Editor’s note: This column is the third place winner in The Daily Eastern News’ African American Heritage Celebration 2003 essay contest.

Have you heard a whistling in the hallways of Coleman Hall? Maybe you’ve seen the whistler and, like me, learned he is a large man with a peppered beard and a fondness for Pepsi Cola.

Did you know he’s a fair man with a corner office and a propensity toward tobacco smoke? That he’s a black man, a blind man, deprived of a sense, but full of learning and an eagerness to pass it on to all students, regardless of their skin color. His students all look the same to him. Students like me look to him.

I took a few courses with this professor during my career as a student, but this story takes place during the spring of 2002, my last semester as an undergraduate history student when I took African-American history. The six members of the class divided themselves down the center of the classroom. We sat three white students on the left of him, and three black students on his right. One day he asked me back to his office to read some test answers of mine that his assistant couldn’t make out.

I followed him as he whistled his way to his office. The small room was dark and jazz music played softly.

He offered me a Pepsi. “You know, you’re only fueling my cola addiction,” I said. He took a seat near a typewriter, fingered a pack of smokes and coolly replied, “There are worse things to get addicted to.”

He cracked a sly smile as I cracked open my soda. We sat in the waning light of the early evening, and I read him the first question and my answer. It was on the “Regulators,” and I had given a bad answer. I thought he was going to split his sides as he laughed at my response so heartily. “Zero out of five points. Next question,” he said. A bit rattled, I continued. Question two was about the 3/5 Clause. This proved to be a rather touchy subject.

If you don’t know about the 3/5 Clause, it basically say that 3/5 of the slave population would be a part of the general population, and this clause was used as a political ploy for slave states to secure extra votes in the electoral college. This would lead to racist legislation passed directly against the blacks that the slave owners exploited, allowing slavery to remain in the less densely populated southern states for a number of years.

There I sat as an undergraduate history major looking into the blind eyes of my African-American professor as he contemplated what I had just read. I was completely sad.

It was sad such a clause was ever put into effect and sad that he couldn’t see me just then, nervously enjoying one of his sodas. He stroked his beard a bit, made like he was looking to the ceiling for the words to and said, “Good answer Mr. Sopiarz. Five points.”

I thanked him and finished reading my test. He thought about it, and on the spot, he gave me a B.

I learned more over a soda in those 30 minutes than I did in four years of history courses. I learned what everyone else had been telling me, that our history is important. He allowed me to see that lesson in an undeniable manner.

I looked directly into the misrepresented eyes of the men lumped together under the 3/5 Clause, drank a soda and felt my life changed forever. Can I ever repay him, or thank him enough?

I don’t know, but I’ll try.