DAV I D R OY S H A C K L E T O N B A I L E Y

10 december 1917 . 28 november 2005

PROCEEDINGS OF THE AMERICAN PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY

VOL. 152, NO. 2, JUNE 2008

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N SATURDAY, 22 April 2006, at 3:00 p.m., a host of friends, former students, and colleagues gathered at the Ann Arbor home of the late D. R. Shackleton Bailey (Shack to his friends) to celebrate his life and scholarly achievements. This gathering was arranged by his widow, Kristine Zvirbulis, and the site chosen was the house where Shack lived and worked for the years that spanned his retirement from Harvard (1988) and his death on 28 November 2005. Those seventeen years were truly golden as measured by his scholarly productivity. Scarcely a day went by when he did not spend eight hours at his desk, in his basement study. Indeed, he could be found at that desk right up until a few months before his death, his constant companion being his favorite cat, Poppaea, who was provided with food and fresh water close by her loving master’s desk. On 22 April, Poppaea, an eighteen-pound, gray and white feline, was decked out with a handsome mauve bow to greet the guests, while the other nine feline members of the household were temporarily confined to quarters. The twenty-second was to be Poppaea’s day in the sun out of respect for her late master. Shack stories were shared on that occasion, and some of the old chestnuts were brought out for the umpteenth time in the spirit of the gathering. A few of these tales will be included in this memoir. In the world of academia, which is no stranger to eccentrics, Shack towered above most. The stories about his many idiosyncrasies are legion and are bound to be told and retold for many years to come. In writing this memoir, I am fortunate to be able to draw upon certain remembrances entitled “Uncle David,” which were prepared and distributed at the gathering in April by Shack’s niece, Gillian Shackleton Hawley. In addition to the “oral tradition” that circulated on that day in April, Shack stories abound in the obituaries written by E. J. Kenney of Cambridge (Independent, 4 January 2006), by Ruth Scodel of the University of Michigan (Times, 22 December 2005), and by Richard Thomas of Harvard (Harvard Gazette, 8 December 2005), and a few of the tales are well worth repeating here. Those writers knew Shack as both friend and colleague at the three universities where he spent the bulk of his academic career. And finally, but by no means least, this memoir will make use of some truly excellent and highly revealing autobiographical material that appears in Shack’s own publications, most conveniently consulted in his Selected Classical Papers (Ann Arbor, 1997), henceforth SCP. David Roy Shackleton Bailey came into the world on 10 December in 1917 and was the youngest of four children born to John Henry Shackleton Bailey and Rosamund Maud (née Giles). John Henry, a mathematician and member of the clergy, was headmaster of the Royal Lancaster Grammar School, and his wife, a nurse by training, for many [ 268 ]

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years capably ran School House for the boarders. Shack’s father was the first of the Shackleton Baileys, obtaining the name Shackleton by way of his mother’s family, his mother being Sarah Shackleton, who married the well-born William de Vear Bailey. (There is, I am assured by Shack’s wife, Kristine, no connection between Sarah Shackleton’s family and the famous explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton [1874–1922].) All of John Henry’s children bore the name Shackleton Bailey, which was never hyphenated but became the double surname by which David Roy was forever to be known in the scholarly world. I do, however, recall that once when Shack and Kristine paid a visit to Chicago, and my wife, Sarah, and I met them at their hotel to go out to dinner, the guest register listed him as “David Bailey,” a name that, I must confess, sounded odd to my ear. Quite a gap in years separated Shack from his two older brothers, Eric (b. 1905) and John (b. 1907), while he and his lone sister, Bobbie (b. 1913), were closer in age. Before Shack was eight, Eric and John were sent off to Oxford and Cambridge to read law and medicine, respectively. Eric achieved the distinction of being an M.P. by age twentysix, only to have to withdraw later to Australia when difficulties arose. Shack was educated at his father’s school and showed an aptitude for Classics at an early age. According to his niece Gillian, he was not made to do sports and soon earned the reputation of being the brightest boy in the school. According to an old schoolmate, his nickname in those days was “Boffles” (as reported by EJK in the Independent). In an essay entitled “A Ciceronian Odyssey” (SCP 363–68), Shack remarks that the teaching of Classics at his school was excellent, and he tells us both the nature of a self-study scheme that he adopted and how he first became acquainted with the Roman orator Cicero, especially Cicero’s letters, the particular domain in which Shack was to earn great renown and win several major literary prizes. Concerning the self-study scheme, he writes, I decided that every day I would read privately a quota of Greek or Latin, one hundred lines of verse or four pages of prose in an Oxford Text. I started with four works, taking them in daily rotation: Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex, Xenophon’s Hellenica, the poems of Catullus, and Cicero’s Catilinarian speeches. The reading was conducted on a system of my own devising. It proceeded sentence by sentence, with a dictionary and usually a translation and/or commentary for checking. The sentence would then be read aloud. At the end of a paragraph or other appropriate stopping-place, the sentences covered would be read aloud consecutively. At the end of the day’s ration, I would traverse its content in a mental review. (p. 363)

