A larger-than-life figure in Sociology, I met Michael as my theory professor during my first year of doctoral studies at Berkeley. His passion for teaching was undeniable, and he was known for his animated lectures and for his copious responses to students’ memos and papers (even for the 100-word responses he demanded with a Saturday-night deadline). Each word was an investment in his students’ minds, and as I reflected upon what Michael meant to me, I felt both profound grief and gratitude, feelings shared by his many students. I had benefited from the care of many good teachers over the course of my education, but my relationship with Michael was distinct in that he agreed to accompany me on my uncertain journey, as I searched for my place in intellectual life. Michael became my advisor and mentor, and over time, my friend and my neighbor. He was my constant companion as I made my way forward, and I will miss his encouraging emails at all hours of the day, the jokes we shared, and the way that he brought Berkeley Sociology together in his home, offering community. Michael gave me a sense of belonging in an unfamiliar world, and this changed my life.

From the outset of my work with Michael, it was clear that my path would be wildly different than his. We had shared questions about the nature of capitalist society and the production of inequality, but we diverged in our theoretical commitments and in the way we approached both research and social change. Yet, for Michael, this did not disqualify me from being his student nor diminish my value as a sociologist. He insisted that there was a place for me in the academic world despite these differences, and when I felt discouraged told me not to buy into narrow views of Sociology or social change. It was his ability to understand and accept my own (social democratic) vision of a better world and my own ways of being that made him my mentor and my friend. I know myself fortunate that Michael took an expansive, multi-faceted view of Sociology, and that his vision of a better world has challenged and enriched mine.

There was much to admire in Michael, and these days I admire more than ever that he had the courage of his convictions. He refused to turn away from the suffering in this world, despite the voices that encourage us to see the suffering of others as too distant, too complex, and beyond our power to change. His own activism was legendary, and he called upon us to overcome the alienation separating us from each other and to consciously and actively participate in remaking the world around us. In his last year, he rallied for sociologists to respond to the unconscionable loss of life in Palestine; he asked us not to look away. Indeed, Michael railed against indifference, and expected Sociology, and sociologists, to react to the world around us. He did not expect everyone to arrive at his answer of how to respond—he knew that across a varied discipline, he would find varied ideas of how to arrive at peace—but he expected each of us to ask this question, to use our sociological training when and where the world was in need. This is how I understand Michael’s dedication to Sociology: he truly believed that it could lessen the suffering in this world. And he was willing to be out in front for the most contentious of issues because of this belief. 

Michael’s students and colleagues had the chance to thank him at his retirement party just two years ago, an event organized as a conference where his students of many decades could come together as a collective. At this event, I was able to tell Michael how much he had meant to me as I re-oriented my life through doctoral studies and as we pursued an ambitious research agenda arm-in-arm. Over the past few months, it has pained me to think of how much more was left unsaid, and how I wish now that I could tell him the myriad ways that he has inspired me and will continue to shape my life. I want to tell him that the world feels his absence, that I feel his absence, as we make sense of and respond to the assault upon humanistic values and democratic norms. We miss his leadership, as he implored Sociology to move beyond the confines of academic research programs and to engage in Public Sociology, meeting the world as it is and laboring toward what it could be.

Michael’s accomplishments amazed us: he produced groundbreaking research and social thought while shepherding about eighty students through the dissertation process and inspiring thousands of undergraduates to see themselves as budding theorists and organic intellectuals. I see in these accomplishments a life of service, in which Michael was keen to pursue and share knowledge to empower those at the margins of society and to spark social change through the unveiling of sociological truths inconvenient to the powerful. By committing to his own way of serving others, Michael lived a deeply meaningful life, and while I cannot aspire to his greatness, I hope to follow his example of how to live with purpose, committing to my own life’s work. What I learned from Michael was Sociology and so much more. 

Over the past few months, I have found comfort in a song that my choir sang this spring, “The Promise of Living” by Aaron Copland. The infectious enthusiasm of Copland’s music and the communitarian themes, including the dignity of everyday people and fulfillment through community life, remind me why Michael was an inspiration for me and for so many others. This song thus evokes Michael’s image in my mind, since his very essence interconnected the value of labor, community, and what we might call loving kindness. The final stanza is Michael for me:

“O let us sing our song, and let our song be heard.
Let’s sing our song with our hearts, and find a promise in that song.
The promise of living.
The promise of growing.
The promise of ending is labor and sharing and loving.”

With this song, I hear Michael still.