My History professor

The worst thing about stereotypes is that, very often, they are true. Whenever I am reminded of this, I can't help thinking about my History professor: he incarnated the cliché to perfection. What I remember most vividly about him was that since he had graduated some fifteen years before, he thought he was much better than anyone else who had graduated more recently. He went by the well-known mantra "In my time, things were different..."; it didn't come as a surprise that a History teacher showed a keen interest in the past; but in his case "different" meant "better", of course.

That was the way he thought but it is also an indication of what he looked like. I am sure you already have a picture of the guy in your mind: if you think he was tall, thin, with long and disheveled hair, clad in worn out clothes and wearing spectacles, you got it right.

Was he married, did he live with someone or was he alone in life? I never managed to know. Someone's physical appearance is a reflection of their life, of course. In the case of my History professor, I believe there was no one in his life to advise him to renew his wardrobe from time to time or to comb his hair before he went to work. I can't imagine he lived with someone whose look would have been as neglected as his or that his partner would not have cared when he left home in such a scruffy appearance. It is easy to picture him alone in a dilapidated apartment, eating junk food and voraciously reading books by his former mentors. Maybe, he lived with his old parents or his mother only, people who would have been as disconnected from real life as he was.

So disconnected was he that at the start of our freshman year he made us order and buy a book; two weeks later, he realized the book was too difficult for us to understand; we had to bring it back to the bookstore and get a voucher. No big deal, of course; our professor found another book for us to buy; everyone started looking for it but no one found it: the book had been out of print for some time. Our history professor had to come up with a third book, all of us were wondering what would be the trick this time: the first one had been beyond our understanding ability, the second had been out of print, we all speculated about the third one, some suggested the professor was busy writing it himself; we were getting mentally ready for the worst. The positive side of this experience was that our scatter-brained professor had at least achieved, from the very start, to turn History, which is for the most part well-grounded in known facts, into a really suspenseful subject.

We finally heard about the third choice. We had to go to the bookstore again. This time again, the required book was out of print but it was still possible to order it. It just took two weeks before everyone received it. Finally, everyone was able to redeem their voucher and the History classes could start for good.

We were pleasantly surprised with the classes; they turned out to be extremely interesting; we quickly grew accustomed to our professor's constant bragging about "his" traditional still original teaching method far superior to any other method experimented in the last twenty-five years...Our History professor was good at putting historical events into perspective; no event was strictly local but had to be studied in the context of the time. The "butterfly effect theory" had not been made popular yet; however, our professor, most likely unknowingly, made extensive use of it and was able to describe fascinating chain of events that eventually resulted in historical changes.

The academic year went on; we enjoyed our History course; we would occasionally poke fun at our professor because of his attire, his bad hair, or his die-hard conservatism; it was not until after the Spring recess that we discovered a new side to his character.

For my part, I found out in the local news on TV and I could hardly believe my eyes and my ears: a national triathlon championship had taken place in the area and not only was our professor a contestant but he was also a winner: he placed third among more than one thousand participants. I would never have suspected that man was of the sporting type, that he could swim, run, cycle, compete at a high level and defeat athletes. The next day, all of us were commenting the news; we had to come to terms with reality: our professor was far more athletic than any of us even though he wasn’t any longer in his prime; he could compete in a grueling sport that required strong discipline, a healthy lifestyle and an extremely strict diet, all things none of us would readily adhere to. He was a national celebrity; we weren’t and would never be.

Our next class was three days later. The professor came in as usual: badly dressed, disheveled, and lost in his thoughts. He said hello, everyone answered politely; a heavy silence fell upon the room.