Peter C. Rollins

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Ray Browne (1922-2009): Mentor to many and friend to all…

Ray Browne was a mentor to thousands of us and we celebrate his influence as we mourn.  At the age of 87, he was still editing book reviews for the Journal of American Culture and, pretty much till the end of his life, making the daily trek to his office in Bowling Green State University’s Jerome Library.

Ray was always encouraging and always available.  Back in my graduate school days (around 1968), I sent my very first popular culture paper to Ray.  My opening paragraphs contained snide complaints about what an old fogey Admiral Samuel Eliot Morrison (at that time a distinguished emeritus professor, Harvard U) was for not taking an interest in media history; Ray cut every bit of the youthful abuse from the manuscript.  It was my first exposure to a generous spirit.
Ray believed that there was both a need and an opportunity to study popular culture.  For someone trained in folklore (as Ray had been), this was not a radical notion, but “traditionalist” professors in English and history departments deplored such slumming.  A 1969 Toledo, Ohio meeting of the American Studies Association focusing on popular culture became the occasion for crystallizing random experiments into a new movement.  With cohorts Russel Nye, Tom Towers, Marshall Fishwick, and Daniel Walden—and with indispensable help from Ms. Pat Browne, Ray launched the Popular Culture Association, taking on new ideas and tasks—and, of course, passing on many to Pat who provided the electricity that kept the popular culture studies whirligig spinning at full throttle.
Ray was a Whitmanesque “democrat” who believed in the people and their goodness and had little regard for the hierarchy of officialdoms.  This democratic spirit had run him into tanglefoot during the post-WWII occupation of Germany where he served in an army artillery unit; he told me about a flare up he ignited when he leaned on an officer’s desk in Stuttgart while being “chewed out.”  (As a former officer, I took the other side of this quarrel, but did not share my more official views.)

In any case, he loved the people and wanted academics to respect the outpourings of the people in the arts.   It was not “mass culture,” it was not “pop culture”--both of which are demeaning terms--but “popular culture” that he wanted studied by the interdisciplinary scholars who were coming out of degree programs in legions during the late 1960s, young people who listened attentively to the Beatles, watched Bond, and boogied with the Bee Gees as they surveyed research opportunities.
With administrative support of a forward-thinking Provost, Stanley Coffman, Jr., and with Ray as “idea man,” BGSU planted the first crop.

