Seeing Mike

We had tried this once before. It was summer. We were driving north and figured we'd come into town. We walked around campus a bit; explored some buildings; scribbled on chalkboards; walked along cool, empty halls; walked in the grass.

We knocked on Mike's office door that time, too. But it was summer. It was Sunday. And not surprisingly he was not there.

This time, although it was summer again, we had started our trip late and stopped often along the way. This time it was Monday. So as we pulled the heavy glass doors that I used to pull more than 20 years ago, and as we climbed the stairs, and as we walked down the hall to where Mike's office was, I thought we might get lucky.

The sign on his door encouraged interruption, as it always did.

I knocked.

Come in, came a voice from the other side of the door.

I pushed the door open, and there he was, sitting back in his chair talking to a student. He looked the same as he did more than 20 years ago.

May I help you? he asked.

Well, I am David Hasan ..., I started. It had, after all, been more than 20 years ago.

But the look on his face then stopped me short. A broad smile burst across his face. And he gasped. And he jumped out of his chair. And he came to the door where I stood. And he held out his arms and gave me a hug.

It was a great class that semester, those three semesters, more than 20 years ago, and he evidently remembered them as fondly as I.

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University of Illinois, Urbana IL

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