![]() ![]() Hundreds of us sit together, side by side, in rows of wooden folding chairs on the main campus lawn. It is the late spring of 1979, a hot, sticky Saturday afternoon. The last class of my old professor's life had only one student. Although no final exam was given, you were expected to produce one long paper on what was learned. A funeral was held in lieu of graduation. The last lecture was brief, only a few words. No books were required, yet many topics were covered, including love, work, community, family, aging, forgiveness, and, finally, death. Kissing him goodbye earned you extra credit. You were also required to perform physical tasks now and then, such as lifting the professor's head to a comfortable spot on the pillow or placing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. You were expected to respond to questions, and you were expected to pose questions of your own. No grades were given, but there were oral exams each week. The Curriculum The last class of my old professor's life took place once a week in his house, by a window in the study where he could watch a small hibiscus plant shed its pink leaves. ![]()
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