Trinity Western Magazine

Barbara Pell, Ph.D.

From Linnea McNally Jenkins ‘04

Dr. Pell was the first person whose criticism really did something to me. I mean, it hurt. My whole life up until meeting Dr. Pell had been a lot of ‘well-dones’ and ‘good-jobs.’ However, after receiving back the first essay I wrote for her, I found myself at her desk hearing, ‘Linnea, you’re a smart girl—but you really don’t know how to write.’

Fortunately, she didn’t let her criticism become the dénouement of our interactions; over the next few years, she listened and rebutted each and every one of the excuses I gave her for not wanting to move forward and address the crises I encountered, whether they were in academia or in discovering who I am or in love. It seems to me that she lived her own life the same way, too—always adding something new to the plot-line: a red mustang, trips to Europe with her husband, participation in choral groups, et cetera.

Nor did she ever seem to let anyone tell her what she could and couldn’t do. The last time I ran into her was well after she had stepped down from her teaching role at TWU. I was at a ski-lodge, hiding and avoiding the snowy outdoors, when in trooped a cheerful and goggled Dr. Pell. She set down her poles, and we immediately fell into one of those brusque and rejuvenating conversations I’d come to love in my years as her student. I told her that I had decided to apply to grad school. She was proud. We corresponded by email throughout the application process, her encouragement prodding me through anxiety once again. This September, I started my Masters of Arts in English and have Dr. Pell to thank for getting here—without having her injure my pride years ago, without having someone tell me that I can’t, I would have never discovered that in fact I can.

From Wendy Delamont Lees

“Hey, Mom, let’s take a class together.”

Those words from my daughter, then a first-year TWU student, were the reason I met Dr. Barbara Pell, whose English 103 class was the only one with room for two more students that fall semester in 2005. I hadn’t been in a classroom since high school, so when Dr. Pell introduced herself to our class—“‘Pell from Hell’ they call me in the dorms,” she’d laughed—I wondered what I’d gotten myself into.

“I was apprehensive when I got my first assignment back—with a barely passing grade—and she called me into her office to chat. I had no idea what to expect, but she leaned across her desk and said, “You might not pass this course if you get another mark like this. Would you find it helpful to re-write this assignment?”

In that moment, I saw her for who she really was: a professor who demanded as much of herself as of her students—and who would do her utmost to help anyone who asked. “I know it’s not easy to be a mature student,” she’d said. I wept.

From then on, I looked forward to each class, and the time spent with the professor I came to appreciate and admire. Thanks to the enthusiasm she instilled, I even managed to get the highest mark of our class on the final exam.

The announcement of her retirement the following semester caught many by surprise. She’d battled cancer a couple of times before—a fight she’d chosen to wage privately, and it was no different this time. She wanted neither sympathy nor pity; simply to make the time she had left count. So she water-skied, spent time with her children and grandchildren, and travelled Europe with her beloved husband, Archie.

Shortly after her retirement, I had the privilege of writing an article on her for Trinity Western Magazine’s Issue 14. When I sent her a copy, she responded via email in true Dr. Pell fashion: “I’m honoured by your article,” she wrote. “I’m not humbled, because that wouldn’t be possible, but I’m honoured.” I could hear her laughter as I read the message.

In the short time I knew Dr. Pell I was deeply and profoundly influenced by her. She once said to me, “If you can get a B+ in a Pell class, you can do anything.” I believe she was right.

From Lynn Szabo

My first and last memories of Barbara are full of joy. I officially met her in my first year in the department on the day that her first grandchild was born. She came roaring out of her office at the end of the hall shouting, “I’m a grandmother!” She looked like a schoolgirl, her red hair flying, with its straight-cut bangs, ready to take on her new role with love, gusto and pride. She gave that and more to her grandchildren in the decades that followed. Summers, they would come to the family home on Lake Errock for their vacation. Barbara would recount to me, in our many phone calls and hallway conversations, the fun everyone had water-skiing, swimming, canoeing and making BBQ dinners.

My last personal encounter with Barbara, although we continued to call and email each other throughout her illness, was during the time we spent at the Congress for Social Sciences and Humanities Researchers at UBC in May 2008 when she bravely delivered her paper at the Christianity and Literature Study Group, sitting down and asking for our patience, as she carefully read her finely-crafted presentation on Hugh Hood. On the last evening of the conference, I invited all our colleagues to my home. True to form, Barbara had remembered that it was my birthday. She and her husband went to the effort of ordering a cake and arrived to turn the soiree into a birthday party! She presided over the event, as always, detailing their plans to go to Israel the next month, much to our astonishment, considering the limitations of her declining health. Go, she did, recounting their adventures in a warm and meaningful article when they returned.

