“Feet off the furniture!”
The students rustled in their seats as they all turned toward their professor. He was a sight: cape, beret, ascot, and walking stick. The only thing that changed from lecture to lecture was the color scheme. Today, dark blue.
Linnaeus Q. Dick strode down the steps toward the lectern. He always looked stern and serious, but the students knew it was a façade. He gave everyone an A and didn’t care a bit about the fallout from the administration.
Aesthetics 445, a senior-level philosophy class taken by anyone and everyone. No tests, no quizzes, no papers. Just turn in a journal of random thoughts about topics discussed or alluded to in class, and you’re golden. A guaranteed grade of A for everyone; in fact, that was the only mark he had ever given in his long career.
Doctor Dick, for reasons he never understood, found himself teaching at a public school in the middle of the United States. The students were mediocre, and the teaching load was heavy. He had no time or energy to finish his life’s work, a three-volume history of the philosophy of aesthetics.
“I am Professor Dick, chairman of the philosophy department of this run-of-the-mill, seventh-rate university.” He paused as he spotted a student reading the university newspaper, clearly not paying attention to the important matter at hand.
“Get out. The student reading the newspaper. Get out now.” His voice was calm; there was no anger in his intonation, only resigned disappointment.
The young man casually looked up. The hundreds of other students remained silent as the young man, once realizing he was the person singled out, quickly got up and left.
Professor Dick waited until the student left the auditorium before continuing.
“Not that any of you hillbillies would know, there is a long-standing tradition in academia that a professor, at the end of their career, gives a final lecture detailing the most important things the scholar has learned and wants to pass on. This is that lecture for me.”
As it was the beginning of the semester, a few of the more intelligent students looked at each other with quizzical expressions. They were confused; none seemed concerned (they were too young and naïve to understand what was happening).
“I have failed. I have failed each of you. I have failed your families, your descendants, your friends, and anyone you care about. I have failed every person who looked to me as an authority figure competent to further their education. I have disgraced my ancestors. I have disgraced myself. The only thing I have to tell you, the only piece of wisdom I can relate is this: If you want to know the essence of a person, look at who they pick as a partner. That will tell you nearly all you need to know. That’s all.”
The next moment changed the lives of every person in the auditorium. No one should ever have to see what they did, no one.