thewritingprofessor55

Hello from the high desert of Oregon,

I am pondering next steps, and I am on a learning excursion. After discarding the idea of van- or camper-life, I am reconsidering it with a vengeance. It has been a day that the title of my last post epitomizes: I have met wonderful people and learned a ton of things. On the other hand, I left my prescription glasses behind and have air-tagged them. They are now 120 miles away, and I have not moved. I could write an exclamatory word or two, but that would change nothing. I have marked them as lost and left a phone number. Perhaps the better angels will come to me and karma will work. The air tag is telling me where they are. Someone picked them up, so I am on the mission to get them back.

The weekend here in Oakridge has been enlightening on numerous levels, from a learning perspective to an interactive manner. Certainly, I saw some incredibly tricked-out schoolies as they are called. One in particular looked like and had the ambiance of a home (and I mean that – more of a home than a house). A second one was tricked-out to the degree you could cook anything in that kitchen. While there is much one can say about things being aesthetically pleasing, the mechanical, the out-of- view things are probably more important, and there one can rack up some serious cost. Understanding the issues of solar and how to manage that is foundational. Deciding issues of plumbing and choices about that are crucial, especially for me. Making sure I have a thoughtfully useful kitchen is of significance, and deciding how, why, or what to do in terms of heating and cooling are essential, particularly when considering the heat and cold ranges that are becoming more commonplace. I did make some basic decisions about a couple of things. All of this covers some of the things I am pondering. However, that all is what I have been focused on while here.

This is my first time in Western Oregon. I drove from Portland to Oakridge, and the state is beautiful. Where I am in quite rural, and yet it is Oregon. My understanding of the West Coast, and this is from my honest, but limited knowledge base. It is also a comparison to what I know from Pennsylvania or Iowa for that matter. As a former Marine, I have a strong sense of patriotism, a intense understanding of decorum, and a incredible belief that our supportive behavior of democracy is foundational to the survival of what many are now calling our Republic. In the 15 years (this time) and 4 years prior (in Lehighton), slightly more than 1/4 of my life had been in Pennsylvania. As a history major, and with particular work in the Civil War, I am amazed by the number of Confederate flags I have seen flying in Pennsylvania. In the past when I saw an American flag flying, I saw it from my Military mindset. And now that has changed. When I see an American flag flying in the bed of a jacked-up 4 Wheel Drive, I find myself now uncomfortable (and this is not something I am proud to say). When I see people with a placard that says “Support the Blue,” I find myself questioning their politics as much as I wonder what it means to support law enforcement. Again, a position that creates significant angst for me. A former student, with whom I shared significant time and had important interactions with over years, even beyond their college years, discontinued their interaction when I questioned the appropriateness of running people off the road during the 2020 campaign. They wanted to argue freedom of speech and patriotism. I could not accept either argument, and they accused me of supporting socialism and be willing to tear down our country. While I will admit that my reaction to former President Trump was, and is, more stridently political than I have ever been in my life, that visceral response is based on three things. I believe he is dishonest; I believe he is disrespectful; and I believe he has been abusive in how he uses power (be that financial or political). Conversely, I have not been a person who believed our former President is stupid; nor do I see him as incapable. He has been rhetorically effective, and he has been surprisingly successful in persuading a substantial section of the electorate he cares about them. That is not an easy thing to do, especially in our present national psyche.

As I ponder how it is the only two people we believe reasonable to run for our highest office are 78 and 81 years old, that too is a profoundly damning statement about our politics and our two-party system. Globalism, which is now foundational to all aspects of our earthly community, often frightens people. And this is about so much more than immigration, about the movement of people or goods, and is about a global backlash against the other. What does it mean now versus what was initially pondered or believed when we were integrally connected to the idea of a government of, by, and for the people. If money is the primary driver, of the rich might seem more apropos; if the first adage is true, we are governed also by those wealthy enough to bankroll a campaign; and finally, as the lack of term limits and name recognition clearly demonstrates ( re-election in the House has not been below 80% since the 1960s and in the Senate, while a little more volatile, is seldom below 80% with a couple strong exceptions in the 1970s) too often those elected are for their re-election. I do realize that is a bit cynical, and I wish I felt less so. I am amazed how many people (and not surprisingly) are deeply concerned what this November will bring.

