Back in 2020, we both started graduate school from afar in New Haven, Connecticut. In a time when everything felt so uncertain and so much of our lives were rectangular boxes filled with faces that were still strangers and a quiet solitude in our own homes, one thing that was both consistent and exciting was Michael’s theory class on Monday nights. Our entire first-year graduate experience unfolded virtually through Zoom screens, and every week our three-hour Zoom seminars flew by as he guided us through dense theoretical terrain. Sharing his screen with bright blue and yellow diagrams on PowerPoint, often leaning in his newsboy cap and Adidas tracksuit, he commanded our complete attention. What started as short lingerings post-class grew to become a weekly ritual where we gathered at our “virtual watering hole,” filled with stories and his excitement for us about the department we had yet to meet, and us grasping for the social connection that felt so scarce during the pandemic.

It was during these casual post-seminar conversations that the idea to revive the BJS took root. As newcomers to both the department and graduate school, we watched Michael illuminate not only how the canonical texts we were wrestling with—Marx, Weber, Durkheim, and Du Bois—spoke directly to our contemporary moment, but also how they connected to his vision of public sociology. Through him, we learned about the Berkeley Journal of Sociology’s distinguished legacy as one of the world’s few graduate student-run publications, a journal that had published emerging scholars alongside many of the twentieth century’s leading sociologists. By the end of the semester, we were convinced, and he promised that he’ll be right there with us the whole way. 

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Janna:
I met Michael through the social theory class, one of the reasons I was so excited to come to Berkeley. As someone transitioning from computer science into sociology, I was craving that deep immersion in social theory I had heard so much about as a hallmark of Berkeley, and Michael truly delivered. I loved going to his classes every week, chatting with him afterward, watching him pull out his Marx puppet on Zoom, picking him up with Tiffany for dinner when the three of us were living remotely on the East Coast, and later having the opportunity to teach Michael’s undergraduate theory course on Du Bois. These moments revealed how deeply Michael cared about us as people and as students, but also called on us as sociologists to remember our responsibility to impact the social world through our scholarship.

Though Michael was never formally my advisor or on any of my committees, he was always deeply supportive and one of the most generous and generative people in my corner in graduate school, especially in the early years. Like so many others have reflected, I would send him early drafts, and somehow, Michael was always able to send back paragraphs of thoughtful feedback, often as soon as the next morning. I remember sitting in his office and just rambling on early ideas for projects, and Michael would be intently listening with his classic toothy grin before showing me a way forward or offering words of encouragement. Even though we worked in very different areas of sociology, he always seemed to grasp exactly what I was trying to say even before I could fully articulate it myself. I know I will always draw inspiration from Michael’s boundless energy, insatiable curiosity, and intellectual rigor through the rest of graduate school and my career. 

Tiffany:

Michael also never formally was my advisor, but consistent with every one of his students’ experiences, Michael was incredibly kind, generous, and supportive of me as a scholar and as a person. I think our relationship is best described as an informal mentor-friendship, one filled with lots of conversations about theory and how to navigate graduate school and academia, but also talking about our families and friends, reflecting on our community. Michael had always passionately described to us how vibrant our department was and how beautifully organic conversations in the halls can lead to the best of friends, but he buried the lead by not mentioning that he was going to be a big part of that community for me. 

For much of my first year, I felt like I didn’t belong. I didn’t belong in graduate school and most certainly not Berkeley. Whatever it means to be a Berkeley student, I sure wasn’t it, and there were many experiences where it felt like I was being reminded of that. So much so, by the end I wanted to quit. Alas, 5 years later I’m still here, and the only reason for that is Michael. When I told him that I was thinking about leaving because I was feeling out of place and defeated by the lack of kindness I was experiencing, he stopped me right there. He shared stories of his path to Berkeley and academia, followed by steadfast reminders that I did belong, that I was enough, and that me being at Berkeley wasn’t some mistake, no matter who told me otherwise. All of the discouragement I was experiencing was met tenfold by his encouragement, and I was lucky to have been cared for and made to feel like I mattered, even if we’d only then known each other for 2 semesters. Lucky for me, this was only the beginning followed by many years sharing stories about our travels, dinners in Boston during his sabbatical where we’d have to tell him we’ve arrived by sending him an email (this was pre-iPhone Michael), teasing Michael that he finally caved on the iphone post-retirement, and sweet emails of encouragement and pride every time a new volume of the BJS was out. Our theory endeavor came full circle, where my last class was also the last class he ever taught on Du Bois. Many years apart, I could have never imagined all the tears, laughs, and hugs in between. And I couldn’t have ever imagined doing this.

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Michael is the reason we have remained steadfast in our commitment to making Berkeley a hub for graduate student publishing in sociology. Throughout every uncertain moment of publishing public sociology, he has been our most unwavering, energetic, and fearless champion. Our editorial philosophy reflects Michael’s commitment to institutionalize a scholarly culture that not only identifies social problems but actively centers the voices and perspectives of the communities we both study and belong to. Through our platform, we aim to foster a supportive intellectual community for graduate students and early-career researchers of all backgrounds—particularly first-generation scholars and students of color in sociology and related fields—to engage with questions that extend far beyond academia’s internal debates. 

Though he is no longer with us, we feel profoundly connected to past generations of Berkeley students and BJS editors through his enduring influence. When we reached out to his former students to contribute to this issue, we were deeply moved by the response—so many shared that they too had served on the BJS editorial board. We have been showered with many sweet memories across many generations of students, joyful pictures of the past and present, and lots of grief and love. Michael’s legacy lives on through us and the countless students whose lives he has fundamentally shaped. He serves as the vital link connecting us to generations of Berkeley scholars, and we are honored to continue this tradition that he helped nurture and sustain. With that, we want to continue to thank everyone who has contributed to this labor of love. Thank you for everything you’ve shared with us, not just the pieces you’ve written but also the stories, the reflections, and the support. We are so grateful to be in community with you, and we couldn’t have done this tribute to Michael and his life without you. And to Michael, we love you, we always will.