Much of his teaching was aimed at cultivating the civilizing virtues as opposed to one's curriculum vitae. I learned about this side of him the hard way.

Acutely aware of the fact that I would soon be looking for a job — this was in 1978 — Professor Rieff began prodding me to start submitting articles for publication. One day I paraded into his office puffed up like a peacock because I had just garnered my first article acceptance. "Congratulations," he said, kindly adding, "There will be many more." But then he said, "Gordon, I have to tell you that from the first day that I met you, you reeked of ambition." I dropped my head, for the truth is I probably am one of those injured birds who constantly needs his feathers stroked. He went on, "And you had better understand that the profession that you are going into is all about teaching. I know many professors who went into this business because they loved writing books and articles and developing a little coterie of admirers. But when they got into their 50s and could feel the limits of their talents, they fell into very serious despair, because it was clear that they were never going to become the Kierkegaard that they imagined they were, and they dreaded teaching."

Rieff was on a roll: "Most academics are too narcissistic to be the parental figures that they need to be. They will slam their door on a student just so they can write their next forgettable article or book." Professor Rieff was not finished with his brass knuckles. He knew that I had a brilliant neuroscientist of a wife who helped me with typing and photocopying and, well, just about everything, so he hit me between the eyes: "These self-involved characters will also turn their wives into secretaries and sacrifice their children to feckless books."