Sugar and Poetry: Prof. Timothy Brownlow

When I was in college in the early 1970s I took a class in Poetry taught by a young professor freshly immigrated to Canada from Dublin, Ireland. Professor Brownlow was passionate about poetry and managed to convey that passion to his students through a series of brilliant lectures. It was hard to focus on his words, however, at least until his morning routine was completed. The professor  would arrive at class in the dead of winter wearing only a worn tweed jacket to keep out the cold. This was topped off with a long, ragged, trailing muffler. He could look no more like a suffering poet than he did.

The professor was rail thin and his only sustenance seemed to be the tea he was perpetually carrying. Upon arrival in class he would set down his tea and slowly unwind the muffler. Then he would begin the elaborate ritual of adding packets of sugar to his tea. The students watched in silence as he opened and poured one packet after another, the discarded papers making a white and pink mountain on his desk. We counted out his sugars. You could almost hear the countdown from the rows of desks. When we got to sixteen packets of sugar we all stopped in unison for we had come to know our professor’s habits well.  And then the stirring began. Professor Brownlow carried with him a Spoon, the white plastic ones from the school cafeteria being insufficiently strong to work their way through the sugary sludge. Once the tea ritual was complete he began his lecture. His love of poetry was contagious.

I recently came across a web site where students had rated their teachers, one of them being the Professor. I noted a comment from one student who was bemoaning the fact that Professor Brownlow was about to retire and thus future students would not have the priviledge and the  pleasure of his teaching. I also noticed his scores which were excellent for Teaching and Research, for Helpfulness and Availability. However on Hotness the poor professor scored a zero. The hotness factor reminded me of a dinner party the professor held for his senior students. My husband and I attended and my husband, being most amused by the eccentricities of the Irish gentleman, jokingly asked whether he had any Gregorian Chants that he could play on his record player. Indeed he did, and for the remainder of the party the background noise was medieval chanting.

I wish Professor Brownlow well in his retirement from teaching. I do hope he continues to write poetry, listen to monks singing, and drink tea. Professors who love their poetry and enchant their students never really retire — their teaching is a lasting contribution enriching the lives of their students for a lifetime.