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ONE MINUTE AGO TWENTY YEARS AGO ONE MINUTE AGO Was driving past my children’s grade school the other day and started to laugh, thinking of all the entertaining and hectic and chaotic and hilarious moments our children had enjoyed there, and I pulled over behind the school, where the muddy field and wood-chipped playground and moist basketball court and dense fringe of forest all crowd together with their edges spilling over gently so that moss marks the boundaries of the court and hawthorn trees finger the field, and I wandered around remembering stuff. In my experience, if you wander around long enough with your reasoning software disabled, you might be plunged back thrillingly through time, and find yourself grinning as you watch your small daughter do soccer drills in the mud, and your elfin sons playing wall-ball with a ball very nearly as large as they are, and your tiny daughter swinging so high on the swings that you quietly position yourself to make the catch of a lifetime if necessary, and your headlong sons thrashing through the understory picking blackberries, and your exuberant daughter leaping from Utah to Ohio on the huge painted map of the United States on the pathway, and your grinning sons taking heroic cuts at a stationary baseball perched innocently on a tee, and your shy daughter and sons holding your right hand as you walk them up the hill to kindergarten, and bringing them their forgotten lunches, and looking all over the field and playground for lost jackets and hats and gloves and sweaters and basketballs and shin-pads, and a thousand other moments like that, all floating in the misted air over the scraggly field and along the uneven pathway and among the snowberries in the fringes of the forest. They rocketed along on their bicycles and flung footballs and hatched conspiracies and gazed tonguetied at girls and ran in packs and troops and gaggles. They played every sort of game most of which I will never know. They were scratched and bruised here and they sliced open their knees and elbows here and they bled here and surely they wept here and I know for a fact they laughed so helplessly here that their cheeks and stomachs hurt from laughing. There were field days and carnivals and picnics and assemblies and lines of burbling children ambling back into the school in that wonderfully motley way that lines of children move, two or three kids in cadence and then the next two gawking at a hawk and the ones behind them shoving and the next bent over tying his shoelace and the next kid trips over him and there is a pileup and the teacher at the back of the line says hey! and in a minute it will start to rain so incredibly hard that kids inside will press their faces against the windows in awe and leave perfect fading circles of their holy and magical breath. I saw and felt and heard all these things as real and powerful and immediate and tender as the instant they happened ten years ago fifteen years twenty years ago and I wanted to weep and laugh at the same time and I had to go sit down on the swing where my daughter was swinging one minute ago twenty years ago one minute ago. The swing was rocking ever so gently when I went to sit down on it, and you might say it was the wind, or a flicker of breeze from a heron walloping by overhead, or the butterfly effect, whereby a small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state, but you know and I know that my daughter had just leapt off the swing to run giggling through the tunnel of immense truck tires, and the swing still felt her slight weight, and always will. Brian Doyle is the editor of this magazine, and the author most recently of the novel Chicago (St. Martin’s Press).
F E A T U R E S 14 / What Is Wild?, by David James Duncan ’04 hon. Silence, pulsing, death into life, winged words, the Love moving through it all... 16 / Australia & America, by Martin Flanagan Notes on close cousin countries, by the University’s Schoenfeldt Series visiting writer.
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22 / Going After God, by Father Kevin Grove, C.S.C. The genius of Christianity, in the end, is this: Christ is a verb! 24 / The Extraordinary Novels of Their Faces, photographs by Brian Lanker Six stunning images from one of Oregon’s greatest photographers. page 16
30 / Into the Fire, by Sallie Tisdale ’83 The lure and fear and love and fury of that which is aflame. 34 / These Eager Leaps, by Madison Bowman Love, fire, fear, awe, love.
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3 / Love Stories: a Facenote 4 / The new Pilot men’s basketball coach: NBA star Terry Porter 5 / The 340 University students who are first ever to college in their families 6 / On being a man: Father Charlie Gordon, C.S.C. 7 / The articulate campus treasure Brother Thomas Guimenta, C.S.C. 8 / Bugs of the Bible: a note 9 / Chile’s national security czar: Eduardo Vergara Bolbaran ’02 10 / “A Full-On Achy Miracle”: Christie King ’05 11 / Retiring after 40 years on The Bluff: the grinning Jim Seal 12 / Sports, starring Portland Trailblazer legend Terry Porter 13 / Briefly, starring six student Fulbright scholars (!) 37 / The effervescent John Burke ‘40 48 / Neal Hook ’49 in the belly of the beast we call war
THE UNIVERSITY OF PORTLAND MAGAZINE Summer 2016: Vol. 35, No. 2 President: Rev. Mark Poorman, C.S.C. Founding Editor: John Soisson Editor: Brian Doyle Babbling & Gibbering Designers: Joseph Erceg ’55 & Chris Johnson Mooing Assistant Editors: Marc Covert ’93 & Amy Shelly ’95 Fitfully Contributing Editors: Louis Masson, Terry Favero, Anna Lageson-Kerns
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Cover art by Oregon artist Mary Miller Doyle.
Portland is published quarterly by the University of Portland. Copyright ©2016 by the University of Portland. All rights reserved. Editorial offices are located in Waldschmidt Hall, 5000 N. Willamette Boulevard, Portland, Oregon 97203-5798. Telephone (503) 943-8225, fax (503) 943-7178, e-mail address: bdoyle@up.edu, Web site: http://www.up.edu/portland. Third-class postage paid at Portland, OR 97203. Canada Post International Publications Mail Product — Sales Agreement No. 40037899. Canadian Mail Distribution Information — Express Messenger International: PO Box 25058, London, Ontario, Canada N6C 6A8. Printed in the USA. Opinions expressed in Portland are those of the individual authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the University administration. Postmaster: Send address changes to Portland, The University of Portland Magazine, 5000 N. Willamette Boulevard, Portland, OR 97203-5798.
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“The fragrance of this new born summer was the purest force, rank, sweet, meaty, and rotten, heady powder, lilac talc...”, says the great poet Pattiann Rogers, the University’s Schoenfeldt series guest in 1997. Coming this fall for the series: Colin Meloy and Carson Ellis, authors and artists of The Wildwood Chronicles. Coming in February: Anthony Doerr, author of All the Light We Cannot See, among other lovely books. ¶ Pilot Kids Camps for kids entering grades 1 through 6 start June 20 and run through August 5. Games, arts & crafts, sports, laughter, new friends. Call Brian Dezzani, 503.943.7177. ¶ Local high schools borrowing the University’s Chiles Center for graduations this summer: David Douglas, Oregon City, Saint Mary’s, Aloha, De La Salle, West Linn, Rex Putnam, Centennial, Westview, Southridge, Sunset, and Beaverton. ¶ Among the many residential summer camps and conferences: the annual hilarious cheerleading camps in July, when synchronized shouting utterly invigorates campus.
Student Life
The University’s Summer Session runs from May 16 through August 4, features classes in Austria, Costa Rica, Spain, and England, and offers hundreds of courses in every conceivable subject. The University wisely also offers ‘jump-start’ courses for freshmen who cannot wait until fall to start on The Bluff: Among the jumpers are chemistry in art, calculus for busi-
The Faculty
Beginning their final teaching years on The Bluff, after stellar careers all round: nursing’s Carol Craig (9 years), engineering’s Wayne Lu (29 years!) and Jim Male (20 years) and Zia Yamayee (20 years), and environmental science’s Father Ron Wasowski, C.S.C. (19 years). ¶ Among the new faculty members beginning their careers on The Bluff this summer: Mary Kozy, most recently dean of nursing at Linfield College, who has been itching to get back into the classroom, and Erica Bailey, who just earned her UP nursing master’s in May. Kozy specializes in mental health and HIV psychiatric nursing and on women recovering from domestic violence; she will certainly also be of assistance as the School of Nursing plots its new doctorate in executive leadership.
The University
Hosted by the University’s vibrant Garaventa Center for Catholic Life this summer and fall: a lecture on art by
the fine painter Father Mark Ghyselinck, C.S.C. (August 24); the annual Father John Zahm. C.S.C., Lecture in Catholicism, this year featuring the polymath Franciscan Sister Ilia Delio (September 22), the University’s annual Red Mass, honoring men and women in the law, on September 28, followed by dinner featuring United States House of Representatives chaplain Father Pat Conroy, S.J.; and much more. Info: Sarah Nuxoll, nuxoll@up.edu, 503.943.7702. ¶ On campus July 27-31: the 34th annual summer Catholic conference, which began long ago at Mount Angel and has been on The Bluff for the last eight years. Among the speakers this year: the great blunt honest wry brilliant Archbishop emeritus John Vlazny of Portland, Mount Angel abbot and author Father Jeremy Driscoll, O.S.B., University professors Father Charlie Gordon, C.S.C., and Michael Cameron, and the great stained-glass artist Bill Zuelke. Info: 541.758.4235. ¶ The University’s annual Reunion is June 23-26. Honored classes this year are those ending in 1 and 6; sub-reunions honored baseball players, alumni who studied in Spain, chapel choir alumni, and the Upsilon Omega Pi gents. Info: 503.943.7328.
Arts & Letters
Coming to campus this winter for the English department’s readings series: novelist and musician Willy Vlautin, leader of the soon-to-close-up-shop Portland band Richmond Fontaine, and winner of the Oregon Book Award for his books. ¶ The annual glorious hilarious Mocks Crest Productions’ Gilbert & Sullivan run (this year Ruddigore) in Mago Hunt Theater will be June 3-26. ¶ The University opens its
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third UPReads year in August; the book being read by faculty, staff, and students is Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See, leading up to his campus visit in February. The first two selections were Alice McDermott’s Charming Billy and Laila Lalami’s The Moor’s Account.
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From literature professor Father David Sherrer’s great University historical almanac (up.edu/almanac)... July 4, 1776: The Representatives of the United States of America in General Congress Assembled state publicly that the thirteen English colonies they represented were, “and of Right ought to be, Free and Independent States.” ¶ July 12, 1904: Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto is born in Chile — better known by his pen-name, Pablo Neruda. ¶ July 13, 1964: the University’s first landscape architect, Brother Ferdinand Moser, C.S.C., dies at age 74; it was he who planted campus’s now-stupendous sequoias. ¶ August 1, 1996: The U.S. women win the Olympic gold medal in soccer, 2-1 over China, both goals scored by University alumnae: Shannon MacMillan and Tiffeny Milbrett. ¶ August 6, 2012: five of the seven goals in the U.S.’s semifinal win against Canada are scored by alumnae Christine Sinclair and Megan Rapinoe. ¶ August 4, 4004 B.C.: the date the universe was created, according to Archbishop James Ussher of Ireland (1581-1656). ¶ August 9, 1974: Nixon resigns. ¶ August 18, 1899: the brilliant architect Pietro Belluschi is born in Ancona, Italy; he would eventually create the University’s lovely Chapel of Christ the Teacher, a shrine to Northwest woods. ¶ August 24, 1891: the cornerstone for Waldschmidt Hall is laid. Cost of the whole hall: $35,000. Whew.
ART BY MARY MILLER DOYLE
The Season
ness, astronomy, and various intro classes, all of which count against your core requirements. For more on summer session see www.up.edu/summer or try 503.943-7857, summer@up.edu. ¶ First fall classes this year: August 29, at a horrifingly early 8:10 a.m. The University has classes from eight in the morning until ten at night — one reason why we do actually need a longplanned new academic classroom and faculty offices hall. ¶ When students move out of their halls they leave a lot of stuff behind: the University’s housing folks donated 243 pounds of food, 43 cubic feet of household items, and 4,000 pounds of shoes, clothes, and bedding to local shelters and such in May. Wow.
The University’s enterprising Facebook folks have several times asked alumni to share stories of how they met and fell in love on The Bluff, and in flooded hundreds of tales of gawking raptly in class, and crashing into each other in the Commons, and falling in love with a friend’s friend, and with a fellow senator, or Salzburger, or resident assistant, or Air Force cadet. This photo we could not resist: it’s Sydney Weber ’15 and Philippe Boutros ’14, who spent many hours sitting together as front desk attendants at Kenna and Christie halls. Sydney is now at OHSU doing neuroscience research, and Philippe works for a small firm in Portland. Inasmuch as we have 30,000 alumni, we must have thousands of intermarriages. What a sentence! More: facebook.com/universityofportland. Summer 2016 3
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Hired as the University’s 21st men’s basketball coach in April: former NBA All-Star and coach Terry Porter, who played ten years with the Portland Trailblazers before coaching the Phoenix Suns and the Milwaukee Bucks. Porter already knows the West Coast Conference fairly well; his son Franklin plays for Saint Mary’s College. Portland 4
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The ebullient Angelmarie Summers, Class of 2019 — one of a stunning 340 students on campus this year (ten percent of the student body) who are the first ever from their families to attend college; the University has so many students like this that we now have a cheerful young counselor named Matthew Daily, in the Shepard Academic Resource Center, doing everything he can to make their roads easier. Ms. Summers is a remarkable soul: a very difficult childhood in California, a chance meeting with a University counselor at a college fair, and now she is a 4.0 student majoring in theater and psychology, working in the library, and “startled and delighted by my teachers,” she says, “by how they care, by how they teach with their hearts…” Why are we always wheedling for scholarship gifts? Because of Angelmarie and so very many students like her, that’s why. You help a soul like this soar from a university like this, you did a very good thing in this bruised and blessed world. Want to help? Call Kara McManus, 503.943.7460.
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STEVE HAMBUCHEN
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DARE TO LOVE From a speech to the student League of Extraordinary Gentlemen by Father Charlie Gordon, C.S.C., co-director of the University’s Garaventa Center. I don’t have any jokes for you this evening. What I have to say is serious, and I hope you will give it a serious hearing. Our identity as males begins with an inconsolable grief. In our infancy, at the first moment that it occurs to us that we are male, we are hammered with the psychological consequences of the terrible realization that in becoming male, we must become something that our mother is not. Oscar Wilde: “All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his.” I don’t presume to say whether Wilde is right about women, but he’s right about men. Whether you are straight or, like Wilde, gay, your masculine identity began with a tragedy. It began with a profound feeling of alienation from the one who first loved and nurtured you. This necessary alienation from our mothers is felt psychologically as a rejection, even as a betrayal, and the experience shapes the persons we become. If you ever have the experience of being loved unreservedly by a woman, you will come to realize that her love for you has a different quality than the love you have to offer in return. There is an awe-inspiring, almost frightening, depth and richness to a woman’s love. Even if you love her whole-heartedly, even if you are eager to pledge your future to her, even if you would willingly lay down your life for her, you will come to be aware that your love is a shadow of her love for you. That’s why St. Paul urges men to love their wives. Obeying them comes relatively easily to us. As men, we understand obedience. We can do obedience. But to love a woman with a love that is remotely analogous to the love she bears for us — that’s hard. It’s hard because in the depths of our being there is a feeling that we’ve been betrayed before. The origin story of our masculinity teaches us that love can’t be trusted. It isn’t what it purports to be. Anger is perhaps the emotion most associated with masculinity. Male anger is a powerful, terrifying thing. But male
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anger is a symptom of something deeper. It’s caused by a primal grief for intimacy lost and betrayed. In our heart of hearts, we weep. Our deep-seated suspicion of the trustworthiness of intimacy has other consequences for us. We feel in-built reservations toward truth claims of any kind. We tend to hold at armslength any all-embracing system that purports to invest life with meaning, purpose, and value. At some level we shy away from religions and ideologies, even those we profess. However avidly we declare our allegiance to God or country, something in us says, Okay, fine, but remember, we’ve been burned before. This ambivalence toward anything that claims our unqualified adherence may undergird our masculine passion for individual freedom. It may be behind the “commitment issues” so often associated with our gender.
Men are meaning-makers. We decide what will have meaning for to us, and make it matter by force of will. This can be seen even in the way we spend our leisure time. Some of us become incredibly invested in hobbies. The masculine love of sports is the quintessential example. Perplexed women ask, “How can you possibly care so much about sports? They’re only games. They just don’t matter!” The unspoken male response is, “And how exactly does that make them different from anything else?” In light of all of this, how can you be a good man? Let’s begin with what you shouldn’t do. First, don’t pride yourself on noticing that truth claims aren’t what they’re cracked up to be. A sense of smug superiority at seeing through pretense is about as admirable as being proud of your sideburns. Both are simply part of being male. Your real distinction will be based on what you manage to affirm in the face of your reservations. Second, don’t punish others for the ache in your Portland 6
heart. Don’t let alienation be an excuse for fecklessness. Don’t inflict real world abandonment and betrayal on others as a consequence of a feeling that is a psychological artifact of a necessary pre-rational stage of development. Don’t use the suspicion that nothing really matters as a justification to use others to gratify your baser instincts. Don’t exploit vulnerability, trust, or innocence in others to try to make yourself feel better. In the end, to do so will only make you despise yourself — with reason. That’s enough “don’ts.” Now what should you do? First, acknowledge that the feeling that the world is meaningless and that love is untrustworthy doesn’t mean that either is. Your mother didn’t mean to hurt you. She loves you, with a love that has an intensity and richness that you can’t begin to understand. Her love for you is the most real, the most dependable, thing in your world. Treasure her, whether in life or in memory. Second, employ your innate tendency to question the claims of authority, in the cause of justice. By all means, criticize pompous, self-serving rhetoric, and question baseless assertions. But do so not as an expression of fashionable cynicism, but as a means of bringing about real change for the better. Finally, dare to love. Make your pain a wellspring of empathy and a spur to virtue. Suffering has been part of the fabric of your being from the beginning. Choose to suffer for others. In this you may take Christ as your model, or, if you’ve been fortunate, your father. My father suffered from a painful, debilitating illness during the last decades of his life. Nevertheless, he had a wife to love and a large family to support. So early every morning, he got out of bed, put on a business suit, and trooped downstairs and out the front door to work. He was a man — a meaning-maker. He had decided what mattered to him, and he accomplished it by force of will. He suffered manfully, and in the process created a space for us in which we could be safe and grow and learn what love is. I pray that you and I will do the same for those entrusted to us. I can only tell you what I believe to be true. But even if I’m wrong about its origins, the pain and alienation are unquestionably real. What will you do with yours?
