My Best Decision(s)

Harry Smith ’73, Central Board of Trustees member and Fall 2024-25 executive-in-residence.

Ken Weller’s memorial service in 2022 was all we could hope for. The tributes. The stories. The love.

Dr. Weller was the new president of Central College in 1969. My freshman year. We connected then and we stayed connected through the decades. As the service came to a close, I had an epiphany. I suddenly knew with complete clarity that I wanted to come back to Central … to teach. Afterwards, I looked for Mark Putnam, Central president. I told him of my idea. He smiled and said I’d be welcomed.

Two years later I announced my retirement from NBC News. And in the process, added that I’d be returning to my alma mater to teach a course on curiosity. Curiosity and resilience, adaptability and more — things I had learned over the decades that served me well. Tools I thought could be helpful for students eyeing graduation.

Uber confident Leslie Keuning Duinink ’90, dean of undergraduate education and senior registrar, gave me the lowdown on what was required. Course outline. Source materials. Tests? Papers? Does it have a name?

Commencement: The beginning.

I called fellow board member, Caterpillar retiree Clay Thompson ’90 who had already taught a full course on problem solving at Central.

“Surely there is a shortcut,” I wondered.

He laughed.

“It’s work,” he said. Clay was both an inspiration and a guide. A good friend.

I had 25 students. And while I had their names and photos in advance, the pictures were taken when they were freshmen. Kids. I walked into what felt like a room full of strangers. Young adults. And lucky for me, I was something of an unknown to my students. Turns out, only the rare 20-year-old watches network news. So perhaps to them, I was the curiosity.

Once an intern of Smith’s, Andy Cohen of Bravo held a virtual Q&A with the students in Smith’s course.

The first day I explained why I was there. That we would do a slow dance through the topics of resilience, courage, tenacity, mindfulness and, yes, curiosity.

So why are you here, I wondered? Our parents — or in a couple of cases, our grandparents — told us if you were teaching a class, we should sign up, they said. We laughed.

I explained no phones or laptops would be allowed in class. Backpacks opened and the machines disappeared. I reminded them that class participation was mandatory. They were ready.

We then watched a clip from “Ted Lasso” — a wildly popular show on Apple TV — the scene where Ted talks about a quote from Walt Whitman on the wall of his sons’ school. “Be Curious. Not Judgmental.” said the writing on the wall. It’s a cool sequence. Great show.

When the clip ended, I asked the class about Walt Whitman. Some knew him. I explained. Father of American poetry. Gay guy.

Then I said, “And who here wants to venture a guess as to whether or not Whitman actually said what was quoted on the wall?”

He had not, I told them.

The assignment for the next class, along with reading a couple of chapters from a book by Adam Grant: Look up Whitman. Find a stanza of one of his poems to read aloud in class, then explain why you chose it. Two days later, I watched student after student rise to the occasion. They brought the dead poet to life. And openly shared something about themselves in the process. I was overwhelmed by the students’ willingness to dive into something unfamiliar. I shook each student’s hand as they left the classroom.

From Grant we learned about “skydiving.” Jumping into new challenges. Being unafraid to fail. We read chapters from “How To Know a Person” by David Brooks. We Zoomed with Andy Cohen from Bravo. The students asked all the questions.

“That got deep fast.” Cohen texted me immediately afterwards.

Van Meter Inc.’s President and CEO Lura McBride came over from Cedar Rapids and told her truth about being a woman in the corporate workplace — a big hit. Marketing guru Ted Wright stopped in to talk about his career and warned students that for many, their first jobs would suck.

“Your first job will be to do the things no one else wants to do,” he warned. I volunteered that my 20s were pretty much a professional dumpster fire.

It didn’t take long for me to realize Central students are smart. Really smart.

Assignments I worried might be difficult to digest they handled with aplomb, which made classes all the more interesting. For the real purpose of each assignment was not so much to parrot answers from the texts, but for the students to share what they thought. Dissection. Discernment.

We danced in class twice. (Dancing lowers cortisol. Lowers anxiety.) We learned what happens to your brain on art. We talked about transcendence. What moves you. Gives you goose bumps.

I made mistakes. Some classes were duds. Tim Olin, associate professor of history, had been assigned to ride shotgun with me. He assured me that no one bats a thousand. Brilliant guy. Nicest man.

I suppose it’s worth pointing out I was in Pella for every class — Tuesday and Thursday mornings. And because I lived steps away from campus, I went to the fall play, a band concert and a choir rehearsal. Each wonderful. I hung out with coaches, had beers with the English department, walked the prairie with Russ Benedict, professor of biology, met individually with numerous students and faculty and fell deeply in love with Central all over again.

“From what I have witnessed, we are a much better college than we give ourselves credit for,” I told Mark Putnam.

People ask, and they ask a lot, “What was it like?” I say it completely exceeded every expectation. Far exceeded. It was exhilarating. Fulfilling.

At the conclusion of our last class, the students and I stood around and took selfies. We hugged. I got choked up. I felt like the most fortunate person on earth; grateful for the opportunity to teach. And to learn so much. I have often said choosing to attend Central was the best decision I ever made. (Not to be repeated in front of my wife.) Going back to teach in Fall 2024 comes in a darn close second.