The first class I walked into as a freshman at University Park was called Astronomical Universe.

Astronomy 001 met in one of those auditoriums in Osmond Lab that was built before the Americans with Disabilities Act, with theater-style chairs on risers so steep it looks like if you stepped forward too fast from the back row you'd tumble all the way to the front.

I was late and sat in the back.

I knew to expect this type of class when I enrolled at Penn State. I also expected these classes would be passive, colorless and terrible.

But three years later, I still remember Astronomical Universe as one of the best classes I've taken.

Whenever I look up on a clear night and see the moon and planets and stars dancing across the sky, I remember the things that I learned in that auditorium.

Standard conventions tell us this type of class — with a professor speaking from a stage in front of a silent audience of hundreds of students — is going the way of leaded gas and manual typewriters.

I'm not an expert in teaching methods, but I've never heard any educator sing the praises of big class sizes.

New classroom designs favor small conference rooms. Picture maybe a dozen students spaced around a large table, the professor, wearing a sweater, seated among them and chatting casually, telling jokes and engaging students in a real academic debate.

I've had classes like those that have worked. One broadcasting class I took met each week for thre hours in an audio lab with a group of 10 people.It was wonderful.

But I've also had small group classes that were a waste of time. A Spanish class I took in a computer lab comes to mind.

Big classes sometimes don't work either. I struggled to stay awake through an art history class that met in a dark auditorium.

My conclusion? Classroom methods don't matter as much as good people.

Astronomy 001, for example. You see, the professor, Richard Wade, was a great astronomer who thoroughly knew and enjoyed what he taught.

He used low-tech overhead projectors to explain space in a way I had never understood it before.

Certainly his style didn't work for everyone, but it worked for me. It's quite an accomplishment to explain the heavens to a math-challenged journalism student with little interest in science.

As a result of Astronomy 001, I have a richer education. That's a big deal.

We reporters spend a lot of time scribbling notes about the university's ties to big-money corporations, new building projects and various crime-and-punishment issues, not to mention alcohol abuse.

But we often miss is the chance to celebrate the good professors here and to encourage the university to hire more of them.

Like any school, Penn State needs a bright and motivated faculty to be its best.

It needs people able to do both high-level research and undergraduate-level teaching.

And in order for that to happen, the administrators who run the university need to value the people they hire.

I think they do, but sometimes it's hard to tell.

At a big state university, there's a lot of emphasis on task forces, surveys, fund-raising, curriculum development, and the like.

That's all OK, but you can't run a university the way you run a fast food restaurant.

If a focus group of Burger King patrons say they prefer sitting in blue chairs, then the company can immediately bolt blue chairs onto the floors of thousands of restaurants. They can make their customers happier without a single personnel change.

If a random sample of Penn State students says it prefers small class sizes, the university can demolish the Forum Building. They can work on securing grants for computer labs. They can build, build, and build some more until all of the classrooms are small.

But that just won't work if the classes are headed by graduate students who would rather not teach, but have to so they can afford tuition. (Students: Think about your Speech Communication 100 class.)

After six semesters, I've begun to realize that there's no formula for a good class. Some instructors have it and some don't.

How can Penn State make sure it has good people teaching every class?

I don't know. There's probably a task force somewhere trying to solve that problem right now.

But I do know that smaller classrooms and more computers, while important, are not the solution.

This Tuesday, I walked into Introductory Sociology, a class of 330 students. It's taught in a wedge-shaped auditorium filled with hard plastic chairs. It took about five minutes to pass out the syllabus.

Like many professors who must teach from a stage, Hart Nelsen began the class by saying he would prefer teaching sociology in a small group, but he'd make the best of it.

But, he added, despite all the research he's done and all the articles he's published, he still requests Sociology 001 when his department prepares the schedule.

"I love teaching intro," he told us.

I don't know Professor Nelsen yet, but I have a feeling this is going to be a good class.