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Brother Thomas Giumenta, C.S.C. Deft Subtle Devout Student Learning Guru Brooklyn native, raised in Saint Boniface Parish, Elmont. Joined the Brothers fresh out of high school. Taught religion and Spanish in New York and Maryland, and then youth ministry in D.C. and Michigan, and by then he was fascinated with how to lure less-advantaged kids into realizing how to learn easily and excitedly. “Less-advantaged meaning all sorts of things, not just ethnic prejudices and economic challenges,” he says. “You want to give kids the sense that someone’s paying attention. You want to prompt them, inspire them, spark them to do better on their own. I want them to teach themselves. It’s gospel and Holy Cross values that infuse it all for me — you want to lift those who need help.” Master’s in remedial education, licensure in family counseling, master’s in African-American spirituality, worked for years in Bronx Family Court. Then worked for 16 years in Chile and Peru with all sorts of students; is back in Peru regularly delivering lectures on spirituality. Six years now on The Bluff as a learning brilliance who has helped, no kidding, hundreds of students. Here’s a quintessential Brother Thomas gig: he invented an orientation session for the parents of Hispanic kids, so they can grill him in Spanish about everything their beloved child will find at the University. “Look, students now don’t need to be armed with facts — they can get facts on their phones. They need to be inspired and startled to learn to think well. I think that’s what the University is about — helping students to learn to think, to learn for themselves how to pursue truth, peace, light. That’s our marketing niche, as it were. That’s our mission. That’s why we are different, why we’re here. That’s what the Holy Cross charism is about, and what the Gospels ask of us, I think. Most people don’t realize they are looking for God, because they don’t realize God is truth, peace, light. Behold, the kingdom of God is within you, as Jesus said; and a good teacher is not someone who shares facts, but someone who sparks students to learn what glories are resident within them...”
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DONALD JACKSON (2002). THE SAINT JOHN’S BIBLE (HERITAGE EDITION). ORDER OF ST. BENEDICT. COLLEGEVILLE, MN.
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The University’s Clark Library owns and exhibits one of the few Heritage Editions of the Saint John’s Bible in the world — the first completely handwritten and illuminated Bible to have been commissioned by a Benedictine Abbey since the invention of the printing press. Among the 160 illuminations are these summery creatures, most found in Minnesota and Wales, where the Bible’s artists live. “This continues the medieval tradition of marginalia depicting the world of the artists,” notes University education professor Karen Eifler, who is totally absorbed by and often speaks publicly about the SJB. For a font of details about the Bible, contact Karen (eifler@ up.edu, 503.943.8014); to make heroic gifts to the Library, well, just tell Karen that too.
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PHOTO BY ADAM GUGGENHEIM
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Ladies and gentlemen, the estimable Eduardo Vergara Bolbaran ’02. Today he is essentially in charge of all police, detectives, and the battle against drug trafficking in his native Chile, working with the Ministry of the Interior and Public Security; but what a wildly energetic and semi-disciplined student he was! From The Bluff he worked with the Chilean Embassy in Spain, taught surfing in Los Angeles, was a professional card player in San Francisco, cleaned bathrooms in New York City, wandered Uganda solo, worked in Paris, and then finally returned to Chile, where he ran for Congress (just missed), started a nonprofit, wrote two books on drug policy, was named national security manager for soccer, and then was named, at age 34, the nation’s security czar under President Michelle Bachelet. Wow. Plans to run for Congress again in 2017. President of Chile someday? “I’m available.” Summer 2016 9
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A FULL-ON ACHYHEARTED MIRACLE Before that sunny afternoon in July, I trusted my body to carry me. It was a strong body, a confident body. It had pedaled a bicycle across the country. It had hiked through the Himalayas. It had birthed a baby. The healing is more about regaining that trust than it is about physically mending tissue and bone. A tree fell on me one clear, windless afternoon in July. The top of a tree fell from the sky, some forty feet, to rake skin, to crush bone. Ten inches in diameter, the paramedics noted, as I lay on the rocks, grasping for painful breath after painful breath. My husband had taken my baby girl down the creek, as if, by keeping her out of my fear radius, it might calm her down. I remember searching his eyes from afar, hoping for steady, and finding only desperation. Before the accident, I was a new mother. I was a middle school teacher. I was an artist and a wife. I was a backpacker and a runner. I was a dancer, a baker, a writer, an aerialist. I depended on my body and loved what it could do for me. After my back was broken, I felt betrayed. Maybe that’s a strong word. But I don’t know what else to call the frustration that came with not being able to hold my girl, not
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being able to get out of bed without help, not having control over the mutinous muscles in my legs. Learning to walk again is a project. My baby and I were learning to use our bodies at the same time — bumbling limbs that don’t follow commands. I watched with respect as she would crawl across the house, roll around on the bed, stand up from the ground with ease. I was child again. Forced to depend on my own mama for everything — bathing, dressing, helping me roll over in the middle of the night. From autonomous adult to helpless infant, like the last thirty years had never happened, like the life I had been living was pounded out of me. Squeeze and pulp. The frustration I felt at having my motherhood taken from me proved the most devastating. Clamshell brace. Rods and screws in vertebrae. A leg that doesn’t work. Pain that brings hot tears and gulping breath. These things I could do. Just let me hold my baby chest to chest. Let me put her to bed and go with her to get her shots. Let me rush over and scoop her up when she falls on her face. Let me grab her out of the bath and wrap her in a warm towel. Let me scurry around on the floor with her and make her crack up. I had four broken vertebrae, three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and nerve damage in my legs. These physical predicaments heal much quicker than the achy knowledge that accompanies them. My body knows how fragile it is now. It remembers. There is a specialness in this knowing,
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but there is also a fear. I am alive. I am a delicate human life in a delicate human body. This knowledge com-mands respect. It forces those of us who have been through this kind of trauma to slap ourselves (gently) across the face and shout whoa! from the top of the nearest metaphorical mountaintop (or treetop, as the case may be). Because I am grateful. I am. I am grateful in this particular order: I’m still here. I still have my brain intact. I can still walk, albeit slowly and awkwardly. I have a beautiful family that took care of me with love and humor and respect and grit. Can’t I be thankful and hate this at the same time? Can’t I be thankful in the very same moment that I am shaking and shrieking with rage? After you pass through something like this and you’re standing on the other side, looking back over the vast landscape you have just crossed, there is a knowledge that comes into the heart that says, Of course. I see. It couldn’t have been any other way but this way. As if everything in my life had always been hurling towards that singular moment. Now, I see fragility everywhere — in the birds that collide with our living room windows, in the curve of my daughter’s spine, in the homeless man’s frozen breath. Sometimes it feels terrifying, this fragility, but mostly it just feels like a miracle. A full, achy-hearted, rich-beyond-measure, so frustrated, so grateful, MIRACLE. — Christie King Boyd ’05 is a teacher in Ashland, Oregon.
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Jim Seal Economics Wizard
JERRY HART
Mississippi native Jim Seal closes a remarkable forty-year career on The Bluff this spring as the rare soul who has been both longtime professor of business and dean of business at the University. Film nut, bicycling fanatic, omnivorous reader, great wry colleague — but it is the fine, witty, funny, demanding, challenging, empathetic teacher whom we will remember best. “My dream job?,” he says. “Professor. It’s the best work in the world for me. You get to read, write, and talk about something that fascinates you, and I so wanted to persuade students that there’s far more to life and business than making money. We really do want to teach people not just how to make a living, but how to live. Sounds like a cliché but it’s true. I was a terrible student in high school — if I learned anything then, it wasn’t my fault. But college woke me up, and I’ve been in the learning mode ever since — and that’s what I wanted for my students, that they be actively curious and itching to learn long past their time here. The measurement of their education is all the rest of their lives, seems to me.” — Aaron Gilbreath
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Baseball New Coach Geoff Loomis’s team started well — the Pilots were 9-4 early on — but were 16-29 in May. Outfielder Caleb Whalen was Men’s Basketball The Eric Reveno era closed in March, after 140 victories hitting .339 and catcher Cooper in ten years, when the Pilots’ coach Hummel (from Lakeridge High in Lake Oswego) was hitting .333. was fired (but was swiftly hired at Women’s Soccer Shannon MacMilGeorgia Tech). Rev oversaw a terrific graduation rate among his players, lan ’95 was elected to the National dozens of whom went on to play pro- Soccer Hall of Fame in May; Mac fessionally abroad, and he represented was an All-American for the Pilots the University with humor, dignity, and won the World Cup and Olympics with the U.S. National Team; and integrity at all times. The 2009 she was also the national player of WCC coach of the year led a great the year in 2002. ¶ Among the new 60-win run from 2008 to 2011. “It faces on The Bluff this summer: was a dream opportunity to coach Oregon 4A player of the year Lucy kids like this, to work with people Davidson from Scappoose, her teamlike this,” he said, graceful to the mate and fellow defender Natalie end. ¶ Hired as his successor in Muth, and U.S. National Team memApril: former NBA star and coach ber Rylee Seekins, who holds VanTerry Porter. See page 4. ¶ The men couver Hockinson High’s record for finished 12-20, and guards Alec Wincareer goals and assists. All-WCC detering ’17 and Bryce Pressley ’16 fender Ellie Boon leads the returnees. earned All-West Coast Conference Men’s Soccer New coach Nick honors. Wintering is one of the great Carlin-Voight tossed his team into point guards in Pilot history; come the fire this spring, with friendly see this lad before he graduates. Women’s Basketball Among the new matches against Major League Soccer’s Chicago Fire and the United faces for coach Cheryl Sorensen: transfer forward Jojuan Carrington, Soccer League’s Portland Timbers 2 who averaged 16 points and 10 boards team at Merlo Field. The men open a game at Diablo College in California. the real season in August. Among the new faces are five rookies who Among the returning vets: guard Kaylie Van Loo ‘17, who was all-WCC trained with MLS-affliated academies, athletically and academically, whew. among them Malcolm Dixon, who also played a year for 2014 NCAA (And is a star javelin thrower!)
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The very first night baseball game in campus history was a win for the Pilots, 10-7 against the Oakland University Golden Grizzlies. Highlight: two booming homers by freshman Cody Hawken in the first home game of his college career. Next up for Joe Etzel Field: a new grandstand. All baseballish gifts welcome: call Colin McGinty at 503.943.8005.
champs U Virginia, and with the U.S. youth national teams. Volleyball The women, coming off their first winning season since 1989, add transfer Reghan Pukis from U Nevada Las Vegas to the roster; Pukis, from Tacoma, led her Bellarmine Prep team to three Washington state 4A titles. ¶ The Pilots’ first official beach volleyball match ever was at Santa Cruz, where they lost toSt. Mary’s; they finished 0-9 in their inaugural year, but hey, beach volleyball, how cool is that? The bvb players Maddy Mandon (education) and Morgan Robinson (biology) were named to the WCC all-academic team, which is even cooler. Track Story of the year: Parkes Kendrick, who was a three-year starter for the Pilot women’s soccer team before switching to running this year... and winning her first college race ever, with the fourth-fastest time in the 5000 in America. She then won her next race, too. Wow. ¶ Or this one: freshman Tina Francisco setting the Guam national record in the 400, and suddenly finding herself a candidate for the Olympics this summer. ¶ Kaylie Van Loo won the javelin at Hayward Field (where she also won the Oregon state title as a high schooler) a week after throwing a school record 161’ 11 ¼”, and Reid Buchanan and Woody Kincaid ran blistering times in the 5000 at a meet at Stanford: Buchanan’s 13:48.56 is 7th in the west, and Kincaid’s 13:51.35 is 10th. Both men are aiming at nationals in late spring. Tennis Good season for the men, 16-8 with four wins against nationally ranked teams, and all-WCC honors for Alex Wallace ’17 and Carlos Donat ’19. ¶ The women finished 7-13, but what a year for Lucia Butkovska ’16, who was again allWCC, was ranked 68th nationally in singles, posted a 13-3 record, and beat national #2 Luisa Stefani of Pepperdine in straight sets. Wow. Rowing Busy spring for the women, who missed winning the San Diego Crew Classic by three-tenths of a second (7:31.361, behind Fordham’s 7:31.051) and earned four medals at the annual Dexter Lake race near Eugene. Seniors Maggie Keller and Molly Templin were both voted to the all-WCC preseason team. SCHEDULES & TICKETS: PORTLANDPILOTS.COM
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PHOTO: STEVE WOLTMANN
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this year on Einstein’s extraordinary professor Manuel Macias, at age 86. mind and creative diligence. The Ted See inside back cover. Talk honors the late great Holy Cross The Annual $100K Competition priest who was for many years pres- for student businesses featured a Student Feats The new student body president: Brandon Rivera ’18, ident of Notre Dame and a frequent record 34 teams this year; among the speaker on The Bluff. winning ideas were an outdoor hoodie who finished a mere 16 votes ahead of the opposition. His pithy platform: Faculty Feats The new Richard and suitable for snowboarding, therapeutic Diane VanGrunsven Professor of aromatherapy patches, and a volun“food and parking.” ¶ Senior Jesse Engineering on campus: mechanical teer service website. Students present Dunn, leader of the campus Active Minds group that has been remarkably engineering professor Tim Doughty. ideas and get legal and financial advice creative and energetic about battling The slot is funded by aviation inven- from sponsors, regents, and alumni. tor Dick VG ’61 to help with summer Hundreds of small businesses have student mental illness, won the Nastudent/faculty engineering projects. started this way, which is very cool. tional Student Mental Health AdvoGifts & Grants Highlights so far of cate Award this spring. ¶ The Beacon ¶ The Culligan Award winner this the fiscal year ending in June: $26 student newspaper, which published year, honoring faculty leadership: its last paper version in April after 71 history professor Elise Moentemann. million raised for students and faculyears, was ranked second in America The Outstanding Scholar: Elinor Sul- ty, from 7,000 donors; alumni donors (behind Rice U.) among small univer- livan, one of the leading primate sci- are up 21%; parent donors (current and past) are up 27%; young alumni sity papers. Wow. ¶ A remarkable six entists in America. The Outstanding Teacher: Hannah Callender, who donors are up 50%; and on-line gifts Fulbright grants to students for postdoubled. Some $5 million went digrad study in 2017, in Turkey, Malay- has wonderfully changed the way mathematics is taught on The Bluff. rectly to scholarships, and $11 million sia, Mexico, Germany, and South Korea. The University continues to And the Deans’ Award, for all-round to structures like the new residence superb play: German studies profes- hall opening this fall and the longrank among the nation’s leaders in dreamed-of new academic center. Fulbright grants. ¶ Co-valedictorians sor Laura McLary, who was also the Parent donors are especially notable, this year: philosopher Nathan Seppi 2015 Oregon Professor of the Year. ¶ Math professor Carolyn James was we think; parents are either helping (who among many other feats was on the campus frisbee champs) and chosen for a Mathematical Association current students or did help students, yet they continue to give to their Cem Inan, who has played piano at of America program for promising young faculty. ¶ Home to the Light child’s alma mater — eloquent outCarnegie Hall and played Chopin in March: the wry gentle Spanish come assessment, that. beautifully as his speech. Eloquent. ¶ Graduating May 1: 871 undergraduates and 155 master’s and doctoral One powerful poignant part of Commencement weekend every year: the commisstudents. Whew. Lund Family Hall The University’s sioning of Army and Air Force lieutenants, the day before their formal graduation newest hall, a tripartite castle open- as University students. Of the ten new Air Force officers, four will be pilots, two nurses, two engineers, one public affairs, one finance; of the 7 new Army officers, ing this fall across from the Chiles Center, got its name in May, when one will be transportation, one infantry, two engineers, and three, among them Christiana Garcia here, will be Nurse Corps. The University has educated Air regents chairman Allen Lund and Force cadets since 1951, Army cadets since 1986; where better than here, where his wife Kathie made a very generous gift toward its construction. The character and ethics and mercy are part of the curriculum?, as the late University president Tom Oddo once observed. Lunds have been endlessly generous over the years; they gave the campus the now-iconic bell tower, among many other graces. Notable Guests Among recent campus visitors: renowned composer David Maslanka, who performed with the University’s students. “Music is an expression of soul,” he has said. “The unconscious can push its way into consciousness unbidden… if a person is prepared artistically, then a sudden eruption of soul force might appear as a composition or a powerful performance; this was my experience as a young composer...” ¶ A line from Tim Boyle’s commencement speech: “You might not want to take advice from me: I’m an older guy who still works with his mom” — the legendary Gert Boyle of Columbia Sportswear, who was grinning in the front row. ¶ Notre Dame physicist Mitchell Wayne delivered the annual Father Ted Hesburgh, C.S.C. Lecture,
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PHOTO: STEVE HAMBUCHEN
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Silence, pulsing, death into life, winged words, the Love moving through it all... By David James Duncan
What is Wild C
lark Fork River, late September, and I’m kneeling in a patch of forgetme-nots. The light is reddening: a fast-setting fall sun. Fly rod in hand, I’m working a vast sliding glide of strikingly silent water. Kneeling pays. A fish begins rising not two rod-lengths away. I flip out a mahogany-colored mayfly. The take, my strike, and the leap are simultaneous. A trout and my face
are suddenly side by side, the only sound in the world the wild pulsing of its body in still air. We hear nothing so clearly as what arrives out of silence. The trout’s airborne pulsing is like a word clearly spoken in an empty hall. There is no bottom-ofthe-boat indignity in this airborne thrashing. Trading water for sky, meeting no f luid resistance, the trout’s swimming becomes a spasm Portland 14
of speed, its whole heart and fear and body producing a sound like a bird taking flight. The trout leaps again. I hear wings again. Leaps again. And now I feel them. My heart lifts; body vanishes; mind flies into a jubilant spasm, and I suddenly know a litany of things I can’t know: that the souls of trout too leap, becoming birds; that trout take a fly made of plumage out of yearning as well as hunger;
mayfly that was the river that before that was creeks, last year’s snowpack, last year’s skies, eternity’s ocean... and that leaps are exhausting. Still kneeling in forget-me-nots, I forget. Played out, the trout turns on its side. I ease the fish into my hands, and unhook the fly. The trout streaks for the depths with purpose. I stand Summer 2016 15
PHOTOGRAPHER: STEVE BLY/GETTY IMAGES
that an immaterial thread carries a trout’s yearning through death and into a bird’s egg; that the olive-sided flycatcher, using this thread, is as much trout as bird as it rises to snatch the mayfly from its chosen pool of air; that Tibetans, using this thread, locate departed lamas returned in the forms of young boys and, if they’d look closer, girls; that the flycatcher that was the trout was before that the
in the shallows with nothing of the sort. There are no rises now on the big silent glide. The one trout’s leaping has spooked things for a time. If I were a younger man I’d say the show here was over and rush, before light failed, to the next likely water or showing fish. But there are desires the vaunted energy of youth conceals. What I most often want now is to be more present where I am. There are tricks to this, as with any kind of fishing. Here is one. When trout rise in rivers, the rings of the rise drift quickly downstream. For this reason a fly fisher must cast not to visible rise-rings, but to an invisible memory of where rings first appear. I’ve heard this called “the memory point,” and knew of this point when I was young. What I did not know, then, was that one’s best casts to it are not necessarily made with a fly rod. Leaning mine against an osier, using eyes alone, I cast to a memory point now: In the last hours of a September day you can’t see down into the Clark Fork. The sun is too low, the light too acutely angled. In the last hours of day the river’s surface grows reflective, shows you blue sky and red clouds, upside-down pines, orange water-birch, yellow cottonwoods. Deer hang as if shot, by their feet, yet keep browsing bright grasses. Ospreys fly beneath you. Everything is swirling. In a snag, way down deep, you might spot a flycatcher. It’s hard to believe these clouds and trees, deer and birds, are a door. It’s hard to believe fish live behind it. Yet it was the clouds at my feet the rainbow troubled by rising. It was into this false sky that I cast the mahogany mayfly. It was out of inverted pines and cottonwoods that the trout then flew, shattering all reflection, three times speaking its winged word. Not every cast hits the memory point. But when one does, this word goes on silently speaking. It says that death is like the Clark Fork, very late in the day. It says winged words are eternal. It says eternity moves through doors and worlds as it pleases. David James Duncan, who received an honorary doctorate from the University in 2004 for “the power and passion and prayer” of his work, is the author of the novels The River Why and The Brothers K, and of several collections of essays, notably the superb My Story as Told by Water.
