By Judy Nichols
Alan Matheson is a near-mythical character, brilliant but humble, a leader with no ego, a husband and father who never raised his voice, a man distressed by injustice who dedicates his life to the law, a man who has lived a life in service to his family, church, community and students.
He and his wife, Milicent, have been married for 46 years, and have three sons, two of whom became lawyers and one a doctor, and 12 grandchildren.
He left his close-knit family in Utah in 1967 to join the upstart law school being formed at Arizona State University, and his wise but gentle hand supported the Indian Legal Program, shepherded the plan to form the Center for the Study of Law, Science, & Technology, and helped guide the College's growth into a nationally recognized and respected institution.
"No one has given more to Arizona State University or the College of Law than Alan Matheson," said Patricia White, dean of the Sandra Day O'Connor College of Law. "He served on the founding faculty of the law school. He has served as dean on five occasions. He has served as president of the faculty senate and as a member of innumerable committees.
"Throughout all of this he has been a wonderful teacher to thousands of students, an important member of the legal community and one of the kindest human beings you could imagine."
Matheson's calm, gentle demeanor has been compared to a Jimmy Stewart movie character.
"The signature characteristic of Alan Matheson in all the capacities in which I have known him -- dean, associate dean, colleague, friend -- is his warmth, understanding and graciousness," said law professor Michael Berch, who has worked with Matheson since joining the law school in 1969. "Any recipient of his handwritten, black-penned, 4-by-6 note, instantly recognizes this feature of the man. So many who have touched Alan are so much the better for understanding through his example, compassion, and human dignity."
A Cedar City Beginning
Alan Adams Matheson was born in Cedar City, Utah, on Feb. 2, 1932, the third of four children in a large, extended Mormon family from southern Utah.
His parents met when they had the leading roles in a touring play company and, despite being engaged to other people, fell in love.
His father, Scott Milne Matheson, was the 12th of 13 children of Scottish immigrants. He was the only member of his family to go beyond the eighth grade, attended the University of Chicago and became United States Attorney for Utah. "Law firms used to send their new associates to watch him in action," Matheson said.
Matheson used to visit his father's office, wondering at all the law books, but his father tried to discourage him from going into law.
"He didn't think my personality was suited to being a lawyer," Matheson said. "He thought I should be a university professor."
Matheson's mother, Adele, was a strong voice in the family.
"She was a calming, nurturing influence, an artist, very loyal and wise," Matheson said. "And my father had an amazing sense of humor. He could make humor out of the moment. He was the smartest man I ever knew."
Matheson has an older sister, Bonnie (Anderson), now retired in Salt Lake City; an older brother, Scott, now deceased, who was the governor of Utah (Scott's widow, Norma, still lives in Salt Lake City), and a younger brother, Steve, (wife, Lorna) who is a retired dentist in Salt Lake City.
He grew up in Salt Lake City, but spent idyllic summers in Parowan, Utah, where both sets of grandparents lived.
"On every corner of the town, I met a cousin," said Matheson, who had numerous aunts, uncles and more than 60 cousins, many of whom were his age.
"My childhood was lots of fun," Matheson said. "I could walk to school. At night we'd play Kick the Can and Run, Sheepy, Run. There were always lots of children around. There was no television. It was a big event to listen to something on the radio. We played a lot of board games."
At 12, he started working summers at his uncle's farm in Lovell, Wyoming, sometimes alongside German prisoners of war, weeding pinto beans and thinning sugar beets.
Matheson attended East High School in Salt Lake City, where he was on the debate team, in choir and drama, and his brothers were on the state championship tennis team and state championship basketball team. He developed a love of history, government and English.
Matheson followed his brother and sister to the University of Utah, where he majored in political science, was the student body treasurer, president of the Sigma Chi Fraternity and won a Sigma Chi International Balfour Award for
leadership, scholarship, fraternity service and character.
He would eventually earn a bachelor's degree and a master's degree in political science, as well as a law degree, from the University of Utah, where he was
editor-in-chief of the Utah Law Review.
He considered politics briefly, but decided against it.
"I was intrigued as I saw my brother run for governor, but became alienated from the idea because of the way candidates are exposed to the public."
Martin Zachreson, a retired attorney in Mesa, knew Matheson in college, and helped him run for student body president.
"It was a big thing, when he was a junior, for him to run for student body president," Zachreson said. "We wanted to run him as a pluralist candidate, a common, plain man of the people.
