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Cover: The University’s lovely bell tower, in colored glass, by Renee Straube, an art teacher at nearby Roosevelt High School. Photo by Adam Guggenheim.

I was in a gymnasium recently with a gaggle of very small boys, watching them shoot around wildly and giggledly before their basketball practice, when I saw a tiny not tiny moment which I find, weeks and weeks later, unforgettable. Why is it that the slightest things are the ones we remember best in the end? Why is that? I mean, sure we remember the fraught light on our wedding days, and where we were standing when evil news arrived, and the surge of fright and delight when we got the job, or the baby was born, or the tumor was benign; but you know what I mean when I say that we remember far better the exact perfect way to make sandwiches for each child, one with hardly any peanut butter and another with butter and peanut butter and the third with only peanut butter, and the way your grandfather whickered like an asthmatic horse when he was amused, and how Saturday morning light arrived at a different angle than weekday light when you were a kid in bed, and how your brothers slowly waking in their beds sounded very much like bears lumbering blearily awake in the remotest snowiest canyons of the West. The coach blew his whistle — another sharp sound loaded with meaning and memory and shrill and sprint and sweat and sore — and the boys shambled to center court for what promised to be an inspirational speech from the coach, who looked pregnant with wisdom. But then I saw the tiny not tiny moment. A dad was kneeling on the sideline re-tying his son’s shoelaces. The shoelaces were orange. The sneakers were blue. The father was bent over the laces like he was praying. The son was perhaps six years old. He was perhaps four feet high. He was staring at his teammates. They were not looking at him. His hands were on his father’s shoulders. Perhaps the father was saying something to his son but I couldn’t hear. I was that father. I was that son. All at once I desperately wanted the boy to look down at his father with tenderness and love and reverence. I wanted this with all my heart and soul. Just for an instant I wanted the boy to see his father, to get the dimmest vaguest sense of the mystery kneeling at his feet and making sure the laces were tight and double- or even triple-knotted so there were no loose ends. It turns out you cannot tie up all the loose ends as a dad but you sure can try. The dad finished one sneaker and went to work on the other and then the boy glanced down at his father. I was sitting a ways away so I couldn’t see the boy’s face clearly, and maybe he was impatient or embarrassed or muttering something low in his throat like hurry up dad!, but maybe not, you know? Maybe not. Maybe just for an instant, even though he was only six years old, even though he was in a hurry to get onto the court, even though his dad was taking an agonizingly long time to tie his laces, maybe he looked down at his dad and got a jolt of something that I cannot find the right word for, something that defines and elevates and rivets us, something bigger than us, something the boy, if he was lucky, would someday feel the other way around, too. The dad finished and looked up and seemed about to say something but the boy flew out onto the court, almost hopping over his dad in his hurry, and the dad stood up slowly. Maybe then he sat down in the bleachers to watch, or maybe he slipped out to run errands until practice was over, but I didn’t see, because to my surprise I was so moved that I had to go walk up and down the hallway for a while, looking at photographs of all the boys who had played basketball in this gym over the years, arranged in order all the way back to 1911, which was, as you know, only twenty years after the game was invented, on a winter day, in Massachusetts. Brian Doyle is the editor of this magazine, and the author most recently of The Mighty Currawongs & Other Stories.

F E A T U R E S 14 / There Are Moments, by Chris Anderson “I am only a man,” wrote the great poet Czeslaw Milosz; “I need visible signs...” 16 / Seeking Harbor, by Steve Duin The long road of Sarah Green ’00. 20 / The House-Arrest of Our Young, by Robert Michael Pyle The University’s visiting writer on why unfettered play is essential to our species. 22 / The Body of Christ!, by Dan Branch One moment one morning in a church in the north. 24 / Air Forceful, photographs by Lieutenant Chelsea Wood A few of the University’s brave alumni at Langley Air Force Base in Virginia. BRIAN DOYLE The University has sad news to share with regard to our deft Portland magazine editor, Brian Doyle. He was diagnosed with a brain tumor in November and underwent surgery shortly before this issue of the magazine went to print. Brian and his family ask for privacy at this very difficult time, but short notes, letters, and cards are much appreciated. If you are interested in writing to him, please send your card to: Brian Doyle University of Portland c/o Office of the President 5000 N. Willamette Blvd. Portland, OR 97203 He thanks everyone for their prayers and kindness and concern for him and his family. Those of us who work with Brian at the University of Portland thank you as well.

26 / Dear Emily, photographs by Mia Davis ’18 An Iowa dad’s letter to his daughter after dropping her off for her freshman year on The Bluff. 28 / The Guys Who Came into the Cold, by Todd Schwartz The two alumni who are the reigning and rising leaders of a secret frozen empire. 32 / Miss Litcher’s Fall, by Tim Gillespie What teachers never admit they think about every night. 34 / At the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, by Emily Harris A quiet hour on the spot where Jesus died and then... awoke.




3 / Father Cornelius Hooyboer of the Congregation of Holy Cross 4 / Behavioral neuroscientist Mark Pitzer 5 / The late wry brilliant peppery generous Bob Franz ’41: a note 6 / A note on words: an essay by Father Pat Hannon, C.S.C. 8 / Cathedrals of the brain: an essay by literature professor emeritus Louis Masson 9 / The remarkable living prayer Florence Mbah ’18 11 / Major-league pitcher and (even cooler) school founder Steve Wilson ’86 12 / Sports, starring our top-ranked cross-country teams 13 / University news and notes 36 / Alumni news and notes 37 / A birthday wish for Father George Bernard, C.S.C. 48 / The late exuberant ebullient Professor Jim Covert ’59

THE UNIVERSITY OF PORTLAND MAGAZINE Winter 2016: Vol. 35, No. 4 President: Rev. Mark Poorman, C.S.C. Founding Editor: John Soisson Editor: Brian Doyle Dedicated and Dexterous 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 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 Blvd., Portland, Oregon 97203-5798. Telephone (503) 943-8225, fax (503) 943-7178, e-mail address:, Web site: 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 Faculty The Season

With the holiday season comes Advent and the entrancing and holy and contemplative exercise of Visio Divina, wherein all are welcome to enter the Chapel of Christ the Teacher and pray in ancient meditative ways to sacred images from the University’s revered copy of The Saint John’s Bible. “Let all Christians rejoice, for Jesus Christ is born.”




Father John VanWolvlear, C.S.C., died on December 21 in 1995 at Notre Dame, Indiana, at the age of 73. He was playing tennis, recalls his good friend Rev. George Bernard, C.S.C., “and knowing Van, he was probably winning.” Father Van, as he was universally called, came to Portland in 1965 and soon had students and colleagues charmed with his looming stature, warm spirit, and roaring laugh. He remained at Portland until 1973, when he was appointed resident director of the Salzburg Program. ¶ The Yuletide has always held a special place in the hearts of the University community, perhaps none so much as the Holy Cross fathers, whose annual Christmas parties for faculty families were a wonder to behold. Held typically in St. Mary’s, the festivities always featured a visit from Santa, played in fine form by a revolving cast of faculty, administrators, and priests. Faculty brats can be an observant lot, though, with “Hey,

The University’s Beckman Humor Project will host a panel discussion on “Why Comics Aren’t Funny Anymore,” on February 9, at 7:15 p.m., in 120 Franz Hall. Guests are Charles Brownstein, director of the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, and Diana Schutz, editor at Dark Horse Comics in Portland. ¶ Retiring at the conclusion of the spring 2017 semester: Sweo Endowed Chair in Engineering James Male, engineering, here since 1997; electrical engineering professor Wayne Lu, engineering, who started in 1988; and former Shiley School of Engineering dean Zia Yamayee, whose bright and gentle demeanor has graced The Bluff since 1996. A farewell fete is scheduled for Wednesday, April 19, 2017, from 3:30 to 6:30 p.m., in the Bauccio Commons.

professor Steven Schoemaker on Tuesday, January 31, at 7:15 p.m., in Franz Hall room 120. Also on the calendar are “Why Theology Needs the Simpsons” by Mike Wode and Brendan Ryan, C.S.C., on Wednesday, February 1, and “Is God’s Charity Broad Enough for Bears?” with Fordham University’s Elizabeth Johnson on Tuesday, March 7. Find more Garaventa Center events at ¶ On stage at the Lakewood Theater in Lake Oswego, January 24, 2017: the play Scars, based on a book about post-traumatic stress by Father Dick Berg, C.S.C. Dick interviewed 9 active military men being treated for PTSD and wove their stories into a novel; his dream is that the play then becomes a film, and all proceeds go toward assistance to PTS sufferers, their families, and their therapists. Donations welcome to the program, of course: see giving. or

Student Life Arts & Letters

The University’s Schoenfeldt Series Visiting Writer on February 27: author Anthony Doerr, whose terrific novel All the Light We Cannot See is the University’s UPReads selection this year. ¶ February 7, talking about nursing and witness and humor and wonder, as a guest of nursing dean Joane Moceri: the irrepressible Hawaiian author and nurse Hob Osterlund. The event, at 7 p.m., is free and open to all. ¶ The Garaventa Center begins its spring 2017 calendar of events with “Mary in Early Christian Faith and Devotion” by University of Oregon religious studies

Did you know we have pre-professional concentrations in dentistry, law, medicine, occupational and physical therapy, optometry, pharmacy, and veterinary medicine? Wow. ¶ Among many great reasons to live on campus: Intercultural coordinators, sponsored by international student services, international languages and cultures, student activities, and residence life, live and work in each residence hall to increase intercultural competency and awareness. Students take a one-credit course on intercultural communication and have the opportunity to learn from a diverse group of leaders from both inside and outside the University.

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The University

Coming up on Tuesday, April 11: Founders’ Day, the annual celebration of those who dared to dream of a Catholic university overlooking the Willamette River (the mercurial forward-thinking irrepressible Archbishop Alexander Christie and the brilliant, brooding polymath Rev. John Zahm, C.S.C.). The University holds no classes and instead opens its doors for all to learn from its best and brightest students. An awards breakfast for graduating seniors is followed by senior presentations, panel discussions, recitals, and the Scholarship Luncheon, where students meet those whose generosity has helped them attend the University. Can a day be more epic than that? ¶ Two spring events not to be missed, sponsored by the Dundon-Berchtold Institute, free and open to all: the inaugural Ethics Week keynote address by Martin Daum, president and CEO of Daimler Trucks, on Monday, February 20 at 7:15 p.m. in Buckley Center Auditorium. Daum will share ethical principles and challenges that guide his journey as a husband, father, and businessman. Then on Tuesday, February 21, a searing tale of loss and forgiveness by Linda Biehl, “Reconciliation and Restorative Justice,” at 7:15 p.m. in Bauccio Commons. Biehl’s daughter Amy was murdered in August of 1993 by an angry mob in Gugulethu, South Africa; two of the men involved went to prison and now work for the foundation established in Amy’s name. Contact Dan McGinty at for more.


that’s Father Waldschmi —” cut off by furiously hissed parental “SHHHHHHHH”ing, every single year.

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Fr. Cornelius Hooyboer, C.S.C., came to The Bluff in 1946 and joined his brother, Fr. John Hooyboer, C.S.C., who had arrived in 1934. From his arrival until 1977 the Dutch Masters, as they were called, traveled countless miles throughout the western states recruiting students, visiting alumni and friends, and spreading the word about their school. For three decades they were the face of the University. Since 1901, when the first four men of Holy Cross arrived, 400 others have made the campus their home, teaching and counseling, tending to souls and budgets and the complexities of leadership. Over the years they have done every imaginable job on campus, from milking cows on the campus farm to guiding anxious students through dense academic thickets to greeting world leaders as president. Thirty of them currently live and serve in Portland, making God known and loved through their tireless work and inspirational example.












“I’m a behavioral neuroscientist,” says psychology professor Mark Pitzer. “For the past two decades I’ve worked to better understand diseases that destroy the brain. I’ve worked on techniques to improve the survival of newly transplanted brain cells as a treatment for Parkinson’s disease, and more recently, conducted experiments using a genetic technique to halt the production of toxic proteins as a potential treatment for Huntington’s disease, a fatal genetic disorder. Currently my students and I are running experiments designed to identify the neural circuits and neurotransmitters that play a role in the depression that affects those who suffer from Huntington’s disease. It was long assumed that the depression was a reaction to the stark realization that the person has a fatal disease. However, it is now clear that the depressive symptoms are the result of the neuropathology generated by a mutant gene. My lab’s goal is to identify the precise brain structures involved so that they can be targeted and treated.” “Students play an essential role in all aspects of my research, from generating research questions to the publication of findings. They learn how to conduct rodent brain surgeries, to measure a wide variety of behaviors, to cut and stain brain sections, analyze tissue under the microscope, measure changes on MRI scans, statistically analyze data, and write up the results. I’ve been exceptionally lucky to have worked with a parade of gifted students, many of whom are now in Ph.D. programs for neuroscience or related fields. I would like students to walk away from my courses with an understanding of how their brains evolved, how they function, and the various cognitive and perceptual biases that can often lead us astray. I try to help them build a solid foundation of current findings in the field and then attempt to inject an industrial-strength dose of enthusiasm about the subject. My hope is that when they leave the University, they can take the field of neuroscience in shockingly new directions.” Portland 4

BOB FRANZ: A NOTE He passed away on August 9, at the age of 92, and the world will rightly mourn a brilliant and generous man, a deft businessman, a veteran of the Second World War who poured his considerable talents and energies and money into every imaginable sort of community benefit in Oregon and Washington. He will be particularly mourned and celebrated at the University of Portland, where an academic hall, an endowed professorial chair, and an entire entrepreneurship program are named for him. The University was his first love, and his affection and commitment to it go back nearly eighty years, to his first days as a freshman at Columbia Prep, the University’s high school, where, as he said himself, he instantly came to a deep respect and admiration for his teachers, the priests and brothers of the Congregation of Holy Cross. We will mourn him here; we will remember him always; we will offer Masses and prayers for the peace of his soul; we will speak his name in lively discourse and affectionate memory as long as the University itself lasts; but this morning I want to remember one particular hour with him that taught me something deep about the man. We were at his house on the Columbia River. We were alone. It was a brilliant day and I remember being entranced by the bright sunlight on the river. I was listening to him talk about the future of the University. I thought he was talking about the immediate future; we were in the midst



of a fundraising campaign, and we were doing very well, as I understood it, and I was interested in what halls we might build, and how we could perhaps triple the number of scholarships we had, and things like that. But he was impatient with me, and Mr. Franz, when impatient, expressed himself quickly and bluntly. “You are not thinking ahead,” he said, with what I will always think of as a peppery manner, tart and crisp

and inarguable. “I am not talking next year or ten years. I am talking forty and fifty years from now. We will be twice as large then. We will have a beautiful riverfront lower campus. We will draw students from every state and fifty countries. We will have thousands of scholarships for them. Maybe we will have a scholarship for every student, if need be. We will be the Winter 2016 5

best Catholic university in the West. You need to look forty years into the future, maybe fifty. Am I getting through to you here?” I’ll always remember that moment, I think. I was a little taken aback; he was making no effort to be polite. But for a moment I saw the man’s absolute passion, his absolute dedication, his utter and complete commitment. He loved the University as much for what it could and should and damn well would become, if he had anything to do with it, as for what it was at the moment. He really and truly did see forty and fifty years into the future, and he would devote every iota of his energy and creativity to making his vision real. We talked on, that day, for another hour, and I remember his sweeping grasp of complicated finances, and the way you could sense the sinewy former soldier underneath the slightly frail older man, and the way he propelled himself briskly out of his chair when we were done, and shook my hand firmly, and gave me directions back to campus. More than anything else I will always remember the confidence in his face and voice when he talked about the University forty or fifty years from now. If Bob Franz said we will be a university welcoming students from all over the world, able to help every one of them if need be, and the best Catholic university in the West, then that is the University we will most certainly be. If he said so it will be so. That, among many other reasons, is why we will always honor him here, and pray for him silently this morning, and this year, and for years to come. — Brian Doyle







