By Reema Bazzy
I graduated from Ohio Northern University in 1987 with a B.A in Philosophy. I went on to get a law degree as well, but the degree I am most proud of, when I am taking a moment to feel pride in such things, is that B.A.
The reason I have a degree in Philosophy at all is due to one person, Dr. Mark Lenssen. His Intro to Philosophy class during my freshman year so engaged me, his teaching style and approach was so accessible to me, that I was hooked.
There wasn't a term that went by that I wasn't in one or more of Mark's classes thereafter. Readings in his classes led me to feminism and to deeper political activism. While I was a student, he a small group of us started a campus chapter of Amnesty International. When a "pro-life" group bought up the back page of my hometown paper, we wrote a letter to the editor, he helping me craft my arguments for women's choice.
He was the quintessential bearded philosophy professor who had a sly, dry wit and a seemingly unending light in his eyes. He wore a striped Pendleton wool winter coat and rode his bicycle to work. He had a beautiful wife and two daughters who would welcome students into their home many times. He loved coaching the tennis team and was good at it. I understand he played a mean racquetball game. He had a fondness for peanut butter, chocolate, and cheesecake.
He hailed from the Pacific Northwest and loved the mountains. I can see clearly in my mind's eye the poster of Mt. Rainer with its John Muir quote that hung in his office. It overheard all the times I came for help or just for some time and conversation with him. There was always kindness and humor in his office, along with deep questions and encouragement. He elevated the concept of teacher for me and surely for many others.
After graduation we kept in touch, calling and writing. I sent him funny philosophy related postcards or comics cut from the newspaper that ended up taped to his office door. Along with the especially gripping or pointed 'Harper's Index' pages.
Among the things lost in my parents house fire in 2004 were all of my saved papers and letters from those years. But he would argue non-attachment I'm sure, telling me to "tattoo this somewhere on your person" because it's important. So he still is teaching me and I am still learning.
On March 17, 1999 Mark was playing basketball in King Horn Center when he suddenly collapsed from a heart attack and died. He was 50 years old, only three years older than I am now. I remember where I was when my friend Mary called me to tell me the news. His was the first death that ever took the floor out from under me with the attendant smack of mortality and desperate fragility.
For me, March 17 isn't about green beer or Irish music but about the loss of my dear and beloved friend.
After 20 odd years away, I recently moved back to Ohio and am frequently in Ada and on my old campus. Although my experience in college was rich and rewarding in many ways, it's what and who is missing that I think of most this time of year.
