Dear Gordon,

I was practically on my way to the post box with a fresh handwritten letter addressed to your Richmond home, when I came across your photograph in The Times. (I like the picture. You look dashing!) The article tells me you are no longer with us. Of course, I knew this day was approaching, but I had hoped it wouldn’t arrive this soon. As my handwritten letter will not reach you, maybe this one, which I’m dreaming up right now, will.

I can picture you right now, sitting in your tiny office at the LSE, where you supervised students well into your retirement. You’re smoking a cigar for which I salute you (anyone who violates the excessive and oppressive rules and regulations at the LSE is my friend), and your Kit Kat is waiting patiently to be devoured afterwards. I spent many meetings with you in your little den, but interestingly enough I don’t think we ever discussed my research or politics. Ever. You disapproved of my taste in selecting research topics, and in hindsight I can’t say I blame you. Who in a right state of mind wants to write about EU policy?! You called me an ‘EU-maniac’, and refused to stomach any of my ‘mumbo-jumbo’. Rather, you’d tell me to ‘write whatever you want, just don’t bore me too much’ , and then scold me, yell at me, or interrogate me about my plans for the future. With a twinkle in your eyes, of course.

Indeed, some of my fondest memories of you involve you yelling at me at the top of your lungs. Remember that incident, Gordon, when I had to hand in my research outline and title of my dissertation, and I decided, one hour prior to the deadline, my topic made no sense whatsoever? I ripped my previous outline up and told you I would have to start afresh. You weren’t amused, to say the least. Let me remind you.

‘I don’t have anything to hand in’ I said. ‘I’ve changed my mind’. You looked incredulous. ‘You what?’ you said. ‘Amber you had your proposal ready! You can’t just change your mind like that’. You stared at me angrily. ‘Why didn’t you call me? You should have called me! Well, you’d better have a good alternative!’ I said I had some ideas and tried to explain, but I sounded rather vague. ‘It’s no use’ you said. ‘I need a title. And I need it now’. I muttered a title. Not a good one, but it was all I could think of. ‘No, that won’t do. You’re using EU mumbo-jumbo again’. You suggested some other words, some other titles and I frowned. Your titles were even worse than mine! Oh, oh, you weren’t pleased and I could tell.

You leaned forward, raised your hands and banged them on your desk really hard. I jumped, nearly cracking my head on the ceiling. ‘YOU WOMAN!’ you exclaimed, rolling your eyes back dramatically and raising your hands in the air. ‘You turn the world upside down. You are supposed to do your work, come here and I am supposed to criticise you. But oh, no! You come in, you don’t have a proposal, you haven’t contacted me and now you’re telling me that my suggestions are no good! I don’t know who you think you are!’ You sat back and I could tell you were enjoying every second of it. ‘You think I’m useless, don’t you!’ you added to the drama. Well, what should I have answered to that? You weren’t useless. Quite the opposite.

You swiveled round on your chair. ‘You have two minutes to come up with a title’ you said. ‘I am going to call the secretary in charge of administration now and sort it out ‘Hello, is this Kathryn? Yes, hello, it’s Gordon. I have a student with me and she’s in deep trouble I’m afraid. Yes, it’s about the dissertation. But I assure you she will hand in a proposal within a week. She is very reliable.’ You winked at me. Kathryn talked. You replied: ‘Yes of course she has a title. What is it Amber?’ I gave you a title which I feverishly thought up. ‘That’s all settled then Kathryn, is it? Thank you Kathryn. Goodbye.’ You put down the receiver and turned to me, looking pleased. ‘That’s better. That title will do. You’ve worked harder in the past five minutes than in the past two weeks. Now leave before you cause more havoc’. You smiled, then gave me a strict look. ‘And no more of these surprises. I’ll end up with a heart condition’.

You scolded me quite a bit that year, and to be honest I was pretty scared of you in the beginning. You told me in no uncertain terms you wouldn’t tolerate any type of ‘passive behaviour’.  I don’t think I was passive, shy is the word that seems more suitable, and I was crippled with fear of speaking up in the intimidating surroundings of the LSE. I had never learned how to do this, so I had to jump in at the deep end. But I did, because I made a promise not to let you down (and I knew you would push me in, if I didn’t jump myself!). And, once I spoke up, I discovered my thoughts and arguments weren’t as futile as I’d imagined. No, some of the time I had something to say! Not that debating in public will ever be my strong suit. I like to work things out in writing. But the idea that you valued my participation was a tremendous support and eye-opener.

Thank goodness I found out I wasn’t the only one who had to face these obstacles. You liked to make life difficult, in your own mischievous way, for your students across the board. I spoke to Klaus Goetz, now a professor himself, who told me he studied with you. After he found the courage to stand up and contribute to the academic debate in your seminar for the first time, shaking knees and all, you told him: ’Dear Klaus, you look awfully pleased with yourself. I hope you don’t think you said anything particularly interesting.’ Similarly, you reprimanded now associate professor Gallya Lahav, for sighing when you announced an early class. ‘I’m sorry Miss Lahav, I do hope my schedule won’t interfere with your beauty sleep!’

So, basically you kept us on our toes. But you also shared your passion for writing and debate, at least with me. You told me it’s best to write ‘on a whirl’, with inspiration and dedication. ‘Get excited’, you told me. ‘And just let it happen. Make it crisp. Make it sharp. Put your pen on paper and write like you’ve never written before!’ (You suggested a straight shot of vodka to loosen me up if all else failed. Words would flow more freely.)

Actually Gordon, it’s a shame we will never talk about politics. I have come to my senses, and have started researching ‘proper’ politics instead of EU stuff. I have also started writing political commentary, which I wish you could read. I’m quite sure my articles would have you in stitches. That’s the downside of writing academic papers- you’re not allowed to include jokes about politicians! It’s rather ironic that it’s only now, after your death, that I have come into contact with your work on the ‘politics of centrality’, which seems quite useful as a benchmark for describing developments, not only in German but also in Dutch politics. Just know that you will be in the background, whenever I am writing about these things. I promise I won’t bore you!

Last time I met you, in Florence, you were overjoyed to see me, and told anyone who cared to know (and quite a few who didn’t) ‘I just want to walk into the sunset with Amber’. This seems like a good time Gordon. Let’s walk and talk.

With Love,

Amber

P.S. I hope you’re causing a stir, wherever you are.