Memory of L.C.

Some time ago I heard the sad news about my former writing teacher passing away.
The direct cause was a heart attack as far as I can remember, like many people do nowadays.

6 years ago he was my teacher, who came into the classroom with the unmistakable look of an alcoholic and the 'sweet' smell of booze that lingered in the air around him.
From time to time we had a discussion class at a nearby pub, talked about each other's current writing projects. The laid-back ambiance of the pub often made it easier for me to talk about this otherwise awkward subject.

He criticized about the course letting International students in without having a proper assessment, which I don't think he said what he said out of any bias or malice. Sure he didn't give me a good mark until my second year. Not too generous, he was, but fair and helpful.

He used to give me suggestions and more detailed feedback about my writing compared to some other teachers.

Few days ago I accidentally found his old email address on my contact list.
It begins with 'poormans', and it still stays on my list as a memento of him.