I can remember all the teachers I’ve had. I have their names written down, from kindergarten to college, in case I forget them. However, the list itself continues to remind me of my experiences with each one, forever shoring up my memory.

I learned to write things from my favorite teacher of all, Dr. Harm de Blij, a world-renowned geographer who managed to make physical geography the most interesting and entertaining class of my education.

While attending the University of Miami in 1978, I enrolled in de Blij’s class, which was held in a stadium-style classroom with a capacity of over 100 students. Designed as a half-cereal bowl, this mini-auditorium featured the podium below and rows rising 20 steps in height.

On the first day of class, I chose the back row as my seat, knowing full well that this first day placement would end up being my permanent position for the duration of the course. My selection in the last row was part paranoid and part cunning:

1) I have learned from the Wild Bill Hickok experience to never sit with my back to the door or anyone else; and 2) I was able to observe everyone (read: girl) in front of me in this elevated classroom theater.

From what seemed 50 yards away and 50 feet below me, de Blij led his class, often waving his arms and gesticulating in each sentence, orchestrating his words for his audience. Totally intrigued by his enthusiasm and passion, the class remained focused on his unique artist.

The passionate professor paced his stage like a seasoned actor playing Hamlet for the crowd. As he read, he looked at his captives as if to extract every ounce of attention from him. His presence on stage was like Olivier’s. His charisma was Churchillian. His wit was Kennedy-esque.

In a particularly emotional segment of a conference, I remember de Blij displaying his fervor with sheer extemporaneous exuberance.

While explaining the forces of plate tectonics, de Blij quickly drew a landscape on a blackboard that stretched as wide as a billboard on a highway. However, for the enthusiastic geographer, it was not enough space. Undeterred by the end of the blackboard, he continued to the brick and across the classroom, chalking out the true dynamics of seismic science.

That was the turning point when I decided that such efforts would not go unrewarded. He captured my interest and never let it slip away. His anecdotes expanded the subject from geography to history and sociology and political science and sports. He challenged us to understand the relevance of geography and use that knowledge to better understand what was happening in the world.

The professor would soon test his audience with a four-page mimeographed exam (which I still have after a 35-year-old mom!) packed with multiple-choice, fill-in-the-blank, and essay questions. For me, the test was a doddle as de Blij had me completely enthralled on his favorite subject.

A week later, while at his podium, de Blij recited each student’s name from a handful of tests in his hand, inviting each referee to receive their graded exam firsthand. The students around him waved their hands like commodity merchants gathered for their first assessment.

In the midst of the bustle, de Blij handed me my exam, exclaiming with an approving nod, “Students in the back row don’t usually get A’s!”

The sight of a bold “94” score below my name on the exam sent me scrambling to my seat in awe. Had this geography superstar really seen me sitting in her class? Has it only been three weeks? How is it possible that she recognized me at that casting scrum as one of her deputies?

Now I felt compelled. challenged. This sneaky professor… this psychological genius just guaranteed me an “A” in his class. Not for anything he was going to give away, but for throwing a subliminal gauntlet right at my feet. How could I not hand over his “A” after calling me an exception to the rule?

I knew I couldn’t let him attack me three months later with a retort like, “Well, like I said, the students in the back row DO NOT get A’s!”

The geography teacher had me totally immersed in his lectures. De Blij outlined his brilliance on multiple levels.

He was so entertaining that he would come home from college and regurgitate his entire class to my mother, with all his mannerisms and histrionics. And she was just as captivated as I was, despite the second-hand surrender.

Eighteen years later, it was not surprising to see de Blij selected as the geography editor of “Good Morning America.” He then explained the topography our soldiers faced during “Desert Storm” to a geographically challenged national audience, and it was truly spectacular.

I am sure that his passion, energy and drive made General Norman Swarzkopf proud.

De Blij, now a highly decorated professor, continues to teach geography to students at Michigan State University. Lucky Spartans.

Now, three and a half decades since my great course, I salute the professor who deeply marked my intellect and my appreciation for great pedagogical skill.