I made the short walk down the hallway to Palaestra classroom 256. A handful of early arriving students were already seated and passing the time by fiddling with their smart-phones. I selected a spot in the front row on the far side of the classroom, good enough to see but well out of the way.
As was custom, students sought out their friends as they entered the room. Danny and Elissa, students who had taken courses from me, sat in the seats to my left. I appreciated that, as I felt a little out of place in the classroom and wasn’t sure how the students would feel about being joined by an older guy.
About ten minutes before one, John entered the room, wearing slacks, dress shoes, and a Saint John’s University shirt. This ensemble was more or less his uniform, with the only day-to-day variation being which color and style of shirt he would choose. This day it was white and long-sleeved, and the Saint John’s emblem was red.
For a few minutes, John sat on the wooden table at the front of the room, a table that had been handcrafted by one of the campus’s many monks. John smiled at the youthful energy that sat in front of him. He kicked his legs back and forth, about as quickly as I had ever seen them move.
At five minutes before one, with the room now full, John stood and simply lifted his hands into the air. He was used to relying on hand motions to get the attention of boisterous eighteen- to twenty-two-year-olds, as his voice was soft and he hadn’t used a whistle on the football field in several decades.
Students who noticed his gesture fell silent; the others quickly followed suit. And with that, the tone was set. He had wordlessly communicated one of his favorite phrases: “Early is on time, and on time is late.”
“Just a minute,” he began. “The first rule here is that you can’t sit next to anyone you know already, and especially no guy next to guy nor gal next to gal. One goal in this class is to meet as many people as possible. And you better find out everything about the person sitting next to you.” Before turning the students loose, John looked down at Luke.
Luke was a senior defensive back on the football team who didn’t end up getting as much playing time as he had hoped. But he had been waiting to take this class from John for his entire college career. He was smart, polite, and handsome. Having served as his professor in four courses and as his advisor for four years, I enjoyed the opportunity to finally take a class with Luke.
John pointed to the woman on Luke’s left and inquired, “What’s her name?”
“Kristin,” came Luke’s reply.
“Where is she from?”
“I don’t know.”
“You better find out. And get her phone number.” The students laughed as they rearranged themselves and began to interview their new neighbors.
Professor Gagliardi in action. Courtesy of Gagliardi family.
After a few minutes of loud classroom chatter, during which John slowly paced at the front of the room with a grin on his face, he called the class back together with another lift of his hands. He strolled over toward my side of the room, stopping every few feet to pepper another student with questions about his or her new friend. Finally, he walked over to me and asked, “Who are you?” Before I could answer, he looked at the class and continued, “I think this guy got a hold of some pot. Should we let him in here or not?” John’s question was met with a somewhat uncomfortable silence as the students didn’t really know how to reply.
“Okay, Boz, tell them why you’re here.” John had recently begun referring to me by my nickname, perhaps the only time he has done so with a current or former player.
“I’m taking a sabbatical to learn more about how John created such a powerful legacy, and I’m going to write a book about what I find so that others can learn to be more successful in their own lives.”
John looked a bit disgusted and then turned to the class. “And he is married, so don’t let him flirt with you. I am also married, but I am going to flirt.”
After the class finished laughing, John asked me, “Boz, twenty years ago, did you ever think you’d be back here as a professor?”
“No. I figured I’d be traveling the world as some big-shot business executive.”
“That’s right. No one in here knows what they will be doing twenty years from now.” He let that comment hang in the air, and I made a note to ask him about it later.
He then shifted to one of his favorite lessons. “When you introduce yourself to someone, say your name, shake hands with a nice grip, and look them in the eye.” He asked Brent, his star wide receiver, to stand and introduce himself to a woman across the aisle. After a brief introduction, Brent asked her, “So, what are you doing after college?” John corrected him and said that he should have instead asked what the nice young lady was doing after class.
Next, John asked Mark, another one of my students, to stand up and introduce his new friend to the class. Mark stood up, looked at John, and began the introduction. “Hi, I would like you to meet—”
“Don’t look at me,” John interjected, “look at her. She is better looking than I am.” The class laughed, and Mark was relieved when he could sit back down a minute later.
“Okay, I have a theory—if you stick around long enough, you get a lot of theories. Why do women smile more than guys?” John paused and the class sat quietly, not sure how to answer. “I think they wake up and think, Gosh, it’s good not to be a guy.” As the class chuckled, John looked at one of his players seated in the front row and said, “When is the last time you smiled, Wade? Last week?” Wade, a junior tight end, grinned and nodded his head, playing along gracefully.
John got just a tad serious for a moment. “There are a lot of people on the waiting list for this course, so you are not to miss any classes. It is too important, and there are many people who would like to take it. I will accept reasonable excuses, like a job interview for you seniors. Or a death—your own.” As the class laughed again, I smiled to myself. When I tell students I expect them to attend every class, the news is usually met with a bunch of blank stares. John laid down the law in a way that produced smiles in return. I made note to remember that for use in my own classroom.
John made the guys switch chairs, and the students introduced themselves to another new friend. From the front of the room, John took it all in, slowly walking back and forth, occasionally sitting on the table for a brief rest, but continually grinning at the communication he was witnessing. After a few minutes, he raised his hands, and the class went silent again. “The reason I am doing this is because for the rest of your life you have to somehow introduce yourself to people and make a good impression, especially in job interviews.”
“The key,” he continued, “is to be confident.”
As I looked around, I noticed students nodding along.
“How do you do that? Just be confident and tell yourself this is going to be the best interview the interviewer ever had.” I smiled when I heard this line—he used a variation of it frequently on the football field as well. But now that I heard it in his classroom, I realized it was one of his core beliefs.
“You,” John said, pointing at Jimmy, his burly and affable center, “come up here.” A few weeks earlier I had met Jimmy for the first time, and he had told me how excited he was to take John’s class.
John said to Jimmy, “Let’s see how you introduce yourself.”
Jimmy jumped up, and with a bit too much excitement and energy, he extended his hand and said, “Nice to meet you, John. I’ve heard a lot about you.” John shook his head in disgust and said, “I know my name! I want to know your name.” The class laughed at Jimmy’s expense, but he gave it a second try, and John affirmed him with a “Good job.”
John transitioned to his philosophy on