No one can ignore the tension felt in this environment. Passing through the gate sends a first signal to be alert. Standing with feet slightly apart, shoulder bones barely touching the back wall, I feel comfortable, yet ready to spring into action if I need to. This is as relaxed as I can allow myself to be. Guarding the prison classroom during this particular period is especially challenging since this teacher constantly puts herself at risk. My job is to protect her. So I stand and watch for first signs of trouble.

Something happens to the inmates when they enter the classroom door. These men, who usually spend their time fiercely defending whatever power they have gained within the prison walls, ignore each other when they reach this room. They seem to breathe differently, as if the others didn't matter anymore, as if this was a safe haven and each one was alone with Mrs. Tierney.

Just look at Jeff now. The way she says his name almost makes it sound soft. She doesn't know that he's in for breaking and entering and assault. Outside this room, this guy is the law. Not here. Tension is alleviated. He does more than react, he actually communicates with her. Without the uniform, he could appear to be in any adult high school course on career choices. What a joke, giving him hope that he or any of them could amount to anything elsewhere.

The way that she's pulling in a chair next to Jeff's computer station makes me nervous. If only I could tell her how he really is so that she wouldn't risk moving this close to him. I wish that I could hear what it is that they are sharing.

At the beginning of the class, she had helped the students recall how life experiences contributed to skills' development and that they needed to highlight their capabilities in the resume that they were learning to create. At first, the prisoners' reactions were almost of disbelief and their wisecracks had demonstrated their uneasiness. But Mrs. Tierney had seemed serious enough for most of them to keep their comments to themselves and to consider accomplishing this task.

This is as much interest as I've ever seen from this bunch. Having a computer in front of them helps; they don't have to deal with expected attitudes but rather can choose to face the non-judgmental screen.

I casually move to another wall and listen in. Jeff says he's handy with tools, small ones in particular. A few snickers from the others are quickly stopped when his eyes work the room. Mrs. Tierney prompts him with a nodding head and raised brows. Turns out his mother brought old furniture home and he had been the one assigned to open the challenging antique locks on drawers, doors, and chests. Damaged pieces cost money and this had simply not been acceptable. Jeff had soon become an expert, developing personal techniques and creating and shaping home-made tools mostly with an anvil, hammer, and torch.

The teacher scribbles a few notes that she shares with Jeff. I see him straighten up a little and catch a glimpse of his smile as he turns towards the computer. He seems to be copying, agile fingers picking up speed, moving with fragile confidence. As she strolls by, my eye catches a few words on her pad:
Skills- resourceful, problem solver.
Experience- antique locks, tool craftsmanship.

Big Steph has her attention now, but there's no way that she'll find anything to put in his resume. She's laughing and as she lifts her hand towards his shoulder, I prepare to intervene. No one touches Big Steph. Is he leaning in? I breathe more easily as the hand resting on his shoulder falls to her side. He starts typing with a grunt, seemingly of satisfaction. Most unusual. It's a good thing that this woman doesn't know her own power.

Fifteen minutes left of this 75 minute class: Freedom for their minds, but a challenge for mine. Mrs. Tierney acts as if these guys will eventually need these resumes. They talk to her, share bits of their life that I didn't know about, even though I spend much more time with them than she does. Watching her interact, laughing, treating these inmates as if they had a future, makes them look more human; not that I could ever develop such a relationship with them.

I wonder if she'd listen as intently if I approached her. But this is their sacred time. They know that I've witnessed what happens here, and so far, I've felt compelled to preserve silence, to respect that they accept to be vulnerable. In a way, I feel as if they have shared with me too.

Perhaps I should start writing down my list of skills when I get off my shift. Maybe I could show Mrs. T. before class begins.

Shuffles of chairs startle my thoughts and I stiffen. With the sliding of the metal door, carefully forged survival attitudes instantly reappear. The men walk out, their stride revealing their status, but their faces, no emotion.

Mrs. Tierney ceases to exist until the next class.