Australia&America Notes on cousin countries, from a legendary Aussie journalist.
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ou are American and I am Australian. We’re the same but different. What’s the difference? I think there are some general points we can agree on. The modern state we call America started as a Puritan settlement, a place of hope and liberty for religious dissenters. The modern state of Australia started as a penal colony. To give but one example of how I think this difference has worked through our two cultures, your politicians frequently appeal to or cite God in making political utterances; ours rarely do. You had a revolution. Our flag still has a colonial emblem in the corner. You declared your independence and framed a constitution around the rights of man. Our constitution was a political and commercial settlement. There is not and never has been, for example, a constitutional right to bear arms in Australia. We didn’t have slavery as such — but 60,000 Pacific islanders were tricked and/or kidnapped to work on sugar plantations in northern Australia, while the system whereby convicts were assigned to work for landowners surely a kind of slavery. We haven’t had the calamity of a civil war — but nor have we had the sort of drama that produces a leader of the stature of Abraham Lincoln, a leader of humanity, not just his country. In claiming Australia as a British possession, the British government declared that the Australian land mass was terra nullius — a Latin term meaning the land of nobody. This was a lie. There were people who had been in Australia for many thousands of years: Aboriginal people. Not until 1967 were Aboriginal people included in the Australian census. A sense of absence, not presence, permeated Australia’s
early sense of itself and continues, I would argue, to today. Near the end of that wonderful American novel The Great Gatsby, there is that famous passage: “And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes — a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby’s house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.” That passage, to my knowledge, has no parallel in Australian literature — certainly not in an iconic work. Australia was strange to the first Europeans in a way that America, a fellow Northern Hemisphere dweller, was not. We had animals they had never seen the likes of before like the kangaroo. America was born of idealism, an idea to do with freedom. From the mouths of some Americans, it sounds like an idea of God-ordained liberty. I don’t associate Australia with any idea. Australia is a place, I would argue, that is well suited to agnosticism. I grew up in Tasmania, the island off Australia’s south-eastern coast. For over fifty years, the island was one big prison. Anyone seeking to understand the psychology of such a place should read Kaf ka’s short story, “In the Penal Colony.” I grew Portland 16
up in a place that had no memory of either my people, the Irish convicts, or the people who were there before them. My Flanagan convict forebear, Thomas Flanagan from County Roscommon, then in a state of famine, stole meal and a sum of five pounds to feed his starving family in 1847. Fifty years later, during what is called the Victorian period, having convict forebears in your family became a source of acute social shame. Within three generations there was no memory whatsoever of their songs, stories, dances. That was the first silence I grew up with. What remained of the convict culture was a disrespect for authority that flared spectacularly around the rebel outlaw Ned Kelly. There was also a belief that actions speak louder than words, a belief that at its best finds a Biblical echo in the idea that by the fruit of their actions we shall know the people most deserving of our respect. Traditionally, Australian culture was introvert. Viewed through the prism of your cultural exports, American culture has always struck me as thoroughly extrovert. Within thirty years of white arrival in Tasmania in 1803, the British government had shipped the surviving remnant of the Aboriginal population to a small island in Bass Strait. There are people of Aboriginal descent living in Tasmania today, but when I was growing up we were taught that the last one died in 1876. There was no memory of their songs, stories, dances also. Right, Man With Spear, 20th Century bark painting depicting a kangaroo and a hunter; the specific form of cross hatching served to endow the objects painted with spiritual force.
WERNER FORMAN ARCHIVE/BRIDGEMAN IMAGES
By Martin Flanagan
PRIVATE COLLECTION/BRIDGEMAN IMAGES
Left, Story of the Colored Sands by modern Austrailian artist Glen Preece
The one thing that made sense to me growing up in Tasmania were the local football matches. Australian football is not the game you call soccer. Nor is it rugby. Nor is it Irish football. It is a wholly Australian game with a long and interesting history which has some parallels with the history of baseball. This is the game which absorbed me and it was through football, and the folklore that surrounded it, that I first encountered theater, mythology, and a certain sort of comedy based on character. Later, when I was wandering the world, sport was my second language, shielding me from loneliness, whether it was by playing street soccer with kids in Yugoslavia or hitching a ride in Germany with a man who had no English and finding a common link in Kevin Keegan, the Englishman then playing soccer with Hamburg. After I returned, sport gave me a passport to enter Aboriginal Australia. The other silence I grew up with was my father. During the Second World War, the Imperial Japanese Army used slave labor to put a railway through from Thailand to Burma. More than 100,000 men — some say 200,000 — died laying 400 kilometers of track. My father survived that. He was left weakened, perhaps permanently, by cholera, malaria, and malnutrition. He had a close friend bashed to death. I could go on indefinitely. In one of my books, I described my father, the man I knew growing up, as a hard old monk. He was gentle but he was not easily impressed. I liked him; in fact, I thought he was cool. He didn’t say much but what he said was always struck me as being really well thought out. But if a paternalistic father is one who tells you who you are, where you come from, and where you’re going, then he was the opposite. He didn’t tell me who I was, he didn’t tell me where I came from, he didn’t tell me where I was going. I had to work that out for myself. I did a law degree, worked in a prison in welfare, I travelled the world. When I returned to Australia, I still had many questions. How did I fit into this land? How and where did I belong? When I finally met people who understood the questions I was asking, they were Aboriginal people. From the start, they seemed to implicitly understand the journey I was
on. They had every historical reason to view me as their enemy but I found that if I approached them in a spirit of humility and respect I was, by and large, accepted. I also found I had more in common with them than I’d imagined. For example, my father and a number of other Burma railway veterans I got to know were people who’d seen a lot, suffered a lot, and had great compassion. When I started meeting Aboriginal elders, I met people who’d seen a lot, suffered a lot, and had great compassion. It seems to me that the wisdom of the elders is much the same in all cultures. I’ve learned so much from Aboriginal people. It intrigues me, for example, that many Western artists from affluent backgrounds over the past 100 years have depicted the world in dark and often violent ways. Then I look at paintings by traditional Aboriginal artists, people whose lives have been subjected to violence on so many levels, and see colourful, free form, harmony. Notwithstanding the insults and injuries inflicted upon their culture, so many Aboriginal people that I have met have also been compassionate and with that quality comes a shrewd understanding of human nature. And Aboriginal thinking, as I’ve encountered it, often comes back to an idea of oneness — the sense of a common origin. It was Aboriginal people who confirmed me on my path as a writer. “You’re alright, brother,” I was once told. “You come from the heart.” I have learnt that if you come from the heart, as best you can, you have your best chance of relating to people from other cultures. I know the terms “black” and “white” are not used in your country as they once were. But during the period they were, the terms black and white in my country meant something quite different. Aboriginal people were called “blacks,” but to engage with them is to engage with an indigenous, earth-based, placebased culture. The equivalent in your country are the tribal peoples. We hear very little about tribal peoples in our country. The word Aboriginal is really two Latin words — “ab” meaning from, Left, an Aboriginal wooden sculpture of a woman, provenance unkown. Such figures represent named sacred beings described in clan mythology. Opposite, 1957 lithograph poster by Eileen Mayo for the Australian National Travel Association.
LEFT: WERNER FORMAN ARCHIVE/BRIDGEMAN IMAGES. RIGHT: PRIVATE COLLECTION PHOTO © CHRISTIE’S IMAGES/BRIDGEMAN IMAGES
and “original” meaning the start. My relationship with Aboriginal people has brought me closer to my land, both the whole of its human history and its vast beauty which ranges from Tasmania, which looks like Norway, to central Australia, with its orange sand, to the wet jungles of the north. Do we Australians have problems? An abundance. Do we have the same problems as you? Yes and no. We have not yet come to terms with the environmental problems of the 21st century nor with the global crisis of mass migration. Our methods in dealing with illegal migrants — in particular placing children in detention centers and attempting to outsource the problem by deflecting illegal arrivals to third world countries like Cambodia — has cost us the respect of people whose respect I would prefer to have. We do have broad consensus on gun control. In Australia, I am part of what is called the reconciliation movement — the movement seeking to reconcile Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Australia. In some ways things are better, but in critical ways the plight of traditional Aboriginal Australia is no better or worse than it was when I started 30 years ago. I take my faith from a statement made by Patrick Dodson, a great Aboriginal leader and the father of the reconciliation movement. He said, “The struggle never ends — the reward is the people you meet along the way.” It’s true; I’ve met giants and been led into other reconciliation initiatives, one between Israelis and Palestinians, for example, and, more recently, between Australia and Japan. Australia is very nearly the size, physically speaking, of the United States, although our population is less than a tenth of yours. I enjoy living in Australia and like a lot of people that I meet. There is an Australian sense of humor that is hard to explain at the best of times, and certainly not in polite company, that I love. I’d also like to think most Australians can still identify what a good bloke is. Bloke is a word that came to Australia from England and then grew, I like to think, new meaning. A good bloke wasn’t a good man. That implies virtue. Traditionally, a good bloke treated you as he wished to be treated. The measure of a good bloke was his consistency. A really good bloke was someone who was a good bloke to a lot of people. And, yes, a good bloke can be a woman. So can a mate be a woman.
A mate is someone you are obliged by a wordless oath to care for and protect. Or that’s how it is for me. One of the things that saddens me about Australia is that so many Australians choose not to explore their country, but remain hemmed in by their city environments clumped around the coastline. Six months ago I went into a classroom of 18-yearold students in Melbourne, the city of four million people in Australia’s south-east where I live, and asked
how many of them knew were Darwin is. Darwin, which has a population of 100,000, is in Australia’s tropical north on the lip of Melanesia. About a quarter of the kids in the classroom put up their hands saying they knew where Darwin is. I asked them how many knew about Pearl Harbor. Most of the hands went up. “It was bombed!” one girl cried. And I said to them, “Do you know the Japanese dropped more bombs on Darwin than Pearl Harbour during World War 2”. Nobody knew that. Not one kid. During 1942, Japanese aircraft conducted 63 raids on Darwin, then a town of 2,000 people. The first attack was planned by the same man who planned the attack on Pearl Harbour and employed 200 aircraft, bombers and fighters. There was no air defense. Ten American pilots flying Kittyhawks had just flown in from Manila. The Japanese destroyed five of the Kittyhawks on the ground, but five got up into the air and flew at the Summer 2016 21
Japanese. Five against 200. Forget them? I certainly won’t. The Japanese bombed widely across northern Australia, and if you drive north to Darwin from the red centre of Australia, you start seeing old airstrips built during the war, many of them by American troops. And here’s another sort of Australian story, a story Aboriginal people tell. South of Darwin is a tribe called the Gurindji. And the Gurindji watched American troops building an airfield on their land — in particular, they watched the black American troops. What they saw was that the black troops in the U.S. Army were treated better than the Gurindji were treated by the British pastoral company which claimed the Gurindji land as their own and then worked them as stockmen for little or no money and scraps of food. Emboldened, the Gurindji went on strike for better conditions. The strike morphed into a claim for their land. They won. It was the first big land rights victory in Australia. Their story still reverberates like a note from a didjeridu. My father lived to within a few months of his 99th birthday. Not long before he died he said that God was all the good people that had ever been in the world. He was moved to this statement after his grandson was diagnosed with schizophrenia. That threw him because he thought he’d seen cruelty in the prison camps but being stricken with serious mental illness at the age of 21 to him seemed even crueller. He lost what conventional faith he had left and then, in his aloneness, found himself surrounded by all the good people he’d ever known. In Aboriginal culture, when you leave your tribal country and enter the country of another people, you must pay respect to their spirits. The Aboriginal belief and my father’s belief sort of amount to the same idea and that is why I would like to finish my talk tonight by saying, as we do in Australia: I wish to pay my respects to the elders of this place, past and present. Thank you. The great Australian journalist Martin Flanagan, author of the classic The Game in Time of War, was the University’s Schoenfeldt Series Visiting Writer last fall; this was his talk to a packed crowd of students. The University sends 20 students a year to study in Fremantle, in Western Australia. Do we welcome gifts to help them in their voyages to our cousin country? Sure we do. Call Kara McManus, 503.943.7460, mcmanusk@up.edu.
Going After God
The genius of Christianity, in the end, is this: Christ is a verb! By Father Kevin Grove, C.S.C.
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onight, we are going after God, and we will take up that adventure by means of desire and memory, in that order. Now, Genesis describes three desires that would have been intelligible across ancient near eastern civilizations. The first is the desire of the flesh — food, drink, sex. The second is “delight to the eyes” — the desire for ownership of things of the world, anything that one might see with his or her eyes and seek to have, control, or use. And the third desire was for that which would make one wise — pride, worldly ambition, etc. I am not here to throw a theological wet blanket on human desire. I do not want to squelch or repress it. No: I want to claim that it is at the core of our tradition, that desires were created as good, but that they
very often are out of balance. You know the struggle, as I do: We are always flopping back and forth between self-denial and self-indulgence. We do whatever feels good, sometimes at the expense of what is good (desire of the flesh), want more than our fair share (desire of the eyes), and always run the risk of becoming all about us (pride of life). Jesus, before he ever calls disciples, or performs miracles, or preaches, goes out into the desert to face his three desires. (That it lasted forty days indicates that it was no small undertaking). But his desire for God trumped his other desires. Later, when he does preach, he gives his f amous Sermon on the Mount and then continues on to describe how it is that people might live out this blessedness. He gives instruction on three practices and how to do them with Portland 22
integrity. To counter desire of the flesh, fast and abstain. To invert the desire to own and to control, give away possessions and control. To counter the desire for self, give away the self; he or she who truly prays Thy will be done places the will of another before that of themselves. Interestingly, the entire religious life — priests, brothers, sisters — is built around this system of trying to work out these three desires. At its best, the religious life is understood as a school wherein its members, by their vows, might learn to desire — to love — well. It is not the only way, of course, but it is an ancient one, and sometimes admirable. This brings us to the heart of the matter, memory, which is a term that we use to describe much more than what we had for breakfast or
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Christ in chains to haul them before religious magistrates. Somewhere between Jerusalem and Damascus, he is blinded by light and hears a most amazing question: “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” He asks the voice to identify itself and Jesus says that it is him. But why did not Christ say why are you persecuting “my saints,” or “my servants,” “my people” or “my holy ones”? Why me? Augustine’s conclusion is that when Christ spoke to Saul he is saying the equivalent of “‘Why attack my very body, my limbs?” First, Christ took up the human cry on the cross and transfigured it, made it his own. But his cry did not end with resurrection and ascension. He cries out every time that one of his members is hurt or persecuted. Christ and us form one whole Christ. And inasmuch as you and I or any other member of Christ speaks or prays or desires or acts in him, we become ever more who we are; we are becoming Christ. Don’t miss that: We are becoming Christ. This is terribly exciting. We remember Christ in order to become him. It gives a whole new meaning to why and how we bother remembering at all. We remember Christ sacramentally by eating his body and drinking his blood. Augustine’s way of preaching that was “be who you are, become who you receive.” We remember Christ in the poor; they are Christ. But we cannot remember alone. We do it as Christ — as his very body. It is a way of recalling that moves us beyond ourselves moment after moment such that we might say with Augustine: “I could not have seen it myself if I had not seen it through the eyes of Christ, if indeed, I had not been in him.” By being members of the body, we learn to speak, see, smell, taste, and understand in ways that are characteristic of that body. One sees neighbors in need, one learns to speak the Word that leads beyond words, and one is transfigured into Christ. This essay is drawn from Kevin’s recent Father John Zahm Lecture on The Bluff. The Zahm Lecture honors the man who, as Holy Cross provincial in 1901, lent us books, money, and men to begin operations. Kevin, now a Gates Scholar at the University of Cambridge, is the author of You Have Redeemed the World and editor of the excellent Basil Moreau: Essential Writings.
