Message from Clare Woods, Chair, Classical Studies
In February, 2025, we lost our beloved emeritus professor, Francis Newton. As many of you know, Francis joined the department in 1967. He taught for us for over thirty years and chaired the department three times. A classicist with a research focus in western manuscripts, Francis went on to become one of the world’s leading experts in Beneventan (Central and Southern Italian) script and book culture. He retired in 1998 but continued to research, publish, and mentor students. Two of his most recent articles came out in 2023!
You can read more about Francis’ life in the beautiful obituary composed by his son, Bill Newton:
Memorials for Francis elsewhere on the web now include lovely tributes from the Ohio State Center for Epigraphical and Palaeographical Studies and the University of Casino.
I have two very early memories of Francis. The first was during my campus visit to Duke when he handed me a large paper bag emblazoned with the logo of a rather expensive chocolate company. I was surprised and then delighted to find inside not chocolates but his collection of microfilm for a Carolingian text that intersected with my research. (Only a Latin palaeographer and text critic could perhaps understand the preference for microfilm over chocolate…)
My second memory is from my very first days in the US. A newly hired Assistant Professor, my arrival was delayed by visa issues. Francis kindly stepped in to teach my Mythology and Latin Palaeography classes for the first weeks of that Fall semester. He also offered to teach one more myth class after I’d arrived, to give me a sense of a US undergraduate classroom. Hideously jet-lagged but curiously reminded of home by the near-constant torrential rain outside Allen 226 (it was a very wet and stormy Fall), I still remember his gentle manner, his erudition that welcomed any and all questions, the encouraging way he reminded the students to use their “good Duke brains”, and the olive leaves he passed around the class to give everyone a sense of an ancient Greek hillside. More than a quarter century later, I still cherish that memory of being a student in his classroom. In the years since, Francis was a welcome guest many times in my Latin Palaeography classes. It was an honor and treat for all of us to have Francis share his knowledge of Beneventan manuscripts. He once asked me – I think in connection with a joint venture to sort out our Latin palaeography resources – to let him know if I thought he was interfering (or words to that effect). “Francis,” I remember exclaiming, “I would never think that. You’re irreplaceable!”
Please take a moment to browse our memories of Francis, a truly wonderful and irreplaceable colleague, teacher, mentor, and friend.
From colleagues and friends across the university
Francis was a wonderful person whose brilliance, kindness, and desire for knowledge encouraged everyone he met. As his colleague I was especially fortunate to have experienced his hands-off guidance and trust for many years. He realized that I was not simply my teaching, research, and “colleagueship” (as Duke called it, causing both Francis and me to groan); rather, my life was also my family and outside interests. This acceptance extended to other colleagues and students and remains an inspiration; it certainly contributed to my happiness and development at Duke. Francis brought out the best in us all. The world is a less hopeful place without him, but he would surely urge us to pick ourselves up and push on for what’s right and decent.
Francis generously met with me in the summer of 2024 when I “interviewed” him about Monte Cassino. I wanted to clarify my murky remembrances of his seminal experiences there, and I was preparing a talk for a Duke Alumni trip to Italy during which we would visit Monte Cassino. What a privilege to learn about Francis’ early career and introduction to Duke, his initial forays in palaeography, and more. And indeed, Francis did feature in the talk I gave to the alums and was essential to its welcome. The slides can be viewed here:
Tolly Boatwright
Professor Emerita
Classical Studies
When my son was little, he caught a bug serious enough to land him in the PICU. But for immediate family he wasn’t allowed visitors. I let Francis know, and a day or two later I was surprised to see him walk quietly into the room. He had come to the unit, boomed in that wonderful, deep voice that he was Tomás’ family and not to be denied entry. He was family; he was not denied. He wasn’t telling stories either. Francis came to meet little baby Tomás (illustrated Mother Goose in hand) just a few weeks after we brought him home, attended Grandparents Day at his school, introduced him to Greek mythology, had us over for countless picnic pool parties, proudly displayed in his home the golden ram that teen Tomás welded for him. As the many loving stories spoken at Francis’ memorial told and told again, this was who he was, interested in others and ready to share himself. Generosity was his watchword and foundation, not least in love.
Josh Sosin
Associate Professor and Director of Graduate Studies
Classical Studies
What a gentleman he was, and such a generous scholar and teacher. May his memory be a blessing.
Sheila Dillon
Anne Murnick Cogan Distinguished Professor of Art and Art History
Art, Art History, and Visual Studies
I was so sad to learn this news about Francis. Aside from his scholarship, which is world-renowned, he was also a fabulous colleague and so supportive and collegial toward me and many others.
Rex Crews,
Lecturing Fellow
Classical Studies
Francis always set the rest of us an example of decency no matter how indecent the times.