He states that he both recommended this regimen to many of his students and consistently followed it himself throughout his life, increasing,

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of course, the daily quota as his command of Greek and Latin took hold. His practice, he asserts, was always (with rare exceptions) to read works in their entirety, from beginning to end. He goes on to mention in this autobiographical essay that in 1935, shortly before going up to Cambridge to read Classics at Gonville and Caius College, he began going through the letters of Cicero in the Tyrrell and Purser edition, which until it was supplanted by SB’s own ten-volume commentary, was the English commentary on the letters. After earning a “first” in Classics, Part 1, SB opted to offer Oriental languages (Sanskrit and Pali) for Part 2. Possibly this switch was motivated by a desire to skirt a heavy dose of history and philosophy, which at that time loomed large in the Classics Tripos, Part 2 (so EJK in the Independent). Whatever the reason, this training equipped Shack to teach himself Tibetan and later to secure an appointment as lecturer in Tibetan at Cambridge (1948–68). Legend has it that when China invaded Tibet, and the Dalai Lama was exiled, the Foreign Office, anxious to find someone “who spoke the lingo,” turned up Shack’s name in some file and shipped him off to Nepal, despite his protests that he knew only classical Tibetan, which of course was true. The story further goes that the Dalai Lama, who spoke fluent French, German, and English and so did not require Shack’s linguistic assistance, took a shine to him and discovered that they shared a common passion for complex forms of solitaire like Double Demon Racing Patience. Although Shack taught few students while holding the appointment at Cambridge, which was allegedly one of the attractions of the post (EJK could turn up only three students offering Tibetan in the Tripos during SB’s tenure), he did produce a number of scholarly articles and reviews in this field during the years 1948–55. His crowning achievement in oriental languages was a critical edition of two Sanskrit hymns to Buddha by the first/secondcentury AD poet Mâtrceta (Cambridge, 1951). In a 1975 essay entitled “Editing Ancient Texts” (repr. SCP 324–35), he describes the considerable challenges that he faced in restoring the corrupt and fragmentary texts of those two poems by employing the aid of Tibetan translations, supplemented by Chinese and/or Tibetan commentaries. To return to the subject of SB’s undergraduate studies at Cambridge (1935–39), this is a good place to clarify SB’s relationship to the towering classical scholar A. E. Housman, poet and Kennedy Professor of Latin at Cambridge from 1911 until his death in 1936. More than one obituary of SB has touched upon the way in which the careers of these two great scholars intersected, and certainly the two had much in common. Both were skilled in editing and improving classical texts by means of conjecture. Both adhered to high and exacting standards and were noted for their wit. Neither suffered fools gladly. However,

