Dancing in the Twilight

By Walton R. Collins '51

The last time I saw my father, he danced for me. In his pajamas and slippers and robe, he got stiffly out of a chair in the tiny nursing-home room that is now his universe and began doing a cross between a jig and the Charleston.

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Where Angels Dare to Tread

By Walton R. Collins '51

malachi

It’s lunchtime in a homelike residence on Cleveland’s near west side, and eight people are seated at the table. There’s a choice of two soups today, onion or shrimp-garlic. There’s also a baked tuna dish, some leafy salad with a selection of dressings, and either fruit pies or mint cookies for desert. Or both. Conversation is relaxed and cheerful, with a touch of family-style bantering and lots of compliments for the cook.…

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What You Do For the Least of These Strangers . . .

By Walton R. Collins '51

homeless

HERE’S what Bill Hahn ‘62 did between 5 and 6 o’clock on a Thursday evening in late March in his hometown of Cleveland: He let himself into an outbuilding on the grounds of Conversion of Saint Paul Shrine and began loading a van from a storeroom crammed with hooded sweatshirts, flannel shirts, heavy pants, knitted caps, gloves, socks, boots, scarves, blankets, sleeping bags and toiletries. Then he wrestled a large pot containing the steaming contents of 24 cans of pork and beans over the van’s tailgate. He hoped he calculated right and had enough supplies to see him over the next seven hours of his rounds to Cleveland’s invisible homeless, the ones who live under bridges and over city heating grates and along remote stretches of railroad track and in shadowy downtown doorways. Like every city of any size in this country, Cleveland has its share of such people; at least 2,000 of them, Hahn estimates. On this night he would scout out a few dozen of the 2,000 and do what he could to ease their hunger, offset the bitterness of a still-wintry night and, most importantly, offer his friendship.…

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Terror scare bumps blimp's flight plans

By Walton R. Collins '51

At 4 in the afternoon of Friday, October 19, Jim Maloney sits at the controls of the Goodyear blimp, half a mile above and just south of Notre Dame Stadium.

Behind him in the cramped cab, Rich Morckl maneuvers the ship’s camera in its gyroscopic housing, holding the image rock-steady as the blimp lurches in a gust of wind. The camera is powerful enough to focus clearly on a player’s shoelaces, but Morckl is after bigger vistas today: Touchdown Jesus, the Golden Dome, colorful mid-October foliage, long views of campus. The footage will make glamour shots for use during tomorrow’s nationally telecast Notre Dame-USC

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Tomorrowland Is Here

By Walton R. Collins '51

My favorite postmodern media moment comes exactly 57½ minutes into Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. Flung back from the 23rd century into the late 20th (never mind how), the Enterprise crew is on a mission to save planet Earth by saving the whales. Scotty, the spaceship’s engineer whose specialty is casually working technological miracles, finds himself in front of a PC in contemporary San Francisco.…

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