn to soccer, because we both enjoyed it. I'd would always keep him updated on his beloved West Ham.
He also helped me research the origns of my last name, so when I go to France later this year; I know that the trip would have never been possible without the help of a man who was willing to spend a little extra time with one of his students. Thanks for everything.
I could write so much about Professor Nigota. It is hard to limit favorite moments because really it was all grand stuff. Just talking about DAY ONE in Medieval History class could fill the page. He truly did imbue his class with knowledge and humor as many of you have mentioned in your comments and as Professor Macaluso stated in The Vanguard article, he brought history down to Earth. He was brilliant in what he did and I feel lucky to have had the experience of being his student. I never thought about his teaching from another professor's perspective, so thanks for that Dan, Mike and Rich. You've made me appreciate his teachings even more.
-Michael Coppejans
I was looking at the History Dept. web page, hoping Dr Nigota might still be teaching when my daughter starts college, when I realized that he is gone. I am so sad for all the students who will never experience one of his classes, and thankful that I was so fortunate to have known him.
I wasn't even a history major - Elementary Ed., but he inspired me, and after Western Civ. I took every class with him that I could. Once I showed up for a final at the wrong time (2 hours late). After asking me what the hell I thought I was doing, he grabbed my arm, took me to his office, and proceeded to glare at me for the 2 hours or more it took me to complete those famous essay questions. I made an "A" on the test and in the class - I have never felt so motivated to learn and achieve by any other teacher.
I will never forget the comment he wrote on one of my papers "Pretty astute for a Southie" I had to ask him what he meant by it - I didn't know that some of the professors referred to the students that way- I realize now that it was high praise indeed. I think he may have paid me the ultimate compliment when he asked why I was wasting my abilities on "the kiddies" and suggested I change my major. If money and finishing up hadn't been issues I too would have majored in Dr. Nigota. My oldest daughter wants to major in Ancient Studies, I hope she will have teachers as passionate and funny and charming as Dr. Nigota, but I doubt it - they broke that mold.
Donna Sasser Funck 1983
The late Joe Nigota was a decent chap with a sly wit. He told me that, in his youth, he attended a summer camp in New Jersey, Camp Don Bosco, the motto of which was "Death Before Sin," a variation of "Death Before Dishonor." His manner of speech was captivating. When he talked to you it was as if he were taking you into his confidence so you really paid attention. Many of his Italian mannerisms reminded one of the brilliant cigar-smoking TV detective, Colombo, whilst the British side of our anglophile Joe Nigota reminded one of the witty and erudite TV barrister, Rumpole of The Bailey. You can tell by the comments made by others on Dan Rogers' blog about Joe's remarkable personality that I am not exaggerating about what a character he was, a professor who was, paradoxically, larger than life, even as he was a retiring and humble medievalist teacher-scholar. When Marie and I arrived in Mobile in 1980, Larry and Marcia Bryant of Spring Hill College invited us to dinner with Joe, during which feast he performed as an ace raconteur who explained over dinner the importance of Colchester, Essex, in such a way that I could probably pass a quiz on his comments 29 years later. Joe also proved to be a bon vivant, enjoying the cuisine and fine wine offered by The Bryants. That Joe taught for forty-three years at South Alabama is particularly remarkable in light of the fact that instruction has been offered at USA for forty-five years. The university's history and the life of this late eminent historian are intimately entwined. I shall drop a line to Larry Bryant, now professor of history emeritus at Chico State in California, to tell him the sad news of the untimely departure of Joe Nigota. Eheu fugaces labuntur anni--Alas the fleeting years slip by. Tim Lally
While looking through classes for summer 09, I noticed an absent name - Dr. Nigota - which I found odd but thought maybe he took the summer off. I decided to take a look at the history department's site this evening and there I learned of his passing. Shock was my first reaction followed by sadness. I feel such sadness for the students who had him, future students who will never know him, his colleagues, family and friends.
I wasn't even a history major but a business major and found myself excited to attend his World Civ. class. He quickly became one of my favorite teachers. I'll always remember his intolerance for talking during class and his passion for history.
