A Loss among the Blessings: On the Death of a Great Teacher

Without passion man is a mere latent force of possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark.
Henry Frederic Amiel

When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.
Buddhist proverb


I intended to return to this blog after a long hiatus—much needed to restore my energies and to replenish my supply of ideas—with a piece that explores the blessings I’ve received the past couple of months. But on the eve of composing that entry, an email from my sister Sandy—who is news director for the Fresno Univisiόn station—caught my full attention. In the inbox’s subject column, it stated, simply: “José Elgorriaga.” I didn’t need to read my sister’s message to know that it contained news of the death of a gifted teacher.

The article "Ex-'Dogs soccer coach, 82, dies: Elgorriaga a beloved, accomplished mentor" tells Dr. Elgorriaga’s life story more completely than I could in this posting. A couple of years ago, in the essay, “Crόnica de una muerte anunciada and a Debt to a Great Teacher,” I attempted, in the best words and images I could summon at the time, to pay homage to a person for whom I felt the highest admiration and respect possible—for Dr. José Elgorriaga, as only the best teachers can, changed my life, without question, for the better.

When I met Dr. Elgorriaga I was an aimless twenty-eight year old college graduate, toiling at a desk-job that had scant room for creativity. Feeling restless and desperately in search of new horizons, at the moment of our first encounter, as the Buddhist proverb states, I was the student who was ready, and he was the teacher that appeared. After a brief conversation about Latin American literature, Dr. Elgorriaga suggested that I enroll in the masters program in Spanish at California State University, in Fresno, where he was the chair of the Foreign Languages Department as well as the coach of the men’s soccer team. I soon learned to take his every word to heart, and thanks to his influence I started treading the road where my life would eventually find its true purpose.

José Elgorriaga was the best teacher I’ve ever had. He pushed me, a student hungry for knowledge, to my limits, and then a little beyond, always obligating me to reach for the best within me. And I, seeking to impress this teacher who so inspired me, learned to live a life passionately devoted to literature.

I can’t fully credit Dr. Elgorriaga with making me a writer, but he certainly taught me that teachers need to be devoted their calling, giving students their top effort every day. And he did indeed share his knowledge and passion for literature to the fullest measure in every class session. I recall that on one occasion I was the only student who showed up for class, and I assumed that without an audience, he would cancel for the day. But he went on to give one of the more commanding lectures I’ve ever witnessed, communicating his love for Octavio Paz’s El laberinto de la soledad as if the classroom were full of attentive students. To this day, that incident exemplifies, in my mind, unbridled devotion to teaching.

Although I came across Dr. Elgorriaga a few years before I started to dream about becoming a novelist, he did play a pivotal role in the success I’ve enjoyed in this venture so far: he taught me how to read with every single one of my senses engaged, and as I have learned since, good writers must first become great readers—for this is the fountain that nourishes our proficiency in the craft.

Ultimately, then, Dr. Elgorriaga deserves significant credit for helping me become a fulfilled person and a contented professional—both as a teacher and as a writer.

His death, in my universe, is a daunting loss. As long as he was alive I was certain there was someone still on this earth capable of touching lives and of inspiring students to search without fear for their true calling. Now that he has gone, the torch he handed me—among many other pupils—remains lit, but to pass it on has, in Professor Elgorriaga's absence, become an intimidating task.