As a veteran, the idea of patriotism, the expectations of a functioning democracy, and the desire that we are a country, which can still serve as a model society in our larger world, is something that has always provided hope and some sense of pride. And yet, both through experience with other American citizens as well as traveling to Central/Eastern Europe, Western Europe, Central and South America, I am well aware of how much of a beacon America still is for so many. It is ironic for sure that the very things that make us such an incredible place seem to be the things that most divide us. Issues of ethnicity, citizenship, freedom of religion and expression, and what equity means are some of those things. Our inability to look at and accept the other seems to be at the core of our struggles. And yet I am aware from the stories from some of my European friends that immigration is problematic there also. The geo-political situation, one exacerbated by the wars in Europe and Gaza, as well as the growing alliance between Russia and China or Russia and North Korea. As I read, it appears that Russia had created a situation where they have little choice but to reach out to their authoritarian counterparts as the war in Ukraine continues. I am certainly not an expert in Russian history or its current circumstances, but it seems all the work Vladimir Putin did to prepare his county (and here too it is the rich areas of Moscow and St. Petersburg) economically for the fallout of any military provocation has not gone as well as he hoped. Certainly North Korea poses a problem for China as well as with its other neighbors. So the importance or NATO, the EU, and other countries like Australia, New Zealand, or Turkey and Egypt in particular demonstrate how politicized our globalism is.

And yet let me return to us – what is an appropriate role for America on the world stage? Certainly what we did from the end of World War II until the collapse of Saigon in April of 1975 is no longer possible. And yet it seems we have no consistent long-term sense of how to manage it all. As I have mentioned on multiple occasions, we have seldom had an exit strategy to the conflicts we get mired in. When I think about President Obama’s foreign policy, I am not sure he was nearly as effective as he should have been (and I realize it’s complex). I believe President Trump’s actions toward NATO, coupled with his kowtowing to the very people we are mostly like to end up fighting served no good purpose (and I realize this is an opinion). I actually believe President Biden’s actions are more consistent with the American foreign policy of the late 20th century. Is that positive? Again, I want to say yes, but I am quite sure I have no clear sense of tue best outcome in what seems to be a reshuffling of our world order. And as certainly as I am unsure of what is best, and even more sure I would not want to be saddled with the duties of a President, required to make that very decision.

As I read through this, what is apparent in the moment is everything is connected in some way; everything is therefore exponentially more complicated; and as a consequence, it is all political. There is no way to avoid it. One might wish to not think about. One might wish to avoid it. Both are possible, but the consequences of it all are not. So, while I can appreciate a desire to not embrace it, at least thinking about it critically, especially until November 5th might be advisable. Read, question, listen, and ponder. Examine the words, consider the rhetoric, examine the choices. While the demonstrations about Gaza and Israel are somewhat reminiscent of the later years of Vietnam, there seems to be little of the focused strength that much of the country coalesced around from 1968-1972. This song perhaps spoke as clearly as any in that time.

Thank you as always for reading.

Dr. Martin

Hello from Cleveland,

As I read and listened to the verdicts (both guilty) for two highly volatile cases, and as I finish the last three days of the last “typical class” of a full-time, tenure track teaching, academic career, I find my brain in two places. And yet, there is a connecting thread that holds it all together. Additionally, while I understand the appropriateness of parallelism, I am going to break that rule, and begin with the latter of the two points (and Bill, this is so you might continue to read).

Much of my life has been spent figuring things out, trying to understand the why about things. My poor mother – she certainly did not know what to do with this inquisitive, take-nothing-for-granted person she ended up with (as I was adopted). I appreciate the difference of opinion more than some might believe, more than perhaps I should. Over the past decade, the obsession with assessment in the academy is apparent in every corner of our university existence. Student Learning Outcomes, General Education Goals, Programmatic Outcomes, Accreditation, Agencies, and the list could go on. Are we doing what we say we are? That is a fair and significant question. Even when I was an elementary student, I remember taking tests titled Iowa Tests of Educational Development (ITEDs we called them). Certainly the rationale for No Child Left Behind (NCLB) was well-intended. However, in spite of our best intentions, it seems we use assessment as a way to monetize education. The actual amount of money we spend nationally on education is a pittance to many other things, and three decades in academe has illustrated that consequence (less than 3% of the Federal Budget is spent on elementary and secondary education, and we currently spend less than $2,300.00 per student on post-secondary education – these are 2023 figures from the US Department of Education). I looked at EU countries and the average for the EU is 4.7%.