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unlike Housman, Shack found in Cicero, particularly in Cicero’s letters, an author with whom he truly formed a bond. Affection for his author is a quality that we never find in the editions produced by Housman (of Juvenal, Lucan, and most especially the astronomical poet Manilius). By contrast, Shack’s genuine liking for the principal author on whom he labored can be seen clearly in the concluding remarks in his biography of Cicero (1971), where he wrote (p. 280), “Is it not time to value Cicero by other standards than his own? Not as statesman, moralist, and author, but as the vivid, versatile, gay, infinitely conversable being, who captivated his society and has preserved so much of himself and it in his correspondence. Alive, Cicero enhanced life. So can his letters do.” As for the persistent tradition that there was a student-pupil connection between Shack and Housman, SB himself writes, “I have sometimes seen or heard myself described as Housman’s pupil.” He immediately adds, “I was not that (in the sense intended), but I did attend his last lecture” (SCP 344). At least one obituary casts doubt on this story, calling it fictitious, but Shack twice relates how in April of 1936 he found with difficulty an “old-fashioned lecture room in Trinity,” where he was rewarded to hear an “indeterminate little man with a scraggy moustache” speak in a “clear but monotonous” voice on the subject of the manuscripts of the poet Catullus and his modern editors. (The experience of attending Housman’s last lecture was first recounted by SB in a talk for the “BBC Third Programme” that marked the centenary of Housman’s birth, and was published in the Listener 61 [1959]: 795–96, repr. SCP 317–23; and again some twenty-five years later in a piece for Grand Street 1984, repr. SCP 336– 45.) That one lecture was to be SB’s sole direct contact with the great man, who finally succumbed to the heart condition from which he had been suffering for some time and within a fortnight was dead. Clearly, however, the brief encounter made a lasting impression and in part no doubt influenced Shack’s decision later to dedicate his first book on a classical author, his Propertiana of 1956, “to the shade of A. E. Housman,” borrowing from Propertius (2.10.24) vilia tura damus (“I give this humble tribute”). The dedication was apropos in that it not only paid honor to a great scholar who began his career by publishing on Propertius, but also tacitly alluded to the fact, well known in scholarly circles, that among Housman’s papers was found at the time of his death a typescript containing a text and apparatus criticus of Propertius, which was duly destroyed in keeping with Housman’s instructions. Less than a decade later, Shack chose to dedicate volume 1 of Cicero’s Letters to Atticus (1965) to a favorite cat rather than to a member of the academy, but that story must be told in more detail a bit later in this memoir.

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After he took his B.A. (in 1939), war service followed at Bletchley Park. The return to Cambridge was first as a fellow of his old college, Gonville and Caius (1944–55), and from there he moved to Jesus, where he was director of studies in Classics from 1955 to 1964. The change of colleges coincides with a shift away from oriental studies in the direction of Classics, which is signaled quite prominently by the publication of Propertiana in 1956, already referred to above. That book was foreshadowed by articles on the text of Propertius in Classical Quarterly (1945, 1947, 1949), Mnemosyne (1952), and Papers of the Cambridge Philological Society (1952–53), and it instantly established SB’s reputation as a critic of tremendous talent and insight. In content, Propertiana is a collection of adversaria (notes discussing textual problems) on some four hundred–plus individual passages taken from the elegies of the first-century BC Latin poet Propertius, to which is added an appendix (pp. 268–316) comprising parallel passages and reminiscences of words and phrases in each and every poem in the four books of Propertius. In the introduction (p. ix), SB wrote that his discussions were offered “as a contribution to the improvement and understanding of Propertius’ text, a purpose which in my judgment cannot now be much advanced either by collation and re-collation of his MSS or by further discussion of their value and affiliations.” He goes on to explain that he drew the reports of the MSS chiefly from Carl Hosius’s third Teubner edition of Propertius (1932). This is a practice that we see him following later in producing new, critical editions of other Latin authors. He used, for instance, the apparatus criticus of Hjalmar Sjögren for books 1–12 of Cicero’s Letters to Atticus in constructing his own text for the Cambridge edition (see vol. 1, p. 101). Later still, the apparatus criticus of Paulo Fedeli’s 1982 Teubner edition of Cicero’s Philippics served the same function when Shack produced his edition and translation of those speeches in 1986. Indeed, over the years he won enormous respect for his ability to make use of existing evidence and arrive at the correct interpretation of a problematic passage. A good illustration of his perspicacity is furnished by a brief, two-page article in Classical Quarterly 1960 (SCP 13–14) in which he revealed, solely on the basis of information readily available to everyone in printed editions of Cicero’s speeches and letters, that the notorious henchman of the demagogue Publius Clodius was not a “Sextus Clodius,” as everyone had previously taken for granted, but rather “Sextus Cloelius.” Shack’s brilliant demonstration of this fact was adopted with alacrity by scholars in the U.K., America, and Germany. The French scholar P. Grimal, who was loath to relinquish his mumpsimus and tried to defend “Sextus Clodius” in his edition of Cicero’s in Pisonem was devastatingly refuted by Shack in a reply that appeared in Ciceroniana 1973 (SCP 15–18).