Kent Rigsby,
Professor Emeritus
Classical Studies
Francis’ death was a huge loss not only to his family, and his friends, but to scholarship and the world of kind, gentle, unfailingly ethical people. A highlight of more recent years in our friendship was a weekly Zoom meeting. I looked forward to our Friday colloquies over the aether— they were oases in my calendar. In February of this year, Francis told me of his plans to return to working on his long-planned mythology book, helped by his daughter MaryAnna. I had read parts of the mythology manuscript, chapters in which Francis deftly married ancient mythology to modern literature and art. The week that he died, we had been scheduled to take up a chapter from his manuscript that pivoted on Camus' essay Sisyphe. With his typical eagle eye for the presence or absence of a significant detail, Francis faulted Camus for omitting from his discussion the particulars that triggered Sisyphus' punishment. I thought the omission not careless, but deliberate and significant. Camus thought Sisyphus happy in his repetitions, which to my mind befitted an existentialist, unconcerned with constructing a life-narrative whose meaning depended on origins or ends. Francis was unconvinced, as well he might have been — his gifts as an interpreter included always insisting that the work be understood in its entire context, most especially in its ancient intertextuality. It was a principle that unfailingly generated interpretive riches in his own work. But, being someone who never presumed on the basis of his own intellectual pre-eminence to dismiss others' ideas, he was willing to entertain my whimsical notion. It was that kind of exchange—congenial argument over issues we both found important and interesting—that made those Fridays so sweet.
That was the culmination of decades of Francis’ willingness to share with me his perspective on the ancient works we both so valued. The majority of what I have published Francis either read or heard about at some point. The contributions he made to those books and essays are only partially documented in my footnotes. What I could not capture in such annotations was the deep conviction he imparted to me that this all mattered very much — that every word in the libraries at Alexandria and Pergamum, in Trajan’s Forum and beyond, held not only joy and beauty, but pith and consequence for the modern world. Because those ancient texts mattered that much to him—his zeal for the rigorous scholarship that unfolded their secrets was electrifying—he always made me want to be the best version of my scholarly self.
Although that is not the version of me he met when I first came to Durham to join Duke’s Classical Studies department. My sainted mother was with me, having endured driving across the country from Utah in an un-air-conditioned Honda Civic station wagon during a sweltering summer. The night we arrived in Durham, Francis and Louise invited us to their house for beer and snacks. Mom and I looked like two bags of dirty laundry, and smelled like the Great Dismal Swamp. But Francis and Louise made us feel like two winning lottery tickets. I never forgot their kindness—and neither did my mother. Even deep into her decade-long battle with dementia, whenever I called her on the phone she would ask “And how are those two nice people we met when we drove to Durham?” Even when she could no longer remember anything else from that trip, she remembered the Newtons’ kindness.
I deeply miss talking to Francis. But what makes me smile now is to imagine he and Louise in the Pearly Gates cantina, having a friendly argument over beers with Camus.
Micaela Janan
Professor
Classical Studies
Messages from former students
I am so glad I was able to work several times with Francis and visit him at his apartment when I was at the Humanities Center a few years ago. He was as always generous with his time and ideas. My first semester as a PhD candidate in 1984 I took his Medieval Latin class and it as much as anything in that moment confirmed me in my decision. We will miss him.
Dennis Trout,
Professor of Ancient Mediterranean Studies
Classics, Archaeology, and Religion
University of Missouri
I was heartbroken to learn of Francis’ passing. I was 19 when I met him, in an independent study on Livy in the fall of 2007. My father had passed away the summer before, and I was bewildered with grief. Francis took me under his wing. Through his teaching, and the way he approached my work and thought with his special blend of sincerity, tenderness and seriousness, he showed me great care at a time when I needed it most. His compassion, his wisdom, and his friendship changed my life for the better. I will cherish the lessons I learned from Francis, the philological and ethical. He was such a good person. I can hardly convey what he means to me.
David Ungvary
Assistant Professor
Classical Studies
Bard College
I matriculated as a medievalist (English PhD) at Duke in 2017 without having taken any Latin, and Francis Newton kindly agreed to tutor me in Wheelock's (hardly a fitting use of time for an eminent Classics scholar!). So began three years of on-and-off weekly Latin lessons, sometimes 1-on-1, sometimes with a colleague or two, often in the sunlit Perk Cafe or in a study room in Perkins Library. We translated Boethius and eventually loads of Augustine. At 90 he often worked longer hours than I could manage--starting the day at 8am and working with collaborators on projects until 10pm. He loved to remind us of the North Carolina state motto: "esse quam videri", and he certainly was full of kindness with no pretense.
Throughout my often stressful PhD years, Francis's gentle presence was (I can't think of any other way to put it) a blessing. He exuded a joy and peace that I've yet to experience in anyone else's presence. Now and again he would invite me to his home in Carol Woods for tea and sandwiches, where he vetted my then-boyfriend (now husband) even before my parents got to meet him. Later on he would entertain my toddler son with the animals and children's books that he kept on hand for his special visitors. He told his friends at Carol Woods that his "special grandson" (my son) was visiting.
When I graduated in May 2023, I had the privilege of Francis performing my hooding in Duke Chapel. I was delighted and grateful that he could come, despite his needing wheelchair assistance. I cherish my time and friendship with Francis, and will dearly miss him.