"We conceived the idea that everyone in the fraternity would borrow their father's car to drive around campus with campaign signs on the side. But everyone else in the fraternity was from a wealthy family, and the cars were all new Cadillacs. It wasn't quite a people's campaign. Needless to say we lost to a guy who was a socialist with communist leanings. It was the end of Alan's political career."
Into the Service
Matheson and Zachreson were both drafted in 1953 and did basic training together at Fort Ord.
"We went to clerk-typist school for eight weeks," Zachreson said. "Our training officer was an idiot, and Alan was a Phi Beta Kappa college graduate going onto bigger things. But Alan never said a word, just did what he was told."
Eventually, Zachreson went to France with an engineering battalion, and Alan went to Heidelberg, Germany, where he was an office clerk working with special forces units.
The two met in Heidelberg for Christmas one year and were invited to dinner by a family they met at church.
"There's a picture of us in our Army trench coats in front of the Heidelberg Castle," Zachreson said. "That's what I call the Day of the Siege on Heidelberg Castle."
Today, the old friends get together once a month for dinner.
"We chat," Zachreson said. "He's not one for small talk.
"He loves what he's doing. A couple of months ago, he told me, 'I think things turned out just the way it should be for me. I love my work.' "
A Master's and a Meeting
When Matheson returned from the service, his father had been diagnosed with heart problems and was declining in health.
Matheson began work on a master's degree at the University of Utah, where he could also help his mother, who was working at the university with a young woman named Milicent Holbrook.
"I was serious about someone else," Milicent said. "One day, Adele said to me, 'I wish you were free to meet my son, I think you would make a wonderful couple.' "
The two were introduced that September.
"I was very impressed," Matheson said. "But I thought there was a barrier. I thought she was taken."
Milicent was impressed, too, and by December, the "serious" boyfriend was no longer in the picture.
She made sure she and Alan bumped into each other regularly.
"He was good to his mother, and would pick her up from work every day," she said. "I made sure I was at the mailboxes at that time collecting everyone's mail."
Their paths would continue to cross, and not by accident.
A Life in the Law
Matheson thought about a career in the foreign service.
"I took the exam and passed, but they had no positions available," he said. "While I was waiting, I decided to start law school. By the time they offered me a position, I was halfway through my law studies and decided I liked it."
The law school at the University of Utah was small, but had leading faculty, including Sanford Kadish, who became the dean of the law school at Berkeley; Edgar Bodenheimer, who went on to the University of California at Davis; Daniel Dykstra, who went on to be the dean at UC-Davis; and Spencer Kimball, who became the dean at Wisconsin and executive director of the American Bar Association.
"I loved law school," Matheson said. "Not everyone feels that way. I found it a challenge, learning in a new fashion. It provided a different mode of thinking."
In 1958, while Alan was attending a Saturday class, he received word that his father had died of a heart attack.
"It was a terrible loss," Alan said. "He was such a supporter, an engaging, loving presence. We talked about courses. He helped me clarify issues. He was a real mentor."
Earl Wunderli, a retired attorney in Salt Lake City, met Matheson at the University of Utah, taking an undergraduate class together, then law school.
Wunderli remembers that Matheson, who was editor of the Law Review, grasped concepts more quickly, and even had better penmanship.
"I remember we once talked to a group of doctors about legal matters," Wunderli said. "He seemed to know the material so much better than I did. He was just that far ahead of me."
Wunderli graduated third in the class; Matheson first.
They had a quiet but strong friendship, and even discussed starting a law firm together.
"I don't remember ever just talking with him about things," Wunderli said. "He was just a self-effacing nice guy, who everyone would love."
Wunderli and his future wife, Corinne, double-dated with Matheson and Milicent.
"We had no money in those days, and just got by on a date as well as you could," Wunderli said.
Corinne said they thought it was a secret that Milicent set her hat for Matheson, but Milicent readily admits it today.
Once he started law school, classes were held in the main administration building, where Milicent's aunt worked.
"At lunch, I dropped by as the law students would come trickling down from upstairs," Milicent said.
Alan was busy with his law studies and family, but they began dating on and off.
New York Beckons
Before graduating from law school, Matheson was recruited by Columbia Law School in New York to be an Associate in Law, a position similar to a writing instructor.
Milicent was finishing her bachelor's in elementary education, and knew Alan was planning to do his post law studies at Columbia. She lined up job offers in New York, San Francisco and Utah.