the bejesus out of you (I love the word bejesus, a mild Irish expletive), such as the phrase I have something to tell you or You might want to sit down. And By Father Patrick Hannon, C.S.C. ’82, some words or strings of words (a from a book of essays by University faculty about how they are not actually “pearl necklace round the neck of poverty,” the poet Patrick Kavanaugh put teachers of their nominal subjects, but teachers of something else deeper and it — he was referring to God, but he might have just as well been talking wilder and holier. The book, Awaken about words) leave us so exposed and the Stars, will be published next year vulnerable, we might properly wonder by ACTA in Chicago. how it is they get uttered at all, words such as “Will you marry me?” or “I’m in I love words, and the look of them, love with you” or “Will you forgive me?” and how some of them sound in my I find it hopeful, as a Catholic priest head when I read them. I prefer words with stubble on them, not the and a writer and a teacher of writing, that in the Gospel of John we have no clean-shaven kind. I love the smell of words, too, or at least the smell of the story of Jesus being born. Instead, John gives us his prologue which betrade paper they’re written on and the industrial ink that gives them life. gins, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the I love when I stumble onto an unfaWord was God.” I like the Spanish miliar word and then, after I look it translation of that portion of John’s up and become acquainted with it, it quite naturally gathers all its belong- prologue better, though. It says in the beginning was “El Verbo.” In the beings and moves right into that part of my brain where all my words live. ginning was “The Verb.” And the Verb was with God, and the Verb was God. Sometime around the time my second-grade teacher showed me how Something tells me the voice of that verb is not passive. to diagram a sentence, in a moment We’ve been speaking words a whole of anger I called my older brother a degenerate — a word I had apparently lot longer than we’ve been writing them down. I’ve often thought this stumbled upon and fell in love with, was because we were too busy trying and my brother, not knowing what the word meant but duly suspicious, not to be some saber-toothed tiger’s punched me hard in the arm, and my lunch to be sitting around musing with pen and paper. But why did it take mother, stifling a laugh, sent me to my room to cool off. It was then I dis- over three millennia (give or take a few centuries) after we had begun covered that words have power, that they were scrappy, brave and loyal lit- to brew beer (Mesopotamia, c. 5000 tle troopers who could, if I used them BCE), for instance, to begin writing well, help me defend myself, the runt down beautiful and haunting and of my particular litter, against a world lasting stories such as The Epic of Gilthat was, every day, becoming bigger gamesh, a written work decidedly not tied to commerce and business? and stronger than I would ever be. I love that some words can scare I think now it’s because we know

in our gut that it is practically insane to write our stories down, when they, and the sentences we use to construct them assume a life separate from our own, even as they owe their existence to us. They become, in other words, our children. And we writers love them, almost as much as their fleshy counterparts. And the thought that one of our written stories or poems or essays or screenplays will be dismissed as ugly or idiotic or silly or an abject failure or, God forbid, mediocre, will often leave us staring at a blank page or computer screen for days. We pause, sometimes for years, at the thought of creating something we think is beautiful that will in the end, and forever, be teased and bullied. Equally horrifying is the awful truth that when that does happen we will be helpless to stop it. And yet we write prose and poetry anyway. I tell my students on the first day that essay writing is not about following the rules of grammar and punctuation. It’s not about crafting safe sentences and paragraphs. It’s about taking ridiculous risks. It’s spelunking into deep dark caves with a very dim flashlight. It’s walking a tightrope without a safety net. I think writing — truthful, tinged with doubt, brave, and sustained by foolish desire— is as close to God as we writers can get, and that is a scary thought indeed. Because in the end, this holy ambition will draw us too close to the fire. And this encounter with the flaming Word will burn layers and layers off of us. And then, like God, we will be utterly fearless, utterly exposed. And we will know something of the pain of joy.

PRAYER AT THE SCARRED TREE Ever have those moments When you wish there was someone with you And there’s not? Nothing but your cold lonely self Which you re-enter like a reluctant astronaut. I want to cry out, Fill me however you will, Just fill me! This hunger that gnaws endlessly in my guts Will be the death of me But is the life of me, Because in braving yourself to the emptiness Something is born Something happens. Watch and observe, Tell the story well, Make it an expression of your sanity,

Which is otherwise at risk From waves generated by the outside world And past regrets. Again and again, only pen and paper between me And an awful emptiness. And so I must stand and wait for the words to appear, And, when they do, receive them Like a grateful fisherman receives the gifts of the sea. I must believe what I say: That is the greatest test. Give me wisdom, Give me strength. Australia’s Martin Flanagan was the University’s 2015 Schoenfeldt Series Visiting Writer; he is the author of many books, among them the classic The Game in Time of War. Portland 6




On campus January 31, so to speak: the extraordinary woman we know as the Madonna (here depicted beautifully in blue by the 17th century artist Carlo Dolci), subject of scholar Stephen Shoemaker’s talk about the rise of Marian devotion in early Christianity. The talk (at 7 p.m. in Franz 120, free as air) is hosted by the vibrant Garaventa Center for Catholic Intellectual Life and American Culture, which sponsors dozens of free events a year; among other lively hours this winter is nurse, actress, and author Hob Osterlund on February 7, talking about humor and healing in Buckley Center Auditorium. Call 503.943.7702 for details. Winter 2016 7


THE CATHEDRAL OF THE BRAIN Louis Masson is a literature professor emeritus at the University, and the author of three books of essays, notably The Play of Light. Cradled in my hands, the human skull weighed so much less than I had expected. Such a small, light, seemingly fragile home for a life. And now that life and its story were lost, and this remaining artifact was touched only by pre-med students in the anatomy lab where I sat before a row of other skulls. Biology professor Jacquie Van Hoomissen had removed them from cabinets and drawers for me, and spread them on a table in a row, beginning with a replica of “Lucy,” Australopithecus afarensis, one of our earliest ancestors, and ending with replicas of the more recent Homo neanderthalensis and our own Homo sapiens. Together they represented a span of three and a half million years and the passage of billions of lives. And I held the one genuine skull, someone who had perhaps lived close to if not during my own lifetime. It was something I had never done before, though I have had a fascination and reverence for skulls since my boyhood wanderings in fields and woods where I collected and amassed my own museum of local natural history that my extraordinarily tolerant mother allowed me to house in my cluttered bedroom. On one of those wanderings across unplowed fields, I entered an adjacent wood that was quite dark but surrounded a small clearing where light streamed through the overhanging branches and lush grass grew even higher than in the abutting fields. It was quiet, without breeze or bird song, but it was also disquieting, reminding me of the sanctuaries where I served as an altar boy and where light filtered through stained-glass windows in the dead silence of empty churches — places where the very atmosphere demanded reverence. And there I saw, entangled in the grass, the huge skull of a horse. I took it home with mixed emotions, not quite sure if I was a budding thief



or paleontologist. Either way it was a treasured find even though it took some convincing and a good cleaning of it before my mother would allow me to hang it in my bedroom where its aesthetics pleased me, though I could not have defined the word “aesthetics” at the time. Early on, skulls appealed to the latent or potential scientists and artists that inhabit so many pre-teenagers, and inhabited me. As I grew older, those responses tangled with recognitions of darker images. In church, my family often sat beneath the thirteenth station where two skulls nestled next to the foot of the cross on Golgotha, the first of my many encounters with memento mori. I do not remember being especially frightened by the various skulls of Halloween or the props of horror movies, but I claim no immunity to the horror evoked by the pictures of skulls from the killing fields and mass graves that stain human history. Those skulls, which I see as relics of holy lives, do not terrify me in themselves, but only in what has happened to the lives they housed. From time to time I have thought about the human skull, musings triggered by photographs, or paint-

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ings, or a skull behind museum glass. But I have not faced a skull like I did when that horse skull hung on my wall, until recently, when I stared into the mirror and saw beyond and behind the face as an old man does. In my mirror I saw the facial lines of my artist father. I saw the faces of my brothers as we age and begin to look more and more alike. I try to see the same lines in my children and grandchildren, when I gaze at their faces: the inevitable quest for and honoring of a family lineage. Holding that human skull in my hand in the lab that day felt very much like holding a chalice for communicants at a Mass; this vessel too once held something sacred. And just as Professor Van Hoomissen finished my lesson, I realized that there were two other human skulls in the lab: hers and mine. The very conversation that we were having could only take place because of the brains inside each of our skulls; the brain that the eminent biologist E. O. Wilson reminds us “is the most complex system known in the universe.” This skull still cradled in my hands once contained all that complexity. It felt so light, so small, so seemingly fragile, this cathedral of the brain, to hold such life.



Q: Why are we always wheedling for scholarship gifts? Answer: Florence Mbah. She just started a master’s degree in pastoral ministry. She earned the Snyder Scholarship for students who want to be ministers. She was headed for a life as a nun in Nigeria when war broke out and she was separated from her family and the American nuns she adored. She married a louse who left her to raise three children alone. She became a teacher, a principal, and a lawyer (in Nigeria’s High Court) before coming to America and working as a nursing assistant and sacristan (at Saint Joseph’s in Vancouver, Washington). But her dream has always been “to preach, to teach, to pray, to help people,” she says. “To serve God these ways. The Word enlightens, transforms, energizes. I wish to serve God with reverence and dignity…” Wow. Why do we ask for scholarship gifts? Because there is only one Florence Mbah and there are thousands of Florences and the more we help them the better brighter and gentler the world becomes… Feeling profligate? Call Kara McManus at 503.943.7460. Invent a scholarship! Triple an extant one! Name one for Florence! Winter 2016 9






HONOR BADGES To say that each UP residence hall has its own unique quirky grinning personality is to state the obvious, obviously, so it should come as no surprise that each hall has its own distinct logo. From the newest — Lund Family Hall’s howling wolf — to the oldest — Christie Hall’s modern take on the University’s coat of arms — all ten are proudly displayed in entranceways, hallways, student rooms, res life offices, on stationery, postcards, t-shirts, hats, scarves, you name it. There may even be a tattoo or two out there, but so far we haven’t seen any. So far.

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Steve Wilson ’86, who was inducted into the University’s Athletic Hall of Fame this fall, is renowned for his big-league baseball career: he pitched for the Rangers, Cubs, Dodgers, and Brewers, coached for the White Sox, and now runs Pacific Rim scouting for the Yankees. But the cooler story is Steve and his wife Lydia founding a school in Taiwan. Steve hired and trained the teachers and Lydia ran the ship for ten years, until the family (they have two sons) came back to the States in 2011. Started and ran a school — that’s big league stuff.

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Cross Country & Track The Portland men finished second at the NCAA Cross Country West Regional Athletics The Portland Pilots fall to earn the program’s 17th bid to the sports season was the most successful NCAA Championships, while the in school history, across the board. Pilot women earned their first-ever Highlights included three teams making NCAA Championships berth this fall. NCAA postseason appearances, two The Pilot men finished 13th at naWest Coast Conference team cham- tionals, the eighth best finish in propions, three WCC Coach of the Year gram history, while sophomore Nick honorees, and all teams finishing Hauger, junior Jeff Thies, and senior with winning records. Portland ranked Stephen Mulherin earned All-WCC No. 1 among all non-BCS football and All-Region First Team honors. schools and 14th nationally among Despite missing key runner Parkes 351 total Division I institutions based Kendrick at the NCAA meet (she on fall sports performance, according had an interview for a Rhodes Scholto the Learfield Directors’ Cup. Let’s arship that day), the Pilot women go back and relish all of that again, placed 22nd at nationals as junior shall we? Lauren LaRocco earned All-America Men’s Soccer Portland (12-5-2, 6-1-0 honors. Women’s coach Ian Solof WCC) finished the season as the picked up his sixth WCC Coach of outright WCC champion to claim the Year award. the program’s first league title since Volleyball Head coach Brent Crouch 2002 and first NCAA playoff appear- earned WCC Coach of the Year honors ance since 2009. The Pilots were after leading the Pilots (17-13, 10-8 knocked out in penalty kicks after WCC) to their best season in program a first round road tie at New Mexico. history. Crouch took over a program Portland senior Eddie Sanchez was that went 0-27 and in three years put named the WCC Player of the Year, together back-to-back winning seasons junior Paul Christensen was the and a 2016 campaign that included league’s goalkeeper of the year, Benji wins over No. 11 BYU and at No. 7 Michel was named the conference San Diego, the highest ranked wins freshman of the year, and Nick Carlin- ever. The team’s win percentage was Voigt earned WCC co-Coach of the the best since Portland joined Division Year honors. I in 1986. The Pilots will look to carry their momentum into the spring beach volleyball season, the program’s third Let’s talk about Parkes Kendrick — a 4.0 year as an NCAA sport. math major and cross country runner Women’s Soccer Led by All-West who finished second in the WCC this Coast Conference senior midfielder year, earned a slot on the NCAA chamAllison Wetherington, the Pilots (9-7pionship with her team, and was a 3) posted impressive non-conference Rhodes Scholarship finalist. Do we have wins against Washington at home and scholarships and such to sing and supOregon on the road. Senior Ellie Boon port Pilot student-athletes? Yup. Can we earned All-WCC Second Team honors, use more? Yup. Call Colin McGinty at while Kim Hazlett was named to the 503.943.8005. All-WCC Freshman Team. Academics The NCAA released its latest Graduation Success Rate (GSR) data in November and, as expected, Portland performed well. Pilot teams that posted perfect scores included baseball, men’s tennis, women’s basketball, women’s soccer, and volleyball, while nine of Portland’s ten reported scores were higher than the national average of 86 percent. Portland’s total graduation success rate was calculated at 95 percent. Men’s Basketball New coach Terry Porter has one of the most productive backcourts in the nation with senior point guard Alec Wintering and sophomore guard (and Portland native) Jazz Johnson. The duo wowed a national audience on ESPN by being




Portland 12

the top two scorers at the prestigious Wooden Legacy over Thanksgiving weekend. Porter wasted little time in putting together an exciting fourplayer 2017 recruiting class from all over the world: point guard JoJo Walker, guard Taki Fahrenson, center Austin Stone, and forward Tahirou Diabate. Terry also has his two sons, Franklin and Malcolm, coming off of redshirt seasons to join the rotation next season. Women’s Basketball The Pilots have already played 2016 NCAA Final Four participants Oregon State and Washington this winter, as well as Pac-12 opponent USC. Local freshman Kate Andersen (Jesuit HS) looks like a good pick as she will take the baton from senior Kaylie Van Loo, who also is an All-American for the Pilots in track for the javelin. Men’s Tennis The Pilots look forward to a spring of opportunity after last year’s team finished a program-best third in the WCC standings and ranked No. 74 nationally. Nearly every key player is returning, yet the roster still boasts zero seniors. All-WCC junior Michail Pervolarakis and his allWCC doubles partner Mathieu Garcia both had spectacular fall seasons as each advanced to the quarterfinals of the ITA Regional Championships. Women’s Tennis After graduating seven seniors from last year’s team, the Pilots are relying on All-WCC sophomores Radina Dimitrova and Tatiana Grigoryan, as well as freshmen Anna Oberg, Emily Soares, and Jelena Lukic. Portland also signed a top Serbian youth player for next season, Nina Nikitovic, no doubt through the connections of current assistant coach and former Pilot men’s tennis standout Filip Zivkovic ’10. Baseball After opening the 2017 season with 13 road games, the Pilots will host Big Ten foe Northwestern at Joe Etzel Field the weekend of March 9-11. Second-year head coach Geoff Loomis ’94 has a lot of new faces to throw out on the diamond as 21 newcomers join this year’s roster. Rowing Head coach Pasha Spencer continues to bring in top regional talent with three early signees in November. The program, in just its sixth varsity season on The Bluff, will look to improve on last year’s fourth-place WCC finish at this year’s conference championship in Sacramento.

