Greetings All:

I thought I would take my lampshade off long enough to tell you a  
short story about why I really became fascinated with Mark Twain as  
opposed to merely interested and respectful of his work.

The story is one of a single first day of class in the fall of 1984.  
I'd signed up for an English Lit class being taught by a professor  
with a grand sounding name, Pascal Covici, Jr. (Those of you who  
already know of whom I speak are already smiling.) He came into the  
room, checked the class roll, outlined the course for the semester  
and then paused as if he'd just thought of something. He slowly  
leaned back onto the chalkboard, arranged his lanky frame in a  
perfectly tilted pose and started to talk about humor. What makes  
something funny? Why exactly? He then proceeded with exceptional  
energy and intelligence to dive into the writings or Mark Twain,  
tossing off examples from so many books, speeches and articles that I  
wouldn't have been able to keep up if I'd been able to try. Instead I  
just sat in complete absorption of what he was saying.

After the bell had apparently rung (I don't recall hearing it) I was  
still sitting there staring at the far wall, my mind spinning around  
in this wonderful new dance I'd just been taught, this cosmic waltz  
in which everything seemed wonderfully vivid and possible. Suddenly  
my state was broken by a hand on my shoulder. I startled a bit, now  
aware the class had left and the only one in the room besides me was  
Professor Covici, Jr., now standing with a soft hand on my shoulder  
and a broad smile on his face. I remember looking right up into his  
eyes and for a profound moment it felt like I really understood  
something, and reflected in those soft eyes it was abundantly clear  
that he did, too, and had done so for many years.

I don't know if it was the lecture of that day or that moment of  
connection but something changed in me, something that has served me  
well for a very long time.

This is what teaching can do and I hope that everyone has had at  
least one such moment in their lives to share as teacher or student  
or both, when knowledge, passion and wisdom are almost tangible in  
the room.

There is a Rumi quatrain translated by Coleman Barks that expresses  
something of this seeing, this nearly electric stuff that happens  
when one's eyes really open if only for a moment:

"Someone who sees you and does not laugh out loud,
or fall silent, or explode in pieces,
is nothing more than the cement
and stone of his own prison."

I shall be forever grateful and humbled for being able to see  
something of Professor Covici, Jr., that day and for his taking the  
time to see something of me.

Cordially,
Benjamin A. van der Wel
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