Deep Dive: What Makes Professors Great

Olivia Carter

Good afternoon, Mark. Today, we’re digging into something that’s easy to overlook but impossible to forget—the impact of great professors. We’ve all had one, right? That professor who didn’t just teach a subject, but shaped how you think. The one who made you feel seen, or challenged, or just… sharper.. Great professors aren’t always the most famous or the most cited. Sometimes they’re the ones quietly changing lives in seminar rooms no one tweets about.

Mark Putnam

That’s right, Olivia. Great professors aren’t always the most famous or the most cited. Sometimes they’re the ones quietly changing lives in seminar rooms no one tweets about.

Olivia Carter

And what makes them great isn’t just content knowledge. It’s how they carry that knowledge—with humility, with presence, with a sense that the classroom is sacred ground.

Mark Putnam

They know when to push and when to pull. They ask the right questions. And they treat teaching not as a task, but as a calling.

Olivia Carter

Today, we’re going to unpack what these professors actually do that leaves such a mark. What behaviors, what habits, what decisions make their influence last decades after the course is over?

Mark Putnam

And why—especially now, in a time of institutional uncertainty and bureaucratic creep—their role matters more than ever.

Olivia Carter

Because when we talk about student success, retention, or even institutional mission—we can’t forget the human link in the middle of all of it: the teacher.

Mark Putnam

That’s right, Olivia.

Olivia Carter

Ok, let’s kick this off with one of my favorite qualities—blue-sky thinking. I mean, the best faculty don’t just tolerate wild ideas, they actually go looking for them. I remember from my college, there was this computer science professor who, for the final project, let students pitch startup ideas instead of just writing code. The room was half chaos, half caffeine-fueled ambition. Some of the projects flopped, sure. But at least two turned into real companies. One of them even got early funding and went on to hire other grads from the program. It was like “what if?” wasn’t just a rhetorical device. It was the pedagogy. The whole point. That kind of intellectual courage—to hold space for risk, for tangents, for off-the-wall connections—that’s what makes a classroom feel alive. Not a museum of old frameworks, but a launchpad for curiosity.

Mark Putnam

That’s exactly it. And it takes guts on the professor’s part. You’re letting go of control, a little. You’re saying, “I don’t know where this will end up, but let’s follow it anyway.” The faculty who do that well—they’re not afraid of the mess. They know transformative insight almost never comes from coloring inside the lines. I remember a literature professor who once scrapped the second half of her syllabus mid-semester. The class had gotten fixated on a theme—surveillance in modern fiction—and she just… pivoted. Let us build a reading list around it. Guided us. Challenged us. But she let the question take the lead. That experience taught me more about narrative and power than any survey course ever could. And I think that’s the heart of it—real intellectual generosity. You’re not just sharing your expertise. You’re co-creating the inquiry. That’s rare.

Olivia Carter

It’s rare because it’s risky. And because most institutions—let’s be honest—don’t reward it. They reward polish. Predictability. Course evaluations that say, “Everything was clear and organized.” But real discovery? That’s never tidy. Great professors know that. They build just enough structure to keep the floor from falling out, but they don’t put a ceiling on it. And that’s the difference. A great class doesn’t just deliver content. It gives you permission to imagine something new—and the tools to go chase it.

Mark Putnam

Yeah, and that permission matters more than we realize. Especially for the students who haven’t always felt like they belonged in the room to begin with. The ones who ask the strange questions. The ones who don’t sound like everyone else. Those are the students who change the field—if someone is willing to hold the door open long enough for them to walk through.

Olivia Carter

Exactly. And that’s what I mean when I say great professors aren’t just instructors—they’re architects of possibility. They don’t just teach material. They cultivate intellectual courage.

Mark Putnam

And that courage sticks with you. Long after the grade, long after the lecture. That’s the stuff you carry forward. That’s the class you remember.

Olivia Carter

So, let’s talk about the faculty who champion the so-called “misfit toys.” You know the students I mean—the ones who don’t fit the tidy molds. Maybe they’re too interdisciplinary, too emotionally open, or just, I don’t know, a little too much for the usual academic boxes. The kind of students who ask the wrong questions in the right way. I’ve seen professors go out of their way for students like that—not just making space for them, but truly investing in them. And it’s honestly kind of moving. Because those students often walk into classrooms already braced for rejection. They’ve been told, subtly or not, that they need to fit in more, tone it down, specialize. But when a professor actually believes in them, mentors them, and helps them turn their complexity into clarity? That can change the trajectory of a life.

Mark Putnam

Absolutely. A friend of mine, who teaches at a research university, once mentored a student just like that. Brilliant, but hard to pin down. This student was doing work that mixed computational linguistics with classical music theory and was even trying to incorporate principles from visual design. It was all over the map—nobody quite knew what to do with it. The linguistics department said it was too aesthetic. The computer science folks said it wasn’t rigorous enough. The music faculty? They just blinked. But my friend saw something in it. He didn’t try to force the student into a neater box—he just kept asking good questions, kept encouraging the student to clarify the vision and tighten the argument. And over time, that oddball project turned into something remarkable. It won a national award in computational humanities. And now that same student is teaching and mentoring undergrads at a liberal arts college, helping the next generation of misfits find their voice. Stories like that don’t happen because the student got easier to understand. They happen because a professor chose to see potential instead of problems.

