Asher Brown Durand, a member of the Hudson River School of painters, completed “Kindred Spirits” in 1849. The painting depicts painter Thomas Cole and his friend, poet William Cullen Bryant, in New York’s Catskill Mountains.
Asher Brown Durand, a member of the Hudson River School of painters, completed “Kindred Spirits” in 1849. The painting depicts painter Thomas Cole and his friend, poet William Cullen Bryant, in New York’s Catskill Mountains.

It has been seven years since I lost my son, Paul, to suicide. He was just 29 years old.

Paul’s note indicated he wished his ashes spread at Keys View in Joshua Tree National Park, “next to Mom’s.”

My wife and Paul’s mother, Jeanne A. Petrek M.D., had been a distinguished breast cancer surgeon at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in New York City.

On the morning of April 11, 2005, crossing the street to work, she was struck down in the crosswalk by a speeding off-duty ambulance. She died at the hospital within the hour.

Just 16 at the time, Paul was never able to get over it.

Lord knows he tried. Jeanne’s funeral ceremony the following year at Joshua Tree, gathering family and friends from across the country, was a first hopeful sign his soul was healing.

His eulogy rang with warmth and insight, words I treasure to this day.

Then came years of drifting and misdirection, save one abiding interest — the national parks.

It was then I realized how profoundly important they remain.

Note the accompanying 1849 painting, “Kindred Spirits,” by Asher Brown Durand. It was for years a staple in the New York Public Library, where I gazed on it many times.

Its natural beauty — the scene resonates with purpose — is what draws the viewer close.

The detailing is exceptional, every twig and leaf distinct. In that nature is the American Bible, God’s word must be exact.

The figures themselves are transformative, right to left, the Hudson River artist Thomas Cole and New York City poet and newspaper editor William Cullen Bryant.

Together, they stand on the brink of something noble — the movement for public parks. In pledging themselves to the preservation of nature, they invite national unity through the love of space.

Paul gravitated where he felt that tug of fulfillment: America’s national parks.

Thus did Joshua Tree National Park rise in our family’s estimation. Together, Jeanne and I visited on several occasions, having enrolled Paul at a boarding school nearby.

We were ever entranced by the quasi-desert-like scruffiness of the terrain, the jagged rocky elevations, and, of course, the famed and quirky-looking Joshua trees.

Certainly, the California desert was nothing like the forested highlands of New York State. Nonetheless, Jeanne would return to her challenges at Memorial Sloan-Kettering totally renewed and refreshed.

The benefit to her patients was inestimable. Paul would similarly feel a burst of confidence on visiting a national park — any park.

Paul Duban at one his favorite places, Grand Canyon National Park.
Paul Duban at one his favorite places, Grand Canyon National Park. Credit: Duban family photo

The last picture I have of him is at Grand Canyon National Park, smiling from ear to ear.

The source of America’s crippling unhappiness, I would argue, is the loss of the peace found in nature.

Note that California has nine national parks — and 280 state parks, the most of any state in either category.

You would think the University of California would make teaching those sacred spaces a priority.

However, when in Paul’s memory I determined to fund a university course on the parks, Southern Utah University in Cedar City was the first — and only school — to respond. 

I never heard a peep from a California campus, or from Yale or Harvard, for that matter.

At SUU, my donation continues to support classes on the parks and guest speakers on parks-related topics. Every student in those classes also receives an annual national park pass.

The University of California, in contrast, has apparently soured on teaching the value of parks. Today, even the vaunted Sierra Club chastises its Bay Area founders as racists and elitists.

Certainly, if you want to fill young people with anxiety and self-doubt, valueless talk is the way.

My academic specialty, the classics, is a similar example of loathing for our institutions run amok. Great books used to be taught with the conviction that literature benefits humanity, period.

The point is that no parent can stave off such forces forever. Absent the value society used to place on civilization, young people have ever less to feel civilized about.

The national parks, historically described as “the University of the Wilderness,” are no less a cornerstone of civilization.

Would Paul still be here had he discovered them sooner?

Perhaps not. But he would admit they saved him more than once.

The sooner we get back to being kindred spirits, the better. And that goes especially for our national parks.

Jeffrey M. Duban holds a Ph.D. in Classics from The Johns Hopkins University and a law degree from Fordham University. His most recent book, Homer’s Iliad — dedicated to his late son, Paul — is a restorative translation of Homer’s masterpiece, the Iliad, recast in the classical style of the original. Jeffrey lives in New York City, where he and his wife, Jayne, continue their philanthropy on behalf of national parks. The opinions expressed are his own.