Transformation

I REMEMBER English professor Kenneth A. Robinson as a short man, unassuming, almost apologetic about his presence. He stuttered painfully in conversation. His focus seemed always to be elsewhere. But when he walked into a classroom, produced long yellow sheets of handwritten text, stepped up to the lectern, and began to read, the transformation was immediate and magical. He would transport an entire classroom to the opening night of Mrs. Henry Woods's nineteenth-century melodrama East Lynn, to a gala performance of Belasco's Girl of theGolden West, or the first night of O'Neill's provocative Emperor Jones. As he did, he grew in stature and command. His voice was strong; the essence of the play poured out without pause. His joy in the theater became ours. And then it was over, the curtain came down and he was gone.