B R I E F LY Fourth in the West The University’s School of Nursing was ranked fourth in the west by The site ranked schools by academic prestige and value (loan repayment rates, grant recruitment, professional associations), breadth and depth of programs, and student success on national licensure exams. ¶ And the University was ranked in the top ten in the West (7th this year, of 124 schools) for the 22nd year in a row (!) by U.S. News & World Report, which gauges retention (90%), graduation rate (78%), peer assessment, faculty resources, and alumni giving rate. ¶ And our Shiley School of Engineering rose 11 spots in the USNWR rankings to 35th nationwide among its peers; and the University was ranked 5th in the West for services to veterans. ¶ And finally the University was named to the President’s Community Service Honor Roll for the eighth time (!). Student Feats Senior Michael Williamson finished second on the planet at the University Start-Up World Cup in Copenhagen: His venture, Sentri, is a line of lightweight outdoor wear featuring new fabric and features. Fifty teams from 30 countries competed. ¶ Taylor Zehren ’16 was the latest student to earn a Fulbright grant. She will be studying in Argentina, UP’s first awardee to that nation. In total UP had eight 2016 student Fulbright finalists who will be studying and working in Argentina, Malaysia, and South Korea, also firsts for UP, as well as Europe. ¶ Beacon editor Malika Andrews appeared on ESPN2 and ESPN Deportes in October, discussing women in sports. The New Faculty and Staff Memorial Garden between Buckley Center and Clark Library was designed by head groundskeeper (and landscape architect) Nathan Hale. It’s a lovely meditative space honoring all the faculty and staff who have gone home to the Light since the University opened in 1901. Hale and his crew also completely redid the Praying Hands Memorial (for alumni who have served in America’s wars), and are doing all the work landscaping the new Lund Family residence hall. That man has gifts. ¶ We mourn the wonderful history professor Jim Covert ’59, who died in October at age 84. Jim taught on The Bluff from 1961 to 1997 and did yeoman service here (see page 48), but this says it all: his classes filled up instantly. Prayers.



The Annual Spirit of Holy Cross from Hawaii, and 26 students from Award, given annually to lay men and the island of Guam, a record. 40% women who substantively further the of the freshman class are minority work of the Congregation of Holy students, the second-most ever. AvCross in America, went to Sister Sue erage SAT score: 1193; average high Bruno, director of Fields Hall, this school grade-point: 3.65. Whew. ¶ year. Sister Sue is a Franciscan nun The Shiley School of Engineering, with a wry dry wit and salty grace we by the way, has a record 734 undermuch admire. ¶ Nurse Joe Novello ’04, graduates this year (207 freshmen, inventor and CEO of the nursing app 33% of whom are female and 40% NurseGrid, won the 2016 Small Busminorities. What a boom. iness Innovation Award from The Port- Among Recent Campus Guests land Business Journal. was Dan Wieden, the quiet witty Gifts & Grants Among recent genfounder of Wieden+Kennedy ad erosities: $1.5 million from the famagency, often called the best in the ily of the late Kyle Johnson ’05, to aug- world; Dan delivered the annual ment their scholarship in his memory. Bauccio Lecture in EntrepreneurKyle’s scholarship has been awarded ship. Among past Bauccio speakers: for ten years and is for students who San Francisco Giants CEO Larry don’t have the money to continue on Baer, polar explorer Robert Swan, The Bluff without help. Thus love and sharing-economy scholar April and pain feed grace and compassion; Rinne. scholarships are cool. ¶ $40,000 to On campus February 27 as our spring Schoenfeldt Writers biologist Susan Series guest: novelist Anthony Doerr, author of the masterful Murray, from the All the Light We Cannot See. His talk at 6:30 p.m. in BC Aud Medical Research is free and open to all. Come early. Info: Foundation, for her work with human T cells. ¶ $70,000 from 2,000 readers to support this magazine and delight its peculiar editor. ¶ Worth noting: the University’s average annual return for its endowment over the last three years was a healthy 9.9%. Good stewardship. Donor scholarship aid awarded to students this year: $2.89 million. Wow. Percentage of students receiving financial aid: 97.44. Why do we always wheedle for money? That’s why. The Freshman Class is 965 students (second-biggest ever), 61% female, and 76% from outside Oregon; about half the class is from Oregon and Washington (24% each), 28% from California, 9% Winter 2016 13



There Are Moments “I am only a man,” wrote the great poet Czeslaw Milosz; “I need visible signs...” By Chris Anderson



am called to bless a bathroom. A young poet has committed suicide there. Her boyfriend found her and tried to revive her. He was soaked with blood when the EMTs arrived, and then the police, and though he’s moved out now, and the biological hazard team has scrubbed the blood away, the landlord and the boyfriend and the boyfriend’s father want some kind of further cleansing, maybe a kind of magic. But who am I to say? So I drive to the complex, a warren of condominiums, chalky and cheap, and I wander around until I find theirs, and I knock on the door and introduce myself to the parents, fifties, disheveled, in dirty sweatshirts and jeans, and they take me down the hall. The apartment is new, the bathroom small and bright. I squeeze in by the toilet, stand against the wall, facing the mirror, and say the prayers for the dead and the blessing for a house, my voice echoing, and with a small, plastic bottle begin to sprinkle the room with holy water. The vanity. The mirror. The clean, fiberglass tub. Perpetual light shine upon her, oh Lord. Amen. The boyfriend couldn’t bear to come. His mother and father stand in the doorway, bowing their heads. And as I wave the bottle and say the words, the cap flies off, it pops, bouncing into the bottom of the tub, and I have to lean over to get it, picking it up off the slick, shiny surface of the fiberglass. May she rest in peace, I say, embarrassed now, but alert, too. Aware. The words as they echo sound good to me in that hollow place, and proper, and true. May the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Then I turn, trace the cross in the air, and give the final blessing — in my left hand the cap, about the size of a dime. Like the prize in a box of crackerjacks. A whistle, or a top. The old woman in ICU wants to rail against the Church. Patriarchy, she says, hierarchy, and I sit and listen. “But you’re dying,” I say. “Why are we talking about this? Why does any of this matter?” And the sun slants through the dusty window. My Roman collar chafes. On the monitor, the peaks and valleys of her failing heart. “May I give you communion?” I ask her. And she says, “Would that mean I’d have to come back to the Church?” “No,” I say. “No. It will be our little secret.”

Are these moments of darkness or moments of light? Both, and neither. I would call them moments of joy, because joy, as C.S. Lewis says, isn’t just pleasure and isn’t just happiness. It’s deeper than sadness and deeper than grief but contains them, holds them. All I have done is come into a room, a bathroom, a hospital room, and I have been awkward and clumsy, and there’s been something odd about the moment, and random, and embarrassing, and yet I also have this sense of privilege, of being accorded some high honor. Something solemn is going on. This is why we come to church, to offer up these moments, to consecrate them and so become more aware of them, to give thanks for them. The seed really falls into the earth, and the fields are really smooth and bare, and then the rain comes and the sun, and the leaf and the grape, and then the crushing and the wait, the long wait for whatever it is enzymes do. Water is always becoming wine. I walk into a room and the woman I meet seems to give off light. Something is glowing inside of her, maybe an emptiness, and it leaks out the corners of her eyes. I walk into a room and I sit down by a man and there is a darkness inside him, a meanness. I seem to see a sheet of oil, sliding down a pane of glass. This is the work of prayer: to remember the darkness and to face it. To remember the light and to follow it. I go to visit our old sacristan, who always used to dress to the nines. Tweed skirts. Silver hair just so. But now she has lost her mind, she is demented, and I go over to the assisted-care facility to bring her communion, carrying the consecrated host in a small, silver pyx. She welcomes me formally. “Won’t you please sit,” she says, then calmly peels off her housedress, over her head, like a girl — right there, in front of me — and stands before her closet, in her slip, deciding what to wear. I had brought Christ into that room. She knew she had to change. I’m talking with a friend and he says, “The older I get, the less my faith is bound.” I think he means: Winter 2016 15

bound by religion. Bound by dogma and creed. Not me. The older I get the more I need the small, the tender spaces. The circle of light by the tabernacle. The statue of Mary beneath the Japanese maple. Her head is bowed. Her hands are open. In spring the buds leaf out. “I am only a man,” as the great poet Czeslaw Milosz says. “I need visible signs.” Just a shape at first, wide and blank, merging with my own dark outline on the road, the shadow of a hawk passes over my shoulder, so suddenly I flinch, I start, as if some unexpected hand has touched my actual body. But gently, without a sound. Seeming to dissolve then and rise, becoming three-dimensional: a sparrowhawk, golden, gliding just before me along the curve, a single feathered muscle pushing off finally above the fields, behind it, in the delicate sky, bulging in air, as huge and sudden as a world, the afternoon moon. The Word of God is a seed, Jesus says. And the thing about a seed is that it’s hidden, in the earth. It’s buried. It takes a long time to grow and at any point in the life cycle of that seed you might stand there and look and not see a thing. To say faith is like a seed is to say it is a process, a journey, a way of life, not an idea you can grasp once and for all. To say faith is like a seed is to say there are seasons of faith. It comes and it goes, it ebbs and flows, and you don’t understand or have control over it, any more than a farmer can control the sun and the rain, however hard he works. To plant a seed is to surrender. You can’t make it grow. The Kingdom of Heaven is like a man who sowed seed, Matthew says. The Kingdom of Heaven is like a treasure buried in a field. This is what there is. There are treasures. There are seeds. Moments. Walking up the little valley. Morning. Heavy dew. Suddenly a field of spiders, a field of webs, every thistle strung like a racket. Chris Anderson is a Catholic deacon and literature professor at Oregon State University. This essay is adapted from his new book, Light When It Comes (Eerdmans).

ou can hear them in the hallway, Sarah Green and the 11-year-old. She is the calm on the far side of the door. He is distraught. The misfit is curdled in a chair but his voice is climbing the walls. “No! I hate it!  I hate everything!” His name is Noah. On the sullen walk back from lunch at St. Mary’s Home for Boys, he suddenly raised one blue Nike high-top and stomped on the foot of a fellow traveler. Noah is in day treatment at St. Mary’s, where you never know when the day might spin out of control. He was headed for the game room, 30 minutes of ping-pong or foosball before afternoon classes. No longer. Noah is now hostage in that lonely chair. He’s howling at Sarah, frustrated, wounded in ways he can’t describe. After 10 minutes, Sarah Green comes through the door, holding the Nike high-tops. Nine other boys are in the safety room, isolated at small desks, sizing up the homework they haven’t done. Green is 6-foot-2 and a former star college athlete and she is far more relaxed than I would be. “I’m good at helping them de-escalate,” she says. “To take a breather.”  She is wearing sneakers of her own. Jeans and a sweatshirt. Her hair is pulled back. Other than the walkie-talkie on her hip, she doesn’t look all that different than she once looked on the basketball court at the Chiles Center where she was a star, the target of defenses, a West Coast Conference all-star. Where she worked the boards, chased the ball, made her father proud. They had ten children, Lillian and Charles Green. Sarah was number five, middle of the pack. Her mother was a kindergarten reading specialist, her father a security guard with Portland Public Schools. Charles Green was 6-foot-8. He set the scary baseline screens when Willie Stoudamire was averaging 30 points in 1972, his senior season at Portland State. Green was formidable, confident, resolute. He knew his mind. When longtime Pilots women’s basketball coach Jim Sollars first watched Kim, Sarah’s older sister, play at Benson Tech, he wasn’t impressed: “She wasn’t very fast. Didn’t play inside. I wasn’t interested in recruiting her.” When her father arrived on The Bluff and suggested he give Kim a shot, Sollars was blunt: “I hate to say this, Charles, but she’s not good enough for Division I.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Green replied. “She’s coming here to play.” “As a sophomore,” says Sollars, “Kim Green started and led us in rebounding on a very good team. I underestimated the intangibles.” Charles Green was tangible. Before gentrification had its way in Portland’s inner Northeast neighborhoods, Charles Green would send his children out of the house at 3714 North Williams Avenue to sweep a street routinely ignored by city work crews. He wanted them to take as much pride in where they lived as where they dreamed of ending up. He grew up in New York at a time when the dreams of African-Americans didn’t always end well. “You don’t allow someone to pigeon-hole you. That was a strong emphasis of my mother and father,” says Lillian Green, Sarah’s younger sister and the equity director at Oregon’s Early Learning Division. “You seek your dream relentlessly. My father always told us, ‘Don’t ever tell yourself no. Don’t let anyone else tell you no.’” He wanted his children to be independent and ambitious. When Sarah was coming into her own at Benson, dominating the Portland Interscholastic League, she and her father were endlessly rewinding the videos of her games, analyzing those drop steps in the low post. But he recognized basketball as a gateway to something better. Like John Wooden, the great UCLA coach, he believed, “What you are as a person is far more important than what you are as a basketball player.” Basketball might pay for the ride at the University of Portland. Basketball might eventually take her to play in Portugal for 18 months. But the game was just the beginning of her story, the prelude to the difference she could make. They were incredibly close, Sarah and her dad. “An impressive set of parents,” Jim Sollars says. Charles and Lillian were always at the games. Always challenging their kids. “That sense of entitlement? Sarah didn’t have that,” Sollars says. “She was willing to work as hard as necessary to succeed. Part of that was making her dad proud of her. Charles had a huge impact on the girls and their attitudes.” And when he died of a stroke in 2005, at the age of 55, Sarah Green stayed in her room for weeks, curled up in a ball, grieving and lost. Portland 16

Seeking harbor

The long road of Sarah Green ’00. By Steve Duin




In those four years at UP, Sarah Green pulled down 705 rebounds, an amazing 88 percent of them at the offensive end. She suffered three concussions during her senior season. After failing in a tryout for the WNBA, she played for a Portuguese team in Coimbra for 18 months before a knee injury ended her basketball career. But she long believed she was meant to work with kids. She didn’t want to teach — “I have some social anxieties,” Sarah admits — but she grew up in a house filled with boys and frequently banged heads with guys on the playground. She knew the games they played, the fears they shouldered, the places they’d go to hide. What’s more, her parents had given her empathy and discipline essential to the task. “When I was growing up, there were so many kids who didn’t have their fathers or mothers around,” she says. “My parents specifically told me and my siblings, ‘You have to be more compassionate. Some of these kids don’t have a mom or dad like you have. Take into account that they don’t have what we have when it comes to family support.’” She arrived at St. Mary’s five months after her father’s death. In the polite jargon of the home page, the boys’ home “offers residential treatment and services to at-risk boys between the ages of 10 and 17 who are emotionally disturbed and behaviorally delinquent.” Some of the boys are irreparably scarred by physical and sexual abuse. Some are one screw-up away from an extended stay at the Oregon Youth Correctional Facility at MacLaren. Sixty-seven live on campus full-time and another 35 arrive each morning for day treatment, lining up at lunch to follow Sarah Green to the cafeteria and back. “The kids are sweet, and they don’t have nice people in their lives,” says Lynda Walker, the development director at St. Mary’s. “Sarah goes a long way toward making them believe there are some nice people in the world. “For Sarah, it’s almost like a mission. Some of those kids are more damaged than the residents. They’re going home to some really shaky situations.” And dragging their angst and anger back to school. The safety room at St. Mary’s is 30 by 80 feet. The haphazard amenities include a refrigerator, a toaster, an

