Five-plus
years ago, on one of my visits to my hometown of Bellingham, Washington, where
I also attended college, I encountered one of my old professors at the local supermarket.
His name was Hugh Fleetwood, and his son Seth, now an attorney and former
member of the City Council and the Whatcom Council Council, was one year behind
me throughout school.
In 1981, my freshman year at Western Washington University,
I enrolled in Professor Fleetwood’s Introduction to Philosophy course. Did that
course totally change my life? No, but it did expand my horizons. I’ve often
recalled that course for its intellectual rigor. Was free will an illusion? Did
one cause lead to another, ad infinitum, throwing into question the existence of the self, let alone a soul?
Was Descartes correct, that the most compelling proof of his own existence was
that he was capable of doubting it? I had no great knack for the conundrums of
philosophy, but just the fact that people had argued about such questions for so
many centuries stimulated me.
After the course ended, I received a letter from Professor
Fleetwood, urging me to consider majoring in philosophy. My dad was so
flattered on my behalf that he mimeographed the letter and sent copies to our
relatives. Neither my parents nor I grasped that the likely reason I received
the letter was that the number of philosophy majors was dwindling. I myself was
setting out on a more practical double major in journalism and political
science. Most of my poly sci professors
had come of age during the 1960s, and almost all of them were on the political
left. Being moderately conservative at that age, I sometimes argued with my
professors.
During the fall of my junior year, Professor Fleetwood became
a controversial figure, at least among student activists. Over the expanse of
decades, the details have grown hazy, but one quote from him, uttered in the Faculty
Senate, has stayed with me: “Students are not a particular font of wisdom.” Or
some other version of the same sentiment. From the uproar that ensued, you might
have thought the professor had said that students shouldn’t be allowed to speak
at all. He also noted, in a letter to our student newspaper, that the word in
question was font, not fount. In 1982, not long after the dawn
of the PC revolution, I had no idea what a font was. I don’t think anyone did.
In any case, I editorialized in Professor Fleetwood’s favor.
In March 1984, I graduated from Western a quarter early, the
better to position me to get my first professional newspaper job. It was in
Waterbury, Connecticut. A year-and-a-half later, I moved to Boston. There was
no likelihood that I would ever see Professor Fleetwood again. But there I was,
on my annual trip to Bellingham, in what I believe was the spring of 2011. And
there was he, looking, for lack of a
better term, demented. He was leaning
unsteadily against his shopping cart. Only later did I learn that his disease
was Parkinson’s, not Alzheimer’s—not that the distinction would have meant much
to me back then, when I expected to live to at least 86, the age my dad had
achieved. There was a fleeting moment when I could have done the gracious
thing: Greet him, lay my hand on his shoulder, tell him how much I appreciated
his philosophy course.
But I suffered a lack of nerve. There was no possibility that
he would have recognized me—by 2011, I scarcely resembled my twenty-year-old self,
he had taught thousands of students, and his disease had done its dirty work. But
he might have remembered my name, once I stated it. Perhaps I could have
expressed my gratitude for helping me widen my intellectual ambitions. But I soon
realized that I had flunked the moral philosophy exam. Professor Fleetwood, I
recently learned, died a few months later.
Hi, Mitch. Thanks for this memory. As I recall the Western Front reporter misquoted him as saying, "Students have no particular funnel of wisdom" instead of what Hugh reported he'd actually said, "Students have no particular fund of wisdom". I always loved that misquoted phrase best!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Peter, for the recollection. I don't recall the "the funnel of wisdom" quote, but I wouldn't put it past our copy desk at that time. Were you active in A.S. politics at that time?
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