How Notre Dame helps athletes excel in the here and now without losing sight of the future
The problems facing our species at this moment in history, says Roy Scranton, suggest grim passage ahead, although some kind of redemption might be possible through art and the imagination.
Phil Sakimoto has a quintessential American story, but he’s reluctant to tell it. Although it’s a proud family history of resilience and courage, it’s also one of national shame.
A psychologist studies how we find (and lose) our way.
The vortex that swallows up the staff of the student newspaper.
When the Notre Dame football team traveled to West Point for the first time in 1913, the circumstances were quaint. Jesse Harper’s team packed sandwiches for the train and brought only 14 pairs of cleats for 18 players.
We don’t care about the assembly-line grind that produced a car, just whether or not it runs. Even though it is whether you win or lose that ultimately matters, how a football team is built provokes more curiosity than the process of tightening the bolts on a new Toyota. Author Nicholas Dawidoff helps satisfy that curiosity in Collision Low Crossers: A Year Inside the Turbulent World of NFL Football, a book based on his total access to the 2011 New York Jets.
I came away from a conversation with Ted Barron, the new executive director of Notre Dame’s DeBartolo Performing Arts Center, thinking his job is sort of like being a fortune teller.
Young African entrepreneurs plant seeds for a fertile economic ecosystem.
The Monogram Club’s Heaton Fund assists former Notre Dame athletes in need.
Seventy years ago this fall, a college football dynasty began that stands as one of the best ever. Andy Panelli ’77, ’83MBA would consider the qualifier superfluous. To Panelli, the son of postwar fullback John “Pep” Panelli ’49, the 1946 and 1947 Notre Dame teams remain unmatched in the history of college football.
Jordan Schank ’10, a member of the Notre Dame admissions staff, made immediate plans for the Father Ted stamp. But there’s no rush.
Standing on the steps of the Washington Hall stage, Christy Burgess made a pretty brazen introduction. The next two scenes we were about to see from the works of William Shakespeare were the cutest she could remember.
To the moon, and beyond.
Notre Dame’s Harper Cancer Research Institute is trying a different strategy in the fight against the disease: bringing scientists from diverse fields onto a single team.
“Happier people live in countries with a generous social safety net, or, more generally, countries whose governments ‘tax and spend’ at higher rates, reflecting the greater range of services and protections offered by the state.”
“Say it ain’t so.” And maybe that reported exchange between a young boy and Chicago White Sox player Shoeless Joe Jackson, among the players accused of conspiring with gamblers to lose the 1919 World Series, ain’t accurate. Evidence suggests, Charles Fountain writes in his new book, The Betrayal: The 1919 World Series and the Birth of Modern Baseball, that a reporter “made it up.”
Liam Neeson asked us to hold our applause as he prepared to recite W.B. Yeats’ poem “Easter 1916” and introduce the Keough-Naughton Institute’s forthcoming documentary about the Irish rebellion.
Reading Go Set a Watchman forces a reconsideration of To Kill a Mockingbird. Not of its literary value but of the qualities that we, like Scout, projected onto Atticus beyond what his actions warranted.
The scale of predicted damage from climate change, with economic fallout estimated to reach hundreds of trillions of dollars, will require an environmental bailout in which human investment must be total.
The Keough-Naughton Institute’s Easter Rising documentary chronicles Ireland’s violent declaration of independence and its global reverberations.
On the day after the Paris terrorist attacks, the Notre Dame campus felt a little subdued for a football Saturday, but in unseasonable warmth and sunshine we generally carried on as usual.
Litigation “stacked up like planes at LaGuardia” threatens to change the relationship between athlete and university that has always defined college sports, but Jack Swarbrick ’76 sounded pretty serene about the whole thing.
A great American road trip takes students where the past is present and the land beckons scientific exploration.
One day, while surveying a patch of his family’s ranch along the Milk River, David Aageson felt something. Something holy. Like he was on sacred ground.
Grant Mudge obviously hadn’t rehearsed his lines.
Before I finished it, I was indiscriminately recommending The Secret Scripture, Sebastian Barry’s entrancing 2008 novel that alternates between a 100-year-old woman’s clandestine reminiscence, hidden beneath the floorboards of her asylum bedroom, and the journal of her facility’s chief psychiatrist.
“Connemara,” Oscar Wilde said, “is a savage beauty.” A wild mountainous protrusion into the Atlantic along the west coast of Ireland, where sheep huddle behind stone walls to escape blowing rain even in summer, the landscape still fits his description.
Last year Guy Consolmagno, S.J., received the Carl Sagan Medal from the American Astronomical Society for outstanding communication of planetary science to the general public. A gray-bearded, amiable presence in front of about 150 people last week at Notre Dame, he hopped easily across cobblestones of conversation: meteorite hunting in Antarctica, multiverses, the warming planet’s rising seas, insights from science fiction, and the confusion of communication between science and religion.