Thursday, September 6, 2018
Win taught the first college course I ever took: Freshman Comp. She was lively, engaged, indefatigable, strong.
She was one of those professors who seemed to radiate energy always: delivering a lecture, taking roll call, or simply walking the corridors of Benlknap Hall.
And always the laser-clear piercing blue eyes that burned through you, your nonsense, your incoherent writing, but also backed with a cheery smile. Although "technically" a shorter human on this planet, Win appeared as though she were as powerful as a small star--one whose gravitational pull well exceeded her size--and if you fell within her orbit, you were obliged to remain close by, and listen.
Win who bridged the classroom gap for me, from professor's kid to college writer--a balancing act that might have been awkward, given my entire childhood lived in and around Mansfield's English Dept.
Instead, it was a semester of invaluable lessons: the techniques of research, the stripping away in an essay of all things extraneous, the "figuring out" of what one might write, the decoding of critical thinking--all delivered with upbeag, unerring accuracy, seemingly driven by the tinyest nuclear power-plant imaginable, deep inside her heart.
Her only agenda in the classroom was to (firmly!) lead students to abandon old byways in favor of much more thoughtful paths. In this endeavor, much of the time, I imagine she succeeded.
I'lI be forever grateful for that time, and for Win's indelible presence.
