George G. Dorsty - Cremation Society of Virginia

George G. Dorsty

August 31, 1943 - March 10, 2024

George G. Dorsty, 80, passed away on March 10, 2024. He was born in Philadelphia, PA to George and Elean Dorsty, and grew up on the north shore of Long Island, NY. He was preceded in death by his parents and brother, Lee Dorsty.

George was a Cold War veteran and served for four years in the US Air Force as an Intelligence Analyst. He left the service and relocated from Zweibrucken, Germany to his home of Long Island, NY with daughter Dawn and his first wife, Vera. He returned to college at SUNY Stony Brook in 1966 to complete his B.A. and M.A. degrees, both in English Literature. After receiving his teaching certificate, he taught briefly at Commack H.S., but was quickly selected to be part of the diverse 16-teacher staff at the experimental, student-centered Shoreham-Wading River (SWR) Middle School founded in 1972. George was first and foremost an English Teacher, but he had diverse talent, and was also the founder of the SWR Middle School Theater and SWR Community
Theater Programs. The latter he worked on with his second wife Robin, with whom he had his son, David.

His great love though, was the written word. His first love was Jack Kerouac’s “Dharma Bums” which he read at age 16. He counted Gary Snyder and Jim Harrison, both of whom he met, as early influences. He joked about being a terrible student as a child, saying that he found solace in reading and wandering the woods of Long Island. With his special understanding of the difficulties some students have, he was able to meet students where they were by appreciating their strengths and limitations. He spent his life trying to imbue his students with the same love and appreciation for reading that he enjoyed.

Reading for him was a gift, a means to understanding and exploring nature and humanity. He enjoyed the factual and the fantastical, but he was adamant that all factual reading be done with an eye on challenging assertions and ensuring truth. He also imparted this need for analytical thinking to his students. George retired from public school teaching after twenty-seven years, but the call to teach was too strong. He became an Adjunct English Professor at Suffolk County Community College (NY), and after relocating to Virginia to be near his daughter, taught at Thomas Nelson Community College. After forty-eight years of teaching, his career culminated in 2020, as Adjunct Professor of English at Christopher Newport University where, loved by students, his “Walt Whitman And The Beat Generation” course was always one of the first to fill up.

George was a published poet, preferring the sensibility and deceptive complexity of Japanese Haiku. He published four works of his own, the last being the collection, “the birds sing anyway” in 2019. Many of his haikus were translated and published around the world and he was included in numerous magazines and anthologies, as well as the book, “Lights of City and Sea: An Anthology of Long Island Poetry”.

Left to cherish his memory are his daughter Dawn Dorsty Young (Bill), his son David Thomas Dorsty (Diana), grandchildren Liam and Kira Young, his sister Dale Dorsty and nephew Daniel Powell, his many cousins, and his constant companion–his dog Tricksy. Dawn and David would like to express their eternal gratitude to his steadfast companion Dana Cousins, who took care of him every day and made him laugh. Special thanks to his oldest and dearest friends, Pru Mainor, David Durgin, Graham Everett, his long time teaching partner Len Schutzman, as well as his friend Jim Cornette and so many others who kept him company through daily calls, texts and letters. Many thanks to Patti Hansen at K.A.R.M.A Rescue for giving Tricksy a home. Thanks to his favorite nurse, Torey Hurst, at Riverside Peninsula Cancer Institute – Infusion Center, and all the other talented doctors and nurses who cared for him over the last three years.

At his request, there will be no funeral or memorial service. Memorial donations may be made to Keeshond Affiliated Rescuers of the Mid Atlantic (K.A.R.M.A. Rescue) at https://www.tmcfunding.com/funds/george-g-dorsty/9644/. If you would like to honor his memory, teach a child to read, adopt an animal in need or just simply be kind to a stranger.

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Edris Guercia Anderson

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George Dorsty changed my life. I was a university student at a time in my life when I was questioning everything I had been taught about the world. I was enraptured by a seemingly secret beauty of life I had discovered as I walked into my first class with Professor Dorsty. There was an itch of truth I couldn’t scratch lately like a confusion about how it all fits together at the time, and I moved through life in a sort of daydream. As I sat and looked up at the professor leaning against the desk at the front of the small classroom I was immediately intrigued. He was equal parts calm and intense, his energy commanded complete silence from the room without any reprimand. He had an almost monk-like candor with a cheeky grin occasionally breaking the surface. I was so fascinated by his gentle ferocity as he initiated class and navigated the various facts about our course. And then he simply sat upon the desk facing us and began reading Leaves of Grass. I had been in a stupor expecting this class to be like every other I had been in, and I was still absent minded as his words sunk into my awareness like a whisper. I suddenly became absolutely consumed by what he was saying. Within a few lines he spoke volumes- a sense of something ephemeral and spiritual that was rooted in experiential wonder free from dogma and all the trappings of construct. He described the air being a perfume so intoxicating that becoming naked was necessary in order to be fully in contact with it with every fiber of his being. I knew this man reading must have read this hundreds of times, but the purity of emotion and intentional emphasis in the way he spoke felt as if it was both his first and his last. Every word and inflection had a chosen meaning. I knew these were Walt Whitman’s words, but this man felt them in the way that I felt them. A confirmation of all I had suspected about this realm, truth, and beauty rang through me and I immediately knew that in front of me was a disciple reading the words of a prophet and I had finally found the church I was already a young priestess of. The world. Love. Existence itself, and all of the dirt and bugs and clouds and vines and kisses and cries that make it as raw and real as it is. I started silently crying at my little desk in the little classroom where me and this man in front of me were eight feet tall and glowing in the church of the world. I closed my eyes and swam in the feeling- smiling and tears streaming. I opened them and realized he saw me- somehow looking at me and yet kept reading. He didn’t need to read it. He knew. I was transfixed by the words and his sincerity and the feeling of truth. Naturally I waited until everyone else had left to speak to him. I didn’t know what I would say, only that I had to. I started with thank you, and he replied with thank you. To be seen and heard. To be appreciated for something deeper. We talked about the world for hours that day and this started a ritual that turned into a friendship unlike any I had known before. Over the years he became like family to me when I had no other disciples around me to worship with. He was my mentor. My papa. My friend. He would call me “Whit Woman” and no compliment has come close to that feeling since. Over the years I would move away and we would talk and I would try to visit only sometimes succeeding, and I did that thing where we become consumed by what’s in front of us. When I would see birds interact or a lost shoe in the grass or a glimmer in a puddle I would think of him, and only sometimes would I break my trance to tell him. When I was told that he died I cried so suddenly and intensely I didn’t know how to speak. I’m crying now as I write this. I suppose that’s fitting, I cried when I met him in that little classroom lifetimes ago. In my mind he’s still eight feet tall. Thank you for changing my life and loving me and seeing in me what I had only guessed at. Thank you for shining so brightly that others found their flame. I can’t wait to meet you again. I love you. -Marie

Thank you Mr Dorsty for being a part of the creative minds who opened the eyes of us small town kids back in the early days of SWR! If only we knew what we had! Enjoy your next journey 💕

“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did grye and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome rather outgrabe…” Thank you Mr. Dorsty for sharing your passion of poetry and love of teaching.

Thank you, George, for helping to teach us to be good humans.

George leaves a life-long trail of students who loved him and were touched and inspired by his inner glow and gift for teaching. Some of us were honored to count him as friend and kindred spirit. How fortunate we were, to share even a small part of his journey. What he gave of himself, we have taken along on our journeys, and that has made all the difference. Much love to all his family and dear friends, from a grateful No Name Player

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