THE PROFS

 

GSC was a teacher’s college which became a college college during my 4 years there - thus our team “mascot” was The Profs which never change and is still associate with Rowan University in Glassboro NJ a small college town that has “morphed” into a sprawling home for a major institution of higher learning.  

During my undergraduate years at GSC I had many excellent “profs” -  but some stand because of their methods of teaching and others for their eccentricities.

The head of the education department, a very proper Asian gentleman taught a freshman course called “Intro to Education”.   His first lecture went something like this: “Students I suggest that you refrain from turning your back on your class, keep eye contact.  He turned around and started an outline on the blackboard with the number 1.  Next, B - I suggest that outlining of key ideas is not so good.  Let the student take their own notes. This is much better for retention.”  And so it went.  At first I thought he was doing this to make a point but after a few classes I realized that he had not idea how to teach and at the end of 15 weeks neither did I.

The historic first stately building on  Campus was Bunce Hall.  My freshman world history class was taught by Professor Bunce, son of the schools first president.  I learned from an upper class friend that he was known as “Lullaby Bunce”.  I would also learn as the semester progressed that most of the instructors at the school had student originated nicknames.  It took only one class for me to see how his monicar fit.  “Welcome to World Civilization 101," he muttered.  Then he took a thick pack of large index cards from his briefcase, took off the rubber band and began to read - head down and locked for 40 minutes. Five minutes into his lecture the man with the hypnotic voice (Term borrowed from Mandrake the Magician comic strip) had most of the class sleeping with their eyes open.  Fifthteen weeks later he read the last card but the rubberband back on the stack and said, “Class dismissed!”

I will also never forget my Childhood Psych teacher.  He constantly mispronounced the term puberty in his lectures (and this word was used a lot in the course).   He always said - Puba-tree.  It was hard for us all not to break out in titters of levity each time he referred to that stage of life.  One day around the midterm when we enter the classroom “someone” (My friend Jim B was always suspected as the perp) had drawn a large tree on the blackboard and hanging on each limb was a “fruit” that looked very much like a certain male organ.  We waited with baited brief for our mentor to arrive.  He finally entered, checked the board and chuckled.  And began his lecture.  I firmly believe to this day he never got the connection to his spoonerism

There are many other minor memories - There was a math teacher who constantly said, “Howsomeever” every time he revealed an answer to a sample calculation.  The head of the art department who “taught” Painting Studio, a senior art major course. The first day of class he entered the studio and said, “Paint 5 painting” and left - we never saw him again until the last meeting.  I painted all of my masterpieces in one weekend.  Of all the media I could have used I chose "egg-tempura" a favorite of the "old masters". It wasn't a favortte of my roomate as our suite smelled like rotten eggs for weeks until I finished. I delivered them to the last class where each student’s work was place on easels and critiqued by our mystery prof.  When he got to mine he touched one and said, “Still wet Mister Iszard?”  I replied, “For me, Sir, a painting is never done!”  A lame excuse but the only one I could muster up as all five of my oil paintings were still wet.

Another notable was my English prof who was nationally known as the "Underground Grammarian" who printed a very "colonial days" looking pamphlet of examples of poor writing that had subscribers all over the world. I feared having a comma fault in my business reports for years after this course.

But the top memory of all profs is of my British Literature professor who came to many classes dressed in a costume that coincided with the topic or time of the novel we reading that week.  (A British novel a week was a tough class as most English writers were very long winded.)  About halfway through the class we had all gotten used to the costumes but one of my most bizarre college experience happened (does but need a comma?)  We heard a knock on the window of our second floor classroom and saw our teacher standing on the ledge 50 feet about the holly bushes below. He was beckoning for someone to “run to the window and throw up the sash”  After the shock diminished someone opend the window and he climbed into the classroom, made his way to the lectern and said, “I always wanted to do that!”  And he ever mention it again!

However, I learned the most from the profs who made the learning entertaining. Later in life I taught college myself and considered each class a performance rather than a lecture. I got good reviews from some very tough critics.