Shirley Li
Digital Content Analyst
NetApp
Former student Ed DeHoratius emailed to say that he had been planning to meet Francis the following week when he learned the news of his death. Ed kindly drew our attention to the tribute he wrote for the Duke Magazine when Francis retired in 1998. You can read that tribute here:
MAGISTRO GRATIAS
BY ED DeHORATIUS
Originally published in The Duke Magazine, 1999.
Before unleashing his celebrated candor, Francis Newton, professor of classics at Duke from 1968 to 1998, wears a wide, wry grin — part exasperation, part disgusted amusement. John Geyssen Ph.D. '92 of the classics department at the University of New Brunswick reflects that “it was almost a pleasure to be criticized in that genteel Southern manner.” Having taken four courses with Professor Newton and having had him oversee my senior honors thesis, I myself grew quite accustomed to that genteel Southern criticism and can report that the key word in Geyssen’s quote is “almost.”
During my four years at Duke (and for a few afterwards), Newton censured me quite explicitly on everything ranging from not eating breakfast to insufficient preparation for class to lack of focus in considering my post-Duke future to allowing emotion to supersede more important practical matters. Yet it is through such constructive reproach that he has articulated an unwavering commitment, both personal and academic, to countless students. On the occasion of his retirement, Newton was honored last November with a symposium, Eius Dignitatis Cultores, which gave students, friends, colleagues, and family the chance to thank him formally for this commitment. We came together in appreciation of his work, including his high expectations and his dynamic classroom presentations. Although many of his Medieval Latin students may have forgotten the intricacies of the texts we studied, few can forget our awe at his strong, rich, steady rendering of Medieval Latin hymns booming over the class, interrupted only by his pleasantly stern admonition to sing more loudly. One former student describes the effect as “magical in a way, as if for a moment the Gothic buildings were more than just a façade and we could have been anywhere and anywhen.”
But Newton’s renown as a teacher is best evidenced in his enduringly popular “Myth in Literature” course. He developed the course, which often carried a wait list, to augment interest in the classics, specifically among students who would otherwise never consider enrolling in a classics course. Toward this end, he expanded the texts of the course, “challenging himself to understand and to incorporate new theoretical approaches to literature,” as former department chair Mary T. Boatwright says. In addition to reading the primary mythological accounts of Homer, Hesiod, and Ovid, among others, students considered Jung, Freud, and Levi-Strauss in an examination of the theories and psychology of myth, and they discussed W.B. Yeats and George Will when exploring the hero typology.
Newton’s commitment to all students, whether they were majors or just had an ancillary interest in classics, exemplified his integrity toward his mission as a teacher. His students, whether undergraduate non-majors in his “Myth” course or doctoral candidates preparing their theses under his direction, carry the model of his amiability and humanity well beyond the confines of his classes. Jeremy Prager ’98, who only took one class with Newton, describes how they met in Monte Cassino, when Newton gave him a tour of the town below and the monastery above: “I will never forget the kindness and interest in teaching that these acts revealed.” He concludes with an unrelated but equally revealing comment: “Dr. Newton is still the only teacher who ever asked to read other papers I had written.” Geyssen says it was Newton who “helped me recognize the human spirit that lies behind the printed word.” Roberta Stewart, Ph.D. ’87, acting chair of Dartmouth’s classics department, remembers how he taught “that the greatest tribute a student could give to a teacher was to move beyond that teacher’s particular ideas, indeed to disagree with one’s teacher — if the student moved beyond the teacher’s ideas, the teacher was a good teacher. The intellectual humility, indeed the personal humility, remains with me to this day and has set a standard for me in my own research and teaching.”
Mary Jane Morrow ’80, Ph.D. ’99, now in the history department at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, summarizes Newton’s lesson from a teacher’s point of view: “I do remember his gift for being able to be tough and compassionate at the ‘right’ times. His standards and expectations were the highest, yet he knew how to bring a student along if she or he was in a tough spot. Now that I am teaching, I realize how hard that balance is to achieve, but Dr. Newton’s example stays before me when I am unsure how to handle difficult situations.” Newton, still teaching as a professor emeritus, possesses the singular courage that all great teachers possess: to issue challenges and to trust their students to rise to those challenges. For his part, he will impart the necessary tools and information, whether in or out of the classroom; but the commitment he requires is reciprocal. Students must hold up their end of the bargain; if they do not, he makes certain to remind them. Still, he remains unflinchingly compassionate and committed to the well-being of his students, whether that means coaching them along or leveling an honest assessment of their work.
As a teacher, to echo Morrow, I have discovered the difficulty in striking that balance with students. Challenges are rarely met with initial enthusiasm. But I persist as he did with me, presuming, not without some trepidation, that my students will come to understand, as I did, the commitment and respect inherent in such challenges. Either way, I thank him for the courage to believe in me, and the respect to trust that I will rise to his challenges. His commitment to me has helped make me the teacher I am today. The closing of his graduation note to me, dated May 14, 1995, embodies my debt to him: “Perhaps the best wish I could form for you would be that [the combination of teaching and research] will bring you something like the satisfaction that it has brought me.” Indeed, Professor Newton, thanks to you, it has.
DeHoratius ’95 teaches in the Classics department at Wayland High School in Wayland, Massachusetts.