As a writing instructor at a small Christian liberal arts college, I lost a night’s sleep recently over a student who plagiarized — my first case. Why did he believe he could get away with it?
Four music stands and a grand piano crowd the front of the room, but there are more unusual things than those in the Jordan Hall of Science’s Digital Visualization Theater this morning.
A productive day for Cynthia Mahmood, Notre Dame associate professor of anthropology, is the stuff of nightmares for many others.
Honoring the legacy of professors Terrence Akai and Charles Craypo.
Continued, Professor Philpott’s letter to students
Part III: The Influence of Catholics and the Catholic Church on Global Politics
One Professor’s Guide To Studying International Relations and Peace Studies From a Catholic Perspective.
Footnotes for Professor Philpott’s Letter to Students
Page two of letters to the editor about ND’s invitation to President Barack Obama to speak at the 2009 commencement.
Ysmar Hernandez is not a Domer. She’s never lived in a dorm, attended a class or been to a football game at Notre Dame. Until recently she had never even seen Rudy.
Louise bends to stroke Bob Roche’s hair and murmur into his ear. “Robert,” she says softly, dropping the T in the French version of his name. “We have company.”
A listing of deaths of Notre Dame alumni.
While President Barack Obama gave the ND commencement address on May 17, astronaut Michael T. Good ’84, ’86M.S. was high above, orbiting the Earth as a crew member of the space shuttle Atlantis. The Air Force colonel, who took a Notre Dame pennant with him on the shuttle mission, was part of a team sent to repair the Hubble space telescope. In a complicated spacewalk, Good and his partner replaced several gyroscopes, making it possible for the telescope to precisely point at distant space objects. . . . Astronaut Kevin A. Ford ’82…
You could say a Brownie troop, a pink flamingo costume and a brush with a professional ballerina got Meredith Dincolo ’93 thinking about a career in dance.
The Surreal McCoys bill themselves as the top cowpunk band to ever come out of Notre Dame Law School. If you want to argue about that, take ’em to court.
Records and eight-tracks and cassettes, how last century.
Creative work from ND people.
Web extra — creative works by ND people
Page one of letters to the editor about ND’s invitation to President Barack Obama to speak at the 2009 commencement.
(Letters about spring 2009 and previous issues.)
Memories of the Depression
Your article on ND during the depression brought back a few memories of the 1950s. I noticed that tuition, room and board and laundry was $650 in the early 1930s. By the 50s it had nearly doubled to around $1,200. Still when my father received an almost apologetic letter announcing a $100 dollar a year increase, there was a note that effectively said, “Let us know if you have a problem with this.” My father wrote back that he had a problem with this, and we received a note in return that said, “Very well, we are awarding your son a $100 scholarship.”…
The alum I called had lost his job last year, about six months after his wife lost hers. His story was far too typical of the knavery occurring in a nation reeling under a recession. One day at work he was told to inform several people in the office that they were being “let go.”
Once he finished that unpleasant task, his boss summarily fired him, too.…
As the United Air Lines 747 touches down at Tan Son Nhat Airport in Saigon, Vietnam, I have an excruciating knot in my stomach. I look at a country I thought I would never see again.
In the 1960s my family spent a week every summer at Tower Hill church camp — a row of beat-up old cabins in a pine forest in southwest Michigan. The woods were full of owls and raccoons and poison ivy and blackberries, and just beyond them lay the dunes and the slow, blue pulse of the lake.
It was a “rustic” (inexpensive) getaway, and since the camp staff was overworked and underpaid, a “low-maintenance” camp. The tennis court demanded a nuanced game. The challenge was not to keep the ball inside the lines, which were mostly worn away, but to hit a piece of the pavement that wasn’t buckled or cracked or overgrown with weeds. The playground was a heavy splintering teeter-totter, a metal merry-go-round and a steel slide that grew so hot in the afternoon it would raise blisters on your legs.…
It is nearing 4 o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon. The office is settling into its close-of-day hush. I tidy up my desk, pack a few files into my portfolio and prepare to escape the confines of business into the vibrancy of classical guitar.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is one of my all-time favorite movies. Like two of my all-time favorite books, The Catcher in the Rye and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, the movie is essentially the story of the individual versus society — a favorite theme of mine.
My father died when I was just beginning my junior year in high school. It was October, my favorite month of the year.
My uncle, Bill Dold, didn’t graduate from Notre Dame. He was a student there in 1943, nice and safe in South Bend during the war, and since he hadn’t been drafted he could have finished out his studies.
Laughter pulsed outward through the stained glass into the night air May 14, as members of the Class of 2009 observed the traditional Last Visit to the Basilica of the Sacred Heart.
In 1970, a few weeks before I enrolled as a freshman at Notre Dame, a group of us Louisiana high school friends chipped in on a rudimentary beach house in Gulf Shores, Alabama. For two weeks we reveled in a celebration of one of life’s most consequential passages.
As I left Mass one Sunday in May, the first words in my pastor’s parish bulletin column got my attention: “I am ashamed of my University.” My pastor and I share Notre Dame.