The James Joyce Society

“‘Even today . . .’: In Memory of Zack Bowen.” My title comes of course from our International Anthem, “Love’s Old Sweet Song”: “Even today we hear love’s song of yore.” Memory is strong after all: deep in our hearts it dwells forever more. “Even today” we – many of us, anyway, those of us lucky enough to have known him, who rise in happy throng – remember Zack Bowen’s lovely songs, and his funny ones, and ribald ones, and naughty ones, and parodic ones, and sometimes beautifully vicious ones. Still we can hear them . . . .

I’ll begin with distant music: I first met Zack in 1969 at the second International James Joyce Symposium in Dublin, the first one I ever attended. It must have been Bloomsday when a few Joyce experts who also knew Dublin well were giving walking tours of Joyce’s Dublin, and somehow – although a couple of the tours were being led by local Dubliners – I had the luck or good sense to tag on to the one being led by a Swiss fella, Fritz Senn. Another major bit of luck is that Zack was also in that group. It may well have been then that first I saw that form endearing. And once the walking tour got to the Ormond Hotel, it says nothing about Fritz to say that in that spot Zack just kind of took over, showing us what was the same and all that wasn’t. Of all who assembled in those walls, he was the hope and the pride, and charmed us most.

After that, I don’t know exactly when he and I became good friends, but it wasn’t long. By the time he left the English Department at Binghamton, in New York, I had nominated him to be the Dean of my college at Ohio State University, for I had heard magnificent tales of his administrative skills, and he came there for an on-campus visit.

One of his administrative jobs, by the way, was as President of the International James Joyce Foundation. I had followed the first three Presidents, all of whom were founders of the Foundation. I was the first interloper. Then came Karen Lawrence and then Zack Bowen.

Zack didn’t come to Ohio State, but he showed those administrative skills when he left Delaware – where he’d gone after Binghamton – for Miami. I can date that to 1986, for we were in Copenhagen on the first day of that year’s Symposium, when Zack told me about his new job as Chair of English at the University of Miami – and regaled me with glee about how one of his rivals for the position had been Bernard Benstock, but that Zack had made it part of the deal with Miami that Berni and Shari Benstock would be hired as well – and, by gum he was a champion, with Lindsey Tucker too.

The rest, as they say in scholarly memory studies, is history. Out of the Joyce world in Miami – there was not in the wide world a Joycean valley so sweet – . . . out of that world came an incredible number of Joyce scholars and a magnificent abundance of Joycean scholarship, and the annual Joyce conferences, and the James Joyce Literary Supplement, and the James Joyce series from the University Press of Florida. My wife Ellen and I were overjoyed and proud when Zack was pleased to hear that we were dedicating a volume in that series to him. Miami was the new Bloomusalem, that would not pass away.

But ah, fond memory brings the light of other days around me, of all those meetings in Miami, and all over Europe: and the evenings of songs that he led, all dimples smiles and curls, your head it simply whirls. Softly they weave themselves into our dream – dear days not beyond recall. Not beyond recall.

-- Morris Beja

Zack was a man of enormous talents – a musician with a beautiful voice, a professor, a scholar, and a raconteur; he was a good friend to Joyceans throughout the world and always kept a place at the table for anyone just starting out in the field of Joyce studies. What he seemed to be most of all was a man without pretensions. With his genuine good will and humor, he always made others feel welcome and at home. We love you, Zack, and will miss you.

-- A. Nicholas Fargnoli

Zack Bowen was an outgoing man who made everyone feel at ease from the first meeting. He was self-effacing, humorous, and gregarious. Indeed, his presence was such that one could easily overlook the more profound factors that made him such a good friend. Zack was highly intelligent and curious about a range of things. At the same time he carried his intelligence easily, never feeling the need to remind people of his erudition. Zack was deeply considerate of other people. He worked diligently to be a good friend, and showed a level of patience with tedious fools that made him eligible for sainthood (or would have if he believed in God). Most of all, Zack was decent to his core. As a well published scholar, a sought after critic, a deft administrator, he had the ability to affect the lives of a great many scholars, young and old. He did so for so many of us with grace and generosity, brushing aside thanks and turning his attention to the next person whom he could help. Zack Bowen was a complex individual, but the affection we feel for him comes from an elemental response. His goodness touched us, and it left us better for the encounter.

