Curtis Solberg
Dr. Curtis B. Solberg, PhD. November 9, 1939 鈥� December 18, 2013
by Lana Rose
Curt and Lana Solberg with George Frakes. 2009 Retiree Party
I鈥檝e always thought the world should stop and something cosmic and monumental should take place to mark a Good Person鈥檚 passing. Curtis Solberg was 鈥� above all else 鈥� one of those Good Persons. It is hard to put such a large man into such a small space, but I will try.
Born in North Dakota and living in Vallejo, CA, Curt grew up with two brothers who with their devoted father 鈥� cared for their mother through 27 years of Lou Gehrig鈥檚 Disease. Extended family members gathered to help care for his mother, so Curt was surrounded by caretakers but that upbringing made him sensitive and empathetic to those who were elderly or afflicted. Curtis cared deeply about the unfortunate, and his liberal politics ran rampant when he felt the commonweal was being neglected. He was passionate about the deterioration of the American dream, for he was a product of that dream.
Descended from immigrant grandparents, Curtis cherished his Norwegian heritage, including being accomplished in the language. His connections to the homeland ran deep. We spent our honeymoon there in 1991 and I was quickly folded into the clan. Many Norse relatives and dear friends mourn his passing, as do thousands of students who passed through his classrooms at 91精品. He began his tenure at the college in 1965 and, after 44 years of teaching more than 350 students each semester, retired in 2008. He continued to teach one night class each semester for five more years, almost making it to his goal of 50 years of teaching. In 1990 鈥� 91 he was chosen by students and faculty for the prestigious Faculty Lecturer of the Year, delivering a dazzling presentation of 鈥淭he Divided Heart鈥�: what it meant to be an American based on immigrant letters from American back to Norway.
His inimitable style will never be matched: he was exquisitely dressed, a traditional guy in all respects, so he chose socks which wildly coordinated with his shirt; the pants had to have cuffs, the jacket pocket a handkerchief. His ensemble was punctuated by his signature bow tie and a fedora, and off he would speed in his red 1965 mustang convertible 鈥� top down all year long 鈥� which he had owned since 1966. He loved the whistles and thumbs-up he attracted when driving the vintage car and would proudly call out: 鈥淚鈥檝e had it 48 years, man.鈥�
Teaching was the soul of Curtis Solberg. The classroom was his stage and he made history come alive. He was well known for his ability to engage students and command their attention in the classroom through his unique delivery style and without the use of the technology used today. Unsatisfied with the typical dates-and-battles approach of most conventional textbooks, he wrote several editions of his own text, which emphasized the social context of events with a more holistic view. His standards of excellence were legendary. He emphasized writing in his curriculum 鈥� no multiple choice 鈥� making sure students did the reading by requiring ten 3-page papers over the semester, in addition to two mid-terms and a final. When students left his tutelage, they were ready for university-level work. A devoted mentor to students and faculty alike, many of his students entered the fields of history and education under his encouragement. We would meet his former students everywhere 鈥� car washes, restaurants, airports, grocery stores and gas stations.
They would all say the EXACT same thing: 鈥淵ou were the best teacher I ever had.鈥� And he remembered them as well 鈥� where they sat, their high school, their dreams and shortcomings. He remembered their handwriting.
In 2007, Curtis was diagnosed with prostate cancer. By 2012 the cancer had metastasized to his bones. He endured many treatment protocols and refused to see his life with cancer as a 鈥渂attle鈥�. He shared his journey through the illness by sending out periodic 鈥淭om-Toms鈥� to scores of his friends. His last Tom-Tom demonstrated his characteristic acceptance of his disease:
鈥淪ince my diagnosis 6 years ago, I鈥檝e learned about the uniqueness of my cancer, how individual it is 鈥ot quite like anybody else鈥檚. While in Norway a book entitled DODEN, SKAL VI DANSE? by Per Fugelli was recommended. This Norsk doctor my age encountered cancer and has written his Death, Shall We Dance鈥� not yet in English translation, becoming a favorite in Scandinavian TV as he explores his own experience with the disease. Fugelli rejects the classic war rhetoric of cancer sufferers characteristic of newspaper obituaries: 鈥渉e has lost his battle with cancer鈥� or 鈥渉er struggle with the dreaded cancer is over鈥�, and instead has adopted another paradigm, suggesting that 鈥渢he demon鈥� will actually be one鈥檚 partner for life鈥檚 duration. After all, many of us will live with cancer 2 鈥� 5 鈥� 8 perhaps 20 more years, so it鈥檚 wise to befriend their nemesis; instead of cancer The Great Satan, 鈥渃an cancer be a rose, albeit with thorns?鈥� In an imaginary conversation with his 鈥減artner鈥�, he says:
鈥淟isten my live-in partner, perhaps we can have some useful years together, if we don鈥檛 become too rash and engage in fear and war, but instead take it easy, and respect each other鈥檚 existence.
Cancer: 鈥淏ut I like to kill.
Fugelli: 鈥淏ut do you like to die?
Cancer: 鈥淣o one has asked me that before. I鈥檒l think about it.
Fugelli: 鈥淓xactly. If you kill me, you die also.
Cancer: 鈥淎re you trying to entrap me?
Fugelli: 鈥淣o, but it t is I who have the power. I can live without you, but you cannot live without me. So you should conduct yourself wisely.鈥�
Curt conducted himself wisely 鈥nd bravely. He modeled an extremely ethical and warm attitude. He was a gentleman and a diplomat, kind and brilliant and humble; he connected with others and reached into their minds to learn what made others tick. He cherished his Norwegian-barn-red house, loved his two cats and took pride in the accomplishments of his daughters Kaaren and Christina, his grandchildren Trevor, Matthew, Isabel and Julian. And he was utterly devoted to me. To close, I quote Brian Andreas: 鈥淚 carry you with me into the world, into the smell of the rain and the words that dance between people and for me it will always be this way: walking in the light remembering being alive together.鈥�
Peace at last, my cherished mate.