Norman MacKenzie (obituary, 3 July) was a true polymath. In the late 1960s I was given my first academic post, a fellowship to research audio-visual resources for American studies, in his new Centre for Educational Technology at the University of Sussex. One of the "technologies" Norman advocated was speed reading. When I argued that retention was more important than speed, he said: "If I think I might not retain something, I read it again to make sure."
It astounded me that if you gave him the draft of a 20-page report, in less than 10 minutes he would be standing at your door to dictate, without notes, his responses: "End of third paragraph is fuzzy, the paragraph at the top of page four seems redundant, wherever you say 'narrative documentary', 'documentary narrative' would be better," and so on. All the while, he would be serious, but smiling, and when you submitted the final version he would notice immediately if you hadn't incorporated each of the changes.
The centre had projects on the teaching of a diverse range of topics – among them Soviet politics, film, journalism, history of science. Norman seemed to know at least as much about each as the designated investigator, and he communicated his knowledge with passion.
Passing near Hastings after a meeting, on realising that no one in the car knew anything about the battle except that King Harold was shot in the eye, Norman took us over the battlefield. He pointed to the positions of the two armies and outlined their opposed strategies, urging us across fields. He seemed oblivious when it began to rain, only acknowledging the group's sodden state over drinks back in Brighton.