I can remember all the teachers I’ve ever had. I have their names written down, from kindergarten to college, in case I forget them. However, the list itself continues to remind me of my experiences with each one, forever shoring up my memory.
I learned to write things from my favorite professor of all, Dr. Harm de Blij, a world-renowned geographer who managed to make physical geography the most interesting and entertaining class of my education.
While attending the University of Miami in 1978, I enrolled in de Blij’s class, which was held in a stadium-style classroom that seated over 100 students. Designed like a bowl of half cereal, this mini-auditorium featured the podium below and the rows rose 20 steps high.
On the first day of classes, I chose the back row as my seat, knowing full well that this first-day location would end up being my permanent position for the duration of the course. My selection in the back row was part paranoid, part cunning:
1) I have learned from the experience of Wild Bill Hickok never to sit with my back to the door or to anyone else; and 2) I was able to observe everyone (read: girl) in front of me in this lofty classroom theater.
From what seemed to be 50 yards away and 50 feet below me, de Blij conducted his class, often waving his arms and gesturing through each sentence, orchestrating his words for his audience. Thoroughly intrigued by his enthusiasm and passion, the class remained focused on his unique artist.
The passionate professor strutted across his stage like a seasoned actor playing Hamlet for the crowd. As he read, he looked at his captives as if to extract every last drop of attention from him. His stage presence was like Olivier’s. His charisma was Churchillian. His wit was Kennedy-like.
In a particularly emotional segment of a conference, I remember de Blij displaying his fervor with sheer exuberance out of the blue.
While explaining the forces of plate tectonics, de Blij quickly drew a landscape on a blackboard that stretched as wide as a highway billboard. However, for the enthusiastic geographer, it was not enough space. Undeterred by the end of the blackboard, he continued to the brick and across the classroom, chalking out the true dynamics of seismic science.
That was the turning point when I decided that efforts of this kind would not go unrewarded. He captured my interest and never let it slip away. Anecdotes from him broadened the subject from geography to history and sociology and political science and sports. He challenged us to understand the relevance of geography and use that knowledge to better understand what was happening in the world.
The professor would soon test his audience with a four-page mimeographed exam (which I still own after a 35-year-old mother!) packed with multiple-choice, fill-in-the-blank, and essay questions. For me, the test was a piece of cake as de Blij had me completely captivated by his favorite subject.
A week later, while at his podium, de Blij recited each student’s name from a handful of papers in his hand, inviting each collegiate to receive his graded exam firsthand. The students around him were waving their hands like commodity traders gathered to receive their first assessment.
In the midst of the hustle and bustle, de Blij handed me my test, exclaiming with an approving nod, “Students in the back row don’t usually get A’s!”
The sight of a bold “94” grade below my name on the test sent me climbing to my seat in awe. Had this geography superstar actually seen me sitting in her class? Has it only been three weeks? How is it possible that she recognized me in that casting scrum as one of her deputies?
Now I felt compelled. challenged. This crafty professor… this psychological genius just guaranteed my “A” in his class. Not for anything he was going to give away, but for throwing a subliminal gauntlet right at my feet. How was I not going to hand him his “A” after calling me an exception to the rule?
I knew I couldn’t let him attack me three months later with a retort like, “Well, like I said, the students in the back row DON’T get A’s!”
The geography teacher had me totally immersed in his lectures. De Blij outlined his brilliance on multiple levels.
He was so entertaining that he would come home from college and regurgitate his entire class on my mother, with all their gestures and histrionics. And she was just as captivated as I was, despite the secondhand rendition.
Eighteen years later, it was not surprising to see de Blij selected as the geography editor of “Good Morning America.” He then explained the topography our soldiers faced during “Desert Storm” to a geographically challenged national audience and, indeed, it was spectacular.
I am sure that your passion, energy and drive did General Norman Swarzkopf proud.
De Blij, now a highly decorated professor, continues to teach geography to students at Michigan State University. Lucky Spartans.
Now, three and a half decades since my great course, I salute the professor who deeply marked my intellect and my appreciation for great pedagogical skill.