Or much else, for that matter.
He was my introduction to philosophy professor, and then a semester of logic.
I expected to learn pithy bits of wisdom but discovered that philosophy is mostly about bottomless questions. I did find symbolic logic enticing, akin to geometry a few years earlier.
He was young, apparently Greek, as I recognize today – that curly hair and beard resembled any of a slew of statues. Rumors were that he was madly in love with his girlfriend and spent most of his nights talking long-distance to her in Europe.
What fascinated us was his clothing, the same cheap gabardine suit and tie and pair of scuffed brown oxfords every time he showed up for class. We assumed it was the same pair of socks and same shirt, too.
The next semester he wore a different suit but only that one to every class.
Later, hearing of his finals question from the previous year, I was grateful I hadn’t had him then.
The question he assigned for the blue-books scribbles was just one word:
“Why?”
Nothing else.
Most of the students labored away, hoping to chance across an acceptable answer.
The “A” grade went to the one who wrote a one-world answer:
“Because.”
And the “B” went to the one who used two: “Why not?”
Jnana's Red Barn 
I wonder if that exam question is apocryphal? I first heard that one in the late sixties or early seventies, though you have the answers reversed from what I heard then.
My first philosophy prof was a cigar smoking woman who wore combat boots to class. Today of course profs can’t smoke in school.
Gee, maybe we need to start a sweep of stories about philosophy profs. Do you remember the name of that cigar smoker in combat boots?
I don’t remember her name. It was more than 50 years ago. Only had her for the one course, and she was a sessional lecturer, not a full prof. Not sure I remember many of my profs names. Must be an age thing.
You’re not alone.