Life, at least my life, isn’t exactly what I had in mind. The last place I thought I’d be working is a hamburger joint. I still can’t believe I applied here. Actually, I’m just glad to have a job. My Mother had great aspirations for me, as all Mothers do for their children. She used to tell me there are lessons to learn in every situation, but even she would be appalled that my life has brought me here. When I told my friends I have a job flipping burgers they all laughed, except one. She was actually proud of me. Reassuring me that honest work brings it’s own rewards.

As I got ready to go to work my first day, I felt like a looser. Flipping burgers is for illegal Mexicans, and teen-agers. I was neither. I put on my uniform and hastily put a coat over it. It’s not really cold outside, but I didn’t want anyone to see me in my Wendy’s outfit when I walked to my car. As I drove into the parking lot, I had to swallow a big lump of pride. I kept telling myself that honest work brings it’s own rewards.

I walked into the restaurant and was greeting in Spanish by several Mexicans. Great, I thought to myself, just great. Norma is the shift leader and she was expecting me. She asked Yessica to teach me how to make salads and start the prep for the line. Yessica showed me how to clean the lettuce, and put it through a chopper. She kindly corrected me when I forgot to remove the lettuce hearts. The radio was blaring with Mexican music. I found myself swaying while I worked. Yessica smiled at me, and asked me a question in Spanish. I shrugged my shoulders, not understanding her. She then asked me again, in English this time, why I wanted to work there. I told her it was the best job I could find, and the work is honest. She smiled and told me I must not be a Gringo. The others laughed when she made that statement. I laughed as well, and told her I wasn’t a Gringo. I got the feeling that Gringo means more than a white person.

Over the next few weeks Yessica taught me well. She trained me on the fryers, the grill, and finally the cash register. I hated the grill and the fryers. The oil got into my sinuses and the smell stayed with me for hours after work. Yessica worked so hard. She told me this was her third job. She also cleaned rooms at a hotel, and waited tables at a local diner in the evenings. She usually worked 16 hours a day, seven days a week, to support her self, and save money. Jessica planned on attending the University in Mexico City to become a teacher. She also sent her widowed sister money, to help support her and her three children. Even though she worked so hard, Yessica seemed content, as did the others I work with. I often wondered what their secret was.

I still have not become accustomed to the way customers behave. Our restaurant is in an affluent; middle class, predominantly white area. Often the customers are impatient, and demanding. Treating us with no respect and ordering us around like we’re their servants. One afternoon a particularly snooty upper-middle class businessman came in. He’d placed his order, and then revised it. Yessica missed the revision, and gave him a hamburger with an onion on it. He marched up to the counter and threw it at her, calling her a stupid, wetback. I jumped over the counter and told him in no uncertain terms what a jerk he was, that money doesn’t buy class, and he’s proof of that statement. The man turned red in the face. I raised my hand to hit him, when Yessica grabbed my arm. No, she told me. This man is nothing more than a Gringo, a white person who only sees money, and has no soul. The man quickly left the restaurant muttering about illegals taking over his country.

After I calmed down Yessica gently explained to me the Gringo is to be pitied, as they don’t understand that life is about more than money and prestige. They spend their days making and spending money trying to find the source of happiness. But the Gringo never finds true contentment. The peace that comes from honest work, and taking care of your family. Finally I understood, life is so much more than a paycheck. I couldn’t wait to get home and call my Mother. To tell her all about my wonderful new job, and the lessons I’ve learned.

Any date with Denny would have been impossible until I had graduated. I call him Denny, since to give him his real name would sound just a little pretentious. Oh, okay, he’s called Lord Denzel de Lisle of Beauclair. If ever you met him you would not know he came from such aristocracy. Oh, he has breeding … his manners are impeccable and he’s a true gentleman in all respects ... but what I'm trying to say is that he doesn’t put on airs. He’s just as natural and as sweet-natured as can be.

He was every bit the gentleman that Chris was. Chris was my teacher, my mentor, my guiding light. He was married with two children and was a real family man. He introduced me to his wife, Melanie, who promised me that after I had worked hard and graduated she would set me up with a suitable partner. Chris and Melanie were arch matchmakers.

