In Memoriam Wayne Rowe

Wayne Rowe was born November 1, 1937, in Los Angeles. He graduated from Los Angeles High School in 1955, where he was elected class president and named class valedictorian. After graduating from UCLA with a Bachelor of Arts in 1959, he served his country in the US Army, 1961- 63. In 1967, he earned a Master of Arts in Communications from UCLA . He completed his PhD in Speech from USC in 1975.

Wayne was Professor of Communication at Cal Poly Pomona, where he taught for 27 years, until his retirement in 2017. He instructed courses in film photography, digital photography, and photographic lighting. He also developed a popular General Education course, “Understanding and Appreciating the Photographic Image.” On the very first day that class was held, the lecture hall filled with 120 students, and, still, many more students waited outside, wanting to enroll in the course. Wayne inspired students to explore the depth and breadth of photography, and to understand the role it played in shaping and influencing America’s culture and conscience. His department chair at the time, Dr. Richard Kallan, described Wayne as the “perfect faculty member, mentor, colleague, and friend.”

Wayne’s openness, kindness, and charm inspired hundreds of students, who often commented that he had guided the direction of their life. One such student created a photo tribute that read: "Simple tips to remember: Always trust Dr. Rowe . . . He’s the Photo God.”

In addition to publishing scholarly articles on photography, Wayne wrote the innovative book, Zen and the Magic of Photography, published in 2010. He recently completed a manuscript, An Introduction to Camera, Light, and Composition, currently under consideration for publication.

Wayne was also a frequent contributor to Architectural Digest and other respected publications. And he conceived of the idea of publishing an extensive photographic essay on the Kellogg House of Pomona. The article, published in the Historic Homes section of the March/April 2001 issue of California Homes magazine, featured Wayne’s photographs. At the time of his passing, Wayne was working with a new Leica 350 lens.

Along with teaching, Wayne also pursued his lifelong passion for photography in his career as a photo-illustrator, which involved travel to many countries over the years with his trusty camera always in hand.

Throughout his life, Wayne was known for his extraordinary generosity and graciousness. He forever championed respect, acceptance, and kindness towards others. His wife, Yvone, perhaps said it best:

“Wayne was born with a pure heart, which remained unsullied all his life.”

Wayne’s passing was all the more tragic because it was sudden and unexpected. He is survived by his wife of 55 years, Yvone; his brother, Dennis, and his spouse, Rand; his grandson, Ronald Cossack; and his great-grandson, Caleb. A private, family celebration of Wayne’s life will be held.

In lieu of food or flowers, the family suggests donations to the Wayne Rowe Memorial Scholarship.

Checks can be made to the Cal Poly Pomona Philanthropic Foundation. In the memo line, please note it is for the Wayne Rowe Memorial Scholarship, and mail it to: Cal Poly Pomona Development, PO Box 3121, Pomona, CA 91769. To give online, go to: www.cpp.edu/give and under Designation/ Other, note that it is for the Wayne Rowe Memorial Scholarship.

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A Tribute from former Department of Communication Chair, Dr. Richard Kallan

So often when someone leaves us earlier than expected, we regret all the things we should have told them but for some reason never got around to saying.

I do not have such regrets with Wayne; he surely has none with me. We continually demonstrated to one another how much we respected, appreciated, and enjoyed one another. We spared no adjectives; we held nothing back.

I take comfort in that. And I take comfort in having known someone who made my life better by continually modeling what success and kindness look like when melded together.

As a teacher, no one was more dedicated, conscientious, or devoted than Wayne. He sought to become a Master Teacher, and he succeeded because he believed so fervently in the value of knowledge and the importance of knowing. He taught both theory and skills classes. And he did so with his typical, unbridled enthusiasm, an enthusiasm that never dissipated even after decades in the classroom.

Wayne reached out to find the essence in each of his students, and then encouraged them to discover and follow their dreams. He never uttered a negative word about any student. Instead, he remained steadfast in his mission: to uplift and guide students toward their goals. To be sure, no one was more committed to imparting wisdom and encouraging students than Wayne Rowe. His love of teaching never faded because his care and concern for others never faded.

I met Wayne in 1995. I immediately wondered: Could anyone really be this upbeat and positive? Yes, they could! And as the years rolled on, Wayne remained forever the optimist, and if you were lucky enough to know him well, your personal cheerleader.

One of Wayne’s greatest gifts was his ability to grasp the simple truth that many never realize: there is joy, satisfaction, and purpose in making people feel good about themselves. He listened and he advised with passion, but always—always—he applauded who you were. It was his everyday interactions—his continual expressions of kindness—that I will forever remember. Both in action and in spirit, he embodied our better angels.

The kindness was, of course, also reflected in Wayne and Yvone’s exceptional generosity. They gave much more than they ever received. And they did it naturally, effortlessly, and without fanfare. It was who they are.

Sometimes, it’s the simplest acts of kindness that can have a profound effect not just on the recipient but on the observer. Wayne and I would often go to lunch when we were both at Cal Poly, which hires special needs adults to help maintain some of its dining areas. I remember when a couple of the workers were first hired—Wayne was not on campus that quarter—and I made a point of greeting them and saying “hi.” I was so impressed with my efforts to reach out . . . so impressed . . . That is, until Wayne and I went to lunch together the next quarter, and I witnessed his empathy and humanity. When Wayne ran into those same employees to whom I had said “hi,” he commenced a whole conversation: “How are you doing? How is work going? How long is your shift today? How was your weekend? Did you get a chance to relax a bit? It’s good to see you. Take care of yourself.”

And there was more—so much more—to admire. I never met anyone more honest than Wayne. Interestingly, in all the years I knew him, he never once said, “I’ll be honest with you . . .” or “Honestly, this is what happened.” That’s because those who are truly honest never see themselves as having options when it comes to telling the truth. It never occurs to them to lie, so they never feel the need to preface their words with any kind of personal stamp of authenticity. Wayne’s message was always sincere and heartfelt; it required no preamble.

More than honest, Wayne was guileless—absolutely, completely guileless. He spoke English and French fluently, but some words never entered his two vocabularies. They were words never spoken because Wayne would have no part in the actions they described. He eschewed manipulation, scheming, and exploitation. Wayne stood tall, never bowing to pretense or façade.

I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge another quality of Wayne’s that contributed to his success as a teacher, a scholar, and a friend, and, I suspect, a husband and a brother: he was relentless. On important matters, he would remind me not once, not twice, but every day until the action he requested was completed. He, himself, finished every task to which he was assigned, and he never, ever, missed a deadline. But Wayne wasn’t just on time with his assignments; he always submitted them early, so much so that I had to explain myself when I submitted assignments the day they were due. Years ago, when I first mentioned to Yvone that Wayne was relentless, her eyes lit up. “Finally,” she said, “after all these years, that’s the word I was looking for!” She thanked me, but, nevertheless, she and Wayne ignored my brilliant suggestion that Wayne’s license plate should read relentless.

Success and kindness. How is it that so few people can pull off both? Perhaps what made Wayne such a superb photographer—his ability to use the lens of the camera to see what others had missed—inspired his worldview. It was the camera, I think, that led him to see the uniqueness in every individual, a uniqueness that deserved to be cherished and celebrated.

.It’s a lesson that Wayne shared with us day in and day out. And it’s a lesson I still want to hear. So, Wayne, if you don’t mind, let’s continuing chatting from time to time. I’ll share some of the good times, maybe some of the bad. And I will hear the sound of your voice because I know what you would have wanted to say, and it’s those kind thoughts I want to relish one more time.

Goodbye for now; talk to you soon.