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.
I don’t like being a homemaker, whatever that is. I am not a housewife, I can’t fold a fitted sheet and I massacre the grocery budgets. Stay-at-home mom is a complete misnomer, I am never home. There really isn’t a simple title for “I made a difficult choice to quit my career. A choice that challenges me to stand up for something I believe in, something I decided to do eight years ago, raise children who spend more time with me than with the nanny.”
Unbeatable: Notre Dame’s 1988 Championship and the Last Great College Football
Welcome to Molarity Redux, the 49th strip in the updated, continuing adventures of Jim Mole and friends. Upon a return to campus, the sunny, summery days are fleeting.
I fumbled in my backpack for my stethoscope, draping it around my neck even though I had no intention of examining a patient while waiting in line — the stethoscope commands access to all sorts of places that I wouldn’t normally be welcomed in.
Gone fishing. In Maraya Steadman’s absence this summer, please enjoy one of her retro columns, first published in September 2009.
Baseball is still, to me, a game of fathers and sons, of boyhood dreams and human heroes. Those are the stories I read; those are the players I choose for my fantasy team.
The only thing harder to find than a way out of jail is American blue jeans.
If Bezos can bring his golden touch to the Post, many other publishers will launch the same strategies. If he fails, the others will certainly be no better off — in fact pessimism may reign — but they’ll suffer no direct hits.
In terms of failing to provide poor citizens affordable health care, Florida is similar to Haiti, and probably worse than Rwanda.
I really should have known better. It was foolish of me. But the day’s yard work was done and I wanted to protect the kids and I vowed to shower right away. I’d had some good luck in recent years with a skin wash to stop it. I’d be fine.
Dear People I Would Very Much Like To Hire Me…
It’s late summer so we are doing summer things, like going to art fairs when its 90 degrees outside. There is no dad in America who thinks this is a good idea.
In my various travels as a baseball fan, which have taken me from Angel Stadium of Anaheim to the new Yankee Stadium and a good number of stadiums in between, I’ve never found a baseball experience that more fully lives up to its hype than Wrigley Field in Chicago.
The current issue of Rolling Stone magazine features on its cover a dark, handsome young man with unruly hair and a designer t-shirt. He looks out at you from the newsstand with an honest, searching gaze. He looks like Jim Morrison or a young Bob Dylan, but he’s not a rock star. He’s a terrorist. He built and planted the bombs that rocked Boston and the rest of America on April 15th, and yet, we’re called to forgive him.
Welcome to Molarity Redux, the 48th strip in the updated, continuing adventures of Jim Mole and friends. Away from Notre Dame, Lou goes on a family vacation that turns out less than family friendly.
But amid the grand and well-known stories of inspiration that have weaved their way into the lore and identity of this University are the smaller strands — the fleeting moments, the unknown people, the little-seen places that change lives.
Recently, while procrastinating on packing for my now completed move from Indiana to Maryland, I caught part of the 1996 movie Swingers on television, an occasion that recalled one of the stranger cultural zeitgeists of my lifetime.