Then there is the issue of evaluation . . . what is the difference, you ask? Assessment is about actual learning, evaluation is about grading. Those things every student focuses on. Why did I get this grade? What can I do to raise my grade? It is stunning how much value we place on those letters. I have thought about this for years, and I was as grade driven as anyone. I never graduated with a 4.0 cumulative GPA. I had significantly strong grades (after failing out the first time), but grades never kept me from moving forward. I learned some time ago how to address grades, and for the most part it has worked well. When I was in graduate school at MTU, we (as a department) decided for a year or two, if I remember correctly, to only give midterm and final grades. People freaked out. But the experience taught us a lot, particularly in the area of writing. Without grades, students paid much more attention to the comments on their papers, and their writing improved significantly (I think on average an entire letter grade). Step back for a moment and consider when grades matter after you graduate . . . for your first job or if you are going to graduate school. Otherwise, no one cares. Your future employers want to know if you are capable, dependable, and to put it in elementary language: do you play well with others? What has happened with the common practice of grade inflation is a belief that showing up (with not much else) earns someone an A. That is neither realistic nor honest. And more interestingly, the persons most often questioning the grade are the very ones who shouldn’t. We are evaluated throughout life, but we also need to learn to evaluate ourselves. Over the years, I learned to not compare myself with my colleagues. We all had different strengths, different skills, different methods. What I needed to do was compare myself with my earlier self. Was I improving, teaching more effectively? What I realized after leaving Stout was the incredible power some had over our lives, and how little power I had. It was a painful, but important lesson.

As I continue this blog, I am back in Bloomsburg after a bit of some a whirlwind trip with both expected and unexpected events. Before the week is completed, I will be out again, experiencing yet more new things. The first part of my blog noted the trial of two individuals, one a former President, and one a President’s son. In both situations, the reality of our polarized electorate is apparent and present. In both cases, a jury of peers adjudicated their understanding of justice, of deciding guilt or innocence. I would not have cared to serve on either jury, and I admire those who did in both cases. And regardless toward which side of the political aisle you lean, the need to have a trial by jury is essential to any hope we have for maintaining a civil society. That sounds a bit oxymoronic in our current national atmosphere, but the reality that both individuals (with incredible power to sway opinion) sat in a court of law to be judged is important. While partisans from either side will lament the outcome, I am pleased that a process played itself out as it should. There are all sort of things to argue (should either person have gone to trial? could either person get a fair trial? what are the consequences of both the verdict or the trial itself?), the simple fact that both individuals were found guilty lays out a couple of basic points. First, someone has to be indicted . . . this means there are grounds to charge someone. Step back and forget who is on trial. Indictment means something has materially (actually) happened that created a legal problem. In both cases, motions, questions, delays, and attempts to block the trial from happening occurred. However, in both cases, eventually, the trial occurred. I believe what happened, both in the court room and the response of the individuals there, could not be more disparate. Certainly some will argue it is all inappropriate, be it for former President Trump or for the current President’s son. Actions have consequence, and for the first time in a while, I believe we can say there was accountability. Again, I am well aware of all the extraneous arguments about both, but they are irrelevant. This is where I believe we have a bit of Dickens’s novel. “it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair . . . ” This seems to reflect so much of what or who we currently are in 2024. While I certainly have my own political leanings, and I do not really hide them, I would like to look at our system in general for a moment. Certainly, with the recent passing of O.J. Simpson, there was a renewed examination of that trial, a lack of conviction, and the other things that occurred in the aftermath. I remember sitting on the couch of my apartment on Shelden Avenue in Houghton, MI watching the Bronco chase. I remember being in the MUB on the MTU campus when the not guilty verdict came in. Much like now, that verdict split the country. The questioning of justice, depending on perspective, has never really disappeared, as was evident in the level of rehashing of what occurred in that 1995 trial. I think there is an interesting possible consideration of – is there a difference between not guilty versus innocent? That might be worth another blog at some point.

As a history major, and someone who was particularly interested in the difference between the French and American Revolutions, Dickens’s words about the world in the late 1700s are instructive. It was about the extremes of the society, of the world. The reality of the world and the final words of Carton as he ponders the guillotine are also revealing. As he considers what has happened, he thinks “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.” One of the things I consider for my students, and those coming into our world is whether or not we give them reason to hope. Hope is such a powerful motivator. It is an essential component of life. But, what is necessary for someone to be hopeful? What is that foundational element that provides a person a belief, the sense that something better is possible? I believe it is how we provide an understanding of the world, of what we do to promote the agency of the individual. Agency is something that seems to be at the front of my consideration lately. Too often we subjugate our power to the other. Power is something we all have, but something we seldom know how to manage. Power is complicated, but it is real. Certainly, much of what has occurred in our national court rooms was (and is) about power. And yet, I am comforted that the power of our system seems to have worked. I hope at some point when we look back on all of this, we will see that we still have hope in our system, in our country, and in our world. Sometimes, we believe we have lost it all. Sometimes, we wonder if there is still something fundamental that we can hold on to. The song by Faith Hill at the end of the movie, Pearl Harbor comes to mind.