-- Michael Patrick Gillespie

In November 1965, near the start of my freshman year in college and before I ever read Ulysses, I visited my high-school girlfriend at Harpur College (SUNY Binghamton), and she took me to her English class. It was taught by a young, large, very enthusiastic man with a gorgeous speaking voice, and all the students obviously loved him and the class. Molly introduced me to him, and I remembered his name, Zack Bowen. Two years later, I wrote an essay on the songs in “Sirens” for a seminar on Joyce that my professor thought might be publishable. On his advice I sent it to the James Joyce Quarterly and received an enthusiastic response from Thomas Staley, the journal’s editor, but as I followed Staley’s advice and checked to see if anyone had already written on the topic, I came across Zack’s brand-new and massive article “The Bronzegold Sirensong: A Musical Analysis of the Sirens Episode in Joyce’s Ulysses.” By then Zack had inadvertently come to represent two things for me: a reminder of an ex-girlfriend whom I no longer wanted to think about and a name to attach to the Joyce establishment that was barring my entry into print.

When I started attending Joyce conferences in 1975, Zack of course turned into something else: the warm, collegial, funny man and fellow Joycean whom so many of us have known, loved, and learned from. At the Zurich symposium in 1979, when we stayed in the same hotel he became something else as well as he opened up a connection for me with my past. At breakfast one morning with Zack and Lindsey, I mentioned my earlier girlfriend Molly and that Harpur College class, and he told me all about her as a student and also that she now worked as a poet in Delaware, his home state at the time. As the years went by I regularly asked Zack about Molly, but as he moved to Miami and she went to New York City he lost track of her.

Molly Peacock and I reconnected and got married in the early 1990s, and I learned a lot more then about her connection with Zack. He was not only her Freshman English teacher but also her Freshman Advisor, and they remained friends throughout her years at Harpur College. When she got married for the first time, the wedding took place at Zack’s house. I told him about our marriage, and, eager to see her again, he helped to arrange for her to give a poetry reading at the start of one of the mid-1990s Miami J’yce conferences.

Molly and I were very sad to hear about Zack’s death. We both miss him very much.

-- Michael Groden

Thank you Sidney for asking me to say a few words about our very dear friend Zack Bowen, this evening. I know that you and Zack were great friends for many years, sharing your scholarship on Joyce. I know too, that Zack would be pleased that you are reading tributes to him, along with Nicholas Fargnoli, as both of you have been associated with Zack for many years. And of course all three of you have been Presidents of the James Joyce Society in New York, which is now in existence for sixty-five years. You can all be proud, as this was the first James Joyce Society ever founded in the world. All the people connected with the society, are now part of Joycean history.

Zack Bowen was certainly well known to me by name when he arrived in Dublin on a ten-day visit on 17 October 1967. I had heard a lot of praise about him from other Joyceans, whom I met when they visited the Martello Tower in Sandycove. Mabel Worthington from Temple University, who wrote Song in the Works of James Joyce, a family friend, had spoken of Zack, his great love and knowledge of music and of his lovely singing voice. In fact Mabel never stopped talking about Zack to my Mother Eileen, and myself.

  Zack phoned me on his arrival and I met him the same evening. He made an immediate impression, came out to our home and became part of the family. He was one of us. With his easy manner, generosity of spirit and great sense of fun everybody warmed to him. During his visit, we went to the Joyce Tower in Sandycove, where we encountered Michael Scott, the designer of the Abbey Theatre, who owned the adjoining house. Zack and Scott had a great discussion on American literature. Zack could talk to anyone about anything.

  We visited Mr Deasy’s school in Dalkey, the house in Bray where the Joyce family lived and where the famous Christmas dinner scene took place. Zack’s face lit up when he saw the room where the famous Christmas dinner scene took place and where May Joyce played the piano, while her husband and his guests sang the night away. Zack reminisced on the songs of the period that were sung in that same room. He remarked that Joyce would have heard Moore’s Melodies and many of the other songs and arias that were woven through his works. Zack knew every one of them and what is more, he could sing them.

