ABSTRACT
The obituary notice in The New York Times on November 19, 1994, while respectful, seemed, like all such notices, a bit stony and cold. “Merton Max Gill,” it read, “an academic psychoanalyst, died on Sunday at Rush-Presbyterian-St. Lukes Medical Center in Chicago. Dr. Gill, who lived in Chicago, was 80 years old.” We are obliged here to fill in the color, the warmth, the intensity, the zealousness, the humor, the uninhibited exuberance, the moodiness, and the sheer brilliance of this man who was first and always my teacher, but also my good friend. And in this process we explore what his life meant for us and for the profession he so passionately served and believed in.
