I can count on one hand how many times I have returned to the place I got my formal undergraduate education for meetings of professional nature. In most cases when I am called to attend a gathering at the college level, I travel closer to the school I work at than the campus I attended a meeting at on this day in New Albany. More often than not I go to Columbus to visit the campuses of Indiana University Purdue University-Columbus or its Learning Center sharing partner Ivy Tech State College. One a few occasions I have even made my way to the Ivy Tech campus in Evansville. When you drive 54 miles one way to work, you really don’t think too much about driving long distances.
On this day, I was back at Indiana University Southeast. The place where I earned my undergraduate degree in Secondary English Education.
After my meeting, I took a few minutes to visit some places on campus that were important to me. My head was on a swivel as I looked for things that were familiar. Aside from the exterior of most of the buildings, there were many changes that rendered old spaces very unfamiliar. What would one expect?
I found the classroom that changed everything I know about education. Hillside Hall Room 205.
It was in this classroom that I met my mentor, my friend, my best teacher. His name: Dr. Millard Dunn. Don’t ask me why Millard and I got along. I remember the first day of class. I saw him walking down the hall laughing with a colleague…another English sort that I did not get along with. I had been a student in this lady’s class during an earlier term. My respect-a-meter for her was low. Millard fell quickly to the bug-a-boo that is guilt by association. This guy is laughing at something that old battle-ax just said, I thought. She hasn’t said anything clever since the Nixon administration, I surmised.
Shame on me.
It did not take long to realize that Millard Dunn was the real deal. What this guy possessed was intelligence that I keenly appreciated and…not to sound ostentatious…related to. The things he said and how he said them. I got it. Others in the room were there to get their credit and do their time. Me, I was finally ready to learn and found someone I could relate to in doing so. That classroom is still very important to me.
The thing is…I respected Millard. I asked questions. He gave careful answers. I asked more questions. He gave more meaningful answers. I asked even more questions. He rolled up his sleeves as to acknowledge he got me. We were going to work together. Did we ever. I took every class Millard taught. We ran through Grammar and Usage. We hit Western Literature. We took on poetry and creative writing. We got immersed in studying the New England Renaissance as we broke down the Transcendentalist and the Anti-Transcendentalist.
When I visited Walden Pond a few years ago for the first time, I thought of Millard Dunn.
When I visited the Herman Melville Room of the Berkshire Athenaeum
in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, I thought about Millard Dunn.
It was in the room above over twenty years ago that I pulled off my most daring effort during my time at IUS.
It was mid-September of the fall term. Dr. Dunn was making an assignment. Each class participant was to give a presentation that included the works of a major author and a multi-media type device to share with students…be it a poster, a tri-fold board of facts and interesting information, or a recording of the work…something we could tangibly share with our fellow students that was more than just standing there reading about someone. These were due at the end of the semester
Dr. Dunn was taking volunteers. The earlier you volunteered, the earlier you got to choose the author you wanted to present on. Everyone in the class had to choose a different author. I threw up my hand first. The exchanged that raised Dr. Dunn’s eyebrows and drew the ire of my classmates went as follows:
Dr. Dunn: Who would like to volunteer to present first?
Me: I’ll volunteer to do mine on Henry David Thoreau.
Dr. Dunn: Thank you, Mr. Johnson. Mr. Johnson will lead us off.
Me: No, Dr. Dunn. I don’t think so.
Dr. Dunn: What do mean, you don’t think so?
Me: Well…the way I see it, I can’t go first. I’m volunteering to go last…because no one is going to want to follow me.
Dr. Dunn: This had better be good. I won’t forget this. But I will grant you the last spot.
My classmates were not impressed. I think Dr. Dunn, however, was.
The weekend before the end of the semester, in December, I went to the woods to live deliberately. Actually, I went to Washington County to a very large farm pond that belonged to a friend of mine. What I did was turn this pond and the woods around it into Walden Pond Southwest.
I took a video camera and taped the scenery around the pond as I read passages from Walden. I took the video camera and put it on the ground with the pond in the background and in front of the pond I built a Lincoln Log home to represent the cabin Henry David Thoreau built near Walden Pond. Honestly, I was off the charts. This was truly one of the most creative things I ever put together.
Why? Because Millard Dunn made me believe I could do it. He showed me it was okay for a Moody Blues loving, football playing, poetry writing hayseed to really turn up the volume and enjoy what the work ahead of us was.
On the last day of the semester, I gave my presentation…last. I turned off the lights. I fired up the antiquated VCR that was quite state of the art at the time. I let it happen.
At the end of my presentation, Millard turned on the lights as he stood in the doorway.
He said: I don’t want to follow that either. We’ll let Mr. Johnson have the last word of the semester.
Dr. Dunn walked off. When we came back for the new term in January we talked about that day. We both enjoyed it.
At this writing, IUS is building a permanent amphitheater on the spot where they used portable shell-like structure to feature graduation the day I received my undergrad degree. My mom and my dear wife, Carrie, bought me a class ring to commemorate the event. I wear the ring every day. On occasion I have to explain that no… I did not get it at a pawn shop. While some don’t have the faith they need in people, Millard Dunn had faith in my ability as a student and a teacher. I hope I have not let him down.
Speaking the rights.
Danny Johnson