PAINTING BY ERIC FEATHER
where we hope we left our car keys. Memory is a term for how you and I have any sense of a stable reality. Because, if the present is just an instant that is constantly slipping away, we have to stitch together our expectations of the future as well as our recollections of the past, to have any coherent account of who we are right now. “Memory” is part of our most intimate self; we are not who we are without it. And memory gives identity to desire. Memory is a way to participate in the past. That’s why attending a Jewish seder meal is about more than consistently eating bitter herbs for three millennia. It is about participating in the same freedom which God gave to his people in the Exodus. Or, in the case of Catholic Mass, the Eucharistic narrative of the last supper is a not a historical recreation
of the upper room in Jerusalem, but a present participation in the very same event on account of the substantial presence of the very same God. Remember Jesus’ few last words? Remember “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?” He’s remembering. He is not delivering a newly crafted line that will be quoted for all time. He is remembering the Psalms, and quoting the first line of a prayer he’d known his whole life. Yes, at the hour of his death, there was poetry on his lips... but what an odd thing to remember, isn’t it? And if Jesus was God, as we believe, how could he ask God a question? It would be like the divine aspect of Jesus and the human side were chattering among themselves. Or, as your theology professor Michael Cameron has put it, it could be like “divine ventriloquism” — divinity using humanity like a puppet. But no: as Saint Augustine, helpful as usual, points out, when Christ cries out in abandonment and commends his spirit to God, he has never stopped being the creator of the universe. He has taken up more than our skin — he’s taken up our life, our voice, and our death. He cries out in a human voice the sound of human agony at its very worst. Christ, who suffers unjustly, speaks in our flesh, in our words, so that we might speak in his. Suffering doesn’t disappear in our world. But no longer will the suffering of sinners ever be undergone alone. We will cry out in him, with him; when we suffer it will be in him, with him; when we breathe our last, yes, that too will be in him and with him. In that moment the cross became hope. But such closeness of our human with his divine could not even be conceivable unless... we remember. We remember Christ’s death not to hear a story, but to listen to him speak in our flesh — listen to him speak in us, uncomfortable though his words of agony may be. We remember so that we might then practice speaking in him: that whenever we might need to cry out “my God my God why have you forsaken me? ” it will be because our savior speaks and hears our cry with us. Not quite a decade later, Augustine works through another version of the same question of memory, when he heard the same Christ say, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” You know the story: a Pharisee named Saul binds the followers of
THE EXTRAORDINARY NOVELS OF THEIR FACES “I want to show people the things they can’t see, normally,” said the great Oregon photographer Brian Lanker, who died in 2011 at age 63. He shot just about every subject over his long career (during which he won a Pulitzer Prize), but we think his greatest gift was seeing and celebrating people and the extraordinary novels of their faces. The following pages, drawn from the fine new book of his work called From the Heart published by the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art (distributed by Oregon State University Press), feature an aboriginal man from Queensland, Australia, the legendary Oregon track star Steve Prefontaine, Oregon writer Ken Kesey, an Oregon “horse logger,” the remarkable Clara McBride Hale, who founded Hale House for the babies of young mothers with substance abuse problems in Harlem, and the great sprinter Wilma Rudolph, the first American woman to win three gold medals in the Olympics, and later a beloved teacher and coach. Brian was by all accounts a vibrant, funny, witty, generous, gracious, superb artist and man. Our prayers.
Into The Fire The lure and fear and love and fury of that which is aflame.
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very winter night of my childhood, my father built a fire. Each element of the evening’s fire was treated with care, with the caress of the careful man. The wood, the wood box, the grate, the coal, black poker, and shovel: he touched these more often than he touched me. I would hold back, watching, and when the fire was lit, plant myself before it and fall into a gentle dream. No idea was too strange or remote before the fire, no fantasy of shadow and light too bizarre. But for all the long hours I spent before his fires, for all the honeycolored vapors that rose like smoke from that hearth, these aren’t the fires of memory. They aren’t my father’s fires. When I remember fire, I remember houses burning, scorched and flooded with flame, and mills burning, towers of fire leaping through the night to the lumber nearby like so much kindling, and cars burning, stinking and black and waiting to blow. I loved those fires with a hot horror, always daring myself to step closer, feel their heat, touch. My father was a fireman. My submission to fire is lamentably obvious. But there is more than love here, more than jealousy — more than Electra’s unwilling need. It is a fundamental lure, a seduction of my roots and not my limbs. I am propelled toward fire, and the dual draw of fascination and fear, the urge to walk into and at the same time conquer fire, is like the twin poles of the hermaphrodite. I wanted to be a fireman before, and after, I wanted to be anything else. At odd times—during dinner, late at night—the alarm would sound, and my father would leap up, knocking
dogs and small children aside as he ran from the house. I grew up used to surprise. He was a bulky man, and his pounding steps were heavy and important in flight; I slipped aside when he passed by. The fire department was volunteer, and every fireman something else as well. My father was a teacher. We had a private radio set in the house, and we heard alarms before the town at large did. It was part of the privilege of fire. Before the siren blew on the station two blocks away, the radio in the hallway sang its highpitched plea. He was up and gone in seconds, a sentence chopped off in mid-word, a bite of food dropped to the plate. Squeal, halt, go: I was used to the series; it was part of our routine. Then my mother would stop what she was doing and turn down the squeal and listen to the dispatcher on the radio. His voice, without face or name, was one of the most familiar voices in my home, crowned with static and interruptions. My mother knew my father’s truck code and could follow his progress in a jumble of terse male voices, one-word questions, first names, numbers, and sometimes hasty questions and querulous shouts. She stood in the hallway with one hand on the volume and her head cocked to listen; she shushed us with a stern tension. She would not betray herself, though I knew and didn’t care; in the harsh wilderness of childhood, my father’s death in a fire would have been a great and terrible thing. It would have been an honor. The town siren was a broad foghorn call that rose and fell in a long ululation, like the call of a bird. We could hear it anywhere in town,
LEFT: PHOTOGRAPHER: VLADIMIR GODNIK/GETTY IMAGES. RIGHT: CORBIS IMAGES
By Sallie Tisdale ’83
PHOTOGRAPHER: DLEWIS33/GETTYIMAGES
everyone could, and if I was away from our house I would run to the station. (I had to race the cars and pickups of other volunteer firemen, other teachers, and the butcher, the undertaker, an editor from the local newspaper, grinding out of parking lots and driveways all over town in a hail of pebbles.) If I was quick enough and lucky enough, I could stand to one side and watch the flat doors fly up, the trucks pull out one after the other covered with clinging men, and see my father driving by. He drove a short, stout pumper, and I waved and called to him high above my head. He never noticed I was there, not once; it was as though he ceased to be my father when he became a fireman. The whistle of the siren was the whistle of another life, and he would disappear around a corner, face pursed with concentration, and be gone. Oh, for a fire at night in the winter, the cold nocturnal sky, the pairing of flame and ice. It stripped life bare. I shared a room with my sister, a corner room on the second floor with two windows looking in their turn on the intersection a house away. The
fire station was around that comer and two blocks east, a tall white block barely visible through the barren trees. Only the distant squeal of the alarm downstairs woke us, that and the thud of his feet and the slam of the back door; before we could open the curtains and windows for a gulp of frigid air, we’d hear the whine of his pickup and the crunch of its tires on the crust of snow. The night was clear and brittle and raw, and the tocsin called my father to come out. Come out, come out to play, it sang, before my mother turned the sound off. He rushed to join the hot and hurried race to flames. We knelt at the windows under the proximate, twinkling stars, in light pajamas, shivering, and following the spin of lights on each truck — red, blue, red, blue, red — flashing across houses, cars, faces. We could follow the colored spin and figure out where the fire must be and how bad and wonder out loud if he’d come back. There were times when he didn’t return till morning. I would come downstairs and find him still missing, my mother sleepyeyed and making toast, and then he would trudge in. Portland 32
Ashen and weary, my father, beat, his old flannel pajamas dusted with the soot that crept through the big buckles of his turnout coat, and smelling of damp, sour smoke. Prometheus stole more than fire; he stole the knowledge of fire, the hard data of combustion. I wanted all my father’s subtle art. I wanted the mystery of firewood and the burning, animated chain saw, the tree’s long fall, the puzzle of splitting hardwood with a wedge and maul placed just so in the log’s curving grain. I wanted to know the differences of quality in smoke, where to lay the ax on the steaming roof, how the kindling held up the heavy logs. What makes creosote ignite? How to know the best moment to flood a fire? What were the differences between oak and cedar, between asphalt and shake? And most of all I wanted to know how to go into the fire, what virtue was used when he set his face and pulled the rim of his helmet down and ran inside the burning house. It was arcane, obscure, and unaccountably male, this fire business. He built his fires piece by piece, lit each with a single match, and once the match was lit I was privileged to watch, hands holding chin and el-bows propped on knees, in the posture Gaston Bachelard calls essential to the “physics of reverie” delivered by fire. I build fires now. I like the satisfying scritch-scratch of the little broom clearing ash. I find it curious that I don’t build very good fires; I’m hasty and I don’t want to be taught. But at last, with poorly seasoned wood and too much paper, I make the fire go, and then the force it exerts is exactly the same. That’s something about fire: all fire is the same, every ribbon of flame the same thing, whatever that thing may be. There is that fundamental quality, fire as an irreducible element at large; fire is fire is fire no matter what or when or where. The burning house is just the hearth freed. And the firetrance stays the same, too. I still sit cross-legged and dreaming, watching the hovering flies of light that float before me in a cloud, as fireflies do. How I wanted to be a fireman when I grew up! I wanted this for a long time. To become a volunteer fireman was expected of a certain type of man — the town’s steady, able-bodied men, men we could depend on. As I write this I feel such a tender pity for that little, wide-eyed girl, a free-
roaming tomboy wandering a little country town and friend to all the firemen. I really did expect them to save me a place. Every spring we had a spring parade. I had friends lucky enough to ride horses, others only lucky enough to ride bikes. But I rode the pumper and my father drove slowly, running the lights and siren at every intersection and splitting our ears with the noise. We had firemen’s children perched on the hoses neatly laid in pleated rows, bathed in sunlight, tossing candy to the spectators as though, at parade’s end, we wouldn’t have to get down and leave the truck alone again. He would take me to the station. I saw forbidden things, firemen’s lives. On the first floor was the garage with its row of trucks. Everything shivered with attention, ripe for work: the grunt of a pumper, the old truck, antique and polished new. And the Snorkel. When I was very small, a building burned because it was too high for the trucks to reach a fire on its roof; within a year the town bought the Snorkel, a basher of a truck, long, white, sleek, with a folded hydraulic ladder. The ladder opened and lifted like a praying mantis rising from a twig, higher and higher. Above the garage was the real station, a single room with a golden floor and a wall of windows spilling light. The dispatcher lived there, the unmarried volunteers could bunk there if they liked; along one wall was a row of beds. No excess there, no redundancy, only a cooler of soda, a refrigerator full of beer, a shiny bar, a card table, a television. I guess I held my father’s hand while he chatted with one of the men. In the corner I saw a hole, a hole in the floor, and in the center of the hole the pole plunging down; I peeked over the edge and followed the light along the length of the shining silver pole diving to the floor below. I remember one singular Fourth of July. It was pitch dark on the fairgrounds, in a dirt field far from the exhibition buildings and the midway. Far from anything. It was the middle of nothing and nowhere out there on a moonless night, strands of dry grass tickling my legs, bare below my shorts. There was no light at all but a flashlight in one man’s hand, no sound but the murmurs of the men talking to one another in the dark, moving heavy boxes with mumbles and grunts, laughing very quietly with easy laughs. My father was a silhouette among many, tall and black against a nearblack sky.
Then I saw a sparkle and heard the fuse whisper up its length and strained to see the shape of it, the distance. And I heard the whump of the shell exploding and the high whistle of its flight; and when it blew, its empyreal flower filled the sky. They flung one rocket after another, two and four at once, boom! flash! One shell blew too low and showered us with sparks, no one scared but smiling at the glowworms wiggling through the night as though the night were earth and we the sky and they were rising with the rain. Only recently have I seen how much more occurred, hidden beneath the surface of his life. I presumed too much, the way all children do. It wasn’t only lack of sleep that peeled my father’s face bald in a fire’s dousing. He hates fire. Hates burning mills; they last all night and the next day like balefires signaling a battle. He hated every falling beam that shot arrows of flame and the sheets of
I wanted to know how to go into the fire, what virtue was used when he pulled the rim of his helmet down and ran inside the burning house. fire that curtain rooms. And bodies: I heard only snatches of stories, words drifting up the stairs in the middle of the night after a fire as he talked to my mother in the living room in the dark. Pieces of bodies stuck to bedsprings like steaks to a grill, and, once, the ruin of dynamite. When my mother died I asked about cremation, and he flung it away with a meaty hand and chose a solid, airtight coffin. He sees the stake in fire. He suffered the fear of going in. I was visiting my father at Christmastime, years ago, before he died. There are always fires at Christmastime, Summer 2016 33
mostly trees turning to torches and chimneys flaring like Roman candles. And sure enough, the alarm sounded early in the evening, the same bright squeal from the same radio, for a flue fire. There had been a thousand flue fires in his life. (Each one is different, he told me.) As it happened, this time it was our neighbor’s flue, across the street, on Christmas Eve, and I put shoes on the kids and we dashed across to watch the circus, so fortunately near. The trucks maneuvered their length in the narrow street, bouncing over curbs and closing in, and before the trucks stopped the men were off and running, each with a job, snicking open panels, slipping levers, turning valves. We crept inside the lines and knelt beside the big wheels of the pumper, unnoticed. The world was a bustle of men with terse voices, the red and blue lights spinning round, the snaking hose erect with pressure. The men were hepped up, snappy with the brisk demands. And the house — the neighbor’s house I’d seen so many times before had gone strange, a bud blooming fire, a ribbon of light, behind a dark window. Men went in, faces down. My father didn’t go in anymore. He’d gotten too old, and the rules had changed; young men arrive, old men watch and wait. He was like a rooster plucked. I live in a city now, and the firefighters aren’t volunteers. They’re college graduates in Fire Science, and a few are women, smaller than the men but just as tough, women who took the steps I wouldn’t — or couldn’t — take. Still, I imagine big, brawny men sitting at too-small desks in little rooms lit with fluorescent lights, earnestly taking notes. They hear lectures on the chemistry of burning insulation, exponential curves of heat expansion, the codes of blueprint. They make good notes in small handwriting on lined, white paper, the pens little in their solid hands. Too much muscle and nerve in these men and women both, these firemen; they need alarms, demands, heavy loads to carry up steep stairs. They need fires; the school desks are trembling, puny things, where they listen to men like my father, weary with the work of it, describing the secrets of going in. Sallie Tisdale ’83 is the author of many books, among them the Northwest classic Stepping Westward. This essay is excerpted from her new collection of essays, Violation, from Hawthorne Books in Portland.
