Professor Geeky-Cute

Remember Indiana Jones and his academic classes packed full of adoring female fans? My history professor could never be described as Indiana Jones. He's not ruggedly handsome. He doesn't have masculine scars. He wouldn't know what to do with a whip if it bit him on the ass and then fell into his hand, but he'd find a good self-deprecating joke to explain his inadequacy.

Somehow, while missing all the physical "Indy" characteristics, my history professor became the hearthrob of the Humanities Division.

He wore blue jeans. Occasionally he'd come to class dressed in khaki slacks and a dress shirt. I never saw him in a tie. But he always wore running shoes.

He sat on the lab table in front of class. He couldn't remain still for long. He'd kick his heels, then he was cross legged, then he retied a shoe lace; all the while encouraging a class discussion. At other times, especially during lecture, he paced, flinging his arms about to stress this point or that.

Some professors skew the material to catch students' attention. He skewed his presentation. General Ed students left class believing he was a goofball. The girls fidgeted with their bra straps and giggled at his jokes. The guys sniggered at his social commentary and shared sports scores. They exited the lecture hall discussing his comedic moments, blissfully unaware of the historical concepts that had also been retained.

History majors knew he cultivated the goofball persona deliberately. He said "my job is to make class interesting so you will attend." We laughed at his jokes and encouraged his "It's All Oprah's Fault" rants. But we also knew he was brilliant. He slipped up once during lecture, forgetting his act, and mentioned his time in law school. He recovered quickly, and he was careful not to mention it again.

The science lecture hall distracted him. Periodic tables, sinks and gas spigets, and laser beam pointers all became props and teaching aids. He dropped random comments into lecture to keep us on our toes. One moment he'd be relating the politcal battles of Italy and next the various names and stages of his undergraduate garage band, before moving onto the social ramifications of totalitarianism. He particularly enjoyed poking fun at the bad documentary-style filming and narration of educational programming.

Four years ago he was new to the campus and profession, fresh out of grad school. He was less sure of himself. He came to class in northwest casual clothes: jeans, sweats, running shoes. He lectured on his specialty, European History

I watched his star rise in the Department over the next three years. He shared the responsibilty for teaching the important introductory and thesis classes. Funding cuts forced him to teach Asian history classes as well, and he was soon comfortable enough in his capacity as a professor to teach outside his interest. He was very chummy with the new department chair. He attended more staff and department meetings, though he belittled it as time spent doodling.

Four years ago he compulsively fidgeted with his wedding ring during lecture. Three years ago he brought his wife to class. She sat apart, stiffly. She gave up a very good job to follow him here. The tension between them was strong, and very obvious.

Two years ago she came to class again. Her hairstyle was softer, and so was her expression. He spoke to her gently during lecture breaks. The change was so dramatic I suspected she was pregnant.

If not, she will be soon. He gave up his daily Mountain Dew habit.

I have a hard time seeing him as a father. He's still too boyish. But he would add his own unique twist to fatherhood, and relate all the ups and downs with humor and self-deprecatory glee. He would use spit-up as an excuse to avoid wearing a tie. And running shoes are necessary for chasing after a toddler.

He took a year of absence last year to teach at his Alma Mater. It was supposed to be a non-tenure track position; just to keep his wife happy. But the Northwest must have swallowed him up. He hasn't returned. Rumors swirl that he's accepted a tenured position there. It's not really surprising that general ed history classes took a drop in enrollment this past year. He had a big following among the female students -- up here, "geeky cute" is chic -- and he happily talked baseball and basketball stats with the athletes. He daydreamed of a VHI Where Are They Now special about his garage band. He had the geekyness of a younger brother, and the smarts of a scholar. But he had the soul of a stand-up comedian. He will be missed.

From Behind the Redwood Curtain