11-4-87 . . . During class, I jokingly referred to philosophers as the kings of the academic world—indeed, of the whole world. Philosophers, I said (speaking figuratively), sit on a glass table above everyone else. We watch them and point out confusions and inconsistencies to them. As I explained this, I walked slowly across the floor with my head down, as if looking through a glass table. One of the students, John Svob, who has a good sense of humor, asked me to repeat my walk. “Do that king walk again”, he said. I blushed and said “no”. Then, to my surprise, other students chimed in. Pretty soon the entire class of thirty-three students was clapping, urging me to perform. My face must have been beet red, but I refused. I wanted to play with them. I told them that I had done enough king-walking for one day, and that I can’t just summon up kinghood on the spur of the moment. “It has to come out naturally”, I said, “so keep watching me during the course.” This brought more laughter. I get along well with the students. The class is serious, but lighthearted. Humor is the glue that holds everything together.