What Got Me Into Philosophy. It may be have been my high school Jack Purcells. I was a tennis nut. Most days, after school at Durham High, I'd head over to the Duke courts, a few miles away, and either play with friends or hit the practice wall with all I had. I couldn't try out for the school team because my band The Chateaus was often traveling with irregular schedules. I was the leader, though the youngest, and I had to be available for band practice or going to play parties at NC State or Duke or UNC or UVA or The Myrtle Beach Pavilion or wherever. But back to Jack. For a long time I was always in Jacks or Stan Smith white tennis shoes. Those Jacks and Stans took me onto the green clay courts most days where I'd relish the serves, returns, lobs and slams like they were the stairway to heaven. Then I had my first philosophy course at UNC and saw the verbal serves and returns and lobs and slams as just the same thing but in a new mode. I was hooked. And like on the courts with friends, it didn't really matter who won or lost, but whether someone got in a great shot, skimming off that back line or popping over the net and twisting the other guy into a knot in a futile effort to return the ball. I learned that philosophical argument, like a friendly game of tennis with a good buddy, is not about winning or losing, but about honing the skills of making those points that will end up with a discovery of truth, or wisdom, a new insight into something that matters. So thanks, Jack and Stan, and to all my high school friends who endured my endless need to hit a ball under the warm southern sun. Who knew that at my age now, I'd still be serving, not that white fuzzy ball of ancient times, but the ideas, even older, that may help us all to score a little happiness and goodness in our day?
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