This is certain: An “extraordinary” gust of wind — recorded as 53 miles per hour at 4:54 p.m. October 27, 2010 — knocked over the Marklift MT40G hydraulic scissor lift and dropped 20-year-old Declan Sullivan to his death while the junior from Long Grove, Illinois, was filming football practice.
I have always been comfortable living with questions. The world is an infinitely fascinating place, beguiling mysteries remain unsolved and my reply is a pilgrim’s curiosity and cheerful puzzlement. Besides, I always figured that to ask, to question was to enter into a dialogue with God.
It’s been a tough year for Notre Dame, a year of serial troubles. The police raids on off-campus parties back at the beginning of the school year — causing rifts among police and students, Notre Dame and South Bend — seem almost inconsequential now. So do lost football games and payouts to former coaches.
After a decade as a doctoral student, Geoffrey Keating ’00M.A. finds his true calling as a furniture maker.
A funny thing happened on my way to writing this editor’s column. I knew the theme would be life moving on. But where to start?
It’s one of the best benefits of working at this magazine — developing very good friends, despite the distances, whom you come to know through their writing, by talking out story ideas and life and writing with them.
I wasn’t disappointed that none of my three kindergartners got an award during their elementary school’s assembly. But awards: an interesting topic, especially now with a national debate ignited by a Chinese Tiger Mom scolding America for its leniently errant parenting style.
Declan Sullivan, no ordinary life.
What’s in America’s future?
We hope for gifts and — more — the meaning behind them. We hope for the good times and comforts of family. We hope for peace and well-being. We hope for Jesus Christ to come to earth, to come into our lives.
When I finished writing the Joseph Brennan obituary for our winter print edition, I knew I had more to say. It has gone unsaid for decades, and it’s too late now.
Like many folks, including John Steinbeck and William Least Heat Moon, I prefer two-lane roads to interstate highways. I like to see people and places, get a sense of life from the ground up.
The truth is, I have never flown a kite. It isn’t that I haven’t tried. I have tried and failed.
Sometimes you get blindsided.There I was, happily getting ready for the season opener. Notre Dame-Purdue. Launch of the Brian Kelly era. Then my wife reported the weather forecast. That’s when it happened.
Dark storm clouds stretch across the distant horizon to the north. I can see them out my fifth-floor window in Grace Hall. They look like distant mountains. I wish they were.
A science dean and a football coach help Notre Dame by doing the unexpected.
Here is my Sophomore Literary Festival moment. I am in the old Pay Caf, also known years ago as the Oak Room in the South Dining Hall. I am having coffee with Barry Lopez and Edward Abbey. They are two lions of 20th century American nature writing.
One of America’s most prolific and popular writers once said, “Reading without thinking is nothing. For a book is less important for what it says than what it makes you think.”
I have good reason not to be here. I should be at work, or at least on my way back to work.
The first call was a phone message left during the weekend after the Jan. 12 earthquake fractured Haiti. It came from Ann Kloos. Her brother John, a 1974 Notre Dame graduate, had lost his son Ryan in the quake
After years of letting myself down I resolved this January to ban from my New Year’s forecast any resolutions to change my ways, to improve my life, to make myself better in any way.
The Spirit campaign has reached its lofty goal, but here’s where things really stand.
This isn’t Don Nelson’s final issue. But it’s close.
This afternoon I watched the press conference introducing Brian Kelly as Notre Dame’s next new football coach. I’m on board
A few decades ago, when I began reading seriously about our search for the divine in nature, I ran across a quote from John Stewart Collis in The Triumph of the Tree
So here you are, sitting on a bench by Notre Dame’s Main Building, trying to figure it out.
A few years ago I stuck a peace sign on the back of my car. It was uncharacteristic of me. I’m not a bumper-sticker guy.
I’d never been in the spectator gallery of the Rockne Memorial swimming pool. But there I was, watching my kids take their first-ever swim lesson.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest is one of my all-time favorite movies. Like two of my all-time favorite books, The Catcher in the Rye and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, the movie is essentially the story of the individual versus society — a favorite theme of mine.
In 1970, a few weeks before I enrolled as a freshman at Notre Dame, a group of us Louisiana high school friends chipped in on a rudimentary beach house in Gulf Shores, Alabama. For two weeks we reveled in a celebration of one of life’s most consequential passages.