The Quiet Genius: How Dr. Cannon Taught Us to Think

“Good morning, class.” Our professor said softly at precisely 10:30 a.m. as he shuffled into the room on a delightful sunny Thursday at the illustrious Howard University. Today, like all Thursdays, was soul food day in the cafeteria, and you knew it was going to be popping—DJs, friends, Chicago juking, and swag surfing were always on the itinerary. Flashbacks. So, though I had heard horror stories about how hard this class was, the mac n cheese was calling me!

“My name is Dr. Cannon, and I will be your Unit Operations professor for the fall semester,” he said, his voice calm and welcoming, with just the right touch of eagerness. Now, Howard is a private school with mindful teacher-student ratios, especially in the engineering school, so this introduction wasn’t necessary—we all knew who Dr. Cannon was. But that was his style: cool, respectful, and always setting the stage with intention.

He continued, “You will be challenged this semester. Most importantly, challenged to think. I want to see you think through the theory, understand the fundamentals, and apply your knowledge to the problem sets that arise.”

“Sheesh,” I thought. That kind of language usually only meant one thing—the exam would be nothing like our homework or the problems in the book. But Dr. Cannon’s cool, considerate demeanor silenced any alarm in my head. You see, Dr. Cannon was a Nupe. And I had been surrounded by Nupes my whole life—cool was always part of the recipe. I could hear my dad’s voice bouncing around in my head: “This is it, Gex, this semester you’re really going to learn how to be an engineer. No more of those softball courses.” (For the record, I never thought organic chemistry or material balance was “softball,” but that was just my dad being my dad.)

Boy, was Dr. Cannon right about that challenge. I can say with absolute certainty that he transformed the minds of everyone in that room over the course of the semester. We loved being on time for his class every Thursday because of the intellectual journey he laid before us. Dr. Cannon didn’t just teach us engineering; he taught us how to think—how to structure our thoughts, focus on the fundamentals, and process problems with precision. He was a master.

He didn’t care much about whether we got the literal numbers right on our exams. He cared about the process, the logic, the flow of our thinking. Every exam had a written component, which was unusual for engineering. He wanted to understand our thought processes... our reasoning. And if there were logical gaps? Oh, trust me, he’d let you know.

Dr. Cannon had this habit of pointing, ever so coolly, somewhere in the general direction of the class. Not aggressively, just calmly, before calling on one of us to answer a “pop quiz” question. If your response didn’t hold up, he’d make this genuinely puzzled face, as if he were curiously trying to understand where you were coming from. And then, “Gex… ummm… I still don’t understand how you got there,” he’d say. Next thing you knew, you were up at the whiteboard, explaining your thinking to the whole class.

You had to come to class prepared for that moment. But what started as anxious anticipation quickly turned into excitement. We all secretly hoped Dr. Cannon would call on us, just for the chance to engage with him directly. You see, there were only 14 of us, and we were tight-knit. We took every class together, and we all had a unique set of skills that made us thrive.

But the spirit Dr. Cannon fostered in that classroom went far beyond those four walls. Dr. Cannon had to be in his mid-70s at the time, so he was firmly in his “elder uncle/young grandpa” phase of life. He treated us as such. And if I remember correctly, he even wore an earring—don’t quote me on that one, but it just added to his vibe. His door was always open.

“Whatcha got for me, Gex?” he’d say when I’d come to him, usually griping about whatever it is nerdy juniors in college gripe about. See, I got to spend even more time with Dr. Cannon than my classmates, thanks to an advanced self-study course where I was the only student. He treated me with the same coolness, the same care, every week.

“Walk me through it. Naw, naw, you’re leaping to conclusions. Take your time—what are the fundamental concepts? Think with grace; don’t worry about pace.”

He wasn’t just teaching me engineering. He taught me how to approach life with thoughtfulness, clarity, and patience. Dr. Cannon was a mentor and a role model. For all of us. Especially me.

The entire chemical engineering department was filled with Black, Indian, and Taiwanese men who changed how I viewed myself. They transformed my identity from the inside out. But Dr. Cannon was the eldest of them all, and he set the tone. He showed us how to treat people with genuine care and compassion—and, of course, with signature cool.

When I learned of Dr. Cannon’s passing, I struggled with how to describe him to others, how to remember him, how to honor him. His impact was too big for words. But then I realized, maybe the best way to honor him is to share his story. To pass on the lessons he taught us, not just about engineering, but about how to think, how to care, and how to be.

Thank you, Doc.