"I was aware he was going to New York and with three teaching offers, I asked his advice."
Matheson replied, "I'd like to have you in New York."
"That was all I needed to hear," Milicent said.
Matheson lived in Manhattan and Milicent in East Northport on Long Island Sound.
She would ride the train into the city each Saturday, and they would go to plays, musicals, the opera or dinner.
"That's where our romance blossomed," Matheson said. "It was idyllic."
"I won his heart," Milicent said. "Every Saturday, I would bring baked goods and put them in a locker at the Penn Station. At the end of the night, just before I got on the train, I would give him the key to the locker. I would get on the last train, and Alan would go back to his lonely room."
It was at the musical, The Music Man, when Matheson held her hand during the song, Till There Was You, that Milicent knew he was in love.
In May of that year, after a weekend of boating, Matheson's cab was coming to pick him up.
"I said, 'The school is going to renew my contract. Why don't we save the rental on your apartment and share an apartment?' " Matheson said.
"He jokes that I took that to mean marriage," Milicent said, laughing. "At that time, I knew what he meant."
Later, standing in the garden at St. Patrick's Cathedral, he gave her a ring, and they were married on Aug. 15, 1960.
They lived in an 11th-floor apartment owned by Columbia, and Milicent commuted to Long Island to teach first grade. Matheson's salary was $4,500; Milicent made about $200 more. They lived on Matheson's salary and saved hers, which they later used for the birth of their first child.
"We were very busy," Matheson said. "Our favorite activity was to go to Upper Broadway and walk along and watch people. We couldn't afford to do anything else."
On January 24, 1962, Alan Adams Jr. was born. David Scott arrived on January 23, 1964, and John Robert on December 13, 1969.
The three boys, all husbands and fathers now themselves, say they never heard their father raise his voice in anger.
"He was so patient," said Alan Jr., 45, who also became a lawyer and is now executive director of Envision Utah, a public policy non-profit in Salt Lake City that is involved in planning for long-term growth, including transportation and land use.
"I don't remember him getting angry. His influence came in the form of respect, never fear. I never wanted to do anything to disappoint him."
David, 43, a lawyer with Perkins Coie in Portland, Oregon, said his father deftly handled the demands of work and family.
"I thought growing up that it would be easy to be a father and husband," David said. "Now I realize how hard it is. He always handled things smoothly, effectively."
John, 37, medical director of the emergency department at Kadlec Medical Center in Richland, Washington, said family always came first.
"You felt he truly wanted to be with his family," John said. "He always arranged his schedule to be with us and was interested in all our activities."
Talk around the dinner table ran the gamut.
"It usually started with a discussion of what was going on in our lives, then things that were raised in his law classes, then issues of the day," Alan Jr. said. "We thought he knew everything. We could talk about virtually any subject and he'd have plenty to say about it.
"There's nothing better when you're in school than to have a walking encyclopedia. It was like having the Internet before there was the Internet."
All three said their father always had time for sporting events and homework, including a private tutorial on community property for Alan Jr. as he prepared for the Arizona Bar Exam.
"It's only now I realize that he spent time with us, then when we were in bed, prepared for class and dealt with other challenges at work," Alan Jr. said.
Alan Jr. said his parents' relationship has always been inspiring.
"His love for my mother is unquestioned," Alan Jr. said. "He was always helping around the home. He always spoke to her and about her with the utmost respect. It was always clear they loved each other. I never heard them have a fight.
"I wish my kids could say the same."
"No one's more humble with less cause," Alan Jr. said. "You'll never hear about his accomplishments from him. Always from someone else.
"He was always my measure of manhood and he still is."
Matheson was so "by the book," that the boys remember a traffic violation when Matheson was pulled over near Gammage for crossing over a solid white line.
"I remember him being very polite," Alan Jr. said. "He didn't get a ticket, but got a warning. We thought it was scandalous."
To this day, Matheson has never had a traffic ticket.
"He handled challenges with wisdom, a measured response, and usually humor," said Alan Jr.
David remembers his father comforting him night after night when he had nightmares about tornados after seeing The Wizard of Oz.
"It seems to me like it was every night," David said. "But it must have been a couple of times every week I'd wake up screaming. He would patiently come in and calm me down."
The boys were always encouraged to apply their minds.
"He loves political science, history, concepts, and public policy," David said. "He is always reading biographies, histories, policy-based books.
