Hi, Bush – Spring, 1959
It is a beautiful spring day at Notre Dame University. The main quadrangle is alive with young green leaves and grass. The huge and beautiful magnolia tree in front of the Golden Dome is in full pink, white, and muted red bloom. The sun, the cloudless sky, and the gentle morning breeze hint at a beautiful day. God is in his heaven and certainly at Catholic ND.
I am headed East towards the liberal arts school. The stroll is lovely but I must get there in time for my morning Philosophy 101 class. Philosophy? Come on. This is the all-male ND of 1959. We are macho, football driven and certainly not other worldly. I take my seat in a class of about thirty. The windows to my left are open. They frame a row of blossoming bushes – and in comes the soft breeze.
The Professor - a portly, slow walking, slow talking older scholarly type with coke bottle thick black rimmed glasses – is late. Any time the teacher is late and the class is composed of male teens, the “let’s be quiet and learn something” atmosphere evaporates into load talk and jokes. It’s spring, it’s beautiful, the teacher is late and who wants to talk philosophy anyway.
In shambles our Philosophy 101 professor. He moves slowly toward the desk in the front, seats himself as if in a slow-motion movie, and gazes out the window to his right. When he entered the room, the class went respectfully silent. Then as his silent gaze stretches into minutes the class becomes antsy. Whispers and muffled laughs break the silence. What’s with this guy? This is the classic absent-minded professor type who just sits and gazes out the window. Has he lost it? Does he know where he is?
Silence. After what seems like five minutes, motionless and without breaking his gaze through the window, he says “Hi, Bush.” After a momentary silence given to trying to put this comment into context, the class breaks into laughter. Suspicions confirmed. This guy is nuts. When the laughter dies down, he turns his gaze on us and asks, “Can anyone tell me what I was just doing?” Luckily this challenge goes unanswered. Any answers could have been devastating.
Now he tells us what is going on. He is trying to understand and absorb the essence of “bushness”. He wants to come as close as he can to what makes that bush a bush. He is communicating, or attempting to communicate, with a part of our natural world. I’m sure that most of us are thinking “Good luck. Let me know how that works out.” In spite of this bizarre opening, which did get our attention, this worthy professor goes on to expand on his theme. He does make some headway and he did inspire me to look a bit more closely at all elements of the world around us.
I did like this kind and thoughtful man. One day after class I was walking with him and asking questions. The pace was slow. He was walking on my left as we headed west on the quadrangle. There were some trees closely bordering the walk on his left. He had some books under his left arm. He was deep in thought thinking about a question I had asked. His mind was not on walking and his eyes were not on the walk ahead. He had wandered a bit left and was headed for a glancing blow on a tree. I was tempted to say “Watch out” but thought this would be embarrassing and imply that he couldn’t manage walking a straight line. I should have. Ever so slowly he closed on the tree and then bumped into it. Totally unfazed, he backed off, moved right a bit, and we continued the walk. I’m sure that this embarrassing incident registered not at all on his deep in thought mind. His autonomic nervous system handled the incident, and it was disposed of and immediately forgotten. I respected this professor who, I suspect, spent more time living in his mind than in the physical world.