During my interminable career as an undergraduate at UT, one of my favorite professors was Dr. Ernest Kaulbach. Back then he was probably in his late sixties, his white hair chopped down in a tight buzz cut, and he always wore ratty polo shirts and even rattier khaki pants. (That is to say, he looked more like one of the groundskeepers than the leading medievalist in the English department.) Our classroom was on the second floor of Parlin Hall and, because it was spring, the screen-less windows—the kind with hand cranks to open and close them—were always open. Every day Dr. Kaulbach would come into class smoking a cigarette and, once he had taken one long, last drag off it, he’d flick the butt out the window, the signal that class had officially begun.
For a time I thought I too might become a medievalist—specializing in Icelandic sagas seemed right up my alley—until I was in grad school years later at yet another state university where its then-reigning medievalist took me aside one day and pointed out, rightly, that if I continued on my current path I’d be competing for one of possibly three faculty slots in the entire country and given that I was neither a trust fund baby nor good looking (or well mannered enough) to marry one, I might want to consider a more viable career track.
All was not lost, however, as even today one of the most important writing lessons I learned was in Dr. Kaulbach’s class. He used to give us moderately complex research assignments—I still remember writing about Bernabò Visconti and how he had a specially formulated 40 day torture schedule with days off in between various punishments like having people’s feet flayed and then being forced to walk in a room with dried peas on the floor just so they’d have more time to feel bad—but we could only have two pages to type up our results.
“You little SOBs,” he’d say. “Y’all are all trained to write in some pseudo-literary elevated style that uses a bunch of words and doesn’t say anything at all: ‘Ever since the dawn of time when man has considered this imponderable question many different answers have presented themselves as the ages have passed and we have continued to search, to find, to define our meaning, our role, our place in the universe . . . ” and so on ad nauseum. It’s all just a bunch of words. Say what you have to say as directly and clearly as possible: Subject-Verb-Object. No adjectives! No adverbs! If you can say it in one sentence instead of two, do it. One word instead of three, do it. A word with two syllables instead of three, do it.”
And, it turned out, he was absolutely right with this approach to writing. Several semesters later when I was taking classes to close out my minor in linguistics—I mistakenly thought doing so would teach me better grammar; however, in the immortal words of Patsy Cline, “I was wrong, so wrong”—we were introduced to the concept that every speech act (or written word) is a “suasive” (that is, persuasive) act as it is trying to persuade the receiver of the message as per the speaker’s intent (whatever that might be). And, the longer it takes to get that message across—five words instead of three, four syllables instead of two—the weaker the impact of that message.
Hence, how many words do most traffic signs have? One. How many syllables do most words on traffic signs have? One. Or, from another vantage point, how many syllables do most good examples of profanity have? One (or two), although there is a wide variety and range off possibilities for combining those words. After all, if you say, “Hey, you are a male offspring of a female canine” it just doesn’t pack the same visceral punch as saying, well, you know . . .
So, for years now, I’ve had my students—no matter what class they may be in (intro to comp, second semester comp, tech writing, lit surveys, whatever)—write one-page critiques of outside readings. All in the space of one page they have to provide a comprehensive and balanced summary of the text at hand followed by a well-developed and supported response to one particular point/idea from the reading. At first, classes are always like, “Splee-haw! How hard can it be to write one single stinkin’ page?” They quickly figure out, however, that by virtue of the one-page length constraint, they have to make hard choices about what to put in, what to leave out, and how to be concise: communicating the greatest amount of information in the fewest amount of words.
Now, if only I taught in classrooms where the windows still opened—and I took up smoking—the circle could truly remain unbroken.
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Mark Roy Long 
First off I want to say wonderful blog! I had a quick question in which I’d like to
ask if you do not mind. I was interested to know how you
center yourself and clear your head before writing.
I have had difficulty clearing my mind in getting my thoughts out there.
I do enjoy writing however it just seems like the first 10 to 15 minutes are generally lost
simply just trying to figure out how to begin. Any recommendations or tips?
Thank you!
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I’m glad you enjoyed my father’s course. If you took it in the summer, you would have been subjected to my brother and I running up and down the stairs in Calhoun and Parlin throwing my dads racquetballs down the stairwell. I so well remember him smoking in class next to the open window.
He quit smoking many years ago but is still teaching at age 80. 70% of a grade still comes from attendance, and he still allows as many rewrites as one can do to get an a.
I am now a professor as well and although I teach medicine, I have his sense of humor and a desire for students to learn, to be confident in themselves, and to take pleasure in what they learn.
I’m grateful you have fond memories of him.
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Chrystyna,
I was an Classics undergrad at UT Austin 77-79 and had your father whom we called Ernie in several courses. He was a close friend of Charles Dominey and I attended papers they gave at a conference in Houston.
I was once a guest at his (your) home in Austin. I will never forget when he wrote my letter of recommendation for Columbia Grad School in front of me embellishing it with all the things (he said) I know they would like to hear. I as flummoxed. He handed me the signed letter and I sent it off.
A great man.
