All too often these days, I receive word of someone passing. The most recent will not be known to many of my readers; he was an instructor at Pensacola Junior College (PJC - n\k\a Pensacola State College, PSC) when I began teaching there in 2003. His name was Jack O'Donnell, and I was fortunate to have known him.
He was an argumentative soul when it came to the law. We had many conversations and disagreements about the law over the years. I learned that he simply liked to debate. No matter the perspective I took on a news story about the law, he would usually take a contrary posture. I suspect I knew where his heart was, so I tended to take "his" side on topics so he would have to champion the opposite. It did not slow him down any. Our best debates were about the Constitution and torts. I know nothing of Criminal Law, and that was his forte.
He shared an office with Dr. Hightower, who was the program coordinator. The two of them had essentially started the PJC Legal Assistant Program that later became the PSC Paralegal Program. In my very limited teaching career, I have instructed over 1,000 students, usually one class per semester. Dr. Hightower and O'Donnell taught two or three classes each semester for decades. I cannot imagine the lives they each touched over the almost four decades they spent there.
Dr. O'Donnell was a fixture at PSC when I arrived. He had "officially" retired that year after twenty years in the Paralegal program. His career before that had been in the Judge Advocate General's office, from which he retired as a Captain, U.S.N. He told some great stories about his time in the Navy, the bureaucracy, intricacies, and challenges. At times, he delved into stories of intrigue and politics that were astounding. I will remember him as someone who always had an anecdote at hand.
I will forever remember him keeping a box of rocks at his desk. You read that right. He would periodically take the box to class with him and set it on the table in front of the class. When he could not get a response from the students, or was not satisfied with their thought process in an answer, he would walk over and listen to the silent box of rocks. The message was unspoken and yet so clear. I suspect that would not be tolerated today, but he was an icon and it was perhaps still a different age.
Another example of "not today," Dr. O'Donnell would sometimes hand back tests or papers to the students with a form attached. He would obtain these from another department on campus, one that trained for a different career path that he saw as less lofty or intellectual than the law. So, the student would see their disappointing grade and have handy an application for a different department. He did not mean for them to leave, but he meant for them to understand this was an intellectual and challenging curriculum. Suffice it to say that he did not hold back. That message was likewise crystal clear.
He had an affinity for the U.S. Supreme Court decision on defamation that involved an adult publication. He professed confusion as to why he was not allowed to bring his copy of the offending parody to class to show his students. In truth, he got it. Nonetheless, he liked to raise the prohibition in driving discussions of First Amendment, defamation, and more. He loved debating the Constitution.
I remember filling in for Jack in a Criminal Law class years ago. I presented and opened with "I understand we are on chapter __ today." I launched into the lecture only to be interrupted by a student who said "we have been here __ weeks, and you can just assume we know nothing of Criminal Law." That led to a conversation where I learned that they harbored some frustration that Dr. O'Donnell offered them only examples, anecdotes, and stories.
Those students wanted mantras, recipes, checklists, and facts. They wanted to memorize and regurgitate. Dr. O'Donnell was trying instead to get them to analyze, think, and process. There is memorization in the law, but the real task is thinking, organizing, and arguing. I suspect those students knew more than they ever thought, if they were listening.
Jack O'Donnell was 94 years old. He had taught at the college until SARS-CoV-2, when he was 88 or 89 years old. I hope I am still teaching when I reach that mark. I enjoyed his company, anecdotes, and stories. I admired his longevity, persistence, and personality. He was a character, and the world needs those. Godspeed Jack.
