Marianne Di Pierro

Tribute to Dr. Felix Rysten

by

 Marianne Di Pierro, Ph.D.

 

What can one say about the power of true intellectualism, compassion, and ethics to create an existentialist matrix, a framework for living authentically?  That was Felix Simon Antony Rysten. His passion for literature awakened the sleeping giants of human potential in many of his students, particularly women, whose lives were subsumed into their military husbands’ overseas careers and whose voices fell, too often, into an unsettling silence.  Felix penetrated that silence and taught us to discover our own voices by holding up the mirror to human experience, reflected through literature and the oeuvre of so many writers, men and women both, searching for those diamond facets of a life lived well. 

From the first of so many of his courses to the last, I fell in love with his vast knowledge, an expertise rare and compelling that inspired my own career pathway and blessed my endeavors with awareness of the fact that one must aspire to excellence, even if one does not always reach those lofty heights. The effort itself is laudable.

Felix had a rare ability to encourage us to seek beyond mere possibilities, to transform them into realities by overcoming challenges.   It was he who inspired me not to fall into the abyss when completion of my undergraduate degree from the University of Maryland was challenged by my husband’s abrupt change in orders to leave Germany and take command of an isolated MUNSS site in northern Italy, where an extension program was not available. Only half-way through my program, I was devastated to think that I would have to surrender this goal. With Felix’s encouragement, I rose to the occasion, taking the remaining courses during any available offering:  on weekends and alternate weekends; at “tea time”; during evenings, and at any time that the required courses were scheduled.  “You can do this, and you will,” he said. I likened myself to that proverbial “mad woman in the attic” who refused to be confined.  Somehow, between helping my small children with homework; serving hastily-made dinners; and pounding out assignments on my typewriter, I managed to finish my degree and move to Italy.

Once there, I struggled to cultivate my own identity beyond that of “commander’s wife.” Yet again, Felix was there to serve as an academic advisor through a master’s-level extension program in English Literature, a rarity in higher education at that time.  He travelled to Italy from Germany by train on numerous occasions to ensure the quality of the thesis that he was directing and to visit, sharing Italian cuisine at little bistros in Rivoltella del Garda, the town in which I lived, and near-by Lago di Garda. Of course, he regaled my children with fabulous humorous stories and impressed the Italian military officers with his profound linguistic fluency, as well as his magically captivating British accent.

Our work together served as a ballast to my life, imbuing my world with a special purpose and enriching it in profound ways that cannot always be described. Those visits did not end in Italy but continued as my husband’s career wended its way back to the United States, to Virginia, Nevada, Ohio, Florida, and Michigan. Throughout this time, we wrote many letters to each other, letter writing now a dead art, it appears. It has surrendered to  electronic communication:  no lovely handwriting on beautiful stationery featuring elegant stamps.

 Felix was an enlightened observer in life, with a keen ability to detect the fragmented details that bespeak to the more expansive understanding of human nature and the ways in which we interact with each other: the “telling detail,” as he would say.  These images are reflected in his letter writing. To this day, I still have all of Felix’s letters, tucked away into a red leather bag: memories of his many trips to India, recollections of family members, lost loves, teaching philosophy, his relationships with the many people who shared his life, and the vast experiences that framed his world.

How do we get to the essence of what it was like to share part of one’s life with a special person? So much is known, and yet so much remains concealed, a mystery that opens to limitless exploration.    For certain, I know that I was in the presence of greatness, and that I was blessed.

For now, I like to imagine Felix feasting on the fine cuisine at La Gondola, drinking wine, smoking a cigarette, and writing another letter – to me, perhaps.