Looking back with 20/20 hindsight from my late fiftysomething perspective, one word stands out to best characterize the year 1989: watershed. Truly, 1989 was a turning point not just in my personal life but on the world scene.

Watching my internal movie of that momentous period, I recall in vivid, slo-mo detail a particular still-mild early November day toward the middle of my final year of college.

On that unheralded date in history, my bowtied Romantic poetry professor suddenly appeared five minutes late (he was never late) with an astonished expression behind his smudged spectacles—before abruptly, jubilantly canceling class with these electric lines: