Gary Colby Gary Colby has worked in the Pomona hospital laundry, the plastics factory and the San Dimas forest service equipment development center out of high school. After he graduated from Cal Poly his first job was doing publicity for a 70’s rock and roll band. He worked as a maintenance man at a local children’s home. He photographed airplanes and fine art and documented community development projects in Guatemala and Mississippi. He photographed forest fires, local sports and big crowds of people. He met Ansel Adams, Richard Neutra and George Duke. Then he came to La Verne to work as a newspaper adviser, magazine adviser, yearbook adviser and a photography teacher, among other jobs. He took a graduate degree from Claremont Graduate University, learned to ride horses, play the five-string banjo and guitar and earned a pilot’s license. But despite his cosmopolitan past jobs and interests, his newest job and interest bypasses them all. “The most important thing in the world to me right now is getting to participate as a father in the life of my son,” he said, his soft delivery deftly describes his demeanor. The chair of the photography department – and pretty much the reason it exists, he’s been here since 1973 – generally displays an even keel, regardless of his actual emotions. His soft speech rarely wavers. The expression behind his graying beard and glasses usually changes only to display a full, eye-squinting smile. On this day, he sits at his desk, his gray Reebok shoes perched on a cart; donning his usual uniform – blue jeans and a short-sleeved button down shirt – he carefully, articulately, as is his nature, talks about his son Aaron, who has been grappling with distractions recently in school. “That’s who he is,” Colby said. “They go on to do amazing stuff because that’s who they are.” Colby spends what free time he has with his son outside of school. But even at school, Aaron is a staple around the photography department when he’s not at his own school. When talking about his son, Colby’s eyes shed any doubt that he holds nothing but unflinching, unyielding, absolute love for his son. But despite this obvious display, Colby maintains a self-effacing tone when describing his relationship with Aaron. He credits his wife, Tracy – whom he calls a great traveler, a talented wedding photographer and a good accountant – with facilitating and maintaining a relationship between father and son. “I’m a lousy dad,” he said. “Tracy’s the one thing that makes (Aaron) happy and makes it possible for us to be together.” Since Aaron came into Colby’s life, it has actually changed the way Colby views and treats his students. “Suddenly, it dawned on me that all these people came from people that loved them,” he said. “The night he was born, it changed the way I treat people.” Colby is a perpetual philosopher, rarely taking anything on the surface, constantly looking for the deeper meaning in his life and the lives of those around him. Constantly reflecting, Colby readily and unabashedly shares his reflections with those around him. He recalls a trip to a river valley in the south of France. Spelunking into what seemed a mundane cave, Colby saw what had recently been discovered as a complex network of thousands of caves; the walls in this network displayed drawings that showed perspective rendering thought to be far ahead of their time. “This is not lightweight stuff,” he said. “This is heavyweight stuff.” The artist had to be a genius to be that far ahead of his time, but one guy could not have done all these drawings. So it had to be a group of geniuses. But this river valley could not support a population and bell curve large enough to where a group of geniuses could emerge. So what remains? “There’s no answer,” Colby said. “I love these arguments that don’t resolve. In experiences like that, I make the metaphor for my life and lives of my students, and it gives meaning.” THE PROFESSOR As a professor, Colby gives himself completely: “I’m too personally involved. I think about my students all the time. I sometimes can’t sleep at night. I know that it’s probably better to be more professorial than I am, but I’ve never done it any other way. This is a hard job. You end the year, completely evacuated, exhausted.” And Colby speaks highly of his past students: “The class of character that have passed through are just great.” But they’re more than just students, and he’s more than just a professor. Colby’s innate propensity for introspection helps him transcend the professor-student role. He becomes a philosophical guru, someone from whom his students learn lessons not only about the art of photography but the art of living. “You’re 55,” he said. “You’re not going to double your lifetime. This is pretty much it. You have to admit it’s worthwhile. You can’t really know what’s in store, and what’s behind you is already over. That just leaves you with right now.” RETURN TO FACULTY LIST mailto:colbyg@ulv.edu?subject=HELLOHome.htmlshapeimage_2_link_1