Keys to Wisdom (by Heather Kichner)

A monster-sized dusty old typewriter with chewed-up ribbon has become, for me, a symbol of both my past and my future and also a reminder of my grandfather’s deep wisdom. My Grandfather Hummel, who passed away in 2004, brought language into my childhood through a massive, black, Smith and Corona. I learned to spell and, eventually, to write silly stories and clumsy poems by pressing on those heavy keys, watching them sluggishly strike the inky ribbon. I love the permanence of those typewritten letters; it’s not like word processing today, where letters can so easily be deleted, discarded, replaced. Those letters were heavy; they had gravity, just like the typewriter that made them. Those letters formed weighty words.

In 2004, when my grandfather died, we were all asked to his house to look over his belongings and select keepsakes. I arrived feeling rather uncomfortable with the whole idea, wondering what I could possibly keep that would help me remember what he meant to me. I walked through the door of his house, wishing to see him sitting in the old chair in the corner of the living room, the orange recliner, worn threadbare by many nights of retiring there to watch Wheel of Fortune after a hard day’s work of caring for fruit and Christmas trees and fishing in the local stream. I yearned to see his wiry form under the ugly but familiar multi-colored afghan. What I saw was that typewriter sitting there, worn and neglected. I suddenly knew it would be a link to my past with the man who had taught me to read and to cherish language. We had spent time pouring over Dick and Jane and other books together, but I’m certain it was my time “playing” with the typewriter that shaped me into the writer—the professor—that I am today.

Now, the typewriter sits on a stand in my living room under a piece of artwork called “Hands That Write.” I teach English now, so the beast of a machine reminds me of how I came to love learning, and of all the opportunities ahead of me to share what I love as I teach. My only regret is that my grandfather wasn’t around to see me complete my doctorate. But he knows. Thanks, Grandfather Hummel, for the gift of words and for passing on to your granddaughter hands that write.

The Meaning of Wisdom (by Mike Zellers)

I suppose there are many ways one can define wisdom. My parents were intelligent people, although not educated beyond high school. Intelligence and knowledge, however, is not wisdom. One can possess all sorts of knowledge, but as St. Paul said, “If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge ..., but have not love, I am nothing.” For me, true wisdom relates the wisdom of leading a good life – a life full of love. My parents wisdom is shown in the way they lead their the lives. They were good, selfless and hardworking. They took pleasure in the simple things. They never put things ahead of people.

Society has all sorts of stereotypes, which persist despite being shown to be inaccurate time and time again. Derek Bailey and John Cage remained creative and vital people to an advanced age. More than that though, they remained iconoclasts. I find it very amusing to watch YouTube videos of these great musicians brilliant work and see the negative, narrow minded comments from undoubtedly younger commenters – saying that Bailey and Cage make noise and not music – exactly the same sort of comments stereotypically associated with grandfatherly looking types such as Bailey and Cage about newer forms of music such as rock and hip hop. Their wisdom shined in their art and the attitude that pervades it.

An Educator and a Sage (by Kevin Hoskinson)

"Once you are my student," said Dr. Ferris Anthony, retired dean of Continuing Education at Cleveland State University, "you are my student for life." Though I had been teaching English at LCCC for more than 20 years at the time I heard this statement, these words struck me as very few others ever have. I now say these same words to my own students. They were part of a seemingly continual flow of eloquence from this silver-haired educator with the sparkling eyes. "Love your students" was another principle in his approach to adult learning. There was no hint of sentimentality in his point--rather, it was Dr. Anthony's way of telling us to value the students in our classrooms, to affirm the legitimacy of their lived experience, and to model the excellence we expected of them. Every utterance conveyed wisdom; every class was a lesson in both the professionalism and the humility required of any adult educator. You didn't need to be enrolled in one of his classes to be enlightened by him--but if you were, you considered yourself privileged.

Who Are the Sages in Your Life?

We invite LCCC administrators, faculty, and staff to submit entries on one invidividual in your lives who best exemplifies the idea of a "sage"--a person "who is venerated for his/her experience, judgment, and wisdom." Who is the person whose years, experience, and insight are a source of special wisdom in your life?

Please submit your own brief (one paragraph, under 200 words) mini-essay on this person as a Word attachment to khoskins@lorainccc.edu. Your mini-essay will be posted online on this page with your by-line.