For a while now, in addition to the news, I have written articles of a more personal nature, taken from my life experiences, or just from life in general. The problem was I never had a catchy title for those articles. Then I remembered what a respected professor said when I began writing for the paper.

The origins of the title go back to 2003, when I was a young 31-year-old freshman at Pittsburg State. My goal, then, was to become a high school history teacher, and I was fortunate enough that Dr. John Daley was the chair of the History Department, where over the next four years, I would spend the majority of my time.

At the time, standard fare in all history courses required the completion of a book review. For the first semester, I was obliged, but I did find it kind of boring. I wanted to do something different; something more challenging than playing a literary Siskel and Ebert.

I came to class not only with military experience, but also five years of living history and historical reenactments. I felt like I could enhance my education, and those of my classmates, by bringing those experiences into the classroom.

My test run was in History 202, “U.S. History from 1865”. With permission from the prof and Dr. Daley, I begged and borrowed the equipment I needed to put together an impression of a soldier of “D” Company, 20th Kansas Volunteer Infantry that served in the Philippines after the Spanish-American War and set about doing the research.

When it all came together, I built a first-person impression of a local Pittsburg man who served in “D” Company, recounting his experiences from mustering in to returning home, and answering questions in character. Dr. Daley sat in on the presentation and quizzed me on the minor details to make sure I knew my stuff.

I must have done well, because Daley agreed to let me continue down this path.

But there was a caveat. I had to do at least one book review for each history professor the first time I had them for class. After that, if I had that same prof again for another class, I could do what I wanted as long as the prof approved.

My next crazy idea came in Judith Shaw’s English History class in June 2005. Shaw was a beloved and well-respected professor who taught classes on ancient Greece, Tudor England, and revolutionary France from memory, using only a notecard to mark where she stopped for the next class session. For the entire period of instruction, Shaw would deliver her lectures like a seasoned storyteller. It was like listening to your favorite grandmother talk about “the good old days” as opposed to Ben Stein boringly recite names, dates, and facts with the monotonous drone of asking “Bueller? Bueller?”

Meanwhile, her students were scribbling furiously trying to get it all down.

Many of the history majors — including me — often wondered how she could remember so much. Was it because she had taught for so long (she started teaching at PSU in 1959) or was it because she was actually there when it all happened? Nobody could ever really answer that question satisfactorily.

I had already done a book review for Mrs. Shaw in a previous class. In keeping with my agreement with Dr. Daley, I had an idea.

By this time, I had come to possess a medieval siege engine known as a trebuchet (how that happened is another story altogether). For my second review, I decided I want to demonstrate my new toy.

I worked out the details with Mrs. Shaw, and she agreed. The last part of class, everyone would make their way down to the front of Russ Hall where my 16-year-old brother-in-law Danny was waiting with the trebuchet and a basket of water balloons.

Dr. Daley was waiting there too, like an eager schoolboy.

My presentation covered the evolution of siege warfare, from the rope and grappling hook to the introduction of gunpowder artillery. As I spoke about each new technological leap, Danny loaded a water ballon into the sling. When he was ready, I paused and he pulled on the lanyard, releasing the stored energy in the arm. The trebuchet bucked as the counterweight dropped; the arm rose, dragging the slung balloon along a guide underneath, whipping the sling around and releasing a balloon that exploded in a watery splash about 30 to 40 yards away.

After I finished my presentation, Mrs. Shaw dismissed the class. But Dr. Daley hung around. I could tell he wanted to play, and I had filled a few extra balloons in expectation of this. As innocently as I could muster, I asked Dr. Daley if he’d like to try it out.

He leapt from the steps to the grass. I do not recall his feet ever touching the circle drive in front of Russ Hall. Danny locked the arm in place, carefully loaded a balloon into the sling, and handed the lanyard to Daley.

The look of sheer joy on his face!

Danny quickly loaded another shot and Daley let it fly. Excited for his third shot, Daley did not check his impact zone downrange and just let the balloon sail across the lawn, nearly scoring a direct hit a campus police officer. The officer stopped, looked over, and waved at us and continued along his path.

Out of prudence, we decided it was time to stop. And Nikki Patrick documented the whole thing!

I hope Dr. Daley remembers that day as fondly as I do. His demeanor and excitement showed me that he was just a normal guy doing his job, not some intimidating, all-powerful authority figure out to make my life as a freshman miserable.

Daley was approachable, not untouchable. I could always go to him and ask for advice or just shoot the breeze if he had the time. He allowed me to create a curriculum and learning environment that I was comfortable in and could excel at.

Thanks for that, Doc.

Since then, life has steered me away from teaching and into a career writing for the newspaper. I have found many of the same skills apply as I mostly write about history and local government — the topics I studied to be a teacher.

It was Dr. Daley, when he saw that I was writing for the paper, that said that I have a unique opportunity as an historian because I “get to write the first draft of history.”