M.C. Escher print, the 45-day daytreatment checklist, and a bedraggled library that features, among other classics, Guide to the National Park Areas: Eastern States, and Carl Hiassen’s Hoot. Nine other boys are dealing — more quietly — with Noah’s issues. They’re behind on homework. They’ve misbehaved. They want to kick someone. In the short term, Sarah and the rest of the day-treatment staff need the boys to regroup and refocus so they don’t disrupt the fragile détente of their afternoon classes. Beyond that? A few teenagers may eventually transition to their neighborhood high school. Others have no such hope. They are brittle, volatile, lost. They can’t be trusted to deal with their emotional turmoil in a public school classroom. “This,” Sarah says, “is their only option.” After her mother died in 2012, Sarah took a year off from the boys’ home, living on a farm in Missouri. When she returned to St. Mary’s in the fall of 2014, she re-dedicated herself to honoring the way she was raised. She is good with the kids. She is approachable. She won’t be pushed around. She’s pure entertainment on the St. Mary’s basketball court. She is an intimidating 6-2 but she believes, with all her heart, that “I’m the most empathetic, sympathetic person they meet here.” She knows when to disengage so she doesn’t overreact to the 13-year-old who turns his crayons and Sharpies into a small percussion set. Sarah knows most of the boys have issues with trust; they have come to expect that someone they counted on will be gone when they wake up one morning. She knows that when they occasionally lash out, it may have nothing to do with the lunch menu or the shadows in their math homework. Maybe they spent the weekend in the visitors’ room at Coffee Creek Correctional Facility. Maybe they’re remembering the loneliness of their last holiday weekend. Maybe no one cared enough to make them breakfast. “Sometimes you have to peel back layers to get to the root of the issue,” Sarah says. “We all have our problems. Some are more obvious than others.” Maybe their parents died, both of them, and they’re still looking for a safe place to land. Maybe. Sarah Green left St. Mary’s Home for Boys just before Christmas last Winter 2016 19

year. She was engaged, and her engagement unraveled. She took a week off from work in early December. Then she realized that wasn’t enough. It’s always worse during the holidays at St. Mary’s, they say, the carols and lights taunting you in the distance. Last we spoke, Sarah Green was still seeking a place to land. When we first met, I was expecting an upbeat story. At the heart of it, a 36-year-old University of Portland graduate who found a home among boys who barely have one. “She’s so full of grace,” Lynda Walker told me. “When I see her coaching and playing with the boys, she just has a calm. I’ve never seen her get rattled. She brings tranquility and dignity to the program.” Yet even in our first conversation, Sarah was grieving over the loss of her parents, quietly conceding, “I’m still dealing with the effect of not having my parents with me. It’s an every-day process.” “It’s not just what my mom and dad said,” notes her sister, Lillian, a UP ball girl during the years Sarah played in the Chiles Center. “It’s what they ingrained in their children. Their faith. Their hard work. The individuals they taught us to be. My parents live in me all the time. ‘Oh, my God, we just did something Mom and Dad would do!’ They crafted who we are. How we treat people.” We are blessed beyond measure, most of us. When we are starting out, clueless and vulnerable, two parents, intricately promised to one another, send us off each morning, and welcome us home. They confront our selfishness, challenge our fears, forgive our mistakes, sacrifice for our dreams. They recognize what’s possible for us when the local basketball coach has his doubts. For others, for so many others, it’s so much harder and messier than that. They lose that anchor and mainsail, or they never had it. They seek harbor in the hallways at St. Mary’s Home for Boys, wounded in ways they can’t describe, loneliness tightening its grip. Steve Duin, who taught writing on The Bluff from 2010 to 2015, is a columnist for The Oregonian newspaper, and the author of many books, among them the fine collection of essays Father Time.



Why unfettered play is essential to our species.


hen my brother Tom and I awoke to a fine morning in our Colorado childhood, our first thought was for a clean getaway. Our common ambition was to split. Our usual haunt was the High Line Canal, an old irrigation ditch a mile away, the flowing artery of our lives. But there was also the weedy park, the still-vacant lots, the nearby lakes, the edge of the plains, the cross-town mountains, yea even unto the very state lines east and north as our mobility increased from foot to bike to scooter and cycle and finally automobile. Open the door and we were gone. This was not rare then. Kids went on the prowl all over the land: rural, suburban, deep-city kids on buses and subways. Nor was it new. There were centuries when children everywhere ran such a gamut of joy, as they roamed through their local landscapes unhindered. When I give talks, I often ask this question: “How many of you had a special place that you can blame or bless for caring about the wider world?” Almost every hand goes up. I go on, “How many of you had the unsupervised freedom to explore that special place?” Again, almost all the hands go up. And it turns out there is a common repertory of what went on during these excursions: exploring terra incognita, damming or diverting water, skipping stones, building forts (called, wonderfully, “cubbies” in Australia), where all manner of imaginative games and fantasies took place. Catching things: crawdads, polliwogs, frogs, fireflies, butterflies, honeybees, crickets and grasshoppers, minnows, or smaller kids. I’ve been overwhelmed by the universality of these experiences, whether conducted in a back forty or a backyard, a wilderness or a vacant lot (than which nothing is less vacant to a curious kid).

But then comes the troubling bit: when I ask how many folks know any children today — their own kids or grandkids, nieces and nephews, children of friends — who still enjoy the freedom of the day as we did, silence reigns. No hands go up, or very few. Of course, we all know why this is. The bizzyness of kids, the wholesale retreat of habitats from the places people live, the implantation of the electronic umbilicus at birth, and the bogeyman phenomenon, otherwise known as stranger danger: these new norms have crowded out the old way. Now, if any kids still prowl, it is those in deepest ruralia, or children of the most committed parents (or neglectful: in some states, it is illegal to leave children under nine, or twelve, unsupervised by an adult). Even in my deeply rural valley, the school district requires that kids let off the school bus be met by an adult in a car. So the children are driven that last delicious block, or eighth-, or quarter-mile home. How sad that strikes me. Just as lamentable, gender has now emerged in a big way: any free-range kids these days are almost sure to be boys. It seems inconceivable to me that such a large social change — from almost every child experiencing such freedom, to almost none, in just one generation — could fail to have powerful implications. I worry about the kids to come. Children accustomed to prowling their home range (somewhat wider than the usual wi-fi perimeter), and to meeting the unexpected with imagination and delight and maybe a little frisson of fear, the overcoming of which brings a flood of satisfaction, are children who will not turn catatonic in the face of social, climatic, or ecological upheaval. When disaster strikes, in the form of hurricane, war, or wildfire, it will be the Portland 20

free-range kids who help their families survive, and who will stand the better chance of surviving themselves. Kids who are sedentary slaves to their games and hand-helds will, in such times, most likely crumple, along with the gamers and texters and other watchers-not-doers who possess few skills, habits, or impulses remotely applicable to real life cataclysm. For most of the million-year lifetime of our species to date, people grew up with deep experience of their habitats, or they likely didn’t grow up at all. Boys learned how to find food; girls learned how to grow it, and how to prepare and store what the boys brought in. They both learned how to recognize which plants and animals were useful, and which were dangerous. Exploration and education amounted to the same thing, and everyone graduated cum laude or else went hungry, got eaten, or exiled. But this changed as we insulated ourselves more and more from the raw needs of nature, and people became estranged from the workings of the world around them. But it was play-hunting of the young that prepared aboriginal children everywhere to be useful hunters and gatherers — to survive. In pre-pastoral, pre-agrarian, and pre-industrial societies, childhood skills gained through outdoor trial and error led to socialization, discovery, and innovation, not to mention cooperation. We are the same species, so why would this no longer be true? Risk, and how to gauge risk, and what to do about risky situations is a big part of childhood. And a large body of study backs up the connection between youthful curiosity and physical health. A broad spectrum of modern ills can be attributed to isolation from the physical environment, Young people


By Robert Michael Pyle

are experiencing an increase in nearsightedness as they spend less time outdoors, where eyes must focus at longer distances. Plugged-in people are losing the ability to engage longer texts, and to read deeply. A culture of close connection to the land is not being renewed much today among the collective offspring; rather, it is actively withering. Many adults remember their liberated youths, and many kids want to experience a world off the game board, beyond the hearing range of parents, and most definitely outside their supervision. We all know there’s something better, and we long for it. We know there are critical lessons our children are missing, lessons that neither schools nor screens can teach them. So if humankind fails to make it (or make it well) through the era of climate contortion, it will be willfully so. Me, I foresee evolutionary alterations in the descendants of those

who have lost their childhood freedom. I picture future people with overdeveloped thumbs, atrophied arms, sloped shoulders, a permanent downward cant to the head. The eyes are dilated, the nose is contracted; the olfactory powers are almost absent. But those butts! Broad, deep, and built for comfort in a chair. The appending legs are almost vestigial, for there is little need for locomotion. For this is an organism suited to a stasis: one defined by allegiance to digital routine and endless arrays of cerebral diversion outside any known sense of outside. For such narrow purposes, this new-model body is elegantly adapted. But let anything change in its environment, like a hurricane pulling the plug on our electronic aids, and these people are toast. Children still long to experience the freedom of the day: I am convinced that the inclination survives, even if they aren’t given license to Winter 2016 21

follow it. They want to confront the world on their own terms. They want to discover what “wild” means, and to find it for themselves. They want to play off-leash. Mortared to Minecraft, they might need a nudge to get them out there. They might need their parents, or whoever is in charge, to encourage them, to trust them, and maybe to keep a loose eye on them from afar. And then, stand back! In the end, I put my faith in the kids themselves, and in my belief that, no matter what, they won’t let go of the world around us. Bob Pyle, the University’s Schoenfeldt Series visiting writer in 1997, is the author of many books, among them the Northwest classic Wintergreen. This essay is adapted from his new collection, Through a Green Lens: Fifty Years of Writing for Nature, just published by Oregon State University Press.

THE BODY OF CHRIST One moment one morning in a church in the north. By Dan Branch


n a subzero Tuesday morning, the cathedral rector pulled on the heavy green vestments of ordinary time. His planned liturgy would echo in a near-empty church. But the four inches of new snow then covering Anchorage roads wouldn’t keep away former Alaska governor Wally Hickel and his wife Ermalee. Every time I attended morning Mass at the cathedral, Wally and Ermalee took the same pew near the front. Hickel’s profile was as familiar to Alaskans as Lincoln’s. I had never met him but I knew from newspaper stories that he was an easy man for me to hate. Two Yup’ik men, ragged and drunk, hugged themselves and stamped their feet on the cathedral steps as the priest unlocked the front doors. The priest must have smelled booze on their breath and the fouler scent of the alcohol they had sweated into their clothes. They huddled in the vestibule when I passed through it on my way to the pews. Even in their reduced state, they reminded me of the men I had admired when I had lived in the Yup’ik country of western Alaska — men from a culture of nonconfrontation trained to harvest from the land without destroying its wildness. I had flown to Anchorage from Juneau the previous night, re-reading the appellate brief I would have to defend before the Alaska Supreme Court a few hours after the end of morning Mass. I needed the familiar liturgy, the forgiveness of sins, the stories, the remembering of the Sacrifice, and the intimacy of the Eucharist. Together, they strengthened my faith and shrunk the scope of my morning’s work to something I could handle. Alone, the green-clad priest processed up the center aisle. Without accompaniment he soloed a hymn. Always the last to find my place in the songbook, I joined in at the second verse. During the penitential rite, the two Yup’ik men took seats in the back pew. One slept. The other looked like he might when watching a boring movie on television. Both remained quiet until the Consecration when the priest raised high the oversized wafer. Echoing the priest’s words, a suddenly engaged Yup’ik man shouted, “The Body of Christ!” Shaking his friend awake, he said, “Look, it’s the Body of Christ.” Like the twenty other people scattered around the church, I turned to look at the two Yup’ik men. The silent one appeared confused and uncom-

fortable. His friend smiled and repeated, “The Body of Christ!” His face glowed like a holy card saint, inner light emphasizing the confusion of red, busted capillaries on his swollen nostrils. We all turned back to the priest as he genuflected before the newly arrived Body of Christ and said, “Do this in remembrance of Me.”   I felt embarrassment for the two men — the kind of embarrassment you might experience when a beloved uncle passes out at your sister’s wedding. Their bush accents and Asian-like faces reminded me of the place where I began my adult life. The men probably grew up on the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta of western Alaska where I had lived for twelve years. We had leaned into the same delta winds. They might have harvested pond ice for the drinking water it could provide their grandmother, and helped their dad pull salmon from the family set net. I probably drove my dog team over the snowmachine trails they had used on shopping trips to Bethel. If I met them after Mass at the church where I now take communion in Juneau, I’d feel homesick.           We all sang the Great Amen and stood for the Our Father. The inspired Yup’ik man hopped up and dragged his friend from his seat. We all heard the two men chant, “Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name...” They didn’t stumble on the words and I wondered how many times they had stood in their childhood church to say the universal Christian prayer. Today, distant in time from Immaculate Conception Church in Bethel where I had prayed the Our Father in English and Yup’ik, I realize how saying that prayer, even in English, could have connected them to their home village, if not to me and the rest of the congregation. No one shook the Yup’ik men’s hands after the priest directed us to offer each other a sign of peace. They knelt during the second elevation of the Eucharist and admitted, with the rest of us, “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” One of the Yup’ik men joined the communion line, head down, hands clasped together at his waist. After each step, he heard the priest tell the person at the head of the line, “This is the Body of Christ.”  I reached the priest before the Yup’ik man, bowed my head to the Host in confirmation Winter 2016 23

of the priest’s statement, and let him place a wafer in my hand. It dissolved in my mouth as I returned to my pew to pray.   When the intoxicated man stood before him with hands forming a table for the Host, the priest pressed the Body of Christ against his vestments. The Yup’ik man swayed side to side as he said, “I want the Body of Christ. Give me the Body of Christ. I need the Body of Christ.” After the request became a chant, the priest dropped the host into the chalice, covered it with one hand and swayed back and forth at each demand for communion. They both believed in the power of the transformed wafer. But the priest’s conscience prevented him from allowing his God to enter the man’s shaking body — a temple defiled by alcohol.       Unable to feel the calm that normally flows through me after communion, a calm I needed to get through the rest of the morning, I wanted the priest to quiet the man by giving him communion. Governor Hickel approached the priest and supplicant. In his tailored camelhair overcoat and carefully combed silver hair, he couldn’t have looked more different than the disheveled homeless man. When he was governor, he had sent fear throughout Juneau with threats to cut the state jobs that fueled the city’s economy. He had ordered bulldozers to cut a road through Alaskan wilderness in violation of federal law. I expected him to give the Yup’ik man one loud command and back it up with a threat to call the police if he didn’t leave the church. But the Governor shook the Yup’ik man’s hand just like he did the hands of those around him when exchanging signs of peace. I couldn’t hear what they said to each other, but after a brief conversation the Yup’ik man smiled, gave the governor a slight bow and returned to his pew at the back of the church.  I understood why the priest withheld the Body of Christ. But, now, after hundreds more liturgies, I believe that the presence in the Host that eventually calmed me and temporarily filled the governor with grace could have helped the Yup’ik man defeat his addiction and return to his home parish. I hope that another priest satisfied his hunger for the Body of Christ. Dan Branch is a writer in Juneau, Alaska.

The University has hundreds of alumni in active service in the Air Force, Army, Navy, Marines, and Coast Guard; six of our Air Force folks are stationed at Joint Base Langley-Eustis in Hampton, Virginia, and Air Force First Lieutenant Chelsea Wood was kind enough to gather them for us. Left to right: First Lieutenant Trevor Webber ’13, Captain Robert Baber ’08, Second Lieutenant Sean O’Hollearn ’15, his cheerful bride Second Lieutenant Lauren (Speers) O’Hollearn ’15, Colonel Susan (Turvold) Pietrykowski ’93, and Second Lieutenant Will Taylor ’15. Capt. Baber is an intelligence officer, Lt. Webber and Lt. Taylor are civil engineers, Lt. S. O’Hollearn is a nurse, Lt. L. O’Hollearn is a logistics readiness officer, and “Colonel Pie,” as she is called by everyone,




is the Commander of the 633d Medical Group, where she runs an inpatient facility with more than 1,400 employees. “Our first priority,” she says, “is ensuring that our war fighters are medically ready for service. Our second privilege is providing superb care for family members, retirees, and other folks.” Total audience served: 109,000 people (among them 100 new babies per month). Whew. Colonel Pie was a math major and Kenna resident on The Bluff; since graduation and commissioning, she has been in Air Force hospital management pretty much everywhere, including Iraq. She also earned three masters’ degrees along the way, somehow retains a quick sense of humor, and yes, will be chatting with her two young sons about applying to the University of Portland. Our particular thanks here to Lt. Trevor Webber’s bride, First Lieutenant Abigail Webber, for her swift and deft assistance with details. Yet another reason to admire the Air Force.