I think it’s fair to say that I wasn’t a natural, but Chris worked diligently with me. He had the patience of a saint. I was a belligerent pupil …bad-tempered through sheer frustration. I desperately wanted to complete this course, but impatience was setting me back. Chris begged me to be kinder on myself; re-doubling his efforts to show me how to adapt to new challenges as he introduced them.

He’d often invite me home to have dinner with his wonderful family and tease me about the wonderful date Melanie had lined up for me. I begged her for more information, but she just kept saying I should wait and see.

***

Two days after my graduation came that long talked of first date. I was introduced to Denny. He had been in Melanie’s classes and he, too, had graduated with flying colours. Chris and Melanie thought Denny and I would make a perfect couple.

Denny and I worked on a short post-graduate course together, getting to know each other really well. Denny seemed to anticipate my every need, and I just knew his needs too. We really gelled. And then we were suddenly free of the classroom. Melanie accompanied us on our first real date outside … but Denny and I didn’t really need her chaperoning us. We were made for each other.

We’ve been living together now for two years and I’m mad about my housemate. I love him with all my heart. But then, I loved him from the first moment we ever met; right after he put his wet nose against my cheek and licked away a tear. I’d just been told he was a top breed Labrador and that if we got on, he was mine for life.

Chris taught me how to read Braille and how to cope with everyday life, and Melanie taught Denny how to be a blind dog … but Denny taught me that my life wouldn’t have been complete without him.

Fifteen year old Willy Hargas had been in trouble since the day he started first grade and he didn’t understand why. He had been reprimanded, placed in special education classes, passed on and labeled. If it became too difficult for him, his parents placed him in another school. Unfortunately, behavior notes also transferred, and he was judged before he ever walked in the door. Willy had a superior I.Q., but his ability to process visual information and verbal direction was extremely limited.

The summer Willy turned thirteen, he was arrested for trespassing. He had not noticed the “no trespassing” sign, being focused on the beckoning acre of junked cars. To Willy, anything he did got him in trouble, so he gave up trying. His friends graduated into high school, leaving him behind, held back a year in eighth grade.

An unfamiliar fear churned inside him. He would not be the older big shot here. This was high school and everyone hurried past him not caring about his exterior defense of a tough, swaggering, “I don’t care” attitude. He planned to quit school when he turned sixteen anyway.

The Physical Education coach was acting councilor that week. He didn’t like the task and he was having a bad day, when Willy walked into the tiny cubicle.

“Have a chair. What do you want to do when you graduate?”

Willy shrugged. “Hadn’t thought about it,” he mumbled.

The coach did not look up from the file in front of him. He read the notes and, asking no further questions, filled out a class schedule.

“Report to your home room,” he said and then thrust the paper at the boy.

Once Willy was out of the offices, he read which classes he had been given: Voc.Welding, English, Phy.Edu., Wood Shop, Gen. Math. and Study hall.

Willy felt relief when he saw his friends who had come here the year before.

“Hargas!” the group of boys yelled, when he walked up to them.

“What classes did they give you guys?” Willy asked, handing his schedule around for comparison.

“Pretty much the same crap. No one cares what you want here.” Everyone nodded in agreement.

“There is a new welding teacher this year. I ain’t seen him, but I sure can’t wait to break him in.” a dull faced boy snickered, as the bell rang to go inside.

They all took desks in the back of the room. The door opened and in walked the new teacher. Twenty eight mouths dropped open.

It was a woman welding teacher! She was wearing pink coveralls. Her red hair, pulled into a pony tail framed her blue eyes and attractive smiling face. She was not like any teacher we had seen before and one we would never forget.

“Good morning Pubersplosion’s.”

Everyone looked at each other, rolling their eyes.

“Forget I said that. It means that I know what hormones and highly explosive gases can create when combined. So please put your mischief in your pockets before coming to my class.” When she turned to write her name on the chalk board, Willy let out a huge belch and everyone laughed. There was no reaction from her.

“My name is Mrs. Gordon. Starting from the left, tell everyone your name and a little about yourself.”

