The Fifth Floor aims to recognize the contributions of retiring faculty and staff, and we seek out the voices best able to do that. Upon learning that Senior Lecturer Mark Kemp planned to retire, we looked no further than his colleagues in the English Advising Office where, for over 10 years, Mark has held it down with Jeff Aziz and Lori Campbell-Tanner. These three faculty English advisors could be seen on the sidelines of every pre-pandemic department graduation, cheering for each grad walking the stage; they know more of our students than anyone else on the faculty. The office itself is small but inviting for students and faculty alike—yes, to clarify some administrative fine point, but often, too, because of the friendly repartee to be found in 501C. In more than two decades on the Pitt faculty, Mark has designed and taught a range of courses, from The Wild West to Satire to Detective Fiction. He's also taught on numerous Pitt-related study-abroad trips, most recently co-teaching, with Senior Lecturer Jeff Oaks, in Edinburgh, Scotland, where he also tried his hand at archeological digs.
Jeff Aziz: Badge
Though he claims to be from somewhere in the icy wastes of Canada, Mark Kemp has something of the drawl of the small-town lawman in a John Ford film. He’s got a particular way of drawing out the word “Suuure” in response to a student entreaty that, in retrospect, has the aspect of the honest sheriff who always seems to know exactly what to do about the strayed horse, drunken street quarrel, or sibling fallen down the well.
Now, Mark is a student of the fictional frontier peace officer, having among other things proposed our own Wild West course, and he is definitely an aficionado of the breed. I would say that Mark falls toward the practical/philosophical end of the spectrum, a bit more Ed Tom Bell of No Country for Old Men or Marge Gunderson of Fargo than the pistol-popping Marshal Will Kane of High Noon or the bumbling and ineffectual sheriff of Sweetwater in Westworld.
Please don’t get me wrong: I don’t mean that Mark has ever modeled himself after these western characters, and anyone who knows him would agree that he is among the least affected people they’ve met. It’s more in the realm of the sheer style in which he has worked in the institution, the wisdom and wry humor with which he approaches what can be a very challenging job.
Having worked with the fellow for over a decade, I would say that Mark’s pretty much unflappable composure is a hallmark of his service and his style. Advising in our department never fails to be interesting, whatever its shortcomings might be. We’ve looked at the data, and an amazing amount of our Kleenex usage in the advising center goes to weeping students. There are the ones who you have a sense will break down when they come through the door, as well as the stealth weepers. It’s nowhere near as gendered as many people assume.
I have a friend in Charleston whose faculty office has a porch with rocking chairs, and it would be cool if we had them in English Advising, too. There is an aspect to responsible, ethical practice in some fields that does not look at first glance like work. It’s a kind of mutual deliberation on ambiguous situations that can seem almost like gossip, but is actually one of the ways subtler problems are eventually overcome. Now, as I said, we don’t have rocking chairs or a porch, but there’s no harm sort of picturing it this way, and of course with way cool cowboy hats:
“What do you think about Mrs. Hardesty’s missing bicycle?”
[reflective pause]
“I think her older son Henry is a shaky proposition.”
[perhaps a nod of the head; more thoughtful rocking]
I have never before realized how an extended metaphor can protect student confidentiality. Having worked with Mark Kemp and Lori Campbell for nigh on 14 years, I would say that it has been our consultations amongst ourselves on fraught issues that have seemed most important to me. We are in a job where we make ethical decisions on a production-line basis, and this would be much harder to accomplish if we did not have the huge resource of other trained perceptions, alongside that peculiar brand of humor that comes from just about having seen it all.
I don’t know: Maybe the small-town sheriff thing comes back to the drawl. Mark also has this way of drawing out the word “Riiiiiight…” that is very much his own. I does not really mean “I agree with what you are saying,” but more like “I am listening attentively while I make up my own mind”; at once affable and noncommittal—the caution of someone who likes to see the big picture. Couple this with the warmth of someone who is never too busy to talk to a student and a sense of responsibility and service that doesn’t end when the sun sets, and you have a pretty formidable combination, even if he doesn’t carry a Colt Peacemaker or whatever.
I distinctly recall Lori, Mark, and I sitting in the Advising Office one day talking about the strange origin of the title of Eric Clapton’s song “Badge” (Clapton is somewhere near the top of Lori’s rock pantheon, while I think that Mark’s interest in Clapton peaked in the Cream/Blind Faith era). Mark has worn the badge well, and I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to serve alongside him.
Lori Campbell-Tanner: Namárië
Walk through the big glass doors of 501, hang a left, and you’ll find a hobbit-y door that leads into the Advising Office for the Department of English and Film & Media Studies program. The very first desk to your right belongs to Dr. Mark Kemp. For the past 14 years (minus pandemic interruptions), I’ve been walking into that office and finding Mark nearly always there (except on Fridays, his “out-of-office” day). Our office is haphazardly divided into sections, each of which provides a glimpse into our personalities, interests, and specialties: Jeff’s fermenting skulls-in-jars, my Middle-earth map, Mark’s books on numerous subjects—and on rare less-busy days—photos of his Scottish travels and prog rock emanating from his Apple computer. But always Mark himself, untangling some administrative knot, finalizing graduation certifications, considering curricular changes, complaining (an inescapable part of the job), talking on the phone with the dean’s office—all in his gentlemanly (dare I say, Canadian?) way.
At any given time, faculty or staff passing by the Advising Office or a student coming to see one of us might overhear conversations on an incredibly diverse range of topics. There are the usual ones, of course—requirements, problems with courses or instructors, internships, etc. Then there are arguably the more interesting chats when we’re not in the throes of registration advising. These are the discussions—bordering on debates depending on the day—that help to make our office inviting for students. For Mark and Jeff, this might be a conversation about the merits of any number of obscure novels or films. For Mark and me, it would likely be about the latest Alexander McCall Smith book, the merits of Tolkien v. George R.R. Martin, Mark's archeological digs in Scotland, or family and pet updates. These talks have continued on Zoom “happy hour” meetings during the pandemic. They will, of course, continue in Mark’s absence, but now they are certain to include “Hey have you talked to Mark lately?” or “What’s Mark up to?” or even more likely—“Maybe we should ask Mark what to do about this?”
Even for someone like me whose whole gig and personality hinges on magical belief systems, it's difficult to imagine not only the advising office, but the department and indeed the University minus Mark Kemp. Like our predecessor, Fiore Pugliano, who had a filing cabinet of information in his head as bottomless as Hermione Granger’s beaded bag, I think of Mark as someone who knows everything about Pitt and everyone at Pitt. I have yet to run into someone who genuinely doesn’t know or like Mark. I called him “gentlemanly” earlier, and that is the adjective that is the most telling, lingering, and meaningful in terms of the imprint that he has made. In this next phase of his journey, I wish my friend Mark many long years of travel, exploration, and relaxation. We are sure to miss him in countless ways, many of which we have yet to think of. I doubt we’ll have a chance to miss him TOO much, though. I’m sure he’ll have a hard time resisting the urge to stop by to make sure things are running smoothly, or just to chat. So, let this not be a moment of “farewell” but of “see yinz soon,” as Mark might jokingly put it. Namárië, Mark—I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the new Rings of Power series on Amazon in the fall (and you’re always welcome to do some grad certs if you’re bored).