Dear Emily A father’s letter to his freshman daughter. By James W. Burke her to see how much a father can truly admire his daughter… We said our goodbyes and stepped out of 140 Fields Hall. Then the faint but purposefully directed words caught up to us, as we walked away: “I love you guys.” And one Emily became another. The business of flying from Iowa, renting a car, locating the Airbnb, raiding Target and Bed, Bath & Beyond, unpacking, arranging furniture, meeting roommate and family — that’s the easy part for a dad. Staying busy at things I can do with reasonable success. But that moment… that moment of goodbye when you walk away and physically understand that you will no longer be a shout away...“Dad, that engine light is on in the Jeep again. Dad, I need money in my lunch account. Dad, did you deposit my last check?” I never thought I would need that voice that used to annoy me.

That gets to a Dad. So I lie in her bed and try to keep the memories from fading, vaguely aware that her little sister might pop her head in and witness her father’s tears with confused worry. But, the tears somehow preserve the memories. So, I close the door, don’t bother to wipe my eyes, lie back down, breathe in the ghost left behind in this room and imagine her reading the letter I left under her pillow… James and María Doce drove their daughter Emily to The Bluff in August for her freshman year. James then wrote a poignant note to University president Father Mark Poorman, C.S.C., who wrote back about how much the University absolutely gets it that families are singular and irreplaceable influences on students, and how we will try our very best to build on what students’ families gave them deep in their souls.

Dear Emily, Welcome home to the University of Portland! I imagine you have been looking forward to this day for a while. In some ways, I have been dreading it… …Dreading it because it’s hard to say goodbye to the three-year-old girl who put her head down and biked the three miles to the Indian Creek Nature Center with her little training wheels nearly rattling right off her bike, then turned around and powered all the way back home, never doubting that she could do it. …Dreading saying goodbye to the eight-year-old swimmer who hesitated about competing in the 100 individual medley, then listened to coach Wendy’s “Emily, put your goggles on. You’re gonna swim the IM and do great,” and proceeded to swim to her eighth state qualifying time. …Dreading saying goodbye to the teenage girl joyfully embracing Alejandra and Alex and the rest of her newfound Guatemalan family. …Dreading no longer seeing that maturing young lady get involved in Gems of Hope, Interact, and Amnesty International, not for recognition, but because she followed her heart. But saying goodbye to that Emily means looking forward to the new person you will become. And we will hold those old memories dear forever. You have made a great choice in the University of Portland, and I know you will flourish. You will meet great people and challenge your world view. It will be very new and exciting for you, but you may experience some doubts and insecurity, too. Believe me, I know. For me, it hit my sophomore year at St. John’s University. I remember being moved into my dorm with the assumption that everything was fine since I’d been through it all the year before. But when Mom & Dad left, I found myself on a long walk through the woods where I hoped no one would see me crying. I was feeling overwhelmed at not knowing how to reconnect with friends who I hadn’t seen for several months, not knowing (still!) what classes I wanted to take, and feeling like I was surrounded by guys who all had their act much more together than I did. Well, I survived and went on to consider St. John’s my second home, as you will at UP. But it can be hard at times for accomplished young people to give themselves permission to feel out of sorts. Your new friends will be experiencing the same sort of feelings. Talking about it can be a great comfort. And know that we are always here if you need to hear a familiar voice. Through it all, old and new, the bottom line is that you will always be in my heart. I love you in ways that I hope you will know one day with your own kids. Enjoy your time at the University and never forget that you always have a place at our table, no matter what. I love you, Emily, and am so proud and excited for you. — Dad Portland 26



he moment runs like a loop in my memory, back home, as I lie on Emily’s empty double bed in a room almost unrecognizably clean. She took it all. The clothes on the floor, the unnamed pieces of her make-up arsenal, the blaring, inappropriate hip hop lyrics. It’s now just silent. I can still feel her here, and see her there, on campus, in the moment we said goodbye in the doorway of her dorm room. What was it? A month ago? A year? Yesterday? These words didn’t come, then. I suppose “I love you so much, Emily” covered it. But I wanted to tell her that, from where I stand, she is as talented, as kind, as smart as anyone around her. I wanted to remind her to dream big, to not sweat the small stuff. I wanted her to hear me say that her tremble of uncertainty is okay, even necessary. I wanted

Paul Henningsen ’87 and Colin Longmuir ’09 are the reigning and rising leaders of a secret frozen empire. By Todd Schwartz


ven for a seasoned journalist and outdoorsman, the conditions are harsh. The air is a frigid -18 degrees Celsius — zero degrees Fahrenheit. At least there is no wind. The ink in the pen I was planning to use for notes freezes instantly. I hope my memory doesn’t do the same. The cold slices through the heavy parka I’m wearing in minutes. I traverse narrow, vertical-walled canyons with my guide, Paul Henningsen ’87. He doesn’t seem bothered by the brittle, deep cold in the least. Or the isolation. Or even the sudden appearance of large, fast-moving beasts (weighing more than a ton) that we must avoid. He is clearly at home in this frozen place, but me — what if I were to find myself alone here? Could I survive? I would have to navigate, by landmarks alone, a long distance back the way we have come. To warmth. To life. To, you know, the door back into the office. For this is not some windswept, Aurora Borealis-tinged arctic landscape. It’s Gresham, Oregon, and one of the huge cold storage facilities of North America’s tenth-largest purveyors of highly controlled, highly Winter 2016 29



functional, highly chilly space. More than 53 million cubic feet of it, all told. In slightly more familiar units of cold storage, that’s your fridge times nearly two-and-a-half million. Henningsen, UP engineering alumnus and chief operating officer of Henningsen Cold Storage Company, a 93-year-old empire of cold air (and a major national enterprise of which you have likely never heard), leads us out of the path of another of the big forklifts moving down the rows of shelving, stacked to the ceiling with pallets of, in this case, frozen food. These four-wheeled beasts can lift a fully loaded pallet, which can weigh more than a ton, to a height of 25, 30, even 50 feet in some warehouses. As you can imagine, this requires skill, experience, and a fair amount of nerve — which Henningsen’s daughter Kayla, the fifth generation in this family business, is learning at this very moment in another part of the warehouse. This is something of a family tradition: training in every phase of the business before reaching the management team. You could say Henningsens are born not so much with a silver spoon in their mouths as with thick reflective jackets on their shoulders and very cold forklift controls in their hands. Eventually, to the benefit of both my pen and the fingers trying to hold it, we exit the zero-degree space to the relatively balmy — imagine the veggie drawer in your refrigerator — environs of the truck loading dock. This is where the thousands of refrigerated trucks that serve Henningsen Cold Storage’s 10 nationwide locations load and unload through airlock-like bays that keep outside air — today a blissful 80 degrees — out. Trucks come, unload and load, and go (always in under two hours) day and night. Everything you find in the grocery store that is frozen, chilled, or even simply fresh moves through these icy warehouses and those of their competitors. Not to mention many things you find at the garden shop and the drug store. From fish to milk to frozen peas and pizza, from plants to pharmaceuticals to chemicals, some five billion pounds of food, along with thousands of tons of other products, are handled by Henningsen Cold Storage each year. Some stay in the warehouse for a few hours, some as long as a year. More than 85,000 trucks (parked nose-to-tail they would stretch from Seattle to San Diego) and 4,000 railcars arrive and depart every year,

an unbroken line of cold from the growers and producers to you. All the result of a Danish guy who, back in 1923, had a thing for ice. Waldemar Henningsen Sr. (Paul’s great-grandfather) launched Northwestern Ice & Cold Storage Company in a warehouse on Washington Street in Portland. The ice he made kept fish cold on the docks, surrounded glass milk bottles in rattling, wooden-wheeled trucks, was packed onto trains for shipping Northwest produce — in the 1940s, the company even shipped ice to the Hanford Nuclear Reservation in eastern Washington, no doubt to help keep the infamous plutonium-producing reactors from cooking the Columbia River. As the business grew, more warehouses were added. One of the early Henningsen locations, in what is now Portland’s Pearl District, is today home to another fairly successful local business: the global advertising agency Wieden+Kennedy. After Waldemar Junior took over at the beginning of the 1960s, the business moved over to a parallel branch on the family tree, as Paul Henningsen’s grandfather decided to sell the cold storage operations. Eventually Paul’s uncle got back in. Nearly six decades and three generations later, Paul’s cousin Michael Henningsen is the company’s chairman and president, and another cousin, Chris, is a vice-president. Together they preside

over a 320-plus-employee company which stretches from Oregon, Washington, and Idaho to Pennsylvania, North Dakota, and Oklahoma. While cold storage is the tooth-chattering heart of the company, it is more properly described as a “temperature-controlled supply chain logistics organization,” involved in everything from transportation and delivery services to import/export to product distribution and repackaging. It is an empire built upon the thermometer (Henningsen offers environments ranging from -20 degrees Fahrenheit to +70 degrees) and upon the super-efficient movement of boxes from one place to another. And where Waldemar Senior likely thought most about how to keep the ice from melting, today’s Henningsens think about solar power, energy efficiency (they use less than one-third of the industry average for electricity per cubic foot of cold storage space), advanced technology, and complex freight logistics. Of course, coming out of UP in the late ’80s, Paul Henningsen thought his family’s kingdom of cold was just the place he’d had summer jobs in high school and college. Paul was going to be an engineer in the much warmer and also, he thought, much cooler computer industry. Until his cousin Chris came calling. “My cousin got me into the business after college,” says Henningsen when we return to the warmer climes of

Portland 30

the conference room. A Pilot soccer player who competed on teams that were in the nation’s top ten, Henningsen interviewed to be one of the company’s corporate engineers in 1987. “I learned to design refrigeration systems on the job,” he remembers, “and since we operated as our own general contractors I built some of those designs with my own two hands. Pretty good training for making it work better each time.” Henningsen has been responsible for at least one new facility, facility expansion, or facility improvement per year over the past two decades. Which has helped to make Henningsen Cold Storage the 17th largest such business in the world, and helped to make Paul Henningsen and his cousin Michael international leaders in educating the cold storage industry on new technologies and methodologies for energy efficiency. Like any huge yet relatively unknown industry, cold storage and food logistics have their own insider organizations, and Paul is active with several of the largest, including serving on the board of the World Food Logistics Organization and the International Association of Refrigerated Warehouses. What esoteric concerns are discussed at, say, an IARW meeting? Height is a big issue, because taller is more efficient when it comes to cold storage warehouses. Where forklifts are involved, fifty feet is the current

height limit, but new, automated warehouses are coming on line quickly. In these facilities, conveyors and moving shelves replace forklift trucks, allowing these warehouses to reach to some 12 stories tall. Doors are another pressing issue, as the greatest heat load introduced into a modern cold storage facility comes from simply opening the doors. And competition is always on the agenda. Not so much between cold storage companies, but between companies and their own costs. “It’s a fascinating industry,” Henningsen explains. “We don’t really compete head to head as much as we compete with ourselves to be better, faster, more efficient. The major companies are very friendly and very good at collaborating to improve the entire industry.” Henningsen also competes for top employee prospects — in a world where college graduates think about working at Adidas or Google or ESPN long before they ever think about working in the cold storage industry. And they never think about working in the cold storage industry, because they have no clue it even exists. “I had no clue the cold storage industry existed,” says Colin Longmuir ’09. We are sitting in his office at another Henningsen Cold Storage facility less than a mile west of the warehouse where I shivered with Paul Henningsen. Longmuir is the warehouse manager at this facility — the youngest manager in the company by at least a decade — and something of a rising star in the industry he knew nothing about seven years ago. That’s when University business professor Gary Mitchell put Longmuir and Henningsen together. Mitchell is a professor of operations (he is also a black belt martial artist who plays the saxophone, but that’s another story). A track and cross-country athlete, Longmuir was the president of the Operations Club at the business school, a club advised by Mitchell. Henningsen was a very successful alumnus who was one of the judges of a UP case-study competition run by Mitchell. The rest is ice-cold history. “I was coming out of school with no real experience in a less-than-ideal economy,” recalls Longmuir, “and I had a need not to move back home. So I interviewed with Paul and began working at Henningsen. Before that, the only warehouse I’d even been in was Costco.” In the Henningsen tradition, Longmuir started with the most basic jobs,

training for a few years, moving from Fayetteville, Arkansas to Grand Forks, North Dakota to Kent, Washington to Twin Falls, Idaho. He learned to listen, to build relationships, to lead a group. And along the way, of course, he learned to drive a forklift. “I was exposed to lots of places and people that were completely outside of my experience,” says Longmuir. “It really changed my perspectives about work and life. It wasn’t always easy. Sometimes I’d be thinking, ‘While my buddies are working at Nike, here I am in armadillo country with my big degree and I’m driving a forklift putting palettes of frozen corn on shelves with guys who have been doing this longer than I’ve been alive.’ But eventually I realized that no matter where you work, the quality of the job is determined by the leaders at the company. And the leaders at Henningsen were really invested in my development.” By 2011, Longmuir was back in Portland as a warehouse manager. Like Paul Henningsen, he gives time back to UP to help students expand their career options. “It’s been interesting being on the other side of the table,” Longmuir says. “The caliber of UP students is amazing. And I remember when I was sitting where they are, not knowing what the future held. I tell today’s students that they have to be patient, career-wise. Of course seeing things long-term is hard when you are 21 or 22 years old. I’m completely open and honest when I talk about my industry. It’s not glamorous on the surface. But I know we do a lot of cool stuff at Henningsen.” Pun very probably intended. Winter 2016 31

The man who shares the name over the door agrees. “Of course we’re proud of our growth and success,” Paul Henningsen says, “but what I care about even more than that is, well, caring. We care about the quality and safety of the food we store and transport, we care about our customers, our employees, and our community. That’s what makes this job fun. I enjoy seeing the development and growth of our people.” Longmuir will vouch for that. “I have the freedom to be flexible and call my own shots as a manager,” he says. “Not a lot of 30-year-olds can say that at major companies within huge and complex industries. It sets us up very well for the future.” What does that future hold in the frozen world of cold storage? According to Henningsen and Longmuir, more technology, more robots, bigger facilities, ever more focus on food safety and quality. Perhaps there will be a day when a future Henningsen generation, maybe the sixth, won’t even need to learn how to drive a forklift, because the forklifts will drive themselves. I wonder about that as I walk out of this kingdom of cold into the sun of summer. Even though I’m just leaving the offices, I close the door quickly behind me — heat load, you know. Todd Schwartz (schwartz@spiritone. com) is a writer in Portland who has contributed a dozen deft profiles of fascinating University alumni to this magazine over the years. He is the co-author of Breaking 100 — Eugene Country Club’s First Century, 1899-1999.

