Professor Harold J. Jenkins — Retirement Celebration
Ph.D. • Tenured Since 1997 • Still Uses Chalk
"I came, I saw, I taught. And then I napped." — Prof. Jenkins, probably
Official Record
Classified document. Clearance level: anyone who has ever sat through a Jenkins lecture.
Department of History • File #HJ-1989-0042
37 Years in Review
A distinguished career. An undistinguished relationship with technology.
A Campus Tradition Since 2023
Click a square when it happens. (Warning: you will get bingo within 20 minutes.)
Faculty Evaluation
Compiled by the Department Chair, IT Support, and 37 years of accumulated evidence.
"Students learn despite his methods, not because of them. And yet, somehow, spectacularly because of them."
"Still suspects the internet is a fad. The 3 points are for successfully turning a computer on. Once. In 2019."
"Never missed a day. NEVER. Not even during the Blizzard of '04. He arrived on cross-country skis. We did not ask him to."
"Bow tie game: impeccable. 40+ in the collection and not a single dud. Chalk dust: permanent. The blazer has its own ecosystem at this point."
"Attends. Sleeps. Dorothy covers. The system works. We have decided not to fix what isn't broken."
"37 years of students who actually love history because of this man. He made the past feel alive, present, and urgent. That is a rare and extraordinary gift."
From Those Who Know Him Best
Some of these people love him. All of them have stories.
I've been married to Harold for 42 years. I've been married to his books for 42 years. I've been married to chalk dust for 42 years. At least now I'll have him home. Though I suspect the books are coming too.
Harold is irreplaceable. Not because of his teaching—because of his tenure. We literally couldn't replace him if we tried. And between you and me, we tried. Twice. HR said no both times.
Professor Jenkins taught me everything I know. He also taught me that overhead projectors still work if you believe hard enough. I believed. And now I'm a professor too. Coincidence? He would say absolutely not.
847 help desk tickets. Eight. Hundred. Forty-seven. The man called me once because his screen was "too bright." It was the screensaver. Another time his "electronic mail machine" was broken. The monitor was off. I will miss him terribly. My blood pressure will not.
I've been covering for Harold's naps in faculty meetings since 2008. "He's deep in thought." "He's processing the budget figures." "He's meditating on the strategic plan." It's the most important part of my job, and I'm not ashamed. Not even a little.
I took Jenkins's class expecting to be bored out of my mind. Instead I learned more about history in one semester than I did in 12 years of school. He made the French Revolution feel like it was happening in real time. Also, his cat showed up on Zoom and it was the highlight of the entire pandemic. No offense, Professor.
He was the last one who truly understood me. They replaced me with a whiteboard in 2012. But Harold? Harold kept using chalk. On the whiteboard, yes, but still. Loyalty like that is rare in this world. Goodbye, old friend. Goodbye.
By the Numbers
Numbers don't lie. Harold's course content, however, hasn't changed since 1994.
A Final Word
37 years of chalk dust, bad jokes, and genuine brilliance.
You made history come alive. Not with technology—with passion, with stubbornness,
and with a voice that could make the fall of Constantinople feel like it was happening
right there in Room 204.
You taught 15,000 students that the past matters.
That stories matter. That showing up matters—even in a blizzard, on cross-country skis,
with chalk in your pocket and a bow tie on your collar.
Enjoy retirement, Professor. You've earned every second of it.
(But we all know you'll be back to guest lecture by October.)