We were deeply saddened to learn of the loss of former NAEd President Carl Kaestle. We are honored to share the following tribute to his life and career, written by NAEd member and former president Michael Feuer. Members may share their individual remembrances of Carl by submitting a comment at the bottom of this website page. The NAEd will then share these notes with the family.
Carl Kaestle, 1940-2023
Remembrance
I met Carl Kaestle first in print. His “Pillars of the Republic” had become a pillar in my otherwise shaky appreciation for the complexity of American education, and had convinced me that any analysis of schools and schooling that didn’t have a serious historian involved would likely result in pretty wobbly policy recommendations. When the National Academy of Sciences decided to establish a board on testing, with me as the director, I knew we would get into a jumble of issues that went well beyond the subtleties of psychometrics and statistics: contemporary and recurring problems of assessment were rooted in two-plus centuries of America’s republican experiment with democratic education. Who better than Carl, then, to keep our eyes wide open to the bigger picture?
And so, the second time we met was on the phone, when I called to see if he would join the new board. He didn’t know me, and when he wondered if I was actually looking for the Carl Kassell of National Public Radio, I knew we would become fast friends. Which is what happened, to my great good fortune. Carl was elected President of the National Academy of Education around that time, circa 1993, so we had plenty to talk about in addition to the work of BOTA, which he found sufficiently interesting to stick with and become its Vice Chair a few years later.
Just about everything I worked on in these past 30 years has benefited, in some way or another, from Carl’s generosity of mind and selfless devotion to the improvement of education. If “Pillars” set the broad historical stage, then his priceless ER essay about “the awful reputation” of education research was, for me and so many others, an indispensable source on the promise and pitfalls of our profession especially in pursuit of practical relevance. Ditto for his subtle depiction of the periodic swings in American education philosophy, between its political and economic moorings, and how those shifts affected (and were reflected in) evolving policy debates.
I could go on, but I imagine that historians and other scholars will look back on their work and acknowledge the deep and lasting Kaestle footprint. I’ll just add that I have lost a dear friend, who taught me much about schooling in America while also modeling the essence of academic collegiality, humor, and humility; tutoring me on the finer points of jazz; and, yes, introducing me to the wonders of the VO-Manhattan (on the rocks). His last years were grueling: he lost his beloved Liz, caught COVID and lyme disease, was diagnosed with a mean and aggressive cancer along with cognitive decline, and lost his dear daughter Christine. As his wonderful daughter Rika noted, though, as recently as November of 2022 Carl was still enjoying his piano. I am glad he is at peace. May the memory be a blessing.
Written by Michael Feuer, January 2023
I first met Carl around 2004 when he invited me to take a role in the Advanced Studies Fellowship Program he was running at Brown. Subsequently, we’d see one another on a mostly hit-or-miss basis but fell into the habit of getting together at AERA meetings. Scouring my old emails today, I found one from April 2016. The previous two yers had been tough for him and Liz and she had died the previous October, but he was reaching out to make sure we resumed what he referred to as our sessions of “Gossip over Manhattans.” I’ll miss these terribly.
Carl Kaestle was my oldest professional friend. We met when Carl was a new faculty member at Wisconsin and I was just finishing my Ph.D. We saw each other frequently at meetings of the History of Education Society or AERA, and then later, at NAEd meetings. My husband Kord and I first met Liz when we all went to Copenhagen before a joint NAEd-Swedish Academy of Sciences meeting in Stockholm.
After that, Carl and I continued our professional association and with our spouses became close personal friends. After Carl and Liz moved to Providence, they spent more and more time at Liz’s old family house in the Berkshires; we lived just across the state line in Columbia County, NY, initially as weekenders and then as fulltime residents. We had many dinners together in one or another of our back yards, or at one of the (many) local restaurants – always well lubricated with Manhattans and other similar libations; we went to lots of concerts and often took long walks up and down the hill; and, best of all, we celebrated the 4th of July together, always with hot dogs, singing, and Carl reading Parson Weem’s description of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree.
We had so many good times! – but we also shared some sad one, especially Liz’s long struggles with cancer and the loss of Carl’s older daughter Christine. The last time I saw Carl was during the early days of Covid, when my husband’s Parkinson’s disease was becoming severe and we were about to move to Westchester, where there was better care for him. We invited Carl to come for a visit on our back porch, where we managed to drink coffee and laugh even though it was very cold and our teeth were chattering.
