Stories about John
From Joanna Innes:
Here’s John Beattie ten years ago, 2007, labelled up like Paddington Bear (‘please look after this historian’). This was at the Western University Conference on Law and Governance. He’s looking tentative, though of course that wasn’t his only mood. (Perhaps there’s a hint of steel there too).
When I first met him, in 1980, even before Crime and the Courts was published, he was already much respected, for his important articles in the nascent field of criminal justice history, and for the very thoughtful, critical but constructive way in which he interacted with other historians, old and young.
John was always present as a whole person in everything he did. He didn’t make a sharp divide between a professional self and a private self. He brought his human curiosity and sensitivity to bear on the task of trying to understand the past, and his full humanity into his relationships with scholars and students.
He could be rubbed up the wrong way. I remember his annoyance when someone responded to his work, writing ‘John Beattie assumes…..’ He said ‘I don’t assume. I argue’.
He would occasionally phone me (Canada to England) as was his way with many people. He had a distinctive way of saying my name, like someone calling across the prairies: Jo-aaana! If it wasn’t a good time, he would call back. He was remarkably confident about erupting into people’s lives, but the confidence was usually well placed. My mother still talks about the time he phoned her, completely out of the blue, years after they had met, to see how she was getting on, a memorably cheering incident in her life.
John was charismatic, challenging and fun. He was a man of feeling, but he had a sharp eye for human frailty. He enjoyed life and he enjoyed people. Hundreds of people loved him back. My long and warm -- though only intermittently active -- friendship with him has been one the most powerful and valuable of my life.
I only had the privilege of meeting John once, when he did me the great courtesy of attending my research presentation at the Osgoode legal history seminar in 2011. Of course, I knew him by reputation, and it was an honour (albeit a bit intimidating) to have him around the seminar table. We spoke very briefly afterwards, and I was struck by both his humility and his erudition. John offered an excellent suggestion for some sources that I might find helpful, along an original tack I had not considered before. His enthusiasm and interest alone was enough to inspire me, but the concrete advice, not surprisingly, turned out to be extremely helpful in the end as well! I very much wish there had been the chance for a longer conversation. But that even this brief encounter remained vivid in my memory for so long is a testament John's generosity of spirit and to the unmistakable force of his intellect. He was truly one of a kind, and he will be greatly missed. My sincerest condolences to his family. As great a loss as this is to our discipline and profession, their loss is keener by far. I hope it is of at least some small consolation that he will long be held in highest esteem by all who had the pleasure of meeting him. All Best Wishes, Sascha.
Sascha Auerbach
Thank you for providing this opportunity for the many many people who liked and revered John to say so publicly. I choose those two words carefully. I revered John for his wonderful scholarship, and his commitment to his students. As importantly, he was remarkable for his modesty, immense generosity to others, humour, friendliness and willingness to help others. My life’s ambition has long been, and continues, to be half the man John was.
Jim Phillips
I knew John over many years: a friendship which began in London in the Common Room of the Institute of Historical Research, and of course at the breakfast table at what was then called London House (now Goodenough College) on Mecklenburgh Square, and which was last expressed in an exchange, carried on via Sue, just a few days before his death. He had supported my nomination to an important academic honour. I had written to thank him; he responded with congratulations. We shared many things and what are for me memorable conversations. Most of all we worked together through the decade of the 1990s as co-chairs of the scholarship committee of the London Goodenough Association of Canada. John had gotten me on the Board of Directors, and then onto the Scholarship Committee. It gave me a chance to appreciate how deeply he thought about promising students, many of them his own, and how seriously and sensitively he weighed their applications. The result, of course, may be seen in the faculty directories of myriad Canadian universities. At a time of declining interest in British History, when numerous universities are abandoning the field, it is astonishing how many who hold posts in that field are John's students. It cannot be coincidence; it does carry his influence forth to another generation of historians in Canada. One of my most telling memories of John took place at the London House dining table, sometime in the late 2000s.. I hadn't seen John for some months, and asked him how his book on the Bow Street runners was coming. Oh, I finished it a few months ago! When was it coming out? Oh, I don't know; I haven't submitted it yet. What are you waiting for? Well, I thought I'd let it settle a bit and then go back and see what needed to be polished. I doubt that this was unique behaviour on John's part. It may have a great deal to do with the scholarship one saw on the page, and the reputation which it supported. John was one of the few colleagues in academe to whom I felt could bring troubling concerns, which I did on several occasions. One of them was what to do about the discovery of plagiarism in a noted academic's work. John never let me down with his thoughtful reflections on this and other questions. I shall miss him deeply.