When it was Willy’s turn he said, “My name is Willy Hargas,” waving-off to the next boy.

“They will all know about me soon enough,” he thought darkly.

For the next four mornings, a belch resounded. Mrs. Gordon didn’t react. The following Monday, after roll call she said, “we’re not going into the shop yet. We are going to have a contest. The winner will be the king of the belch. Now who’s first?” There was dead silence, which erupted into much gulping of air and laughter. Belches came out from good to no results. “That sucked! the other boys would yell.”

It was Willy’s turn. From deep inside his thin frame, came the loudest disgusting roar of a belch any of them had ever heard. No one belched in Mrs. Gordon’s class again.

Mrs. Gordon became the favorite teacher. Her positive direction boosted self esteem and a want to succeed. She took pictures of us welding and put them on a bulletin board for everyone to see. We were stars. If one of us were in trouble at school or at home, she was there. We trusted her. If we had a hard time with the flow of a weld, she would stand over us and tell us to follow her voice, then she would start singing “Up A Lazy River” in beat and, as corny as it was, it worked every time.

“I’ll never graduate. I can’t read.” Willy confided to Ms. Gordon. The following morning, we found dictionaries on our desks and she told us to read the first two pages for homework. Words became exciting and we challenged each other. In the next three years our reading improved. When it was time for the SAT’s, we all passed.

The school ruled that,because Mrs. Gordon was a outside Vocational teacher, she couldn’t be in the graduation ceremony. The word spread and everyone, graduating or not, protested by signing a petition and, finally, Mrs. Gordon was allowed to participate. A proud Willy Hargas shook her hand as he walked by to receive his diploma.

Chad pushed the hair out of his eyes as he threaded a new piece of paper into the typewriter. It didn’t seem like this machine deserved to have such a nice piece of paper inserted into its greasy, convoluted bowels. Yet there it was, 8 ½ by 11 inches of white, sinking into the gears with every line of India ink pounded into its dying fibers. He continued to type, his dull gray eyes shifting back and forth between the keys and the old records to the rhythm of the typing.

Richard Perry: Age 43, Weight 210 lbs.

Chad flicked his gaze around the large room, and typed with a snicker:

Charged for flashing.

He would be punished if the warden noticed. He had not typed three more letters, when a shadow fell over his workplace.

“Yes, teacher?” he asked, tensing his jaw in frustration. This man was not a teacher; he was nothing more than a guard.

“What does that sentence say, Mr. Comerro?” the warden asked, his voice steeped with mocking bitterness.

“Well, it says —” Chad was cut off by a fierce thwack to the back of his head.

“I KNOW WHAT IT SAYS, YOU FOOL!” bellowed the warden. “You will eat your lunch ration outside today!”

“But it’s ten below outside, teacher--”

“I don’t care if it’s one hundred below outside!” the warden interrupted again. “You are here to learn, through punishment. Obviously, you haven’t learned.”

“What am I supposed to be learning, then?”

“Respect, perseverance,” the warden continued, pacing around Chad in a slow circle, his fierce brown eyes sweeping the room, daring anyone to look up. “A good work ethic, and patience.”

The warden gave a little start as the timer on his desk suddenly jumped and rattled. “Off to lunch, the lot of you!” he snarled, giving Chad a swift kick to the leg. Chad gritted his teeth and shuffled out of the stuffy room, the pain pulsing in his calf muscle.

The cold gruel slopped around in the bowl as Chad made his way outside. A bitter wind swept down from the north, punctuated by occasional balls of sleet. He crunched through the snow across the barren yard to the most sheltered area, where two men huddled.

“—And just before her father broke down the door—oh, hey Chad, you made it. We were wondering when you was planning to show up,” said the big one.

“Gus, Harry,” he nodded politely. “Now, have you got the stuff?” he asked, looking around the yard nervously.

“Right ‘ere,” said Gus, producing a small bottle from his coat pocket. “All ready for tonight. He shook the vial, swirling the chunky, dark brown liquid inside.

