Tuesday’s with Morrie: An Old Man, A Young Man, and Life’s Greatest Lesson

Albom travels to England to cover the Wimbledon tennis tournament. Tabloid journals are for sale there, with blaring headlines about celebrities and the latest gossip. Albom, too, is star-obsessed, but now he sees that culture as a waste of time. Morrie, meanwhile, has lived a life of conversation, intellectual pursuit, long walks in nature, friendship, dancing, and volunteering: “I envied the quality of Morrie’s time even as I lamented its diminishing supply” (59).

Albom juggles several media projects at Wimbledon, including written reports, radio reports, and TV news feeds. On his return to Detroit, he finds that the staff has gone on strike. His work as a columnist—with its sense of meaning and selfhood—is on hiatus. He calls Morrie; they agree to meet on the following Tuesday.

At Brandeis as a sophomore, Albom begins to meet with Morrie just to talk. Morrie becomes like a second father, offering wisdom about life that Albom can’t get from his dad. Morrie encourages him to pursue his passions. When Albom declares that he wants to be a pianist, Morrie warns that it’s a tough life but that “if you really want it, then you’ll make your dream happen” (64).

Albom and Morrie sit at the kitchen table, talking and eating. Albom has brought food, so there is more than enough. Morrie confesses he’s troubled about soon needing others to clean him up after he goes to the bathroom because “it’s the ultimate sign of dependency” (66). He decides, though, to enjoy it: He’ll be a baby one last time. He still reads the newspapers, and he feels closer to people who are suffering.

Albom points out that they used to meet on Tuesdays because that was the day when Morrie held his college classes and they could get together for conversation. Morrie answers, “We’re Tuesday people” (69).

Morrie declares that the most important thing he’s learned from his illness is “to learn how to give out love, and to let it come in,” and that he understands now something a wise man once said: “Love is the only rational act” (69).  

Back in class, Morrie enters and says nothing for 15 minutes, letting the students fidget. Then, he quietly begins a conversation on silence and why people avoid it. Albom is fine being quiet and not expressing his feelings. As he leaves, Morrie remarks that Albom reminds him of someone he knew who kept his feelings to himself. Albom asks who, and Morrie replies, “Me.” 

Each Tuesday, Albom flies 700 miles to Massachusetts to continue his talks with Morrie. As the newspaper strike grows uglier, the visits feel “like a cleansing rinse of human kindness” (72).

Morrie allows himself to feel self-pity in the morning, then he thinks about the good things of the day, including all the people he’ll talk to. He now spends most of his time in his study in an easy chair. Albom offers to help transfer him from his wheelchair, and Connie, one of Morrie’s attendants, shows him how. He lifts Morrie correctly and can sense death creeping into the old professor’s body. There’s not much time left.

During his junior year in 1978, Albom takes Morrie’s class on “Group Process.” One exercise is to fall backward into someone else’s arms, trusting the other to catch them. It’s surprisingly hard to do. One girl closes her eyes, falls backward, and is caught successfully. Morrie says people must learn to trust others before others will trust them, and, to do that, they must believe what they feel, not what they see. 

Albom brings a tape recorder. He wants to preserve a bit of Morrie, if only his voice. Perhaps it’s merely “a desperate attempt to steal something from death’s suitcase” (80). He apologizes to Morrie for bringing it and offers to remove it, but Morrie wants his story heard and agrees be recorded.

Albom asks Morrie about his regrets, but for Morrie it’s more important to talk about Albom’s regrets. Albom realizes that the very person he needs to pull him out of his work trance is sitting right in front of him. He decides he’ll become a good student, and he writes a list of topics for discussion: “Death Fear Aging  Greed Marriage Family Society Forgiveness A meaningful life” (83).

At Brandeis, Morrie suggests that Albom write an honors thesis during his senior year. They discuss possible topics, and they settle, with some surprise, on sports. Albom completes a 112-page report on American football as a ritualized opiate with religious overtones. Morrie finds it compelling and suggests that Albom might want to continue such efforts in graduate school.