Miss Litcher’s Fall What teachers never admit they think about every night. shrink from the angry blue thunderbolts crashing just over my head. This day on the playground, oddly, all the other teachers came and took their children into the building, and our class was the last one left waiting. Usually Miss Litcher was the first teacher to show up, punctual with the bell. But this day our dutiful second grade group ended up standing alone on the warm playground. “Maybe she had to go to the bathroom,” said Wendy Haws from the girls’ line, offering a possibility I found too horrible to contemplate. Teachers didn’t do that sort of thing, particularly Miss Litcher. I looked up at the thin blue of the sky. Just then, Johnny Horsely, behind me in the boys’ line, yelled, “Look!  Miss Litcher fell!” I turned around. Though I didn’t actually see her stumble, stout old Miss Litcher must have been late and in a hurry, and she somehow tripped and fell down the three steps leading from the faculty room to the playground. She was flat on her back on the dusty asphalt. There were no other students nor adults around except for those of us in Miss Litcher’s class.  The lines immediately broke and we all ran over, a wad of children sprinting across the playground to help our fallen teacher. When we got to Miss Litcher, she looked awful, her big body rocking and struggling, her face ashen, her blue dress smudged with playground dirt. She couldn’t get up. We gathered around in horror. Then Miss Litcher looked up at us out of her pain and helplessness and screamed, “You get back in line! You know what you’re supposed to do — get in line!” Startled, all thirty of us ran back across the yard and got back in our two alphabetical lines — boys and girls, at attention, arms at our sides. These moments are seared in memory. I’m sure it must have been only a few minutes at the most before some adult noticed no one was in our classroom and came out to discover Miss Litcher crumpled on the playground, but it seemed to me like forever — hours, at least. We stood in our lines, trembling in confusion. No one came. Some children were crying. Across the yard Miss Litcher moaned. We stood at attention. No one came. I think that moment, one of my oldest memories, Portland 32

sticks so clearly because it was such a dramatic presentation of competing claims on our young consciences. The right thing to do, we knew in our second grade pure-heartedness, was to help someone in need, and there was our teacher, hurt and groaning in her pain and indignity on the ground. On the other hand, we knew we were supposed to obey. In such a case, what is one to do in order to be good? I never saw Miss Litcher again. I don’t remember who found her, or how we got back to our classroom. But she broke her hip, it turned out, and was gone for the rest of the year. I don’t know if she ever taught again. Tired Mrs. Cook became our permanent substitute. To this day I can’t figure Miss Litcher’s motivation. What fear of relinquishing control could be worth that suffering? Obedience was clearly her highest value, but in the end it did not serve any of us well. Our acquiescence to her authority did not teach us what Miss Litcher must have hoped to teach, because I have found myself regularly ignoring or defying senseless authority in her name. But I strain to understand, maybe because I’m gray-haired now myself and some days feel my own face grow stern as I stand in front of my classes. I don’t want to blame Miss Litcher for her fears; I want to figure out how to avoid them. I guess I’m still shaking in that line, trying to think hard of the right thing to do as a teacher.  The lessons for my students come easier. Here’s what I want to tell them that I learned from Miss Litcher: May you not confuse obedience with doing the right thing. May you never give up the commitment to understand others, even those hardest to fathom. May you always try to help out, even when it is difficult.  But sharing principles is easier than living up to them. How can I be sure I’m not making anyone shrink into his desk in my classroom? And when I’m flat on my back, looking up at the eager faces of my students, will they need to wait for me to tell them what to do? And what will I say?  Tim Gillespie has taught students of all ages in the Portland area for forty years and is an avid and prolific writer.



he afternoon bell clanged. All the primary students at John C. Fremont Elementary, f lush from our foursquare and kickball games, hopscotch and jump rope, ran across the playground to stand in class lines that arrowed toward the big brick schoolhouse. We were to wait there, a dozen classrooms of puffing children, in boys’ and girls’ lines all in alphabetical order, until our teachers came to collect us. Those teachers would emerge from the mysterious Faculty Lunchroom door at the other end of the quadrangle, come stand before their lined-up pupils, count us off, and march us up the big stairs into the dark, milky-smelling hallways and back to our classrooms. My class was orderly, not boisterous and shovey like some. We put our arms at our sides and stood at attention until our teacher came. See, Miss Litcher had high standards, and for any failure to meet those standards, she was quick to snatch your arm with a fierce shake or whack your hand with her stinging ruler. So our class quickly got into our lines, models of enforced virtue. Miss Litcher, large and stern and grey-haired, armored herself in dark blue dresses that fell from her broad shoulders to her ankles. I mostly remember her as a giant angry blue rectangle. This was the year my parents first suspected I had poor eyesight but before I got glasses, so my mother asked if I could sit in the front row where I didn’t have to squint so much at the chalkboard. I didn’t like being up there. Not only did I miss whatever action was going on behind me, but Miss Litcher stood smack in front of me whenever she was haranguing the class, a regular occurrence. As Miss Litcher yelled, I couldn’t bring myself to lean back and look up at her face; the possibility of her catching my eye or raining spittle on me was too daunting. And I couldn’t look straight ahead, facing the huge bosom that shook as she boomed her disappointment in us. So I’d usually end up looking down, studying the strange, squarish black shoes that emerged from the bottom hem of the blue dress. I’d never seen shoes with buttons up the sides. Watching the ground helped me

By Tim Gillespie

At The Church Of The Holy Sepulcher A quiet hour on the spot where Jesus died and then... awoke. Story and photos by Emily Harris


ll is still on the edge of Jerusalem’s Old City this summer night. No wrinkled grandmothers sit under the ancient arches of the Damascus gate, the main Arab entrance, peddling their fresh sage or grape leaves. No potential customers stroll. The candy hawker has closed his stall just inside the gate, his blaring call of bargain prices fallen silent. Even the Israeli police, charged to at the very least eyeball all passersby, lounge, poking at their cell phones, bored under the bright moon. It is Ramadan, the sun just down, and the Muslim families who pack the streets of this Old City quarter during the day are home, breaking another fast of their month-long celebration. This is ritual, in a city thick with it. I am here to say goodbye. After three years of making Jerusalem my home, watching, chronicling, swimming in the political, historical, and human tides of this place, I soon will be taking my leave. People have often asked me if I like it here. I smile. Modern Jerusalem, yes and no. The Old City, though, yes and yes. Not for the fights over the holy sites. For the sensation of standing on stone and earth where so many people have brought meaning for so very long. I came tonight to watch one relatively contemporary ritual: closing the doors of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher until dawn. The church surrounds the spots where Catholic and Eastern Orthodox faithful believe that Jesus was crucified, entombed, and rose from his grave. During the day it is busy: Visitors follow tour guides through the hodgepodge of chapels, grand and small, up one worn stone staircase and down another. Worshippers crowd the slab where Jesus’ body was anointed, then shuffle patiently in line for a solemn moment in his abandoned tomb,

carved from the rock millennia ago, encased in marble, now at the focal center of a high rotunda. But this night the church is quiet, an hour before closing. One tourist with a real camera, not her phone, pauses to document the elaborate mosaic floor and the golden wall of icons in the large, rectangular, Greek Orthodox hall. A solitary Russian worshipper kneels and prays at the site of Christ’s anointment. Sweet-smelling candles have burnt low and softened, tipping sideways in metal pans usually ablaze with light. There is no line to enter Christ’s tomb now. There is, however, the whine of a buzz-saw interrupting the quiet echo of this tall stone space. Strict rules born of six faiths managing one holy place have dictated impracticalities like leaving maintenance unattended to for decades. But recently they jointly permitted a team of Greek restoration experts to spend nearly a year repairing the dangerously crumbling structure built to preserve the rock-hewn tomb. Much work — with cotton swabs as well as screaming saws — happens at night. But we cannot stay to watch. It is closing time. Priests shoo us toward the enormous double doors that open onto a plaza, considered part of the church and also closed at night. The last visitors — three women in long skirts, light scarves covering their hair — flutter from the sanctuary. Two Israeli police in shirtsleeves stand by as a bearded priest wearing a small square black hat and floorlength black robe emerges carrying a wooden ladder. He hands it to a greying Muslim man in white shirt, dark pants, and sandals, a member of a local family entrusted with the church keys for centuries. This man leans the ladder against the left-hand door, closed earlier as the hordes of tourists dwindled. The Portland 34

priest disappears inside and the right-hand door swings shut. The man steps up three rungs, pulls two chains from the twin door on the right and fastens them to two hooks on the left. He steps down, lifts the ladder, slides it through a small opening cut from the door just for this. That window is then closed from the inside. A police officer claps his hands twice toward the handful of us watching. Yella, he says in Arabic. Move on. The storied sanctuary is closed until dawn. But as befits the cycle of competing Old City lives, its streets are alive again, lit with strands of festive lights and packed with streams of families flowing toward Al-Aqsa, the holiest Muslim sanctuary here, for Ramadan prayers. Produce shops are open, dates and grapes piled high on trays outside. Bakeries stack fresh sesame rings. Holiday sweet stalls are set up specially, some offering chocolate rabbits that didn’t sell at Easter. Police pay attention now, vests and weapons on, watching from pre-designated spots. I go, against the tide of skinny, hurrying boys in baseball caps, middle-aged women guiding each other through the crowd, tween girls and their swaying ponytails, men with prayer rugs tossed over their shoulders. A lone man — Jewish, I guess by his clothing — walks upstream with me too. Over the smooth stones where Jesus walked. Out the Damascus Gate. The moon is high and full. Emily Harris, former host of Oregon Public Broadcasting’s “Think Out Loud” show, has been a National Public Radio correspondent in Berlin and Jerusalem. She now works with Reveal radio from the Center for Investigative Reporting.




Calling All Pilots to Port: Reunion 2017, June 22-25

Relive your favorite UP memories with your Pilot family and make some new memories too! This year’s Reunion will celebrate Shipstad Hall’s 50th birthday, the Hawai’i Club, and all classes with years ending in 2 and 7. For more information, including a list of the weekend’s highlights, go to reunion. If you would like to serve as a class representative for your year, please contact Anna Horlacher at horlache@ or 503.943.8505.




November 17. Over 50 Pilots attended to connect with one another and learn about the direction of the University. Coming up, join the Hawai’i Chapter on January 12 for a game watch as our men’s basketball team takes on Saint Mary’s. More information to come at


that get your foot in the door, and negotiate the best offer possible. $5 for alumni and guests; free for students. Register at

Life After UP: Caregiving for Aging Parents, April 19 Alumni Family Day at OMSI, Feb. 21

February 21 is an in-service day for local Catholic elementary schools, so spend the day off exploring OMSI with fellow alumni and future Pilots. $6 for adults and $3 for kids includes discounted entry to the museum as well as snacks and beverages. RSVP at

Chapters, Chapters, Everywhere

On October 16, the UP Chicago Chapter gathered to welcome Pilots who are new to the Windy City with brunch and a tour of the beautiful Morton Arboretum. Alumni in Colorado joined together for a pre-game social followed by the UP men’s soccer game versus University of Denver on November 3. Despite the away loss, the extra purple in the crowd was much appreciated. Alumni in Portland organized a theological discussion led by Fr. Edwin Obermiller, C.S.C, and theology professor Matt Baasten at Lucky Lab Beer Hall on November 6. “Theology on Tap” was a great success and we’re already talking about the next one. On November 10, emeritus professor Thompson Faller spoke about medical ethics at a reception given by the UP Seattle Chapter. A big thank you to Dr. Faller for making the trip up! The Washington, D.C. Chapter hosted a reception for local alumni and UP parents on

Spring Chef’s Table Dinner, March 18

Get a sneak peek into the inner workings of the Bauccio Commons kitchen as you dine on a seasonal multi-course meal prepared by Bon Appetit chefs. $82 per person, limited to 20 participants. To reserve your seat at the table, go to

A panel of healthcare and social work professionals will explain how to best support aging family members. $5 for alumni and guests. RSVP at

Calling All Homebrewers!

Thanks to the success of last summer’s UP Brewers Fest, we are once again looking for alumni and friends of the University who would like to share their homebrews with the UP community. Please email Anna Horlacher at for more information about participating in this year’s Brewers Fest.

Life After UP is an educational series that covers a range of topics designed to help students and graduates thrive as they navigate the world outside The Bluff. This March, learn how to stand out as a job applicant, create relationships


Graduates of the Last Decade (GOLDS) take heed: our men’s basketball team is taking on Gonzaga on Saturday, January 7, in the Chiles Center. Join us for a Pilots pre-game social on the practice court in the new Beauchamp Recreation and Wellness Center starting at 5 p.m., followed by the game at 7 p.m. Students will still be on winter break on the 7th, so it’s up to us to fill the Chiles Center with purple! Ticket price

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includes entry to the pre-game plus beer, wine, cider, and appetizers; a game ticket in the student section, and a Pilots t-shirt. Go to to register.

President’s Receptions: Los Angeles, San Francisco University president Rev. Mark L. Poorman, C.S.C., is going on the road, first to Los Angeles on Wednesday, February 8, at the Huntington Library (1151 Oxford Road, San Marino, CA 91108) and then to San Francisco on Tuesday, March 21, at Foundry and Lux (151 Oyster Point Blvd, San Francisco, CA). Come hear the latest UP news from Fr. Mark. Both events will be hosted by Fedele Bauccio ’64, ’66 MBA. More detailed information is available at alumni or contact Nancy Nofziger at 503.943.8327.

New Development Online Giving Site: GIVING.UP.EDU

GOLD Ticket Deal: Pilots vs. Gonzaga, Jan. 7 Life After UP: Landing a Job, Negotiating a Salary, March 29


In October, the Office of Development launched the University’s new giving website at This new site enhances your ability to give back to the schools, programs, scholarships, and projects that you are passionate about with convenience and security. The University is grateful for the more than 7,500 donors who give gifts, large and small, each year, providing support and enhancements to every corner of The Bluff. Visit to learn about the impact of your philanthropy, discover new opportunities for giving, and support the next generation of Pilots through your generosity.




An early happy birthday to the quiet wry University legend Father George Bernard, C.S.C., who turns 95 this spring. Professor, vice president, former boxer, good and gentle priest. Avid golfer, no-nonsense card player, known to enjoy a wee drap with his cards on occasion. Fierce defender of the University’s mission and academic integrity. Prayers of thanks to you, Fr. George. Winter 2016 37

C L A S S Fifty Year Club

Robert Molin ’40 passed away on October 27, 2016. He was a longtime jeweler in Portland and died peacefully surrounded by family. Bob was president of the Retail Trade Bureau and Association for Retarded Citizens. He served in the Navy and settled with his wife Georgia in Portland. Bob is survived by his daughters, MaryCarol, Beth, and Roberta; his brother, Vincent; five grandchildren; four greatgrandchildren; along with his wonderful sons-in-law. He was preceded in death by Georgia and son, Tim. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Frederick Raymond (Ray) Utz, Jr., ’46, ’50, ’55, passed away on September 4, 2016. He attended Columbia Prep, and also attained undergraduate and graduate degrees on The Bluff. Ray’s passion was football, and he played under the guidance and mentoring of legendary UP coach Hal Moe. The University of Portland’s last football season was in 1949 and Ray was a co-captain of the team. Ray met his lifelong love, Madalyn (Turtan) Utz ’55, at UP and they married in August 1955 after both finished their degrees. His teaching career took him to the David Douglas School District, where he retired from David Douglas High School as principal in 1991. Survivors include his daughter, Maureen Utz ’99; son, Mark Utz and daughter-in-law, Gudrun Utz; three grandsons, and three great-grandchildren. He was preceded in death in June 2014 by his wife of 59 years, Madalyn. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Ruth Elaine Thalhofer ’47 died on August 21, 2016, at her home in Bend, Ore., with family around her. She married her high school sweetheart, Joseph John Thalhofer, on November 20, 1948, in Belmont, Massachusetts. Ruth worked as a nurse until the birth of their first child, Joseph (Kerry). Following Joe’s graduation from law school, the family moved to Klamath Falls, Redmond, and finally Bend. They resided there for the rest of their lives. Ruth was known as grandma to not only her grandchildren but the hundreds of swimmers who came for lessons at the McCools’ pool, where they would spend time with her as she enjoyed the sunshine. Ruth was a role model and example for all of how to live a life filled with devotion, enthusiasm, and love, with a dose of spunkiness thrown in for good measure.