Chad shuddered as he replayed in his mind all they had done to procure the precious liquid. Harry had found a small bottle in the warden’s trash basket one day. Then Gus sneaked some raw meat juice into it while he was on kitchen duty, by hiding the vial in his shirt. The trio agreed to keep it in Gus’ cell, behind the toilet. Chad remembered Gus once bragging about a mouse he had killed, crowing, “Waste not!” It had been fermenting for three months, and by now was quite possibly the nastiest thing Chad had ever seen. He screwed the cap on tight before gingerly placing it into his pocket.

“Okay then,” said Harry, “You guys still remember the plan?”

“Yup, tonight at 8:15 you go out, and Harry will make a distraction,” Gus said, “And Chad, once you get out, lay low for awhile. We’ll meet you in two weeks at May’s Diner once our sentences are up.”

“Okay. Thanks guys!” Chad said as he stiffly got up to go back inside.

Later that evening, Chad picked at his mashed potatoes, glancing up at the clock every few seconds. Three, two, one. Yes! He pushed himself away from the table, and nonchalantly walked to the door, and asked permission to use the restroom. The hallway was empty and dimly lit. The sound of breaking glass and shouting suddenly filled the hallway. Chad continued down the hall, past the warden’s office to the restroom. Just after he had passed it, the office door slammed open and the warden bolted down the hallway and into the cafeteria. Chad slipped into the small room, where a half-eaten meal of roast beef lay on the table. He mixed the bottle’s contents into the dark gravy; then retreated to the shadows of the warden’s closet. He had barely closed the door, when the warden entered the room, and finished his meal.

Not five minutes later, the warden collapsed to the floor, trembling violently in a seizure. The door creaked as Chad stepped out, his grin saturated with malicious intent. The warden glared up at him, mouth foaming, obviously fighting the urge to wretch. “Ah, these will fit nicely,” he said as he removed the warden’s uniform from the rack. “I’ll meet the guards at the gate and tell them I have important business to attend to.”

“You know, I was never guilty. I was framed!” he hissed into the warden’s ear. Chad turned to leave, but paused at the door, running his weathered hands along the holster. “But, it would be a shame to have wasted seven years of my life for no reason,” he said, cocking the pistol.

Please, don’t cry. I have to leave - you know I have to.

I’m really tired. Please, let me go this time.

You’ll see me again. You will. It’s late, and I’ve got to go. I’m so sorry.

All right, I’ll talk for a while. If it helps. But then I’m going. No, no - don’t be upset. No more tears. There.

Remember when we first met? How you’ve changed me. All the things I’ve learned. Everything you’ve taught me. It seems like forever, but it’s not that long, really. My whole life has changed since I first met you.

I thought I was an adult, before; but you showed me I was a selfish little boy, and that I had to grow up. You arrived, and set me on a new path.

I used to party pretty hard. That’s all in the past now, though - you forced me to stop that right away. I liked to drink, and worse, sometimes. In my heart I know you’ve saved me from a hard road, and it’s difficult for me to admit that even now. It didn’t matter what I drank, but I loved it. But you taught me that there are more important things in life, and they were passing by me, without me even noticing. No more. Each day holds a new lesson. Each day you teach me.

You imposed change immediately. A new way of looking at things. What a shock that was - I couldn’t believe it! I wouldn’t have thought I could cope with your regime, but I did. It was tough, but I managed. I adapted. I learned.

God, when I think back. There were times I began to question my sanity; you pushed me so hard. How exhausted can one person be and still function? How many nights would you make sure I couldn’t sleep? How you screamed at me, until I thought I would explode with rage. But that was another lesson - I couldn’t afford to lose it. You made sure of that. How could I let my temper run wild with you in the room, watching me? I would have failed you, then, as soon as I gave in and punched a wall with frustration. But how I wanted to, at times!

You were indifferent. You just looked at me and smiled. I was amazed by you, when you smiled. Minutes ago, screaming in rage; and now smiling at me – I had passed a test I hadn’t even known I was sitting. Lesson learned, again.