Olivia Carter

Exactly. And I think those students are more important than ever right now. The world isn’t getting simpler—it’s getting more entangled. Climate change, AI, mental health, global politics… nothing fits neatly into one discipline anymore. We need people who can connect dots that don’t obviously go together. People who see patterns where others see noise. But here’s the thing—students with that kind of vision often start off a little raw. They come in without a map. They need professors who won’t try to sand down their edges just to make them legible to a system. They need professors who will help them sharpen, not shrink.

Mark Putnam

And that takes a certain kind of faculty member. Someone secure enough to mentor without molding. Someone who knows that “off-track” doesn’t mean off-base—it might just mean ahead of its time. The best professors don’t just tolerate the misfits. They champion them. They become that one voice saying, “I see what you’re doing. Keep going.” And for a student who’s used to feeling like an outlier, that kind of belief can be rocket fuel.

Olivia Carter

That’s what I mean when I say some professors don’t just teach knowledge—they teach identity. They help students become who they were already trying to be. Just with more focus, more resilience, and a little more confidence. In a system that often rewards sameness, that kind of mentorship is quietly revolutionary.

Mark Putnam

Let’s shift to something that’s always been close to my heart—the scholar of the human condition. I’m talking about those professors who don’t hide behind jargon or retreat into methodology. Their work points outward, not inward. They ask the big, enduring questions: How do people endure? How do they organize, rebel, belong? I’ve seen faculty connect Durkheim to a TikTok trend or Veber to the workplace politics of a university committee. They’re not just analyzing—they’re revealing patterns that help us make sense of everyday life. They make scholarship relevant, not just rigorous.

Olivia Carter

Yes! And honestly, I think that’s more vital now than ever. Higher ed is feeling so… algorithmic lately. Everything’s about dashboards, key performance indicators, and quantifying impact. It’s like if it doesn’t fit in a spreadsheet, it doesn’t matter. But the best professors push back against that. They remind us that a university isn’t just a knowledge factory. It’s supposed to be a mirror—a place to reflect on who we are. A window—to see what’s happening beyond our immediate experience. And sometimes, when it’s done right, a megaphone—to give voice to what needs to be heard. But let me ask you, Mark—how do those scholars actually do that? I mean, bridging the gap between dense theory and lived experience isn’t easy. Most people either go too abstract or too anecdotal.

Mark Putnam

Totally. And it’s a tightrope walk, right? But I think the ones who do it well start with empathy. They’re grounded in listening. Before they apply theory, they listen for what’s really going on—what people are feeling, fearing, fighting for. Then they bring the theory to that moment, not the other way around. It’s not just intellectual. It’s relational. They’re not just asking, “What can I prove?” They’re asking, “What does this help us understand about being human?” That’s a very different kind of scholarly posture. It’s not just a method—it’s a kind of generosity.

Olivia Carter

That word—generosity—is so right. Because I think those scholars give more than content. They give context. They take something difficult, layered, maybe even painful, and help students see it clearly, without losing complexity. I had a professor once who taught a course on trauma and collective memory. Heavy stuff. But what made it powerful wasn’t just the reading list—it was the way she taught. Every lecture felt like an invitation to see how history lives in people’s bodies, in communities, in public silence. It wasn’t abstract at all. It was careful, ethical, deeply human work.

Mark Putnam

Yes. And that’s the kind of class you don’t just remember—you carry it with you. The professors who teach that way, they don’t just give you intellectual tools. They shape your lens. They help you see the world differently—and, ideally, more compassionately.

Olivia Carter

And honestly, they make you more alert to meaning. In conversations, in policy, in news stories—suddenly you hear Durkheim in a protest chant, or Veblen in a boardroom. It’s like the world doesn’t get simpler, but it does get more legible.

Mark Putnam

Right. And in a world that feels increasingly fractured, that kind of interpretive clarity? That’s a form of service. It’s not just what great scholars do. It’s what great citizens do. And maybe that’s the ultimate legacy of the scholar of the human condition—they don’t just teach you how to think. They teach you how to see.

Olivia Carter

So, let’s talk about grace at the top. It’s one thing to be brilliant, but it’s another to be brilliant and kind. And when those two qualities show up in the same person, it’s unforgettable. I’ve interviewed a few first-generation professors over the years who, despite all their accolades—tenure, book deals, national awards—still make it a point to guide students through the unwritten rules of academia. Not just teaching the content, but teaching the culture. I remember one professor in particular who would walk students through how to email a journal editor—literally workshopping subject lines and tone. And when a student got a rejection, he wouldn’t just say, “Try again.” He’d sit with them, read the reviewer comments together, and help draft the response. He didn’t treat that as extra service. He treated it as part of the job. His success wasn’t some locked cabinet you had to break into. It was a lantern. He used it to light the path for others.

