News » Archives » September 2012

Strong tea and diluted culture

By Tara Hunt ’12

Tara Hunt '12

The Irish banded together on Chicago’s Southside. They fixed each other’s roofs, watched each other’s children and fed each other’s husbands. They married and had children who dropped the Irish brogue and grew up American, but with Irish culture woven tightly into their lives. Then they married other Irish and had children. Children of the children of the Irish immigrant population. Children who have an even more watered-down Irish-American upbringing, but still some sort of one. I am one of those children.

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Now what?

By Tara Hunt ’12

Tara Hunt '12

I’ve used much of my time thus far to prepare myself to get to this stage of life. Time was spent in class, doing homework and filling free seconds with outlandish numbers of extracurriculars so I could bolster my college apps and get into school and find a job. But with a job, the end to which I’ve worked, secured and underway, now what?

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Turn the lights on

By Molly Sammon '12

The first day of the strike was going to be my fifth day on the job. There aren’t many things I know about being a teacher, about life on the South Side, about the union demands, or about the teacher’s needs. I can’t even pretend to understand the “legal-ese” involved in collective bargaining or why it takes a whole week to come to an agreement.

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Witness to the Persecution

By Ben Giamo

William Kennedy, one of the foremost Catholic novelists of our time, has turned his light on injustice and racism, the powerful and oppressed, and on the redemptive power of love, family and our essential humanity.

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The Playroom: Back to school

By Maraya Steadman '89, '90MBA

Maraya Steadman

Summer is so over for me. We have hiked it and biked it, been to parks and been to camps and been camping; we’ve gone to the lake and the pool; we have sprayed it down with bug spray and covered it in sunscreen. I’m out of tricks, and I’m letting everyone watch too much television.

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Global Doc: Green Grass

By Dr. Vincent DeGennaro Jr. ’02

Vincent DeGennaro

“Her name is Billie, named after Billie Holiday,” my friend John said to me over the phone, the day after his first daughter was born last month. I was happy for him, but felt a profound sadness for myself at the same time.

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Derailing the Locomotive

By Michael Rodio ’12

As Tommy Rees strapped on his burnished gold helmet, he heard two roars crashing through the South Bend bluster. First was the growling chuff of a locomotive. But deeper and more distressing was the dark grumble from the many thousands in the Notre Dame Stadium benches. With the band’s sonorous metal blowing martial sounds, Rees trod through boos that tore the Stadium’s concave.

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The Rescuer

By Tamara Lytle

Hayden Piscal Howell is cut from the same Army-green cloth as her father. Howell ’08 moved among seven states during her “Army brat” childhood. At each stop she brought along a horse named Pebbles, a fascination with the camaraderie of military life and a deep respect for her father, Army Colonel Richard Piscal.

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Global Doc: The system

By Dr. Vincent DeGennaro Jr. ’02

Vincent DeGennaro

In American medicine, every symptom is seen as something that needs to be acknowledged, addressed and solved. Drug company commercials have created an entire society of hypochondriacs, myself included. Patients in Rwanda walk around with pain or a massive tumor on their face, and even then they hesitate to complain.

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Two Million Bricks in 160 Days

By William E. Reifsteck '78

Cover of Two Million Bricks by William E

Rockne was known to be a superstitious man. Many of the game-day rituals that are still being used today at Notre Dame had their birth during the Rockne Era. Team Mass and breakfast on game day was one of those rituals.

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Believing: Breaking out the spikenard

By Michael Garvey '74

Mike Garvey

Responsible finance has been an awkward subject for Christians at least since Jesus attended that dinner party in Bethany where one of his hostesses poured a pint of rare spikenard (worth roughly a year’s salary for the average Palestinian wage earner those days) over his feet and wiped them with her hair.

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