by Professor Robert Hayashi
That smile. When I recall my friend and mentor Franklin Odo, it's his omnipresent smile that I picture: a big inviting, and uplifting grin. It is hard now to imagine Morgan Hall and the Amherst campus without it for his smile not only cheered you on the gloomiest of cold New England February mornings (we got a lot of those here), but his essence was in that inviting grin. It was welcoming and uplifting. He both pulled you in with his warmth and held you up in a net of support that spanned generations and enabled scores fortunate enough to have been graced by his care. With his trademark warmth and generosity, he advised and mentored generations of undergraduates, graduate students, activists, organizations, scholars, and even prospective Amherst students—work he continued until his passing. Because his impact was so broad and sustained, outpourings of shocked grief have filled my social media feeds and email.
I had known of Franklin Odo, his legacy, for years, but came to know Franklin Odo the person while working with a group of scholars for the National Park Service developing a theme study for Asian American Pacific Islander history. It was a daunting and troubling task—jamming centuries of histories of disparate peoples into a workable and limited frame. We managed in large part due to his engaging leadership, steady demeanor, and another characteristic trait: his unflagging energy. Did he ever stop? I remember chasing him through the Metro on a field trip to Washington, DC after a snowstorm, careful not to get ditched as he scurried through the hordes of commuters.
He was also a connector: bringing people in communion as on that field trip of students from the Five Colleges who enjoyed a private tour of a new Smithsonian exhibit. I knew he would bring those qualities to Amherst, but I never imagined that he would have such an impact during his too few years here. He quickly made connections with numerous staff, faculty, alumni, members of the Five College community, and most of all with students, for whom he was a beloved mentor, respected elder, and trusted confidante. I joked with him that he was the gift that kept giving. Did he ever say, no? Not to anyone I know.
As an activist, teacher, scholar, public historian, and leader for over half a century, Franklin Odo committed himself broadly to justice and specifically to establishing a place for Asian American narratives in the national story. He was there in the nascent days of protest and possibility and became an internationally recognized figure. And after building programs in academe, he made the uncharacteristic transition to public history, becoming the founding director of the Smithsonian’s Asian Pacific American Center. Over the years, he became a polestar for generations inside and outside academe, often helping you without you ever knowing. His formidable career, coupled with his self-possession, humility, and aloha spirit reminded many they had a place in the most elite spaces and could shape them while remaining themselves. He also reminded us how much our stories matter—to us and to the nation—and of the responsibilities we have as stewards of them.
In one of those social media posts filling my smartphone, someone described Franklin Odo as like a stream: clear and consistent, which he was. But being both a water lover and witness to his many contributions, I saw him more as a whole ecosystem, a Great Lake maybe, given all that he supported and nourished.
One of his former students sent me a message after his passing. “He left me no guidebook.” I tried to assure her that he did—in how he lived: his copious curiosity, unwavering care for others, and lifelong commitment to community. In all that was in that smile.