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Professor
Bridgman.
For
those that know him, his very name brings forth memories, stories,
and a general gratitude to this truly unique professor of history.
You would think that from such a memorable figure, it would
be easy to explain him and his appeal to such a varied body
of admirers. But you would be wrong. Professor Bridgman defies
explanation and yet I will try to provide a modest attempt to
describe this great teacher.
Years
after I left college, I was looking through an alumni booklet
sent to me by the University of Washington. As I browsed through
the endless requests for money, advertisements, and articles
from a place I can only relive through memory, something jumped
out at me. It was a picture of my favorite professor in such
a startling stereotypical pose that I had to stop in shock.
This simple picture so perfectly captured the essence that is
Professor Bridgman that it is the perfect starting point for
this explanation. It was a pure moment where a photograph exactly
reflects the mental picture you have of someone. I knew I had
to cut the picture out and write this article out of the respect
I have for him.
I
was not a history buff in college. As a technical communication
major, the only reason I even considered taking a history class
was because I needed the elective and I was convinced by a good
friend that Professor Bridgman’s class is one that I would never
forget. On reputation and word of mouth alone, I signed up for
what I thought would be a sleeper class. How far from the truth
was the result.
I
showed up the first day to the auditorium, early as usual, and
chose a seat in the middle of the cavernous lecture hall. Watching
the normal slovenly clothed students mill in with headphones,
hats on backward, and with sleepy looks in their eyes, I knew
most of them had just awoken to their first class of the day
at 0900. The lecture hall held several hundred students and
it looked like it was going to be a full house, a fact I noted
as strange for an history class so early in the college day
where anything before noon is “crazy early.”.
From
the side door, a small man was trying to get around a couple
of students in a hurried fashion. With an armful of books, his
glasses in the other hand, and his head down, he seemed preoccupied
in a world all his own. He seemed only to want to get to the
lectern where he hurriedly organized the loose leaf sheets of
paper while ignoring the general buzz that is so much a part
of the pre-class air.
Standing
there, I tried to size the man up. Standing only about 5’5”,
he reminded me of Ray Walston, the actor who played Uncle Martin
in My Favorite Martian. With a white goatee that he shared with
his students as the fad of the day, it somehow afforded him
a distinguished look. He wore a white shirt, conservative tie,
and a sport jacket that could not have cost more than a couple
of dozen dollars when he bought it a decade ago. In short, he
looked like a lovable little professor in stark contrast what
the modern college student had evolved into. I thought to myself
that either they would eat him alive or he would have to be
a Nazi to get and keep control of such a large group of authority-hating
teens.
Precisely
at 0900, Professor Bridgman looked at his watch and began his
lecture. He gave no warning, no pleas to sit or be quiet. He
simply started and ignored the inevitable train of students
flowing in the doors without as much as a concerned look that
they were arriving late.
I
think you could almost label Professor Bridgman as having Turret’s
Syndrome. He would speak very fast and then suddenly stop his
pace, hesitate in mid-thought, and then continue with an explosion
of sound, as though the dam of thought had built up and gushed
forth suddenly. Additionally, he would convulse a little, blinking
his eyes hard, adding unintentional emphasis to what he was
saying. Depending on when you looked at him, it was a 50/50
chance he would have his glasses on. He would put them on, as
to read his notes, and then suddenly jerk them off his face
without even getting to what he had written. This happened repeatedly
to the point that you wondered why he even had glasses in the
first place. What resulted was at first odd and evoked a nervous
laugh from the students. He seemed, well, a bit nuts. But what
it also accomplished is an attention-getting idiosyncrasy that
quickly endeared the class to this peculiar professor.
Another
part of his delivery that raised eyebrows was a result of his
aforementioned rate of speech. You had to pay attention if you
wanted to keep up and sometimes, he would even outpace himself.
The result would be a series of “uh..uh..uh” machine-gun utterances
that kept the pace while his nimble mind reset itself. Sometimes,
these events would last for quite a few seconds, resulting in
smiles across the room. But they were not out of ridicule but
from true entertainment.
You
see, the most important part of Professor Bridgman’s delivery
and the very reason why his strange verbal habits entertained
us so much was a result of his pure passion for what he was
saying. He did not simply lecture to us, recalling facts and
dates that so bores students of history. What he accomplished
was the art of creating an environment and projecting his passion
for the subject to those listening. He captured not only the
attention but the imagination of everyone in the room and when
the bell rang, the hour seemed to have flown by as it does when
watching a great movie. He knew the subject matter so well that
the students knew he was speaking from his personal knowledge
base rather than notes. It almost seemed as though he had lived
through the periods he spoke of and some thought in some supernatural
way that he may have.
As
far as discipline in his class, there was never a need. He held
the attention of his students in a firm grip of interest rather
than intimidation. Another interesting part of his class was
the variety of students that came to watch his performances.
In the front row were always elderly gentlemen who probably
came to relive the history that they were a part of. Behind
them you could see the most serious history student sitting
next to someone with a pink mohawk; both of them equally enjoying
what Professor Bridgman had to offer. His sheer magnetism and
exuberance were enough to keep hordes of young students enthralled
for an entire semester.
Professor
Bridgman always brought notes. He never used them, but he always
brought them. Hand-scribbled on loose leaf sheets of white paper,
Professor Bridgman hated computers. His office was a cluttered
mess of books and paper. He claimed to be the only person in
the University to still use the card catalogue on the third
floor of the library that most had abandoned when the online
search engine made finding books much easier. Never a truer
Ludite ever existed but this only added to his legend.
Going
back to the picture above, you can see this force in action.
Look at the pose Professor Bridgman makes as he tries to show
physically what he feels about the point he is making. More
importantly, look at the students. They are all smiling and
it is evident that whatever point the Professor is making, they
are under his spell. This is exactly the feeling I had every
day while sitting in those very same seats. After that first
class, I knew I was in the presence of greatness.
I
only took one class from Professor Bridgman but it is the most
memorable class I ever took and the one I most vividly remember
from the four years I spent at the University of Washington.
God bless you, Professor Bridgman and I know I speak for thousands
of students who benefited from your efforts.
UPDATE:
I
wrote that in 2001 and sent it to him. He returned a card thanking
me and to this day, I keep that card on my computer desk propped
up like a Christmas card. I have the original picture from above
taped to the inside.
Here
is what the Professor wrote to me:
27
March 2001
Dear
Capt Grose,
Thank
you so much for the wonderful character sketch. It was a striking
reminder that others see us rather differently than we see
ourselves. I found it witty, cleverly written and thoroughly
enjoyable – and I might add very flattering. It is hard
to express how much it means to me who teaches to realize
that occasionally your teaching really does have an impact
– all I can say is ‘How very kind of you!’
Sincerely,
Jon Bridgman
This
card is among my most prized possessions.
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