Reading Facebook After Norman K. Denzin’s Passing

I learn of Norman’s passing via Facebook. So many beautiful remembrances, so much love from so many people who call themselves Norman’s friends and colleagues. Reading their posts, it becomes clear we all considered Norman our mentor, the person who allowed us to be the academics we felt most comfortable being.

Scrolling, I find Michael Giardina’s moving obituary for Norman (see https://www.renner-wikoffchapel.com/obituary/Norman-DenzinPhD). Not only does it provide a summary of Norman’s impressive accomplishments, but it articulates the heart of Norman’s commitments and character. I linger there. It gives me space, time to remember. I read it again and again. I do and don’t want to stop.

Two Facebook entries stay with me. The first from Tami Spry and the second from Mitch Allen.

There is a family of hawks out my window here in the desert and I’m seeing Norman. The beaver tail and candelabra cactus in my garden are talking to me and I can hear Norman. The Joshua Tree out our front window is about 130 years old with baby trees at its base and I can feel Norman. Hearing/seeing/feeling Norman Denzin talk performance/research/autoethnography was like going to church. So much of me is who I am because of him. A thousand-fold chorus of us can say the same. (Tami Spry, Facebook, August 2023)

When one of the hundred-year-old giant firs falls in the forest, it becomes host to dozens of sprouts of new growth, feeding a new generation of trees that will rise to restore the canopy. That was what I needed today after news of the passing of my long-time friend Norman Denzin. (Mitch Allen, Facebook, August 2023)

I am touched by their remarks, brought to Norman by writing he would applaud. His labor made such poetic academic space possible.

I cannot bring myself to add a Facebook comment. I do not have the words. Whatever poetic self I have is curled into mourning, speechless. I am just pulled to images: Norman smiling. Norman opening the International Congress of Qualitative Inquiry (ICQI). Norman talking with conference participants in the Pine Room. Norman in shorts riding his bike. Norman speaking on behalf of social justice. Norman standing there, a symbol, being a moral center, a compass to guide us, an anchor to secure us, a model to follow.

And moving down the Facebook page takes me to his books: Reading Norman’s Interpretive Ethnography: Ethnographic Practices for the 21th Century, the first of many books by Norman I’d read, a book that solidified where I wanted to spend my academic time. Reading Norman’s Performance Autoethnography: Critical Pedagogy and the Politics of Culture and being stunned that someone trained as a sociologist could write about the field of performance studies with such precision and insight. Reading volume after volume of The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research and knowing each collection is a “must-read.” And I’ve just begun to scrape the surface of his books that shaped my thinking and writing.

And I am carried to my personal memories as I read others’ tributes: My first encounter with Norman was secondhand during my doctoral program at the University of Illinois in 1976 or 1977. Jim Applegate, a fellow graduate student, came back from Norman’s symbolic interaction course where Norman had given the students an assignment for analyzing a communicative exchange. Jim was so excited by what he was learning as soon as he returned from Norman’s class, he showed me what he was asked to do. To this day, I regret I wasn’t in that class.

More memories come: After writing a two-page email, one I struggled to get right with all the rhetorical skills I could muster that pointed out the advantages and disadvantages of taking a particular course of action, I received a Norman two-word response: “I agree.”

I see Norman picking up one of my books and giving it a hug. It was the best critical response I’ve ever received.

I remember Norman asking me to take charge of a performance plenary for ICQI. “I want to create a space for performance,” Norman said. “I want it to privilege aesthetic performance, performances that make a difference in the world. I want it to have its own time slot. No other programs at that time.” As a person trained in performance studies, I couldn’t say “yes” fast enough.

We were in the coffee shop in the Illini Union, just the two of us talking. I can’t recall what we were talking about, but I felt ecstatic to have this opportunity. I was overwhelmed, euphoric. It was such a gift to be in his presence.

I close Facebook, but I cannot shut down the grief I’m experiencing. I tell myself to focus on a life well-lived, to be thankful there were times when I sat with Norman Denzin. I tell myself to be with Norman.