bq. One day in 1997, Lee walked into the room and said I want to read you a review I just wrote. It went something like this:
bq. “This morning, I looked out my window and it was cloudy. Indeed, it was depressing. I was not surprised. Life is depressing. Neither the term political science itself nor human-kind make sense. When it comes to the study of politics, there is no science. And, humans are not kind. Dogs and cats are kind. I took the allen wrench out of my desk; opened the window and stepped onto the sixth-floor ledge. It was time to take to take the final step in my career.
bq. But, I don’t like leaving things undone. It is not my style. I decided to check my mail one last time. I climbed back in. This manuscript was in my mailbox requiring a review. I never leave things on my desk. I sat down to write the review you requested. As I started reading the manuscript, the sun started to come out. And, I realized that there really is a political science. Mankind is indeed kind. This article will change the world.”
bq. I think all of us stared at him in disbelief. Had Lee lost it? Is this what happens when you turn fifty? Lee then proceeded to tell us that the review was for a manuscript that he, Janet Box-Steffensmeier, and Kathleen Knight had coauthored. Jan was the corresponding author and the editor had mistakenly sent Lee his own manuscript to review. Two months later, Jan received four reviews rather than the customary three. The editor wrote to Jan: “You will see there are four reviewers. While R3 (who was Lee) suggested that the piece reaffirmed his faith in mankind, it is apparent that R3 knows nothing about the subject.”
That was from Forrest Maltzman’s eulogy for Lee. I’ve appended his full remarks below the fold. We should have a link to a video of the memorial service soon.
Lee left his mark in many different ways. Lee was one of the most prolific political scientists in the country. Lee published 280 articles and authored six books. Many of these appeared in the some of the discipline’s top journals. Seven of his articles appeared in the American Political Science Review; 12 in the American Journal of Political Science; and 19 in the Journal of Politics.
While many with a record such as this would tout it loudly, Lee embraced a South Dakotan strategy — he quietly kept producing.
When Lee was recuperating from one of his first encounters with chemotherapy, I phoned him and offered to join him at his house for lunch. Lee proceed to tell me that he felt terrible but didn’t have time for lunch since he was busy scanning in articles from the start of the 20th century from the Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology. Lee was literally dealing with the side effects of chemo and collecting data for a new project on when various theoretical terms crossed disciplinary boundaries.
Whether he was department chair, dean, NSF program officer, editor of the American Political Science Review or in a battle with Stage IV colon cancer, Lee was pursuing a research agenda.
He did this simply because he had an intellectual curiosity that is unparalleled.
Lee researched the effects of negative advertising; how living patterns affected attitudes toward race; and whether presidential greatness was related to a President’s astrological sign. And, Lee explored whether age bias, gender bias, religious bias, and baldness discrimination influenced the choices voters made. (Lee was thrilled when his experiment proved that voters did not discriminate against bald men.) Lee loved figuring it out and he loved sharing what he learned. This is what made being with Lee so interesting, and so amusing.
Despite the length of his CV, his publication record is not Lee’s most important legacy. Instead, Lee’s most important contributions are the lessons he taught and the institutions he built. I learned more about how to build a career; to deal with others; and to approach both life and death from Lee than from any other person.
Lee used to tell me “Forrest, you are special, you are my first GW hire.”
But, the remarkable thing about Lee is that so many of us correctly note that we were special to Lee. Lee made everyone feel special, because he cared about so many of us regardless of our professional status. Over the past eighteen years, many people have told me that they had a special relationship with Lee. Many of you are here today. You told me that you were the one that first hired Lee at Kentucky. You told me that Lee considered you to be just like him, but that you failed to grow up. You told me that you and Lee bonded together over your mutual love of dogs. You told me that you and Lee bonded together over your mutual love of cats. You told me that Lee was your best boss ever. You told me that Lee was the best dean you ever had. You told me that Lee was the best department chair you ever had. You told me that Lee was the best journal editor you ever dealt with. You told me you were his coauthor. (For the record, Lee coauthored over 200 times.)
But, what is truly remarkable is what immediately followed these assertions about the uniqueness of our relationships with Lee. After highlighting one’s special connections with Lee, one always hears what one learned from Lee.
Lee taught us to not take ourselves too seriously; to nurture those who were starting out; to lead by example; and to be straight-forward when dealing with others. In many respects, this course on Midwestern values was the course Lee loved teaching the most and that brought a sparkle to his eyes.
His best teaching technique was the role model he was. But, he also taught us in his emails. He taught us on the racket ball court. He taught us via his blog postings. He taught us from his hospital bed. And even though I never had the courage to ride with him, I have no doubt he taught on his bike. Perhaps most important to those of us in my department, he taught us in the lunch room.
