J. Richard Steffy

So much can be said about Dick Steffy. I just want to add a short note about the measure of this man and his impact on me and some of the students he interacted with.  Dick found his way up to the Archaeological Preservation Research Lab on many occasions. His aim was always to catch up on conservation issues and to just pay a social visit. I loved his visits so much because instead of paying empty platitudes to conservation, he was genuinely interested. Also, he knew that the pursuit of conducting scientific research is often a lonely and isolating. He was an excellent sounding board for me and always, he was a gentleman.   

On more than one occasion, I asked him to come and speak to my Anthropology 216/316 Introduction to Nautical Archaeology classes. It was a treat for so many students to hear about the discipline of ship reconstruction and experimental research associated with Kyrenia. He loved coming to those classes – and students knew they were privileged to hear about his work first-hand.  When could no longer come to campus, he met with me and small groups of students at his home. Even when I knew that he was not feeling well, this is something that he felt important to do.  

Once, I called Dick and asked him visit with one particular student during his ‘next visit to campus.’ That student needed scholarly advice and some insights into picking an old-world thesis topic. He came to campus within an hour of our conversation and he helped that student immensely. This is the true measure of the man. He was always an approachable person, a true scholar, and a gentle man.   

As much as I am saddened by his passing, he has left me with a gift that keeps on giving, and I forever thankful for that.

C. Wayne Smith

Associate Professor

Center for Maritime Archaeology & Conservation

Texas
A&M
University

Karen and I had the privilege of studying in Dick’s very first class at Texas A&M some 30 years ago.  The students adored him then, as I’m sure they did for decades to come.  He was one of the wisest, most unassuming, kindest men we’ve ever met.  On the rare occasions when I would run into Dick years later, he never failed to ask after Karen by name, even though she had later pursued a career in engineering and he hadn’t seen her since she was an undergraduate.  He genuinely cared about the well-being of his students. We are both fortunate for having known him.

While neither a student of Dick’s, nor someone who had the privilege of working in the field with him on a hull, I had the pleasure of professional interaction, especially when problems of ship construction or reconstruction reared their head.  While in the National Park Service in the early 1980s, and working on shipwrecks in California, I was able to correspond with Dick on nuances of how these vessels had come together and come apart - in a way, with all that he sent along, it was a bit like distance education. 

That generosity of spirit and his love of sharing knowledge epitomized Dick Steffy.  He was truly a gentleman and scholar, and everyone who met him, or had the pleasure of a consultation or congenial conversation not only came away better educated but absolutely delighted.

The measure of the man is found in more than the hulls he reconstructed, or in the publications.  It is in the legacy he leaves in those he taught, and the love that all feel for him.  I imagine he’s busy in conversation with Noah right now, immediately grasping the details on how to build a ship big enough for all the animals, two by two.

God speed and fair winds, Dick.  We’ll miss you.

Although I had the privilege of helping Mr. Steffy on occasion while working in the Old World Projects lab, I can’t number myself among those fortunate enough to have studied with him. But his knowledge, wisdom, and kindness reached far–as they will long continue to–and I feel indeed fortunate for that. My deepest sympathies to his family and friends. I join in both your grief and your admiration for the life of a fundamentally good and exceptionally talented man.

I first arrived in College Station in 1984 as a freshly-scrubbed graduate from
New York.   Suffering from culture shock, I managed somehow to find my way out to the annex where the nautical program was based at the time.  Once there the secretary walked me over to the ship lab to meet Mr. Steffy.  Although he was busy, he took the time to chat with me about things, particularly carpentry.  I clearly knew next to nothing about boats, except that they floated and often sank, but Mr. Steffy did not mind.  His kindness made me feel right at home.

Over the years the ship lab always felt welcoming- the scent of the wood, the drafting paper and tools, and the presence of a very kind gentleman meant a lot and made difficult times easier.  Mr. Steffy will be missed.

Although we had collaborated for nearly a decade, since Dick wrote to me in 1963 asking if he could build a research model of the seventh-century Byzantine ship I had just written about in National Geographic, it was a trip to the New Jersey shore in late 1971 that changed our lives. Susan Langston, a woman whom we did not then know, called to say that a storm had uncovered part of a wooden hull on the beach outside her house, and wondered what it was from. By then Dick had spent considerable time in Cyprus, working with Michael and Susan Katzev to reassemble the thousands of fragments of the ancient Greek hull the Katzevs had excavated and raised off Kyrenia. He and I agreed not only to have a look, but to make a day of it by driving there with our wives, Lucille and Dick from Denver, PA, and Ann and I from Philadelphia. As Susan Langston wrote much later in the AINA Newsletter, Dick “said that there was not enough of the hull to enable him to project the lines, but that the construction was similar to that of downeasters built between 1880 and 1910.” From archival research, Mrs. Langston had learned that the hull was from the George R. Skofield which was indeed built in Maine in 1885 and stranded (and photographed) on the beach in 1920!