In the years that we shared as the department’s administrators, I learned that her work ethic could not be matched. Many were the evenings we worked past 7 p.m. to finalize timetables, set policies and procedures and encourage students in their pursuit of English studies. I learned that she would always give credit where it was due and expected others to due the same (thus her fearsome pursuit of plagiary amongst students). I learned that she would not take “no” as an answer and that it was best to have her on your side! Our friendship, collegiality and devotion to literature were tested and proven true. I fondly think of the words of our Dean when he told me that we were thought of by many as the best team on campus. In the memory of a fine colleague, friend and lover of John Donne’s sonnets, his words say best our shared faith and future:

DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go--
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!

From Veronica Collins ‘06

I remember toying with my piece of pizza at the “Annual English Department Pizza Party” that night, watching Dr. Pell's animated conversation from across the room. I was trying to get up the nerve to ask her what was to me an important question, the kind that people usually give abstract, fuzzy answers to. I remember wondering if she would think I was just another keener student, asking questions for the sake of having questions, or if she would understand that I really was curious. More than that, I really was exhausted, and I wanted to know what she would do. How she did it.

I sidled across the student lounge slowly, going from one couch to another until I found a gap in her many conversations, and was greeted by her mega-watt smile and that straight-forward voice. “Hello my dear, how are you?”

“Fried,” I wanted to say. “Burnt-out. Finished. Done.” Instead I pulled out the overused “busy but good,” vaguely summing up my manic life with the phrase: the student newspaper, full honours course-load, friends and family, and the ever-increasing pile of other commitments that seemed to be crashing about my head. She didn't buy it. She probed, I ducked. We talked about class. And I finally got around to my question. “How do you do it? How do you be a good wife, mother, friend – all the nurturing stuff – and still teach, research, publish? How do you fit it all in, how can one possibly be responsible to commitments in all those areas? How?” The subtext of my question was written on my face: I'm drowning, please help.

She rearranged her bangs with those quick, efficient gestures – one, two – shifted slightly on the arm of the chair (she always sat on the edge of things like that, like she was going to take off), and looked at me very seriously. “Oh my dear, that is a very good question.”

Her answer wasn't simple, or pat. Neither was it abstract to the point of meaninglessness. It was practical—a litany of advice gleaned from her years of fitting it all in. Her years of caring deeply about her life, and of putting her actions where her passion was. Years of committing to not only academia, but also to family, church, and the arts.

“I have something to show you, come to my office.” We walked across the dark campus, me struggling to keep up with her strides. Closing the door behind her, she began pulling down binders, pointing out hand-written schedules and systems. Ways of tracking where her time went. Making sure she didn't waste a minute of it.

We talked for hours, and I could feel my stretched and frayed self coming together again under the influence of her energetic, matter-of-fact voice. I could do this. I could put one foot in front of the other. It was possible to translate ideals into actions, actions into a worthy life.

I've carried that evening with me as I go: Dr. Pell's confident voice stating unequivocally, “Your time is worth something, my dear.”

Hers certainly was.

From Jonathan Burkinshaw ‘01

Thousands of TWU students will attest to the fact that Dr. Pell was, in every respect, an absolutely first rate teacher. Her preparation for class was mind-boggling in its thoroughness. Her lectures were inspiring for their eloquence and insight (and rapid delivery!). Her marking was tough but fair and always helpful. She demanded excellence from her students, was generous with her time and endlessly encouraging.

Dr. Pell’s influence was one of the key reasons I ended up majoring in English and the reason I wrote my honours thesis on a modern Canadian novelist. The first paper I wrote for Dr. Pell earned the lowest grade I ever received in university but I didn’t doubt for a second that it was deserved. Over the course of six classes with Dr. Pell, she taught me a great deal about writing and reading and about Christianity and literature.

