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1 Entry
Nathan Spooner
April 26, 2021
Must have the summer of 1966 in the late afternoon as I walked up the steps toward Wheeler Hall on the Berkeley campus. A pleasant looking man dressed in casual suit, open shirt with no tie stopped to look at my many color stained pants and shirt. With a curious smile he said, “Looks like you must be a painter.”
I paused, gave a quiet chuckle and replied, “Not really. I work for a professor and I’ve been painting the interior walls and shelves in the home where he and his family live up on Shasta Road in the Berkeley hills, part of my summer job.”
We both stood there as he admired the mixture of blues, soft green, some burnt yellows and specks of dark browns that randomly covered my clothes and shoes.
“I noticed you”, he remarked, “because my grandfather was a painter and even though I never met him, I know that portrait painters can get messy sometimes”.
We both laughed as he said, “I”m professor Renoir, I teach English and Comparative LIterature. What do you study?”
I replied that I’m studying philosophy with a minor in Latin and planned to graduate in the Fall Semester. Out of the blue I stated: ”Oh, I’ve heard the name Renoir, he painted portraits and other stuff. Any relation by any chance?”
The professor looked at me and replied: “Oh yes, he was my grandfather.”
“How long have you worked here?” I asked?
“For some years now.” He laughed softly and said, “I’m teaching a summer class on comparative literature, please come and audit it if you wish, you’re more than welcome.”
“Perhaps,” I replied. “I’ve got to make enough money this summer to pay for books for my last classes, but thanks anyway.”
With that, Dr. Renoir smiled and said “And all the best with your endeavors. Nice talking with you.”
The professor smiled and waved as he walked down the steps and on toward Sproul Plaza.
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