On the drive home that day, Dick, ahead of me, pulled his car off the highway and motioned for me to stop. He then walked back to my car and told me that he had decided to give up his family’s electrical contracting business to become a professional ancient ship reconstructor. I told him he was crazy, that he had a wife and two sons to think of, that they would starve. He responded that he could always return to the electrical contracting business, but he had to give this a try, for he would only live once.

Fred van Doorninck, who had also been collaborating with Dick on the Byzantine ship, and I had been musing about the possibility of establishing a private institute that would be devoted solely to shipwreck archaeology, but at that point neither of us had taken any concrete steps toward its formation. Surely Dick’s words, his courage to follow his passion, served as the catalyst that finally made me do something, to resign a tenured position on the University of Pennsylvania faculty to follow my dream. Just as Lucille stood behind Dick’s decision, Ann stood behind mine.

The headquarters of this new institute devoted to shipwrecks, now INA, was on Cyprus, where Dick was working on the Kyrenia hull, so we could be together with the Katzevs. But following the outbreak of war on that island, we all moved away. Ann and I moved to Denver, PA, to be near the Steffys. Daily, usually over coffee, Dick and I talked about the future of the institute. When the University of North Carolina offered us a base, we drove together from Pennsylvania to Wilmington, NC, to look for homes to buy, talking all the way down and back about the future. Then Texas A&M University made a counter offer that was better, so we came to College Station instead, soon joined by Fred. There, at first, Dick and I lived even closer together than we had in Denver, for by chance we bought houses just around the corner from each other. We saw one another frequently outside of our offices, our families often sharing Christmas or Thanksgiving dinner.

The rest is known to anyone who reads this. INA and the Nautical Archaeology Program at Texas A&M grew and succeeded beyond our expectations. How different both our lives might have been without that drive to the New Jersey coast.

It is so hard to find people who like what they do so much, are this good at it, and so humble about their genius. Thank you, Mr. Steffy, for sharing your immense knowledge, and thank you for being such a great inspiration to us all. 

It won’t surprise anyone to know that for all of us, memories of Dick Steffy bring a smile in happy remembrance of his warmth, quiet encouragement, understatement, trusting confidence and pleasure of a good joke. Dick loved Lucille and his family dearly, and gave us all a model of how to bring our passion for our work into a balanced life. His vision, near-lyrical presentation of what could be dry and tedious data, and conviction that the people of the past could be detected in those grotty bits of wood inspired all of his students and colleagues, and we are the better for it. But the impact he made on our shared exploration of seafaring, strong as it is, is still less than the personal impact he made on each of us. More than once he told me that the most exciting thing he was doing was driving southeast of College Station or flying off for a visit to spend time crawling on the floor with his grandchildren.

My condolences to all his family, and my thanks for sharing him with us.

I wanted to thank everyone at INA for the support these past few days and for setting up this site. In particular, Claudia LeDoux and Wayne Smith deserve special recognition for everything they did for Dad, especially during the past year when he struggled with his health.

As many of you know, Dad spent most of last January in the hospital. He returned home, hoping to regain enough mobility to return to his computer. As his health declined and it became clear he needed more care, he decided to move into a nursing home. As we looked for a place, he had only one question in his search criteria: could he have a laptop in his room? Once he moved in, I couldn’t get the DSL connection hooked up fast enough for him.

When he wasn’t able to type, he would call colleagues and discuss his ideas. He never stopped thinking about ships. In his final days, when doctors came to check on him, they often wound up talking about Dad’s work more than his health.

The morning before he died, George Bass and Cemal Pulak stopped by. Dad could barely speak, but as Cemal talked of a new find in Turkey, I could see the familiar twinkle in Dad’s eye. His smile said it all. He was taking in every detail.

After they left, he said in a barely audible whisper, “that was nice.” A few minutes later, he he dozed off and never regained consciousness. I can’t imagine a more fitting ending to his life than to share a final conversation about ships with old friends.

On behalf of my family, I want to extend our heartfelt thanks for all the thoughts, prayers and support. Dad would be overwhelmed, as are we.

Dick Steffy was one of the most influencial individiual on my career. Not only was he a great scholar but also an outstanding example of how a scholar should comport oneself in relation to students and collegues. All of us who had the priviledge of studying under him have lost a mentor and friend. I feel sorry for the future students who will not have the chance to know him. I He was the true definition of the phrase “a scholar and a gentleman.”