Love, fire, fear, awe, love. By Madison Bowman
n the beginning, it was only music. That first day, I stretched my legs out on the cool tile floor of the empty chapel and watched his right hand flit over nylon strings while his left hand stroked at the neck of his cheap guitar. He touched me only once in the first nearly year and a half that I knew him; it was a handshake, firm and brief and introductory. Once when making a curry, I spent minutes mincing the celled flesh of a hot pepper, and for hours afterward, when I scratched my nose or brushed back my hair with those pepper-soaked fingers, any skin I touched turned fiery and produced a heat of its own. The second time David and I touched, it felt like that. Years earlier, I had followed a whim to a skydiving center, signed up for a jump, and found myself, almost as though I had just woken up there, crouching parallel to the open door of a light aircraft. I was not alone; my instructor was strapped onto my back, holding me in position. Do we jump? I yelled over the whoosh of the wind. We let ourselves fall, he responded, and tipped our bodies over the threshold, headlong into the rush. When I married David, and the question was asked of me, I said Yes, I said, my voice cracking like a beaten bell. And again: Yes. We married young, with faith-filled confidence and perhaps optimistic naiveté; then quickly we lost our nerve. We argued and second-guessed and wondered if we were a poor match, if hearts should be steadier. On holiday in Paris, city of lovers, we fought. “Did we jump into this too quickly?” I asked him, tracing the damp circles where raindrops had fallen on my sleeve. “No,” he said. “But I think we’re too quick to get scared by the weight of it.” When we returned from Paris, David took job in San Francisco. We packed our possessions into our car and drove to a new ocean across a vast landscape. Weeks later, in a muffled Summer 2016 35
morning full of fog, we walked straight west from our apartment until we reached the sea. Then we looked out on that bay of moving marble — the shift and the sway, the drift and the drown — and down we sank like anchors into the sand. “Has it been only a year?” he said. The day my son was born the midwife knelt at my shivering side and pressed her palm to the swell of my belly. This is the labor, she said. This is your work. From this you emerge a mother. I walked circles in the gathering dusk, traced prayers across the floor of a room made holy by the presence of an ancient anguish. We made our descent together, my baby and I; we wound our way down from Eden. A time to be born, says Ecclesiastes — oh, how we long to be born! Bones shift to make way, flesh rips, my body becomes pure yield, and I am delivered. My son was born and my body, having worked so diligently at openness, refused to close. My blood poured out and out, I wept blood, I leaked life, and the nurse pressed our baby into David’s arms and hurried him out into the hall where, he later told me, he heard them yelling we’re losing her!, and watched our son’s blinking and bewildered eyes. Our boy falls asleep only in our arms, his ear pressed to one of our chests, a pulse as his balm. As he drifts into sleep, we wind slowly around the room, lit by pinstripes of dusk through the blinds’ slats. We sing to soothe and to pass the time until his sleep is deep enough that we can ease him into the bassinet next to our bed without waking him before tiptoeing out of the room. While he is sleeping, we move gently, silently, speaking in whispers rooms away. We lie on the couch, pressed together, remembering our lives before him and before each other, how easy they were, how alone. We are in awe, of each other, of how existence comes about from a touch, how we are permitted these acts of creation, these eager leaps. Madison Bowman is a writer in New York; this essay is drawn from a longer work called Love: a Chiasmus.
PHOTO: KELLY DUFORT ’00
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tasting unique small batch beers brewed by UP alumni and friends. For more information and to RSVP, go to up.edu/alumni.
Reunion 2016: June 23-26
Join us back on The Bluff as we celebrate Pilots near and far. This year, we’ll be honoring all classes ending in 1 & 6, including the Class of 1966 as they join the 50-Year Club. We’ll also celebrate our Spanish study abroad programs, Pilots Baseball, the Chapel Choir, and Upsilon Omega Pi’s 65th anniversary. Register online at up.edu/alumni. Thank you to the following alumni for serving as honored year class representatives: 1966: Gail Gloden Richardson, Tom Eder, Ed Mosey, Jr., Patrick Berg 1971: Patty Rubin 1976: Dave Lyons 1981: Suzanne Taylor, Dan Malone 2001: Jennie Kuenz. Thank you too to Susan Sanders ’76 for organizing an Alaskan cruise for her classmates following Reunion.
Alumni Day at Portland Hops, July 17
Enjoy an afternoon of baseball with fellow alumni as the Hillsboro Hops take on the Everett AquaSox at Ron Tonkin Field on Sunday, July 17. Game starts at 1:05 p.m. Tickets are $20 per person and include food at a pregame BBQ and box seats. RSVP at up.edu/alumni. Thanks to the Portland Chapter for organizing this event!
Alumni Homebrewers Fest, July 23
Celebrate Portland’s vibrant homebrewing community by
Supper Under The Stars, August 13
Join us for a delectable, Mediterranean-inspired dinner alfresco. Prepared by our Bon Appétit chefs, this multicourse meal will feature the bright and bold flavors of the Mediterranean paired with local wines. $55 per person or $35 for GOLDs (Graduates of the Last Decade). Scheduled for Saturday, August 13 at 7:30 p.m. RSVP at up.edu/alumni.
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ership: Kamauri Yeh ’11 (president), Margaret Reilly-Bates ’92, Luke Kautzer ’07, Anna (Gullickson) Doerner ’09, Taryn Kuida ’09, Suzie Nguyen ’11. Washington, D.C. Chapter Leadership: Megan Olmstead ’07 (president), Jordan Sehestedt ’06, Becca Steele ’11, Brad Williamson ’10, Grace Reisling ’86. If you’re interested in getting involved in your local chapter, e-mail alumni@up.edu and we can help!
GOLD Tasting Series: Bushwhacker Cider, October 20 GOLDs (Graduates of the Last Decade) are invited to a guided tasting of ciders at Bushwacker Cider’s Woodlawn cider pub on Thursday, October 20, at 6 p.m. RSVP at up.edu/alumni.
More UP Regional Chapters Launched
Following the launch of UP Regional Chapters in Seattle, the Bay Area, Chicago, and Portland, four more chapters celebrated kick-off events this spring and summer. These events included a pa’ina (feast) in Hawaii, a rooftop happy hour in Washington, D.C., a service day in Los Angeles, and a Colorado Rockies game in Denver. Our chapter leadership teams have been instrumental in ensuring that these regional chapters are off and running. Thank you to the following alumni for your time and dedication: Denver Chapter Leadership: David Thompson ’10 (president), Julie Jacobson ’90, Andy Sherwood ’01, Kevin Fay ’02, Jocelyn (Sterling) Thompson ’10. Hawaii Chapter Leadership: Kimo Yamaguchi ’84 (president), Elle Uchida ’12, Lisa Timbancaya ’05, Jessica Mabanag ’12, Cori Goya ’12, Maile Kamisugi ’13, Evan Castro ’14. Los Angeles Chapter Lead-
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classmates, colleagues, and fellow alumni as well. Go to up.edu/switchboard to create an account and start connecting today!
Chef’s Table Dinner, November 12
After a year-long hiatus, Chef’s Table is back! Get a sneak peek into the inner workings of the Bauccio Commons kitchen as you dine on a multi-course meal prepared by Bon Appétit’s expert chefs and made with the finest, responsiblysourced ingredients. $85 per person. Limited to 20 participants. To reserve your seat, contact the Office of Alumni Relations at alumni@up.edu or 503-943-7328.
Pilot Perks Program Free To UP Alumni Theology On Tap, November 5
Join the Portland Chapter for a theological roundtable talk followed by trivia at Lucky Lab Brewery. More information to come at up.edu/alumni.
Sign Up for UP Switchboard
If you haven’t already (and plenty of UP alumni have), be sure to sign up for UP Switchboard, the University’s wildly successful social media networking platform. UP Switchboard is an online community for UP alumni, students, staff, and faculty who want to not only stay connected to their alma mater, but with their
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From bookstores to breweries, concerts to careers, hotels to happy hours, childcare to sportswear, the Pilot Perks Program offers exclusive benefits to UP alumni, both on- and off-campus, with partners across Portland. Membership to Pilot Perks is free to all UP alumni. Order your card at up.edu/ pilotperks. Discounts and special deals are available at the UP Pilot House Pub, Lardo, Grassa, Columbia Sportswear, Green Zebra Grocery, the UP Bookstore, Pittock Mansion, Pilots athletic events, Mago Hunt Center Theater productions, UP concerts, and much much more. Services include access to the University’s Clark Library, the UP Career Center, UP Switchboard, and Portland Center Stage. I If you want to be listed as a part of the program, e-mail a proposal to horlache@up.edu.
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The slender smiling gentlemanly John Burke ’40 is now 95 and a Waikiki resident, but he has a steel-trap memory: taking a street car, trolley, and bus to get to Columbia Prep; The Bluff when it only had three buildings and tuition was $100 a year; and being campus billiards champion from 1937 to 1939 (!). He lost his title when he was invited to the Naval Academy in 1940, though, and in 1943 he was assigned to the destroyer U.S.S. Renshaw in the Pacific. After the war he became an officer in the Civil Engineer Corps. Retired as a Navy commander; happily married to Betty for “fifty years, three months and twenty days,” until her death; and now much enjoys their three children, his beach apartment, and a lifetime’s fond memories: University president Father Mike Early (“who visited me at Annapolis”), campus legend Father John Delaunay (“who had me take notes for him in his philosophy class, because he never knew ahead of time what he was going to say,” and the demanding literature teacher Brother Norbert Henske (“my ability to write well began with Brother Norbert”). Time to write a memoir? “Maybe when I am 100.” — Hob Osterlund Summer 2016 37
C L A S S Fifty-Year Club
Joan F. Smith ’44 died on April 5, 2016, age 93, at her home in Lake Oswego, Ore. She was surrounded by her children and a dear friend. At 19, while on a business trip to New York, she met her future husband, Edward. They were married the following year and settled in the San Francisco Bay Area after World War II. In 1960, they moved to Lake Oswego. She was lovable, elegant, eccentric and always charming; very intelligent, quick-witted and generous, and happiest when having the chance to be around her family and children. Survivors include her children, Robin, Candace, and Philip; grandchildren, Kirsten, Christopher, Ian, and Harry; and great-grandchildren, Charles, Boden, and Fisher. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Remember, Class of 1946, that we are honoring you at this year’s Reunion, June 23-26, on the beautiful UP campus. We’d love to hear the latest on your families, careers, accomplishments, and more. Come back to The Bluff or drop a line to mcovert@up.edu or alumni@up.edu. The University has lost a true and loyal friend: Louis Fortino ’47 passed away on March 12, 2016, at his home, surrounded by family. Lou grew up in the Sellwood/Westmoreland neighborhood, and managed a crew of paperboys as well as delivering the newspaper himself to pay his tuition at the University of Portland. A World War II veteran, Lou served as a lieutenant on the U.S.S. Bladen in the battles of Okinawa and Iwo Jima. After returning from the war, he met the love of his life, Theresa Valentine ’44. They married and had five children: Frank, Margaret, Carol, Jeanine, and Mary. Lou worked at Allstate Insurance for 32 years as a Portland office manager and retired as a senior claims adjuster. He and Terry spent many wonderful years traveling the world, playing with their grandchildren, making wine, and of course, golfing. Lou was a man of strong religious principles, humility, generosity, and affection. He was an excellent role model to his children through his many volunteer activities with little league, Holy Trinity Parish, Paesano Club, St. Francis Food Hall, University of Portland Alumni Association, Meals on Wheels, and the Cedar Mill Library, just to name a few. Lou lived a long and purposeful life that touched many, most especially his bride of 68 years, his chil-
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dren, and grandchildren, Jason and Jordan Matin; Lauren, Jessica, and Lisa Fortino; and Louis, Cecilia, and Julia Atkins. Two grandsons, Louis Fortino and Max Atkins, predeceased him. In lieu of flowers, please make a donation to the Oregon Food Bank or St. Mary’s Home for Boys. Our prayers and condolences to the family. We take note of a recent and terrific article, “The Loprinzis: America’s Strongest Family Yes-
N O T E S John Miles Priel ’48 passed away on January 18, 2016, at home in Vancouver, Wash., with his family by his side. He served in the Coast Guard and after graduation he was hired at Equitable Savings and Loan in Portland as a loan interviewer. He retired as president of Community First Federal in 1986. He was very proud at being selected as Clark County’s “First Citizen” in 1981. John was president of the State
Going back to the Light in April: The wry witty gentle (yet merciless on the basketball court) Dan Harrington ’45 CP, ’50. He was a wonderful man and we will miss his quick grin in this world. terday & Today,” by Tonya Russo Hamilton, in the March 9, 2016 edition of L’Italo-Americano magazine. The title will no doubt jog the memory of those who knew the late Phil Loprinzi ’43, ’47, who spent decades on The Bluff as a faculty member and student-athlete. Phil’s brothers Sam, Joe, and Gus started the landmark Portland bodybuilding shrine, Loprinzi’s Gym, in 1948, and the gym is still in operation today. See the article (with a great photo of Phil pumping iron in Howard Hall) at http://www.italoamericano.org/story/2016-3-9/ loprinzi.
Savings and Loan Association League in 1983 and was named “Businessman of the Year” in Vancouver in 1984. Survivors include his wife, Norma Lee Hollenbach Priel; daughters, Jai Hari Kaur Khalsa, Joan (Claude) Blair, and Jean (Dave Orthmeyer) Priel; granddaughters, Betsy (Mike) Volm, Emilee Neyens, and Shabd Simran (Yinka) Adeniji; and four great-grandchildren, Parker, Mackenzie, Rylee, and Shohaila. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Nick Cassinelli ’49 died on May 4, 2016. Nick began driving a truck on his parents’ vegetable
Portland 38
farm when he was 8, and he sold thousands of log-hauling and other diesel trucks during his long career with Wentworth & Irwin, White Trucks, and Volvo. Nick enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Corps and flew B-24 bombers at bases in five states during World War II, achieving the rank of First Lieutenant. In 1952, Nick was introduced to Dolores Senti by her sister, Bernice, and they soon married. They had six children and celebrated 62 years together before her death in January 2015. A man who could fix anything and a wonderful provider for his family for 91 years, he kept their interests at heart throughout his life. He will be greatly missed. Survivors include his brother and sister-in-law, Leo and Dorothy Cassinelli; sister-inlaw, Bernice Sullivan Pluchos; children, Jim, David, Richard, Bob, and Ann Kinkley; their spouses; 15 grandchildren; and 11 great- grandchildren. His son, Michael, predeceased him. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Daniel J. Harrington ’50 passed away on April 21, 2016, at home in the presence of his family. He attended Columbia Prep, starring in football (quarterback), basketball, and baseball, and served as student body president as a senior. Dan attended the University of Portland (1945 to 1950), interrupted by a year of service in the U.S. Air Force in 1946. Dan married Anne Marie Zenner in October 1950, and later made their home in Eastmoreland, where their family grew to seven children. He was a humble, humorous man, a great provider, a loving husband and father, a deeply faithful Catholic, the best dancer at any party, a lover of sports, and he dedicated his life to the service of others. In 1952, Dan was one of eight UP graduates to co-found Blanchet House, dedicated to serving daily meals to those in need. Survivors include his wife of 65 years, Anne Marie; children, Janice McNamee, Michael, MaryAnne Ulring (Rich), Maureen, Daniel, Laura OKeefe (Jim), and Molly HarringtonPosner; 11 grand- children; and innumerable cousins, nieces, and nephews who all remember him for his sweet smile and impish Irish wit. Our prayers and condolences to the family. A note from Paul Della ’84: “Thank you for the nice picture and story on my dad, Angelo Della ’50, ’65 in the spring Portland Magazine. We
C L A S S got lots of calls and comments on it. One thing you should know is the date of death is incorrect; he died on October 29, not October 25.” Thank you Paul, we regret the error. Fred “Happy” Lee, Jr. ’50 passed away peacefully on March 30, 2016, surrounded by his family and beloved wife, Okhee, of 41 years. Fred was born in Astoria, Ore., on October 3, 1925. He was an Air Force veteran as a gunnery sergeant. After graduating from the University of Portland in 1950, he played semipro basketball in Hawaii and Asia. He moved his family to San Francisco in the late 1950s and founded Jetma Technical Institute, a correspondence school for gas turbine engines. Happy had a great passion for basketball throughout life. He is currently 10th on the UP Pilots scoring list for average points per game in a single season. He ended his illustrious career playing with his son and close friends at the Bay Club in San Francisco. He shared his basketball stories with his four kids, nine grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. His passion, animation, and beloved stories will be missed by all. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Richard Rowley ’50 died at his home on January 29, 2016. He served in the Pacific in the U.S. Marine Corps during World War II, from 1941 to 1945. He attended Columbia Preparatory and the University of Portland, earning an associate degree. He worked as a technician at Western Electric Corporation. Richard was preceded in death by his wife Regina. Survivors include his son, Michael, and one grandson. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Mary M. (Block) Dachsel ’51 passed away on February 12, 2016, surrounded by family. She was preceded in death by her husband, Walter. Millie was born in Bad Axe, Mich., and moved to Portland in 1941. Her UP nursing school classmates were a cohesive group and remained lifelong friends who enjoyed playing bridge and having luncheons together. Millie worked as a staff R.N. at Providence St. Vincent Medical Center, Providence Portland Medical Center, and at Northwest Nurses Association. She retired after suffering her first stroke. Millie and Walt participated in and helped facilitate a stroke support group, and became involved with an annual stroke camp where they made many new friends. Millie’s Catholic faith was an important part of her life. Survivors in-
clude her brother, Donald Block (Diane); sister, Beverly Boyd; and children, Sandra Hickey ’79 (Gordon), Nancy Wiedenmann (Kurt), Steven Dachsel (Jane), Michael Dachsel (Tye), and David Dachsel; ten grandchildren; and four great-grandchildren. Donations in Millie’s name may be made to the University of Portland School of Nursing or Housecall Providers hospice services. Our prayers and condolences to the family.