For virtually my entire time at GW, Lee sat down with a diet coke and giant cookie and ate lunch in our department’s conference room. I have always cherished being at the table with Lee. I say this even though Lee frequently wore a bright pink, and sweaty, biking outfit. One day in 1997, Lee walked into the room and said I want to read you a review I just wrote. It went something like this:
“This morning, I looked out my window and it was cloudy. Indeed, it was depressing. I was not surprised. Life is depressing. Neither the term political science itself nor human-kind make sense. When it comes to the study of politics, there is no science. And, humans are not kind. Dogs and cats are kind. I took the allen wrench out of my desk; opened the window and stepped onto the sixth-floor ledge. It was time to take to take the final step in my career.
But, I don’t like leaving things undone. It is not my style. I decided to check my mail one last time. I climbed back in. This manuscript was in my mailbox requiring a review. I never leave things on my desk. I sat down to write the review you requested. As I started reading the manuscript, the sun started to come out. And, I realized that there really is a political science. Mankind is indeed kind. This article will change the world.”
I think all of us stared at him in disbelief. Had Lee lost it? Is this what happens when you turn fifty? Lee then proceeded to tell us that the review was for a manuscript that he, Janet Box-Steffensmeier, and Kathleen Knight had coauthored. Jan was the corresponding author and the editor had mistakenly sent Lee his own manuscript to review. Two months later, Jan received four reviews rather than the customary three. The editor wrote to Jan: “You will see there are four reviewers. While R3 (who was Lee) suggested that the piece reaffirmed his faith in mankind, it is apparent that R3 knows nothing about the subject.”
In many respects, this episode nicely captures some of the wisdoms we learned from and about Lee. First, Lee believes in never leaving unfinished business. Second, Lee believes in the responsibility one has to provide public goods. Writing anonymous reviews is in many respects the ultimate public good.
Third, Lee believed in the value of humor and not taking oneself too seriously. But not taking oneself too seriously meant more than just writing funny articles about bald men and presidential sex. Not taking oneself too seriously meant carving out time to help others with their work and their careers.
Perhaps the most important lesson I learned from Lee, was to base decisions on objective assessment and to share the results in a straight-forward manner. Lee was truly a master at being open to being convinced that he and his biases were wrong. And, as a result Lee simply did the decent and right thing over and over.
Lee’s editorship of the American Political Science Association’s flagship journal in many respects saved both the Journal and the Association. Lee took over a journal that had a great name and a reputation that was so maligned that a proportion of the association was threatening to resign en mass. Some folks believed that the APSR was no longer an outlet for first rate, but non-quantitative, work. Others thought it was exclusively an outlet for an elite crowd that belonged to some invisible college. Through his skill at objectively assessing each piece; his willingness to make the editorial process as transparent as possible; and his ability to explain in a straight-forward manner how he made decisions restored the profession’s faith in the journal.
I have encountered a lot of people who had articles rejected by Lee. His acceptance rate was just below 10%. And, as someone who had all six of my submissions turned down, I can give you a first-hand assurance you that there are people who wish he had accepted their manuscripts. (At least one, would have been nice!)
But, I have never encountered anyone who had an article rejected by Lee and who thought his decision did not have a sound basis to it.
When Lee wrote the review of his own manuscript, he stated what everyone whom knows Lee well knows — he is not one who likes to leave unfinished business on his desk. It may seem strange to say this about someone who passed away at the age of 64, but he didn’t. I have no doubt that if Lee was still alive, he would be publishing up a storm, blogging away, mentoring another generation of scholars, and eating a big cookie in our conference room.
But, what Lee leaves behind is a room filled with people who I am confident will make precisely the sorts of decisions that Lee made. And, he leaves behind a department that is molded in his image. It is a department where the oldest citizens try to mentor the youngest; where people are honest and straight-forward with each other; where people feel an obligation to work towards the common good; where people have high expectations for themselves and others; and where people care about each other.
About two weeks prior to his passing, Carol called me and said I think it is important that you come over today. I came over and Lee looked extremely weak and very tired. I sat next to him, held his hand and asked him what he was thinking about. He stated “small towns.” I told Lee, “I think our department is a small town.” Lee smiled and said “that is good.” He closed his eyes. I bolted out of the room in tears and hugged Carol and Lee’s friend Jim Todd. The three of us were convinced he was going to pass away that night.
The next morning I called Carol and asked her how Lee was doing. She told me that he was having a good morning. She went on to explain that when he woke up, he had her pull out a pad of a paper and write down what needed to be done on about a half dozen manuscripts that were not yet accepted. Carol then told me that Lee wanted me to arrange a visit from one of my department’s recent junior hires––Robert Adcock––so that Lee could hand off a manuscript to him. There was work to be done and another mentoring opportunity.
I love you Lee and am glad you will always be with us.