On Sept. 14, Desmond Hamlet succumbed to his long battle with cancer. The Lorena Woodrow Burke Chair of English and a long-time department chair, he had taught English, African-American, African, and Post-Colonial Literature for more than 22 years at Denison, seven years at the University of Ife in Nigeria, and six years at the State University of New York at Buffalo. He was a specialist on John Milton and the author of One Greater Man: Justice and Damnation in Paradise Lost. He served as a faculty advisor to the Black Student Union for a decade and led efforts to increase diversity at Denison. He was the first faculty recipient of Denison’s Martin Luther King Jr. Leadership Award in 2005 and was named Faculty Member of the Year by Denison’s Crossed Keys Honorary Society in 1988. Survivors include his wife, Barbara, a son, and a daughter. The following reflections were among the many shared at the college’s memorial service in Swasey Chapel on Sept. 21:
Several years ago, a local grocery store employee greeted me by asking, “How’s the new book coming along?” At first, I was baffled. I had been trying to write a book, but I knew I hadn’t spoken to anyone in the store about it. As the employee chitchatted on about how good it was to see me again, it did not take me long to realize that, yet again, I was being mistaken for Desmond Hamlet. It did not happen often, but it happened again just a few weeks ago when a very delightful woman asked me how my wife, Barbara, was doing. When I responded with a quizzical expression, she insisted, “You are Barbara Hamlet’s husband, aren’t you?” I told Barbara the story and we both laughed. I don’t know if Barbara got a chance to share the story with Desmond before his passing, but he would have found it more than amusing as well, because he knew that he and I are such different people—from very different parts of the world and, in some ways, from very different worlds.
I marveled at his zest for life, and was challenged by his undaunted optimism even in the face of overwhelming adversity which he and I faced together many times here at Denison. I admired Desmond’s faith in human nature. He was convinced that those in power would always do the right thing when they were confronted with the human costs entailed in doing otherwise. Frequently, he was correct, and we both were gratified by those transformative moments, because it usually meant that a colleague’s career would be saved, a student would graduate, or our community would become a better place in which to live.
But for as much as we were different, we were drawn together by a common passion for justice, by a mutual love for our small, fragile, perennially vulnerable black community, and by a shared dedication to a well-meaning Denison community that never seemed to realize when it was on the verge of a catastrophic racial eruption and conversely seemed forever oblivious to its opportunities for multicultural greatness. Without a doubt, these commitments catapulted Desmond into the leadership of one of Denison’s most memorable black student demonstrations and resultant campus-wide forums during the 1987-88 year. I was away presenting a paper at a professional conference when I received a frantic call from Professor Valerie Lee, then a colleague in Denison’s English Department, now chair of English at Ohio State, saying, “John, you’d better get back here as soon as you can; Desmond is about to lead the black students on a march off the campus through the Village!” Well, I was flabbergasted because after the black student union had selected Desmond as their faculty advisor, Valerie and I had worried about how we could possibly reign in Desmond’s enthusiasm and keep it from outpacing the white community’s readiness for a kind of latter-day Martin Luther King/yet Malcolm X-ish-type leader and/or from exceeding their preparedness for the kind of social change Desmond, Valerie, and I were working for. We joked with one another saying that we knew sooner or later Desmond would break upon the scene. Well, I got back in town just as the march was wrapping up. It had happened without incident. Desmond had led it as much to be in solidarity with progressive black and white students as he had because he wanted to ensure that the students remained non-violent and he wanted to be there if, God forbid, the Granville police over-reacted. Valerie and I were never able to contain Desmond’s zeal, and so more often than not we found ourselves joining him.
Sitting in my office this summer I looked fondly at a picture of Desmond and me speaking at a microphone during the student rally following that 1988 march. The march, rally, and all-campus forum, which was to feature white faculty, students, and administrators, all in solidarity with black students, had been planned initially in response to a troubling judicial ruling, wherein white students had not been adequately sanctioned for an outrageously blatant racist attack upon a black student. The events were to culminate in the establishment of a trustee-chaired Task Force on Racism and Diversity. Desmond chaired the Sub-Committee on Judicial Review. He figured extensively in the work of the entire task force and helped to craft many of its recommendations, especially ones having to do with the admission and retention of students of color. Desmond was particularly proud of the work of the task force. A number of its recommendations were adopted by the college. And, it is probably due to the task force that the college followed through on a Black Studies Committee recommendation to establish an office of multicultural affairs.
Some of you will remember Desmond’s eruditeness. I will remember his love for reggae music, particularly the fondness he and I shared for Bob Marley’s “Rastaman Vibration.” Many will remember his booming voice. I will remember his quiet compassion for humanity. Others will praise him for his diplomacy. I will continue to be inspired by his radical work to build a just world.
To Barbara, Sharon, Lawrence, and the family, know that Desmond’s too-short-of-a-stay with us enriched our lives. He left his mark—upon our community and in our hearts.