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N O T E S teaching awards and was named Spanish Teacher of the Year. He served as grand marshal at University of Portland graduations for many years, and will always be remembered for his infamous “blue lampshade” hat, worn as part of his academic regalia. He was the son of Diego and Maria who were immigrants from Spain. He was a remarkable man with a funloving spirit and had a great dedication and devotion to his
enjoyed cooking traditional Spanish dishes such as paella and flan. He was a member of the Oregon Electric Railway Historical Society. He is survived by many loving cousins and friends. Memorial contributions may be sent to the development office at the University of Portland, 5000 N. Willamette Blvd., Portland, Ore. 97203. Robert Mattecheck ’51 passed away on March 26, 2016. During college, he met the love of his life, Marianna Van Rooy, and they married June 9, 1951. Bob was commissioned as an officer of the U.S. Marine Corps, stationed in Quantico, Va.; Jacksonville, N.C.; and San Diego. They moved to North Bend in 1952 and built the Motor Vu Drive In and Sunset Theater and North Bend Lanes, which he owned and managed until his retirement in 2012. He is survived by his wife of 65 years, Marianna Mattecheck; children, Bill Mattecheck, Katy Thielen, Jim Mattecheck ’80, Mark Mattecheck ’84, and Pam Knell; 14 grandchildren; and two great-grandsons. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Kenneth Waldroff ’51 died on February 27, 2016. A man of many hats, he started the first marching band and symphonic orchestra for the newly built Sunset High School in Beaverton; he became a professor at Portland State University and director of continuing education; he worked for Oregon governor Tom McCall; he was a world traveler with Helen and his family; he was an outspoken Oregon Ducks fan, an avid sport salmon fisherman. His knowledge of music, instruments and the masters was amazing. He was a husband, dad, and Gil Frey ’54 has made a gift to the University for fifty grandpa before all else. Helen, years in a row. Why? Because the University gave him his beautiful wife for over 40 years, passed away 14 years a scholarship when he desperately needed it, as the ago. Survivors include his two daughters, Marie Hansen and youngest of 12 kids, no money in the family. Army Terri Waldroff; and grandchilveteran, Standard Insurance legend, married to sweet dren Molly Hansen Walker and Brady Waldroff. His grandgentle Joyce for 64 years, famous for his homemade daughter, Katie Hansen, predeblackberry jam. A generous man. Thank you, Gil. ceased him. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Bless you. Remember, Class of 1951, that we are honoring you at this Manuel Jato Macias ’51 passed students. His motto was “My year’s Reunion, June 23-26, on away on March 19, 2016. One greatest personal success is in the beautiful UP campus. We’d of the most beloved professors the success of my students.” love to hear the latest on your in University of Portland his- He was admired by both stu- families, careers, accomplishtory, Manuel was born in Port- dents and faculty. He was loyal, ments, and more. Come back land and earned degrees from kindhearted and generous. He to The Bluff or drop a line to the University of Portland, loved to travel and enjoyed mcovert@up.edu or alumNorthwestern University, and visiting family in Spain and ni@up.edu. the University of Madrid. He friends all over the world. He William “Bill” Thompson ’52 became a professor of Spanish was a fantastic cook and loved died on June 14, 2013, at his at UP and taught there for 36 entertaining his family and home in Umatilla, Ore., at the years, retiring in 1995. During friends with an enormous age of 82. He served in the Korhis career he earned numerous Thanksgiving feast. He also ean War and after his honorable Summer 2016 39
C L A S S discharge he returned to Umatilla. He owned and operated the Columbia Café Restaurant and bar in Umatilla and later worked for Lamb Weston. Bill loved living near the Columbia River, where he spent many years boating, fishing, and water skiing. He will be remembered for his gentle nature, generosity, loyal friendship, and his love of ketchup. Survivors include his wife, Lea Thompson; sons, Bill and Basil; daughter, Leah Thompson; and granddaughter Tiffany Pilcher. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Harris Kailianu Moku Sr. ’52 passed away on June 29, 2015, at Kohala Hospital in Hawaii. Harris was a retired schoolteacher, physical education teacher, and coach at Kohala High School and an Army veteran who served in World War II. He is survived by wife Vivian M.V., sons “Butchie” Jr. and Samuel, five grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Thomas Becic ’53 passed away on May 5, 2016. He was born in Portland to Croatian immigrants at their home in the Northwest section of town, then known as Slabtown. His boyhood home was in the shadow of the Vaughn Street Ballpark, where he and his Croatian friends spent many summers as clubhouse boys for the Portland Beavers, where his love of the game and skills were developed. Baseball and sports would become a defining part of his life. He went to the University of Portland on a baseball scholarship and after two years he turned pro with the Cleveland Indians. Tom spent three years in the majors and finished his teaching degree at UP. He had a successful 35-year career in the insurance industry; Tom was a charming guy who was loved and respected by all who met him, with both friends and opponents describing him as a gentleman. He enjoyed a wide circle of lifetime friends from his school days, college, baseball, volleyball, golf, and business. Tom passed away from natural causes with his wife by his side and surrounded by his children and brother. He is survived by his wife, Marilyn; children; and grandchildren, Steve Becic Jr., Abby (Becic) Wood, Matt Becic, Joe Becic, Melanie Becic, Nick Becic, Kealia Rosa and Kealani Rosa; and great-grandchild, William Wood Jr.; brother, John Becic ’52; and sister, Lucille Martin. Our prayers and condolences to the family.
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Gene Crew ’54 passed away on August 15, 2015. A prominent San Francisco antitrust trial lawyer, he was co-founder of the law firm Khourie Crew & Jaeger and after a subsequent merger remained a named partner at Townsend and Townsend and Crew – now Kilpatrick Townsend and Stockton. Gene was a tireless crusader for vigorous competition in a free market economy and a zealous advocate for progressive values in a democratic society. Historical victories included settlement of a California antitrust class action case against Microsoft Corporation
N O T E S topher Alan Crew. Our prayers and condolences to the family. We report the sad news that Jim Flynn ’55 died suddenly on March 12, 2016. “Jim was a star tennis player here,” notes editor Brian Doyle. “He was a stalwart on the undefeated tennis teams of the early fifties, and an active and engaged and funny and very opinionated alumnus who was often on campus and called me after every single issue of the magazine.” See Jim’s full obituary on this page. Our prayers. Gerald “Gerry” O’Neill ’55 passed away on March 6, 2016, at his home with his children
We report the sad news that Jim Flynn ’55 died suddenly on March 12, 2016. “Jim was a star tennis player here,” notes editor Brian Doyle. “He was a stalwart on the undefeated UP tennis teams of the early fifties, and an active and engaged and funny and very opinionated alumnus who was often on campus and called me after every single issue of the magazine.” See Jim’s full obituary on the previous page. Our prayers to his family and friends. in 2003 and he also obtained a trial verdict on behalf of the inventors of an energy saving technology that had been suppressed in the marketplace. Gene was passionate about the power of the written word whether it was a persuasive brief or the affection he expressed to his granddaughters in writing rhyming clues for a birthday treasure hunt. He is lovingly remembered by his wife, Robin (married 53 years); his daughter, Heather Crew Hermann; Heather’s husband, Chadd; and grandchildren, Megan and Kendall. Gene was predeceased by his son Chris-
by his side, after an ongoing bout with cancer. Gerry was a private man who did not want to bother people with his ailments; he was a jolly man who would rather have a beer and hear about your life. He attended Columbia Preparatory School on an academic scholarship, went on to graduate from the University of Portland, and followed with various graduate studies at Portland State University. Gerry was an Infantry Officer in the United States Marine Corps, serving with Battalion Landing Team BLT 3/3 in the Persian Gulf and with the 3rd Marines
Portland 40
in Japan and Okinawa. He spent 22 years in the manufacturing and construction industries. Survivors include his sisters, Peggy, Marjorie, and Jean; his children, Kelly (Damon), Sean (Kathryn); and his granddaughter, Becky (Lisa); along with many other extended family members. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Dr. Don Romanaggi ’56 was featured in a story, “Dr. Don Romanaggi: The Doctor with a Heart of Gold,” in the March 31, 2016 edition of L’Italo-Americano. The article details the good doctor’s generosity with the Providence Child Center, his Providence Child Center’ Foundation Heart of Gold Award, his life of service, and his beloved wife, Agnes Stoffel Romanaggi ’59, who passed away in 2008. See the article at www.italoamericano.org/ story/2016-4-13/romaggi. Frank Joseph, Jr. ’56 passed away on March 17, 2016, at the age of 83. A lifelong Portlander, Frank was a retired real estate broker. Survivors include his wife, Mickie; sons, Brian Taylor Joseph and Frank M. Joseph III; daughters-inlaw, Michelle Joseph and Teresa Joseph; grandchildren, Andy Joseph, Melissa Wheeler, Frank M. Joseph IV, and Mackenzie Joseph; and great-grandchildren, Frank M. Joseph V and Chloe Wheeler. Our prayers and condolences to the family. James Hamilton Crowell, Jr. ’56 died of lymphoma on April 13, 2016 in Wilsonville, Ore. After graduation from Columbia Prep, he earned his bachelor of science degree in architecture at the University of Oregon. He used that degree in his work as an inventor and innovator of Legos-like housing systems for emergency relief and refugees. He married Terri Lee Wahlberg in 1967, and they raised their children in Lake Oswego, Ore. He worked with the International Special Olympics Awards, and as a board member for Great Expectations and for the Home Builders Association. He is survived by his wife and children: biological sons ,James H. Crowell III and Jonathan Edward Crowell; foster sons, William Joseph Collins, George Paul Walberg, and Jeffrey Michael Drury; the four Wong children; and five grandchildren. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Remember, Class of 1956, that we are honoring you at this year’s Reunion, June 23-26, on the beautiful UP campus. We’d love to hear the latest on
C L A S S your families, careers, accomplishments, and more. Come back to The Bluff or drop a line to mcovert@up.edu or alumni@up.edu. Richard “Dick” G. Duncan ’58 passed away on February 29, 2016, in Vancouver, Wash., of natural causes at the age of 83. Survivors include his wife, Sylvia; six children; three grandchildren; two great-grandchildren; and many friends. Following high school, Dick served in the U.S. Navy during the Korean War. After his discharge he attended the University of Portland, achieving a bachelors degree in business. By the end of his working career, he retired as Chrysler’s leasing fleet manager for the Pacific Northwest. Dick was a lover of many interests including traveling, movies, music, exercise, cars of all types, jokes, fine wines, and interactions with everyday people. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Arthur Lyddon Hauge ’60 passed away on Easter Sunday, March 27, 2016. He was on active duty in the U.S. Navy from late in World War II through the Korean War, until 1957. He married Marie Phillips on March 10, 1952. They had eight children together and were happily married for 56 years until Marie’s passing in 2008. While caring for his ailing father and after his wife’s critical illness, he entered medical school at the age of 32, finishing at the top of his class at University of Oregon Medical School in 1962. Survivors include his sister, Dorothy McDonald (John); children, Betsy (Joe), Shirley (Greg), David (Suzy), Joe (Charlene), Tom (Yong), Peter (Caroline) and Kristina (Dan); and 11 grandchildren. He was preceded in death by Marie and his son, Joseph Russell. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Robert L. Belding ’61 passed away on March 5, 2016, after a 20-year battle with Parkinson’s disease. He is survived by his wife, Karen; and children, Angela, Michael, and Ryan ’95. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Nancy B. Davis ’61 passed away on April 10, 2016, surrounded by family. She worked over 25 years in the insurance agency founded by her father. Nancy had to overcome many health challenges, but responded with perseverance, tenacity, and impressive levels of positive thinking that helped her find a way to make the most of life. She was a woman of strong and unwavering faith
in God. She will be profoundly missed. Survivors include her brothers and sisters-in-law, Jim (Lois), Ken (Louise) and Dick (Cameron); nieces and nephews,Sarah, Matthew, Adam, Jonathan, Samantha, Alan, Blake, and Maril; and greatniece and nephew, Mina and Mason. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Remember, Class of 1961, that we are honoring you at this year’s Reunion, June 23-26, on the beautiful UP campus. We’d love to hear the latest on your families, careers, accomplishments, and more. Come back to The Bluff or drop a
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N O T E S Margaret; brother, Paul ’61 (Sylvia); children, Cathy Sowa, Michael (Mary), Mary (Kevin) Launer; Vicki (Tim) Hopper; Jeanne ’97 (Jim) Olson; 10 grandchildren; and 2 greatgrandchildren.” Thanks for letting us know, Jeanne, we are so sorry for your loss. Our prayers and condolences. A note from Mary (Schnorenberg) de Paor ’62, on the passing of her good friend and mentor, Manuel Jato Macias ’51: “Ah, I just googled to learn the sad news that Manuel died. I knew his birthday date, and had thought of him this morning (because the Feast of the
There’s nothing like seeing old friends and classmates and confidantes (like the late Fr. Pru, above) at Reunion, and it’s not too late to come home to The Bluff for this year’s event, June 23-26. We’ll honor class years ending in 1 and 6 and induct the Class of 1966 into the Fifty Year Club, celebrate our Spanish study abroad programs and Upsilon Omega Pi’s 65th anniversary, and much more. Register online at up.edu/alumni or give the alumni office a call at 503.943.7328. line to mcovert@up.edu or alumni@up.edu. A sad note from Jeanne Sowa Olson ’97: “Michael James Sowa ’63 died at the age of 75 on February 10, 2016. Mike was born on an Easter and died on an Ash Wednesday. He graduated high school at Mt. Angel Prep and earned a bachelor of business administration from U of P in 1963. Upon graduation he served honorably in the U.S. Navy. He married Mary “Margaret” Burpee on February 1, 1964. He was an active member of St. Luke’s Parish in Woodburn and later of St. Wenceslaus in Scappoose. Later in life he worked as a machine tool salesman and owned a shipping and copying store. Mike is survived by his wife,
Annunciation was celebrated ten days late this year since it had fallen on Good Friday). I hope his obituary/tribute won’t miss the spring edition of Portland, or perhaps a whole section will be reserved for the summer edition! MJM joined the teaching staff at UP the same year I entered as a freshman. I thoroughly enjoyed his classes and his larger-than-life style. We students (and Dr. Zancanella too) missed him the following year when he was teaching in Ashford, U.K. Later, during his jaunts to Europe, he included a couple short visits to my husband and me in Dublin, and in the U.K. He stayed in touch, even after his serious stroke in the late 1990s. No one’s academic career is a
Summer 2016 41
seamless joy, and I know MJM decamped to Lewis and Clark for a short period. But his love of the University of Portland overcame whatever issues had arisen, as is hugely testified by the remainder of his career, the number of scholarships he endowed, and the beautiful cruzeiro near the Clark Library. I will be walking along part of the Camino Francés for the next two weeks, and I’d planned to divert slightly near Ponferrada, to visit Villadepalos, the village from which Manuel’s parents had emigrated, I believe. I will still walk there, with fond thoughts of the colorful and kind professor who reinforced my love of the Spanish language and culture all those years ago.” Thank you Mary, we miss Manolo each and every day, too. We heard recently from Thomas J. Yager ’63, who writes: “I started my career at NASA Langley Research Center in June 1963, two weeks after graduation. I was approved to go to USAF OTS at Lackland AFB, Texas, but NASA gave me a strategic deferment so I never did have an Air Force career. My whole NASA career was spent at the Aircraft Landing Dynamics facility and I retired from civil service in January 2007. I was brought back in 2011 as a Distinguished Research Associate (DRA) to write the history of our test track facility, which was demolished last year due to lack of customers. I’m also involved in consulting work whenever the problem of tire/pavement friction performance needs a solution — it often leads to air and ground vehicle accidents. In this regard I have assisted the NTSB in over 40 aircraft accident investigation where loss of friction is a contributing cause. One of my earliest projects back in the 1960s was verifying that pavement grooving would minimize, if not prevent, tire hydroplaning and loss of friction. That work got me in the Space Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio. It has been a great career, and it continues.” The National Center for State Courts (NCSC) has selected Bob Maloney ’64 to serve on the executive committee of its lawyers committee. The NCSC is comprised of the chief justices of each of the 50 state Supreme Courts, general counsel from major companies, and generally two attorneys from each state. Its mission is to improve the administration of justice and maintain the independence of state courts throughout the country. The NCSC also serves as a national
C L A S S voice for the needs and interests of the state courts while promoting collaboration among national court associations and related national organizations.
Class You ?
of
’66, Where Are
We note a lack of submissions for the Class of 1966, which is a shame, really, since we’re honoring classes ending in 1 and 6 at this year’s Reunion, June 23-26 on the beautiful UP campus. We’d love to hear the latest on your families, careers, accomplishments, and more. Just drop a line to mcovert@ up.edu or alumni@up.edu.
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National Academy of Sciences. Hartmann, a professor of atmospheric sciences at University of Washington, is one of 84 new members and 21 foreign associates from 14 countries to be recognized by the NAS for their distinguished and continuing achievements in original research. Hartmann has been a member of the UW faculty since 1977, after earn-
N O T E S coordinating lead author of the most recent international assessment of global warming. Previous appointments include fellowships with the American Association for the Advancement of Science, the American Geophysical Union, and the American Meteorological Society. His other honors include the NASA Distinguished Public Service Medal and
’70 Remembering Patricia
Patricia Hélène MacDonald Hough passed away on March 11, 2016, at the age of 91. She earned degrees in education and nursing from the University of Portland, and taught at Good Samaritan Medical Center School of Nursing, becoming dean when the school merged with Linfield College to become Linfield-Good Samaritan School of Nursing. She married Edward Hough on April 22, 1952. Survivors include daughters, Mary Therese Marcy and Shauna Kathleen Ruscitti (Patrick); brothers, Hugh MacDonald (Olive) and Fred MacDonald (Mary Anne); grandchildren, Randy Hancock (Nicole), David Marcy (Mandy), Domonique Ruscitti (Tony Cannard), James Michael Lee (Rachel Drushella), and Rachael Hélène Lee; great-grand children, Addison, Aiden, Asher, Trinity, and Anthony; and numerous cousins, nieces, and nephews. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Alba Enriquez-Rager passed away on December 29, 2015, at St. Anthony Village Alzheimer’s facility in Portland. She was born in Cienfuegos, Las Villas, Cuba, the second of ten children. Alba married Paul Rager ’69 on December 27, 1969, at Blessed Sacrament Church. She worked in sales at Mervyn’s, resettled refugees with Catholic Charities, and was an assistant in the early intervention classroom at Clackamas County ESD. She was preceded in death by her son, Daniel. Survivors include her husband; sons, Paul Jr. and Alonso; four grandchildren; and siblings Maria, Ana Maria, Amelia, Agustin, Alonso, Ariel, Alberto, Amparo, and Angel. Our prayers and condolences to the family.
