We’re all proud of our success stories, but our defeats make us who we are.
I lie on the very edge of the bed, as far away from my wife of 18 years as I can get. In the wake of another blow-up, I wish she were sleeping in the spare bedroom as she often does after one these skirmishes we still seem unable to avoid.
It takes a lot to cultivate a lasting residence hall tradition at Notre Dame. Thirty-nine years of uproarious double-entendres and equal-opportunity irreverence will build the hype for next year’s Revue. Nine years of contempt for frostbite and respiratory infections — all to collect money in those red cups for South Bend’s Center for the Homeless — will snowball into the next Day of Man.
With the coming of autumn my wife moved two big pots of outdoor plants into a south-facing, upstairs window. The pretty annuals didn’t last long. But each pot also contained asparagus ferns, spindly, lovely and green. They have flourished, despite being indoors, climbing the window panes, stretching up into sunlight, their fingery lacework now almost 4 feet tall.…
Human health and happiness, light, heat and life on Earth come from the sunlight cascading down from above. It also works like magic.
In the late 1960s, issues of race, war and gender roiled campuses across the nation. Police clashed with students. Students clashed with their administrations. Upheaval was in the air.
Whenever it’s possible, Father Theodore Hesburgh, CSC, likes to make a short stop on Holy Cross Drive near Saint Mary’s Lake if he’s traveling around the Notre Dame campus.
Things were shaping up like a midlife crisis, but without the sports car. There were other women in my husband’s life now. Women in brown habits who must have prayed harder than I did.
Donald R. Keough, the former Coca-Cola executive and Notre Dame Board of Trustees chairman whose name is synonymous with the University’s ties to Ireland and whose magnanimity alongside Marilyn Keough, his wife of 65 years, transformed campus in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, died February 24 in Atlanta. He was 88.…
Notre Dame has a nettlesome past helping African Americans feel at home, and recent campus flare-ups played against a national backdrop of rekindled racial polarization.
In over 20 years of photographing Notre Dame sports both as a student and a professional, I’ve seen some historic moments through my viewfinder. Highlights include the 1993 “Game of the Century” against Florida State, the “Bush Push,” National Championship games in both football and women’s basketball, the five-overtime Louisville men’s basketball game, and most recently Notre Dame’s men’s hoops’ first Elite Eight appearance since 1979.
Despite his lack of technical interest in Saturday’s heartbreaker of a loss in the NCAA Regional Final, I suspect Ted enjoyed the game immensely, although perhaps for reasons different from those of the average fan.
Margaret McMullan, a writer of novels for both adults and young adults, and a professor at the University of Evansville in Indiana, learned to love books at the knee of her father, Jim McMullan. He was a businessman, not a writer, but they “became literary groupies together,” attending writing conferences and exchanging books, writes the daughter in her editor’s foreword. When her father died of brain cancer in 2011, she found herself not only bereft but wordless.
Welcome to Molarity Redux, the 73rd strip in the updated, continuing adventures of Jim Mole and friends. Introducing, Campus Crossroads.
We’ve been doing interviews on radio and television for nearly two years, repeating that early assessment and early treatment saves lives, but still most of our patients still appear in the late stages of disease.
In September 2012, about a month after I assumed the position of chief communications executive for Notre Dame, we were trying to keep the lid on a big secret: Notre Dame was hoping to join the Atlantic Coast Conference in all sports but football and hockey.
Why are so many of us retreating to our respective corners? How, instead, might we work together to solve the problems — big and small — that we face?
I witnessed the funeral and remembrances of Father Theodore Hesburgh, CSC, last week, and I wanted to record some fleeting impressions — both for myself for later, and to share with those from the Notre Dame family who could not be on campus for this event.
Notre Dame’s ever-changing landscape.
They say you can learn a lot about a person by observing who attends their funeral. That’s certainly true in the case of Father Theodore M. Hesburgh, CSC. The dignitaries in attendance for Father Hesburgh’s funeral Mass and memorial service read like a who’s-who of American politics, the Church, and Notre Dame lore. Yet as details of the observances surrounding his funeral were released, I found myself strangely interested in the overnight visitation.
Let me come right out and say it: I don’t have a great story of my own to share about Father Hesburgh. I’ve since had a few ennobling encounters with him, for which I’ll be forever grateful. And it’s impossible to spend any amount of time around Notre Dame people and not get to know Father Ted. It seems like everyone has a story to tell.
At 18, the college freshman was feeling homesick as he walked toward class near the Main Building of the University of Notre Dame. If he looked up, as he usually did when he neared the building, he would have seen the golden image of the Blessed Mother on the golden Dome. Instead, his eyes were focused on the world-renowned figure headed straight toward him on that day in 1973 — Father Theodore Hesburgh, then Notre Dame’s president.
When someone as great as Father Ted Hesburgh, CSC, lives deep into his 97th year, you begin to wonder if he might just live forever. So news of his death today has come as a sudden blow, a punch to the stomach, even though reports had him in severe decline over the past few weeks.
He walks into the library somewhere around noon, takes the elevator to the eighth floor, then gets off and climbs the next five flights to his office. That’s exactly 100 steps.
Whenever it was possible, Father Theodore Hesburgh, CSC, liked to make a short stop on Holy Cross Drive near Saint Mary’s Lake if he was traveling around the Notre Dame campus.
Measles is highly contagious and willful ignorance is reigniting its spread.
Welcome to Molarity Redux, the 71st strip in the updated, continuing adventures of Jim Mole and friends.
This is the 20th letter I’ve written asking for contributions to Notre Dame Magazine. That’s hard to believe.
The book is their story, too — a tale of the broken parts that remain when children miss out on affection and parental affirmation.
Our fellow tourists seem too busy digitalizing their presence at a monument to be anxious about handing down faith and tradition. Granted, few of them are likely Catholic. Do they know the history of this place, of this particular house of worship?