It’s a common enough experience among university alumni: the feeling you owe something to one or more professors whose teaching touched you in a special way; the regret you never had the chance to express your gratitude properly.
Melissa Martin, Artsci’84, knew that her favourite professor from Queen’s, Dr. Frederic Schroeder – “Dr. Fred,” in Martin’s words – had moved to Gananoque in recent years. She had seen Schroeder and his wife, retired Queen’s professor, Dr. Carol Roberts, around town, shopping or at restaurants, and had often said hello.
But when a friend who worked at a local seniors’ centre told her Schroeder, an emeritus professor from the Department of Classics, was now in long-term care at the facility, it brought her up short.
“He was one of the influencers of my going into the teaching field,” says Martin, who teaches English and French as second languages. “He embodied the ancient Greek mind, (which saw) intrinsic value in wonder, almost a childlike way of seeing something.”
Martin decided she had to go see him.
She had taken at least four courses with Schroeder, including classes on Socrates, Plato’s Symposium and a segment of a first-year survey course. “He was very passionate about his field,” she says.
His lectures “would give you today’s equivalent of a cliffhanger … He would wax poetic about certain things, particularly ancient Greek philosophers,” says Martin.
“He was almost rapturous at time…like he was going into a trance,” she says. It contrasted delightfully with how orderly he was normally, according to Martin. “His lectures were very meticulous and methodical. There was decorum.”
Emeritus History professor Paul Christianson, a close friend since Schroeder’s arrival at Queen’s in 1968, recalls that the Classics professor had once been an avid backwoods canoeist. He had known the rivers and creeks of Algonquin Park, says Christianson, as well as he knew the mind of Plotinus, the third-century Neoplatonist who was Schroeder’s particular field of study.
But the steady advance of Parkinson’s Disease had sapped his vigour, and Schroeder eventually needed more care than he could get at home, Christiansen says.
When Martin decided to visit her old teacher at the nursing home in November 2022, she didn’t want to come empty-handed. She brought with her what had brought them together in the first place: the wisdom of the ancient world. Specifically, she brought her laptop so she and “Dr. Fred” could watch one of the monthly online lectures programmed by his old department.
He seemed delighted by her visit, says Martin, though more interested in reminiscing with his erstwhile student than watching the lecture on Greek archeology. “He talked all through it,” she recalls, regaling her with tales of old Queen’s colleagues, his post-retirement writing for Dionysius, the journal of Dalhousie University's Department of Classics, and the regular lunchtime visits of Dr. Roberts, his wife of 38 years.
One of Schroeder’s former colleagues, Drew Griffith, professor and undergraduate chair of the Classics Department, agrees with Martin that Schroeder’s intellectual passions could be infectious. He recalls a dinner party where Schroeder spoke glowingly of a book he had read, Truth and Method, the magnum opus of 20th-century German philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer.
“He became so enthused in his description of how exciting this book is and how it opened up all these doors for him, the next day I went over to the library and I signed out a copy,” says Griffith.
“It was like he was talking about some completely other document. This thing was as dry as dust and utterly impenetrable … It did nothing for me. But when Fred would talk about it, it would suddenly come alive.”
“He really inspired the passionate students,” says Griffith, though he admits Schroeder may have mystified those who had enrolled in his course thinking it would be an easy credit.
Martin recalls that about halfway through her visit with her former professor that fall, Schroeder turned to her and said, “You know, Melissa, I’m going to be turning 85 next month. “
“I said, ‘Oh, that’s wonderful, Dr. Schroeder.’”
“‘Yes, I can’t believe it myself,” he replied.
When Martin left the care centre that day, she was determined to return regularly now that she had reconnected with the teacher who had inspired her. And the following month, she made sure to phone just before his 85th birthday to wish him happy returns, and to say she’d see him soon.
Less than a week later, Frederic Maxwell Schroeder passed away peacefully. The Classical Association of Canada marked his passing with an , in part: “In person, Fred was invariably good company, with his gentle manner and almost old-world courtesy, but he had strongly held opinions about his field of study, which he nonetheless conveyed with good humour and grace. Anyone fortunate enough to meet him will remember him fondly.”
Martin feels fortunate to have reached out to Schroeder when she did. The visit meant at least as much to her as it did to her former professor, she says. She was able to acknowledge the debt she owed him.
“He was a very distinguished man, very mild-mannered,” she says, but “he didn’t come across as a high-brow academic. He was the antithesis of a kind of stuffed-shirt (academic).”
He was, in short, “Dr. Fred,” a gracious friend and impassioned teacher.
