Being the messenger of bad news is never desirable. But here it goes.
On Monday night, our friend, mentor, teacher, and comrade, J. Arch Getty, died from his battle with lung cancer. If you knew Arch, and I know many of you did, you are now probably filled with memories of a gregarious man always up for a drink, a smoke, and a chat about his favorite subject–Russian history. Particularly, the inner machinations of Stalin and his circle. Or he was someone you corresponded with to get your visa and archival permissions in order before heading to Russia to work in the archives.
For those who only knew Arch from his scholarship, you will remember a historian who was one of a handful that changed our understanding of Stalinist repression in the 1930s. We now live in a time where Soviet historians are not classified into “schools” or “camps”. Nor is the work of Soviet history preemptively judged on where a scholar stood vis-a-vis how many people Stalin killed. No, those days are past, for better or worse. Many of those old debates and controversies have been settled, in no small thanks to Arch’s work.
Arch was a revisionist. I don’t recall him ever calling himself that. But I knew and studied with him for over 20 years. To me he was the quintessential revisionist in Soviet history. His life was dedicated to one big issue–Stalinist repression–and he became its master.
Arch’s influence on our understanding of Soviet history went beyond the published work. He was crucial to hundreds and hundreds of scholars seeking a visa and archival access through his small operation, Praxis International. Just check the acknowledgments of books published in the late 1990s and 2000s and you will find his name. In many respects, much of those works would have never seen light if it wasn’t for Arch’s connections to Russian archives in Moscow.
I can’t express my personal debt to the man. He taught me most of what I know about the Soviet 1920s and 1930s, archives, and, most importantly, the value of a good beer (which he brewed himself), coffee (which he roasted himself), and vodka (which, surprisingly, he didn’t distill himself).
Every time I enter an archive, look at an archival document, or think about the flows of Soviet history, here’s there in my head. I’m not always aware of him. But he’s there.
But for me personally Arch was much more. He was a good friend. As well as all the Gettys–Amanda, John, Jessica, and Nancy, and later, Anna. Twenty years ago, I went through a breakup of a long relationship. I had to move out and had no place to go. And the Gettys took me in. Without question or hesitation. But that is how Arch and Gettys rolled. His house, whether in Riverside, Sherman Oaks, or Santa Monica was always warm and welcoming, a refuge full of dogs, love, booze, marijuana and fun.
I wasn’t able to see or talk to Arch before the devil took him. But I will always be grateful for his influence on my life.
So, if you knew Arch by person or word, take a moment to pour one out and pour one down.