As promised, here's an account of the great college teacher I had, back in the Seventies at Southern Oregon College:
Brown hair falling to his shoulders, face swathed in moustache and shaggy beard, garbed in a worn turtleneck shirt and corduroy pants, young Brian Bond would have looked like a hippie to my grandma. On the first day in his World Literature class, I saw that seats had been arranged in a circle: there was no “front” of the classroom, and Brian sat at a desk like everyone else. There was no back row for students to hide in. He said that the class was all about participation, and, in the days ahead, discussions were lively. Everyone, he added as he introduced the course, would create a term project in any medium: one could write a research paper if one wished, but he would welcome an original story or poem, or drawings or paintings; or one could give a reading or perform a musical piece related to the course. The second time I took a course from Brian, I created a suite of pen-and-ink illustrations for the books we read: pictures of scabby devils from Dante’s Inferno, the threatening Elvish warrior from Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the rascally Monkey making a stir in the celestial realm by blotting out the names of mortals due to die, and an angry living-dead character named Killer-Hrapp sinking into the ground, from Laxdaela Saga. In one of Brian’s American lit courses, a guy read one of Walt Whitman’s poems, “Out of the Cradle, Endlessly Rocking,” to the taped accompaniment of ocean wave sounds. Looking back, I wonder why ballerina Mary Molodovsky didn’t do an interpretive dance as her project in one of his classes. Brian consented to be my cooperating teacher for independent study courses on some of my favorite authors, including G. K. Chesterton and George MacDonald. During casual visits to his office, I’d chat with Brian about books and his days with the Peace Corps in exotic Afghanistan, and enjoy the aroma of his pipe tobacco.
As I mentioned elsewhere at Chrons recently, he let me take home books from his personal library, including: the original edition of Kenneth Morris's
Book of the Three Dragons (praised by Ursula Le Guin in her "From Elfland to Poughkeepsie," this wasn't reprinted till the early Eighties, I believe it was, by Hyperion -- then I ordered a copy promptly); Maeve Gilmore's memoir of Mervyn Peake,
A World Away;
Meade and Penny Frierson's
HPL
copies of his Mythopoeic Society fanzines, including the one to which he contributed an article on C. S. Lewis's space trilogy, and more. He introduced me to the F&SF Book Company -- such a great source in those pre-Internet days...
He also introduced me to numerous "mainstream" authors or books that I liked a lot, ranging from ones mentioned above to Isaac Bashevis Singer. (I didn't always cotton to things he liked; I did read all of the Anais Nin diary that he assigned, but that book didn't prove to be a keeper! -- and I never did read the astrological novel he assigned for one of his classes.)
It turned out he'd known Paul S. Ritz, who was a correspondent of mine, when he was at Bowling Green, and we even talked him into joining the fantasy apa
Elanor for a brief time!
Book of the Three Dragons
His office was in Central Hall.