The second time that I went to law school, the classroom was a car. Campus was a daily grind of gridlock. The professor was my passenger. Professor’s curriculum consisted of intellect and integrity; of laughter and love. Curricular entry points were as vast as the globe and entirely at Professor’s discretion. Student was Driver. Despite persistent preparation, Student was invariably ill-equipped to be entirely alone on Socratic Island. And yet, for Student, the education was glorious.
Why? Because Professor was Monroe Freedman.