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From Mike Bronder, Senior Taxonomist:

I'm not Tripod's newest employee, nor does Emma Taylor hold supreme tenure here, but for the last six weeks she and I have held office next to each other which, with complete sincerity, has proven to be both an instructive and inspirational introduction to Tripod life. Tomorrow is her last day working here. I have to say it like that — "working here" — because it is overwhelmingly apparent that the influence she has had on the people here will last for a long, long time; and I have problems envisioning her not maintaining the friendships she's made at Tripod and in Williamstown.

Three years ago I was bartending at a very chic little restaurant down the road called Mezze. (If this is not the first of these letters you've read, then you've doubtless heard of this place before.) This was just about the time that Emma moved to town, itself a rather monumental event for Williamstown. All of a sudden, throughout the Billsville bar scene the question was abuzz "So, who's the British chick driving around in that pickup truck?" I found myself in a position, being a rather awkward bartender in a very cool place for very cool people, to be able to say: "Oh... That's Emma... She's Tripod." I knew this because I served her drinks, and she was a cool person who would talk to me.

And that was how I identified both Emma and Tripod in Williamstown for the next three years. They both demanded notice, and they were both utterly cool (except, of course, for that geeky guy Ethan). And as I have learned more over the last six weeks, both utterly human (including, of course, that geeky guy Ethan).

And then I got a job here. This takes me back about 27 years to when my brothers tossed me over the side of a canoe and paddled away (not cool or human). Starting to work here was a similar experience, with the huge exception that all I had to do was say, "Hey... Emma?" and she'd turn her canoe my way, paddle by, and let me hang onto the gunwale for a bit — an infinite comfort (both cool and human).

Yeah? You think that's good? There's more: Once, when I was hanging from the side of her canoe, we started talking about how perfectly miserable high school was. I like to hear about miserable high school experiences. It gives me a sense of community. But Emma goes on to tell me how she got to the dining hall early one day for lunch, sat down at a table, and watched the whole cafeteria fill up around her until she was left all alone sitting at a table with nothing but a bowl of cold porridge for company. (I'm not sure about the porridge, maybe it was a baloney sandwich or ring-dings, I know little of British lunch habits.) Now, I identify with this immediately. One day, on a dare, I stuffed an entire orange into my mouth at lunch, and was left on my own when the bell rang and all of my "friends" went off laughing to study hall. The difference being, of course, that Emma was just alone, and I was stupid and alone. This, I assume, is how she ended up at Princeton, and I wound up at U-Mass.

College, it appears, was a turning point for us both. I was in awe as Emma told me this story. It is almost impossible for me to imagine that this woman (who has just been offered a position as a vice president at Nerve Magazine, who was fundamental in the building of Tripod, who rocked Williamstown just by moving into it) has ever had a moment of self-doubt or loneliness. But she told me that afternoon, that she just decided on the plane over that college would be different, that folks were just going to have to like her, and that she was in control. (In comparison, when I got to college, I just decided I wasn't going to be quite so stupid; if only I'd realized how much more I could have achieved.)

It's worked for her. Emma's cool, Emma's human. Emma's going to work for a magazine that has to say, "no, this isn't porn." I'm going to miss her. Tripod is going to miss her. Williamstown is going to miss her. And all those kids she went to high school with? They'll never realize how much they should be missing her.

Thanks Emma.

Michael (12/18/98)

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Read more "Letters from Tripod" in the archive.

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