One evening during the waning years of the 1490s in Eisenach, Germany, Ursula Cotta, the wife of a city councilman and daughter of a prosperous citizen, opened her door to find a young man literally singing for his supper.  He was enrolled at the local Latin school (Gymnasium) where, even in their pre-college days, it was common for young men to struggle financially as the proverbial “starving students.”

Frau Cotta not only fed this young man, but was so impressed with him that she invited him to live full-time with her and her family, where he would no longer have to struggle to make ends meet, and could devote all his energies to his studies.
 
She may or may not have been able to put her finger on precisely what it was that struck her about him, but apparently she sensed he had the potential to one day make his mark in the world.

Make his mark he eventually did.  His name was Martin Luther.

Upon learning this news, my first thought was to share it with Dr. Spitz.  What would it be like for him to learn that, in extending those many crucial formative kindnesses to me as a student, he had in effect repaid the crucial formative kindnesses extended to his greatest hero by my family, centuries earlier?
 
Unfortunately, when I phoned the Stanford history department, I learned that he had died.  I thought next to share the information with his wife, but was told she was permanently hospitalized, suffering from dementia.
 
His son was very much alive, though—and working for Stanford.  He and I went on to exchange warm e-mails of a kind that very few people will ever get to experience.
 
I couldn’t imagine a more fitting tribute to a man who had dedicated his life to understanding…and savoring…the long arcs of history.