You were hard work, then. But it was rewarding. You were around all the time, and I learned to cope with your challenges. You came with me everywhere, and I followed your lead wherever we went. I’m sure you created situations deliberately, in public, to see how far you could push me. How I would react. The longer I knew you, the easier it got. I actually got to the stage where I could see when you were about to test me, and divert it. You can’t imagine how pleased that made me!

It’s getting really late. It seems like there’s only you and me in the world, with the wind outside your window and rain against the glass. I know I moan about it, but I don’t mind being tired, if I’m honest. Because I love to talk to you like this. You don’t know it, but one of the things I’ve learned is that if I talk quietly to you, in the dark, it soothes you. My voice will lull you to sleep. It doesn’t matter what I say - sometimes I talk about my day at the office, sometimes about how my team is doing; sometimes I like to open my heart like this.

All the while, your eyes are getting heavy and you settle further into your bed. Teddy bears and other stuffed animals look on.

You’re too young to understand, honey.

As long as I keep my tone light, and the flow of words constant, soon you’ll go back to sleep. And then I’ll go back to my bed, too. Your mummy is waiting for me.

Are you sleeping, now? Yes. Let me pull your blanket up for you. Snuggle in.

Goodnight, Princess. I love you. Sweet Dreams.

It was a night just like any other. I got up, showered, dressed and left for school. Stopping in at the corner store for my evening wake up. The aroma of brewing coffee filled the café. As I looked at the cookie jar on the counter and slipped one into my pocket. I thought to myself I’ve had a good week. Four out of five cookies for free! Can't complain about that and I think I'll take an apple juice for the teacher. It is the last night of school after all and it's his favorite. "Nothing works better than apple juice to help keep you awake" as he always says.

We never really knew which classroom we would be using or building for that matter. We just meet at the back of the school grounds and wait for the teacher. Every night was different he would lead us through a maze of shadows and pitch black hall ways looking for the right room to suit his needs for the night. Sometimes he would teach us about locks, combinations and tumblers other nights we would pair up and practice self defense. It was only a small room for tonights lesson our last lesson.

As always every class had to be done in full costume dress including gloves and socks on our shoes. You always have to be prepared, for anything, for whatever opportunities may arise. "For every job you miss it's money lost" is what he would always say.
Not that he's done any jobs lately. I think he's lost his nerve after his narrow escape trying to steal the famous Jade Dragons Egg from the Chinese Embassy. He just doesn't have that edge he had when I first started this course. I suppose he is getting on in age now. I remember the stories that he would tell us about his heydays ha ha they used to call him the human fly. He never fell not even once and no one ever caught him.

Tonight’s lesson would be on infrared beams and trip wires. How to set them detect them, and how to avoid them. Another boring class, I’ve been jumping beams since I was a kid. I didn't know that you could make your own spray from potato skins. So I said to the teacher "Well that could save some money I guess except that potatoes cost more then the can of spray". I don't think he likes me much. He's always saying that I don't have the concentration or the nerve needed for most jobs. I'll show him, silly old man! I asked "When are we going on our field trip we’ve all done these infrared beams before at least a dozen times can we just go already".

Finally things are looking up after all. Instead of going to the usual run down worthless estates we have arrived at the middle class burbs about time too. The teacher called us together for his usual don’t get caught speech “OK this is how it’s going to be tonight. You can either work together as a team or you can pair up or you can go it alone. It’s your choice. Your final exam will be based on the fenced cash amount of your total haul, not what you think you might get for it down at the pub. If there are two of you then your price is halved. Not what you took or what he grabbed. You work as a team and will be scored as a team. Something to keep in mind, a plain diamond ring may not be worth as much as a custom made ring but will fence at a higher price due to the fact that it will be easier to sell. Be careful what you take don’t be wastin my time with crap, now grab your tools and get going.”

Mike, Sarah and Jane went off together as always and as always they’ll come back late with the least amount cause all they ever do is play around, doing unmentionable things to peoples toothbrushes and on their dinning tables and lounge room floors.

