 Willis Konick
When I first walked into Willis Konick's class on Tolstoi, I hadn't expected
to stay, but by the end of the hour, nothing could make me leave.
Konick was unlike any professor I've encountered. Handsomely distinguished
in a tweed suit, rocking on his heels with an impish grin, he began to sing
something along the lines of "I only have eyes for you." He wrote
"love" on the blackboard in enormous chalk letters and started
talking about romance. Here was some knowledge I could use!
A thespian at heart, Konick engaged in daily theatrics, calling classmates
down front to act out scenarios that illustrated the emotional state of
Anna Karenina and Prince Nikolai Bolkonsky. Other classes found him walking
across our desktops or uniting the class in protest chants, enacting a nihilistic
scene from Turgenev's Fathers and Sons.
Over dinner at Haggett Hall, conversation often turned to my Russian
Lit classes and "What had Willis done today?" His performances
fueled our evening chats as we discussed topics from infidelity and motherhood
to the nature of God as informed by Dostoyevski's "Grand Inquisitor"
argument. We almost felt like intellectuals, applying the philosophy found
in classic literature to our contemporary lives.
Thanks to Konick's unique teaching methods, my mild interest in Russian
Literature, (based on Omar Sharif's performance in Doctor Zhivago),
became a full-fledged passion. I opted to take electives in Chekov, Pushkin,
Gogol, Turgenev, and Dostoyevski, as well as Contemporary Soviet Literature.
This year, I complete a creative writing M.F.A. at Emerson College in
Boston and begin to teach my own course in freshman writing. I can't quite
see myself marching across desktops or singing the Carpenters' "Close
to You," but if I can make literature as relevant to my students' lives
as Konick did, I'll have followed in a great mentor's footsteps.
Nicole Vollrath, '90
Allston, Mass.
"Don't let go of me!" whispered the director in my ear. Without
hesitation, I gripped a forearm and battled an awesome force pushing me
to work harder and stronger. I didn't let go.
The scene passed, class ended, my first quarter came to a close, and
I recently graduated, but I vividly recall being an undeniable force in
Gregor's life in Kafka's Metamorphosis. In retrospect, I was blessed
with an opportunity to play a role created by a brilliant author and directed
by a brilliant professor. There I began my higher learning.
Comparative Literature 271 was oft-prompted by an articulated narration
of the "scene" in the novella we were reading. To assist in the
description of the scene, the professor hand-picked a bashful student or
two. Just then, Kafka's presence was eminent. The air fell silent to a pedagogical
transformation. Front and center Kane 120 rapidly became a stage. Elements
of Metamorphosis took life and indeed the moment turned surreal.
PRESTO! We were all sitting in a Broadway playhouse watching the bare
and raw talents of an awe-inspiring director getting the best out of aspiring
actors (the students had no choice). Soon you saw flopping bodies and balancing
acts...and you heard squeals, wicked calls, and laughter. The engaging physical
metaphors from the scene left a visually stimulating interpretation for
the student to find in the text.
The professor/director beautifully laid out the scene in a manner conducive
to learning. The scene pushed the student to go beyond the literature. It
was a visceral inhale of art. It acted as an entrance to a world of wonder.
This professional richly deserves my utmost admiration. Appraisal on
the other hand, would not suit him well. He defines humble, in the sense
that he teaches in an anonymous manner. The authors of the novellas created
the path to learning, Professor Willis Konick guided us with his voice.
Contrariwise, Professor Konick's wisdom taught us to guide ourselves. Professor
Konick, if you're listening, "I thank you and I haven't let go."
Brett Drugge, '99
Seattle | 