"Academic achievements were just assumed. If there were challenging courses, you would take them, and Mom and Dad would be there to support you."
Money was never a goal.
"He's not motivated by material gain or by being in the spotlight," David said. "He loved his job, loved the university, loved his family. It shows in what he does."
For years, including as dean of the law school, Matheson drove an old Honda or a Toyota Corolla, or rode his bike to work.
"I thought he should get another car," David said. "But I loved that about him."
The boys often visited at the law school.
"We used to sit in his office and go through the drawers looking for candy," Alan Jr. said. "We were thrilled because our photos were on the wall."
"He loved his colleagues and founding an organization," David said. "There were deep ties there. You can tell that he obviously cares about the school. He wants it to be developed into a top institution."
When Matheson took a sabbatical in England, he made time for family trips to Norway, Italy and France.
"He went out of his way to make sure we appreciated some of the culture of those areas," Alan Jr. said. "We parachuted into a new community for six months. But we felt comfortable out of our element because we were at home. It wasn't the place, but the people we were with."
John calls his father "a man without guile, brilliant but never stuffy, always humble."
He never held back his feelings.
"He was very up front with his emotions, very expressive and tender," John said. "I always felt loved, was told I was loved, and was shown I was loved. It had a big impact."
Matheson would go the extra mile to help John understand his schoolwork.
"I remember times he would take the book I was reading and read through the chapters so he could discuss it with me," John said. "It was not, 'This is the answer you want,' but 'Here are some things to consider.' "
"They supported whatever we wanted to do," John said. "I don't think any of us pushed the limit by wanting to join the circus, but if they believed that would make us happy, they would have been supportive of that."
The Next Matheson Generation
Now, Matheson has 12 grandchildren: Alan Jr. and Laura have three - Colton, Sarah and Carter; David and Lynn have four - Erin, Mallory, McKenna and Brandon; and John and Angie have five - Derek, Megan, Christian, Emma and Brett.
Matheson participates in epic Monopoly battles and games about invisible chipmunks and often becomes a human billboard covered in stickers.
"My kids just adore 'Pa,' " Alan Jr. said. "He will play games as long as they want. He never says he has something else to do. They think he walks on water."
John said he sometimes asks his parents to stay with his five children.
"Occasionally, we have used their services to take care of the kids when we go somewhere, and they make it seem like we're doing them a favor by letting them come and take care of our kids for a week," John said. "It's more important than anything else to them. They have a genuine desire to be with the family."
After Columbia University, Matheson's mother had been diagnosed with cancer, and he moved back to Salt Lake City, becoming an assistant to the president at Utah State University.
Byard Wood, a professor and department head in mechanical and aerospace engineering at Utah State University, met Matheson in 1970 when Wood joined the faculty at Arizona State University.
"He's just the highest quality of person I have ever met in terms of graciousness, in terms of loyalty to friendships and institutions and in terms of unselfishness," Wood said. "He's the same in his personal life as he is in his professional life. He personifies graciousness."
Wood recalled an elderly woman in the congregation who was widowed and needed a ride to church.
"From her perspective, it was improper for her to be seen with a married man," Wood said. "But Alan was so above reproach, that she let him drive her to church every Sunday. He did that for several years.
"Integrity is what you do when nobody knows," Wood said. "He has the kind of integrity that, if we all had, the world would be a better place."
Wood thought he might pursue a law degree and sat in on one of Matheson's classes.
"He is a superb communicator of course material of constitutional law," Wood said.
"He has never become tired of the challenge of the academic setting. It invigorates him."
Wood called Matheson's move to Arizona bold.
"He was certainly destined for excellent positions here in Utah, as much on his own abilities as his family's history," Wood said. "Moving to the desert of Arizona was quite a bold move. Tempe, at the time, was not much at all. He was abandoning a sure thing for something that could have been very problematic.
"I don't think he regretted it at all. His family flourished in Arizona."
Arizona State University
Matheson was recruited by Willard Pedrick, the first dean of ASU's law school, and Homer Durham, ASU president at the time, and hired as unofficial university counsel and associate dean of the law school.
The family left Utah on Dec. 18, 1967, in a blinding snowstorm, with a truckload of Christmas presents for the kids.
"The extended family was not happy with us," Matheson said. "They thought it was a temporary sojourn. We love our families, but I think it was the best thing we ever did. We were on our own. It was healthy."
