Sadly, news surfaced on Sunday that Frederick Busch died of a heart attack on Feburary 23rd. Although he lived in a town called Sherburne, he was at a New York City hospital when he passed away. The Washington Post ran an obituatry that stated “He said he resolved to become a writer in fourth grade, after a teacher pinned a poem he had written on the classroom bulletin board. ‘I’d like to be remembered as a really honest, minor writer of the 20th century,’ he once said.”
The New York Times featured an overview of Busch’s work that stated “Critics said that part of what distinguished him from other modern stylists like Richard Ford, Andre Dubus and Raymond Carver, who addressed the dark side of domestic life, was his striving for a larger historical context. Before making Dickens a character in one of his novels, he walked the streets of London. Before putting Melville in another, he prowled Lower Manhattan. He did extensive historical research to depict Civil War and Vietnam veterans, and he extensively interviewed psychiatrists before creating a character who is a psychiatrist. But the emotions he conjured — most exquisitely in his short stories — transcended place and time.”
I was sorry to hear this. I met Busch back in the late Eighties in Park City, UT, at the Writers at Work conference. If I recall correctly, Busch was not only a featured reader but also sat on several panels and perhaps even talk a workshop. In any case, he’ll definitely be missed.
I had met and chatted with Fred Busch 6 or 7 times since the early 90s on the happy happenstances of his books being published. I will definetly miss the conversations I expected to have in the future and the 3rd volume of the story he began in Girls and continued in North…
He was a sweet avuncular man who was a helluva storyteller He leaves a wonderful legacy of almost 30 books . So it goes
Fred Busch was my teacher and mentor at Colgate and the only person I have witnessed receive standing ovations for his lectures on war fiction. I took Living Writers and Dickens with him too, and just appreciated the personal time and enerhgy he spent watching over my peers and me in college and ever-after. I teach his story “Ralph The Duck” to my prep school students each year, and I am so very sorrowful about his sudden death.
This image from the Washington Post story really stuck with me, reminded me why we keep writing. I met Frederick Busch once during a writing seminar in Michigan, and I still keep all the advice he gave us…
“He said he resolved to become a writer in fourth grade, after a teacher pinned a poem he had written on the classroom bulletin board.”
I chanced on “Ralph the Duck” many years ago in a collection of Frederick Busch’s short stories at the library. I’ve never forgotten it. I’m heartened to learn from one of the other entries at this site that a third book about that story’s narrator is still to come. I was desperately sorry to read Mr. Busch’s passing over the weekend. But I’ve since reread “Ralph the Duck” and passed it to others and doing so has allowed me to rekindle my pleasure in Mr. Busch’s work. Long live “Ralph” and with him, Mr. Busch, one of the world’s finest and most elegant writers. We were lucky to have him and are even luckier that we can keep him with us through his books and stories. I wish I’d met him in person. I envy those of you who did.
I, too,had the pleasure and the privilege of taking several of Professor Busch’s classes at Colgate during my undergraduate years of 1970-74. Two of my favorites were a spring spent getting to know the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen and the other, English 433, a journey along the roads of “Yoknapatawpha County” with Fred Busch as tour guide. None of us passengers on that trip will ever forget the way he introduced us to one, Mr. Flem Snopes!, I still have my Faulkner collection of then priced $1.25 paperbacks and, of course, several of Fred’s own works on my bookshelf. Fred’s greatest contribution to my education was he made English literature class fun and he taught me how to “really read.” Today, Fred’s own reading and comments about others of his profession have returned me to the book shelves of libraries and used bookstores to discover the tales of several contemporary writers I would have otherwise missed. And speaking of missed, Fred you will be but, you and your influence on an average English major will never be forgotten. Thanks.
A wonderful man and a generous friend to both readers and students of writing is lost to us. I met him in 1980 when he visited SUNY Geneseo. His encouragement and kind words about my student work have stayed with me to this day.
Only ‘met’ Mr. Busch last year when reading his novels. What a wonderful gift he gave to readers. I am always late, but wanted to say thank you to Mr. Busch