Survivors include her six children and their families: Kerry (Terry); Lorrie Jones (C. Michael); Mike (Kate); Mary McCool (Bob); Katie McCarthy (Mike); and Pete (Teri); grand-

N O T E S leaves an indelible footprint. Born July 4, 1930, in Portland to Elizabeth L. and Ambrose M. Cronin, Jr., he was the second of six children and the great-grandson of Henry and

Co-captain of the last Pilots football team in 1949, Frederick Raymond (Ray) Utz, Jr. ’46, ’50, ’55 was a total Bluff guy: he attended Columbia Prep, attained undergraduate and graduate degrees at University of Portland, including a master’s in education, and he married fellow UP graduate, Madalyn A. Utz ’55. He was a dedicated teacher who would later become principal of David Douglas High School, where he retired as principal in 1991. children Megan, Colin, Erin, Abram, Josh, Kelsey, Kylie, Taylor, Cole, Casey, Molly, Jamie, Genesee, Stephen, Kieran, Lauren, and Sam; and five great-grandchildren. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Ambrose M. “Bubby” Cronin III ’48 passed away on August 22, 2016, surrounded by his loving family. He will be remembered as a longtime local business owner, family man, generous friend, and athlete, but it was his zest for life that

Georgiana Pittock. In 1954, Bubby married Susan Erickson and together they raised their six children in the same house in which he grew up. He expanded the family business, Electrical Distributing, Inc., from radios and televisions to other household appliances, and in the early 1990s he and his sons, Marty and Huck, acquired BASCO (Builders Appliance Supply Company) and grew it into a prominent and successful enterprise. In 1986, Bubby

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married Anne Helm and helped raise her two daughters. They celebrated their 30th anniversary in June by traveling to Banff National Park on the Trans Canadian Railway. Survivors include Anne; three sisters, Libby Noyes, Dottie Schoonmaker, and Sally Pope (Guy); two brothers, Ted and Pat (Pris); six children, Melanie Callander (Charlie), Ambrose M. Marty, Sara Freeman (Perk), Kate Besse, and Christopher Huck (Jennie); his stepdaughter Carrie Madding (John); stepson-in-law Jeff Wilebski; 14 grandchildren; and two great-grandchildren. Bubby was preceded in death by his son, Timothy; stepdaughter, Molly Wilebski; and his mother, Betty, who died in 2014 at the age of 110. Our prayers and condolences to the family. William E. Fordney ’49 passed away on July 25, 2016. He joined the U.S. Navy in 1951 and served as an aviation electrician. In 1970 he married Margaret Brown Gilsdorf and they lived and worked in Portland and Scappoose. Bill retired from the Oregon Liquor Control Commission where he worked as an auditor. Bill is survived by his wife of 46 years, Margaret; children, Bill Fordney (Diane), Mike Fordney (Lynda), Tim Fordney (Laura), Jan Galbraith (Cliff), Ralph Gilsdorf (Janet), Sandy Bruenig (Rick), and Mary Edeline (John); grandchildren, David, Alex, Crystal, Samantha, Eric, Sarah, Amber, Nikki, Chris, Aaron, and Jenny; and many great-grandchildren, nephews, and nieces. He was predeceased by his daughter, Terri Fordney. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Don Galarneau ’49, a longtime benefactor and supporter of the University’s mission, passed away on Saturday, August 20, 2016. Galarneau graduated from UP with a degree in general science and physics and worked as a field engineer for GE for many years. He gave his alma mater over $1.5 million dollars over his lifetime (including matching gifts from his employer, GE) and was one of UP’s most ardent supporters. Don was especially generous when it came to supporting the Shiley School of Engineering. He established the Donald T. Galarneau Endowed Scholarship for electrical engineering, mechanical engineering, physics, and math majors in 2002; since that time,

C L A S S there have been 25 recipients who have been awarded the scholarship. Don made gifts to the Engineering Building Fund; the Galarneau Engineering Student Project Fund; Murdock Challenge Engineering Match Fund; Clark Library Renovation Fund; the Donald P. Shiley School of Engineering Fund; SAE Society/Galarneau Mini Baja Project Fund/ Formula Team; the Science and Engineering Equipment Fund; Portland Magazine, the School of Engineering General Fund; Rev. David T. Tyson, C.S.C., Distinguished Professorships; the Beauchamp Recreation and Wellness Center, and more. Our prayers and condolences to Don’s family and humble thanks for his generosity. For more information or to help keep Don’s dreams alive contact Sharon Hogan in the UP development office at Robert Sweeney ’50 passed away peacefully on July 16, 2016. He served in the U.S. Army Air Corp during World War II, from 1942 to 1945. He married Marguerite Schreiber in 1948; they had 10 children and enjoyed 60 years together before she passed away in 2008. After many years working with Boyd Coffee Co., Folgers, and MJB Coffee, he started Sweeney’s Gourmet Coffee Roasters in Las Vegas in 1979. This was Nevada’s first gourmet coffee roaster, and they operated for over 24 years as a family business. Survivors include his children, Kate Lowe, Terese Sweeney, Robin Girres, Shawn Fuchs, Peter Sweeney, Kevin Sweeney, Dan Sweeney, Tom Sweeney, MaryJo Cowley, and Bob Sweeney, along with their spouses; brother-in-law Joe Schreiber; 27 grandchildren; and 19 great-grandchildren. Our prayers and condolences to the family. William Radakovich ’51 passed away on October 7, 2016. He grew up in the Slabtown area of Northwest Portland; at St. Patrick Grade School the nuns changed his name from Blazius to Billy. He served in the Pacific Fleet during World War II, and graduated from UP on the GI Bill. He held positions in the Multnomah County Sheriff’s Office, civil defense, tax department, budget office, and served as director of elections. He is survived by his wife of 63 years, Sophie Anna (Bulich) Radakovich; four children; five grandchildren; and sister, Eva Polich. Remembrances and donations to be sent to the St. Patrick Slabtown Scholarship Fund at the Uni-

versity of Portland, of which he was one of the founders. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Byron Meurlott ’51 died on August 22, 2016. Born and

N O T E S five children in Lake Oswego. Byron was a teacher, counselor, and principal at Lake Oswego and Waluga junior high schools, and known for his warm smile and apt administrative skills.

He was, no kidding, the world’s nicest guy. No ego, no act, no pose, no bristle. Generous as the day is long. Would never boast about his service against the Empire of the Sun that wanted to enslave half the world, but Sergeant Don Galarneau ’49 flew 35 missions, under ferocious fire, as radioman in an Army Air Corps B-24 Liberator bomber with a crew that never lost a man. Earned his physics degree on The Bluff on the G.I. Bill and went to work, for the rest of his career, as an engineer for General Electric. Total NoPo boy, born here, Holy Redeemer grade school, Jefferson High, UP, lived all his life a few blocks east of the University. Gave away pretty much all his money — some $1.5 million to the University alone, mostly to the Shiley School of Engineering, where the Don Galarneau Automated Manufacturing Lab is named for him and 25 students have been helped by Don’s scholarship for engineering and science majors. But facts don’t catch his laughter, his absolute integrity, his unassuming nature, his toothy grin, his quiet pride that he had been a small sharp blow against great evil. Trust us when we say that Donald, who died this summer at age 92, was the world’s nicest friendliest most egoless generous man. It’s true. raised in Hawaii, he came to Oregon to attend the University of Portland. It was there that he met Connie, who was attending Marylhurst College. They married and raised their

Byron is survived by four of his children, Tom (Linda), Marlu (Ed), Vince (Annie Mac), and, Anne Du (David); nine grandchildren; twelve great-grandchildren; and his

Winter 2016 39

uncle Aimoku in Hawaii. He was preceded in death by Connie and their youngest daughter, Michelle. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Frank Henry Gordin ’52 died on October 15, 2016. He married the love of his life, Ruth Annette Blond, also a Portland native, in 1951. They raised five sons: Alex, Robert, Seth, Doug, and Howard. Frank was a hardworking, conscientious provider, and worked as an accountant and also as a letter carrier for the post office. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Gerald R. Lobb ’52 passed away at his home on October 10, 2016, at the age of 88. After graduation from Central Catholic in Portland, he enlisted in the Army, and served with the occupation troops in Japan as an MP with the First Cavalry Division. He had a 37-year banking career, first with First National Bank of Oregon, and later with Far West Federal Savings Bank, retiring in 1989 with the title of vice president. Jerry and his wife, Cathy, were married August 9, 1952, and just celebrated their 64th wedding anniversary. Survivors include Cathy; children, Michael, Linda, and Karen; and three grandsons, Adam, Sean and Carson. Our prayers and condolences. Carol Irene Curtis ’52 died on July 12, 2016, after a short battle with lung cancer, at the age of 86. She married Leverett “Curt” Curtis on September 5, 1959. He preceded her in death in May 2006.
Survivors include her children, John, Nancy, Robert, and Ann; grandchildren, Josef, Marie, Devin, Madeline, Colby, Michaela, Sierra, and Grace; and great-granddaughters, Scarlett and Madison. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Walter G. Stickel ’52 passed away in Nehalem on September 8, 2013, at the age of 86. He left high school early and joined the U.S. Navy when he was 17. Walter served his country honorably during World War II. He was united in marriage to Gloria Parisi on June 4, 1950; they retired together to Manzanita in 1982. Survivors include Gloria; brothers, Harry and Alfred Stickel; sisters, Francis Graves and Margaret Maloney; and two grandchildren. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Vivian K. Williams ’54 passed away on October 10, 2016. At the age of 9, Vivian decided that she wanted to be a nurse when she grew up, and never changed her mind. She graduated from Booker T. Washing-

C L A S S ton High School in Houston, Texas, and attended one year of business college in Houston. She later moved to Portland and enrolled in the University of Portland nursing school at St. Vincent’s Hospital, earning a bachelor of science in nursing. She then began working as a nurse at St. Vincent’s. After marrying Curtis Williams in 1954 the couple raised five children; once they were schoolaged she went back to work as a nurse at Jefferson High School, where she remained until retirement. According to her obituary, “Although Vivian had a love for the finer things in life, what she enjoyed most was spending time with her family and talking to God. These were the most important things in her life. Family and faith were truly what made her life go round.” Vivian is survived by Curtis Williams; daughters, Cheryl Scott and Vivian Wise; sons, Tyrone and Mark Williams; sisters, Ruby Stewart and Rosie Mitchell; brothers, Will and John Andrews; 10 grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren. Her daughter Jackie predeceased her. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Robert W. Bruechert Sr. ’55 died on September 23, 2016. He married Bonnie Troutner on June 25, 1955, and received his MD from the University of Oregon Medical School in 1957. He practiced family medicine in Oregon City until 1965. He joined the Oregon City Eye Clinic in 1969, where he practiced until retirement. Survivors include Bonnie, his wife of 61 years; children, Barbara (Gordon) Everett, Bob (Karin) Bruechert Jr., and Beverly Bruechert; five grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren, all whom he dearly loved. Our prayers and condolences. We heard recently from John Flynn ’64, who writes: “Thank you for the photo and short entry in the summer 2016 quarterly on my brother, Jim Flynn ’55, who passed away in March. I was puzzled by two references to his ‘full obituary.’ The photo caption says ‘on the previous page’ and the short reference above the photo says ‘on this page,’ but I didn’t find it anywhere. Was it omitted somehow? Our sister, Jean Mitchell ’83, could not find it either, and she has a keen eye for publications. Thank you for your good work.” Our apologies to John and Jean and the Flynn family, that was a goof on our part. Jim’s full obituary follows. Jim Flynn ’55 passed away on Saturday, March 12, 2016, surrounded by his loving family.

He was born in Portland to James Vincent and Ruth Green Flynn. He attended Madeleine Catholic grade school before attending Central Catholic High School from 1947 to 1951. Jim was a champion tennis player at Central, winning the state high school doubles title with Mike Walsh in 1949, and the singles title in 1951 while he was student body president. He was inducted into the CCHS Sports Hall of Fame in 1996. When Jim came to The Bluff he took

N O T E S born during that time. They then established their longtime home in Portland’s Madeleine Parish, and added Mike, Pat, Ann, and Peter to the Flynn brood. Jim’s career was spent in the insurance business but he always stayed involved with tennis. He was a member of the Irvington Club and helped establish the Portland Tennis Center in 1973 and the St. Johns Racquet Center in 1980, the first public indoor tennis facilities on the West Coast. He later be-

Valerie Wen ’07 graduated with a doctorate in occupational therapy from Pacific University on August 13, 2016. She completed her capstone on the role of occupational therapy in early psychosis intervention, writing a manual for occupational therapists in the process. Valerie’s manual will be implemented in programs across the state of Oregon and will likely be used as a model across the nation in early psychosis programs. She graduated alongside another University of Portland alumna (and now good friend), Katy Danforth ’13. Here we see Valerie on the left, Katy on the right, sheepskins and flowers in hand. Congratulations! the tennis program by storm. He was a number one player his freshman year and his team had 79 consecutive wins from 1952 to 1956 under coach Mike Tichy. Jim was inducted into the Pilots Athletic Hall of Fame in 1995. He married Alexia Schneider during his senior year and went to Hawaii to serve two years in the U.S. Air Force. He wasn’t done with tennis yet, and won the PAC Air Force tennis title in 1957. Jim and Alexia’s first two children, Jim and Tim, were

came the first tennis director for Portland Parks and Recreation. He was inducted into the USTA Pacific Northwest Hall of Fame in 2012 for his significant contribution to the sport of tennis; he believed every child deserved a chance to learn to play. In 1989 Jim married Ann Sheridan. He volunteered with PAL, The Community Transitional School, and contributed to many educational groups. He and Ann, his wife of 26 years, enjoyed their retirement by golfing,

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gardening, and visiting Hawaii. Survivors include Ann; sisters, Jean Mitchell ’83 and Kathleen Cunningham, brother, John Flynn ’64 (Carmel); children Jim, Tim (Linda), Michael (Anne), Pat Davis (Ken), Ann Makar (Brian), and Peter (Robin), plus thirteen grandchildren, five great-grandchildren, and many nieces and nephews. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Ron Gamroth ’55 passed away on July 23, 2016. He was the beloved husband for 40 years to Judi; dear father of Diane Hertz, Mary Sue Gamroth, and Jaime Lyn Gamroth; grandfather of Emma Hertz, Avery Konda, and Johanna English; brother of Michael Gamroth. Ron was a captain in the U.S. Air Force and a longtime employee of Union Carbide Elkem Metals as an engineer. In lieu of flowers, the family suggests memorials to the University of Portland Shiley School of Engineering at, designated for engineering scholarships. Our prayers and condolences. Kazuo Kiyomura ’57 passed away on January 11, 2015. He was 94 years old and a proud World War II veteran. He was predeceased by his wife, Mae Kiyomura, and survived by his daughters, Pearl (Melvin) Iizuka, Patty (Kelly) Eastham, and Sho (Craig) Masumiya; grandchildren, Katrina (Rich) Winiarski, Gena Celli, Jeff (Georgette) Tufts, Kelly Masumiya, Lisa (Greg) Guadagnolo, and Kristin Iizuka; great-grandchildren, Chloe Thuler, Luke Tufts, Kane Celli, and Kaz Winiarski; sister, Misty (Tom) Takeoka; and many nieces and nephews. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Shirley White Snyder ’58 died on December 11, 2013, at her home in Glen Ellen, Calif. After college, she fled for a warmer climate and became a stewardess for Western Airlines. She met the love of her life, Christopher Snyder, while on a blind date in Los Angeles and they married in 1960. She is survived by her husband, Chris; children, Paula (John) Coffaney, Chris (Dinah) Snyder, Jr., and Philip (Tina) Snyder; and grandchildren, Stephanie, Alexandra, Ashley, Jack, Mikayla, Lagan, Tristin, and Lillian. She also leaves behind “cousins by the dozens” in Wisconsin. Our prayers and condolences to the family. James T. Covert ’59 died at his home, surrounded by loving family, on Thursday, October 13, 2016, of complica-

C L A S S tions from a stroke. He was 84 years old. He is survived by his wife of 64 years, Sally Ann Covert ’86, and their children, Marc ’93, Michael ’86, Jennifer Keagbine ’86, Elizabeth Tobey ’90, and Christine Naylor ’93. His daughter, Juliann Covert ’94, predeceased him in 2002, as did his grandson, Danny Keagbine, in 2011. He is also survived by his beloved grandchildren, Jeffrey ’10, Emily, Kelsey, Eric, Trevor, and Megan Keagbine; Thayne Covert; Samuel Naylor; Corin and Arden Tobey; and Oliver and Sally Covert. Remembered by thousands of students simply as “Dr. Covert” (some dubbed him “Lord Jim”), he served as professor of European history at the University from 1961 through 1997. He wrote or edited six books and numerous scholarly articles, among them A Point of Pride: The University of Portland Story (1976), published on the 75th anniversary of the University, and A Victorian Marriage (2001), a biography of Anglican bishop Mandell Creighton and his wife Louise. Covert won many teaching and scholarship honors, including the James Culligan Award for outstanding service to the University in 1967, and the Outstanding Teacher of the Year award in 1986. He chaired the Department of History (later History and Political Science) for eighteen years, served in the Academic Senate, which he helped establish in 1969, was managing editor of the University of Portland Review for four years, served as faculty representative for athletics for 23 years, and was a member of the executive committee of the West Coast Athletic Conference (19761995). He designed the University’s ceremonial maces in 1976 and served as assistant or grand marshal at commencements for many years. He was the founder and first director of the University of Portland Museum, and supervised the design of the Captain William Clark Memorial monument on the bluff overlooking the Willamette River. Covert raised the funds and directed the design of the Broken Wall Memorial, which commemorates former UP students who served and in some cases lost their lives in America’s wars; its monument to the Korean conflict is thought to be one of the first in the country. Jim was born in Cimarron, Kansas, on April 20, 1932, and moved to Portland with his family as a child. He attended St. Clare’s Grade School and Collins View School in Southwest Portland.

