e stood, majestic in front of the 300 assembled students in Curtis Lecture Hall H. Plunked his leather briefcase on the desk and pulled out a piece of chalk the thickness of a small utility pole and pronounced in a booming voice: "Good morning, I am Professor Ridpath. Welcome to Economics 101." This was my introduction to York University in 1976. At that point I echoed the semi-famous Lily Tomlin statement: "I always wanted to be somebody, but I should have been more specific." Professor Ridpath, of the furniture store family, changed my life. How he would enthral, not his class -- but his audience. How he would take that chalk 'hydro pole' and transform the black slate by lecture's end into an intricate display of the charts and figures that simplify the complex interactions of people and money. How he would exude the confidence and wit which transformed my view of what a university professor could be: Ridpath was not stodgy and old -- he was hip, smart and actually created a desire in most of the 300 students to further studies in economics. And this was tough considering that in first year most of the students were just picking courses almost randomly. I completed a BA in economics and an MBA in marketing. I can honestly say that it was Professor Ridpath -- his confidence, showmanship, wit and larger-than-life quality -- that inspired me to be... a film and television actor which I have successfully been for the past 15 years!

--ALLEN ZARNETT (MBA '82)

hirty years later, and the sound of his name still triggers sweating nightmares. He was Ralph G. Stanton, a math prof whom I encountered in a first-year introductory calculus course in Stedman Lecture Hall A.

Each class began the same way as Prof. Stanton, attired in his tweed jacket and turtle neck with a complementary silk scarf, would select a student name from his registered roster and proceed to embarrass or insult him/her and their high school for not being prepared for his level of calculus until the student, trembling, would be allowed to sit or exit the hundred seat lecture hall.

No one ever asked Stanton a question, as the class size dwindled weekly. Oh, how I prayed that my name would not be selected to be terrorized for stupidity, as I spent each waking moment tackling Stanton's calculus book to the detriment of all other courses.

Inevitably Stanton's apathetic teaching style had challenged me not only to learn mathematical integration but to integrate with others for tutorial and emotional support during these desperate times. Moreover, Stanton made me appreciate the strengths of team-based learning in overcoming life's integral obstacles; he had emerged from being most hated to my best prof at York.

--MIKE ZICHOWSKI (BA '73)

n 1967 (or maybe '68) Brady Polka taught a class called What is History? and, near the end of the year, told us that, for a final exam, he had decided to give us a single exam question -- a month in advance! This would allow us to do it at home, for Brady felt that typical finals, held on one day of the year but counting for about 40 per cent of our year's mark, were a sham.

"What if, the night before, you learned that your father had cancer, or that your boy(girl)friend was leaving you? Or that you had (damn!) just got your period? A final exam on one given day just doesn't take into account such problems."

He also insisted on mailing us our exams with his corrections and commentaries included, because generally all we got was a notification of the final mark, but we wouldn't know what we'd done right or where our mistakes were. "Where is the education in that?" he would ask.

Several years later I met Brady in Florence when he was on sabbatical. I admitted to him that although his class had been the best ever, I didn't remember a single thing I'd learned! His answer was "Of course not! The whole point was to teach you how to think -- not to stuff your head full of facts."

I can only hope that the typical professor at York today is as wise and dedicated to "education" as Brady Polka.

--KEN COWAN (BA '69)

hat was it about John Price's anthropology class that made me shift majors and follow his advice into my eventual career? In large part it was because he was 'eccentric' in allowing my creative eccentricity to flourish. I was given licence to take intellectual chances in his class I took in no others (there isn't a well developed literature on the ethnography of bus riding -- my first project). His commentary was never directed to the strangeness of my ideas, always on how to improve the development of the idea. He made me feel that I was being an anthropologist, not just taking a class. I don't remember agonizing over my decision to shift to anthropology; it seemed just to happen.

Later, I took two other courses from him, a Native course (I am a Native specialist now) and my honours thesis. The latter involved risky research: undisclosed participant observation of a religious group labelled satanic by The Toronto Sun. Quietly, respectfully, he communicated the idea -- not that it was a crazy idea for an undergraduate to pursue (it was) or easy (it wasn't) -- but that I could do it.

His last words to me before I graduated were that I should get an MA and teach at a community college. That's what I did. I like to think that my York-bound university transfer students, particularly the ones who are a little different, already have learned an important lesson from a York prof before they even take a class there.

--JOHN STECKLEY (BA '73)

think the most inspiring piece of my education at York University has been the women professors I had. When I was in crisis, these women were so incredibly supportive. Deborah Doxtator came to my part-time work place and bought me lunch while we discussed what I had missed in class. She also allowed me to complete my course by private meetings and e-mail when I was pregnant. Carole Carpenter wrote a heart-rending support letter for me that helped me get a discretionary bursary from the University, which I desperately needed to stay in school. Sherry Rowley, then a TA, inspired our class so much with her humour, openness and creativity that we became like family. Sherry came to my house just to drop off a graded assignment and pick up my final paper, when I was unable to come to school. Norma Rowen taught me an Independent Studies class week after week in her office while I breastfed and sat with my baby girl. Besides being totally open and understanding, these women allowed me to express my originality through my work. They let me explore and be creative, while pushing me to expand my abilities.

I learned that some professors know that they, too, are students and that the learning never really ends. I am grateful to have experienced the passion and dedication that poured out of these professors and into my heart and soul. If not for them, I honestly would not have graduated. Thanks to these women, I graduated with my Honours BA, summa cum laude and am now pursuing my lifelong passions, singing and writing.

--BRENDA MACINTYRE (BA '99)

y first class that I ever attended was French at Glendon College. At exactly 1 pm, Professor Clermont Trudelle rushed into the lecture room with a stack of books. He asked that we address him as Clermont. He talked about his upbringing, his life as a professor, and the course.

As the academic year progressed, I noticed a number of eccentricities about Clermont. He would emphasize key words in his lectures by yelling them out at the top of his voice. The worst part about any emphasis was that it was unexpected, and taking his class with any heart condition or without strong wits is not recommended. He loved to crack jokes; he always added a personal touch to his classes. He talked about the first time he moved from Montreal to Toronto to pursue his dream of being a professor, and he knew that it was right for him.

Throughout the year, he encouraged me to work hard, and [to] love learning French. He always knew, when I didn't, that I'd do well in everything that I did. He took the time to talk to me, which is rare, in general, for professors to do. He is just the best prof anyone could have had.

--MARY TAN (BA '95)

entered York in the fall of 1977 and the professor who had an impact on my life and way of thinking was my humanities professor, Frank Zingrone. The course was called, Journey and Return: A Course in Cultural Communication.

The lessons he taught, about the journey, the quest and the return, have repeatedly resurfaced throughout my life. During the course, he had us do a 'word search', to discover the origin and meaning of a word. At that time I thought, "WOW! What an odd assignment." But, I have since learned that nothing is more powerful in this world, than the WORD.

Professor Zingrone and his course's themes and ideas have come up time and time again during the years. It really served as a foundation course not only for university, but for life in general. In closing, let me say, that stories are everything; they show us the lessons of life and they shape us into who we are and what we become.

--FRANCES CINELLI (BA '73)

calligraphy by Victoria Nixon