The Pirate Professor
Written by Brian Heffernan
Brian studied interpersonal communications and journalism at Marquette University. He translated his love of language into a career in advertising and marketing services that spanned four decades.
Brian developed a talent for helping teams prepare for high-stakes presentations in the hyper-competitive world of advertising agency new business pitches. He leveraged his skills to become EVP/Global Business Development at J. Walter Thompson, a global advertising firm, and later as President of the company’s Chicago office.
Brian retired from a leadership role at IBM iX, the company’s digital experience arm, in 2019 and founded Fásmentor LLC, which is focused on mentoring teams and individuals in their pursuit of new business and career opportunities.
Brian and his wife, Peggy, have five children and eight grandchildren and now live in Holland, Michigan.
Hosted and produced by Peter Griffith; contributing producer Rob Wallace, final mix by Michael Henery.
A determined young man over-extends himself at college in every way possible. We find him hellbent on believing ambition alone will be the key to his happiness, even if it costs him the love of his life. It’s not until one fateful sit-down with a very eccentric professor does his life come into focus.
This true account written by Brian Heffernan is a lesson in life he learned from a pirate professor – Hurry less and you will enjoy life more.
Published March 12, 2025
Transcript: The Pirate Professor
HOST: Today on campus, it’s 1973 and the world we’re on is spinning fast. The U.S. ends its involvement in the Vietnam War, there’s an oil crisis, a recession and the investigation of the Watergate burglars and President Nixon . All this while Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs battle it out on one court as criteria to classify materials as obscene were being battled out in the Supreme Court . At the end of the year, Billie Jean had won but you could no longer say (beep), (beep), (beep), (beep), (beep), (beep) or anything regarding or pertaining to (beep).
There’s no denying that back in 1973, the country was blazing its way into unchartered territories at breakneck speeds – as was the protagonist of this true story.
In today’s episode, we meet a determined young man who over-extends himself in every way possible. We find him hellbent on believing ambition alone will be the key to his happiness, even if it costs him the love of his life. It’s not until one fateful sit-down with a very eccentric professor does his life come into focus.
Stay tuned for this true account, a lesson in life learned from a pirate professor – Hurry less and you will enjoy life more.
[ Marching band music ]
This is Once, In College. I’m Pete Griffith. Today’s episode is an autobiographical account written by Brian Heffernan. That ambition we mentioned earlier was no joke. In between the powerhouse of global companies like J. Walter Thompson and IBM iX that are listed on Brian’s resume, phrases like ‘youngest ever’ and ‘first leader’ and even ‘founder’ are casually sprinkled throughout. And trust us when we say we’ve heard him sing a mean Danny Boy and it will melt your shoulders. But enough about that. Class is about to begin so here’s a little of the life of Brian, in his own words.
[ Bells from campus tower ]
[ dream music ]
NARRATOR: I don’t know if it is common to dream about being back in college, but occasionally this happens to me. In my dream, I’m desperately late for class. I find myself lost in a maze of amorphous, gray dorms and shapeless buildings. I can’t find my way out, so I start running. But this is the early 1970s, so I’m not just jogging across campus; I’m streaking, wearing nothing but Converse Allstar sneakers and a red ski hat. I think the hat is for warmth. Fortunately, I usually wake up at this point in the dream and only vaguely recall it in the light of day.
Streaking was a phenomenon when I attended Marquette University. But the chilly Milwaukee weather back then caused me to shrink from the occasion. Despite my recurring dreams now, I was never a streaker, not in a literal sense. I was, however, always in a hurry.
I don’t remember why I hustled through this fun, carefree stage of life. But the record shows I graduated in three and a half years, packing most semesters with 21 credit hours. At the same time, I competed in NCAA Division 1 wrestling, which was not considered normal in the early 1970s. People were more into bongs than barbells. They preferred “chilling” vs. spending hours drilling in a sweaty wrestling room.
To me, life was like a race and, to win it, to be truly successful, I needed get to the finish line and decide on a career as quickly as possible. I knew I wanted to be creative, to write, but I didn’t know what or how exactly, so I rushed to explore as many choices as I could handle.