Bob Tittler
On many occasions, I was impressed by John's scholarship backed by a commitment to dig deep and be thorough. I was very touched by the way he treated one of my undergraduate students at the law and history seminar. The student, originally from Bosnia, was going to come to Toronto to study criminology. John not only gave her advice but asked that she sit beside him during the seminar so that she would feel comfortable among a group of serious academics. It was the act of a gentleman.
John Weaver
What a historian. John Beattie pioneered criminal justice history. The high quality of his scholarship leaves an enduring legacy that places his vision at our core. His contributions ranged far and wide, shedding light on the contours of crime and punishment, the evolving legislative framework, the role of gender, the behaviour of courts and lawyers, the development of policing, detection, and so much more. Beyond his own endeavours, he trained a generation of first-rate scholars who have gone on to consolidate this field. And what a man. John Beattie was fair, kind, amusing and generous. He was interesting, and interested – even in the naïve musings of a young Australian student, such as I was. John examined my PhD – meticulously, thoughtfully, insightfully, helpfully – little realising the punishment was a lifetime sentence of writing references. He never quailed. What a lovely man. What a very sad loss.
Deborah Oxley
John leaves a legacy. That's because he cared about how he taught. I remember him one evening in 1992 giving a talk about his latest findings to a seminar mostly of his students; without notes - very informal. It was great; genuinely inspirational. I kind of floated back afterwards, the way I do after a really good jazz performance. He deserved every honour he got. And he will not be forgotten.
Keith Wrightson
Thursday, July 13, 2017
Dear Susan,
It’s not often that one reads a notice which truly captures the impression and memory we carry around in our heads of someone we’ve known for so many years. This splendid brief account in the newspaper today is admirably alive with the genial disposition, solidity of character, and charming nature of John – very much as I knew and must now remember him. I am so sorry to think he is gone. I knew of course that things could not be long delayed, but remembered your saying, when I happened to meet you and your daughter for a minute of two in the store that evening, that he was comfortable at home, with the family visiting to boost his spirits and your own, as the illness ran its course. That was some months ago. In the interval, I’ve thought many times of both of you, and hoped that all was proceeding as well as might be. A terribly hard time for John and you, for everyone. I just hope you will now find some rest after all this long time of vigil.
In my own mind, of course, I rehearse so many snapshots of various encounters with John over the years, going far back to when he first told me, chatting in the Department corridor one day, about working on his book on the court of George I. That must certainly have been decades ago. And some time ago, many many years later, meeting up, I as a very old man indeed, on the crowded Yonge Street sidewalk, when he told me about his newest book on the Bow Street runners. Book-ends you could say, to an amazing amount of happenings that had occurred in the common space we’d occupied in various ways all that while. Now, I think again of his immense modesty, his sense of gaiety and laughter, his great good common sense. And I recall chatting, way way back, with Archie about the predicament we were in at that particular time, trying to find someone to take the helm of what Chester Martin had quaintly become accustomed in his own day to call the ‘happy ship’, and Archie saying to me, Well, of course, if he felt able to do it, there’s just one person whom the whole department would immediately elect…And that was surely so. It would have been a sweep.
Susan, I’m most sorry to know that John has finally had to leave you and your family, but glad to think he must suffer no more, and hopeful that all will be well with you in the days to come. Take care of yourself.
Affectionately,
John Cairns
Inspirational, caring, enthusiastic, collaborator, thought-provoking, generous, warm-hearted, humorous, unfailingly approachable, a humble soul who wore his considerable scholarly prowess lightly ….. Words cannot describe the huge gap this wonderful man will leave in our lives, personally and professionally. I will miss our discussions, his lovely smile, his insightful comments, and his collegiality to everyone.
David Sugarman
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I count it as one of the greatest blessings in my life to have had John as a PhD supervisor, mentor and friend. It is hard to think of a world without John: he was so full of life, passion, generosity and warmth. Everyone wanted to warm themselves by that fire.
And yet, despite all the demands on his time, attention and largesse, he could always make you feel as though you were the only person in the room. What Joanna said about his voice, about the way in which he said her name, resonated with me (and doubtless, with many others: he had a gift for making intense connections with people). In person, he would point his finger or umbrella in delight (and often seemingly in surprise, even if the meeting were arranged). Both in person and on the telephone he would invariably draw out the three syllables of my name as though making a meal of them: “Awhn – dree – aah!” His delight, however theatrical, was so contagious that it never failed to convince you not only that the affection behind it was genuine but that it was perfectly natural that you should inspire it.
