Mike Leff

I have the distinction of being Mike Leff's first employer. (Someone once said to me, "Don't you mean his first 'boss'?" This was obviously someone who did not know Mike, because no one was ever "boss" to that raging intellect.)

We recruited Mike into the Cal-Davis Department of Rhetoric directly out of graduate school at UCLA, not wanting to wait until he came on the open market where everybody could bid for his services. This was back in the days (the 1960s) before recruitment committees and compliance officers, when you could simply pick up a phone and offer someone a job.

What we saw in Mike was an intellectual masquerading as a playboy. He was one of those people who could effortlessly follow a chain of reasoning to a conclusion while the rest of us were still trying to identify the question. He often masked that perspicacity with natural displays of real bonhomie and wit. Two of his colleagues from those days, Don Ochs and John Vohs, used almost identical terms to describe him as "a man with so many friends." He was, in Shakespeare's phrase, "a fellow of infinite jest."

Now, there seem to be two kinds of wits in the world. One is the teller of jokes and the maker of comebacks—the Garrison Keillor/Bob Newhart model. Then there are the truly witty, able to turn any situation into an enjoyable experience for all. That is why, it seems to me, so many people have fond memories about being around Mike, even if they usually cannot remember specific quips or witticisms.

I think his intellectual partnership at Davis with the late Gerald P. Mohrmann reveals a great deal about Mike's dual sense of acuity and accommodation. At first glance they would impress an observer as an unlikely pair. Mike was quick to speak, razor-sharp, though a good listener too. Gerry Mohrman had been a professional baseball umpire and had worked Alaskan fishing boats as a cook. He had a misleading appearance, looking at first glance like some "good ol' boy" with a limited vocabulary and even more limited intelligence. But anyone who argued with him soon learned otherwise.

Here let me tell you about a long-lasting dream of mine.

I know deep in my heart that I am going to escape Purgatory. I know this because for decades I was a debate coach, first at a San Francisco high school in what we now call a "blighted district," then at a small liberal arts college, then at Stanford, and ultimately at Princeton. I have probably heard more debaters than there are stars in the Andromeda galaxy. Naturally, like all my colleagues, I was perpetually looking for the ideal debate team. Early on, I decided that the ideal team would consist of a clear expositor with a keen intellect to clarify the first affirmative speech and then switch to second negative to cut the opposition to pieces with impeccable logic. The other half of the team would be a charmingly affable speaker with a penetrating mind capable of concentrating easily on the issues at hand.

Mike Leff and Gerry Mohrmann would have been that ideal debate team. To take a case in point, consider their collaboration in their award-winning essays on "Lincoln at Cooper Union." Probably neither by himself could have produced those essays the way they finally came out. They are good examples of two types of talents blending to create something new—and a fine example of Mike's capacity to adapt.

Another collaboration of theirs—alas, never published—came out of a real-life event that energized both of them. Gerry was scheduled to be the after-dinner speaker at the Hayward Conference on Rhetorical Criticism. By the time he rose to speak, however, it was evident that the audience had lingered too long over the delights of the before-dinner reception. They were besotted, befuddled, bewildered, and not to put too fine a point on it—drunk. Gerry got through his speech nonetheless, though hardly noticed by the sprawling throng in front of him. This was a...