Remembering Deborah Schiffrin – a personal tribute

I met Dr. Schiffrin in 2001, when I went to Georgetown University to visit the Linguistics Department. I was interested in pursuing a PhD, and she was the chair of the Sociolinguistics Program. I had recently moved to the United States from Brazil, so I suspect that my English may not have been very clear, but communicating with Dr. Schiffrin was not difficult. I thought she was open, kind, and patient. And that was interesting to me, because this was someone whose books and articles I had read while I was a student in a master's program in Brazil. Thus, there was a sense of awe on my part, and surprise at her unassuming manner. Before I left, she asked me what I now think was one of the most consequential questions of my academic life: "So, what will you do if you are not accepted into the program?" And I told her that I did not know. I would probably have to work, but that someday I would earn a PhD, because it was something that I really wanted to do.

When I decided to study narratives, I knew that I would like Dr. Schiffrin to be my mentor. I had read her work, studied with her, and admired her, but I also felt that she was the person I wanted to guide me. I could take her criticism, and I deeply respected her as a researcher, a writer, and a professor. Not only that, but as I was putting my thoughts together about her influence on my education as a linguist, I started to revisit my interactions with her, and I could not recall a single instance in which she showed even the slightest trace of annoyance or impatience. She critiqued what I had written, made suggestions and recommendations firmly, but did so very professionally and kindly.

I have memories of being a student in her classes, and they illustrate the very essence of the work that Dr. Schiffrin did, what she inspired so many of us to do, and how much it mattered to her. As we know, the stories that we tell give and give off a lot about us, and much could be said about Dr. Schiffrin through the stories she told us in class to exemplify points in our pragmatics course or in our Goffman seminar. Once, she told us a story about how her dog somehow scratched a neighbor's leg, and her son had the idea of giving this neighbor a gift card for ice cream. There were other stories too—of friends and colleagues—and of passing elevator and hallway encounters, of quick greetings that lent life and added voice to our classes, giving evidence of someone so finely tuned to the subtleties of human contact and everyday life. It really taught me to look at, and to think about, everyday life and daily interactions with greater interest. Another time, she brought her own notebooks from classes she had taken with Erving Goffman, which we looked at with curiosity. Some of us also organized a panel on Goffman and presented at PLC at Penn. Dr. Schiffrin went with us to Philadelphia, chaired our session, introduced us to William Labov, and was supportive throughout.

There was also a day when Dr. Schiffrin brought her daughter to class. If I had to guess, I would say that she was no older than six or seven at the time. What I remember is that, at some point during class, Dr. Schiffrin turned to her, who was seated by her side, and did something difficult to describe, but which exemplified that sweet contact between mother and child. I remember that it was playful, and they were both smiling, as if the actions that characterize a class had been momentarily suspended. I never forgot that the woman whose work I admired so much, whose writing still awes me, had such a gentle manner.

I looked back at my last email exchanges with Dr. Schiffrin and found a very important one: the message in which we arranged the date for my dissertation defense. We agreed on November 17th, a Friday (because it was the only day when all of us could meet), exactly 12 years ago. I also found a message I sent her with a picture of my then newborn daughter, to which she replied, "What a beautiful child!" I told her about my work at Penn, and she wrote that I must have been doing "good work."

All in all, I am left with the image and memory of someone whose brilliance was matched by her incredible kindness and gentle manner, someone from whom it was a privilege and a pleasure to learn, and by whom I was deeply inspired.