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At about the same time that Propertiana came out, Shack’s interest in the correspondence of Cicero began to revive after a long hiatus that followed a re-reading of the letters just before Shack left Cambridge for his wartime service. As he tells us in his own words, he saw in the letters “a unique opportunity for interpretative and critical advance . . . and one other thing that attracted me to them was their fecundity in historical, prosopographical, and onomastic problems” (SCP 365–66). The first project (conceived in 1954) was to have been an edition of the letters written mainly to Atticus during the six months of January to June 49 BC, when Italy was thrown into turmoil by the civil war precipitated by Julius Caesar’s crossing of the Rubicon (SCP 364). Although that plan came to naught, SB was soon engaged by Oxford University Press to share with W. S. Watt of Aberdeen the task of producing a new critical edition of the Letters to Atticus, and so we have today the OCT edition of books 1–8 by Watt (1965) and of books 9–16 (1961) by SB. That was to be, remarkably, his first and last contribution to the prestigious OCT series. All of his other critical editions (those not accompanied by translation or commentary) appear in the German Teubner series. Side by side with his work on the OCT grew his magnum opus, a text, translation, and commentary on the whole corpus of Atticus letters. This six-volume edition was published in installments from 1965 to 1968 and was capped by an index volume in 1970. It helped launch a series founded by C. O. Brink and called “Cambridge Classical Texts and Commentaries,” which today is familiarly known as the Cambridge “Orange” series. The Atticus volumes were preceded by some dozen or more articles on the text of Cicero’s correspondence and by a monograph (Towards a Text of Cicero) published by the Cambridge Philological Society in 1960. Later, at the urging of John D’Arms, his colleague at Michigan, Shack rounded out the collection by publishing in 1977 a two-volume text and commentary edition of Cicero’s Letters to his Friends (Ad familiares) and in 1980 a single volume of text and commentary on the letters to Cicero’s brother Quintus and to Marcus Brutus. The two volumes of letters To his Friends immediately received, in 1978, the Goodwin Award of Merit, which has been conferred annually since 1951 by the American Philological Association upon an outstanding scholarly publication. In the previous year, Shack had been elected a member of the American Philosophical Society; election to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences followed in 1979. Later still, in 1985, the British Academy, to which he had been elected in 1958, honored all ten volumes of his edition of Cicero’s letters as “one of the great monuments of twentieth-century scholarship” by conferring upon him the coveted Kenyon Medal. A good indication of Shack’s

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contribution to improving the text of the correspondence is that in 1988, when the ninth volume of Cicero’s letters appeared in the French Budé series, it turned out that the editor, Jean Beaujeu of the Sorbonne, had adopted into his text thirty-three of Shack’s fifty-seven original conjectures and placed a further sixteen of those fifty-seven in his apparatus (SCP 365). The period in which the Atticus volumes appeared (1965–68) was one in which another change of course is to be noted in SB’s career. In 1964 Shack returned from Jesus to his old college, Gonville and Caius, first as deputy (1964), and later as senior, bursar (1965–68). The reason commonly given for this move back to Caius is that the master of Jesus, Sir Denys Page, refused permission for a “cat flap” to be cut in the sixteenth-century oak (outer door) on Shack’s rooms in Jesus. This cat flap was intended for a white cat appropriately called Donum, for it had been a gift to Shack from Frances Lloyd-Jones. Tradition varies as to whether or not a cat flap was, in fact, cut in Shack’s oak at Jesus, despite the opposition of Sir Denys, a “dog man.” Certainly Donum was provided with his own little door by which to come and go at Caius, or so I am assured by Shack’s wife, Kristine. Although many favorite cats were to follow in Shack’s affection after Donum died at the not so ripe age of nine (having accompanied SB to Ann Arbor), none surpassed Donum in Shack’s high esteem. I have it on good authority that he was fond of remarking that “Donum was more intelligent than any human being whom I have ever met.” E. J. Kenney relates a delightful story according to which one night when Shack was entertaining guests in his rooms at Jesus, his friends became aware that their host had left their presence without their noticing his departure. Upon searching for him, they discovered him on all fours, communing with Donum under a table where both were hidden from view by a full-length tablecloth. It is widely known in scholarly circles that Shack dedicated volume one of the Letters to Atticus (1965) to Donum (“to the Gift of gifts, the whitest cat,” Dono donorum aeluro candidissimo). What is perhaps less well known but deserves to be pointed out is that “Max,” to whom Shack dedicated his Onomasticon to Cicero’s Letters (1995) was a brown tabby, originally Kristine’s cat, whose passing Shack greatly mourned. I shall never forget the day when he and Kristine rang me up to tell me the sad news and to seek what poor consolation I could offer. To this day, Max’s ashes rest in a Japanese tea container, in a place of honor on the sitting room mantel, in the Ann Arbor home. The sojourn as bursar (financial officer) at Gonville and Caius relieved SB of teaching duties, which helps account for the rapid progress in bringing out the six massive volumes of text, translation, and commentary on the letters to Atticus: volumes 1–2 (1965), volume 5 (1966),

