Stephen W. Jubb

Steve, Stanford University, 1969 I had been introduced to Steve once in the spring of 1967. A year later, while taking a different route back to my dorm from a seminar, I saw Steve rushing late (not unusual) to a class. We both stopped and embarked on a long conversation as if we had been friends for a long time. He invited me to his dorm for dinner Saturday night, and we went to the Sunday flicks together the next night, stopping at the coffeehouse afterwards and talking for hours. I was deeply attracted to this man and moved by his words. We saw each other every single day or night after that, for the entire spring quarter. In the summer, he had a job loading box cars (thanks to the Stanford Athletic department) in Los Angeles, and would drive down to see me as I anxiously awaited his arrival to my house in San Diego (and for my parents to fall asleep…) This is how we began our 50 years of love and life. Steve was at Stanford on a football scholarship; he was one of only a handful of players who didn't join a fraternity, a guy who wore Nehru jackets and read that little red book of Mao Tse Tung sayings on communism. We took literature classes from our favorite professor, Steve's advisor, who was a Communist. We talked about socialism and joined protests on campus against the US bombings and wars in Southeast Asia. Family and community, creativity, and a commitment to social change have been key elements of our life together. Steve went from being a musician to a teacher, a journalist during our years in Cuba, and finally an educational activist, working for equity in our broken school system. He was an active and loving father to our own children and mentored many other young people as they waded through life choices and challenges. He was also a fun loving grandfather to our three granddaughters, dancing or boogie boarding with them; or swinging them high in the air, as close as they could get to flying! When Alzheimer's forced him to stop working in 2015, he felt a deep loss. All my life, Steve opened up new avenues of learning for me as well as for himself and those he worked with. He was one of the most sensitive, generous and courageous people I know. His conversations were profound, and often took you through a bumpy journey to a unique place of new insights (that questioning talent he had). He was an avid reader, loved science, science fiction, and books stimulating new ways of thinking about society, learning, and life. Steve was at home in the ocean or under it. He learned to scuba dive and encouraged me to do so. We would dive together, holding hands 90 feet under water in the vast silent universe where we would slow down and just be. During one dive, I remember him pulling my fin to keep me from being tempted to go too far in my exploration of the dark blue depths. And during another dive, we had to come up early and I ended up towing him in through seaweed and swells. I think that is what we were for each other, a springboard into new thinking and adventures, and a tether to ground ourselves at the same time.