Carl was a masterful historian, unusually well able to synthesize disparate material, without losing the main plot line of the story he was telling As a presenter, he was a maestro, presenting his argument with uncommon ease and answering all questions fully and with great patience. He was an exemplary citizen of our field, working hard and effectively for many organizations as well as several very different departments, at very different universities. He was a caring, but also encouraging teacher, who respected his students as the colleagues they were becoming thanks to his guidance and help. Last but hardly least, he was a lively and interesting conversationalist, a person who could be serious as well as funny, and an especially thoughtful friend to all his many friends. His friends ranged from his fellow Yale Whiffenpoofs, to his neighbors in North Egremont, MA, with lots of academics thrown into the mix. Losing Carl is hard, but having known him was a privilege for which I will always be grateful.
When I read of Carl’s passing, I immediately thought of how fortunate I had been to know Carl, and to have such invigorating discussions (sometimes spirited debates) with him about the dual political and economic purposes of democratic education. I remember numerous telephone conversations on the topic, but the most productive for me were during meals at the Board on Testing and Assessment meetings. The end product of our discussions was the very insightful essay that Carl contributed to the volume that I co-edited with Mike Timpane and Roger Benjamin. I recently re-read it, and noted again how wise it was and its continued relevance some 20 years later.
A remembrance by William Reese and John Rury:
Carl F. Kaestle, one of the nation’s premier historians of education, died on January 5, 2023, in Bloomington, Indiana. Carl was enormously influential, having taught and advised students during his career at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, the University of Chicago, and Brown University. He befriended numerous individuals at different stages of their careers and earned an international reputation for his scholarship on the history of public education and of literacy.
A graduate of Yale University and Harvard University, Carl was prolific: the author, co-author, editor, or co-editor of seven books and many articles, reviews, and commentaries. His prose sparkled, and his arguments rested upon prodigious layers of research. In 1973, he published a landmark study, The Evolution of an Urban School System: New York City, 1750–1850, and edited a model documentary history of Joseph Lancaster and the charity school movement. A decade later, he published Pillars of the Republic: Common Schools and American Society, 1780-1860, which became part of the historical canon. His other books included ground-breaking studies of Massachusetts educational developments in the nineteenth century and the history of literacy. Over the years, he utilized a variety of methodological approaches, including quantitative analysis. His co-authored volume, Literacy in the United States: Readers and Reading Since 1880 (1991), won the best book prize from the History of Education Society.
Carl was frequently honored for his scholarship. He received an award from the American Educational Research Association for the best review of research article (on literacy and readers). Named to endowed chairs at Wisconsin and at Brown, he was the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship, served as president of the History of Education Society and the National Academy of Education, and was an elected member of the American Antiquarian Society and of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. He was Vice-Chair of the National Research Council’s Board on Testing and Assessment and a member of boards or study groups sponsored by the College Board, Educational Testing Service, the Southern Educational Foundation, and the W.E.B. DuBois Center of Great Barrington. At Wisconsin, where he taught from 1970 to 1994, he served as chair of the Department of Educational Policy Studies and director of the Wisconsin Center for Educational Research. He also the first Chair of the Advisory Board of the UW Center for Print Culture in Modern America.
We especially want to remember Carl as our mentor and friend. We both journeyed to study with him at Wisconsin in the mid-1970s after reading his book on New York City. Studying with him was among the most consequential decisions of our lives. Carl was open to our own unique views on politics, history, and education. He never sought disciples. He urged us to tap the intellectual riches of the university outside of our department. He cared deeply about the welfare of students and encouraged us to have faith in our abilities and prospects. He held the highest expectations for us but was gentle and nurturing. On numerous Fridays, Carl and his advisees met for lunch at the Kollege Klub, located on the edge of campus. While consuming too many burgers and fries, we read each other’s work-in-progress and sharpened our understanding of the historian’s craft. When later in life we struggled with personal problems or had reached professional crossroads, Carl was always available to steady our nerves and to provide support. We admired how he encouraged many newer scholars at professional conferences, read their work, and wrote endorsements for their books. A scholar senior to us once remarked, “I never heard Carl say a foolish thing.” He seemed so wise even when he was still so young. He reminded us of the proverbial gentleman-scholar, in the best sense of the phrase. Kindness was built into his persona.
By every measure, Carl was an amazing scholar, and his influence upon us was profound. He personified the very best liberal, tolerant values of his generation. Deeply learned, he encouraged others. Deeply humane, he cared about educational equity and social justice. Despite the many demands on his time, he always found time for us.
William J. Reese & John L. Rury