TERRY SANFORD'S BODY WAS LAID to rest in the crypt at Duke
Chapel on April
1998, following an "old-fashioned Methodist funeral."
As the capacity crowd began to make its way out of the cavernous sanctu-
ary, one old friend rose from his seat and said, "He might not have been
elected president of the United States, but he got buried like one."
The cancer that had been diagnosed four months earlier and that ended
Sanford's life had been totally unexpected. He had been careful about his
health and believed without question that he would live to be a hundred,
just like his mother. He had been saying it for so long that those who knew
him believed it too. Even as the news of his death finally settled on his
friends, it was hard to believe that he would be gone. Sanford had figured
prominently in the public life of North Carolina for so long that many had
come to take him for granted. He had been there before, and he would be
there again, it seemed.
He approached his death with the same stubbornness that he had always
exhibited when handed a setback. He had too many things yet to do and
wasn't ready to quit. Somehow he would overcome his illness.
The years since his release from the Senate had played out much as he
had hoped. Within thirty days of the election, Duke University announced
that President Emeritus Terry Sanford would teach in the Sanford Institute
for Public Policy. In the semesters that followed, his course, Creativity in
State Government, was filled whenever it was available. His offic,e on the
second level of the Institute became a way station for juniors and seniors
who, after spending a term with Sanford, looked at the world of govern-
ment from a different perspective. "People appreciate his personality, his
candor and the fact that he's been there," said William Ascher, who was
then director of the Institute. "He has anecdotes that can illustrate any
point we scholars might want to make. He conveys not only the norma-