Elizabeth Woodman
I’m a late comer to Daphne’s world. Randall Kenan introduced us nearly 15 years ago. He handed me a manuscript one day and said, this is a great book in need of a home. Much to my delight, Daphne agreed to have Eno publish the book, titled Chapel Hill in Plain Sight. To my surprise and delight we became instant friends—we shared stories, an addiction to Turner Classic Movies, friends, a passion for The New Yorker, publishing lunches at Elmo’s, which we called the Elaine’s of Carrboro.
My admiration grew beyond her fine writing to her entire world. She was generous, open, intensely curious. She had lots of friends: Randall, Marianne, Miranda and her beloved nephew Dana, to name a few.
I have several photos of Daphne that I look at often. One was taken at Miranda’s house of the two of them, Daphne’s head resting on Miranda’s shoulder. Miranda’s arm encircles Daphne. They smile warmly and reveal the bond and deep connection of these two women.
My other favorite photo was taken one night at the Silverspot Cinema. She and her movie buddy Randall had just seen a film and walked out to find a lobby transformed into a crowded outpost of the Mos Eisley Cantina, filled with aliens and warriors lining up for a late night showing of the latest Star Wars. Darth Vader and Stormtrooper were immediately drawn to Daphne and there’s a photo of the three of them—as incongruous and hilarious as it is strangely charming. For months after she emailed it to me, Daphne brought it up in conversation, as an example of the crassness and fallowness of pop culture. What crap, she would say. I didn’t agree and we’d launch into one of those long conversation loops about culture, that were fascinating and exasperating.
I love that picture not just because of the hilarious arguments that followed or the oddity of seeing Daphne wedged into a Star Wars fantasy. I love what isn’t visible: Randall, with his phone directing them into pose, full of the mischief of dropping the most unlikely person he knew into a pop culture world that he navigated confidently. I look at that photo and hear the two of them laughing. I see their shared love of adventure and sense of fun, their deep and abiding friendship.
Daphne’s connection to friends, to Dana, to students filled every room she entered. She loved and was loved. She was not always open-minded but fully open-hearted and interested.
I was thinking about her opening essay in Chapel Hill in Plain Sight, about America emerging from the days of the Depression and war. She wrote that the nation was holding out its wings for souls to visit: “Come, it says, for I contain a hearth that defies category.” In every way I can think of Daphne defied category, and I’m grateful to have sat at her hearth for a short time.