Click here to subscribe today or Login.
WILKES-BARRE — A slip of a man even if you could straighten the curve of aging in his spine, Harold Cox disappeared behind a podium that looked to weigh more than he would soaking wet.
Following a glowing introduction peppered with a few good-natured jabs from Wilkes University President Patrick Leahy, the emeritus history professor voiced concern about commenting at all. “What he didn’t tell you is that I have Alzheimer’s,” Cox said.
Then the man Leahy praised for committing 52 years to Wilkes thanked friends for helping him find and get into a program working to find a cure for the degenerative disease, promised to stick around “as long as I can,” and gave the shortest speech of a short ceremony naming an old campus building after him.
It’s a place where people learn to craft sentences into books through the university’s 10-year-old creative writing masters degree program, and where many students learned the vital importance of tracking down primary sources courtesy of Cox, a man creative writing program director Bonnie Culver praised for being there from its inception.
Why name this building after Cox? Having already pointed out Cox’ penchant for advising university presidents for decades whether they welcomed it or not (and insisting he welcomed it), Leahy recounted a story.
“Harold showed up in my office a few years ago with a check for $165,000 and said ‘I would like you to have this’,” Leahy recalled. “I said ‘Oh my God, Harold, I’m flattered!’ He said ‘It’s not for you’.”
The money, in fact, helped pay to re-point bricks, replace windows and doors and otherwise spruce up the brick pile that had been showing its age. Cox took an interest in it when the creative writing program set up offices there.
Noting Cox has also long been the school’s unofficial archivist, Leahy said the university archive room was given his name last year. And after he stumbled over the address of the building behind him and the audience pointed out it was South River Street, not West River, Leahy quipped, “We’re going to name a building on West River after him next year.”
Culver announced Cox will turn 84 this Saturday and promised a surprise for him on the building’s back porch. She coaxed the crowd into singing “Happy Birthday,” and Cox stood on the steps conducting the music with mock maestro sternness.
“I also have a warped sense of humor,” he said with a grin after the music ended.
Asked how he liked getting a building named after him he gave the subtlest shrug. “It’s no big deal.”
The trip to the back porch took far longer than the ceremony. Cox couldn’t take two steps without someone heaping him with praise, thanks, congratulations, a handshake or hug. Comments included:
• “Now you’ll always be with us.”
• “Will you still hug me now that you’re famous?” (The wordless answer: a warm embrace).
• “You’re practically royalty.”
The surprise on the back porch? A birthday cake. By the time he reached it Cox had been beaming and laughing for a good 15 minutes. Asked by a well-wisher how he liked it, there was no shrug, just a wide smile.
“It’s nice.”