II. A Vision Realized
Success can be gauged in many ways.  Ray Browne’s life was a true success because, through his professional encouragement, he inspired thousands of us to commit ourselves to studying the popular arts in a democratic spirit—with affection for average people and a respect for things ordinary.   His work has been vindicated in the publication efforts of the  BGSU Popular Press (so ably managed by Pat Browne and now in the hands of the U of Wisconsin P) which have been emulated by both commercial and elite university outlets.  Ironically, the pump was so fully primed by the Brownes that their productivity has been nearly overwhelmed by a tsunami of books from such unlikely naiads of elitism as Duke, Columbia, and Harvard. 
I encountered the Brownes as they were loading their prairie schooner and was, at the same time, influenced by such members of the wagon train as Russel Nye—who took an interest in almost any popular culture topic; Tom Towers—who loved popular culture studies because it was disreputable and found tangy ways to say so; Marshall Fishwick--who brought an intense southern sensibility to the study, and by some of their intellectual offspring from Bowling Green, to include Mike Marsden, Jack Nachbar, Sam Grogg, and Gary Edgerton…and later, Kathy Merlock Jackson, and Susan Koppelman.  (In almost every facet of the operation, Pat Browne’s influence was paramount because of her knack for carrying to completion the multifarious experiments envisioned by Ray and his professorial “dream team.”)
The Bowling Green plain in Wood County, Ohio, was—and still is—known for its fertile production of  tomatoes (canned), tomato sauce, and bottled ketchup.  In the early years of the popular culture center, the summer months found the entire city wafting with the aroma of cooking tomatoes, for the two-story, brick processing plants were within the city limits, on the southern side of town.  Out on the Ohio plain, twenty-five miles south of Toledo, Ray and Pat brought to harvest a zesty, academic 58th variety:  although some of those tomatoes withered on the vine, others became firmly rooted and flourished.  Over time, plantings were sent to young disciples. In New England, Amos St. Germaine, Peter Holloran, and James Hanlan kept the regional going after an era of pioneering by Jerry O’Connor.  In the Midwest, Fred Schroeder helped with local growth.  In the Mid-Atlantic states, Dan Walden began the task and passed it to a long list of academic leaders; the South chapter was extremely successful under the leadership of Earl Bargainnier.  In the West, Felicia Campbell still guards the popular culture vault in Las Vegas.  The Southwest/Texas chapters began as an adjunct to an annual film festival at Oklahoma State U and now thrives at an Albuquerque venue under the leadership of Phil Heldrich and Ken Dvorak.
In our 21st century, the national organizations and publications have diversified with the Journal of Popular Culture published out of Michigan State U (Ed. Gary Hoppenstand) and the Journal of American Culture from the Virginia Wesleyan U. (Ed. K.M. Jackson). John Bratzel, the Executive Director, is carrying on the tradition of energetic leadership from his office at Michigan State U.  Ray and Pat must be proud of how their plantings have flourished.
Back on the Ohio plain, the Ray and Pat Browne Popular Culture Library on the fourth floor of the Jerome Library, maintains one of the largest collections of  popular culture books, videos, and artifacts and is constantly in receipt of new materials.  One floor down on the elevator, Susannah Cleveland and William Schurk devotedly maintain a separate popular music and sound collection second only to the Smithsonian.
Along the way, I served as President of the PCA for a term, as Associate Editor of both journals and as Executive Director of PCA/ACA for a number of years.  Susan Rollins and I hosted some delightful international and regional meetings in our beloved Puebla, Mexico.  In the course of any given week during those years, it was not unusual to talk two or three times with Ray and Pat about unexpected developments.  They always provided encouragement, even when they considered some of my schemes a bit zany.  (For example, a “Wrestling Symphony” in the downtown civic center concert hall of Wichita Kansas during the annual 1993 meeting—as it turned out, a big revenue producer for the organizations.)
Through these common activities, I learned that the Brownes were a superb role model for aspiring academic leaders:

1. They defined a mission which others could understand.
2. They found ways to convince us that we had defined our role in the process.  They treated students as human beings; indeed, they often took more delight in the contributions of students than what we professors had to offer.
3. They never “pulled rank” and were always visibly working harder than any of us.  (Ray was working on book reviews until the last month or so of his 87 years.) 
4. They were interested in us as people, not just as names on badges or  programs.  This personal concern helped all of us to avoid the typical role playing that makes professional meetings so stressful for many.
5. When they felt that the effort was worthwhile, they were  ready to write letters of recommendation or to pen forewords to books.
6. They travelled to regional meetings and were available to talk  with participants, always a treat for the local folks and an  important recruiting device for both the regional and national organizations.
7. They trained many of us to carry on without them and reminded us of the ways in which popular culture studies deserved our efforts.
8. They followed up after major events to see how we were doing and to subtly share experiences (which became implicit suggestions for improvement).

Throughout, they were cheerful and constructive.  While I can remember any number of times that I aroused their ire, we always “reset” into a creative relationship because we shared long-term goals.  And it was often just plain fun.
They were family….and I thought of them as my professional Mom and Pop.  I would do—and did—almost anything for them and I could always rely on their reciprocation in helping me or a colleague--or my students.
And the students loved them…(almost) always the ultimate test.  Many are the graduate students who attended a popular culture meetings and then went back to write a dissertation about pulp novels, or film, or the images of men and women, or the messages of popular music.  Later, those same students went on to full employment and then brought their own students to regional and national gatherings.  One of those students/professors recently told me: “It's slowly sinking in for me that there is no more Ray Browne at Bowling Green.  Even though I didn't know him very well, he always seemed to be looking over my shoulder, particularly when I taught an Intro to Popular Culture course.”  Replicated many times across the nation and the world, this is testimony that the vision of  Ray Browne will live on.  He will be looking over our shoulder and encouraging us to be bold, to be innovative, and to love the humanity we study.

 

Peter C. Rollins
RollinsPC@aol.com