Thanks as always for reading.

Dr. Martin

Hello from Davenport, IA,

The establishment remains the same, but the location is different – and yet I am doing what I do. Sitting, thinking, pondering and writing are who I am. On my way here, I caught up with dear friends, former colleagues, and drove roads familiar to me. There is always a nostalgic element to it. From the incredible waving fields of newly planted corn and vibrant greens to the rolling hills (and they do exist, particular on the Eastern and Western borders) and smells of the rich earth, I am reminded of my childhood and visiting my Great-aunt’s and Great-uncle’s South Dakota farm. From the familiar towns and mile markers, I recall the travels earlier in my youth, when I drove something much more gas-consuming than my Beetle (I had a ’71 Chevelle with a 454 in it). Driving down the two-lane highways (cue up Pure Prairie League) certainly carries me back home.

As I write this, the imminent changes in my life are more real, bringing both joy and some wistfulness. I finished the grading of my summer class, turned in the grades to the electronic system that makes them official, and the ending of 31 years of full-time in some manner in the academy is closing. When I came to Bloomsburg 15 years ago, I knew it was the last rodeo, the final piece of a puzzle that I never knew I would create. When I arrived in this North Central town, I was both excited and anxious to see what a new place would hold for me. As with any period of time, there are a plethora of things that occur, but the ride has been incredibly smooth over all. There are a number of reasons for that, but most of those were the things outside my control. Students, 18-22 year olds, are the same, generally well-intentioned and trying to figure it all out. I do believe there are some generational differences, and I believe my colleagues would say the same. Colleagues, be it in one’s department, college, the university, or even the system, are essential to the well-being of the academic experience, and, of course, there is the administration. I have for the majority, and across the board, been blessed to work with unparalleled goodness and brilliance. There was one exception, but I learned valuable things from that experience. Of course there are those people who make a profound difference, and I am blessed to have such a person.

I was encouraged to apply for the position at Bloomsburg by a previous colleague who knew me at Stout. He left there about three years into my time in Menomonie, but his ability to see through any situation and get to the core of it is still unlike anyone I have ever met. His ability to address any circumstance with a simple matter-of -fact attitude as well as compartmentalize has served him and those who work with him well. In fact, I am not always sure how astute others realize him to be. He has a sort of “awe shucks” tone at times that belies his incredible wisdom and rhetorical ability. Then there is the reality that he is brilliant and principled. When I arrived at Bloomsburg, he was my known entity, the person I trusted and appreciated. Fifteen years later, he is my chair, my family, and my most trusted friend. To say he has blessed me is no where adequate. To say he changed my life might be the most profound understatement I could ever write or utter. To say, I am indebted to him announces what he gave to me can never be repaid. It has been a profound honor, joy, and privilege to work with him, and to become a family friend to all in the family.

While on this little journey, I had the opportunity to meet again with a former colleague and spouse, a couple that is incredibly dear to me. We had dinner the other evening, and after catching up on a number of things, the conversation changed to asking about their summer plans. At that point, one of them informed me of some incredible health concerns. I was stunned, and for the most part speechless. I merely stared across the table at them. The news was devastating, but again, in the typical manner, a calm, collected, and thoughtful voice noted the blessings in their life, in their relationships, in their accomplishments, and then stated they were content. And it was a truthful statement, there was no resignation about what might have been or what could be. It was a contentment for what is. As I listened to the process, the prognosis, and the plan, I found myself being comforted by the one with the diagnosis. What an irony. And yet, knowing this person as I do, there is a gentle, but strong (beyond measure) resolve to face the world as they know it. From the first time I met them, there was a goodness and wisdom, a kindness and calmness, that goes beyond admirable. One of the things noted was a project they embarked on together (and this was no ordinary project), but they have accomplished it (and in spite of the fact it is ongoing), and the consequence of their labor and love is so evident on a multitude of levels.