’71 A Most Distinguished Fellow
Dennis L. Hartmann has been elected as a fellow of the U.S.
on the Pilots basketball team at UP and graduated with a bachelor of arts degree in philosophy in 1971. He was a member of Sigma Tau Omega and editor and photographer for The Log. Gregg was the first Hedensten to earn a college degree, an honor he was very proud of. Upon graduation, he continued to work for Federal Sign, a summer job that led to a permanent position. He was most proud of working on the iconic 7-Up sign on NE Sandy Blvd. Over the years, Gregg transitioned into house painting and was self-employed. He gave his all overcoming many health challenges in recent years, using humor and the strength he received from his many friends. He celebrated his 67th birthday with friends and family just a week before his death, passing away on Valentine’s Day of natural causes resulting from a 2012 stroke. Survivors include his two sisters, Christine Hedensten ’72 and Erin K. Finklea; a nephew, Christopher Machorro; and niece, Katrina Machorro. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Remember, Class of 1971, that we are honoring you at this year’s Reunion, June 23-26, on the beautiful UP campus. We’d love to hear the latest on your families, careers, accomplishments, and more. Come back to The Bluff or drop a line to mcovert@ up.edu or alumni@up.edu.
’74 Sad News
It’s been too long since we indulged in a good round of “Name That Mystery Faculty Member,” for want of a better name. This young man came to The Bluff in 1977, and in the 40 years since became one of our most highly respected and beloved professors. He spent five of those years as dean of the School of Business, but is quick to admit his true love was always the classroom. Best guesses (and anecdotes) to mcovert@up.edu. ing his doctorate in geophysical fluid dynamics from Princeton University. He specializes in researching the atmosphere’s role in climate change and variability, and how the atmosphere interacts with the world’s oceans in a changing climate. His scholarship about the physics of greenhouse gases began in the early 1980s, and in 2013 Hartmann was a
the Carl-Gustaf Rossby Research Medal from the American Meteorological Society. Greggory W. Hedensten passed away on February 14, 2016, in Hillsboro, Ore., according to his sister, Christine ’72. He spent his elementary and junior high years in Corvallis, where he discovered his love for golf, baseball, basketball, and the clarinet. He played
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Archie Chan passed away unexpectedly on January 26, 2016, at his home in San Francisco, Calif. Son of Hong and May Chan; survived by brother, Clifford; sister-in-law, Donna; and nephew, Trevor. Our prayers and condolences to the family.
’76 In Memoriam
Joel Francis Peterson passed away on March 18, 2016. At 18, he enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps. As a corporal, he received a Meritorious Medal for his devotion to duty. Joel is survived by three children and one grandchild. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Kidney Program for our Veterans at the Veterans Affairs Medical Center, 3710 SW U.S. Veterans Hospital Road, Attention: Volunteer Services, Portland, OR 97239. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Remember, Class of 1976, that we are honoring you at this year’s Reunion, June 23-26, on the beautiful UP campus. We’d love to hear the latest on
C L A S S your families, careers, accomplishments, and more. Come back to The Bluff or drop a line to mcovert@up.edu or alumni@up.edu.
sea); grandchildren, Catherine and Alexandra Hunt; and siblings, Lawrence, Christopher, and Anthony. Our prayers and condolences to the family.
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N O T E S you should know is the date of death is incorrect; he died on October 29, not October 25.” Thank you Paul, we regret the error.
Thanks to a teaching career that spanned 33 years, Carol touched the lives of countless young people, primarily second and fourth graders. For nine years she held an important ’77 Honoring Rita ’79 Sad News ’86 Prayers, Please role in helping shape the eduThe Bonneville Power AdminPrayers, please, for Sandra Richard N. Fleck passed away cation of future Catholic priests istration presented one of its (Dachsel) Hickey on the death on April 14, 2016. He retired as a member of the Mt. Angel highest honors to Rita Copper- of her mother, Mary M. Dachsel at the rank of Major from the Seminary Board. She was one noll as part of the agency’s ’51, on February 12, 2016. Mary’s U.S. Air Force and is survived of the first three women to 2016 Administrator’s Excelsurvivors include her brother, by his wife, Patricia; daughters, serve on the board and comlence Awards program. The pleted her final term in 2015. annual program honors emSurvivors include her husband, ployees and members of the Francis; her three daughters public whose innovation, in,Judy (Steve) Carbone of Initiative, superior service, or dianapolis, Carolyn (Terry) courageous acts have made Connolly of Tigard, and Ruth exceptional contributions to (Philip) Wehby of Nashville. BPA’s mission, the electric Grandma Carol is cherished by utility industry, or their local Sarah, Abigail, Joseph, Maggie communities. Rita works as a and Rachael Wehby, and Mary supervisory electrical engineer Grace Connolly. She is also surat BPA’s Ross Complex in Vanvived by her brother, Kenneth couver, Wash., and received Wachter, of Salem and sister, the Administrator’s Employee Judith Lujan of San Francisco. Development Award. It recogCarol was always a picture of nizes superior contributions grace, even in adversity, and in the professional developmade the best of every situament of BPA employees or tion. That was tested mightily accomplishments in critical in 2002 when she lost both kidand strategic knowledge transneys due to an autoimmune fer. Award recipients were disease. She had to undergo nominated by their peers and dialysis for a year before she were evaluated on numerous was healthy enough to be concriteria such as excellence in sidered for a transplant. Her their chosen field, technical daughter, Carolyn, proved to achievement, community outbe a perfect match. Carolyn’s Home health nurse Terra Schultz ’96 studied sea reach, and service as “unsung generous donation in 2003 gave heroes.” Congratulations, Rita, lions at Willamette Falls, chinook in the John Day Carol nearly 13 more years to and consider yourself “sung!” share with Francis, her children, River, and steelhead in the Umatilla; then married; Dan Eagle ’77, ’78 has a new and grandchildren. She never job lined up: “I am completing then became a nurse in a neuroscience unit; and now took that gift for granted and my doctoral degree in psycho- is a home health night nurse. Tough brave bright considered herself very blesslogy at the University of Wised. And even in death, Carol young woman of whom we are very proud. consin-Madison and joining keeps on giving as an organ the faculty of the University donor. Our prayers and condoof Illinois College of Applied lences to the family. Health Sciences in August. In Donald Block (Diane); sister, Sandra and Kimberly; and son, addition to my teaching duties, Beverly Boyd; and children, Richard Jr. Our prayers and ’89 Build It And They I will be conducting research Sandra Hickey (Gordon), Nancy condolences to the family. Will Come with the Veterans Administra- Wiedenmann (Kurt), Steven Remember, Class of 1986, In the “Comes as No Surprise” tion in support of improving Dachsel (Jane), Michael Dach- that we are honoring you at alumni news category: Chris educational outcomes for sel (Tye), and David Dachsel; this year’s Reunion, June 23-26, Sperry has baseball at the Wounded Warriors.” The good ten grandchildren; and four on the beautiful UP campus. center of his professional and Dr. Eagle retired from the U.S. great-grandchildren. Our We’d love to hear the latest on personal life, as evidenced Air Force at the rank of Brig- prayers and condolences to your families, careers, accom- by his website, Baseball/Life adier General in November the family. plishments, and more. Come (http://www.sperrybaseball2010. back to The Bluff or drop a line life.com). What do they do? Thomas N. Hunt passed Class of ’81, Where are to mcovert@up.edu or alum- “Baseball/Life provides expert away on April 16, 2016, at his You? ni@up.edu. service to amateur baseball home. He served in the US We note a lack of submissions players and coaches who want Navy where he developed a for the Class of 1981, which ’88 Our Hearts Go Out to develop their respective love for sailing and the Hawai- is a shame, really, since we’re Prayers, please for Carolyn knowledge and skills. In addiian Islands. He met Margaret honoring classes ending in (Piatz) Connolly and Judith tion, through private family Ann (Peggy) O’Donnell on The 1 and 6 at this year’s Reunion, Piatz-Carbone ’85 on the death consultation and school/group Bluff, and they married on Au- June 23-26 on the beautiful UP of their mother, Carol Joleen presentations, B/L informs colgust 20, 1977 in Rancho Palos campus. We’d love to hear the Piatz, on February 29, 2016. A lege-bound athletes and their Verdes, Calif. After college, he latest on your families, careers, life-long Mt. Angel resident, families of the specifics related went to work for the Ford Motor accomplishments, and more. Carol was known far and wide to becoming and remaining a Company in Seattle before Just drop a line to mcovert@ for her welcoming smile, gen- college student-athlete,” that’s spending the bulk of his pro- up.edu or alumni@up.edu. erosity of spirit, kindness, grace, what. fessional career as general giving nature, love of family Melinda Helms and Sally manager of several Honda, ’84 Remembering Angelo and community and faithfulMcPherson eloped to Cannon Kia, and Nissan dealerships in A note from Paul Della: “Thank ness to God. She married anoBeach, Ore., on March 13, 2016. the greater Seattle area. Suryou for the nice picture and ther Mt. Angel resident, Francis vived by his beloved wife of 38 story on my dad, Angelo Della Piatz, on June 24, 1961. Their Class of ’91, Where Are years, Margaret (Peggy); sons, ’50, ’65, in the spring Portland loving marriage of more than You? Geoffrey (Stacey), Timothy Magazine. We got lots of calls 54 years produced three daugh- We note a lack of submissions (Becky), and Andrew (Cheland comments on it. One thing ters and six grandchildren. for the Class of 1991, which is Summer 2016 43
C L A S S a shame, really, since we’re honoring classes ending in 1 and 6 at this year’s Reunion, June 23-26 on the beautiful UP campus. We’d love to hear the latest on your families, careers, accomplishments, and more. Just drop a line to mcovert@ up.edu or alumni@up.edu.
’93 Flying The Friendly Skies
Paul Slawson writes: “When I left The Bluff in ’93 I had a dream of turning my love of flight into a career. Looking back, it seems I have succeeded beyond my expectations. In the past 20 years I have been to the far corners of the world and the hours and destinations can no longer be easily counted. I feel so fortunate to have seen and done so much. The ride has not always been smooth, but the view has been FANTASTIC. At the present, I am a 737 pilot for American Airlines. My wife and I live with our two children on a small farm built in 1861 near Chicago.” Thanks for the note, Paul, we’ll think of you when we look to the sky.
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Remember, Class of 2001, that we are honoring you at this year’s Reunion, June 23-26, on the beautiful UP campus. We’d love to hear the latest on your families, careers, accomplishments, and more. Come back to The Bluff or drop a line to mcovert@up.edu or alumni@ up.edu.
’03 Congrats, Fannings!
Great news from Christine (Banker) Fanning: “Check it out: my husband, Luke Fanning, was named one of Alaska’s Top 40 Under 40!” Sure enough, there he is, according to the Alaska Journal of Commerce, listed in an announcement of members of its 2016 Top Forty Under 40.
N O T E S Prayers, please, for Brianna Ruttkay on the death of her mother, Cecilia Ruttkay, on February 28, 2016. She passed away in the loving care of her family. She will be missed as a compassionate wife (50 years), mother, teacher (42 years) and friend who touched so many. Survivors include her spouse Tom Ruttkay, children Brianna and Bryan; and granddaughters Madison and Brooklyn Ballweber, plus a grandson on the way. Our prayers and condolences to the family.
’05 Top Honors For A Top Talent
The Pamplin School of Business is very proud to learn that one of its MBA alumni, Monica
’99 Sounds Like We’re In Good Hands
Shandi (Stracke) Treloar has been appointed to serve as private sector chair for the National Emergency Management Association (NEMA). Treloar will engage with emergency management leaders at federal and state levels and apply her knowledge and expertise in emergency management to provide a private sector perspective to committee discussions and deliberations. She will also assist in promoting the culture of the private sector in preparedness and resilient community-building efforts. NEMA is the professional association of emergency management directors from all 50 U.S. states, eight territories, and the District of Columbia.
’01 A Match Made In Heaven
We heard recently from Jennifer Goff, who writes: “Yay, marriage! In December of 2015, I married Brian Scruggs in Ann Arbor, Mich. Though we were primarily surrounded by family and graduate school friends, one stalwart Pilot (Holly Ellis) and her husband managed to make the trek, bringing high-tech greetings from two absent cohorts (Patrick Rafferty and Ricardo Delgado ’02)! We and our four cats live in Maryland where both humans teach at Frostburg State University.” Congratulations, human Scruggses, and thanks for writing!
’07 Teaching For All The Right Reasons
We heard recently from Ruth (Gilliam) Exley, who writes: “David Exley graduated in 2007 with a B.A. in history and a minor in education. He got his MAT at UP and just finished his dissertation as a member of the University’s first-ever doctoral cohort in education, which evaluated teacher retention in Pacific Alliance of Catholic Educators (PACE), a teacher residency based program at UP. The study is really interesting and shows that retention in PACE is very high compared to other programs, and PACE program participants credited their desire to serve as the number one factor that drove them to stay in the profession. This really goes to show how the University’s mission of teaching, faith, and service drives students’ careers, even the most challenging: teaching. While many teachers quit after year 2, UP students go on to years 4, 5, and beyond. They are motivated by something bigger, and their faith community is their foundation. David is currently teaching middle school language arts at Cathedral School in Portland. I met David when he was a Villa Drum Squad kid cheering for me on Merlo Field!” Thanks for sharing, Ruth, this story is inspiring on so many levels.
’08 Bethany Herman, Come On Down! Born to assistant women’s soccer coach and former star midfielder Lisa Sari Chambers ’07: a second son, Sullivan, here being happily mauled by his brother Rimes. Welcome, tiny Pilot. Photo by emilygphotography.com. “We have a tremendous class once again representing the best of Alaska from the private, public and nonprofit sectors featuring diverse backgrounds around the state,” said Journal managing editor Andrew Jensen. “It’s an honor to recognize the people who will be leading influences in the future of Alaska.” The group was selected by Journal management out of nearly 130 nominations with members from Anchorage, Dillingham, Fairbanks, Kodiak, Kotzebue, Juneau, Kenai, Seward and North Pole. Luke is vice president and regional branch manager for First National Bank Alaska, Juneau. Congratulations Luke, and thanks, Christine!
Enand, was named Executive of the Year at the Small Business Innovation Awards held in November 2015 by the Portland Business Journal. Monica’s company, Zapproved, was also named Company of the Year for 2015.
Class You?
of
2006, Where Are
We note a lack of submissions for the Class of 2006, which is a shame, really, since we’re honoring classes ending in 1 and 6 at this year’s Reunion, June 23-26 on the beautiful UP campus. We’d love to hear the latest on your families, careers, accomplishments, and more. Just drop a line to mcovert@ up.edu or alumni@up.edu.
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Bethany Herman was on The Price is Right, and friends and classmates can see for themselves at http://tinyurl. com/zahe279. Apparently the show’s producers look for audience members who demonstrate lots of energy, and Bethany didn’t disappoint. The show aired on March 2, 2016. Jessica Lewicki has joined the law firm of Williams Kastner in their Portland office. She will work in the firm’s business litigation group, focusing on products and premises liability defense. Jessica holds a J.D. from the University of Kansas and is admitted to practice in Oregon. Prior to joining Williams Kastner, she clerked for the Honorable Judge Katharine Weber at the Clackamas County Court.
’09 A Gaggle
of
’09ers
We heard recently from Kyle Hill, who writes: “On July 18th, 2015, Molly Weisbeck and I tied the knot at St. Aloysius Church in Spokane, Washing-
C L A S S ton. Even though we were in Zags territory, the Pilots were well represented! We are grateful to have stayed close with many UP alumni. Our guests included Jena (DiTomaso) Kress, Maddie (Fisher) Huttash, Kristina (King) Dammrose, Karen Garaventa, Nick Calais, Kaylyn Devlin, Kaila Diehl, Jill King, Elisha Kirsch, Jackie Fisher, Jeremy Fisher, Berko Hernandez, Felix Hernandez, Jennifer Hernandez, Shaun Flerchinger, Katie Mitchell Franz, Krystle (Hass) Flerchinger, Aaron Bonck, Doug Franz, Steve Hallstone, Kyle Kirsch,and Shawn Patterson.” Congratulations to Kyle and Molly, you certainly had those Zags outnumbered on your big day.
on the beautiful UP campus. We’d love to hear the latest on your families, careers, accomplishments, and more. Come back to The Bluff or drop a line to mcovert@up.edu or alumni@up.edu.
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N O T E S ’16 Please Stay!