  We visited the United Arts Club in Fitzwilliam Street where Zack met the artist Patrick Collins and the actor T. P. McKenna, who played Buck Mulligan in Ulysses. There was a discussion on the ‘Theatre in Ireland’. Zack said a few words on the subject and when he had finished speaking, the audience loudly applauded him. He then sang a song. Well, you could hear a pin drop! He sang it so beautifully, that it brought tears to the eyes of some of the audience. He got a standing ovation. No one got a standing ovation in that club before, or since! That was Zack; he certainly had personality plus!

  Another day we went to Clongowes Wood College. Zack had a car, with the steering-wheel on the wrong side. I don’t remember where on earth he got the car, but he just handed me the keys, and said ‘Vivien, you are driving’.

  We covered all the Joyce landmarks in the city at speed and visited Clongowes Wood, where Zack made a big impression on the Jesuits. Zack wished to see all the places mentioned in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, so we were brought to the infirmary, the refectory, the square ditch, the cricket grounds and even the little cemetery where Little, a pupil who died in Joyce’s school days, was buried. With Zack about, literally no stone was left unturned! On the way back, I asked Zack if he wanted to incorporate a bit of Finnegans Wake and he replied, ‘Why the hell not?’ So we went home via Chapelizod, stopping in the Mullingar House, on the way.

  The same evening Dr Eileen Carville, a Dublin Joycean and former lecturer from University College, entertained us in her home in Fitzwilliam Square. We had a most interesting and memorable literary gathering with Zack. He sang Irish ballads and arias well-passed midnight. Zack created great joy, laughter and fun everywhere he went. He put everyone in good humor.

  Zack proved a faithful friend to the end. He was back at a Joyce symposium in Dublin and organized a concert in Newman House. He saw my mother, Eileen, and he was so thrilled to see her, that he lifted her up and put her on his shoulder to the delight of those around. It worked all right, as she was of slight build and Zack was big and strong. At this session, he was definitely the star of the show. He sang many of his own compositions which very witty and entertaining. One such song was about the early Joyceans.

  Zack’s last visit to Dublin was for the Joyce Symposium in 2004 celebrating the centenary of Bloomsday. He proved as popular as ever. The last time I heard from the gentle giant was when I contacted him and asked his permission to use a photograph he had of Lizzie Twigg for my forthcoming Biographical Dictionary of the Characters in Ulysses. Zack’s reply was dated, 21 May 2007.

  How fine to hear from you! Of course, anything I have access to is yours for the asking. I just retired from U. of Miami last Friday and have been trying to catch up with correspondence during the last couple of weeks. Vivien, your project sounds wonderful. I don’t know if I have got another one left in me, but will try to make something out of the sweepings from the old rag and bone shop of the heart. At any rate I will try not to give in to the irregularities in my cerebral cortex. I expect to be at home for most of the summer. Do give Eileen my very best wishes.

Much love and many fond memories. Zack.

  I have the same fond memories of you too, Zack.

-- Vivien Igoe

Zack was the Don Giovanni to my Zerlina, the Donald Flanders to my Michael Swann, the Oliver Hardy to my Stan Laurel.  That I was ever able to be a part of the great comedy act that is Joycean studies is entirely due to this wonderful man, whose personal generosity and professional courtesy to me was literally unbounded.  I remember, as a very green assistant professor, being terrified out of my wits at a Miami conference in 1991, asking him, then the President of the International James Joyce Foundation, to help out with the tenor part of “Love and War.”  He took to the suggestion immediately, performed an evening of Siren Songs with me, set up repeat performances around the globe, wrote a recommendation for my tenure, accepted my book in his series, wrote another recommendation, set me up for life.  Every highlight of my academic career can be in some direct way traced to something Zack Bowen did for me.   And what is so stunning is that this story is not remotely unusual:  everyone who knew him was touched by the gift of his unconditional love. 

-- Sebastian Knowles

It takes a great deal of pressure off of a writer when he realizes that he has undertaken an impossible task, which is the only way to describe this effort to honor my friend Zack Bowen. I would say that Zack made me the man I am today, but this isn't the Complaints Department.

