I’ve never been one to play practical jokes. And I don’t like them played on me. But when I was at Middlebury College, I remember one April Fool’s trick I played on a professor.
In the spring semester of 1975, I took a class from a professor who had intimidated me during my freshman year. He was an extremely intense guy, not given to any small talk, and taught as if he were a law professor or even a Supreme Court justice instead of an undergraduate professor teaching freshmen.
I had taken this professor’s introductory survey course my first semester at Middlebury. This 101 course consisted of two lectures and a discussion section. An assistant professor led my discussion section, and this assistant gave me an A- on the final in the course. But the intimidating lead professor, who really didn’t know me, lowered my grade to a B+. That was the lowest grade I received that term, and I was miffed.
I was so in awe of this professor, and frankly, so fearful I couldn’t get an A from him, that I decided not to take the follow up 102 class offered in the spring. But a year later, in my second year at Middlebury, I vowed not to be browbeaten, and I signed up for the 102 class in the spring semester of that year.
I always seemed to have a lot of 8:00 AM classes and the spring semester of my second year was no exception. My Russian class that term met at 8:00 AM. The 102 course with the intimidating professor met the following class period across the hall in the same building. Because I only had a few feet to walk to get to the 102 class, I was typically the first student to arrive in the classroom, and I sat alone for about ten minutes until everyone else arrived.
This professor’s modus operandi was to walk into the classroom, pick up a piece of chalk, and write the outline of the lecture he was about to give on the blackboard. (Remember, this was before PCs.) He did it all without saying a word to anyone. When he was done with his outline, he launched into his lecture, without even a “good morning,” and talked until the class period was over.
My 102 class met on April 1, 1975. I was in the classroom all by myself, as was typical. Several pieces of chalk lay on the ledge under the blackboard. I picked them all up and hid them behind the lectern, which was closed on the professor’s side, but open on the students’ side.
Then I waited.
Students began to fill the classroom. Just before the appointed hour, the professor walked in and approached the chalkboard. He rummaged around, searching for chalk. There was none. His face turned red, and he got visibly agitated.
Students began to chuckle. Finally, someone (not me) pointed out the chalk visible from our side of the lectern, though not from his.
He cracked a small smile when someone said “April Fool’s”, then wrote his outline on the board and began his lecture as if nothing had happened. But I had the satisfaction of knowing I had slowed him down at least a minute or two that morning.
This class was one of the most important ones I took while I was at Middlebury. I have always been glad I reversed my initial decision to eschew the 102 follow up to the 101 class I’d taken my freshman year.
And part of my resolve had been that I would sign up to take the discussion section from the lead professor, instead of from his assistant. I’m glad I did that also. I learned so much more from him than I otherwise would have.
Taking the 102 class led to one of the greatest satisfactions I had at Middlebury. The initial grade the professor gave me on the final was an A-, just as in the 101 class. But as he reconciled all the students’ grades, this time he increased my grade to an A. He wrote on my blue book (who remembers blue books?), “There’s nothing to improve in this,” scratched through the initial A-, and wrote a big letter A. Getting an A from this professor remains one of the highlights of my educational career, probably more significant than anything that happened to me in law school.
What April Fool’s jokes have you played?
