Mein Vater und Mein Doktorvater
My Father and my PhDoctor-father
Coincidence
They both died on a March 7. My father, Alfred T. Kluz, died March 7, 2021. My Doktorvater, Thomas A. Brady, Jr., died March 7, 2025. That coincidence plus myself are the only connections between these two incredibly generous, smart, and kind men. These are a very few of my memories with them. I will keep this succinct, because that’s my way and because whenever grieving, every attempt to recount their significance seems insufficient.
They taught me and gave me stories to remember them by.
My dad taught me how to drive a car, more specifically a pickup truck that was a few months older than I. The pickup had “three on the tree.” (If you don’t know what that is, then you have missed out on the incredible, joyful experience of shifting gears this special way that resembles a tractor.) Before we started, I promised not to cry if he promised not to yell. At one point he yelled, “Shift up!” I did the wrong thing, because I thought he meant to push the stick upwards, but he meant shift into a higher gear.1 Even though those promises were not kept, I learned how to drive any stick.
Countless times I sat in my Doktorvater’s office, talking about beguiling ideas, about the frustrations of historical research, about life in general. To try to make a point about why I shouldn’t be frustrated, he asked me, “What’s the difference between you and I?” I thought for a moment. “Time.” And I hope that answer surprised him at least a little.
They understood me.
Dad and I talked about birds every Sunday. How many of what kind, what they’re eating more or less of, and how a particular bird was fairing from week to week was our concern. It never got old.
Preparation for orals takes months. It’s the gate to becoming a doctoral candidate. My Doktorvater told me to take the day off before my orals to ride my motorcycle through the hills south of the Bay Area.
They met.
When I graduated, my dad flew out to California from Wisconsin. He did not travel much. He reached the most modest education level. To see these two men talk and joke with each other demonstrated what real intelligence is.
Beautiful humans come into our lives, leave an imprint on who we are, and remain a presence in our lives no matter how long or short our time with them. These few memories I’ve shared are woven into a braid of other experiences with them that sometimes needle me, always help me. Gratitude is seated next to grief.
Photos of them from the same year.
Or maybe it was the other way around: he meant shift into first by moving upward and I thought he meant go into third. I forget, but that’s memory. Either way, “up” was confused.
‘ Gratitude is seated next to grief’ expresses so many emotions and lifetime memories. I will keep you in my thoughts, sending love, hug Usa and Beatrix.