A BALMY EVENING in the spring of my freshman year. Through the window of the college dorm I could see what must have been half the student population gathering in the dusk, in small groups, along the pathways of our quaint lowa campus.
In a cluster between the dorm and library, leading the conversation as usual, was my friend Curtis. Working on the school paper together, we'd known each other since the first week of fall quarter. Curt seemed so worldly, so self-assured. Our conversations were a challenge because he'd question everything I said, and in a humanistic sort of way, he came off so reasonable. However, since we also agreed on so many things, like a love of photography, cycling, and finding the greasiest hamburger dive in the state, our conversational detours came easily.
As I approached the crowd where my friend was holding forth, I heard him say in a loud voice, "If anyone can explain metaphysics, this is the guy!" What an intro. As usual, Curt was putting me on the spot—but it was my first clue that the hours of talk about things spiritual had made some kind of impression on him.
