I have been both perpetrator and victim of that particular felony.  I handed in a cleverly written (with all that implies) paper to Professor Thompson back at Stony Brook in 1979 when I was an undergrad.  I was miffed that I only got a B.  But, two years later, I handed it in again.  His alcoholism had advanced sufficiently that he did not see anything familiar about it, and his judgement had advanced so far that he gave the paper an A.  I joked with my buddies that it must have grown on him with a second reading.  My student Mel Hellum handed in the same paper to my American History class back in 1991, and I also gave it a better grade the second time around.   I think we went from an 85 to a 90.  Of course, my fondest memory of Professor THompson was his lecture on Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw  which I thought was pretty turgid until I heard him give one of the most interesting lectures on it.  In fact, that was the last time I scoffed at any work of art that enjoys critical acclaim over any considerable period of time. I still reserve the right to scoff at the latest “film of the month.”  But, to Thompson I credit my educational epiphany.  He’s the guy who showed me how little I knew.  Today, when a great work fails to impress me, I’m much quicker to say that the failure is in me than in the artist.