Have you ever watched a show or a movie that featured a great teacher? You know the ones. I’m not talking about the headless teachers of Charlie Brown, I’m talking about the ones where you sit back and say, “that guy was badass.”
They’re the teachers that make learning fun, even when it’s hard work. They’re the ones that change the lives of their students and their conversations usually have nothing to do with the topic of the course. They teach you about life and instill values, not just explain what a faceless textbook publisher deemed important.
USFSP is fortunate that our hallways are filled with professors like this. From the College of Business to the Leadership minor, each department has that teacher where you are often told, “you just have to take that class.” It is with heavy hearts the Journalism and Media Studies department is thinking of their all-star, Dr. Bob Dardenne.
Dr. Dardenne unexpectedly passed away in his sleep on Thursday, Oct. 17. He was 66.
By the time you had your second conversation with him, you had felt comfortable enough to drop the formal titles. He was Dardenne and you were simply known by your last name. He had a way of neglecting his students’ first name that made us all feel like we were in trouble. We became convinced he didn’t even know our first names. You were simply “Blockburger,” “Kennedy” or “Shults.” Dardenne spent 22 years with the JMS program, serving as chair twice in his tenure. He was largely responsible for the program coming to USFSP and its growth. Dardenne’s office door was always wide open. With his feet propped up on the desk and the back of his chair leaning as far as possible, Dardenne was working hard and hardly working. His desk was a disaster with papers scattered and open books covering every inch of wood of his desk. Even more could be found on the floor.
Dardenne spent 22 years with the JMS program, serving as chair twice in his tenure. He was largely responsible for the program coming to USFSP and its growth. Dardenne’s office door was always wide open. With his feet propped up on the desk and the back of his chair leaning as far as possible, Dardenne was working hard and hardly working. His desk was a disaster with papers scattered and open books covering every inch of wood of his desk. Even more could be found on the floor.
He was known for sitting in the back during meetings or presentations, always furiously scribbling notes, as any great reporter would do. Had anyone taken the time to look over those notes, you would see furious scribblings of doodles, as any uninvolved student would do. Yet the different was Dardenne could recall the entire presentation with perfect clarity.
He was utterly devoted to journalism and watching the transition into the digital realm, even though he loathed most technology. On the first day of class this semester in his Media and Culture class, he was already sharing his wisdom and acknowledgement of today’s technologies. He was talking about having cell phones in class and how it was absurd that we are so attached to “this little thing,” he would say. He talked about an emergency, what an “emergency” actually is and how the meaning of one has changed so much. Now, anything can be an emergency to run out of class and pick up the phone, only to hear that your sister ran out of gas at the top of your street. He poked fun at the addiction to technology, but never rejected it. He had a special love for watching the movement of culture.
Dardenne wasn’t smart; he was brilliant. He wasn’t kind; he was utterly compassionate for life and people. He wasn’t just sensible; he was wise. He was so incredibly intelligent and so full of knowledge. He had a statistic, historic example or personal experience to contribute to any topic of conversation. He had all of these qualities but never once tried to prove his intellect, he was more concerned with trying to help you learn.
He would have found it amusing that his students, colleagues and friends flocked to social media to express their feelings of his departure. I can just imagine him standing at the front of the room with that look of pure bewilderment asking, “why do you need to share something so personal on Facebook of all places?”
Dardenne could argue with the best of them. He was in a league all his own. He had a way of provoking his opponent. You could be arguing an issue you were adamantly on one side of or the other. An issue you’ve spent countless time researching and thinking about. You feel you have become an expert. That is until you talk to Dardenne about it. He had a way of making you walk away from that conversation and question every belief you’ve ever had.
Dardenne was able to have a relationship with each of his students. He became your biggest critic and biggest defender. He was your coach and a cheerleader. He was your mentor and a friend. He was a teacher.
Nearly half a dozen memorials were held for Dardenne following his passing; most passed around a few bottles of bourbon (one of his many favorites) but all shared laughter and tears. As Dr. Silvia said at the memorial hosted by the university, “Bob wouldn’t have liked to be the center of attention. He would have been more interested in us all being together.” He was a selfless man. He was an honorable man.
