Someone’s in My Class Today. On Bud Goodall.

Today is the first day of class at East Tennessee State University, a regional institution of higher education nestled in Johnson City at the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. It is of course a time of new beginnings, fresh new faces, a new excitement, and a time to renew the commitment to the teaching part of the triad that makes being a professor such wonderful work.

There is, this year anyway, a silence, a loss for those of us who are – and desire to be - great teachers and researchers in this discipline we call Communication. That, of course, is the loss of Bud Goodall.

I could spend an inordinate amount of time discussing Bud’s work. As one of the early narrative ethnographers he helped break new ground, proving that research doesn’t need use objective writing wherein the author can hide. Nope. Not Bud. When you read Casing a Promised Land: The Autobiography of an Organizational Detective as Cultural Ethnographer you can hear Bud’s distinctive voice. When you read Living in the Rock n Roll Mystery: Reading Context, Self, and Others as Clues, you can feel Bud in his words on the pages. This continued throughout his narrative ethnographic writing, all the way through to the end...when he was writing on his blog, called The Daily Narrative.

* * * *

The first time I met Bud I was so uncomfortable and out of my depth. I was a communication pup - a mere first year Master’s student at Saint Louis University brought "backstage" at NCA. I entered this hotel room and there was Bud with Nick Trujillo, Bob Krizek, Kathy Miller, Paaige K. Turner, and a few others I cannot recall. I think Eric Eisenberg was there too.  The guitars came out. Singing commenced. The songs were classic rock and I could almost imagine Bud on the road living that rock n roll mystery. Bud, however, could tell I was feeling out of my element. Shoot, I was out of my element! As I was leaving he said, "Don't worry about it Andrew, soon enough you'll be on this side of the stage." Funny. I hadn't made up my mind to get my doctorate at that point. But he - he knew - he knew before I did.

* * * *

Bud was more than just a narrative writer though. He was a teacher in every sense of the word. His texts Writing the New Ethnography, and Writing Qualitative Inquiry: Self, Stories, and Academic Life are exemplars of – and for – a type of dialogical writing that consumes the reader through engagement.

* * * *

The second time I met Bud was when he came to Saint Louis University to give a talk while he was doing research on A Need to Know. His voice filled the room – when he started by saying “I’ve written this and I read what I’ve written, so I hope you don’t mind if I read exactly what I wrote.” It was endearing that a man who made communication his life, was so protective of his words, that he did not want to deviate. And we graduate students listened, enraptured.

Well, not all of us. Not quite. When he was finished he asked for questions. One of my peers (whom I adore to this day) asked, “How is THAT research?” I cannot recall what Bud said. All I can remember is “how” he said what he said. He was gracious and kind. He was open hearted and embracing. He was big and grand and full and wonderful to this student who did not agree with him. They went back and forth a few times. 

She never came around to his point of view about personal narrative research. And he was OK with that. He never wavered. Moreso, he never attacked, never raised his voice, and never disconfirmed her as a person. Put simply, he was Buberesque. 

* * * *

The next time Bud and I met, I was in 2006 at the International Congress of Qualitative Inquiry. I was just finished with my second year in my doctoral program. A little background will help. Once I started my dissertation research my friend and MA thesis advisor Bob Krizek would tell me “Get it done. The only good dissertation is a done dissertation.” He would call me and tell me that. The would paste it on my Facebook wall. “The only good dissertation is a done dissertation.” This had become something of a running joke. From my notes of the conference:

“We are coming to see your panel,” Paaige Turner says.

“You are?”

“Yeah. Hey Goodall is signing his book in the registration room. He wants to see you,” Bob says.

I head over to the registration room. Bud is sitting there behind a table talking with a middle-aged woman. As I walk up, he’s talking.

“…I didn’t know the story very well. I knew bits and pieces. Hey Andrew.”

“Hey Bud.”

Bud continues talking about his son Nic and scholarships and how to get him into school. Mitch Allen comes up to me.

“You want one of these books.”

“You bet.”

“Then I want 20 bucks and your address.”

“Well the 20 bucks I can see, but the address I dunno.”

“Well the CIA needs to take it,” Mitch says laughing. I hand Mitch my cash, and then I fill out the forms.

“Andrew. Do you want it A-N-D-R-E-W?” Bud asks.

“Yeah. How you doing?

“Quite Well. And you?”

“Good. Really Good.”

“Are you going to be doing your dissertation or are you gonna get sidetracked?”

“Aww. Have you been talking to Bob?”

“Who me?” We start laughing.

“Yeah, butt in the seat all fall and spring.”

“Good. That’s what I want to hear, because the only good dissertation…”

Uh-oh!

“…is a done dissertation.” We laugh, Bud with his hearty laugh and big smile.

“I can’t believe I’ve got the final product here in my hands,” I say. “I’ve seen this in so many forms, but I’ve got to split. I’m presenting in a few minutes…”

“Right, you’re doing narrative ethics.”

“Yeah. But I’ll be at the panel tomorrow where we can all bow down and worship you for the God you pretend to be,” I joke.

“If that happens, I’m leaving!” We laugh and I chuckle my way back up the stairs. I’m being mentored in multiples.

* * * *

The last time I really spent any time with Bud (oh...if only I had known!) was at NCA in 2007, for the reunion tour of The Ethnogs. It was a charming reunion with Gory, Dougie, Dick (Bud), and the paradigm-switching Wolfie. Dick came up to me and asked if he could borrow my fedora. I handed it over. "Hats don't usually fit on my fat head," he said, "But your head is as big as mine!" They played their unplugged reunion tour. We all chatted and went back to the doing what conference goers do. If I had only known....

* * * *

That wasn't, however, wasn't the end of our friendship, even tough we didn't see each other again.

Bud was a mentor and a life coach. Not merely to his students, but to others trying to make a way through this thing called academe. I was one of the latter. (I recently found out he was to my buddy Art Herbig too!)  When I was struggling as a Ph.D. without a tenure-track job I was too ashamed to talk with my advisor Art Bochner. (You can ask me about it sometime. But don't do like I did. Always always always maintain a great relationship with your advisor!!) I didn’t reach out to Bud. Rather, Bud reached out to ME. That’s the kind of man he was. When I was bitter and scared and about to throw my academic life down the toilet, he recognized it. He saw it.

What did he do? He reached out and asked if he could read something I was writing. I sent him “Fear and Loathing in Urbana: Confessions of a Disgruntled Ethnographer.” When it came back to me, it was torn to shreds. His notes read: 

“This it whiny!” 

“Stop interrupting your own narrative.” 

“Who cares what that guy says?” 

“Get on with it.” 

“Quit griping and get back to the story.” 

“From story comes theory.”

 That original bitter piece was completely transformed into the recently published “’Criteria Against Ourselves?’ Embracing the Opportunities of Qualitative Inquiry.”

Here’s the thing. Bud DID NOT need to do that. He did not have to ask to see my piece or ask about me. This is the kind of man that he was, that he took upon himself the responsibility to help struggling young scholars. He was not only able to help, but he was willing.

* * * *

Today, I'm going to walk into my first class of the semester - Organizational Communication - for the first time. I’m using Eisenberg, Goodall, & Trethewey. The focus of the class on organizational ethnography, and we will be reading quite a bit of Bud’s work. I hope and pray I can do you justice. I know, in spirit, you will be there as provide my students the passion, the intelligence, the good humor, and the graciousness that you bestowed upon me.

You are a mentor to me. 

You are a scholarly influence.

You are a life coach. 

Most of all, you are my friend. 

Thank you Bud Goodall. 

For everything.