In 1977, I convinced a young University of Massachusetts professor whose name has long since faded from memory, to accept a semester-long writing project as a substitute for the standard class/exams/papers in his course syllabus. Somehow I managed to forget about writing my project until the night before it was due. Neither of us was particularly happy with the results. He was just plain angry.

That spring I made my professional acting debut in Northampton. I played a young, Irish student in the American premier of the Brian Friel play, “Volunteers.” I call that play my professional debut because I was paid $20. It came to about four cents an hour for rehearsal and performance over about three months.

I loved the theater and didn’t feel the same way about school. My girlfriend was graduating. It seemed like a good time to go out and take the acting world by storm. I didn’t. But that’s another story for another day. I left UMass with 85 graduation credits and a GPA of 2.32.

There had been another young, assistant professor whose name I would remember for the next 30-plus years. I even remembered many of the stories he told in class about his life and experiences as a political reporter in Chicago. I took every class he taught.

Ralph Whitehead was young and cool. He wore a brown leather bomber-style jacket. His hair wasn’t as long as mine but it was pretty long (a sign of coolness at that time).

I’m not sure why, but he reached me at a time when I wasn’t particularly interested in being reached. Maybe it was because he seemed like an outsider and I felt like an outsider in this big, anonymous, intimidating place. I don’t know.

In early 2012, I got the idea that maybe I could finish my degree. Maybe I could find a way to substitute a writing project for the 35 credits I needed to graduate. Old habits die hard.

I spent some time on the UMass website. To my surprise and delight, I found Whitehead still listed as a Journalism faculty member. I sent him an email. Surprise turned to shock when he wrote back and said he remembered me.

Whitehead had actually accomplished the goal colleges and universities set for their faculty. He managed to educate me in spite of my bad attitude and sloppy habits.

After a few emails, I realized my education still mattered to him. He steered me to University Without Walls (UWW), offered to become my faculty advisor and help in any other way.

I walked with the class of 2013 on May 10 and received the empty folder that displayed my UMass diploma sometime in the summer. I wore my cap and gown proudly. I finished what I started back in the days of bell bottoms, muscle cars and the Vietnam War. I’m not sure that would have happened if it hadn’t been for a connection I’d made all those years ago with an educator who genuinely cared about education.

Harry Munns