What I find myself realizing as I write this in the comfort of my sister-in-law’s dining room is too often we resign ourselves to our circumstance. If we are resigned to something, we give away our power. We abdicate our agency, and we choose to become the victim to our existence. What an incredibly sad way to manage our lives. I have often noted that resilience is a life changing, but it is also sagacious. It confronts the reality of something and chooses to work with it versus become the casualty of it. That does not mean there are no struggles nor questioning, but I believe it faces the reality of life, choosing to fight in the best way one’s knows to do. I am reminded of my father when he was diagnosed with cancer (he passed in less than 45 days from his diagnosis). When his PCP asked him what the oncologist had told him, he said, quite matter-of-factly, “He said I have cancer.” When the doctor asked if he remembered where it was (he was in the advanced stages of dementia), he responded, “It is in my liver and my kidneys.” And then he paused and looked up at the ceiling. He stated quite succinctly, “And it is somewhere else . . . and that is what is going to send me down the road.” His voice never wavered, and his tone did not change. I wonder if that was resignation or contentment? I think perhaps a bit of both. And yet, my father was also a person who rolled with things. Even earlier in his life when we was relegated to working out of town because of his stance on some issues (he was a journeyman electrician), he never complained in a way that we knew. He simply went to work, wherever it was, and managed life the best he could. There were years when we worked 8-10 hours away, covering 12 hours shifts, 7 days a week. There were times when we only saw him maybe 36 hours in a two month period. Eventually, that would change, but during my elementary years, it was difficult. I think there were times there he was more resigned than content, but he understood what he had power to change and what he did not.

As I consider those moments in my own life, what allows us to be content when a circumstance is less than amenable? I think I am learning, even this weekend, to remember my father’s words to me . . . “choose your battles wisely, and fight them well . . . but do not make them all battles.” Disagreements occur, situations happen, and feelings are bruised or affected. Personalities affect so much of what we do or say, but if we are only reactionary, more often than not, the circumstance is exacerbated. I have learned to be content with circumstances rather than resign myself to them. There is always a place, an aspect, where we can find some ability to manage rather than be managed. I often note that I wished I had learned two things earlier in my life. If I have no power over it, do not waste time on it; and second, if I make a mistake, to own it. In both cases what I am realizing that I have learned to be content with those situations versus resigned to them.

This week I have been reminded that life is not predictable, regardless of how much we plan, how much we attempt to manage our circumstance. Contentment is not resignation, it is understanding the reality of something, pondering the actuality of it, and believing I am not the victim of it. So much of my life has been planned and yet unpredictable. So many people and events have influenced and changed the path that was expected. I am sure there will be more along the way, but I am excited to see what happens on the other side of what I have been doing for so long. To my colleagues, my students, and those who have made a difference, I am grateful beyond words. To my dear friends, I love you all deeply, and I am here when you need me to be so. The video today is about that sense of peace that is so essential to being content.

Thank you as always for reading.

Dr. Martin

Hello from Panera,

I am sitting with some hot tea and waiting for my colleague and friend to arrive. I first met him on a Kraków corner with two Bloomsburg students and more extensively on a bus riding with a group of students to Auschwitz (Oświęcim). This somewhat slight and soft-spoken professor, Mykola, with Eastern/Central heritage, would become one of my most treasured colleagues and friend in my time here in Bloomsburg. He is also one of the most brilliant individuals I’ve ever met. Perhaps the most accomplished polyglot I know, he was a medical doctor before he left Europe. However, those are the basics, his understanding of pretty much every thing will boggle your mind because it rolls out of him in such an understated manner that you often fail to recognize how profound he is. Additionally his wry sense of humor, his ability to mystify everyone, and his unflappability make him all the more interesting. He is one of the people, one of the colleagues, I will miss the most. I probably have a better chance of finding him in Europe than I will in his office.

