As I sat in my sparse office one afternoon before Thanksgiving, a knock rapped against my door. I expected it to be a student asking for an extension on a paper, or a faculty member asking me to take another class next semester.
“This isn’t anything like your fourth-floor cubicle on Michigan Avenue.”
I leaped up from the desk and rushed into his arms, the first time I’d seen him in years. Then I emailed my final class of the day and wished them a happy Thanksgiving, and let them know that they could go home early.
“Gordon, I can’t believe you’re here. What are you doing?”
“Just passing through town, and figured I’d stop in to say hello.” I looked at him for a minute. His hair was cut shorter, but those cra...
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