When my cell phone rang mid Monday morning I was nearly half way through the loads of laundry segregated into color coded piles arranged around the washing machine. Since my phone displayed a number rather than a name, I nearly ignored taking the call as the number was not one with which I was familiar. I hesitated, mindful that I may have procrastinated in adding a previously unrecognized number of a friend or acquaintance to my call list. The caller’s voice was heavy, rounded with time, moderated, and totally unknown to me and try as I might I could not retrieve it from any of those dusty rooms of memory our youth abandons as we age. But it knew me, this mysterious voice, it seemed quite sure that I was who it sought. Haltingly, I asked that disembodied echo to identify itself; I had recently been engaged in an electronic war –battling email scam to help a friend– and for a chilling moment thought my opponents had countered to begin a personal assault on me. Stephen Lewis, replied the voice. It was a voice I hadn’t heard in 38 years; the last time we saw each other was only briefly after I was married in 1969.
Steve was calling from Sophia, Bulgaria. My world has been so parochial that his call marks the first ever international call that I have received although I had called my daughter several times when she was a student studying abroad in Florence, Italy. Steve and I had recently re-established contact by email through a mutual friend and college buddy, Doc Searls. The three of us were philosophy majors at Guilford College during the mid to late ’60’s when unrest, change, and violence were part of the birthing pains of an evolving cultural reformation as well as the construction of a new south. Our paths crossed briefly, but long enough, so that time has not worn away good will or mutual respect for one another.
My fondest recollection of Steve may belie his introspective nature, the remarkable quality of his mind; however, to me, it succinctly and precisely illustrates the prodigious humor of an equally facile mind. I wish I had thought of his hilarious rejoinder. Steve and I had taken Carroll Feagins’ Philosophy of Aesthetics class not simply because we were philosophy majors but because aesthetics was one of the areas in philosophy at which Feagins excelled and loved. Needless to say, we were both disappointed when Feagins was forced to retire from the class due to a life threatening illness. Our disappointment soon turned to dismay when the president of the college, Grimsley Hobbs, who was also a professor of philosophy, elected to take over the course in Carroll’s stead. Almost immediately the quality and scope of the class deteriorated.
Active classroom participation and discussion is one of the characteristic hallmarks highlighted in a small liberal arts college; in my experience it was not only alive but flourished at Guilford during this period. Socratic interaction was the keystone to Feagins’ teaching; Hobbs, a non-pacifist Quaker who served in the Air Force, resorted to the military’s marshal methods of education reminiscent of those theatrical representations of a World War II Marine Drill Instructor lording it over the recruits at basic training. Aesthetics was a senior level philosophy course; Hobbs’ tactics provided ample justification for his detractors. In all honesty, I had encounters with Hobbs previously and was remarkably unimpressed with his style and substance. At our first meeting with Hobbs he announced to the class that what we thought was unimportant; he didn’t care what we thought but was interested only in our demonstrations offering proof that we had read the assignments he made. The proof he demanded of us was a clinical arrangements of facts contained in the reading assignment the length of which was two type-written pages due at the beginning of each class; no original thought! I had a free period before aesthetics class during which time I spewed out two pages of rote for the remainder of that class.
Steve fared less well than I. His distrust and dislike of Hobbs’ betrayal to Carroll’s methods was unshakable and very nearly led to disastrous consequences for him had not Carroll intervened before the final exam was given and mitigated the damage done by Grimsley. As gruesome as the experience may have been, there was a shining moment of hilarity that has also lent balance to my perspective while reflecting on the events of that time period. Grimsley had decided to conduct class in a show and tell fashion when we were “discussing” the aesthetics of painting. He was proud of his collection of reproductions of famous paintings and brought them to class to use as resource material. There were no seating assignments for our class and generally we sat randomly in the round. As fate would have it, on one particular occasion, I was the unlucky person who got to sit on one side of Grimsley and was charged with the task of holding the paintings that he brought so that the class could see each one as he offered his commentary and analysis on each one in turn. Steve was seated next to me and shielded from Grimsley by the paintings I held up for the rest of the class to see. Unable to contain himself at Hobbs’ characterization of color in a painting of Tintoretto as “juicy”, Steve leaned toward me behind the painting I was holding and bartered barely audible in his irrepressible Brooklyn brogue: Tom, I’ll trade you one DiMaggio for two Tintorettos.
