Banner readers: Departed Tufts prof. was a true role model
Thank you for your fine coverage of Associate Professor Gerald R. Gill (“Legendary Tufts history professor Gill dies at 58,” Aug. 2, 2007; “Tufts professor Gill was chronicler of black Boston,” Aug. 9, 2007). He was a leader on our campus. He was a teacher of teachers, of staff, of students, of administrators and of all our families.
He treated everyone with the same respect and generosity — whether you were the university president, a student, a colleague, a custodian, a dining services staff person or a trustee.
He had so, so much to teach. He read deeply, thought deeply and had a gift for conveying his knowledge in a manner that made you think more critically.
He was good, kind and generous. He was all I have ever asked of my sons and more.
Tufts University and the broader community have lost one of our true models. Thank you for going beyond the usual coverage.
Jeanne Marie Penvenne
Assoc. Professor of History
Tufts University
I didn’t really know Professor Gerald Gill until the start of my sophomore year at Tufts, but our bond formed immediately. Calling me into his office after class one day, he asked about a paper I had written for another class about the racist practices of a visiting history professor. As deputy chair of the department, he wanted to know all the details as this professor’s contract was up for renewal. After a closed-door discussion that lasted the better part of an hour, the result was clear. He took his students seriously.
Professor Gill made African American history everyone’s history. The basement classroom for his “African American History Since 1865” class was filled with a diversity of young faces all tilted towards him, scrawling down every word. We were assigned to interview three people about their involvement in the civil rights movement, at least one of whom had to be outside our racial or ethnic group. With his blessing, I later used this assignment for my own ninth-grade students at Charlestown High School.
Upon reading my paper for his civil rights course, he told me that the paper was worthy of presentation and publication. He told me to submit it to a Brown v. Board of Education conference at Columbia University. It was accepted, and I later had my paper published in The Journal of African American History. I would have never imagined it for myself had he not dreamed it for me.
With graduation a matter of days away, he scolded me for nearly missing a math final. I was lucky I didn’t get summer school, he told me. Then he said I was nominated for the Phi Beta Kappa honor society and would receive one of the top prizes in the history department. Like a father, he wanted to correct my mistakes and reward my successes.
After I graduated, we would meet for an occasional dinner. We would talk about history, graduate school, Tufts, and inevitably my life more than his. When I finished graduate school, he met me at Out of Town News with a pen and a heartfelt “congratulations.” I still have that pen, and will write with it until it dies.
