My Favorite Teacher

Throughout my first 9 college classes, there was only one that stood out far and above as my favorite: Political Science 101. That was only because of one thing - my teacher, Mr. Payne. In retrospect, it's the only class that I remember learning anything of long-term value and the only one that I would gladly take again, even though I got an A. It was the only class I didn't even consider skipping.

My praise for Mr. Payne started on the first day of class. After everyone piled in the door eagerly waiting to find a good excuse to drop the class, he said, "I apologize for the fact that we have to sit in this classroom for 3 hours a week in an institutionalized setting, but it's all we have." I wasn't going anywhere.

Later, he expounded on the issue, explaining that he disliked classroom learning because it didn't teach experience. He said that if it were up to him, in lieu of the classwork and tests we would just have a bus or a chartered plane and just go wherever the action was in the world. Not entirely practical, but a great idea if it were possible. I had already spent enough time in the military in very close proximity to where the action was, so I wasn't that heartbroken over it.

Mr. Payne was the only teacher I had who didn't make us buy one of those overpriced, dullsville college textbooks that were "revised" every year so they could charge $120 for a new one. Instead, we paid $8 for a homemade text that Mr. Payne compiled personally from his own writing, notable newspaper/magazine clippings, and even a short novel, Ecotopia, that was reprinted with the authors permission. The thing was huge. The only caveat was that it was non-refundable. It was unimaginably the cheapest college text I will probably ever buy in my life and probably the only one I'll ever keep around to read again because it wasn't boring.

Mr. Payne was the only teacher I had who got there before the students. He was the only teacher who taught something original instead of a stale, homogenized lesson plan from the teachers edition of a textbook. Mr. Payne was the only teacher I had who made an effort to learn our first names and address us as such in or outside of class.

He was the only teacher I had who didn't show up just to get a paycheck.

He was also the only teacher I had who was disabled. A stroke had caused him to lose almost all use of one of his arms and he had a hard time ambulating around the classroom because his legs. He still passed out most of the handouts with one arm and stood up to write on the board to teach his lectures.

We didn't learn about the tedious mechanics of government, we learned what bureaucratic red tape was. We didn't learn too much about great politicians, we learned about infamous and unknown political dissidents. We didn't waste much time talking about voting, it was mandatory that we vote in the 2004 election. We didn't learn to blindly accept authority, we learned to question authority in a rational and nonviolent way.

We learned to think for ourselves, but not in an ostentatious, predictably rebellious way. I was already deeply schooled in pragmatic nonconformity, but it was refreshing to see it in a general studies college class, especially considering the overwhelming amount of dullards that pass for American college students these days.

I thought it was a great class and I was thinking the other day about how much I learned about the world we live in now and how we got to this point. If only my other teachers were half the teacher he was. Hopefully when I start school again next year, I'll have teachers with similar talents.

Just for fun, I went on RateMyProfessor.com to see what the other students were saying. I found that some illiterate cretin has this to say about Mr. Payne:

"this class is so boring. you have a quiz every week, and they are not multiple choice. He reads a ? and you fill in the answer. The Tests are ok, but I think they suck becasue you have to read so much material for the tests."

No wonder almost all other industrialized nations are smarter than we are.