Matheson was counsel to the president, but there was no provision for a legal officer for the university. He worked with Durham on issues like employment discrimination, relations with Tempe, authority of the university with trust lands and authority of university police.
"I liked it but, right away, I found myself pulling toward the law school," Matheson said. "In 1968, I became full-time associate dean of faculty and taught the first class of administrative law.
"It was wonderful, starting from scratch," he said. "You felt you could really have an impact on the operation."
"Willard Pedrick was an extraordinary man - the perfect choice to start a new law school. He was intelligent, creative, innovative, enthusiastic, and a super salesman. He literally sold the law school to the state and outstanding legal scholars."
Matheson praised the other founding faculty.
"We all became fast friends," he said. "You couldn't find finer people."
Matheson helped plan the dedication of the law school, which featured a speech by Chief Justice Earl Warren, of the U.S. Supreme Court, considered by many in Arizona to be too liberal.
"The Governor refused to come, and there were protestors outside Gammage with signs that said, 'Impeach Earl Warren,' " Matheson said. "But he got a standing ovation."
Classes were being held in the old library on the mall. Faculty started moving into the new building.
"Some of the offices were still empty and students would move in and appropriate the space," Matheson said. "We had to kick them out to move faculty in."
The law school's curriculum was innovative, Matheson said, concentrating on clinical education, with an Office of Legal Services, and increased diversity in the legal community.
"When the law school started, Phoenix had no black lawyers, no Native American lawyers, few women lawyers and possibly a few but not many Hispanic lawyers," Matheson said. "In the first class, there were two black students, five
Native Americans, an Hispanic, and six women."
The classrooms were set up in a V-arrangement, an innovative concept designed to encourage exchange.
When Pedrick went on sabbatical in 1972, Matheson became Acting Dean. He was Interim Dean again in 1978-79, after Ernest Gellhorn left to become dean of the University of Washington Law School. And in 1979, Matheson was appointed Dean, a position he held for five years, after which he went back to teaching full time. In 1989, he was Acting Dean before Richard Morgan came to be Dean of the law school. And again in 1997-98, he was Interim Dean until Patricia White was appointed.
Matheson said he moved easily between faculty and administrative roles, maintaining good relations with colleagues, even after stepping in as the boss.
"When you're an administrator, you have to make decisions about personnel, including salaries and teaching schedules that affect people's lives," Matheson said. "And a law faculty is a demanding group. They are smart, engaging, interesting, but very independent."
Judge William Canby, of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit and a founding faculty member of the law school, met Matheson when he came to ASU.
"We were all a lot younger then," Canby said. "He was a very engaging and good-spirited person, and was excited to get the law school started."
Canby said Matheson's contributions are too many to catalog.
"Over the years, his biggest contribution has been to the thousands of students he taught," Canby said. "They really responded to his teaching."
Canby said Matheson kept a lot of balls in the air as the associate dean, and was always very supportive of the Indian Legal Program, on which Canby serves as a member of the Board of Directors.
"There are the kind of managers who intensify problems, and the kind who calm things down," Canby said. "Matheson has been a calming influence, which isn't to say he doesn't have a firm view. He does, but he always expresses it in a way that minimizes antagonism rather than intensifies it.
"The first time he became dean, there had been a lot of contention. He put things back in order."
Canby said he counts Matheson as a friend.
"He wears so well," Canby said. "It's like comfortable clothing. You don't notice you've got it on. He wasn't a character, in the sense of doing something strange or outrageous, just a very, very, very solid citizen.
"He's done a lot of good things, and hasn't done any harm."
It's a Party
Faculty all remember the parties at the Matheson home, when Milicent cooked for 80 or more people. She made paella, homemade rolls, chicken, and beef.
"I cannot think of Alan without also noting the most gracious First Lady of them all, Milicent Matheson," Berch said. "Who will ever forget the events at her home, just one way in which she exhibited the steadfast devotion to Alan and to the school."
At one faculty party, they had tables set up outside, and it started to rain.
"Everybody grabbed a table and took them inside," Matheson said. "We set one up in the front entryway, one in the kitchen, one in the bedroom. One time, the day of the party, the oven went out and Milicent farmed all the food out to neighbors."
Not having funds for catering, Milicent and Matheson would prepare all the food.
"Once we de-boned 120 chicken breasts," Milicent said.
And afterwards, Matheson would help with the dishes.
