Joyce Kilmer followed his heart to Catholicism, to the Irish and their independence, to Notre Dame, and finally to a battlefield against the foes of freedom.
Half a decade after protests, assassinations and social change rocked the world, an alumnus and professor looks back on his semester abroad in a rapidly changing France.
Set 48 years ago this week, our latest Magazine Classic recalls the height of the tumultuous anti-Vietnam War era.
Watching Gary Oldman play Winston Churchill in Darkest Hour you see the marriage of a man and his moment in the making of history.
In a world of fake news and alternative facts, Ronald Reagan's old mantra — "Trust, but verify" — may merit a renewed place in our everyday lives.
Dear Mr. President: I know that mentioning the phrases “Russian hacking” and “tax returns” might raise your blood pressure or lead your thumbs to a Twitter thread. So I apologize at the outset for raising two of your least favorite subjects in this letter.
People made aware of my abstinence in telephonic mobility and my antisocial behavior with social media usually react in disbelief.
From the day of his ordination in 1943 until he said his last Mass on the day he died in 2015, Hesburgh conducted himself in ways that provided abiding lessons. A few of them are worth remembering throughout this anniversary year — and into the future.
When President Donald Trump takes the rostrum next week for his first address to a joint session of Congress, will he train his rhetorical firepower on what he asserts is “the enemy of the American people”?
As he assumes the presidency, will Donald Trump be able to govern the way he campaigned for the nation’s highest office? And what impact could such an approach have on the broken relationships between the legislative and executive branches that so many observers identify today?
When they went to bed on election night, most Americans — even in GOP quarters — thought the outcome of 2016 was a foregone conclusion. But by the time the presidential and other electoral results became known, it was the Democrats who were left wondering what their party’s fortunes might be.
At age 70, the president-elect faces a new reality that couldn’t be more different from his decades as a developer or even his nearly 18 months as a political candidate. Showing up at the Oval Office each morning to “just see what develops,” in a phrase taken from his 1987 bestseller, The Art of the Deal, probably won’t suffice as a strategy for serving as president of the United States.
Election Day, like commencement at Notre Dame or any other school, marks both an end and a beginning. After all the votes are cast and counted, questions about the future collect like starlings in a stand of trees, noisily making themselves heard.
Being an American abroad these days provides someone with a perplexing yet recurring experience. Wherever you go, people beyond our shores want to know why the American presidential campaign is approaching its conclusion as a political popularity contest between two historically unpopular candidates.
Did Joe Biden start a trend? Since Biden’s election as the first Catholic vice president eight years ago, the Democratic and Republican parties in 2012 and this year have nominated running mates born and raised as Catholics in Irish American households.
LBJ knew that getting the Civil Rights Act passed would cost the Democratic Party for decades to come, but — according to Father Hesburgh — he resorted to strong-arm tactics anyway.
As horse-race polls — nationally and in battleground states — tighten between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump, two other numerical findings in recent days shouldn’t gallop by without our taking notice.
At the beginning of class the other day, I circulated a questionnaire for the 26 duly-enrolled Millennial Domers in my course on American Political and Media Culture. Besides wanting to know their partisan and ideological preferences, their pushing-70 teacher wanted to gauge student opinion about contemporary political figures and this year’s presidential free-for-all from the anonymous surveys.
Every four years Americans learn anew that a presidential election is less a national fencing match than an array of brass-knuckle fistfights in a few select states.
When historians write their accounts of the 2016 presidential campaign, they will be able to rely on adjectives with the prefix “un” to explain what happened during the hurly-burly nominating and general election seasons.
Now that the Republican and Democratic national conventions are history, one common denominator of the 2016 presidential campaign stands out in bold relief. Both major parties this fall will be united by high-decibel hatred of the nominee of the other party.
This election year is particularly fascinating because the primary season between February and June appeared at times to be a two-front war against the Republican and Democratic establishments. But larger and potentially more profound problems confront each party this fall and in the future.
It’s impossible to use the past to predict the future, but electoral trends can often provide context for understanding the present. By almost any measure, 2016 should be a change election rather than one of continuity.
You know you’re nearing the finish line of what’s seemed to be several geologic periods in a Notre Dame classroom when you begin to remember the past in generations rather than years.
Even though he left the University presidency in 1987, there was nothing retiring about the home stretch of a life always lived to the fullest.
The bloody fighting between combative Irish nationalists and the British military didn’t escape the attention of students and faculty on the Notre Dame campus.
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.
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.
The middle ground vanishes as America goes to the poles. And that’s a dangerous thing.
From the air, on the descent into Dublin Airport, the Irish landscape shows off a multitude of its numerically suspect yet popularly promoted 40 shades of green. The country’s roller-coaster ride over hte past two decades has produced, if not 40 competing emotions, at least a baker’s dozen of separate responses.