Among us Baby Boomers there was a certain artistic group who clung to their English professors in college. We joined their writing clubs, babysat their kids, and couldn't believe our good luck to have them offer us a beer, which our mothers never allowed us when we were home for the holidays. I was among those protypes of Richard Florida's Creative Class.
Now, that particular "Mr. Chips" in my youth is retiring. Actually, it was a she - Joanne Boyle - and she rose up the ranks to become president of Seton Hill. For years and years after I received my BA in 1967, she listened to my opinions of books and trends in styles. As expected, that all blew up as it always does. But the ending did not ruin the memory of blissful days in the religion of literay art. I envy my former innocence.
Somehow Boyle's leaving that academic institution roughly slices the umbilical cord to a time which will never again exist for any college student. Currently, they are paying too much for education to create and inhabit the bubble we did. The final days will be in June, unless Seton Hill can't find a replacement. I have several more weeks to detox from the memory.