I took Gaudino’s class in a little meeting room in Greylock, an afternoon class. The class was meant to be an hour and a half, or an hour and a quarter, and it went on three hours, up until dinner time. I came out of it shaking. It was one of the first times I experienced what you call Socratic wisdom, which is you realize what you don’t know. I trembled from the excitement of the possibility of learning. I can’t tell you what the substance of the class was, perhaps de Tocqueville or Plato’s Republic. I have no idea. All I know is that he sat at the far end of one of the rectangular or square tables with the hollow inside. He sat at one end. No one sat alongside of him but it was a seminar class and he was a little guy, 5-7, and he’d hunch over. As you know, he had an oversized head, really, because his body seemed shrunken. He was almost like one of those spacemen where the body shrunk and you had a giant head. And he would kind of curl up, shoulders hunched a little together and lean down. His head would tilt up and he just would twinkle his eyes and say, “Well, Mr. Lieberman…” and just ask questions. But all I remember was tingling from excitement at the end. All of a sudden I said, “OK, I’m on a trip, an adventure,” because you felt like you knew nothing.