Matthew J. Bruccoli would have been 95 today had he lived, and I miss him. I first entered Bruccoli’s world in the corner offices on the fourth floor of the Humanities office building at the University of South Carolina in 1972, when I was assigned as his research assistant. The offices were a loud, profane, energized hub of seemingly chaotic activity centered on Matt and his many projects. Tobacco smoke fouled the air, there was always a sense of urgency, and the halls echoed with his “A fanabla!” and “What the bloody goddamned hell!” scaring students and intimidating his colleagues. But work was getting done; there was vigor spurred by the Bruccoli catechism: “Mr. Layman, what business are we in?” “Precision.” “What is the essential act of scholarship?” “Publication.” When difficult obstacles arose, the call, “Matthew 6:34” was the response: “Sufficient unto the day are the problems thereof,” which meant Focus!
I worked with Matt Bruccoli first as a student, then as an employee, later as a business partner, and often as a friend for 36 years until his death in 2008. We built a business together from scratch that has made a difference in the world of humanities scholarship. Over the last 25 years of Matt’s life we had lunch together most business days. Sometimes we discussed the problems of the day; often we didn’t exchange a word, but there was an understanding. Those years molded my professional self. They weren’t always pleasant—more than once I went home hating him—but they were priceless to me. In an essay I wrote about Matt on his 65th birthday, I invoked a poem by James Dickey about a man offering tribute to his coach for molding him into a father with the personal qualities to care for and take care of his family. Such men, Dickey wrote in his poem “The Bee”
urge and urge. They want you better
Than you are. When needed, they rise and curse you they scream
When something must be saved.
My feelings have only deepened. I am grateful to that brilliant, crusty, unrelenting, unforgiving coach; and these many years later, I still hear him barking his professional code when it is needed. Thank you, Matt.