Walter Nugent, RIP

A few weeks ago, as I was looking up my undergraduate advisor’s address, I was stunned to find that he’d passed away in September. Professor Walter T.K. Nugent was 86.  He was a great teacher, a great scholar, and a great man. He equally inspired and intimidated me, and I’m deeply proud to count him as one of the finest mentors anyone could ever hope for.

I first met Dr. Nugent (that’s how he will always be to me; or, maybe, Professor Nugent) my junior year of college, as I took his two-semester history of the American West at the University of Notre Dame. He had spent much of his career teaching at Washburn University, Kansas State University, and Indiana University before accepting an endowed chair at Notre Dame in 1984. He was a prolific author, and he published extensively on populism, historiography, demographics, empire, and the American West. Though I own all but one of his books, I also was quite taken with his articles. His most famous (at least to my mind) articles were one that showed that Alexis de Tocqueville understood the world better than Karl Marx, one in which he compared American frontiers to political empires, and, especially, one that simply celebrated Anton Dvorak’s “New World Symphony.”

His classes were fascinating and challenging, and he demanded much of his students. From the moment I sat in his first class, I knew I wanted to be like him—I wanted to be a college professor and a historian. I also wanted to be that dignified. Dr. Nugent was the ultimate scholarly gentleman. Up to that point in college, I’d been thinking about majoring in economics or political theory, but Dr. Nugent—along with Fathers O’Connell and Miscamble and my favorite ND grad student, Bruce Smith—convinced me that I could, as a historian, employ as much economics or political theory as I wished and still remain a full-fledged historian. Dr. Nugent, more than anyone else, taught me that history allowed me to study any and everything. After all, he had made his career and bettered his profession by incorporating a variety of social science and literary tools in his own scholarship.

When word got around, again my junior year, that Dr. Nugent was looking for a research assistant, I applied and, stunningly, earned the position. Why he did not hire a graduate student, I’ll never know, but he hired me, and he paid well! Never had I loved a job so much. Throughout high school, I had been obsessed with debate and forensics, and I certainly learned the broad art of researching. If anything, I was probably a little cocky about my research skills. But, Dr. Nugent taught me so much more than I ever learned in high school; he taught me research as a fine art. After all, in high school, I had learned how to research in books, magazines, journals, newsletters, and newspapers. Dr. Nugent taught me how to research in census records and insurance records; he taught me how to find the most obscure statistics from shipping and immigration records in the 1880s and 1890s. At the end of that year I researched for him (I was a resident assistant my senior year of college, and thus, forbidden by N.D. rules from taking a second job), he actually admitted to me that he not only had me get things he simply needed, but that he also always given me challenges as well. Throughout that year, we met once a week, and every single week, he had wanted to make me a better researcher. He revealed that he wanted to see just how far I could go. In other words, he forced me into excellence (I hope this doesn’t seem cocky) rather than into a middling average. I have carried these skills, I pray, into every writing project I’ve ever tackled.

Before getting too heavy and serious, I must also note that Walter Nugent was quick to smile and laugh, and he even had an actual twinkle in his Irish eyes when something tickled him.

Dr. Nugent was also an intensely and shockingly perceptive person. Toward the end of my junior year, my mother and step father (with whom I’ve not talked in nearly thirty years; he’s not a good guy) visited Notre Dame, and I made a special appointment to have them meet with Dr. Nugent. A week or so later in an unguarded moment, Dr. Nugent admitted to me that he didn’t think too highly of my step father. He was polite about his criticism, but it was clear how he felt. To be sure, Dr. Nugent knew absolutely nothing of my home situation, and, to this day, I remain shocked at how much he understood who my step father actually was.

During my senior year, Dr. Nugent served as my thesis advisor. I spent the first semester researching my thesis, and the second semester writing it. The story of the immigration of Volga Germans from Russia to Kansas, my thesis was my favorite part of my education at Notre Dame. And, let me be clear—I loved Notre Dame, especially its intellectual rigors. But, Dr. Nugent encouraged me to research and write well beyond my abilities. He shared his considerable skills with me, and he certainly stretched me in what I was capable of.

Dr. Nugent and I corresponded for years, but, sadly, I lost track of him over the past decade. This was my fault, not his, and I regret the situation. Family and work simply got the best of me. Yet, I must mention two letters I received from him. When I arrived at work, on my first day of graduate school (I had an editorial fellowship), I had a letter from Dr. Nugent waiting for me on my desk. In it, he congratulated me and also told me that he expected great things out of me. In other words, no pursuing of mediocrity. Second, in 2016, I received my last letter from Dr. Nugent. In it, he congratulated me on my Russell Kirk biography and made a point of noting that few authors received the approval of both The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal. It would be hard to receive greater praise from a greater source. Both letters mean the world to me.

According to the official obituary at the University of Notre Dame, “Nugent is survived by his wife, Suellen Hoy, who also taught history at Notre Dame, six children, eight grandchildren, two great-grandchildren, a sister and a brother.” To all of them, I offer my condolences. I also offer my reminder that he was a great, great man.

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