He was an excellent teacher, who was both funny and quirky. He made his classes fun with his stories of his trips. He knew how to relate to the students and make history interesting. He will definitely be missed.
I know you may not know me. I graduated from USA in 2005. I was a history and anthro major.
I learned today from one of the interns at the museum I work for that Dr. Nigota had passed away. I was saddened by the news.
I loved Dr. Nigota's classes! He was a delightful man. I always looked forward to new classes with him! I remember taking a course on medieval civilization and the first day of class he played a tape of medieval monks chanting! It was crazy, but fun ;)
I will remember Dr. Nigota always!
In my brief non-tenure at South,
Academic life was much better with
Joe Nigota in it. What a loss. See
Kids appreciate the excellent teachers while you can and throw out the losers while you have a chance.
A sad loss for the family and future generations of students.
As we say in Hawaii,
He "Da Kine" Brodda.
Aloha and Smooth Sailing,
Joe Lepore
Former Instructor, U South.
Mokuleia,Oahu Hawaii. 9/09
I just learned of the passing of this great man; what an incredible loss. I attended USA on and off from 1976to 1989, at which time I got my BS in Marketing. Obviously I was not a history major, but I took EVERY class Dr. Nigota taught. That is the most convincing arguement I can make to attest to his superlative teaching skills. I often wished I could write faster to fully document the amount of information he conveyed, but I often found myself watching Dr. Nigota in the same way I would watch an intensely riviting, entertaining movie. He was that entertaining, that passionate, and that dedicated. I often recommended that students take courses he taught, for sheer entertainment value if nothing else. I cannot express how fortunate I feel to have had the honor of being among his students. The love of history he instilled in me lasts to this day. We should all strive to do whatever we do as well as Dr. Nigota did what he did. He will live in my heart and mind forever, and always bring a smile to my face when I think of him.
It has been some time now since Dr. Nigota's passing, and I felt that I should wait for the initial shock of it all to subside before posting my thoughts. Sadly after waiting several weeks I got caught up in the usual tediousness of balancing school and work, and forgot about this post.
I was in Dr. Nigota's Western Civilization I course early in my time here at USA (I think it was Spring 2007). I know this may sound cliche, but it could not be further from the truth. Dr. Nigota and Dr. Rogers are what made me want to teach. I thought if I could convey history even somewhat like Dr. Nigota and Dr. Rogers, that I could be a great teacher too.
I remember our final exam in that class. I can remember his TA explaining "Nigota's unwritten rule": If he gives you seven pieces of paper for the essay, he expects a seven page essay. During the final exam, I wrote as swiftly and logically as possible, making a mad dash to finish the essay in time. When time was up, I had only written about six pages. When I gathered the pages together to turn in, he asked if we would like more time to finish, and if so, please accompany him to another room. I know now, as Professor Brown has stated above, that he simply did not have it in him to take the papers away from us until we were finished. I remember thanking him for the extra time. After his course I always made it a point to give him a friendly "hello", and ask how his day was going. He, like many other people who have helped guide my life in some form or fashion, will never fall by the wayside. I will miss you Dr. Nigota.
Wow what a shock, it seems unreal that our beloved Dr Nigota is gone. I was one of those Nigotaites trying to get in the last few words of meeger wisdom in a blue book. Having taken his Medieval, Renaissance and British history class, he was the one to tell me not to waste my time in education but to get my degree in history first. I was only at USA in 96-98 but he had the most profound influence on my life, In 2003 at the age of 51 I finally got my BA in history from the University of Wisconsin, all in large part because his kind words and encouragement to someone who had always been told she was a C student, he made believe I could and should do more. Since then I have completed a two year Local History and Archival program from U of Dundee, Scotland and it is because of the medieval English document he shared with me those 12 years agoI now spend my summers lost in archives both here and in Scotland because of he shared this history with me. I know he will be missed by the students at USA, the history department and by the thousands of students whose lives he enriched with his passion for history, a passion that I and many others caught from him. No teacher has ever had as much a profound influence on me as DR. Nigota has and I believe I am a better historian, educator and person because of his mentorship. May he rest in a well deserved peace.
Post a Comment