Dardenne wanted nothing more than to see his students succeed. He had this look about him. His glasses would drop to the end of his nose; he’d squint his eyes and pull his mouth into a tight line. He would stare you in the eye for longer than comfortable silence will allow. It was a dare to make you look away. You felt like he was reading your every thought to confront you about something you did wrong. He had a BS meter that would go off at the slightest stench. He knew what you were capable of before you did.
On an article I wrote for class, he commented, “You’re a smart girl. You can do better.” At the time, I thought to myself, “Jerk.” But, he was so right. I know I can. I was being lazy and he saw straight through me. He was that kind of person. He knew his students, expected the best and graded exactly on that basis. He handwrote comments on every paper and every test. Most of them illegible or contained a crease in the paper from being shoved into his bag and the occasional stain from a snack. Each though was thoroughly critiqued with a laundry list of criticism.
He never graded to be harsh or cruel, even though his students often thought that during their first class. He graded to push you and to open your mind. As a journalist you wrote to tell the story of a person. You tell the world why they matter. You don’t tell the world what happened, always who.
Everyone has that one Dardenne story. That moment they look back on and laugh. That moment they realized what a truly unique man he was.
One of my favorite memories with Dardenne was last summer in his Entertainment Reporting class. He gave us the opportunity to attend a handful of events in downtown St.Pete that as a commuter student I would have never been to otherwise. We attended American Stage in the Park’s production of “The Spelling Bee.” I had a horrible day (probably a bad grade, or argument with my boyfriend to which he would say, “Blockburger, boys are stupid.”) and drove from Tampa to USFSP and forgot my ticket to the show. I left a voicemail on Dardenne’s cell phone and when we got to the show he handed me a ticket and simply said “You owe me a beer little girl.”
Dardenne served as my department advisor. When I met with him at the beginning of the summer to discuss the permits I needed, I told him I had registered for Entertainment Reporting. He leaned back, smiled and said, “Did you?” He seemed happy about this. I’m not sure if he was happy I specifically registered or just that someone registered at all. He then gave me that look and said, “So what do you think we will learn in this class.” I was caught completely off guard. I started rattling things off like “how to cover events, what sources are good for community events, how to cover different type of events…” We both knew I was pulling answers out of you know where. He grinned and said, “Well that covers the first day. What else are we going to do?” I chucked and said, “Honestly, I have no idea.” He smiled and said, “That’s ok. Neither do I.”
When registering for commencement, students are given the opportunity to invite one professor that made a significant impact on their education. I asked Dardenne if he would like to be my invitee. “Sure,” he said. “Then you can find someone you would actually want to invite.”
He was the man that sent every email in caps locks, feeling the need to yell even through the Internet. He was the man that signed every email “BD.” He was the man that wrote a novel when you answered a question poorly but when you did well he gave a simple nod, grunt or a one-word response, “good.” He was a man that didn’t talk about himself often but when did, he did so with self-deprecating humor. He spoke often of his wife and son. They were featured in nearly every lecture.
He wanted his students to be not just knowledgeable, but insightful. I am going to be thinking to myself throughout my journalism career, “What does Dardenne think about this?” I’m going to question most of my actions with “What does Dardenne think about this?”
Teachers like Bob Dardenne changes lives and academic careers.
When you take the poetic soul of Mr. Keating, the need for community from Mr. Simonet and the importance of education from Mr. Feeny, you only get one man. Dr. Robert Dardenne.
The giant of a man, the larger than life character and the wise (and wiseass) orator has left us. His students can no longer walk into the JMS offices and expect to see Dardenne with his feet propped on his desk and books haphazardly strewn about. He won’t be there to read over our stories and make us self-conscious about our lead. Instead we will think about his wisdom and we will carry on his teachings.
I’m not done learning from you Bob. But that’s ok. I’m pretty sure you’re not done teaching us either.
Contributing authors Angela Blockburger, Jamie Kennedy and Hannah Shults.