I was saddened by the death of D.G. Martin, whom I long admired as a “man of letters.” Martin’s charm and humility fit the idiom of a scholar and public figure.
In the early 2000s, I was right out of college and couldn’t afford cable, but with a TV antenna I could pick up Martin’s “North Carolina Bookwatch” on PBS. Since returning to Chapel Hill in 2018, I’ve read his “One on One” column nearly every week.
It’s true that I shared a political perspective with Martin. I appreciated his sensitivity and openness to issues like the environment, immigration, and public education. Martin seasoned his editorials with civility, demonstrating respect for policymakers he disagreed with. He was in the room with powerful political figures, but he also took the time to pull off the interstate to eat BBQ and get to know the cooks and waitresses. Martin was highly educated, yet cherished wisdom wherever he found it.
There are a couple of columns that remain with me not only for their heartwarming topics but also for Martin’s skill as a writer. Back in September, he wrote about “clearing out” the old homeplace. Readers understand from the litany of possessions that our lives, like his, consist of items “tied to precious people and events.” In the hands of a lesser writer, this sentiment is saccharine and quickly forgotten. But at the end of his column, Martin introduces us to “the flea market man,” who, “like a character from a Greek play,” enters the scene to “bring a conclusion to our own drama.” Martin quotes him, “Maybe I can double my money; maybe not.” “Maybe or maybe not” reminds me of a Buddhist parable about a Zen farmer. Life and death are ultimately beyond our control, but as Martin’s Zen flea market man says, empathy leads to gratitude even in change and loss — “Thanks a lot. I sure have enjoyed getting to know you folks. You’re good people, and I know what you’re going through.” This tragic-comedy perspective resonates with deep wisdom across religions and cultures.
This time of year, the December 25, 2019, “One on One” column about “a scraggly Christmas tree” comes to mind. The scene unfolds more than a half-century ago on Christmas Eve in a hospital, where complications from a surgery have rushed Martin’s father. Once again, a local, this time an old man selling the final Christmas tree on his lot, creates a memorable scene. Martin asks the price, and the vendor replies, “I’d of give it to you for nothin’, if you’d asked.”
I suspect that D.G.’d of given it to us for nothin’. As a man of letters, he was a true public servant. May his memory be a blessing.
Andrew Taylor-Troutman is the author of the book with Wipf and Stock Publishers titled This Is the Day: A Year of Observing Unofficial Holidays about Ampersands, Bobbleheads, Buttons, Cousins, Hairball Awareness, Humbugs, Serendipity, Star Wars, Teenagers, Tenderness, Walking to School, Yo-Yos, and More. He lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina where he is a student of joy.
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