The Rain Song For Bernie

To teach my 11:30 a.m. "Foundations of Speech Communication" class (which deals with Socrates, Plato, Aristotle and all those old dudes who sound like, well, Greek to most modern students) at UW Oshkosh, I have to walk from the Arts and Communication Center to Swart Hall. Most professors enjoy teaching all their classes in the same building housing their office; I enjoy having one class in a different building so that I can get some air, mingle with the students as they change classes, marvel at the sheer amount of people now totally engulfed in cell phone and ipod communications, or--when there is no one to mingle with because they are all cell-phoned or ipoded--do some of my best daydreaming.

Before leaving my office for the Wednesday 11:30 class, I said to myself, "self, should you bring an umbrella today?" I'd heard reports of rain coming, but I looked out the window and it did not seem at all threatening. So, no umbrella. As 12:30 and the end of my class neared, it started to get very, very dark outside. It started to rain very, very hard.

In the 11:30 class right now, in which are enrolled almost all graduating seniors, the students are delivering final "after dinner" speeches, the goal of which is to reflect on their college experience using lots of schemes and tropes. Students enjoy learning how to use figures of speech, mostly because they quickly learn how the simplest turn of phrase can make the difference between a blah sentence and one that can prod an audience to laughter, tears, or something equally emotional.

One student's speech today was incredibily funny, well delivered, and used the humor to enforce a serious point about the ethics of communication. The speech almost brought me to tears not because of tearjerking content, but because the student had shown dramatic improvement from her earlier performances in this class and a class that she had with me previously. For a teacher there is little that is more thrilling than seeing the evidence that someone has learned something, especially when the student's display of what they have learned also reflects some kind of personal growth and development. Her speech did more than merely meet assignment guidelines; something about her demeanor while delivering it betrayed the fact that she had developed a real appreciation for critical thought, creativity, and the power of language (I actually had suspicions last week that this particular student was moving in that direction when, during a simple class exercise designed to practice writing figures of speech, she and a class partner came up with a brilliant hypothetical public service announcement written for Laura Bush and urging parents to read to their children.).

When class ended I asked that student to stick around for a second and I told her how much I appreciated the speech. I have such a reputation as a tough grader and difficult prof to please on assignments that she initially seemed shocked. She left seeming very happy and motivated to write and speak more.

Back to the rain . . . on my way down the stairs to get to the door to lead me out of the building, I started to think of Bernie Brock, my former professor who I had recently eulogized in this blog. On Tuesday night I had received an email from Joan Leininger, Bernie's companion of many years and a great professor of communication in her own right. She asked me if I knew that Bernie had died, so I sent her the blog posting. Later she emailed me again: "Your eloquence touched me deeply. Bernie and I both watched you develop from a young student zealot.....somewhat wild-eyed....into a fine scholar who has distinguished himself in both academics and politics. We were/are very proud of you. Bernie spoke often of you with pride in what you have accomplished. He would be happy to know how much he influenced you. .....and he probably does." His son Arthur has started a memorial website.

It was pouring outside and I did not want to get drenched, so I just stood by the door with some students and thought about Bernie for a while. He had this habit, which I found irritating at first but then grew to love and look forward to hearing, of placing an "eth" at the end of peoples' names. So if your name was Tim he'd call you "Timeth," George was "Georgeth," etc. I of course on occasion became "Toneth." So I'm watching the rain, thinking about the inspired student speech in my class, visualizing and hearing Bernie call me "Toneth" as I walked into a graduate class and . . . yes, I shed a tear. Maybe more than one. By that time the rain had slowed a bit so I left Swart Hall and ran back to my building.

You know there's really only a couple of Led Zeppelin songs that I really like. The greatest is "The Rain Song," which I hereby dedicate to Bernie Brock.

This is the springtime of my loving-
The second season I am to know
You are the sunlight in my growing-
So little warmth I’ve felt before.
It isn’t hard to feel me glowing-
I watched the fire that grew so low.

It is the summer of my smiles-
Flee from me keepers of the gloom.
Speak to me only with your eyes
It is to you I give this tune.
Ain’t so hard to recognize-
These things are clear to all from
Time to time. ooooh...

Talk talk-
I’ve felt the coldness of my winter
I never thought it would ever go
I cursed the gloom that set upon us...

But I know that I love you so
But I know that I love you so.

These are the seasons of emotion
And like the winds they rise and fall
This is the wonder of devotion-
I see the torch we all must hold.
This is the mystery of the quotient-
Upon us all a little rain
Must fall.
Just a little rain?
Ooooh, yeah yeah yeah!