By Jeremy Nyguen
Professor Jeremy Mullins’ memorial service was held June 22 on Tybee Island by the lighthouse.
I knew Professor Mullins briefly, working with him and other sequential art students on the SEQALab podcast.
When they branched out on their own and created their current website, I wanted to be a part of it. I sent Mullins an email about some of the topics I wanted to cover and he was welcome to my suggestions
The first moment I could, I went to Norris Hall and met up with graduate students Rashad Doucette, Jarrett Williams, Nat Landry and of course Professor Mullins.
I was blown away by the knowledge of the older students, how fast they were on their feet, how they kept the entertainment level high and energetic and how good the chemistry with Mullins was.
At the time, Mullins was not their professor. He was one of their friends who was just goofing off about comic books. They laughed, they cursed and they “put each other on blast.”
I drove into the Tybee beach parking lot, looking for any familiar face that would be able to point us in the direction that the congregation might be in. There were a few people dressed in black suits with ties who let me know I was in the right place.
I approached the gazebo slowly as I could tell that the service had already begun. I wasn’t sure how to act because I hadn’t observed the mood of it. Was everyone standing in silence, gushing tears out onto the sandy boardwalk?
As I walked closer there was a sudden eruption of laughter. Walking even closer I could make out a single voice followed by an even bigger laugh. Individuals were sharing their fondest memories of Mullins.
A few of them were intimate moments shared with him and their experiences with his classes. Many spoke about their careers as students and artists and how he was a hard teacher.
Other anecdotes highlighted Mullins’ love for rap music and neckties. But the unifying themes were of his sense of humor, quirky characteristics and his gentlemanly approach to life.
After laughs were shared over the memories recounted, the Mullins family led the way to the water across the sandy beach with a urn in hand. I had thought that I was near the back of the group, but after making it halfway across the beach, I glanced over my shoulder back to the gazebo to see even more people walking through the sand. It surprised me how many people had made it. It was a warm summer day and summer quarter had just begun.
Most of the students Mullins knew had graduated and stated on Facebook that they weren’t able to come. But despite all that, people wanted to wish him off well.
The Mullins family formed a circle with the urn in the center and huddled together to see their son off for the last time as all his friends, students and colleagues looked on.
They broke free of their embraces and headed to the water. We watched the ashes pour out into the ocean being swept away by the light breeze and rolling waves. When the last of it was emptied, we all held our breath. Each person was in their own, holding silence and not making a move.
Finally, out in the water, Mullins’ mother broke into sobs. It was then that I felt he was gone. As I watched his mother grieve, my eyes began to blur with tears. I wiped away a few tears and looked around to see others completely broken down.
The sound of our crying was lost as the waves broke, crashed and slid across the sand towards us.
