When I was in undergrad at UNC, pursuing a major in English, I wrote a paper about Randall Kenan’s work for the African American literature class I was taking at the time. My professor said, “You do know he works here, right?” I had not, in fact, known that, but I was thrilled and decided to take a class with him as soon as I could, in the fall semester of 2005. The course was Honors Southern American Literature, a small seminar class of just 15 students and Professor Kenan. We sat around a table and talked in depth about short stories and poetry, and he sprinkled in tidbits about his life and experiences. I was starstruck the entire semester, but he was very funny, kind, and down to earth. He will be missed.