Mark Putnam

That’s such a rare mix, Olivia. Especially in research-intensive settings. The faculty who carry their expertise lightly—they’re the ones who are secure enough to let others speak first, and wise enough to know that mentorship is a long game. They don’t need to be the smartest person in the room, even when they are. What they do is demystify the hidden curriculum. They show you how to write a manuscript that gets read, not just submitted. How to survive peer review without losing your voice. How to stand up in a dissertation defense with confidence. And the whole time, they’re saying—maybe not in words, but in posture—“You belong here.” That’s how you build confidence, not just competence. You give students the tools and the permission to believe they can use them.

Olivia Carter

Yes. And it’s those little moments that students remember—the quick email that says “Good work. Keep going.” Or the professor who waits after class just to check in, even if they’re on a tight schedule. It’s even something as small as pausing in a seminar and asking, “What do you think?”—and then actually listening to the answer. When that happens, it turns the classroom from a performance space into a collaborative one. From a hierarchy into a community. And you’re right—those professors aren’t always the most visible, but they’re the most felt. They leave a mark on how their students show up in the world.

Mark Putnam

And not just as scholars. As colleagues, leaders, mentors. I can think of several people I’ve worked with who model their own mentoring style after professors like that—quiet strength, generous clarity. That’s the legacy.

Olivia Carter

It’s leadership by presence, not by title. And the best part is—it ripples. The students they invest in end up investing in others. That’s how culture shifts.

Mark Putnam

Now, let’s get into what separates a genius you can learn from and a genius you can only admire. The best professors aren’t just brilliant—they’re generous with their brilliance. They’re gifted translators. They don’t perform excellence to impress you. They break it down so you can build your own. They’ll show you the structure of a compelling argument, the architecture of a journal article, the rhythm of effective writing. They make it feel less like magic and more like method. You don’t just leave their class thinking, “That was amazing.” You leave thinking, “I can do that.” And then there’s the reluctant steward—the faculty who never set out to lead, but say yes when the institution needs them. I think of a department chair I knew at my college. Revered, steady, never loud. He didn’t chase titles. He didn’t need to. But when he was asked to serve, he did it with clarity and conviction. He always put mentorship ahead of prestige. He showed up to faculty meetings prepared to listen. He fought to protect the time and space junior faculty needed to grow. And he left behind more than a list of accomplishments—he left behind a culture of trust. That’s leadership.

Olivia Carter

I love that. It’s like the best administrators are gardeners, not empire-builders. They don’t manage people—they tend ecosystems. They know when to prune, when to water, when to just leave something alone and let it grow. And the same goes for those professors who can actually teach their brilliance. They don’t hold onto it like it’s scarce. They turn excellence from a personality trait into a process. Step-by-step. Brick-by-brick. And that’s an incredible gift to give someone.

Mark Putnam

Exactly. Because it’s not just about transmitting knowledge—it’s about building capacity. Helping others find their voice, their rhythm, their way of contributing. And when someone does that for you, it reshapes how you lead, how you mentor, how you show up.

Olivia Carter

And honestly, that’s the mark of real stewardship. Not building monuments to yourself, but elevating others. Leaving the place better than you found it. Creating pathways for people who might never have found their footing without you.

Mark Putnam

And you never forget those people. You carry them with you—in the way you teach, the way you write, the way you treat your students. That’s the ripple effect of great faculty. It goes far beyond the classroom.

Olivia Carter

It really does. And it’s why we wanted to have this conversation. Because in a moment when higher ed is being pulled in a thousand directions, it’s worth remembering: the professors who teach with grace, generosity, and purpose are still shaping the future—one student, one question, one conversation at a time.

Mark Putnam

That's right, Olivia.

Olivia Carter

Alright, last but definitely not least—let’s talk about passion and persistence. The professors who just keep showing up, even when things get tough. I’ve seen professors who, after a grant rejection or a failed experiment, just roll up their sleeves and try again. That kind of resilience is contagious. It’s what sustains excellence, even when the landscape keeps shifting.

Mark Putnam

Absolutely. Passion is what gets you started, but persistence is what keeps you going. The best professors adapt—they find new ways to reach students, new questions to ask, new methods to try. They don’t let setbacks define them. Instead, they model a growth mindset, for themselves and for everyone around them. That’s how you build a culture of excellence that lasts.

Olivia Carter

And I think, especially now, with higher ed changing so fast, that kind of resilience is more important than ever. It’s not about never failing—it’s about learning, adapting, and inspiring others to do the same. That’s what makes professors truly great.

Mark Putnam

Well said, Olivia. And that’s a good place to wrap for today. These qualities—openness, support, human-centeredness, humility, teachability, stewardship, and persistence—they’re what set extraordinary professors apart. They shape not just students, but institutions and, ultimately, society.

Olivia Carter

Couldn’t agree more, Mark. Thanks for sharing your stories and wisdom, as always. And thanks to everyone listening—we’ll be back soon with more conversations from the front lines of higher ed. Take care, Mark.

Mark Putnam

Take care, Olivia. See you next time.