As I sit here writing, I am waiting on two papers in my 400 level course. Once I complete their evaluation, submitting that course to Banner will complete my last academic semester as a professor in PASSHE, our state system. As many know, I have pondered when I should retire for a couple years, but last summer I knew it was time to make that move, and so the last lap of a complete semester, while as busy as ever, had a different feeling to it. I did not suffer from the academic version of senioritis, but I did find myself thinking about how graciousness might serve all more effectively. Even in our post-COVID world, the day-to-day experience in academe has changed from pre-2020, and some of those changes are dramatic, consequential. What lockdown did to course delivery, social interaction, expectations from all view points, to daily practice is not the college campus experienced even 5 years ago. The vibrancy of mornings, seeing students in the quad or streaming out of classrooms in my building is no longer the norm. Seeing departmental office with faculty sitting at their desks or standing at the printer is a thing of the past. Too many times the hallways, the classrooms, and sidewalks seem like a scene from a movie where survivors have returned after some apocalyptic event. It has been sad to experience that change, not only for my colleagues, but also for current students. All of these changes make it easier to believe it is time to move to the next chapter, the new path, of an unparalleled, a certainly unexpected, time in the academy. It has been a world of learning, not just for my students, but for me. I perhaps learned much more than I could ever teach or offer. This past week someone asked if I had any idea how many students I have had in my classes? That would take some calculating. But let me try to offer some possible (with some degree of accuracy) number. Because writing classes do not have the high course caps of other classes, my numbers are low compared to my gen ed, lecture-leading colleagues. I think, running some estimates, I have probably had between 9,000-10,000 students over three decades, and while that number is not enormous, managing writing is a very different task, and one that is enormously labor intensive, and can be incredibly satisfying. Writing requires critical thought and analysis; it is an art ( not unlike Aristotle’s argument about rhetoric, in spite of his disdain for writing) that instills process. It is the thing that most often instantiates possibility or orchestrates happenstance, changing it into reality for me.

All of that is of significance, but the impetus for this post is to offer a profound thank you to individuals too numerous to count for their important contributions to my teaching career. if I go all the way back to Suomi, one of my first students would eventually go to Dana, my Alma Mater, and then to Luther Seminary. He did more to help me realize both my strengths and weaknesses than he will ever know. Another, who was an RA would eventually go to receive a Master’s and work with me years later at MTU. There were numerous others who taught me more significant lessons that would serve me well, some times things that I needed to do much differently. When I would return to work on a second Master’s and PhD, both grad school colleagues and students would help me begin to understand what becoming a professor would mean. That is not as simple as one might believe. Managing course material barely scratches the surface. During that period, I lost a sister, a father, a marriage, and almost my schooling at one point. Ironically, my work outside the university as a server did as much to keep a balance as all my work at the university did. Emergency surgery and a class of international engineers that semester revealed the important give and take from instructor to student as much as any class ever would. To this day I am in touch with two from that class. One of them, who lives in Spain, will always have significance in my life.

When I arrived in Wisconsin, the first year there had me wondering if I had made the right decision to become a scholar, an academic. At the end of a brutal first semester, students wrote evaluations that were stunningly brutal and hurtful, and they minced no words. Fortunately, there was a single student, also a single mother, who trusted I had her best interests at heart. Now 20 years later, she is still in my life as a now married mother of three. She did more to support this struggling academic wannabe than words will ever express. I love her to this day for that support. Then there was a student, who hid away in the back of a freshman composition course, having transferred from one of the flagship institutions of the Wisconsin system, she was a brilliant writer, better than 95% of my other students. In fact, I told her she would have to push herself and I would do so on her papers, but that she might find the class a bit mundane. Today, she is one of the closest things to a daughter I would ever hope to have. While I could give a lengthy list of important students, one has little idea of how he affected me emotionally, when he gave me a thank you note my last semester at Stout, comparing to Dr. Larch in Irving’s book, Cider House Rules. I cried when I read that note. Another person, one whose father had taught at Stout, returned to get his degree while serving in the military. He would help me move to Bloomsburg and would care for Lydia after I left. In fact, he, his family, and I tag-teamed her, and he was with her when she passed away. Another student, who will always have an important place in my heart, stayed in my little house when I first moved. The significance she held in my life had been unspoken, but there are no words to adequately express her importance. She is probably one of the most talented and beautiful people I have ever been blessed to know.

Then there is Bloomsburg (now Commonwealth). It is the place I learned to really become a professor. Again, fortunately, two classes that first semester set the stage for what would come. As much as the first semester at Stout would bury me, the first semester (and year) at Bloomsburg would ground me on a successful trajectory. My Bible as Literature class and my first small class of Writing in the Professions had students I am still in touch with as I retire. One student would show up in class my second semester, she earned the minor, was an honors students, and by the time she finished her degree, 1/4 of her undergrad was in my classes. She and a second student, also in another class that semester as well as both worked in the writing center, are both married, have two children, and both remain important in my life. They were members of the first group of students who paralleled my first four years, During the decade and a half here, I could focus on the various students who have lived with me during summers, during academic years, from the states and overseas. Each of those students changed my life. They were there as I struggled with my health, as I remodeled and renovated the Acre. They know who they are, and each individual helped me understand so much more about myself. The first filled in the pot holes for those who would follow. She pushed me to learn about myself in ways beyond anything I could imagine, and I spoke with her this week. The last just received her Master’s, and ironically, they have both humbled me by asking that I officiate their weddings. Two others, one who was a foreign exchange student and another who came to me in tears the first day of class, and who have the same first name, continue to bless me with their presence in my life. Some are mother’s now and her father blessed me by saying I was as much a father as he was. Quite a change from the first time I met him. Another brilliant, but quiet, student got up early to drive to class, taking a nap before class. She would not finish and is now a mother of three and a half (yes, another on the way). She is one of the most amazingly good people I have ever met. Now the entire family is a blessing.

