Since I first got into the academic business, I’ve heard a near-constant litany of complaints about the oversized egos of college professors, and I’ve certainly run into my share of pointy-heads who definitely fill the bill. It struck me early on that not only did a great many of these folks fall into what my mama used to refer to as the “Educated Beyond Their Intelligence” category, but they clearly had never read a single set of student evaluations from one of their classes. Lest the Ol’ Bloviator somehow start getting a little too full of himself, several years ago I instituted the practice of posting beside my office door what I deemed the most creative put-downs meted out by my charges each year. Well, folks, the votes are in, and it’s that time again; so here goes. Here is the hands-down winner for 2009 from my “U.S. History Since 1865” class of 300 souls, which met on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 11 a.m. until 12:15 p.m.
Question: What specifically did you like most about this course?
Answer: “Looking down and seeing 12:14 p.m. on my watch.”
The Runner Up
Question: How does this instructor compare with other instructors you have had at the university?
(My favorite all-time favorite response to this query was “shorter than most,” although, from way back in the 1970s, there was “He wears high-water pants and thinks he’s Johnny Carson.” Come to think of it, “sweats a lot” wasn’t bad either.) This year’s judging resulted in a tie between “ not as boring as everyone claims” and “He is old.”
My advanced age actually earned me a couple of back-handed compliments this time, including the student whose favorite thing about the class was “Professor Cobb relating to his life because he is an old-timer and has lived this part of history.” I realize that isn’t exactly gushy, but it beats the hell out of the 2007 winner whose response to what he “liked most” about the class was “NADA. This class blows.”
Lest some prying administrator goofing off when he/she should be writing memos no one will read or understand should happen onto this site and decide it’s time for the Ol’ Bloviator to get on the waiting list over at the home for broken-down old dog-ass profs, I should add that there were at least a couple of positive observations. “Personally,” one member of my flock insisted, “I don’t know how being taught history can be made any funner [sic.].” (Obviously, an English major.)
Thankfully, there is always one comment that seems to convince me that I should persist in binding up my wounds, strapping on the pads and having yet another go at it, and this year’s was “I really enjoyed Cobb’s enthusiasm to teach—he walks in everyday prepared, in a good mood, in that little ole baseball hat—he makes jokes and really knows his stuff.” I’m not so sure about the “good mood” or “knows his stuff,” but she’s certainly right that I still love what I’m doing (even if everybody in the class doesn’t), and I’m very pleased that comes through to some of them anyway.
This may seem that I’m setting the bar pretty low for myself, but you have to remember that freshmen and sophomores are not exactly pushovers, especially when they’re 300 strong and wedged together for 75 minutes in a jam-packed auditorium that is not exactly conducive to warm and fuzzy feelings of community or connection. In the final analysis, I came out better than a lot of them this year, especially a former colleague elsewhere who was dismissed by a student as someone who would “ bore the sh_ _ out of a tree owl.” Suffice it to say, if you don’t think you can cut it as a taxidermist or mortician and are dead set on joining the professoriate, you’d better develop a thick hide to go with those sensible shoes.