Tom, Thanks for the nice words and for our long conversation. The trade offer still holds. And, if you want to swap any Byzantine frescoes for the photo of your choice from my Bubkes.Org site, I’m game. I look forward to more “scribbling” from both ours side, especially should we try to make sense of the 50s and 60s and Guilford’s tunnel into to the 19th century from the dizzying heights of the 21st. Steve
[...] The 1960s and the reunion of two former philosophy students and friends, look at these kind words from North Caroline writer, thinker, and convinced Quaker Tom [...]
Mr. Lewis,
Of course I am not happy about your characterization of my father who was recognized as an outstanding teacher. I acknowledge that not everyone would agree. It was unfortunate that Dr. Feagin became ill and needed someone to fill in on short notice.
Please correct your biographical misinformation. My father held a non-combatant medic status in the Army Air Corp during WWII. After the war he wrote the most articulate personal statement of pacifism that I have ever read . He was a disciplined intellectual who was known for being tough and fair in the classroom. I would be interested to know your grade for the course to see if his judgement of your class performance was similar to your judgement of him.
Grimsley Hobbs Jr.
Grimsley,
I don’t know if you were really directing your comments to Steve or to me; however, I am afraid that the particular aesthetics class I mentioned in my blog was a fair characterization. I apologize for the error regarding your father’s military status. I was unaware of his articulation of his position on pacifism; it was not something he ever mentioned as his approach in the classroom was rather distant and seemingly uninterested it actually interacting with his students in a fair and open exchange of ideas.
During the performance of work as a CO at Guilford, I was harassed by the head of the maintenance department when I was on an approved week’s vacation. I received calls at my parent’s home threatening that I would be reported to my draft board as being AWOL. You might wonder how they knew where to reach me. Since, the vacation was approved, I included telephone numbers where I could be contacted in case of emergency. So I called your father, a Quaker and president of the college and all. He refused to talk to me, and had his secretary tell me he couldn’t get involved. So much for an articulate statement of personal pacifism, personal justice, or simply an open-minded approach that was the hallmark of a disciplined scholar! My letters to the national director citing the circumstances surrounding Guilford’s role, or more accurately, its lack of oversight in its alternative service program caused the government to consider rescinding Guilford’s participation in such a program. In addition to the action I had taken several CO’s who were members of the Church of God filed complaints with the national director of the Selective Service as well, particularly those who were African American, and felt that they were being subjected to religious and racial discrimination.
I might also add that you were around during that time and you should honestly check your own recollections of work in the maintenance department and paint crews. There are many perspectives on the past and I am afraid very few of them are objective. As to my grade, I received an “A”.
Tom. I worked in the grounds crew that summer and remember the African American Church of God COs and their dilemma. As to Hobbs Jr. , he is apparently too befuddled or too much of a substance abuser to have seen that the text was on your weblog site and not mine and too impolite to address me as DEAR Mr. Lewis. He appears to be even more rage filled and aggressive than his father. I far prefer the authentic contemplative convinced-Quaker tone of your writing. Bravo to you for your honest response. With respect as always, Steve
A suddenly-remembered detail. I worked on the grounds crew because my anti-war and pro-union and pro-civil rights activities had gotten me black-listed (yes; there was active black-listing in and around Greensboro). I was treated with contempt by the head of the crew, not least for not being a Christian and for socializing with the Black Church of God COs. Eventually, I was fired from the crew. Some years before, during Hobbs’s tenure as president of Guilford College, my Chas. A. Dana scholarship had been suspended due to the impropriety of my opinions and activism. The scholarship was returned to me following the intervention of progressive and truly Quaker faculty. SL