Press Teacher Jump Started Ambitions by Terri Rimmer - originally published under my maiden name Persico in The Camden County Tribune, 1991

Tomorrow about a hundred or so West Georgia College alumni will honor a journalism teacher, a former school paper advisor, a  Newsweek magazine editor, and a brilliant teacher.

Joe Cumming, my Mass Com­munications teacher, is retiring after years of teaching the magic of the written word to thousands of amateur college students who dreamt of that writing gig that would turn them into profession­als and cast them into the lime ­light for all the world to read.

Joe is not a straight-laced man in a suit and tie, throwing large words at you and overwhelming you with Ivy League language.

He has a shock of white hair, wire-rimmed glasses, robust cheeks and a clown’s hapless smile that grins at nostalgia of the days of the penny press and "Citizen Kane."

It’s hard to believe that the school will no longer have a Joe Cumming.

After four years of watching him scrupulously and diligently help me capture the flavor and not only learn but grasp the idea of journalism and the power of the press, it’s hard to imagine another bright-eyed freshman not learning under his guise.

He had a way about him that was instantly tuned into when he walked in the room.

Carrying folders of mysteri­ous newspaper clippings, notes, memos to himself and cartoons, we as a class never knew what he was going to pull out of his bag of tricks.

Some students got impatient with him because he wasn’t like all the others.

They only wanted the test dates and facts.

And in their haste to get only those, a great man would pass them by if they didn’t stop and allow his magic to teach them something.

Luckily for me I did grasp his teachings, but not until my fresh­man year was almost completed. During spring quarter I dedi­cated myself to two hours a day of pounding the material into my head while imagining the stories behind the facts the way he taught me to.

I went from a failing, frus­trated freshman journalism stu­dent to an “A” in his class in one quarter.

I feel fortunate that I didn't give up, even through all the stories I had to write, rewrite. chop, edit, puree, grind, smash and reincarnate

His wife Emily was always on hand to furnish the new newspaper staff with a bunch of sandwiches and mint julep tea every spring.

Media Day every spring quarter was his day to shine. He took great pride in all the guests in the field who came from various places to show students how to fine tune their craft and market themselves.

He was so proud of the college paper, The West Geor­gian to which he used to serve. In staff meetings he would look forward to meeting the new freshmen who didn’t know what they were getting themselves into.

His blue eyes would light up when he’d get a new idea and he’d rush to tell someone who would listen.

His big, bushy white eyebrows would furrow when a struggling freshman who hadn’t seen the light would be uselessly explaining his or her plight.

But he always listened. And he often found humor in things that we as students didn’t see as funny.

Just as he often took things seriously that we collegians laughed off.

All of us complained about this or that idiosyncrasy of his at one time or another.

But behind all of that was a genuine love for the man who taught us everything we knew.

Some of the internships that seemed such as waste of time turned out to be valuable.

Sometimes he would put an alumnus on the spot by asking him to speak to his class -- just when the former student dropped by.

Somehow you just couldn't tell him no.

It won’t be the same without him.

And I wish I could tell the up and coming freshmen what they will be missing.

For all his education there lies a remarkable talent, spark and freshness that has not left him through all the years.

He will go down in history as a unique teacher who managed to teach many seemingly aim­less writers the meaning of di­rection and purpose.

I am lucky that I was able to learn under his incredible talent and drive.

I will never forget him and the many doors that he has opened for me.

We will all miss you, Joe.

I- - -Terri Persico (Rimmer)
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