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volume 6 (1967), and volumes 3– 4 (1968). Shack’s successor as senior bursar, Peter Brunt, pulled off a similar feat, completing his monumental Italian Manpower (1971) during his tenure of that same post at Caius (1968–70), and by what can only be described as a remarkable coincidence, Brunt predeceased SB by just twenty-three days. The move to America, where Shack spent the remainder of his life, returning only occasionally to the U.K. to see friends and family, to have his teeth attended to by his family dentist, and to hold a visiting fellowship at Peterhouse (1980–81), was in part an outgrowth of his need to find new living quarters outside of college upon his marriage (in 1967) to the ex-wife of the novelist Kingsley Amis, Hilary Ann Bardwell. John D’Arms of the University of Michigan, I am told, was instrumental in having the Classics department extend an invitation to Shack to join the faculty in Ann Arbor, where he was professor of Latin from 1968 to 1974. Hilly took advantage of the Anglophilia that was rife in America in those years to open in Ann Arbor a highly successful English-style fish and chips shop, which she wittily named “Lucky Jim’s.” Tradition has it that, to his wife’s annoyance, Shack greatly enjoyed reprising his former role as bursar by counting many a night the “take” in the till at Lucky Jim’s. In this same vein, stories abound to illustrate Shack’s appreciation for the value of a pound (or dollar), and I can vouch at first hand for the reality of several of these economy measures of his. For instance, as a one-time editor of a series in which Shack published, I vividly recall how he used to type (he never laid a hand on a computer) his manuscripts on the clean sides of old proof sheets for previous publications. Long before it became fashionable to recycle, Shack practiced this and other measures of conservation such as re-sending Christmas cards to his friends after first cutting off the name of the original sender, and steaming from envelopes stamps that by chance had escaped being canceled. Such stamps he referred to as “keepers.” During the first three years of their stay in Ann Arbor, Shack and Hilly rented from a medical colleague on an extended leave a big, old house still affectionately referred to in stories as the “morgue.” According to one of these many tales, the owners of the house had made only one stipulation when they rented the property, viz., that when they returned to Ann Arbor, they wanted to retain their old telephone number. However, when the time came to vacate the premises, Shack apparently decided that it would be more convenient for him to continue to use that number. Accordingly, in an attempt to thwart the wishes of his landlords, he physically removed from the premises every single telephone, yanking them out by their cords, when he and Hilly concluded their three-year rental. I have it on reliable authority that he could be

