Marion Faber’s intelligence does not shine. In her modest demeanor, it glows. And, unintentionally, almost despite herself, it scintillates on occasion but only gently.
I first met Marion when I interviewed her; she applied for a position at Swarthmore College in German language and literature, and I was one of the interviewers outside her specialty. In an instant I saw that glow and had no hesitation in recommending her, and she joined us. I also learned that we shared a parallel career course from UC Berkley to Harvard to Swarthmore, and, quickly, we became fast friends, discovering bit by bit our vast and varied areas of common interest in languages, music, art, and literature. After my retirement from Swarthmore in 2001, I moved to NYC, and our distance widened but, her periodic visit of the city and my occasional trip to Swarthmore resulted in greater intimacy. We came to know each other well enough that it was often unnecessary to say a lot as we understood each other without many words.
In our interaction, if I bring up a subject she always had something to say about it and then querying words, and our discussion develops and then expands from one topic to another, and we have a wonderful time, a trite expression here but for which I have no better words.
Marion was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer on 27 March, and she passed away on 30 April. I mourn her; or, rather more accurately, her living presence continues to dwell in my being, never to leave.
05.03.20
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