When I assigned myself the task of writing a tribute to Arthur Gary, I underestimated the difficulty. One immediate problem is coming up with a descriptive label. As I sorted through some choices (icon, educator, born teacher, colleague), the best I came up with (which feels woefully inadequate but accurate) is “friend.”
For those who may not know, I had the distinct honor and privilege of working with Arthur for some years (2004-2017) as an instructor with the then Arthur Gary School of Real Estate. I choose the word “with” deliberately. He always displayed an uncanny balance between self-confidence and humility. He never looked down on people–or up at them. He always looked them straight in the eye.
A second challenge was identifying some meaningful memories to share–there are so many. A personal favorite happened because he left me “alone” to teach with “academic freedom.” He would suggest there were some things I might do that he’d prefer I not tell him. As a result of that independence and mutual respect, not all students in the Bangor area had an opportunity to meet and know him until later in their career. So it is not a surprise that one day in a prelicensing class, a female student raised her hand, indicating she had a question.
“Is there really a person named Arthur Gary?” she asked. I pondered briefly the idea that he might have a certain mythical quality about him. He was a “giant” in the real estate industry. When I assured her he did exist, she continued, “Then I have a follow-up question. Is he hot?”
The rest of the class enjoyed a laugh both at her question and my obvious difficulty deciding how to answer.
Of course, I couldn’t resist telling him the story, suggesting that perhaps he should consider making a cameo appearance at some of my pre-licensing classes. I should have anticipated that wouldn’t suffice. After listening to my suggestion, He said, “I want to know how you answered the second question.”
Arthur and I had a lot of fun–especially with the fact that he was given to precision. I can be a perfectionist, but I am given to see more gray. I’d describe an “agent,” and he’d interrupt. “Did they have a client? Do you mean “licensee?” He kept me on my toes, and he always made me think. He wanted to “get it right,” and he expected others to have the same commitment.
I learned much from him, as did many others. But I most appreciated the sometimes subtle ways he made people think. It’s been said that “imitation is the finest form of flattery,” and to this day, I find myself quoting him. The title of this tribute is the beginning of one of his bits of wisdom.
In recent years, we had some frank discussions about his health. I sort of expected him to live forever. If I had said that to him, I think he’d have replied, “It’s not a problem until it’s a problem.” And now it is a problem for me. I’ve lost a friend who I cared for very much. I know I am not alone in my sadness. But I feel alone because the phone won’t ring again with his cheerful “Mr. B!” greeting. And I won’t be calling him with the greeting, “Mr. G!” so we can ruminate on a fine point of law and rule or complain about the sad state of education.
Another favorite bit of Arthur’s wisdom I use on those rare occasions when class ends early (never more than ten minutes). “Education is the only consumer product that people are happy with when they don’t get what they paid for…” Students would immediately start packing and we’d add, “You paid to be here until… my guess is you won’t complain if you get dismissed ten minutes early…”
Arthur, you left us too early.
