Because I came to FSU after Jill Caputo had finished her coursework I only saw her briefly early on, at department mixers and readings. One of the first things I learned about Jill—via hearsay, as we tend to do in a small academic setting—was that during a workshop of one of her stories the professor had made her cry; but before I could file away that little bit of trivia under something banal and stereotypical I learned this fact: Jill would go on to say that professor was her favorite, because of how he pushed and challenged her.
I never did get to spend a lot of time with Jill, but I ran into her frequently while riding around town on my bicycle, seeing her motoring about in her wheelchair, zipping across the campus and down city streets, catching readings at the Warehouse and getting coffee at All Saints. At intersections, while waiting for the red light to turn, we would strike up short, quirky conversations. Other times, when we went in opposite directions or passed each other on different sides of the street, I'd shout a greeting and she would wave back without a hitch or a pause in her steering. One got the sense she was constantly moving somewhere, constantly pushing ahead.
Jill has always been shortchanged, but she was no whiner. And it is this fearless, independent spirit of hers that most inspired me and others around her—people who have been luckier, people who have been more privileged—and provided a model for us to push ourselves to do more, no matter what we've been given. It is doubly tragic to see this happen to Jill while she was on one of her jaunts across town, heading towards another destination rather than staying still.
Jill, it's just a damn crying shame. We're sorry and embarrassed and sad for the whole world. You were a sweetheart and a hero. Ride on.
—John Wang, Assistant Editor, SER 2009
[Read more of In Memoriam for Jill Caputo]
I never did get to spend a lot of time with Jill, but I ran into her frequently while riding around town on my bicycle, seeing her motoring about in her wheelchair, zipping across the campus and down city streets, catching readings at the Warehouse and getting coffee at All Saints. At intersections, while waiting for the red light to turn, we would strike up short, quirky conversations. Other times, when we went in opposite directions or passed each other on different sides of the street, I'd shout a greeting and she would wave back without a hitch or a pause in her steering. One got the sense she was constantly moving somewhere, constantly pushing ahead.
Jill has always been shortchanged, but she was no whiner. And it is this fearless, independent spirit of hers that most inspired me and others around her—people who have been luckier, people who have been more privileged—and provided a model for us to push ourselves to do more, no matter what we've been given. It is doubly tragic to see this happen to Jill while she was on one of her jaunts across town, heading towards another destination rather than staying still.
Jill, it's just a damn crying shame. We're sorry and embarrassed and sad for the whole world. You were a sweetheart and a hero. Ride on.
—John Wang, Assistant Editor, SER 2009
[Read more of In Memoriam for Jill Caputo]
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