In the second semester of my sophomore year at the University Whose Name Shall Never Be Said, I was lost. I had yet to declare a major, I had yet to take a college class I truly enjoyed, and I had yet to take the entire college process seriously. Then, on a whim partially influenced by Ms. Parker, I signed up for Gay and Lesbian Literature taught by Professor Clayton E. Hudnall. And instantly, I hated it.
By this point, I had taken 15 college classes and while passing them all, it’s safe to say I barely did any work. I coasted through my classes like a high school senior preparing for the beach. What I hated about Professor Hudnall’s class was that he didn’t accept my coasting. He graded my work for what it was: delicately teetering between average and below average. I resented that. He’d often say, “This is college, folks. You’re paying to be here. Act like it.” or something similar. And I tried like hell to ignore him. For awhile, I succeeded.
Then, over time, my stubbornness wore off and I opened myself up to the wonders of learning. You can chalk this up to a number of reasons: the incredibly eccentric and animated classmates with whom I shared the class (Sciaretta, Briggs, Theatre, Excessive Hand Motions Girl, Mr. Billings, Ms. Parker, Arizona Boy, the Uncle Lover, etc); Professor Hudnall’s passionate and lively debates/lectures that forced a student to contribute; and hell, I’ll admit it, the lesbian fiction. For the first time in college, I anxiously awaited each new class (except on those days when I had neglected to read the assignment and feared the Wrath of Hudnall). And with my new dedication to work and learning, a funny thing happened: my grades got better. Of course, because I slacked off for so long in the beginning, I couldn’t achieve the highest marks for the semester, but I did break par and it was the first grade in college I truly deserved.
When my sophomore year ended, I declared my English major and I immediately signed up for a fall semester class taught by Professor Hudnall (American Poetry). When my junior year arrived, I poured my heart into his class each and every week (well, maybe not the Walt Whitman week) and I was rewarded with yet another inspirational performance by Professor Hudnall. His passion for poetry was infectious. And while I’m the first to admit these poems could have stood on their own without our professor there to support them, I’ll never underestimate the importance of his guidance and lessons.
Professor Hudnall’s classrooms were his stage and with the spotlight glued to his every move, his classroom audience was always on the edge of its collective seat. We listened. And though he would have cringed to hear me say so, in some ways, his words were more important to us than the words of those he quoted. Through his actions, and through his stories, and through his enthusiasm, you knew his words were words worth remembering. He had lived a life worth noting and each glimpse into his world and his life and his thoughts gave you that much more of a chance to be a better person.
I am who I am today because of the paths I have crossed and one of those paths was Professor Hudnall’s. He taught me how to be a college student; to take responsibility for myself and my actions. He showed me the power of the written and spoken word. And he gave me a newfound appreciation for life and all of its beauty. His final lesson to my class was: “Read books, fall in love, dream a lot.” These are words to live by and by them he lived.
Professor Clayton E. Hudnall of East Windsor, Connecticut, passed away on August 25, 2004. He was an Associate Professor of English from 1970 to 2000. And for his priceless contribution to my life, I am forever grateful.
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