"This business is about the PATTERNS, man"

Here is my “Ted Talk”:

I will never forget the first time I met Theodore J. Lowi.

I was on my visit to Cornell after I’d been admitted in 2006, and so on a very warm day in May, Walter Mebane walked me down to the gorge to meet this man who had, given the amount of his work assigned to me in my studies to that time, the air of a legend in my mind. He was standing on the bridge. ”You Miller?,” he asked, sizing me up. (Though many of my friends call me “Miller,” Professor Lowi never asked what I should be called. He simply did [it] on that day, and every day thereafter.) I was trying to make a good impression, and I was wearing a suit. To this day I have no idea whether what happened next was because of that, or despite it.

“Alright then Walter,” he said, “I'll take it from here.” And down the steps we went, into the gorge. For the next 45 minutes, I hiked that path in my dress shoes, listening to stories about Bobby Kennedy (“never called him Bobby though...called him the General”) and how to write a lot (“You just write. Look, sometimes the ideas are crap, but you can’t know that until you see them. This business is about the PATTERNS, man!”). We established that day our mutual love of hockey, which we shared on several occasions when he invited me to take his wife’s seat when she couldn’t go to the Cornell games, including in the middle of my comprehensive exam (“Miller, you and I both know you’re doing just fine. Now, you’re not going to make me go to this thing alone, are you?”). And, at the end of our hike, having thoroughly sweated through my shirt, I realized just how much I didn’t know.

My PhD defense got a little tense (because even at the end, there were still many things I didn’t know), but when I fumbled, it was Professor Lowi who saved me. He would say, “I think what you really mean to say here, Miller...,” before leading me to the points I needed to make. And when it was finished, he clapped me on the back and said, “Well, now you can call me ‘Ted.’ I'll see you in the profession!” But I never saw him again.

To call Ted Lowi a lion of political science, somehow, is insufficient. I learned most of what I know about lecturing, writing, and argument from Ted. And I know this is true for so many of us. So often, when I am standing in a lecture hall I can hear his words coming out of my mouth. And in those moments, I feel so fortunate to have had him as a teacher. Today, reflecting on that, I understand that I “see him in the profession” every day, and I always will.

Godspeed Ted. Rest in peace. And thank you.

Michael G. Miller

PhD, Government, Cornell 2010

Assistant Professor

Barnard College