The second in a series of personal notes focusing on gratitude.
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June 1995:
March 2021:
Dan Lynch’s most distinctive trait may have been his voice — not in the lofty literary sense, but his actual speaking voice.
It seemed to come from deep within him, as if his larynx was multi-chambered. Its rich resonance conveyed, by turns, confidence, then caution; seriousness, then amusement. One part James Earl Jones, two parts Fozzie Bear. Or perhaps one part bullfrog, two parts Kermit the Frog. There was a strong Muppet influence, in any case.
And what grand ideas and insights were expressed by this marvelous voice?
Well, Dan’s invariant daily greeting to us was this: “How’s it goin’?”
To be honest, it took me a while to get used to this opener. Here we were at an elite institution of higher learning, trying to unlock the scientific mysteries of the universe, and the brilliant professor’s conversation-starter was — this is a direct quote — “How’s it goin’?” Didn’t our gigantic tuition payments entitle us to something a bit more erudite?
In time, I realized that, for Dan Lynch, “How’s it goin’?” was actually the perfect greeting.
You see, while it was a delightful aural experience to hear Professor Fozzie describe in great detail the composition of plant cell membranes, the more important thing about Dan Lynch — the really truly important thing — was that he was utterly unpretentious. Unpretentious, humble, and appreciative of his good fortune in life. And genuinely interested in those around him.
This disposition made Dan pleasant to interact with, of course. But, beyond that, it made him perfect for gently guiding and encouraging the next generation of scientists.
When Dan offered me a research assistant position in his lab, I was excited but fearful. How could I, a mere undergraduate more comfortable in lecture than in lab, accomplish anything at all as a researcher? What novel hypotheses could I possibly come up with?
Dan was excellent at helping me plan the next experiment. He was never stumped by my often-ambiguous data; there was always a way forward. Moreover, this forward path was always discussed with a clear, simple logic that I could follow and support. Test tubes 1 and 2 gave you X, but tubes 3 and 4 gave you Y. X is what we were expecting, but Y would be more exciting. Why don’t we try it again with more tubes? It wasn’t rocket science, but it was still science.
Dan never seemed discouraged or frustrated; every roadblock could be addressed in some way. By emphasizing the very simple, very doable next step (rather than fixating on the elusive longer-term goal), he made experimental science accessible to stumbling students like me.
It’s now obvious to me that naive students can, despite their naivete, contribute meaningfully to the process of science. But this fact was anything but obvious to me in the early ’90s. I can only imagine how my life might have turned out if my first lab experience had been in a less welcoming, more competitive environment.
Thus, when I think of Dan Lynch, I don’t think of his brilliant ideas, though he certainly had those. I think first and foremost of his gentle good-natured guidance. It wasn’t flashy; it didn’t necessarily yield lots of pithy anecdotes to be retold upon retirement. But it did open the doors of science to me and countless others.
Here’s another example: Dan explicitly wished us “Good luck!” on our Biology 101 exams. It too seems unremarkable now, but, at the time, it was a nice bit of encouragement. And it must have made an impact on me because, 30 years later, I still remember it.
And so, on the momentous occasion of Dan’s retirement, I have two very important, very meaningful things to say to him.
Are you ready, Dan? Here goes.
(1) How’s it goin’?
and
(2) Good luck!
–Greg Crowther ’95
My Track Record 
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