Dr. Lee F. Sherry
Summit, NJ
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Chrystyna,
It is amazing that Dr. Kaulbach is still teaching. He was my English professor for a couple of classes in the early 90’s. The lessons he taught us about being precise was a life long one! I will never forget having to rewrite a paper so many times in my first class with him. I remember the cigarette and hair cut. He was non-conventional. It was quite a memorable experience. Glad he is well!
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Chrystyna:
I also have very fond memories of your father. I took a course in Medieval Philosophy with him in 1982 or 83, and then a full Tutorial course in 1984. The first 2 or 3 sessions, he’d pitch the lessons and presentations to get rid of people who weren’t serious. He got to know the rest of us very well. I’ll never forget him asking me “Do you have Latin?” He knew I’d been educated abroad, and I was one of the people in the class with my hand always up in the air with some answer (not always a good one).
The tutorial was one of the most amazing experiences of my education. I wanted to do the tutorial on Women in the Catholic Church. He said that wasn’t terribly interesting — we knew what the Church thought of women. We landed on reading “On the Equality of the Two Sexes” by Jean Francois Poulain de la Barre, a 17th/18th Century writer whose work (at the time) was only at the Vatican. It turned out that UT had a microfiche of the book (in the original language), so off I toddled, glad I’d learned French. It was, of course, an education in French of the era – not a simple matter.
There were also other books to read, and your father would say to me at our meeting time “what have you learned this week?”. There was only one time when I had not done my reading, and it took a whole 2 minutes for him to suss it out. “You haven’t read this week, have you?”. He was kind about it, though. I didn’t do it again. I noted he had read every single book we went through. It was, I thought, a look-back to how university must have been at the beginning of the university system — with students learning directly from professors. I also appreciated so much our conversations about religion: Christianity, Islam…
I’ll never forget his office, with all his theology books, English books, etc. I bought his book on Piers Plowman, and he signed it, with “but did you understand it?” written before his signature. The last time I saw him he told me he’d met Dorothy Day. Amazing!
I sincerely hope he is still teaching. The article above brought back my memories of his classes. The world needs more educators like him.
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I agree; Ernie Kaulbach was a remarkable teacher and a great inspiration. I got a Ph.D. in medieval studies at the University of Toronto because he opened the medieval world to me. I’ve always been grateful to him, and I’d like to join in honoring his memory.
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Mr. Long,
Thank you so much for reminding me of Kaulbach’s unique philosophical essence. I came across your blog while searching for the curmudgeon’s standing as a UT professor. A wild hair sprouted when I heard a story on NPR about Chicago’s Newberry Library’s offer to allow individuals a shot at transcribing some Olde English manuscrpts concerning magical spells! As a decade had passed since I’d seen him, I figured it would be a good idea to make sure Kaulbach hadn’t croaked. (I’m sure you’ll agree that my use of a punchy, less-than-tactful version of “passed away ” or some hogwash is along Kaulbach’s own line of preferred euphemisms.)
I had two classes with Kaulbach, 2005-7. One indulged the professor and his students with satire; the other, the Bible. You can imagine the level of entertainment in each! We read Lolita, and A Clockwork Orange in the former. Dr. Kaulbach read his version of the Riot Act in the latter, scolding an inexperienced student about bringing the “God damned Book!”
Obviously, the lessons on brevity were largely lost on me, but I couldn’t pass up the desire to reminisce, and to thank you for your kind reminder of a singular voice in Parlin and Calhoun Halls!
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Perhaps there should be a club for people who had Dr Kaulbach at UT. I think I would be one of the oldest members, since I had him for two courses—Early British Literature and Medieval Epic—starting in 1972. The very first day of Early Brit Lit, in fact, Ernie didn’t show up. We all left after a while, deeply puzzled, but came back to the next class. Ernie walked in and promptly informed us that his wife had been having their first child during the earlier session. We cut him some slack on that one.
Tossing his last cigarette out the window represents a change from his habits in the early 1970s. In my classes with him, he would pace restlessly back and forth at the front of the class, book in hand, leading discussions, obviously delighted with whatever we were reading, and he would be smoking the whole time, cigarette after cigarette. Each time one would go out, he would light another and fling the match at the garbage can in the corner, though he never once made that shot. As class would continue, the matches would form a ring around the can. As to the Bible, his advice to us at that time was to keep it on the back of the toilet and read a little whenever we were in there. “You don’t have to believe the damned thing,” he said, “you just have to know it.” Of all the books in my courses with him, the one that stuck with me most was “Njal’s Saga,” which he introduced us to in Medieval Epic. It became one of my all-time favorite stories when I was 19, and it’s still one of my favorites at 64.
As it happens, I ended up as an English professor myself, teaching at a college outside of Chicago, where I’ve been for 29 years and expect to be for several more. I’m quite sure much of my own classroom style is based on Ernie’s, who was my single favorite professor at any point in my educational career. Like him, I’m tall and rangy, and I can no more hold still in front of a class than he could. I pace a lot, book in hand, drawing out students on specific passages, and, like him, I consider it part of my calling to let my students see just how much I love the works we read. I think of each class as the Literature and Comedy Hour, an attitude I also suspect he influenced. My scholarly focus has been the 18th Century, though I teach our Early Brit Lit survey and our Shakespeare course. When I was in graduate school, I once visited Austin and dropped in on Ernie in his office. When I told him I was doing my dissertation on Samuel Johnson, he said he liked Addison and (I think) Austen, but added, “You can keep Johnson.” The comment had Ernie’s signature blunt mirth and cracked me up. But as it happens, I did keep Johnson; I’m still not done writing about him.
