Do you remember your first day of college?
Monday, September 27, 1971.
He voluntarily attended . . . lectures in philosophy and biology, and sat in all of them with a rather pathetically intent look in his eyes, as if waiting for something the lecturer would never quite come to.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise.
At seventeen years old, I embarked on a journey to the Philadelphia suburbs to begin my college education at Penn State Abington. Nestled on forty-five acres of wooded land, the campus exuded an idyllic charm. Like many satellite campus students, I spent my first two years at Abington before transitioning to the University’s main campus in State College.
My introduction to college academics commenced with an afternoon class in introductory philosophy at two o’clock, under the guidance of Dr. George Frederick Rieman. His name bore resemblance to that of Georg Friedrich Riemann, the renowned nineteenth-century German mathematician. Dr. Rieman’s unique teaching style involved capturing the moment by taking a Polaroid picture of the class, then patiently counting “one alligator, two alligator, three alligator…” as we awaited the image's development.
During that class session, Dr. Rieman sparked a thought-provoking discussion on duty and responsibility, drawing on the tragic case of Kitty Genovese. In 1964, this twenty-eight-year-old woman was fatally stabbed across the street from her Queens, New York apartment. Despite the New York Times' subsequent revelation that thirty-eight witnesses observed or heard the attack, none intervened or alerted the authorities. This prompted a profound inquiry into the moral obligations of bystanders in such situations. Were the neighbors morally accountable, or did they bear no responsibility at all?
Immersed in the Socratic teaching method for the first time, I found myself deeply engaged in the discourse. The class seamlessly transitioned into introductory English, a writing course taught by Dr. Smith, marking the continuation of my enlightening academic journey.
He voluntarily attended . . . lectures in philosophy and biology, and sat in all of them with a rather pathetically intent look in his eyes, as if waiting for something the lecturer would never quite come to.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise.
At seventeen years old, I embarked on a journey to the Philadelphia suburbs to begin my college education at Penn State Abington. Nestled on forty-five acres of wooded land, the campus exuded an idyllic charm. Like many satellite campus students, I spent my first two years at Abington before transitioning to the University’s main campus in State College.
My introduction to college academics commenced with an afternoon class in introductory philosophy at two o’clock, under the guidance of Dr. George Frederick Rieman. His name bore resemblance to that of Georg Friedrich Riemann, the renowned nineteenth-century German mathematician. Dr. Rieman’s unique teaching style involved capturing the moment by taking a Polaroid picture of the class, then patiently counting “one alligator, two alligator, three alligator…” as we awaited the image's development.
During that class session, Dr. Rieman sparked a thought-provoking discussion on duty and responsibility, drawing on the tragic case of Kitty Genovese. In 1964, this twenty-eight-year-old woman was fatally stabbed across the street from her Queens, New York apartment. Despite the New York Times' subsequent revelation that thirty-eight witnesses observed or heard the attack, none intervened or alerted the authorities. This prompted a profound inquiry into the moral obligations of bystanders in such situations. Were the neighbors morally accountable, or did they bear no responsibility at all?
Immersed in the Socratic teaching method for the first time, I found myself deeply engaged in the discourse. The class seamlessly transitioned into introductory English, a writing course taught by Dr. Smith, marking the continuation of my enlightening academic journey.
