Imagine, if you will, the following scenario: A crowd consisting of 200 college students piles into a fairly large lecture hall late in the afternoon. When their class is supposed to start, the door opens and an old man ambles in, walks down the steps and does not seem to mind, or even notice, for that matter, the people all around him.

Eventually, he makes his way to the front of the class, where he sits down at a desk, puts up his feet and looks like he is ready to take a refreshing nap. The catch here is that he stays awake, and he talks. And when he talks, with a southern accent that some people will liken to Foghorn Leghorn, it is, of all things, a story about a Japanese woman being plagued by a kitsune, a mythical fox which brings bad luck upon all those that it follows.

This kind of situation played out in front of my eyes a few times a week during the fall semester of my sophomore year at KU. I, and evidently everyone else who ever took Myths, Legends and Folk Belief of East Asia, would spend the rest of the year raving about not only the class, but also about that old man who would casually walk in and give us a taste of his encyclopedic knowledge of the various cultures of that part of the world.

Prof. Wallace Johnson did not have any gimmick to his lectures. He didn’t have a running joke, or some noticeable tic that people could snicker at. He just talked, and he did it well. Whatever the subject, whether it be the tortured love of Izanami and Izanagi, or how the world as we know it is actually the body of a dead giant, or even the events of a Korean séance, it came as naturally to Prof. Johnson as football statistics to Al Michaels. When he lectured, it was like your grandfather was telling stories about his youth.

I write this because, as many know by now, Prof. Johnson, who introduced himself to both classes of his that I took that year as “Wally,” passed away recently. Reportedly, he had a heart attack and collapsed on his way to the Merc to pick up a copy of the New York Times. Yes, he died getting a newspaper from the natural foods market. If there is a more KU way to go out, I don’t want to know about it.

It was not just the East Asian Languages and Cultures department that lost something special that day, it was all of KU. Such talent in any field, let alone that of a college professor, is a rare thing indeed, and all who got to listen to Wally Johnson knew what a treat they were getting when he taught them.

I feel bad for everyone who is going to take one of the classes he once taught in the future. The course material will still be as interesting as it ever was, but there will not be that one special factor which could captivate people week-in and week-out that there once was.

So, sadly, all who were fortunate enough to take one of Prof. Johnson’s classes can now only fondly remember both the fun moments, such as when he presented his theory that the long drought the KU football team had been suffering up to that point was due to the poor chi flow to Memorial Stadium, and the genuinely academic, like his ability to recount the creation stories of at least three East Asian nations by heart, within a 50-minute class period per story. No matter what, he always hold the entire class’s attention from start to finish.

Prof. Johnson will be missed greatly by those of us who heard him speak, and by the entire University, which was benefited for many years by his unforgettable presence.

Cohen is a Topeka junior in journalism and English.