My learning curve

When I was 17, I left Hawaii and went to University of Washington for school. I had come from a very good, albeit small, all girl Catholic school in Kaimuki, HI. I had graduated 4th in my class and felt like I was a brainiac. That all changed when I was faced with attending classes with 300+ other braniacs and trying hard to be on the good side of the curve. I was quite simply *gasp* average amongst the rest of them.

I hadn't preregistered for my classes before I got to school so I was faced with trying to register on the first day of class. It was a crazy system, way before registration by computers or even by phone. Phone registration came the following year for me. I think about it now, and realize that it was the dark ages. So, I had to go to a class that I was interested in, hope the professor would be accepting students, and rush him/her at the end of class like some crazed fan hoping for an autograph.

That first day of classes, I decided to try to get into anything, but hoped that it would be after 9am. I kind of hoped that I would be able to sleep in every day. That would have been nice. But to give myself the best possible chance, I decided to start auditioning classes at 8, just in case.

I had walked into Philosophy 100 with very low expectations. I didn't really want to take the class, but maybe the prof would sign my card and hopefully the classes after this ludicrously early class would let me in and I could just tear up the first autograph collected. That was my plan, Stan. But I didn't consider the possibility of being swept off my feet. Weird to think of it that way, now.

I strategically sat near the front of the class so I could run up right after it ended. Dr. Ronald Moore walked in looking like the quintessential philosophy professor. He had a stack of papers and journals under one arm, wore a sports coat and tie, and a full beard. He was heavyset but tall and had this effusive energy about him. He started talking and I was mesmerized.

You know, it has been 20 years since that first class and I've had dozens of professors ever since. I cannot remember the names of any of them except for Dr. Moore. He made such a lasting impression on me.

For the first time, I was learning about philosophy without the veil of religion. 13 years of parochial school will do that for you. But aside from that, he made it all very reachable -- these concepts and theories, all so very within my grasp. His classes were kinetic, the air palpably energized, they were thrilling. I enjoyed them so much that I signed my little freshman butt up for the only other class he was teaching to undergraduates, a 400 level class on the Philosophy of Art.

What you need to know is that I don't know jack about art. Seriously. Sure, I listened to music and even went to the Honolulu Academy of Art when I was in high school. But aside from that, I never gave it much thought. Really, I had that poster up on my dorm room wall of Le Baiser de l'Hotel de Ville, Paris, 1950 just like every other freshman girl. And if I remember correctly, I cut up pictures out of the Fall 1987 Esprit catalog and pasted them up on the walls. That was art to me back then. I'm a little more than embarrassed to admit all of that. But I signed up for that class because I loved going to his lectures.

So I suppose you're wondering why I'm writing about this at all.

A couple of evenings ago, Dr. Moore delivered a lecture at my local library. He spoke about Art & Aesthetics on trial in America. Pretty cerebral stuff, huh? But I went. And I still don't know jack about art. I did manage to go to the Seattle Art Museum a couple of times since high school -- seriously, only twice. But I did it of my own accord and not as part of a school group. I even got to see the Van Gogh exhibit.

The trouble with not knowing anything about the subject being discussed is that you're always playing catch up, and true to form, Dr. Moore was speaking a mile a minute, punctuated with little observations and asides. I did remember to look up a website he talked about. That was cool. We've got a lot more in common than I had previously thought.

But before the lecture even started, my dear friend Sharon insisted that I talk to him. And I don't know where it comes from, the nervousness that I feel around him. It was like that when I was 17 and the same now that I'm 38. I recognized him immediately. He had aged, but heck, I sure don't look 17 any more. He's got a few more gray hair, but he's still got that same booming voice, that same energy, and that same rapid fire wit. Anyway, when I refused to get my nerve up to talk to him, Sharon spoke up instead and asked, "Do you recognize her?" He looked up and I could tell he couldn't pick me out of a crowd of 2. It has been 20 years, after all. And I was one of 300 in my class in the first place. Please, it would have been a miracle if he recognized me. And I was far more timid then than I am now, and I still didn't have the nerve to talk to him.

I did manage to squeak out who I was and that I had taken his classes a couple of decades ago. I even shook his hand. You'd have been proud of me. And like I had done all those years ago, when he started talking, I rode it like a surfer rides a wave. I just tried to keep my feet under me and not fall off. It was awesome. I shook his hand again after it was all done. I told him that he was just as I remembered and thanked him for the lecture. I think that made him smile.

Afterwards, I was flying high. And I couldn't figure out why. Freshman year, after I left the last class, turned in my final exam for Philosopy of Art, I remember just feeling very sad. I would never have him as my teacher again. But thanks to my local library I got to hear him speak again. That was great.

I kept asking Sharon & my mom what they thought of the lecture. They both said they enjoyed it. They both said that Dr. Moore was impressive and knowledgeable. But I could tell they weren't star struck like I was. Mom thinks that maybe he made such an impression because his was the first college lecture I attended. That my feelings about him were wrapped up in the excitement of the first day of college life. Maybe she's right. But I remember rejoicing when he won the Distinguished Professor award while I was still a student there. I knew he deserved it so I'm sure there is more to it. Maybe it is just that great teachers are always remembered and always ignite something in their students. I still don't have a handle on it. But I'm glad that I got to see him again. I'm glad that he gave me a few more things to think about before the next time.

I can't wait until then. Maybe I'll even manage to work myself up to a conversation. I'd better take a class in art appreciation.