I was standing in Peck Hall looking at the English department's bulletin board when my professor asked me, "Are you thinking of pursuing an advanced course of study in English?" I must have responded yes because then I distinctly remember him replying in his matter of fact way, "You'll do fine."
He was my professor for both sophomore literature courses and a course called Introduction to Popular Culture, which I mostly took just because I wanted to take another one of his classes. He was also my academic adviser. He had his PhD, but I remember he told his sophomore literature students, "My name is Dunne. You can call me Mr. Dunne."
He was known for his dry, sarcastic sense of humor and his straightforwardness, but he was a sentimental, tender hearted man as well. He loved Fred Astaire movies, especially the ones with Fred and Ginger Rogers. I remember his wife saying that on a trip to England he cried when he saw the memorial to T.S. Eliot at Westminster Abbey. He gave simple, straightforward advice on writing that I find useful to this day. He would say, "Read what you've written out loud, and if it sounds wrong, then it probably is wrong."
No one with the exception of my parents was ever more encouraging academically than Mr. Dunne. He nominated me for the English department's highest honor three times. He wrote glowing letters of recommendation for me and helped me get graduate teaching assistantships at two different colleges. He appreciated the best in me but was aware of my lesser qualities. He knew that I was my own worst enemy. I still remember him saying to me, "I know you can do it, but you don't, and that's the problem."
That low self esteem reared its ugly head in 1992 when I started graduate school across the state, my first real experience away from home. After one semester I was back at home, mortified at the thought of what Mr. Dunne and everyone must think. If Mr. Dunne was disappointed he never let it show. I received a postcard from him that said the following in his almost indecipherable handwriting: "I hear you are back from U.T. I do not hear, however, that you are unable to pick up the phone or write. Love, Michael Dunne."
I wasn't quite ready in 1992 for my world to grow larger. At the time I was bewildered by the anxiety I felt in my new surroundings, but almost twenty years later, I can see the person I was back then and can understand why I experienced difficulties. Of course, Mr. Dunne knew what part of the problem was even back then. I remember sitting in his office the summer before I left for graduate school. I had just returned from my first trip to Disney World which was also my first trip on an airplane. I had gone with a girlfriend of mine. I believe it was the first trip I ever took with someone other than my family. Somehow the subject of James Taylor, my favorite singer at the time, must have entered the conversation. The details of what I said are unclear, but this part I distinctly remember: Mr. Dunne in his pull no punches way saying, "You know there are other places in the world to go to besides Disney World, and there other singers in the world besides James Taylor."
Nowadays I listen to James Taylor every now and then instead of all the time, and there are lots of places I want to visit although I can't wait to take my little boy to Disney World. The other day I had my Ipod on shuffle and James Taylor came on singing, "My Traveling Star." I felt a rush of gratitude and affection for my brilliant and caring professor who believed in me, helped me to grow, and cared enough to say what he really thought.
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