It is a rare privilege in life to study under a great teacher; it was an even greater privilege to have Dr. Pell as a mentor. She inspired me to learn and to excel and she let me know that she believed in me. She took an interest in my studies and my life. She was an encourager and a cheerleader in my life, and I became more confident as a person as a result. She kept in touch when I moved to Toronto and encouraged me in my graduate studies in English at the University of Toronto (her beloved alma mater). She continued to keep in touch and, just last year, when my wife and I had our daughter Abigail, she emailed us to congratulate us, share her favourite memories of Toronto and let us know that she was reading our family blog!

Through her teaching, her example and her investment in me, Dr. Pell made a profound and lasting impression on my life.

David Dale Thompson

From Allan Kotanen

When I compare students today to students 30 years ago, there is a big difference in terms of how someone like David Thompson might be treated. Today because of advances in education, students have a greater tolerance for people who are different—whereas 30 years ago someone like Dave would often be shunned.

David’s influence on campus helped students to appreciate a person with a disability in a way they hadn’t heretofore. I remember seeing new students having their first encounter with Dave and I could see them thinking, “What is this?!” But soon they grew to love him because the thing with David is, if he became your friend, he was your friend for life. He was incredibly loyal. He was not a respecter of persons and had a way of disarming everyone.

In the earlier years when the school was much smaller, Dave actually served a unique sort of communications function. Many times all you had to do to track someone down was say, “Dave, have you seen so-and-so?” and he’d let you know that they’d just left campus or gone into a certain building.

As for a personal example of when I saw something really special in David: For years he was in our home group. At the end we prayed together. David would always pray for something which was a real need but that had not been mentioned by anyone else. Somehow he always remembered these needs that the rest of us forgot. He was in tune with his Lord.

There are so many funny stories. When things were not going as usual, or there was something new, David would get a bit restless. One Christmas, in church, the organizers decided to do something a bit different and involve the audience in the programme—we would stand at various points, or repeat some key phrase. David was getting fidgety, and I could see his uneasiness at the new approach. He leaned over and said to me, “This is worse than a quartet solo!” He had an uncanny way of observing things. Where he might have lacked in IQ score, he made up for in intuition.

From Dr. Marvin L. Rosenau (1975)

In retrospect, Ba-Boy reminds me of a non-vulgar Bubbles from Trailer Park Boys; outside of the box but with his own unique core of intelligence. My favorite story regarding Ba-Boy (which may be apocryphal) was one where he was asked to dig a hole, for a post or something, behind the gym or somewhere else on campus. Digging was tough as the ground was hard and he hadn’t accomplished much when whomever was supervising him came back and told him he had to keep on going because the hole wasn’t deep enough. Ba-Boy was not happy. The supervisor then brought him a stick of a certain length and told Ba-Boy to make sure that the hole was dug to a depth equal to this particular length. Sometime later Ba-Boy came to the supervisor indicating that he had accomplished his task. Whomever went out to take a look at the hole and it turned out that Ba-Boy hadn’t dug it significantly deeper. When it was pointed out that the hole was supposed to be as deep as the stick was long, Ba-Boy produced the stick, which he had subsequently shortened to meet the existing depth of the hole. Smart, eh? In any event, I kind of feel somewhat bittersweet in hearing of his passing. Some of those times were the best of. The other aspect is that his death is another signpost of our own mortality. Tempus fugit!

From Rev. Ken Ratcliffe

David Thompson was very much at home in our church. But in some ways David was at home wherever he was. In the last three years of his life, I think he lived in six different homes including his different hospital homes. At his home church David didn’t have a leadership role, but had an influential role for good and for godliness. Even though we often heard David shouting “Bad Boy!” at someone across the foyer or across the parking lot, we knew his heart was for good! He always had a smile for people and in his own way was always pointing people to Jesus. We need more David Thompsons in our church.

Fort Langley EFC has been privileged to have David, and his brothers, Stephen and Mac as members in our church for many years. The church has partnered with Bethesda Christian Ministries in providing care and support to these brothers. And when David was diagnosed with stomach cancer our church prayed for a miracle. God answered our prayers and provided a miracle for us in the way David handled his illness with dignity and a virtual absence of any pain.

We also got the opportunity to help fulfill some of David’s last wishes. He was a simple man with simple wishes. His final wishes were to go on an Alaskan cruise and to go to a Vancouver Canucks’ hockey game. In the summer of 2008, we saw a window of opportunity in David’s health status and at the last minute found a TWU Alumni Cruise to Alaska. In less than one week it was all put together, doctor’s permission, passports and everything. It was definitely a “God-Thing!” David was treated like royalty by TWU alumni and his beloved sister Lois enjoyed being his chaperone and caregiver.