Certainly, it is dangerous to list anyone for fear of missing or offending another, but that is not the intent. What I am noting are a few in the confines of this small space. As importantly, in the 9,000+, each one is part of the amazing tapestry that has been a wonderfully complex, but simultaneously rewarding three decades. I have been blessed beyond words. A student once asked me if I ever disliked a student. In three decades, only one. Perhaps on the most profoundly capable and talented students I ever taught, but not a good person. It was for that reason I did not like them. One in 30+ years means I am fortunate beyond works. And indeed, for that and so many other reasons, I give thanks. The calling of the academy was not something I heard early, and in many ways it had been as important a calling as my time as a pastor. It is for that reason I share this piece I have used before. It was sung at my ordination, and I believe it would be appropriate at my funeral.

Thank you for reading,

Dr. Martin

Hello from my seat on another Flight,

At various moments, and even when traveling, I have been known to spend my time by writing, and often my writing occurs when I am puzzled, when I am concerned, or perhaps, when I am frustrated by something or someone. The choice to write is how I attempt to make sense of the non-sensical, and one need look no farther (or further) than reading the daily headlines, listening to the talking heads, or hoping to figure out what compels students to do what they do, to realize the non-sensical is the norm rather than the exception.

When people learn that I have been in a college classroom for three decades, the first question I am often asked is “Are students different than when you first began teaching?” And of course, their interrogative tone assumes I will answer yes, and that my thoughts about differences are pejorative in nature. The question itself is problematic because it is so vague and open ended, and yet, I believe, in spite of their hope I will confirm their suspicions about Gen-Whatever, the question still has some validity. As I think about possible responses to this, I decided to consider specific moments in the time period my career covers. Even when considering specific students, there is always a cultural, contextual, and historical element to my evaluation. Additionally, there are the societal expectations of the reality the great majority of students grew up believing they should attend college. In spite of my role, or perhaps because of my role, as a college professor, I do not believe college is the best choice, the one-size-fits-all, for every 18 year old. More importantly, my rationale for such a statement is complex, but it does include issues of maturity, finance, and intelligence.

And yet, going back to the Fall of 1992, I found myself, albeit unexpectedly, in a role as a campus pastor and instructor at a junior college. I have noted in earlier posts that the position was a complex one, and yet many of my struggles with the overlapping aspects of that job were of my own making. However, I had some incredibly capable students there. There was also a breadth beyond what I ever imagined in how they came into their first year as students, in their understanding of what was expected of them, or how they conducted themselves in their first foray into independence. Having completed my own undergraduate studies at a liberal arts college, I thought I understood what I would face, but I was wrong. I had little idea of how to straddle the role of campus pastor, instructor, church relations, and someone going through a divorce. I made significant errors in judgment, and yet, I was blessed with some really good people, and by the grace of God, I think some positive results occurred. I can say that with some certainty because I am still in contact with some of them.

What I remember is there was an incredible sort of divide between traditionally aged students and those who were working on their AARN, those who came back, hoping to create a more successful life for themselves. The needs of the two groups of students was profoundly different, and I experienced because of my role as the campus pastor. I would leave that position, and soon found myself back in the role of graduate student again, and also trying to figure out who I was. Single, supply preaching, on my own in a profoundly different way, I was much like the proverbial fish-out-of-water. My counselor at the time (and he would be so for 6 years) was well aware of my struggles, and he once stated, “You are quite good at managing your professional life, but your personal life is quite the mess.” He was both insightful and honest. Being a graduate teaching instructor was quite a change from being the campus pastor, and weekends in the pulpit and weekdays in a composition or technical writing classroom had me feeling a bit divided, to say the least. To make sense of it all, I returned to things I understood, playing my guitar and doing Friday and Saturday gigs, and waiting tables to support the poor graduate student I was. Of course, there were other things that complicated life, another relationship, a bishop, and a lifestyle (for those who work food and beverage this is no surprise) that was injurious to my liver and my self-respect.