The Kaulbachs were kind enough to have me over to their house west of Austin a few times. I knew Alex and Chrystyna, even remember their black cat, and took a course on Dostoevsky with Zoreslava, someone else I enjoyed as a professor and liked a great deal as a person. I was sorry to learn (a little while ago) of her early death. It greatly cheers me, however, to see that Ernie is still teaching. I had already decided to teach until I’m at least 70. Maybe having based my teaching style on Ernie’s, I’ll take him as my model for how to handle retirement—that is, by not doing it.
I appreciate you posting about him. It was a great pleasure to read.
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Having Ernest Kaulbach as a professor changed –and bettered–my life. I’m so glad to read these posts about him; it brings back really wonderful memories. Anyone else out there in his classes between 1977 and 1977? We probably sat side by side, marveling at the knowledge of medieval Latinitas and early English literature he had at his disposal –and at his extraordinary enthusiasm for imparting it to us starry-eyed grad students. Although I did get my Ph.D. in Medieval Studies (at Toronto, not U of Texas), I ended up teaching in another field. But I’ve dragged my tattered copy of European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages around with me these 40 years, and I think of Ernie Kaulbach whenever I see it. If by chance anyone reading this should see him, please give him my regards! –Elizabeth (Stevens, then) Hildinger
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Well. I know Ernie since 1966, when we were both studying with Bob Kaske, Vilhjalmur Bjarnar and the rest of the medieval faculty at Cornell.
I’m sure he’ll remember our weekend evening floating Old English seminars, when we met, generally at Barbara Silver’s house, to translate and discuss OE poetry. We spent a long time on the Genesis and Exodus poems, and our discussions drifted into more interesting fields with a few beers and snacks. Great times.
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A club for those who studied with him would be a great idea. If there were interest, perhaps we could create a meetup on Meetup.com.
Meetings would have to be virtual, but conversation and reminiscence could be lively.
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Hi. My name is Cynthia Manor (UT ‘93) and I happened to run across your blog. I had Professor Kaulbach for a course many years ago, back in the mid-late 80’s.
Even after all these years, I have not forgotten him. He was one of my favorite professors – great sense of humor and just an all around great instructor. I always looked forward to his lectures.
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I consider myself extremely fortunate to have taken course instruction in the late 1970s from many fine and even legendary U.T. professors, including Maurine McElroy, Malcolm MacDonald, Bill Livingston, and Wallace Mendelson among others. But far and away the best and most impactful to me was Ernie Kaulbach, who I was privileged to have for a single three-credit-hour class in the fall of 1978. The class was “English As A Legal Language”; I still have my spiral bound class notes (which show that English as a legal language actually involved a lot of Latin). Unquestionably the most interesting and mind-expanding experience that I had in seven years of college and law school, all due to an exceptional, engaging professor.
I knew from the first day of class that this was to be a different sort of experience than the usual lecture-test-grade approach. With a smaller class size of maybe twenty lucky students, it was clear that Ernie was intent on teaching through conversation, and what conversations we had. Our assigned readings, whether Maitland’s history of the common law or Piers The Plowman, were merely jumping off points for wide ranging discussions that could involve ethics, religion, civil rights, protest movements, etc. And the best discussions were always those that carried on after class, on those special Friday afternoons when Ernie would announce that anyone who wished to continue could join him for a pitcher of beer in the bar at the Texas Union.
The semester was capped off with a class holiday party at the Kaulbach family home out in West Lake Hills, with detailed driving directions from Ernie (“45 mph – watch for cops”). It was a marvelous ending to my most unforgettable academic experience – an experience that Becky my girlfriend (and now wife of 42 years) was able to experience the following semester when she took Ernie’s class based on my enthusiastic encouragement.
And then some thirty years later, possibly due to my insistence, our English major daughter Kate took Ernie’s class on “The Bible As Literature”, making our family multi-generational Kaulbach-ians. I was able to visit Ernie while in Austin on business during Kate’s senior year, showing up at Ernie’s office door downstairs in Parlin (or possibly Calhoun). The door was open, and what luck, Ernie was in! After knocking and introducing myself, he looked at me with a crooked grin and exclaimed “Your kid is in my class!” The next quarter hour flew by as we caught up with each other, and Ernie showed me his grade book from 1978 with my name and grade listed. I won’t forget him taking time to visit with an old student – but then Ernie was always available for his students; my class notes included his office hours and (uniquely) his home phone number (“until midnight”).
Thank you Mark for starting this discussion thread some years ago, and to Chrystyna and others for their comments in appreciation of the great professor. And thank you most of all to Ernest Kaulbach, for sharing his intellect, his curiosity, his guidance and his great love for his students over so many years. I pray that he can enjoy a long and happy retirement with family and friends.
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