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It all began at St. Thomas University in 1965 with a nervous young Newfoundlander in my Introductory Philosophy class. Alphonsus J. Pitman (a now-famous poet of that Isle who died a mere few weeks ago) diffidently approached me after class one day with a bundle of pages in one hand. "e;Sir,"e; said he in his hesitant manner, "e; I, I wonder if you would look at these and tell me what you think of them."e;

"e;These"e; turned out to be a collection of unusually sensitive poems, but my field was philosophy, not poetry, so I did the next best thing and forwarded them to Prof. Fred Cogswell of UNB who is today still famous for the number of young poets he has promoted over many years. Subsequently, in 1966, I was a happy recipient of Al's first book of poetry: The Elusive Resurrection.

About a year later, upon my return from a sabbatical in Europe in 1967-8, I was greeted by an excited Al Pittman who was all eager for me to meet UNB's new Writer-in-Residence named Alden Nowlan. On Friday, September 13, 1968, I did just that, passing a most memorable evening full of life, love and laughter in the front living room of the home of Alden and his wife, Claudine. This meeting proved to be the first of almost fifteen years of such celebratory occasions terminated alas by Alden's sudden tragic death on June 27 in 1983. It would be impossible to give a complete account of the great variety of topics, both serious and comical, that came up for discussion in those evenings. Certain subjects however do stand out, even at this distance in time.

One thing that Alden detested above all others was physical exertion, especially in the form of exercise. One of his most memorable sayings was that when he felt like doing exercise, he always lay down on the chesterfield with a damp cloth over his forehead until the feeling went away. Nevertheless, and ironically enough, his entourage sometimes even included professional athletes. Indeed, they eventually became so numerous as to produce a groundswell of opinion that Alden himself should participate in some form of regular exercise, however modest. Needless to say, he was adamantly opposed to such exertion which he regarded as a gross abuse of the human body.

In the face of such a firm refusal, his athletic friends eventually decided that vicarious exercise was better than no exercise at all. As a result, they would phone Alden and request him to lie down while they told him how much exercise they had done for him that particular day. Being a daily swimmer at the time, I found myself conscripted to participate in this charitable endeavour and would even call upon him in the evenings, with Alden in a prone position, as I communicated just how many lengths of the pool I had swum for him on that day. The group grew until it included even some professional swimmers and runners.

Another movement to grow out of Alden's inspirational character was the Society for the Restoration of the Rightful Monarch. A young and frequent caller by the name of James Stewart was not only sparse of words, but possessed of serious and impressive demeanor. One evening Alden took it upon himself to suggest that James was indeed descended from the royal Stuarts and was therefore the rightful claimant to the throne of England. The more this was discussed among us, the more seriously it was taken. Upon entering Alden's residence, should His Majesty be present, the new arrival would drop on one knee and kiss the proffered royal hand. Eventually this existence of a Royal in our midst was featured in the Weekend Magazine of the Saint John Telegraph.

Another movement to grow out of the front room of Alden's residence was the controversial Flat Earth Society. Present on that occasion besides Alden, Claudine and myself were Ray and Sharon Fraser. My conversation with Sharon was interrupted by Alden's question: "e; Leo, seeing that you come from Australia, and have supposedly been living up-side-down for the first lengthy period of your life there, do you believe that the earth is flat?"e; Without thinking, and moved by the spirit of the occasion, I snapped back: "e;Sure the earth is flat! Everyone can see that!"e; I resumed my conversation with Sharon, but was soon again interrupted by Alden: "e;Leo, this is a most auspicious occasion. Do you realize that we have just founded the Flat Earth Society and in view of your natal qualifications have nominated you as its President?"e; Outnumbered by the democratic vote, I reluctantly assented. Naturally, the topic became the subject of many subsequent evenings of discussions.

Some few months later, I found myself in Newfoundland at the meetings of the Learned Societies of Canada and put a notice on one of the announcement boards inviting interested persons to join the Flat Earth Society, provided only that they were persons of serious intent. Next time I saw my notice on the board I found that it had been defaced! However, closer examination revealed that the defacer had invited the author of the notice to telephone an inscribed number. Curious to discover who the author of the note could be, I phoned and found myself talking to the Newfoundland section of the CBC! From there on, we did not have to go looking for publicity, it came looking for us.

I first became aware of my predicament some weeks later while minding my own business and walking down Regent Street in Fredericton. Suddenly my attention was seized by some maniac across the street, who with raised clenched fists was jumping up and down on the pavement and loudly shouting something. Then I realised that his performance was directed at me, as he shouted repeatedly: "e;IT'S ROUND! IT'S ROUND! IT'S ROUND!"e; From there on, the media took over, featuring us on the front page of the Weekend Magazine, as well as on one TV show after another for several years, before allowing us (thankfully) to sink back into obscurity.

Of the many people who sought out Alden at his residence, one writer came to expose the real Alden Nowlan, and from the moment of his arrival made no secret of his intent. Laden down with thick volumes, pads and ball-points he made an impressive, serious entrance into the Nowlan residence. Alden, as if instinctively prepared for the coming ordeal had taken to a folding chair, which from an upright sitting position could be gradually extended, first to support the sitter's legs, then by a gradual lowering of the back support, to allow the whole body to be horizontal.

Sometime after the beginning of the inquisition Alden excused himself to go to the washroom. Those of us in the know distinctly heard the faint tell-tale squeak of a cork being released from a bottle. After Alden's return he slightly lowered the chair's back support for his upper body before replacing himself upon it, whereupon the inquisitor resumed his questions with unflagging determination. For some fifteen minutes Alden cooperated with the questioning, before again excusing himself. Once more, there was the tell-tale squeak of the bottle's cork before Alden returned to the inquisitional chair, but again after a slight lowering of its back support and the raising of the horizontal front support for his legs. After further questioning, Alden periodically repeated his ritual, each time lowering a little more the slope of the back of the chair until finally he lay horizontal and sleeping soundly, despite the promptings, pokings and now loud questions of the Inquisitor. We explained that Alden was soundly sleeping for the night and let the would-be Inquisitor out by the front door.

Not all callers came with hostile intent. One evening the hour had grown late and Alden and I were about to part company when there came an unexpected knock upon the front door. On opening it, I could not make out the face of the caller in the darkness. However, I did observe in the middle distance the open front door of a car with a light shining from its interior, by virtue of which I made out the form of a driver with cap and in black uniform. To the caller's inquiry if Alden were in, I said I would go and see. Closing the front door in his face I went in and informed Alden that the Premier of the Province wished to make a call. Should I accomodate him? To Alden's answer in the affirmative, I went out and opened the front door to the waiting Premier, Richard Hatfield. Conversation did not flag until the early hours of the morning - one of many such mornings with Alden.