I would work my way through a loss of a parent, the loss of an ordination, and the failure of another marriage. I would lose a house, all my retirement savings, and find myself back in Houghton with yet another opportunity to finish my PhD a second time. And yet, in spite of my basic intelligence, my common sense was often on vacation. Still once again, by God’s grace and some supportive mentors and friends, some bosses, their spouses, and even some fellow students, I persevered, kept it together well enough to complete my studies. The students at Michigan Technological University were incredibly capable students, and at moments, I believe it was their desire for excellence that spurred me, raising the bar for me, both in the classroom and in my own studies. The reality of my own health and its frailty was also something that forced me to make better choices. I realize that as I look back.

Perhaps the greatest difficult of that period was the constant juxtaposition I found in myself. I was a 40-something in a world of 20-somethings, I had graduate degrees, but was working on another. I was lonely, but did not know how to manage it, and I was still trying to determine where it would all go. There have been numerous times where I have surmised that many of my struggles were because of a simple (or at least a singular) issue. While the reasons for it were complex, the fact was the various parts of me never seemed to be in the same chronological place. One part of me was still the 4 year old wishing to feel safe. Another was that adolescent who always felt smaller, younger, less capable than my classmates or friends. Yet another wished I had gone through life the normal way (whatever that is) and that I had completed college on time, that the person I had married out of college would have stayed married, had a family, and yes, lived the happily ever after. Perhaps that had me in my 20s or 30s. Again, somehow, I was behind, underdeveloped, underprepared, and less capable. And yet, I was still blessed by others and my sense of resiliency maintained.

I would find myself in Wisconsin in a first tenure-track position. I have written about some of this recently in a posting about a colleague there who had recently passed away. As I got there I thought things would fall into place, but again, my idealism would soon be dashed. My need to fit in, my desire to find those whom I could trust, and yet again, even my foolishness would undermine me. And yet, my time in Menomonie did more than perhaps anytime in my life to close all the gaps that life had created. The chronological disjointedness, the non-sensical choices that too often sabotaged my progress, would finally begin to be replaced. In spite of a Dean, one determined in McConnell sort of a way to make me a one-term individual, there were those who supported me. In my first year, a single mother for whom I retrieved a cookie for her daughter trusted my intentions to support her academic journey. A young incredibly brilliant and talented art student, one who would eventually live in my little carriage house, taught me so much about goodness. A third, who is now 40 and dear to me beyond words, blessed me in ways too many to count. Even those students I failed to work with successfully were important.

And that is only the beginning. Colleagues (one who mentored me beyond Stout into my position in Pennsylvania), dear next-door-on-the-circle colleagues who helped me realize a move might be the best thing ever, and the one who is now the most trusted friend I could ever hope to have, the one who supported and created the possibility for me to leap, contributed to where I am. Restaurateurs, individuals in my church, and others helped me manage those Wisconsin years and welcomed me as I returned to assist the person who probably single-handedly changed my life. And in terms of welcoming me back, a colleague one who began their tenure at Stout when I did became a friend as I was leaving; now 15 years, she and her husband are some of the dearest friends I have. I am often stunned by the seeming reoccurrence the connectedness of people and places. And this is more than the Six Degrees of Separation. It is much more about realizing what you have done, what you have said, or what you experienced can always come around later in life. Consequences have the ability to be timeless, and sometimes that is problematic, and it can be painful.

As I move toward the next phase of my life, I find that I have many more things to be grateful for than I have to regret. I know that is most certainly a blessing. Even as I am in the last days of a last academic year, I continue to learn about the realities of our present world. It could be easy to be disillusioned as yet another experience with students has illustrated their self-centeredness, but more importantly, it provides an opportunity to be gracious. I will serve them and myself better if I choose kindness. Earlier today, I meet a colleague from another department, another college, someone I have never met before, but incredibly brilliant and well versed in our world. We had a wonderful chat about Europe and languages, about travel and other cultures. And as importantly, I have another connection in Europe, and to places I have hoped to travel. As we fly toward the end of the semester, the reality of life, the reality of consequence, and the reality of its all process are in focus. As I sit on the back deck of La Malbec, the sun warms my face and arms, but as importantly, it warms my soul. And with such a day, I am again aware of how much there is to do, both in the immediate (yet today or tomorrow), the near (the next month or two) and beyond (next fall). As I flew home this week, I watch the movie, Children of a Lesser God. My working with ASL students this semester has opened my eyes in ways I could have ever imagined, and yes, ironically, opened my ears to sounds and ideas never known.

Thank you as always for reading.

Dr. Martin