Khalid Khan, who hosted the event. Zellerhoff won over six other presenter teams and individuals from Portland State University, Oregon State, and Washington State UniversityVancouver, including master of science and Ph.D. degree ’12 Those Who Serve candidates. Her talk was on a A note on Sean Peter Beckman, material called Nitinol, a shape whose father, Steve, is a 30-year memory alloy used in many career military man (retired applications, including the Colonel, U.S. Army): “Sean just biomedical field — it is used in finished his first tour at Ft. stents for clogged arteries and Bliss, Texas, and is heading off other applications. to his Infantry CPT course at Shannon Danforth is heading Ft. Benning, Georgia. Hard to off to Michigan to get a Ph.D. believe it has almost been four in structural civil engineering. years since he graduated. He’s Among her parting accomplishnow an Army Captain, and an ments: Shannon was on a team Infantry, Airborne-Ranger that won 4th place at the Steel (who, like his dad and brother, Bridge Competition at University of Idaho, an annual na’10 A Doctor In The House tional bridge building competiJames Mahoney writes: “I gradtion. She helped weld a model uated from UP in 2010 with a bridge together (under a tickB.S. in secondary education. I ing clock) and it held 2,500 lbs. then started graduate school Now there is a useful skill. at Portland State University, Seven UP alumni have been earning an M.S. in mathematawarded 2016 Fulbright grants ics in 2012 and continuing on to work and study abroad into a doctorate program there. through English Teaching This June I will be awarded Assistantships (ETAs) to couna Ph.D. in mathematical scitries in Europe, Asia and Mexiences. I started dating Brigette co. The 2016 recipients include Schoenheit in 2008; we became Caroline Harpster (Germany), engaged in May of 2015 and Kristen Jakstis (Germany), Erin will be getting married in July Nishijima (South Korea), Jonaof this year. We will be moving than Squires ’13 (South Korea), to Maryland later in the sumKatherine Lord (Malaysia), Josemer, where I will begin a job fina Duran-Martinez (Mexico), as a mathematician. We’re both and Emily Dovel (Turkey). sad to be leaving our friends Okay, Class of 2016: We and family in Oregon, but we’re know you just recently gradexcited for all of our upcoming Amy Evans ’10 and Jesse Boal ’11 were married last uated and are now off in the opportunities.” Congratulations summer in Bend, Oregon. “We met on our study abroad real world working and getting on all counts, James and Briand starting families trip to London in 2009, Jesse proposed after we finished married gette, and keep us in the loop on and maybe just taking a little those upcoming opportunities. a triathlon in Wallowa, and now I teach fourth grade in breather from deadlines and Prayers, please, for Carolyn Vancouver, Washington, and Jesse works for a financial term papers and class projects Borsch and her family on the and internships and clinicals firm in Portland.” All best wishes, newlyweds. death of her father, Joseph and Capstones and all those Borsch, on February 10, 2016, sorts of things, but maybe, just in Tigard, Ore. He joined Portmaybe, you’re feeling a little has been to Afghanistan). UP freshman, editor of the whole homesick for The Bluff? Come land Radio Supply after being empanada as a senior. Over- on, admit it. This was your discharged from the U.S. Army was so right for him. Back in 2008, a young Sean with Peter saw a very fine yearbook, but home for four years at least. If and worked in their service Frampton locks said, “Dad, even better perhaps managed that’s the case, why not come department. He purchased her staff with aplomb and hu- to Reunion, June 23-26, and the company with two other I want to do ROTC and be a soldier.” He did and he is. He mor and honesty. Maintained see how the campus and your employees around 1960. He an excellent record as a student classmates have changed? Find became the sole owner in the chose UP despite its being an ocean and a continent apart (theater and communication late 1970s, and sold the busiout more at alumni.up.edu or ness in 1993 so he could start (I was a brigade commander in studies, E-scholar, study abroad, e-mail alumni@up.edu. chapel pianist, admissions tour Borsch Electronics at his home Europe at the time) and has thrived ever since. Thank you, guide, and more). The sort of Faculty, Staff, Friends in Tigard. Survivors include UP.” student, as Log advisor Rachel It’s that time of year once gain, his wife, Lucille; sons, Peter Mills says, “that you absolutely when longtime stalwarts of the and Gregory; daughter, Car’14 We Expect Big Things! hate to see graduate.” Tori’s olyn; and brother, Bill. Our UP faculty cause campus-wide Kate (Wortman) Fifield has been own advice on how to be a prayers and condolences to gasps of disbelief by announcnamed Regional Manager of good editor: Say this a lot: “If ing their intention to retire. This the family. the Year by the Pacific North- you need anything, I’m here to spring we pay adieu to Robert west region of Alpha Kapp Psi help.” Bob would be delighted “Coach Bob” Butler, environmen’11 Wedding Bells Bryce Bertolin married Madison professional business fraternity. by this young lady. tal sciences, 12 years; Howard See more at akpsi.org/. Mechanical engineering se- Feldman, business, 25 years; Stroup ’10 on August 8, 2015. nior Victoria Zellerhoff won first Drew Harrington, Clark Library “We had over 25 UP alumni at ’15 Welcome Back! prize at the American Society dean, 10 years; Rev. Thomas our wedding,” writes Bryce, for Metals (ASM) Student Pre- Hosinski, C.S.C., theology, 38 “and we all love the University.” Ruby Machado has been hired as assistant hall director for sentation Night on Tuesday, years; Lawrence Lewis, business, Remember, Class of 2011, Fields Hall beginning with the April 19, according to UP me- 15 years; and the inimitable Jim that we are honoring you at chanical engineering professor Seal, business, 39 years. this year’s Reunion, June 23-26, Fall 2016 semester. Kelin Carraher will serve as assistant hall director in Kenna Hall beginning with the Fall 2016 semester. Johah Grahek will start his job as assistant hall director in Shipstad Hall beginning with the Fall 2016 semester. Winner of the annual Bob Boehmer ’47 Award for creativity and calm amused grace in student media: Tori Dunlap of The Log, the student yearbook. By all accounts the hardest and most meticulous of workers, always with a smile, and with a welcome maturity and humility that are sometimes rare feats for someone so young. Four-year laborer on The Log — staff writer as a
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C L A S S Rev. Joe Corpora, C.S.C., former director of UP’s volunteer services office (now the Moreau Center), received Pope Francis’ commission as a Missionary of Mercy on Ash Wednesday 2016 in Rome, Italy. To say this was a highlight of his life and ministry would be an understatement, as set forth in a terrific article Fr. Joe wrote for Notre Dame Magazine. See the article at https://magazine.nd.edu/news/65182. Notre Dame Magazine has asked Fr. Joe to write periodic articles over the course of the Year of Mercy about his experiences as a Missionary of Mercy. Not much escapes the everwatchful Karl Wetzel, who writes: “Even without the use of my oft-employed magnifying glass to tease details out of an old photo I have determined that Lou Masson won the race in which he was competing in the photo on page 46, Portland, Spring 2016. One sees a thin red string just ahead of him as he strides down the track marking the finish line. I am familiar with the use of string as an economical and ever-ready substitute for the tape at the end of races, but in my case those events were only in high school. So, one broke the string, not the tape. Hats off to Lou, too, for running during the summer and, at age 19, probably post high school. I was never so motivated; for me competitive running stopped in May 1954. Ahh, youth!” Thanks Karl, Sherlock Holmes has nothing on you. Stories started streaming in as word made its way around the University on the passing of beloved Spanish professor Manuel Macias on March 19. His longtime colleague and friend, business professor John Goveia, shared the following: “After Manny had his stroke years ago I visited him at his recovery facility on SE Stark street. Karl Wetzel told me he probably would not talk but he could listen, smile, nod his head, and would certainly enjoy a visit. So I thought it would be a good idea to bring my eight-pound Maltese whose name was Kylie. Well, Kylie could count to four (by barking), and Karl will attest to that! I mainly did a monologue and told Manny about biking the El Camino in Spain, trips to the Galapagos and Patagonia — all Spanish speaking places. And Karl was right, Manny mainly smiled and nodded his head. Then something unexpected happened. “I had to show Manny the counting dog demonstration. I took Kylie out of Manny’s
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lap, put her on the floor, and said, ‘Kylie, two!’ Kylie barks twice. Then someone says, ‘I hear a dog!’ Soon the room is full of other patients wanting to see Kylie perform. Manny is now beaming and Kylie is loving it. Eventually I ran out of treats, and Kylie will not work for nothing. Shortly thereafter we departed, but left Manny with a room full of his new friends. It was a totally positive experience for all.” Thanks John, one story down,
N O T E S cancer. Eventually he bought out his father’s silent partners and changed the name from Willamette Western to Reidel International to reflect his ownership and the company’s increasing construction business overseas. The company built the I-205 bridge spanning the Columbia River; built the approaches on the Fremont Bridge spanning the Willamette River; conducted major work on most of the bridges in Portland; and many
Kate Hummel ’00 served in the Peace Corps (Gabon), NATO (Brussels), the World Food Program (Rome), and the United Nations Organization for Education, Science, and Culture (UNESCO) before her current posting with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, the UN’s refugee agency. Why the UN? “Because we save lives,” she says eloquently and bluntly. “We give futures. We give hope. We foment joy.” Amen to that. about a million to go. We sure miss Manny. Arthur “Art” Reidel, a longtime friend and industrial neighbor of the University, passed away on February 25, 2016, at Providence St. Vincent Medical Center, after a lengthy stay ana courageous battle fighting the side effects from radiation therapy for prostate cancer 25 years ago. Art joined his father’s“dinky little tug and barge company,” Willamette Tug and Barge, when his dad was diagnosed with colon
other construction jobs in the Western states. Reidel landed the dredging contract with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers when Mt. Saint Helens erupted in 1980; the company had 14 dredges on the rivers clearing the shipping lanes. Art’s brightly painted tugs could be seen on the Willamette and Columbia rivers and San Francisco Bay; there was even one in a Kellogg’s Raisin Bran commercial, they were so colorful. He supported the Salvation Army, Boy Scouts of America, the
Portland 46
American Cancer Society, the Oregon Maritime Museum, and others too numerous to mention; he was a life trustee of Lewis & Clark College and a member of the Presidents Circle at Portland State University. Art was a force to be reckoned with. He questioned everything, wouldn’t take no for an answer, and never gave up. He will be greatly missed by many. Survivors include his loving family: wife, Janet Reidel; son, Jim Reidel; daughter, Christina Semerad; stepdaughter, Lesley Broyles and husband, Jeff; grandchildren, James and Taylor Reidel, Samantha Songer, Cassidy Semerad, and Elena, Sam and Jake Broyles; niece, Gretchen Morehouse; and nephews, John, Jim, Jeff and Hank Harder. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Ena J. Sandstrom, widow of University of Portland School of Business dean Edward J. Sandstrom ’37 (1952-1957), passed away on March 26, 2016. She was born in England and built Lancaster bombers during World War II; she met Edward during his service in the U.S. Army Air Force and they wed in June 1945, and Robert Capa was their wedding photographer. Edward passed away in 2010 after 65 years of marriage. Survivors include her brother, Bernard Rilatt; children, Robert, Bernard, Karl, John, Kathryn Gutowski, and Patricia Burke; 14 grandchildren; and one great-grandchild. Our prayers and condolences to the family. The University’s Faculty Awards were presented on Tuesday, May 3, at the Faculty Awards Dinner, with the following results: The James Culligan Award, established in 1953 in memory of a dedicated servant of the University and presented annually to a faculty member in recognition of distinguished service, was presented to Elise Moentmann, history. Winners of the Culligan Award wear the medal with their academic regalia, as a sign of the University’s highest faculty honor. The Deans’ Award for Faculty Leadership, presented annually to a tenured faculty member who exemplifies, in an extraordinary way, the qualities of teaching and scholarship described in the University’s Articles of Administration for appointment, advancement in rank, and tenure, was presented to Laurie McLary, international languages and cultures. The Outstanding Teaching Award, presented
C L A S S
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N O T E S
A note from Salzburg instructor Rene Horcicka, who writes: “Greetings from Salzburg! Here is a group photo from this year’s farewell barbecue with students, faculty, alumni, family members, and also several Syrian/Afghan refugees I introduced to the group in GEO 391, when we talked about the refugee crisis in Central Europe. Frau Sigrun Loos is in the middle of the group with a bouquet; she resigned from lecturing at the end of this year’s program. Frau Loos is turning 82 in fall and has offered to introduce us to a new fine arts lecturer with high potential, but we all know she has big shoes to fill.” To help with scholarships for Salzburg, e-mail Kara McManus at mcmanusk@up.edu. I hope that all is going well for you at the homecampus and am looking forward already to seeing you back in Salzburg with a future summer Program. annually by the University’s Committee on Teaching and Scholarship to a faculty member who is a particular exemplar of the University’s commitment to superb teaching, was presented to Hannah Callender, mathematics. The Outstanding Scholarship Award, presented annually by the University’s Committee on Teaching and Scholarship to a faculty member who presents unusually significant and meritorious achievement in professional scholarship during the past two academic years, and whose work substantively enhances the effectiveness of his or her classroom teaching, was presented to Elinor Sullivan, biology.
Deaths
Joan F. Smith ’44, April 5, 2016, Lake Oswego, Ore. Louis Fortino ’47, March 12, 2016, Portland, Ore. John Miles Priel ’48, January 18, 2016, Vancouver, Wash. Nick Cassinelli ’49, May 4, 2016. Daniel J. Harrington ’50, April 21, 2016, Portland, Ore. Fred “Happy” Lee, Jr. ’50, March 30, 2016. Mary M. (Block) Dachsel ’51, February 12, 2016. Manuel Jato Macias ’51, March 19, 2016. Robert Mattecheck ’51, March 26, 2016. Kenneth Waldroff ’51, February 27, 2016. William “Bill” Thompson ’52, June 14, 2013, Umatilla, Ore.
Harris Kailianu Moku, Sr. ’52, June 29, 2015, Kona, Hawaii. Thomas Becic ’53, May 5, 2016. Gene Crew ’54, August 15, 2015. Jim Flynn ’55, March 12 ,2016. Gerald “Gerry” O’Neill ’55, March 6, 2016. Frank Joseph, Jr. ’56, March 17, 2016. Richard “Dick” G. Duncan ’58, February 29, 2016, Vancouver, Wash. Arthur Lyddon Hauge ’60, March 27, 2016. Robert L. Belding ’61, March 5, 2016. Nancy B. Davis ’61, April 10, 2016. Michael James Sowa ’63, February 10, 2016. Patricia Helene MacDonald Hough ’70, March 11, 2016. Greggory W. Hedensten ’71, Feb-
Summer 2016 47
ruary 14, 2016, Hillsboro, Ore. Archie Chan ’74, January 26, 2016, San Francisco, Calif. Joel Francis Peterson ’76, March 18, 2016. Thomas N. Hunt ’77, April 16, 2016. Richard N. Fleck ’86, April 14, 2016. Carol Joleen Piatz, mother of Carolyn Piatz Connolly ’85 and Judith Piatz-Carbone ’85, February 29, 2016, Mt. Angel, Ore. Cecelia Ruttkay, mother of Brianna Ruttkay ’03, February 28, 2016. Arthur “Art” Reidel, longtime UP friend, February 25, 2016. Ena J. Sandstrom, widow of Edward J. Sandstrom ’37, March 26, 2016.
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T R A V E L L E D
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R O A D S Neal Hook ’49: “I joined the U.S. Army in February 1943. Infantry. The infantry made up 10% of the troops in the war and suffered 70% of the casualties. In my company of 200 men, 30 were killed and almost all of us wounded. My best friend Lucas was killed. I was on the islands of New Guinea, Morotai, and Mindanao. I wasn’t scared; I was terrified. A soldier whose name I did not even know was killed beside me. I was hit in the chest. Still carry those shrapnel scars today. When the war ended, many of the enemy were in the mountains. They built flimsy rafts and floated down the river to surrender. We really appreciated Harry Truman ordering the dropping of the atomic bomb. We were to land near Tokyo in the invasion, and we had already been told the Allies would lose thousands of lives. That would be us. Thanks to Uncle Sam, I went to college at the University of Portland, and then taught school until retirement, and I was blessed with a wife and four children. World War II was necessary, but some of the rest of our wars were not. It would be nice if the politicians served overseas and our young men stayed home.”
Portland 48
ADIOS, MANOLO
Here are some true things about Manny Macias. He was the son of penniless Spanish immigrants from León. He earned his bachelor’s and master’s degrees on The Bluff while working at Safeway to pay his fees. He was a legendary professor of Spanish here, from 1958 until he retired in 1995. He had one of the most epically messy crowded faculty offices of all time. He happily wore the brightest most outlandish clothes possible; you could go blind staring at his neckties alone. He had a life-sized poster of Mae West in his office. He won honors as the University’s best teacher and as the best college language teacher in Oregon. He was a glorious composer of savory paella and astounding sangria. He never married. He had no children. He suffered a terrible stroke in 1998 and worked ferociously to regain his mind and voice. He died on March 19 of this year, a week from his 87th birthday. But those are mere facts. You never met a more cheerful generous gracious entertaining humble soul in your life. Every student was his son or daughter. He gave the University his books. He gave the University the lovely granite crucifix that stands next to the library. He gave the University money to build the Chapel of Christ the Teacher. He gave the University money to buy the Saint Junipero Serra bell (413 pounds, key of D) in the Bell Tower. He gave the baseball team money. He gave this magazine money. He endowed one scholarship for students in 1993 and then another and another and now there are nine full scholarships by his hand, named for his parents and brothers and friends. Nine. Nine kids a year breathe easier financially because of a grinning generous man who loved the University and its endless possibilities. Nine students a year pray silently for that wonderful man, who gave so profligately of his humor and humility and pay and paella. More than a hundred students have had their lives changed by his generosity. He would be embarrassed that we say so, but we say he was a great man. If you’d like to sing him too, or start a scholarship, we would be honored and grateful. Call Kara McManus at 503.943.7460, mcmanusk@up.edu. And thanks.
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EL PRESIDENTE
NACHO AVERAGE PRESIDENT Most entertaining among many lovely sculptures, paintings, and photographs in a show of student art this spring was this bright painting of University president Father Mark Poorman, C.S.C., by Sara Ghyselinck, Evan Gilhula, and Rebecca Cuddihy, from their Fine Arts 391 class. Turns out they knew somehow that Father Mark is a total Taco Bell nacho nut (his favorite order is the nachos average, thus the title, “which I am going to take as a compliment,” he says), and thus the painting celebrating this. Price of the painting? “We can negotiate over nachos at Taco Bell with Father Mark.” How often do students do paintings of the president so as to be able to wangle the president into buying them nachos? Not so often. And it worked. Father Mark will buy them lunch in September.