In a world of envy, insecurity and doubt, in a world where most people feel like they don’t belong, or can only belong by excluding others or pretending to be someone they are not, John’s magical power was that of not only opening the door, but of making you believe that all things were possible -- even simply being yourself. For John the world was not a zero-sum game: he was as happy for the successes of friends and former students as they could be for themselves. He had such an abhorrence for cliquishness and pettiness and cheap shots that he found it hard to write (and, I think, to read) book reviews and viewed historiography with some distaste, often complaining about the academic tendency to “lump” and to “split” the work of others. Sensitive himself, John was acutely sensitive to the feelings of others. Long before such a style of supervision was fashionable, John always focussed on the positive and couched his criticisms in the most delicate of “suggestions”; these were always delivered in person or over the phone because, as he later confided to me, he feared that consigning them to paper or to email, would be “too hard” and “too permanent”.
John was an intensely loyal friend who never forgot a good turn, no matter how trivial. He was passionate and did not suffer fools gladly (as I found out myself in several of my more foolish moments). John was first and foremost a champion of the weak and the vulnerable. He had a generous and compassionate heart and, while he considered himself a feminist, he would often sheepishly acknowledge that he could not escape his early hardwiring which necessitated that he open doors for and follow women in and out of rooms. It was a running joke between us that the revolving doors at Robarts posed an intractable dilemma for him. John’s imperfect solution, each time, was to loudly exhort me to leap first into the revolving door. We would both laugh as I would say, once safely on the other side, “I don’t know what a gentleman would do, but somehow I don’t think it would be to yell ‘Get in and push! Get in and push!’”.
I will never forget the twinkle in his eye, his smile and his voice. I remember, too, how at the end of almost every telephone conversation he would call out in a hearty voice, almost as joyous as his greeting (and, in inimitable John-style, wholly without contractions): “I have got to go!” And off he went to be with Susan and, often, in later years, to be with the grandchildren that gave him so much happiness. As much as he gave to his students, all of us knew that his family was the most sacred thing in his life.
It seems somehow wrong to use the past tense in speaking about someone who was so alive, such a powerful force for good, someone whose cheery farewell still resonates in my head: “I have got to go!” Wherever you’ve gone, John, I hope that we can follow.
Andrea McKenzie
I first met John at a conference in the late 1960s, after the publication of his first book on the Court of George I, where we discussed the challenges of entering the venerable world of legal history. While I had as yet published nothing, being just a few years after my doctorate, because my 'credentials' were as a British legal historian, John wanted to know, as a 'political' historian, how he would be received in the area of British legal history specializing in crime and the criminal courts. I remember stating how excited I was working in the field because most of the British legal historians I had met were thoroughly supportive - unlike the rancour one found among early modern general or political historians in the UK. Who would have known then that John would rise to become one of the foremost legal historians of the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries even though he would never admit to any of that. I always enjoyed our brief interchanges over the following decades. Given John's dedication to life, students and the profession, and his immense humility, I could not think of a better role model in any walk of life. As a witness often concluded in a brief deposition, 'I can say no more'.
Lou Knafla
I was very sad when I heard the news of John Beattie’s death. John was a great and generous scholar, and a gentleman of modesty and wit, of humor and compassion. Five years ago I had the enormous pleasure of helping to induct him as an honorary fellow of the American Society of Legal History. Neither I nor any of the society’s members in attendance on that occasion will ever forget the unaffected delight John took in that recognition. It was so greatly deserved, and I only wish he had lived longer to enjoy it. I am saddened at the passing of someone for whom I have had such respect and whose company I have so greatly enjoyed on occasions that I will now think of as all too rare.
Chris Tomlins
I met John when he hired me as a research assistant during my master’s. He called me to discuss meeting for the first time, and when I admitted I that had no idea who he was as a historian, I heard a soft chuckle on the other end of the phone. Researching under his tutelage, reading through the Old Bailey Proceedings, and discussing what I found while he was working on the Bow Street Runners was the best training a young historian could have hoped for. I was amazed, and intimidated, that he wanted me to talk through in detail what I found and even what I thought about it. We discussed historical research in general, including what interested him, what didn’t, and why. I had never thought about any of these things; I am grateful that he spoke to my naive master’s-student-self as an equal. When I went off to do my doctorate in England, John’s patient and careful approach to the records remained a guide. With his characteristic thoughtfulness, he kept in touch years after that short period of my research assistantship. Although I only worked for him for a few months, he shaped my approach to research and my ideal of a historian – open-minded, thoughtful, and generous.
Erica Charters
I was very saddened to learn of John's death. I did not know he was ill. And I think John would have found it amusing that for someone who studied obituaries, I missed his entirely. I would just like to say that it was my great honour and privilege to have had John as my Ph.D. supervisor. He was a true scholar and gentleman, in every sense of the word. As a teacher, he was the epitome of wisdom, patience and compassion, with a dash of good humour. I always knew John had my back, and when doing a Ph.D., that is everything. I somehow think the world will not see his likes again. To his family, please accept my heartfelt sympathies.