I met Zack in 1978 during a trip up the east coast to scout graduate programs. Before going to Delaware, I stopped in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where I met Weldon Thornton, which means Weldon has been a friend since about 40 hours before I met Zack. As I reflect on that trip, I realize that all of the best friendships of my life began that week. As department chair and professor of English at the University of Delaware, Zack became my teacher, mentor, dissertation director, vocal coach, friend and counselor on everything from real estate to the maintenance of domestic cats.

One of the bizarre facts about Zack is that, in a universe in which everyone is supposed to be connected by no more than six degrees of separation (excepting peoples living in extreme isolation, such as the Korobu of Brasil and D. H. Lawrence scholars), Zack never seemed more than two degrees from the rest of the world. My ex-wife can confirm (if you can find her) that everywhere we traveled in the 1980s, we met people with no connection to academe who nevertheless knew Zack. A woman we met on a cruise ship had once bought a car from him (yet she spoke of him fondly--a typical Zackiavellian anomaly). For my entire career, my acquaintance with Zack has been an instant passport to friendships with other people. I can only recall two occasions on which an academic was hostile because of a supposed run-in with Zack, and both of those individuals were douche-nozzles: my friendship with Zack spared me the tedium and wasted time of pursuing acquaintance with those primates.

I was in my mid-20s when I met Zack, and probably weighed about 140 pounds (which, at 5 ft. 8, isn't bad). This fact will astonish people who have met me in the past 20 years, and those who met Zack that recently will be surprised at how large he once was. I always thought of him when I say Walt Whitman's line about contradicting himself from "Song of Myself" ("I am large, I contain multitudes"). It is a curious fact of the species' evolution that the combined weights of Zack and me remained constant from 1980 to the present (just as, in the story "Grace," "The arc of [Powers's] social rise intersected the arc of [Tom Kernan's] decline").

And Zack did contain multitudes, and he still does: those of you who knew him know what I mean, if only because you and I know each other because of Zack, and the best experiences of our lives occurred while we were Zack's orbiting satellites. When I was a graduate student and petrified of delivering a conference paper, Zack used every possible means to compel me to propose and deliver a paper at the 1983 Provincetown Joyce Conference (well, every means except violence, and only because I capitulated before it came to that). Zack was a mentor who not only gave personal attention to a staggering number of students, former students, and colleagues: he also intervened, often aggressively, to set those whom he mentored on a better path. I cannot imagine having completed my graduate studies without Zack; with him, I completed my MA and PhD in just over four years and published my first book just two years later (after he had personally contacted the university press editors who considered my work).

I have dreaded--for the past several years--the day I would be thrust into a Zackless universe, and, at a time when my professional fortunes have been in an uncontrolled flat spin, I suddenly and genuinely feel that I have a reason to live if only to tell Zack Bowen stories, sing Zack Bowen songs (I imagine him making a grand entrance through the pearly gates while a celestial choir sings a resounding chorus of "Bloomusalem! Bloomusalem! Lift up your skirts and sing ..."), and by trying to do in my feeble way what he did best: bring students and friends to a grasp of how language, literature, humor, music and love (interspersed with a judicious mix of scatology and smutty limericks) make life fun and, incidentally, worthwhile.

I don't feel like mourning because I don't feel that he's gone. I've got a head full of Zack Bowen, and not nearly enough hours in the day to share with others the enrichment he gave me. It's impossible to miss him: he's still here.

"He was a sporting vagrant armed with a vast stock of stories, limericks and riddles. He was insensitive to all kinds of discourtesy." In loving, garrulous, expansively vital and more than slightly risqué memory of Zack.

-- Michael O’Shea

Zack! Ah! Zack! Half a hundred times in many, many cities in the U.S. and Europe we were together, last at an outside café on South Beach.  His great wit and gigantic sense of humor, his acute intelligence and wonderful outlook on life I’ll always remember.  And could he carry a tune.  I loved him and deeply admired his work.  He will be missed by all of the Joyceans who knew him.

-- Thomas F. Staley