Oh great Andy is looking at me as if to ask please can I come with you, but there is no way I’m going to risk getting caught in a confined place with him again, all he ever eats are curried egg and onion sandwiches, the upside is he doesn’t need to use the spray can to see the infer red beams. I had to say to Andy “Sorry mate but I’m going it alone tonight”. He didn’t take it well but that’s just not my problem anymore he shouldn’t have been allowed to pass the confidence exam. “You’ll look out for him won’t you boy” the teacher said to me with a strong hand on my shoulder. “Yeah sure” I said like I had a choice. Well not tonight, tonight is my night and I’m going after the Dragons Egg the teacher Achilles’ heel. That will show him who has the bollocks to play the game.

I had never heard that before and honestly I can’t say as I have heard it but maybe once since his class and I believe that was on the television.

Had you crossed paths with the Professor you very well may have mistaken him for a homeless man until you spoke to him.

He wore what we used to call earth shoes brown and well worn. Tube socks, the type with the two colored rings around the top which you could see because he also wore his pants as if he were expecting a flood. “High waters” we called them in high school.

The pants themselves were a work of art usually the golf type solid for the most part with a very light plaid pattern and he always topped his ensemble off with a black concert t-shirt although I couldn’t tell you one single band that was represented perhaps because his shirts were as worn as the rest of his wardrobe.

He had a full head of white hair which as my mother would say looked like he combed “with an egg beater” and a full mustache and beard that hung down almost to his expansive abdomen.

Then there were his eyes. A placid blue with other bits of colors intertwined and I was sure if I looked closely enough I would see movement like two tiny universes spinning on thier axis.

I’ve not learned so much in one class in my life nor do I believe I will again. The professor had a way about him that made the young fresh out of high school teens pay attention and participate and the older students like myself revel in his brilliance as an educator.

The professor taught entry level chemistry and as with any entry level class if you do not lay the proper foundation the preceding classes are a struggle. It seems that it was the Professor’s mission in life to send every one of his students away from his class with a basic knowledge of chemistry that they would retain for the rest of their lives.

So why “one fell swoop” you ask? The Professor was from the hills of West Virginia and it seems that he learned certain expressions that we weren’t accustomed to hearing in our area and that he would purposely keep them in his vocabulary to keep our attention and it worked quite well.

He had a pleasant manor, an even temperament and if a student truly needed help he wouldn’t give up until that student throughly understood.

One of my favorite parts of his class was when he would be lecturing and would need to refer to the periodic table and would instruct us to “go to the periodic table in your home, where ever you may keep it”. We all knew it was coming and we all laughed anyway.

There were a few times when for whatever reason I had to ask the Professor a question when he was away from his class. I remember the first time I called his office I was nervous speaking to him and was glad when the answering machine picked up and I could leave a message. True to form though the Professor didn’t have a typical message on his answering machine but one that would take you or I some thought to concoct but was second nature for the Professor.

It has been many years but I will do my best, it went something like this…

”Greetings, you have reached the office of the Professor and I fear you have caught me away from my telephone. If it is the noon hour I can most probably be found in the university’s cafeteria indulging in gluttony. In any case, I deeply regret missing your call and if you would kindly leave the necessary information for me to contact you upon my return barring any cosmic influences or interference imposed on me by the laws of physics, I shall do so in a timely manner."

I was speechless.... I couldn’t do anything but hang the phone up.

Luckily it was before the days of caller ID and once I made it to his office I found he had a rotary phone anyway. I did redial and leave my message and his greeting left a smile on my face that lasted through the day.
My sixteen year old daughter had chemistry homework the other night and I had no problems helping her. She wasn’t even born when I took the Professor’s class and I felt the need to tell her about what a wonderful man and educator he was.

I told her as I have told you all his physical description and the sense that there was some extreme intelligence nestled in that fuzzy white head and about the periodic chart hanging in the house and I felt myself smiling.

“Where is the phone book?” I asked my husband “I saw the new ones came today”.

I looked up his name in the university directory fearing the worst because he wasn’t young then and that was almost twenty years ago. Much to my delight he was listed so with butterflies in my stomach, hoping he was away from his office I dialed his number

“Greetings, you have reached the office of the Professor………”