This weekend I attended a memorial service for one of my Mary Washington college professors, and later colleague, Dr. Richard “Doc” Warner. Dick had died suddenly a couple of weeks ago while in New York to talk to an editor about the historical novels he’d been writing since he retired.
Dick Warner spent 36 years at Mary Washington, teaching classes in Russian, French, and maritime history. When I first came to the school as a prospective student he was the one who spent nearly 90 minutes talking to me about the school and the history major. This was in stark contrast to the other schools I had visited at which I was lucky to get even five minutes with any faculty members; I don’t know if he ever realized it, but he was a big reason that I came to (then) Mary Washington College. [Over a decade later, when I applied after graduate school for a tenure-track teaching position in the department, Dick told me that he would only support hiring me if I agreed to become chair someday…. Something tells me he’s still got a smile and a twinkle in his eye about that one.]
Although a dedicated teacher, his real passion was men’s rugby. He was instrumental in starting the club sport at MWC in the 1980s and was, as one of the participants this weekend noted, the “Godfather of Mary Washington Rugby”. He advocated for resources with the administration and raised money from a wide variety of sources. He recruited constantly, boldly poaching athletes from more mainstream sports at the school. He attended almost every match for decades and continued to come to many games, even after his retirement and move out of state in 2004.
I knew most of this before this weekend. Frankly, you couldn’t be Dick’s colleague (or student) without getting a major rugby update at least once a week. But this weekend’s memorial service was a powerful sign of Dick Warner’s impact, of a remarkable legacy. At the service, on the rugby pitch that really should be named Doc Warner Field, nearly 100 people remembered his life and his impact on them. As we went around the large circle, we heard from alumni from the classes of the 1980s to 2011, from people who had traveled thousands of miles or just a few blocks, from teary middle-age men to proud recent graduates, all to pay tribute to Dick.
But the tales that were told of Doc Warner this weekend went beyond that of solely a sport. Of course there were stories of recruiting phone calls and of conversations about various aspects of a student’s rugby game, of the enduring passion and love Dick had for the sport and its players. But even more powerful were those stories of Dick mentoring students about their classes, working out structured schedules with young men who were having trouble adjusting to the rigorous demands of Mary Washington’s courses, introducing them not only to the library, but to the specific cubicle in which they would henceforth be studying. Several alums spoke to the fact that, rather than being easier on rugby players in his own classes, that he expected more of them. And that attention to their success as students and as men didn’t stop with their graduation. We heard of countless recommendation letters written, or phone calls to potential employers; we heard of the community of people (students, alumni, parents, friends) bound together ostensibly by rugby, but really by Doc Warner’s unrelenting energy and interest; we heard about Dick recognizing former students on the street decades later and remembering key details about their lives. We heard from Dick’s own family about the importance of “his second family” to Dick, of his pride in them and in their successes. We heard about his generosity, his quiet support of students in financial straits, and his wry sense of humor.
I was talking with other faculty members at the end of the memorial, wondering at the powerful impact Dick had had on these student-athletes. Few faculty have the kind of impact, inspire the kind of devotion, leave the kind of legacy that he did. Many of us who teach would be thrilled to have a memorial service to which so many of those we advised and taught came, where there was as much joy and laughter as there were tears and sadness, a sense of a life well and fully lived for both family and work. It was a fitting tribute to Richard Warner’s career and life.