Today I received one of those pieces of news that is hard to process: Eugene W. Schupp (Utah State University) has passed away. To those of us fortunate enough to know him, he was simply “Geno”.
For many ecologists, Geno was an indispensable scientific reference. His name is associated with some of the most influential work on seed dispersal, a field he helped shape over several decades. His contributions to our understanding of seed disperser effectiveness—later adapted and applied to other areas of ecology—changed the way we think about plant–animal interactions and continue to serve as a cornerstone for researchers around the world.
Yet when I think of Geno, the first things that come to mind are not his papers or his thousands of citations. I remember an extraordinarily kind, approachable and generous person. I remember someone with a remarkable ability to observe. Every year he travelled to Spain to continue doing what he loved most: observing nature, exchanging ideas, collaborating with colleagues, and enjoying the friendships that emerge when science becomes not only a profession but also a way of sharing life.
He was one of those rare people who could make students, early-career researchers, senior scientists—or even whoever happened to be standing beside him at the bar of a local tavern—feel equally comfortable. He never needed to rely on his reputation. A few minutes of conversation were enough to reveal both his scientific humility and his exceptional human qualities.
I was also fortunate enough to visit him at his home in Logan, Utah. There I discovered that my scientific and natural-history hero had another passion: Mediterranean cuisine and the hot sauces he prepared himself. During one of those visits, I made the mistake of trying one of his specialties without properly appreciating its strength. The result was immediate: my nose turned a spectacular shade of bright red, much to the amusement of everyone present.
From that day on, Geno found a new name for me. For years he affectionately called me “Rudolph”, after the famous red-nosed reindeer that pulled Santa Claus’s sleigh. It became one of those recurring jokes that resurfaced every time we met again. It perfectly reflected his sense of humour—always kind, never hurtful—and his extraordinary ability to connect with people.
At Divulgare, we also had the privilege of enjoying his friendship and support. Geno was one of those “Friends of Divulgare” who proudly wore our T-shirts in different corners of the world. To us, that meant far more than a simple photograph. It was a gesture of affection and complicity from someone we deeply admired.
Today, ecology loses one of its international leaders in the study of seed dispersal. But those of us who had the privilege of knowing him lose a friend as well. One of those friends who leave a lasting mark through their intelligence, their generosity, and that rare ability to combine scientific excellence with profound humanity.
His scientific contributions will remain part of the history of ecology. So too will the memories we shared: the conversations, the laughter, and the stories that now take on a special meaning.
And among them, whenever I remember that impossible hot sauce or hear the name “Rudolph”, I will think of Geno again—and of his smile.
Thank you for everything, my friend.
You will be deeply missed.
