Mathematics professor and Notre Dame's first lay provost, Timothy O'Meara, died in June at the age of 90.
Watching events unfold over the past year has brought into focus what seems to me the central tension in American culture: Me versus Us.
The director of Notre Dame's Cushwa Center for the Study of American Catholicism has given her thoughts on the clergy sex-abuse scandal to a number of national news outlets. Now, she talks with Notre Dame Magazine.
Escape into the simple life of a no-frills lake vacation with our latest Magazine Classic.
This weekend, a new crop of freshmen — along with their parents and a fleet of overstuffed minivans — will arrive on campus for their meticulously engineered orientation. When I landed alone in South Bend 48 years ago, things were a little different.
Happiness and other head-scratchers
This decline of religion has been analyzed by sociologists and scholars, theologians and journalists, parents and priests. In this issue, we discuss it in our pages.
Ease into the season with our latest Magazine Classic.
The wise know there are many paths to God. Ken Garcia’s wildly circuitous route stands as lusty evidence that the Deity is abidingly patient and forgiving.
As graduation rolls around, our latest Magazine Classic ponders a big question posed by an optimistic young graduate: How can I best do good?
As the University's chief investment officer, Scott Malpass '84, '86MBA is Notre Dame's resident endowment czar.
Despite my previous disinterest in tomorrow-land horizons and futuristic scenarios, the awesome yet ominous frontiers of modern technology are shaping our world. We explore three of them in our Spring 2018 issue.
I have crossed campus hundreds of times over the years, but this walk felt different and I’m not sure why.
The worst part of Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere is the final 30 pages or so. And not because the ending is a disappointment. On the contrary.
In our latest Magazine Classic, Kerry Temple '74 explores the legacy of a 19-year-old freshman whose rare mistake took him and others to the boundaries of death and life.
To kick off Black History month and our new series, Magazine Classics, read the stories of nine black alumni of Notre Dame, excerpted from the collection Black Domers.
Things have changed since the segregated-school days of my childhood, but there is always more work to be done.
It was Father Robert Griffin, CSC, ’49 who first told me the tale of the sparrow flying through the grand banquet hall. I’ve pictured that fleeting sparrow a lot in the years since.
The telephone’s light was flashing when we got home. My wife checked it out. “It’s just Notre Dame calling again to ask for money,” she announced, pushing the delete button.
An evolving life over four decades on the open road
Jim Gibbons '53 worked at Notre Dame for 43 years before his death in October at age 87.
I remember thinking how weird it felt. I was sitting on an airplane in a seat next to my boss, 20 years older than me, and a man with whom I’d had minimal conversations. We were both quiet, introverted, not prone to talking. Plus he was my boss, the magazine’s editor. And I didn’t like flying.
So there’s this thing that happened, and it seemed so right at the time, the natural flowering of life and love, a moment meant to be. But that was then, and this is now.
Recently I was asked to speak to a group for three to five minutes about how my faith life informs my work and how my work affects my faith life.
We all know how the story ends. Many of us know how the story goes. There’s the wintry arrival at the cabin by the lake, the cholera epidemic and other early hardships, and the devastating fire of 1879 — his faithful re-imagining of the university he founded and his mythical “too small a dream” speech.
Here is a little-known truth about Notre Dame Magazine: Carol Schaal ’91M.A., the managing editor, would be named the magazine’s Most Valuable Player if the award were put to a vote of the staff. Probably by unanimous decision.
Every year — along about commencement season — the Notre Dame lakefronts become toddler playgrounds for fuzzy little ducks and geese. Waddling in the grass, stumbling and scooting to keep up, trailing mothers single file, they eventually skim the placid waters like little bathtub toys.
It was the summer I trafficked in Coke. The best summer ever. 1970.
Foxes walk on their toes. The female is called a vixen. A group is called a “skulk” or “leash,” although foxes are largely solitary except when nestled as a family with young in their lair. They may weigh 7 to 24 pounds. They are nocturnal. Have vertical slit pupils like cats, see quite well at night. When hunting they stalk and pounce, rarely chasing. Omnivorous, they eat two pounds per day, have a superior sense of smell. They reproduce once a year, have a life span generally of one to four years. These are some of the facts I have gathered about foxes. But it doesn’t mean I know foxes, or understand the fox.
I had great parents. One of the best things they did for me was to talk about stuff. And we had lots to talk about.