While the photograph of Hesburgh and King clasping hands and singing at a 1964 rally in Chicago has become iconic, few at Notre Dame today know that the civil rights champion and revered Southern Baptist minister from Montgomery, Alabama, made an appearance on campus before that picture was taken.
We pride ourselves on our good sense and parenting. We never yell at him about practicing more or missing shots in a game. I’m thinking about all this, the kid whose dad yells at him and our own smugness about our great parenting as my husband is yelling “restaurant” at my son this morning. They are reviewing spelling words.
Not much mattered but the path before us. As we set out towards the Grotto those Sunday nights, unfinished schoolwork seemed as distant as the dock on St. Joseph’s Beach.
Religious liberty advocates may yet win their legal fight to block controversial federal rules that will soon require most employers to provide insurance coverage for birth control, but Bill McGurn ’80 worries that such victories may further undermine religion’s constitutionally protected place in American public life.…
Welcome to Molarity Redux, the 50th strip in the updated, continuing adventures of Jim Mole and friends. Play calls sometimes get lost in translation.
I wasn’t sure that we were ready to grow the size and scope of the chemotherapy program. New cancers meant new types of chemotherapy, developing treatment protocols and required further training for the staff. Maybe we had already lain too much on the staff at this point.
Your first art lesson: Artists do not live in cultural vacuums. With few exceptions, the works artists create are informed by, respond to, react against or are shaped by the cultural climate of the time.
YouTube, you can keep your funny cats; Instagram, I’m bored with your selfies; and Pinterest, enough with all those foodie masterpieces. When I need a pick-me-up — and no, not the stalker type — I need only log on to LinkedIn.
I’m an easy one for ice cream stands on a summer afternoon. I’m partial to soft serve, the kind that comes in a twist on a flat bottomed cone. The kind you lick all the way down to the cone and then get the treat of eating the combination of soft ice cream and a crispy, sugary cone.
A few days later, as I was silently praying in John Dunne’s room, a nurse walked in and said to me, “I’m on my break. Can I stay in here for a while?” "Sure,” I replied. “You see,” the nurse said, “I feel God here.” I said to him, “I understand.”
Back to the days of Dan Devine…
A hand was placed softly but firmly over my shoulder, like a stern father directing his child, and I felt a strong, consistent pull at my throat. I held my breath and waited for the feeling of a sharp stick of cold metal in the small of my back, blood spilling down my shorts and onto the ground of Plaza Botero.
Hitchhiking home from ND provided remarkable results, and stories. Truck drivers would let me sleep in the cab and sometimes buy me breakfast. Salesmen would ask me to drive while they slept. One graduate student had me hold his baby in the back seat of a crowded Plymouth Coupe while he drove and his wife slept.