And then, a new, complicating factor appeared in my life: I suspected I was in love. It was affecting my concentration. I had work to do, chapters to read and papers to write. But there she was again, interrupting my focus, intruding upon my thoughts. I even fell asleep in the library, thinking of her. I was almost late to practice!
It didn’t feel like a fleeting, first-love college crush. But it might have been just that. She was 17, and I was 18 when we met. What could we know about love, and why would we want to complicate our college years with a serious relationship? We met the summer before leaving for Marquette at a party near Detroit, where we grew up about six miles apart. My Irish American father asked me the next day how the previous night had gone. I told him I met a girl named Peggy Malone. Not one to usually volunteer an opinion about his son’s awkward social life, he winked at me and said, “I like the sound of that!”
I liked everything about her and hoped we would reconnect when we arrived on campus. We saw each other at a party not long into our first year. We talked all night on the back steps, where the blaring 70s party music was merely a muffled roar. As the party wound down, we walked back to her dorm and talked more on the steps outside O’Donnell Hall until the sun rose over Wisconsin Avenue.
By then, we were both hungry, so we went to a nearby I-Hop and welcomed the day with pancakes and a dawning realization that our lives might never be the same.
This sudden development was an unforeseen complication. We were very young, and I was full of other plans, although I didn’t know exactly what they were. Peggy was just happy to be on her own, enjoying college life. She was a middle child and oldest girl in a family of four brothers and one little sister. She helped care for her siblings and could never remember a time when she wasn’t responsible for others. I loved making her laugh. It literally sounded like music to my ears. But I would alternately become serious. Where were we going with this relationship? I wanted to find the answer and move things along. The music would stop then, and Peggy would grow silent. She would smile at me and shake her head at my intensity. It was my cue to lighten up and make her laugh again. A few weeks later, while walking home from the Wells St bars, Peggy said. “I might marry you one day, but I don’t think we should start dating.” She said it would be a mistake to get too serious too soon.
There was a lot to unpack in that short sentence, but as I lay awake on my lumpy dorm room bunk, I saw the logic and thought she was probably right. In the early 1970s, people married young, some directly out of high school and many shortly after college. Adulthood, complete with jobs and responsibilities, came quickly enough. We were tasting the first freedoms of college life. It was best to be friends and nothing else for now. Besides, I had work to do, chapters to read and papers to write.
So, I had a few things on my mind as I threw myself into college life. The “grind.”
As a Jesuit institution, part of the Marquette experience also involved taking required philosophy and theology classes. Requirements were such that many students, including me, ended up with a minor in one of these fields of study. A minor in theology had no commercial value in the job market, I thought. But requirements were requirements. One of the few perks of being on the wrestling team was that I could register early for classes so my schedule wouldn’t interfere with practices and meets.
During the second semester of my sophomore year, one class that perfectly fit my schedule was called “The Philosophy of God.” It qualified for either theology or philosophy credits. I saw it as a “Taste Great, Less Filling” proposition. A classic, two-for-one offer. On the other hand, the title was intimidating. I wondered what would happen if a student failed “God”? Try explaining that to the parents back home. But the timing of the class was right, and this wasn’t my first philosophy class. It might be lofty and theoretical, but I knew what to expect. At least, I thought I knew what to expect.
James Robb taught this class. He looked like a typical 1970s philosophy professor in his plaid overcoat, tweed jacket, and tie. But all wasn’t as it appeared to be. I noticed something different about Dr. Robb as he entered the class for the first time. Most professors walk in briskly, all business. They usually acknowledge the students only when they are ready to begin class.
Dr. Robb came in that first day smiling impishly, looking into the students’ faces as if he was discovering a wonderful collection of young human beings. He walked with a hitch in his gate, a jaunty swaying back and forth. Dr. Robb seemed genuinely amused by our mere presence. He slyly unfolded his brown suitcase, tapped a pencil on the papers he pulled from within, and like a pirate unrolling a treasure map, began to teach.
