DAVID KANTOR—Aureet's funeral - January 9, 1991
Director - Kantor Family Institute
When I leave here this morning I will go to an office in Somerville. In that office is a closet with an ordinary file cabinet. On days when I am in this office, I will many times search the file for folders I need. Toward the back of the top file drawer, one-third the distance from the back, rests a folder with the file name: AUREET'S STATS/WORK COMPLETED. On many occasions, I cannot say how many, between September 1982, when Aureet came to work for me as a research assistant, and no more than a week ago, my eyes, washing over the folder, would coax an automatic smile. I have taken these events for granted. They have been my friends, rich in memory.
Aureet was just beginning graduate work when she joined my research team. She was young and very much ahead of her time; mature, most people said and so forth and so forth and so forth — brilliant, beautiful and so forth. What struck me at the time was, yes, all these attributes but something more.
I'd say to her this is what I want. She'd say this is what you need. I don't need all that, I'd say. You need that, she'd say. I did — every single time. Every boss's dream, no? Imagine, an "underling" willing to do more than she was asked, not because she wanted to please or because, perhaps for psychologically motivated reasons, she had to achieve, but because she had sized the job up and understood what was needed. Aureet was no underling. She was instantly an equal, if one's measure is the willingness to take responsibility equal to those officially designated her seniors.
From the moment I laid eyes on her, I fell in love with Aureet. How extraordinary. But it is not quite "like that." She felt like family to me. Her power to accomplish this was mysterious and magical. Later, she introduced me to her family. I encountered them only two or three times, in all. These meetings ended the mystery but not the magic. Her family's love, its "intelligence," if I can call it that, was compellingly evident and profoundly moving.
Postscript.
Never in the presence of grief have I felt so part of a community. Leaving the temple at the conclusion of the service Professor Donald Schön (of MIT) appeared at my side. We walked in silence. The snow that had been falling padded our footfalls, adding to the silence. Not knowing by what signal, his left arm locked around my waist, and my right arm around his waist. Our heads touched and remained that way as we continued to walk in silence. Don and I know each other but not so well as to warrant this behavior. It seems simple, but only in retrospect. Aureet's family and their darling child had made us part of a community of love.