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seen marching down the street with the phones tucked under his arms, cords dangling. The dissolution of the marriage to Hilly (in 1974) was soon followed by a move from Ann Arbor to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where Shack accepted in 1975 an appointment at Harvard as professor of Greek and Latin, later becoming (in 1982) Pope Professor of Latin Language and Literature. During the Harvard years, there was a steady flow of publications, an average of four or five articles per year, an average of three to four reviews yearly, and such books as Two Studies in Roman Nomenclature (1976; 2nd ed. 1991), the previously mentioned editions of Cicero’s letters Ad familiares (1977) and Ad Quintum fratrem et M. Brutum (1980), the three Penguin volumes containing English translations of the complete corpus of letters (1978), Towards a Text of “Anthologia Latina” (1979), the Cambridge Green and Yellow Select Letters of Cicero (1980), Profile of Horace (1982), the Teubner text of Anthologia Latina I (1982), the Teubner edition of Horace (1985; 2nd ed. 1991), the text and translation of Cicero’s Philippics (1986), the Penguin translation of Selected Letters (1986), the two-volume Teubner edition of letters Ad Atticum (1987), Teubner editions of letters Ad familiares (1988), of letters Ad Quintum fratrem et M. Brutum (1988), and of Lucan (1988), and finally the first of three onomastica to the works of Cicero, on the speeches (1988; 2nd ed. 1992). In addition SB served as the editor of Harvard Studies in Classical Philology from 1980 to 1981 and from 1983 to 1985 (correcting the notice in Who’s Who 2006). When he reached the age of seventy in the academic year 1987–88, Shack was forced, very much against his wishes, to give up his post at Harvard and his familiar study in Boylston Hall, because in those days seventy was the mandatory retirement age at that university. The move this time was back to Ann Arbor, where he purchased a spacious white clapboard house on North Division Street and found emotional support and companionship by entering into a new marriage, this time to Kristine Zvirbulis (in 1994). The University of Michigan offered him the opportunity to teach on a part-time basis as an adjunct professor, and he continued to do so until just a few years before his death, offering his last class in 2002. To these retirement years is owed the great outpouring of volumes in the Loeb series, to which Shack contributed Latin text and splendid new English translations on facing pages. Several of the works described previously had already made known Shack’s considerable talent for putting into elegant and transparent English the works of Cicero: his six-volume Cambridge edition of Cicero’s letters Ad Atticum, his 1978 Penguin translation of the complete corpus of Cicero’s letters, and the facing translation in his 1986 text edition of the Philippics. Now there appeared during his eighteen years of retirement

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eighteen Loeb volumes, more than have been produced by any other editor in that series: three volumes of Martial (1993), eight volumes of the complete corpus of Cicero’s letters (1999, 2001, 2002), in which was now included the treatise on electioneering attributed to Cicero’s brother Quintus, two volumes of Valerius Maximus (2000), three volumes of Statius (2003), and, last but by no means least, two volumes of the Lesser Declamations attributed to Quintilian, which came out posthumously in 2006. To this period also belongs his translation of six speeches by Cicero that were delivered soon after the orator returned from exile in 57 BC, a collection appropriately entitled Back from Exile (1991). Out of consideration for economy of scale and cost, the translation is not accompanied by Latin text, but instead incorporates in its margin a key to an appendix that presents divergences from the OCT text of those speeches (pp. 227–32). Hence, the reader can see precisely how Shack would edit the Latin text. The translations in this book and in several of the Loebs (Martial and Pseudo-Quintilian, for instance) were in origin parerga to Shack’s editorial labors on the Latin texts, since he was a firm believer in and a practitioner of the principle that “ideally an editor of a text should translate it, whether or not the translation is published. The discipline is almost sure to bring out points that would otherwise go unnoticed” (SCP 366–67). A fitting conclusion to this essay on the life and achievements of this great scholar, it seems to me, can be provided by quoting Shack’s own words in his first essay on A. E. Housman (Listener 1959) in which he asked and tried to answer the perennial question concerning the value of such scholarship as both he and Housman pursued. He wrote, Housman might have agreed with Napoleon that the worst form of immorality is to engage in a calling of which one is not a master. But such anger and disgust in connexion with classical learning may seem ludicrous to people who do not reflect that a bad reading in Manilius and a world war can spring from the same moral and intellectual roots. It is easy to put down his [Housman’s] life work as a squandering of intellect upon laborious trifles. The question “was it worth while?” plunges into metaphysics. I suppose it cannot be answered, and yet, in the retrospect of such a career, it will not be put aside. . . . Shall we say that one man edits Manilius, as another climbs Everest, because it is there? But the pebbles on the shore are there, and only children count them. I am no philosopher either, but I will risk two not specially original suggestions. First, a pursuit which engages the interest of a considerable number of intelligent people can empirically be reckoned “worthwhile”. Second, a society which cares only for work that is somehow aimed at the satisfaction of its lust for power or its physical appetites . . . should be in a fair way towards an inglorious end, of bombs or boredom. (SCP 322–23)

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Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 92 (1989): 457– 70, provides a complete list of SB’s publications through the year 1988, now superseded by the updated bibliography (arranged by author and subject, rather than by year of publication, as in HSCP) in SCP, pp. 443–53. Elected 1977

John T. Ramsey Professor of Classics Department of Classics and Mediterranean Studies University of Illinois at Chicago