Educating the next generation of campus radicals isn’t easy.
I just experienced my last home football game as a student and I am not quite sure how to feel about it.
In a state where Tom Brady drowns out any college football chatter, I could not wait to welcome friends, family and fans from South Bend. Boston, however, wasn’t so sure.
At Thanksgiving time I think of people who deserve a thank you. This year I’m thinking of John A. Richardson. Here’s why.
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.
It may well be that the eyes are the last of ourselves to know of love, which, at its heart, is a holy recognition. But to be loved is, at its heart, to be wholly seen.
Some straight talk about America’s deep, dark and difficult racial divide.
“We wanted to write the kind of high-tech hard-science thriller where you can’t just make up stuff to solve your problem — where you have to deal with the real lemons that life hands you, to make your lemonade,” John Sandford and Ctein say in the authors’ note that appears at the end of Saturn Run.
Note to the curriculum review committee: Add “self-awareness” course requirement.
This week is just like any other week for me, staccato and split between two drastically different places, rarely with enough time to adjust or reflect.
Turns out he was born in a small town right here in Indiana. Turns out he was a chaplain during the First World War. I had never heard of him, I am embarrassed to admit. And yet he spoke to me.
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.
Welcome to the 91st strip in Molarity Redux, the continuing adventures of Jim Mole and friends. Asking the big questions: It’s what a Notre Dame education is all about.