Next fall, I plan to teach a Lifelong Learning course on the 2026 midterm elections in America. It will be my 10th class, with Donald Trump sitting in the back row, wearing his red hat.

In January, I’m doing a two-day seminar on James Baldwin in San Miguel, Mexico, where Iowa snowbirds Rebecca and I spend the early winter. The spirit of Baldwin, who died in 1987, understands perfectly Mr. Trump’s vise-like grip on us.

2026 will be my 54th year teaching.

My students have ranged from 12-year-old Steve Dehring, who, in 1973, threw a chair at me, to centenarian Harland Nelson, who, fifty years later, hurled metaphors. Both became friends.

Strangely, I was a mediocre student in high school and college. However, I loved learning, and from my father, I inherited the curiosity gene. And, again, mysteriously, I always liked my students.

Even Steven.

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