Wendy Stross
Like everyone who knew John, I was struck by the way he combined depth of academic thought and knowledge with unfailing graciousness. I think this combination was reflected in his historical thinking in that his narratives were always populated with recognizably human subjects, however much their motivations and reactions might be, at the same time, revealed as somewhat alien to us. John was an inspiration to many, and it was my privilege to be one of them.
William Watson
I was one of the many students who had the good fortune and privilege to be mentored by John. I first met him as an undergraduate history student in 1977. He was one of two or three of my favourite faculty members at University of Toronto, and I went to him in 1979 for advice about next steps after graduating (I was set on pursuing a PhD in History). I ended up at Osgoode Hall Law School, but soon found I could continue with my historical interests, inspired by John and his students who built up the field of the history of the criminal courts. A decade later, John was on the examining committee of my doctoral dissertation, and a few years after that, we met in London during my first sabbatical leave from Carleton University. He took great pleasure in the success of his students and I know many in turn have tried to show similar care for their own students. I will miss him very much.
Barry Wright
John’s passing is very sad, but the memories that remain are happy, those of family, holidays, growing up in Toronto, inter-generational friendship and so much more. Many a Christmas was spent with our families celebrating the season with food, drink, games, and of course, Christmas carols! While some family members weren’t always on perfect tone and pitch, John always seemed to me to have an accurate and enthusiastic baritone. For years, these was a requisite part of the holiday season, setting up the heart of Christmas, occasionally including Christmas dinner itself. The raucous sessions of charades and other party games have set the tone for all our family gatherings to this day. Softball games at the Beattie country property, as well as other warmer weather family get-togethers were amusing and entertaining to say the least! John was enthusiastic and engaging in these events, which spurred the rest of our crews to happy, meaningful gatherings. Later in life, John became engaged with his computer, though not always the ability to sort out underlying technical problems. While helping him sort out some of these issues, I realized that he retained a curiosity of learning new ways of doing things, which isn’t always the case for some of his generation. John is missed, but his positive influence on our families lives will always remain.
Matt Shorter
John was one of a kind. His curiosity was endless. His enthusiasm was boundless. His opinions were many. He was interested in everyone and everything. He listened, he weighed, he judged. He supported, he demanded, he commiserated, he set a high moral bar. He never seemed to run out of time to lose himself in music, to read Victorian novels, to build a deck, to build a friendship, or to talk, and talk, and talk. His academic achievements are manifest on this page. But the richness of his and Susan’s more private life was equally remarkable. Privacy mattered to them. By and large, they kept their friends apart, preferring closer one-on-one relationships. John’s great gift was to make every one of those relationships special. Forty nine years ago, almost to the day of his memorial service, I first met John in the coffee room on the fifth floor of Sydney Smith Hall. I knew no one. Didn’t matter. We chatted, and it seemed more like catching up with an old friend than making a new one. Over the next five decades - beginning with that chance encounter - our lives were intertwined. Our kids were like stairsteps. Our capacity for fun was high. We played charades, we played poker, we got interested in wine and food. We had life changes and challenges. We bought cottages and communed. We worried that John couldn’t swim. The recorder group lasted quite a while. The madrigal group maybe a bit longer. I can’t remember how many Christmases we sang, but sing we did! Katherine and Stephanie knew the descants, Matthew couldn’t carry a tune, but who cared! John knew the Anglican hymns and I knew the Methodist ones. Michael wasn’t so good with the hymns, but excellent with the carols. Roger and Alison have fine voices. Through all those years, John and Susan’s partnership was one of the strongest I have ever known. While John was establishing his career, Susan was as busy as he was establishing hers. For all of us, give and take was the name of the game, and sometimes the balance tilted a bit. But John more than evened it out in the last few years, with gusto, skill and commitment. Their fabulous kids and grandkids are a fine legacy. We love them all! How we wish that John were still singing - and writing and reading and glazing and cooking . . . and, of course, talking.
Ann Finlayson
I first encountered John as an undergraduate. He was a lively and engaging lecturer whose erudition was obvious as was his warmth, humour and empathy. I count him as one of the best professors I had at the University of Toronto. Imagine my delight when I renewed my acquaintance with John through the London Goodenough Alumni Association where we served together on the Board of Directors and the Scholarship Committee. His ability to thoughtfully weigh competing applicants from disparate disciplines was inspiring. Our association has continued through the years via the Legal History Workshops at the Law School and through other points of intersection including a love of ceramics. I have always looked forward to reading his work and listening to his thoughtful and constructive comments on the work of others.
Maureen Simpson