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The Nutty Professor
- University Press of New England
- Chapter
- Additional Information
90 someone had written something about you on the underside of the memo platform.” “Really?” I asked, feigning only shallow interest. “Oh, yes,” she assured me, and, to my frustration, left it at that. I felt foolish, but I couldn’t get this out of my mind for several days. I finally decided to give in to my curiosity. I drove up to the university, located the phone booth in question, entered it and, being six-foot-three, had to contort myself to get down on the floor and wedge my head under the memo platform. And then, as I twisted about and squinted in the dim light, I saw it, barely legible, in faint pencil: “Professor Klose is . . .” “Excuse me.” I glanced up. A young male student was impatiently waiting to use the phone. “Are you done in there?” he asked. Embarrassed, I groaned to my feet and left the booth. “Dropped a quarter,” I said as I exited. I’m presently working up the courage to go back to find the rest of that inscription. Just curious, that’s all. o p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p thenuttyprofessor What has become of the eccentrics in the ranks of our professors ? From time to time, when I run into a colleague from another institution, I ask if he or she knows of any such individuals. Almost always, the answer is either “no,” or a lengthy pause of consideration before offering up a bland example of an octogenarian who drives a motor scooter. It is often said that higher academia is not the “real world.” The Nutty Professor p 91 I’m not so sure how true this is today, what with the distinction between gutter and campus highly blurred, and practical emphases on job placement and technological “know how” supplanting the liberal arts. But looking back at my undergraduate years in the 1970s, I do think I studied in a sort of bubble highlighted by, for lack of a better descriptor, wacky professors who may not have been able to function outside the ivory tower. I recently unearthed one of my college notebooks. On the inside back cover I had caricatured each of my instructors from that particular year. One glance and I immediately recalled the inspirations for my artwork. There was, for example, Professor Feigenblatt, who walked with a stiff limp and chain-smoked during his German lectures. After each smoke he would drop the still-glowing butt onto the carpet and slowly grind it in with the tip of his orthopedic shoe. As a preamble to every lecture, he would clop over to the desk of each of the Fräuleins present and would ask permission to remove his sports jacket. Then he would light up and begin his rambling lectures while blowing smoke in our faces. On one occasion when he was absent, he sent his elderly German secretary —replete with bifocals on a pearl chain and her hair in a bun— to proctor a test we were taking. I approached her desk with a question from that test. To my surprise, and delight, she gave me the answer, loud enough for everyone to hear. A line quickly formed at her desk, and she dutifully helped all of us out. “Ach,” she said, giggling, “if Professor Feigenblatt ever finds out he’ll be so annoyed.” We all promised we wouldn’t tell. The professor returned the following week with the tests in hand, his face aglow. “Wonderful grades!” he exulted. “Everybody got an A!” Professor Gleason was a bumbling biologist whom, due to his generous and ovoid physical proportions, we students had nicknamed “The Egg.” He seemed to be totally baffled by his own course material, and managed quite capably to convey this bewilderment to the class, so that none of us knew what the hell was going on. I once went to his office with great trepidation to [54.242.75.224] Project MUSE (2024-03-19 14:32 GMT) 92 p i , t e a c h e r ask him to explain a challenging concept. When I arrived there he had his back to me as he stood before an elaborate apparatus of glassware, ringstands, tubes, and clamps. I recall thinking , Well, how about that? Still waters run deep. He does know what he’s doing after all. When he turned to me, however, he was stirring a cup of coffee, brewed...