It was an assault on expectations in ways I didn’t see coming. Dr. Robb did not respect the comfortable barriers that separated students and faculty. He was a pirate in professor’s clothing. He rebelled against the impersonal conventions of modern-day teaching. He intended to get to know us as individuals and to kidnap our spirits. He demanded we feel part of the class versus simply attending it. Dr. Robb was vulnerable at times, allowing us to get to see his scars, to know him as an individual and not just as a bloke standing at a lectern in front of the room.
We were all caught up in the same wild, life adventure. Dr. Robb invited us to use our scarce time to search for treasure together. He structured the class as a dialogue slyly woven around his lectures, drawing out our opinions, ideas, and questions. Some days, I left class exhausted but also wanted to go deeper and learn more.
After one class, Dr. Robb asked if I would stop by his office sometime that week. He had an item for me that he wanted to discuss. I couldn’t imagine what I had done to require a personal meeting, but this was Dr. Robb, so anything was possible.
When I visited his office the next day, Dr. Robb was meeting with another student. I stood outside the door, waiting for them to finish. I wasn’t alone; I had asked Peggy to tag along with me. We recently decided to begin what we started the previous year. We realized that “just being friends” wasn’t working for us, so we started dating. This arrangement did not mean going on an actual date, like to a restaurant or something exotic. We went to the same bars and parties we always went to, but now we went to them together. This sea change signaled a significant advancement in our relationship.
After a short time, a hearty, familiar voice beckoned. “Mr. Heffernan, there you are!” The previous office visitor bounded past, and Dr. Robb invited me to come in and sit. He caught a glimpse of Peggy in the hallway. Peggy was in one of Dr. Robb’s other classes, so he knew her. “I see you there, Ms. Malone. Come in, sit down right there, and join us.”
Dr. Robb looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for an explanation as to why I dropped in to see him. “You mentioned you wanted me to stop by?” I stammered, now uncertain there had been an invitation. “Oh yes, yes, yes! Of course, of course! I have found something for you.” Dr. Robb began furiously rummaging through one of the many piles of paper stacked on his desk until he pulled out a clipping from the Milwaukee Sentinel sports page from earlier in the week. The article pictured me along with a few of my wrestling teammates. I managed to crack the starting lineup in my sophomore year, a big improvement over a freshman season spent mostly on my back. For this, I earned the “Most Improved Wrestler” award at the team banquet. It must have been a slow news day because the paper featured this breaking news.
“Tell me about this!” Dr. Robb demanded. It was as if he discovered a secret I conspired to conceal from him. It was his pirate’s way of throwing you off balance to gain intelligence for his subversive purposes.
Dr. Robb asked Peggy questions, too, extremely interested in how we met and our experiences at Marquette. We played it cool, not letting on we were dating. We were friends who both grew up in Detroit. He asked if we knew our paths often crossed as we made our way across campus. Dr. Robb described a scene he witnessed but that I did not recognize. He said he often saw me running on my way to class. I recognized that part of the scene as I was trying to cut weight and running to class was an efficient way to burn calories. “I often see you too, Ms. Malone. You are usually walking slowly, often with a friend. You start to wave to Mr. Heffernan as he passes but he doesn’t seem to see you”. Peggy smiled and nodded in agreement. I was shocked. “Peggy, I don’t remember seeing you,” I protested. “If I saw you, I would have slowed down.” Dr. Robb thought for a moment and said. “Perhaps if you had slowed down, you would have seen her.” The music of Peggy’s laugh brought me back from my shock. At the end of our conversation, I thanked Dr. Robb for the news clipping, and he charmingly thanked us for coming to see him. “It’s so delightful to get to know you both.” Dr Robb said as we stood to leave. Then, with a wink and a roguish smile, he thumped his desk and added, “Mr. Heffernan and Ms. Malone. Very interesting. Very interesting, indeed!”
I don’t know what technique Dr. Robb used to discern something interesting transpired between Peggy and me, but he also purloined other insights for our conversation. I think he sensed I was hustling through school, full of ambition, but maybe not sure how to channel it or what I was driving towards. Dr. Robb hinted he thought I would discover something of value in the next day’s class.
