4 minute read
Reflections: Did he stay too long?
by Loren Dickinson '67, professor emeritus of communication
Too long ago, I remember musing, “Is there life after teaching?” My retiring colleagues were rapidly dropping out for reasons of age or sanity—often both. Would I do the same? The truth is now clear. Yes, of course there IS life after teaching.
Some of the best years of the college may have transpired in the 70s and 80s. Not because of me, but because of many of you who are reading these lines.
The 1,600, 1,700, and 1,800 students who inhabited our campus, took our classes, earned good grades, and then were handed a black-covered diploma from this credible school, then sped away to launch their futures.
They seemed upbeat, driven by their ethical and spiritual moorings, and seemed (here it comes) wholesome. Who uses that word anymore? And you may have no idea how proud we feel about you—you, your good lives, and your good works.
Staff and faculty numbered over 400. The dorms were packed. So were the classes. Dorms, three of them, were major generators of funds—and fun as well.
Some cutting edge programs emerged. Social work, health science, speech pathology, and environmental science were a few. Some still exist; others are gone. The ones that went down, “needed more students in their programs,” intoned academic vice presidents. We suppose they were right.
The '70s and '80s devotees say those were the Golden Years. That carries a pleasant ring. But the college didn’t fall apart in the decades that followed. It cracked at the seams when COVID-19 suddenly struck, but it didn’t fall apart. Good programs continued to thrive. So did good teaching.
One student told a teaching colleague, “I took your course because I knew you wouldn’t make it easy.” Many more students did or could have said that. A prominent Loma Linda University professor in the School of Medicine said on a visit here, “We like your students. Thank you for not inflating their grades.”
When did all this begin for me? 1962. “We plan to begin an FM station,” said Dr. Percy Christian, college president at the time. I doubt he knew I was job searching. I had just been dropped by an eastern SDA college.
President Christian was so sure I needed to do well at this new post that he offered me his master keys to all college locks. I was dumbfounded. But his generous offer seemed to click with the spirit my wife, Carolyn, and I found here—helpful, trusting, ethical, and wholesome.
The new FM station went on the air officially six months later. The first crowd of station volunteers were some of the best. They were doing majors like theology, biology, engineering, speech, business, and on and on. For years, these and many other men and women volunteered at KGTS to keep it on the air and sounding good. I felt I had found my niche.
Through it all, many have asked in quiet tones, “Why did you stay so long?” I silently translated “so long” to mean “too long.” But it was long—50 years. By this time grandkids of the '60s crowd were showing up.
I have no answer to “why so long,” except the call of engaging with agile minds of kids whose present and futures intrigued me. A few have not done it right. Thousands have done it right.
Two of them are John Hawkins, Ph.D., and Kyra Eddy, M.D. John today lives in Heidelberg, Germany, doing a post doctorate in human health artificial intelligence. Kyra lives in Livingston, Montana, delivering babies and treating patients of all ages. They’re two of the '00s crowd doing it right.
When I faced cancer surgery mid-quarter two decades ago, John and Kyra stepped up. They performed class duties way out of their tasks as speech students. I shall for all time be grateful to them who typified the good scouts of the Walla Walla brand. That’s why I stayed too long.
Maybe you’ll forgive me for this rambling treatise on the Golden Years. It only proves my point: I stayed too long.