Early in 2009, David ended up back in hospital and eventually was transferred to palliative care. The cancer had spread throughout most of his body and organs. David was losing weight at a rapid pace, but still virtually in no pain. He witnessed to the nurses and told them that Jesus loved them. Visitors were always the highlight of his days. But he still had one final wish that we hoped to fulfill. We arranged for three tickets for a Canucks game. It turned out that when the Canucks organization heard about David’s situation and wishes they treated him like royalty as well. David and his caregivers: David McVety and Leo were given seats on the floor right behind Roberto Luongo. David even got a Canuck’s game puck that he held every day right to the very end of his life.

So, right to the end, David was cheerful and welcoming to his “home,” always willing to talk about Alaska or about the Canucks, but his favourite topic was Jesus. And in the end, with his sisters at his bedside, it was Jesus who came and took him home.

From Nels Hawkinson (1980)

David “Letterman” Thompson’s Top 10 Crazy memories:
#10. He smelled like week old fruit salad, but no one cared.
#9. He pinched harder (always on your butt) than 10 crab at a crustacean convention.
#8. He had more friends on campus than there were Canadian geese that use to leave their droppings on campus year-round.
#7. He never seemed to have a bad day.
#6. Do what you want to David, but never—NEVER—steal his garbage cart. It will hurt.
#5. Anytime “the dorm boys” would be discussing girls with David around, he’d always say “Confess your sins.”
#4. Don’t ever double date with David—he will end up with both girls by the end of the evening.
#3. He loved Jesus.
#2. Almost every morning in the old logging cabin, known as dorm #3, David would come looking for me. As he pulled the shower curtain back, he’d see me daily with nothing on… but a smile.
#1. His three favorite words: Hockey, Hockey, Hockey!!!

We miss you “Brother” David!!

From Jonathan McVety (1974)

David was definitely a very special friend. We met on campus in the fall of 1972, or about 37 years ago. It was a real David and Jonathan friendship from the bible.

Joy and I were married in the Cal Hanson Chapel by Cal Hanson who had been President of Trinity Western for several years. David Thompson was my Best Man standing right there beside me in our wedding party of eight! David performed perfectly and was a very handsome gentleman. Dr. Robert N. Thompson, David’s Dad, spoke at our wedding reception. Later he said that sunny day in August was a turning point in David’s life. After that day he had an extra spring in his step—a little extra confidence. After all from that day on he truly was our “very Best Man.”

A few years later our son was born and we named him David. David Thompson called him the “cute little guy.” When he was several months old we took him to a Trinity Western basketball game. David Thompson and I would take turns holding him as we walked around the gymnasium. Some people came up and asked me if our baby was OK with David Thompson holding him. I just smiled and said, “Why of course! The Best Man is taking good care of the “cute little guy.”

From the world’s point of view, David Dale Thompson maybe did not have much to offer. But for those of us who knew him, he was a real jewel, a real gift from God, an incredible gold mine of love, of encouragement and of blessing. He simply loved to see you, and he loved to be with you. His example is a great lesson for all of us.

Last summer, for David’s 61^st birthday, David and Melissa McVety brought him down to Florida for 10 days. We had a great time in the sun, in the water and at Disney World. At the Magic Kingdom I pushed David’s wheelchair into a store to buy a Mickey Mouse souvenir. We went up to the counter to talk to the lady. I said, “David, I’ll be right back”. Two minutes later I went back and he was gone. The sales lady had left her station and was pushing him around the store.

When I caught up to them she said, “We are fine, I’ll find him what he wants, we are friends.” At 61 years old, in a wheelchair, how can you make a good friend of a lady in two minutes that you have never met before? I don’t know. Then David bought the souvenir and instructed me to take a picture of him with his new friend—and I did. As we were leaving she gave David a kiss on the cheek and waved goodbye with a sad look in her eyes.

David’s last day, April 9, he was still singing his favorite hymns, talking to and praying with his sisters Alice and Lois, who took great care of him. He gave that little smile through the pain and let them know he was ready to be with Jesus. Then he had one last important question for his sisters. “How am I going to get a shower and a shave when I get to heaven?” A good question from our best friend and very best man, “Bad Boy” David Thompson.