Dr. Robb’s lecture the next day focused on one of his favorite subjects, a French philosopher, soldier and poet named Charles Péguy, who lived between 1873 and 1914. He was a radical character, which is probably why Dr. Robb liked him. After years of uneasy agnosticism, Péguy became a believing (but generally non-practicing) Roman Catholic and a socialist to boot. His tumultuous life was cut short by a shot through the forehead at the beginning of the battle of the Marne. This dead poet from the last century did not seem especially relevant to life in the seventies, but Dr. Robb felt it of the utmost importance that we understood Péguy’s profound views about work. I can still recall and roughly paraphrase the lesson.
Péguy, as interpreted by our pirate professor, believed that work is our entry into the world. Work was a form of service. What we do matters far less than how we do it and who we become. Work should be viewed not merely as a means of survival or for economic plunder but as a moral and creative endeavor essential to human dignity and the health of society.
In other words, it didn’t matter if a person chose to be a journalist, work in advertising, or teach philosophy. What mattered most was how you did your work, your ethical integrity, and how your commitment to excellence and selflessness benefited others.
It was a lot to take in, especially at 11:00 a.m., but I felt lighter leaving the classroom that day. I needed to stress less about starting a career and spend more time living in the moment, just being a student and connecting with those around me. I had plenty of ambition, but the quality of that ambition mattered more than the quantity.
I didn’t become a lovable slacker that day. But I did slow whenever I saw Dr. Robb on campus and always enjoyed stopping and talking with him. I also carried many of these lessons beyond the tundra of Marquette’s Milwaukee campus. These ideas helped me strike an uneasy balance between personal drive and service to others throughout my career.
As for Peggy, I don’t know what became of her following graduation. No, that’s not true. We married just after her 21st birthday, as I entered the working world at the ripe old age of 22. We often talk about our favorite pirate professor and his intuitive prediction of our lifelong love. I also invoked his words many times through the years, telling myself to slow down and appreciate everything around me. As time passes and more wisdom creeps in, there is less hurrying and more savoring of life’s experiences. I never lost the thrill of hearing the music in Peggy’s laugh and found joy in the growing chorus of voices as we raised five children of our own. It turns out, work is just an entry to the world and what really matters is moving through the world with grace and an appreciation for all the things we see when we slow down and see them. As Dr. Robb might say. “Interesting. Very Interesting, indeed.”
[ appropriate music ]
HOST: Today’s episode was produced by Rob Wallace and myself, with a special shout out to Michael Henery who is always at hand with his sound and engineering talent.
We want to thank Brian Heffernan again for his incredible autobiographical journey and the wonderful way in which he took us through it. It reminds us that all the ambition in the world will be meaningless if you don’t know what to do with it.
Brian retired from a corner office corporate world in 2019 and founded Fásmentor LLC, which focuses on mentoring teams and individuals in their pursuit of new business and career opportunities. He and his wife Peggy now live in Holland, Michigan and have five children and eight grandchildren. We’re guessing he’s wrestled on the floor once or twice with all of them, and secretly let them pin him for the win.
How ambitious were you in college? More of the slacker type? Either way, we’d love to hear about it. Leave us a comment or two, or visit us at onceincollege.com and connect with us there. We‘re looking for unique or unusual college experiences that are worth looking back on. Mostly the kind of things you don’t learn in class or at a lecture. Which also reminds us…
Before teaching at Marquette University and retiring in 1991 as one of the school’s most popular professors, Dr. James H. Robb served with the Army Signal Corps during the Second World War as an officer in the China, India, and Burma theaters. After the war and his conversion to Catholicism, he entered Marquette University, where he received his second bachelor’s degree in philosophy and Latin.
Along with a great knowledge of Charles Peguy, Robb was an expert on Thomas Aquinas and was the author and editor of three books and numerous articles. He served for over twenty-five years as Editor-in-Chief of the Marquette series, Mediaeval Philosophical Texts in Translation.
James H. Robb died in Milwaukee on September 16, 1993.
If you liked any of what you heard today, give us a like. Or share this episode with someone you went to school with. And if you want to hear our upcoming stories the moment they come out, please subscribe to our podcast. It really helps us more than you’d ever think. More than our GPAs ever did.
Until then, I’m Pete Griffith, back next week with more stories like this, all from a time Once, In College.
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