News » Archives » April 2013

Is the romance over?

By Michael Rodio ’12

We are driving up the Garden State Parkway into North Jersey, just me and my sheepdog and my ’97 Chevy Suburban named Bessie.
It’s summertime, so the windows are down and Sadie the Sheltie is pointing her nose into the warm summer breeze as the salt marsh air blows her sheepdog hairs into the back seat. We’re old friends by now, Sadie, Bessie and I. We grew up together.

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All the flinty women

By Brian Doyle ’78

My father said the women in my mother’s family had wills so adamant and granitic that you could get a fire started by using flint against their wills to get the necessary spark.

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Intestinal fortitude

By Lisa McKay '03M.A.

This trip to Viengkham was my introduction to life outside the tourist mecca of Luang Prabang, and it didn’t take too long after leaving town before I started to see a little more of what the development statistics for Laos really mean when they make bland pronouncements, such as: 27 percent of the population here lives on less than $1 a day. Or, more than 40 percent of the rural children under age 5 are undernourished.

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Partners in rhyme

By Michael Rodio ’12

So two guys walk into a bar. The first, Jeffery “The Natural” Stephens ’07, is a black lawyer from Chicago’s South Side. He’s all stylish denim with a black flatbrim and a huge pair of Super flattop sunglasses with gold sides. The second guy through the door is Lawrence Santiago, a Coushatta Native American architect who grew up in Guam and Louisiana.

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Blessed Are the Quiet Heroes

By Anthony DePalma

You could see the ripples created by 9/11 on a Friday in early February if you happened to be in the Annadale section of Staten Island. Inside a funeral home there, an honor guard of the Fire Department of New York stood before the casket of Lieutenant Martin Fullam, 56, who had died a few days before of what one doctor said was “without doubt the worst case of World Trade Center lung disease ever seen.”

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By Jamie Reidy ’92

Michelle McNamara ’92 tracks down serial killers from home, investigating cold-case homicides and writing in her True Crime Diary.

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Hawk and squirrel and God and them

By Mark Phillips

Plush and varicolored in the rebounding light, the hawk grounded me with awe, though to the panicked squirrel leaping and spiraling from branch to branch in a rufous blur, the low-swooping predator must have seemed something like the warplane that Picasso implies in Guernica.

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The broccoli war

By Maraya Steadman '89, '90MBA

I can’t deal with broccoli. My son will only eat the bottoms not the tops; my older daughter will only eat the tops and not the bottoms, and only if it’s raw and slathered in ranch dressing. My youngest has now decided it doesn’t matter what I do to it — tops, bottoms, cooked, raw, ranch dressing, maple syrup, ketchup or cream cheese frosting — she won’t eat broccoli at all.

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A brotherly approach to education

By Tara Hunt ’12

Holy Cross College has long been the school of Rudy and transfer students, known for little else to the Notre Dame community across the street, but with a new president and a four-year degree program, it is making a unique contribution to the community of schools in South Bend.

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