When next I saw him, that summer at his parents' upscale local home, I forgot to ask how he had fared with his marks - though perhaps I demurred out of friendly politeness. So, at nights (forget the weekends, prime party time for football stars) I would coach him in metaphysics. And every lesson the prof gave went right over his head! George was a down-to-earth gentle giant of a kid with a big heart. We students in the back rows, especially myself and my friend George - a star defensive linebacker for our football team - would stare down upon his energetically gesticulating form (while he commanded the stage below with a musical Highland brogue). Had he been young now, when university enrolment in the Humanities is at a tragic low, he would have felt right at home.īack in the 1960's, we had a thundering-loud but exceptionally wise Philosophy Professor. My 1970's buddy George lived in the wrong era.
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