It was my good friend Walt Senska from Macomb College in Warren Michigan. Walt can be high strung sometimes. But on this particular evening, he was frantic.

“Timmy, I am in serious trouble,” he begins the conversation.

I immediately think “bail bonds”.

Turns out, his die teacher decided to retire the day before classes were to begin.

“I need you to teach my die classes starting tomorrow,” he continues.

“But Walt, I am not a teacher, especially at college level,” I tell him.

“Look, I need you to help me. It is just until I find someone else.”

Well, that seemed reasonable to me.

“Do you have a book,” I ask. “Yes.”

“How about teaching materials and a syllabus,” I inquire. “We have everything you need. Just be here tomorrow at three o’clock. Class starts at four,” he tells me.

Deal.

Well, I show up and he hands me a class roster and a 30 year old book that is out of print and seriously out of date.

By 4:01 PM, I discovered two things. First, I was by far the youngest person in the class. Second, I enjoyed the view.

I taught at Macomb College year-round until I left Michigan for the Wild West seven years later.

Teaching was gratifying. To this day, I still get former students contacting me to say thank you.

Roughly 2,000 students came through my classes. They seemed to thrive on my Socratic method of instruction. Guided conversation to teach them to think critically about stamping dies.

It was like law school without all the yelling and intimidation.

Chrysler, General Motors, and Tier One shops like Atlas and Hercules eventually required the college to have me teach their die maker apprentices. That was rewarding.

Teaching at Macomb was the best job I ever had. There is no substitute for the gratifying feeling one gets from watching the students grow intellectually during the course of the semester.

The college also gave me free reign. Zero interference on what or how I did what I did.

It was never for the money. I donated all the money I got paid.

I did it for the love of the game.