I was on my way to meet him for the first time when I decided to first stop by Susan’s office for some reason (I was a student of hers at the time). On my way out, I mentioned to her that I was now going to ask a history professor if he would sign a slip allowing me into his already-full class. She asked who it was, and I read the name “LaCoss” from my notebook. “Oh,” Susan said, in a way that made me ask, “You know him?” And she responded with, “He’s my boyfriend,” which I certainly wasn’t expecting. I don’t remember what else was said between me and Susan. But I do remember Don waiting for me in his office, already well-aware of my intentions. His apparent ESP, combined with his striking physical presence in a dimly lit office made me eager to get the form signed and get the hell out of there before my nervousness got the best of me and I said something stupid. (Don later explained to me that Susan had called him after I left her office and warned him I was coming.) That was the start of my embarrassing admiration for the guy—ESP or no.
I remember he assigned the most dry, theory-logged book on “pre-history” to kick off the semester in his gen-ed required “history of western civilization” class—packed with roughly 60 apathetic freshmen. When he caught wind that no one was reading, he gave us a pop-quiz (ungraded) to survey how many were sticking it out. I just remember writing an apology on my quiz for not reading, instead of guessing at the answers like most of the other students. The next class he shared the dismal results of his survey, including that one student wrote an apology. I sank in my chair, hoping that he couldn’t put the name to the face, as he sounded annoyed, but I still hope that it amused him. He ended up rewriting the syllabus and getting us new books, which is a testament to his patience as a teacher. Before long I was sharing stories of his lectures with my friends: his rendition of the Children’s Crusades (with an eye for irony) is more side-splitting than any Monty Python skit. I just wish I had a recording of it.
I remember one class he was talking about these ancient statues from fertility cults… mostly what looked like unpainted garden gnomes, each sporting an erect penis. He was trying to explain the significance of the penis being erect and not flaccid when he interrupted himself and explained to the class, “For those of you who have only seen a penis when it is erect, they’re not always like that.”
I exchanged Don stories like this with other history students. One story that I heard took place when a woman (in retrospect, most likely it was Patty) asked Don’s class to sign a petition. Don told the class that he’d much rather the students throw rocks than sign petitions. A student then asked, “where would you have us throw these rocks?” Don responded in a playful tone: “indiscriminately.”
If Don had only made me laugh and learn, I would still owe him an incredible debt, because he did it so much and so well. But Don was also there for me as a mentor… I’ll never forget the affirmation I felt when he told me that I was ready for “the brain-fuck” and should apply to grad school, or when he scoffed when I mentioned that moving away would be hard because of a romantic attachment: “you’re way too young [to be tied down].” I remember in my later years on campus I had been reading a lot of Chomsky and was becoming very enchanted by his ideas. The next time I saw Don I was excited to impress him with my new thoughts and anarchist sympathies, when he calmly shrugged at the mention of Chomsky, complaining of how dry and boring the man’s writing is, and how we can do better.
When I heard that Don died my stomach dropped and I was filled with a sense of injustice, like we all just got cheated. He was something that this world needed, and it all seems a little darker knowing that he isn’t back in Wisconsin raising a son and teaching sheltered college kids how ridiculous the world is that we’ve inherited.
Thank you so much to those of you who have shared your stories of Don. I have laughed out loud many times while reading, and I just happened to be in the middle of “The Hobbit” when I read on here that it was one of Don’s favorites as a child… I can see why, as Tolken injects so much wonder and untold history into the world that he describes.
My condolences to you all, especially Susan and Benjamin.
Sincerely,
Tyler Schuenemann
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