Editor’s note: This op-ed is by award-winning journalist Telly Halkias. It first appeared in the Bennington Banner.
I never met Julie Waters, but this week, after learning of her death at age 44, I wish I had. A resident of Westminster, she passed away from complications associated with myasthenia gravis, an autoimmune neuromuscular disorder.
I knew of Julie, however, through her many years of teaching psychology and computer courses for the Community College of Vermont at the Brattleboro, Springfield and St. Johnsbury sites, and more recently, online.
Having moved to the Green Mountain State in 2000, Julie was also well known in the Connecticut River Valley and southern Vermont as an accomplished musician — a guitarist with formal training who could play with the best. Furthermore, she had a variety of other artistic and scientific interests, such as photography and website design, making her something of a Digital Age Renaissance woman.
Some years ago, before my son Jason graduated from CCV and moved away from Vermont, Julie was his psychology instructor. It was one of the first courses he took online. Afflicted with Asperger’s syndrome, Jason still was a capable student. I had the honor — and sometimes heartbreak — of tutoring him during his first two years of college.
Vicariously, I learned of his instructors from his descriptions of them, and by reviewing their assignments and feedback. And Julie had quite the online presence in her art and music endeavors. Jason found those on her website, and once called me to hear Julie’s mellifluous strumming from his speakers: “Hey Dad, Ms. Waters the psych teacher sure can play the guitar!”
From the start of Jason’s psychology course, he shared a connection with his newfound mentor. Always open about his condition, Julie seemed fascinated by an Aspie who outperformed the rest of the class. Normally a bit lazy, Jason took to Julie that semester even though the volume of material and depth of discussion put her class squarely at the top of his workload. The results? He finished with an A+.
Its three exams, as well as the final research essay, were paradigms of the work ethic Julie brought to virtual classrooms — and demanded of her students. Leading by example, she toiled just as hard, coming online every day, several times a day, not just a few times a week. She would engage different students, looking for questions that needed answering, or thoughts that could use more probing.
Her diligence was infectious; as a result, Julie helped me, too. Having taught college classes for years, Jason’s online work at CCV got me interested in this evolving educational tool as a future mainstream. Julie demonstrated just how much was involved to get it right. To this day, it has influenced me whenever I teach online.
Julie’s blur of activity outside of CCV validated the college’s decentralized model: 12 statewide academic sites and a robust online program. Its philosophy of adjunct faculty from many walks of life bringing diverse experience into the classroom is exactly what Julie Waters’ professional ethic was all about.
Jason lives in the Midwest now, taking an extended hiatus from school for a paid internship and another job. Often, that’s Asperger’s in a microcosm: Intensely focused one moment, then wandering the next.
So as soon as I finish this column, I’ll call Jason to break the news of Julie’s passing. Part of me fears his memory, like that of most young folks now in the workforce and consumed by responsibility, has moved on to other matters.
But I’ll be firm — as Julie was — in reminding him of that one semester when he had to work his hardest and not slack off one bit. Perhaps he will rediscover a message to take with him as he ponders the future: What would Ms. Waters do?
And after that phone call, I’ll find Julie’s website and download a guitar arrangement from one of her six recorded CDs. Then I’ll take a moment and play back a song for Julie Waters, one that she called her very own.