"He was a '90s husband before his time," son, David, said.
Matheson is an avid reader. He reads the New York Times and Wall Street Journal every morning, takes a walk and teaches an 8 a.m. class. He swims every day.
A Leader Without Ego
One of the riddles about Matheson is how he rises to leadership in every area of his life, but without any apparent ego or desire for status.
Over the years, he has served with the American Bar Association, the Law School Admissions Council, as President of the Tri-City Citizens Mental Health Board, on the Board of Directors for the Arizona Center for Law in the Public Interest, as Arbitrator for Maricopa County Superior Court, as Pro-tem Judge for the Arizona Court of Appeals, on the DNA-People's Legal Services' Board of Directors, which helps provide legal services to low-income people on the Navajo and Hopi reservations, and currently as President of the ASU Retirees Association.
"The cream rises to the top," said Les Smith, vice president for University Development at the ASU Foundation, who met Matheson when he came to the law school to do foundation work. "He's not the kind of person to get in your face, blowing his own horn, looking for accolades.
"His actions speak louder than his words; he becomes a leader by his actions."
Wood said Matheson's discretion is exemplary.
"He and I were personal enough that I could complain to him," Wood said. "But he would never engage in criticism of another person. He would engage in criticism of ideas or policies, but never in demeaning someone else.
"A lot of us try to master that and fail miserably. We like to talk scuttlebutt.
"His ability to lead by example is so self-evident that when people are looking for leadership and he's on the radar screen, he will always shine."
A Man of Faith
Mormonism has always figured strongly in Matheson's life. His paternal Scottish grandparents converted from the Presbyterian faith. His grandmother, the daughter of a ship's captain, fled after her sisters tried to smother her when they learned she had become a Mormon.
Matheson personally and quietly spreads charity, supplying Christmas trees to families who don't have one, buying a plane ticket home for a young member of the church to spend the holidays with his family, providing words of encouragement to a troubled student.
"Ethics and charity have been the guiding lights in his life," Alan Jr. said.
Matheson has been on the Stake High Council, and currently serves as a Bishop for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, counseling about 300 young, single, adult members.
Matheson invites the members to his home for dinners, counseling, and
"They face difficulties because of the challenges brought into their lives by technology and the internet," Matheson said. "And because of the stress of competition. I never had any doubt that I would get a job and be able to provide for my family. They are not assured of that."
Son, David, said his parents provide a good model for the young students.
"It's a benefit for them to see Mom and Dad," David said. "They're both educated, loving, making sacrifices for other people. They see two people getting along and resolving their differences. Maybe the students didn't have the benefit of being in a household like that, but they see it when they go over for dinner at their house."
Smith works with Matheson in leading the young adult congregation.
"I call him a gentle giant," Smith said. "He has a commanding presence, and makes a strong impression.
"I wasn't really seeking one, but he's become a mentor for me. He's a model of the kind of person you'd like to be."
"He deals with all people at the same level," Smith said. "It doesn't matter if it's a student, a dignitary, a faculty member or a colleague."
Always a Teacher
Matheson currently teaches constitutional law and community property and calls teaching "the best job in the world."
"It is so rewarding to have bright, young students," he said. "I've been blessed to teach constitutional law and individual rights. It's relevant, timely, pertinent in the lives of students and exciting."
"It's a subject area that is constantly changing. Every semester there is a new set of opinions. It doesn't remain constant."
Comments from his students show his caring and dedication.
"I owe my career to Alan Matheson," wrote Terry Woods (Class of 1973). "During a dark time in my life, he reached out and rescued me. Alan Matheson is a truly great man."
"I remember Alan Matheson very fondly," wrote Crystal Francis (Class of 1982). "Dean Matheson took me aside when I was struggling financially and awarded me a small loan. I know that my grades did not merit special notice. It meant a great deal at the time. He saw me working in the library, but I don't think he knew about the other two jobs I was juggling so that I could stay in school. His kindness is what I remember now."
"Professor Matheson was, without a doubt, my greatest role model at the College of Law," wrote Bert Millett (Class of 2006). "He is obviously brilliant and accomplished in his field. But he is also a very warm and generous individual who manifestly strikes a balance in his life between his professional, personal, physical and spiritual pursuits. The power of his example and legacy cannot be overestimated."
"Every time I saw him he put a smile on my face," wrote Karyn Osterman (Class of 2000).