I hated studying history. In my high school years, history was pure drudgery. I still remember my teacher: a little man, balding, with black framed glasses. The problem wasn’t the difficulty of his classes; it was his approach to history. Every few days we were assigned a section to read in the history book and we were to answer the list of five to eight questions at the end of the chapter. Yawn. We were expected to know events and dates; we didn’t need to know much more than that.

So when it was time to go to Cal. State Long Beach (it wasn’t Cal. State University yet), I was excited to know that we’d have plenty of choices about the classes we could take. Then I learned about the basic requirements. Which included Western Civilization. Not again, I thought. But I figured I’d get through the pain of boredom early so I took the class in my first semester. Little did I know that it would change my life.

I was a bit encouraged when I met the professor. Her name was Donna Boutelle, and her primary area of study was the Middle Ages. She was a small woman, shorter than I am, and her face was prematurely wrinkled, giving her an impish quality. That impression was only strengthened by the twinkle in her eye, her hearty, raspy laugh, and her dry sense of humor. My memory of her would always be of her holding her thin cigar (in a holder, of course) in the corner of her mouth. She looked like a miniature gangster. And I loved learning with her.