He graduated from Lincoln High School in 1950, where he participated in sports (particularly track), was a cheerleader, sang in the choir, and was editor of the weekly newspaper, the Lincoln Cardinal. He worked several years after high school for Austin Brothers Wholesale Drug Co., both in Portland and Spokane, during which he spent a year in the U.S. Air Force as part of the 142 Aircraft Control and Warning Squadron, manning a radar outpost at Cape Prince of Wales in

N O T E S friends and colleagues as a “Renaissance Man,” Covert played guitar, piano, and banjo in various dance bands; was an amateur woodcarver and watercolorist; and became an avid golfer later in life. His great love was always writing, both nonfiction and fiction, including poetry. A devoted father and husband, his abiding love for his family, his university, and his religion, stimulated by his conversion to Roman Catholicism, were features that he readily dis-

There are certain advantages to having a professional photographer for a Mom, as evidenced by this photo of 5-year-old Jack and 2-year-old Eloise Jorgenson, proudly snapped by mama Erin Jorgenson ’02. It won an award, too. See the Jorgensons’ entry on page 45. Alaska. He married Sally Ann Miller, a high school classmate, in 1952, and later attended the University of Portland (19561959), graduating maxima cum laude in history. He went on to the University of Oregon, where he earned a master of arts degree in European history and a Ph.D. He was invited to return to the University before completing his advanced degrees in 1961, and there he began his long tenure as a popular teacher and faculty leader, twice declining requests to serve as dean and academic vice president because of his love for teaching in the classroom. Often described by his

played to those who knew him. He was a child of the Great Depression and the Second World War, experiences that forever colored his outlook in adult life. The family wishes to thank Legacy hospice personnel who made his final weeks comfortable and peaceful, and Fr. Neil Moore ’54, the Covert family pastor these past 50 years, for bringing Communion, kindness, good cheer, and the Anointing of the Sick to their beloved Grumps. Jim Covert led a meaningful life and was blessed with a good death, and he will be sorely missed.

Winter 2016 41

Harry “Hank” Slangal ’59 passed away peacefully on May 22, 2016, at the age of 85. He was an educator and skilled craftsman who lived a full and varied life committed to family and lifelong learning. Hank married his wife, June, in Portland in 1960. Life took them to Denver, Detroit, Winona, Minn.; Sandy, Ore.; back to Portland; Cottage Grove, Redmond, and Milwaukie, Ore.; back to Portland yet again; then to Astoria, Prineville, Oregon City, McMinnville, King City, Scappoose, and finally Mt. Angel, where they were residing when he passed away. He worked in various positions including bank teller, customs agent, newspaper editor, and college educator. Thankfully Hank was able to drive until the end; he took June for a Sunday afternoon drive in Oregon’s Cascades only a week before his passing. Hank made the world a better place; and he was working on making the world a better place for his grandchildren and their grandchildren. He is survived by June; children, Natasha (Brian) Heintz, Charles (Danita) Slangal, and Anne Krueger; five grandchildren; and two great-grandchildren. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Melvin E. Gelow ’59 died on August 3, 2014, just eight days short of his 80th birthday. Mel joined the Marine Corps directly out of high school and served in the Korean Conflict. He was hospitalized and spent many months in Honolulu. Upon discharge from duty he married the love of his life, Sonja Borreson. He and his family settled in Napa in 1963, where Mel took over the San Francisco Examiner dealership. Survivors include Sonja; children, Mark Gelow (Janet), Jeffrey Gelow (Vicki Thorpe), Diana Gelow (Mike Cybulski), Julie Jeffery (James); grandchildren, Jacob Gelow (Tammy), Chelsey Holdsworth (Lance), Ryan Gelow, Kevin and Eric Jeffery, Kelli and Craig Cybulski; and three greatgrandchildren. Our prayers and condolences to the family. James Link ’59 passed away on March 20, 2013. He attended the University of Portland before joining the U.S. Navy, where he earned his dolphins after completing Submarine School in New London, Conn., in 1961. He rose to the rank of Quarter Master Chief while serving on the U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson, U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt, U.S.S. Sturgeon, and U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln. He married Grace Hertel in 1961; they were

C L A S S married 51 years and raised nine children. He is survived by Grace; children, Jim, Janet, Jeff, Julie, Ken, Greg, Kevin, Paula, Chris, their spouses, and 23 grandchildren. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Lynne Beth Roy ’60 died on August 15, 2016, at her home outside Marrakesh, Morocco. She was 77. She graduated from the University of Portland School of Nursing in 1960, later earning her master’s degree in 1987. She worked in many area hospitals, attaining national infection control certification and teaching at local community colleges. At age 53, Lynne joined the Army Nursing Corps as a captain serving in Panama. In 2006, she discovered Morocco, and later married Hassan Ajasane, who was by her side at their home when she passed. Lynne was predeceased by her son, Greg, and is survived by Hassan; daughters, Sarah Goehler (Barry), Mary Roy; and son, John Roy (Carolyn); as well as grandchildren, Olivia, Emma, Annie, Mary Grace, and David. Burial was held in Morocco and a marker will be placed in Willamette National Cemetery. Our prayers and condolences to the family. David R. Hartung ’61 died on November 1, 2016, at home surrounded by his family. A Portland native, he attended Central Catholic High School and was on the 1953 State Champion football team when he graduated that year. Though he received a scholarship to Oregon State University, he chose to join the Marines. He married Mary Jo Buerle, also of Portland, on August 9, 1958. He taught in the Gresham School District before beginning a 30-year career with the Boring, Oregon Fire Department. He earned the title, “Last Ember Dave,” because he wanted to be certain that every last spark of a fire was extinguished. He retired from teaching in 1992. Dave is survived by his wife of 58 years, Mary Jo; their children, Carol Anne (Dave Selden), Steven (Cindy), Jeffery, Thomas (Stacy); grandchildren, Jon, Alex, Ryan, Lauryn, Jared, and Lance; sisters, Elaine Leslie, Mary Claire O’Connor, and Susanne Hartung SP, and many nieces and nephews. Our prayers and condolences to the family. We heard recently from Steve Laurance ’61, who writes: “I was pleased to see a letter from Doreen Irwin in the autumn Portland magazine. I graduated from UP in music in 1961. Looks like most of our class doesn’t correspond much. I retired from United Airlines as a B-767

captain in 1999. I moved to Redmond, Ore., and am enjoying a relaxed retirement. I hope other classmates will say a word or so...” Thanks Steve, we hope so, too. Kathleen M. Downey ’61 passed away on November 7, 2016. She was a professor in the University of Miami Miller School Division of Hematology/ Oncology and conducted groundbreaking DNA research during her 39-year career. Downey began at UM in the Department of Medicine in 1968 after postdoctoral studies in Zurich, Switzerland,

N O T E S friends and neighbors. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Patricia (Doherty) Colsch ’62 passed away on April 13, 2016. Patricia is survived by her husband of 47 years, Gary Colsch; and son, Michael Colsch and his wife Andrea. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Art Henderson ’62 and Pat Hobrecht Henderson ’64 recently returned home from a sixweek trip to Europe. Iceland was the first stop for three days, then a flight to Munich to pick up a car. “We drove to Northern Italy for over

Last year, former Salzburg students held a challenge to raise money for Salzburg study abroad programs. The Salzburg class of 1964-1965 won by raising over $15,000, and the prize was a plaque with their class year displayed below the authentic Stiegl mug pictured here. The fundraising challenge is taking place again this year — if you’d like to make a contribution please contact Trevor Harvey ’10 in the University development office at preceded by doctoral work in biochemistry at the University of Washington. She became a tenured professor in 1982 and received a secondary appointment in the Department of Biochemistry and Molecular Biology in 1983. She was a prolific researcher, receiving several NIH grants, and served as a member on 31 different master’s and Ph.D. committees. She retired in 2007. Kathleen is survived by her twin brothers, William C. Downey and Joseph J. Downey (Marsha R. Gettes Downey); loving niece, Lisa M. Downey; and many loving

two weeks and then through Southern France to the Atlantic Ocean,” say Art. “The last four days were at Oktoberfest in Munich. Three thousand miles were put on the car. The plan of not driving more than two hours per day worked extremely well. It was our 15th trip to Europe and very enjoyable, with sunshine every day. The Historical Regatta in Venice was a highlight, with its ancient gondolas and costumes. Four of our stays in Italy were in convents or monasteries that rent rooms to travelers.”

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Richard Allen Lawton ’62 died on July 24, 2016. He taught school in Alaska at the Copper Valley School, and experienced the great Alaska earthquake of 1964. He returned to the family farm near Ritzville, Wash., taking over its operation for the rest of his life. He adopted and raised three children: Ross, Ryan, and Kara Lawton. Richard was an excellent farmer and took pride in his farmland and caring for the soil. He enjoyed his time away from the farm with fishing, target shooting, and banjo playing. He was a member of Washtucna Lions Club, Rimrock Grange, St. Agnes Catholic Church, Washington Association of Wheat Growers, the International Flying Farmers Association, and was a friend of Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob. Richard is survived by his children and one grandchild, Zoe Lawton; sister, Margaret Ott; and brother, Lawrence Lawton; numerous nieces and nephews, and his beloved sweetheart, Patricia Singer. Our prayers and condolences to the family. John Bordes ’63 died on October 23, 2016. Beloved husband of 51 years to Susan Bordes nee Kearney; loving father of John Lawrence (Elizabeth) Bordes, Kerry (Bill) Almond, Tarpey (Bill) O’Rourke, Jenny (Alex) Weber, and Julie (Tim) Miller; devoted grandfather of 19; and cherished brother to Patricia (John) McMahon, Joan Ambrogi, Barbara Meyer, Carolyn Bordes, and Nancy Trimble. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Sr. Eileen Brown, SNJM ’64 passed away on September 6, 2016, at her home in Gladstone, Ore. She was a vowed member of the Sisters of the Holy Names for 65 years. Sr. Eileen is survived by her sister, Sr. Sally Brown; brothers, Fr. Bruce Brown, Eugene Brown, and Richard Brown; nieces and nephews; dear friend and caregiver, Mary Jo Radosevich; and the members of her religious community. Our prayers and condolences. Daniel Joseph Gebhardt ’66, of Bozeman, Mont., passed away on November 8, 2016, after a sudden battle with cancer. While pursuing his MD from the University of Oregon Medical School, he traveled to Kenya where he practiced missionary medicine. Throughout his medical career, Dr. Dan received the reputation due him: a great man whose life mantra of “living simply, loving gen-

C L A S S erously, caring deeply, and always speaking kindly” preceded him in any endeavor he undertook. Gebhardt dedicated his life to serving rural communities in Montana and South Dakota. After the completion of his residency in Fresno, Calif., Gebhardt worked in Eastern Montana with Indian Health Services. Dan married Bonnie Running in Spearfish, SD, on October 20, 1979. They were blessed with 37 wonderful years together. Survivors include Bonnie; daughters, Meris Gebhardt ’94, Sarah Ward, Betsy Biggerstaff, and Carrie McClaughry; son, Eric Gebhardt; seven grandchildren; and a large extended family of nieces and nephews. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Jean Van Haverbeke Bouton ’66 passed away on August 11, 2016, after a long battle with cancer. Survivors include her daughters, Heather M. Bouton and Elizabeth A. Bouton Summerer; her sister, Louise A. Wheeler; brother, C. Joseph Van Haverbeke; and many nieces and nephews. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Gary Schirado ’66 was honored at the 2016 Oregon Mayors Association Conference on Saturday, July 23, with this year’s Mayor’s Leadership Award. Gary serves as mayor of Durham, Ore., population 1,900, located in Washington County. Incorporated in 1966, the city is surrounded by Tigard and Tualatin and is adjacent to the Bridgeport Village shopping complex. The selection committee looks for nominations of mayors who have demonstrated exceptional leadership qualities which have contributed to lasting benefits in his or her city and the community as a whole. Special consideration is given to mayors who have shown considerable involvement in community affairs and intergovernmental relations, shown exceptional skill in helping to facilitate productive relationships between the governing body and city employees, and helped other Oregon mayors reach their full potential as community leaders. Gary has done that and so much more. Congratulations! Gone to the Light: Steve Farley ’66, longtime UP regent and retired vice chairman of Allegretti & Co., who passed away on Sunday, July 3, 2016, after an extended illness, surrounded by his loved ones and friends. His favorite causes included education, Big Brothers, and cancer research. His guiding principles: “Love conquers

all,” and “nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.” His mentors included his parents, siblings, and parish priest. He was happy to take any student under his wing and advised them to “teach by example, maintain a grateful heart, and love people, not things.” A good man, Steve Farley, and we’ll miss him. Prayers.

N O T E S ’67 Remembering One Of The Good Ones

ship, faith, and food — and not an insubstantial amount of We heard the following news bier. This group has been kept from Christine Larocco: “I am together largely through the writing to let you know that on efforts of twins Sharon WunderNovember 8, 2016, the world lich Reid and Karen Wunderlich lost one of the best examples Prowd and their semi-annual of an outstanding University newsletter. Attending were Barb Chester ’71, Sue Springer, Bob of Portland graduate — Dr. Daniel Gebhardt, a graduate Pendleton and wife Kay, Heather of the class of 1966. Dan was Wilhelm O’Connor and Tim one of the original Salzburgers, O’Connor ’68, Lynn Dempsey ’68 A Distinguished Career and as you know, we are a very Head and husband Doug, Julie Lt. Col. William J. Lamb passed close group, following each Tarr and husband Dagfin Moe, away on August 4, 2016. It was others’ lives and believing that Dick Adkisson and wife Mary, at the University of Portland our year together at Haus War- Sue Richardson Miller, Carol that Bill met Janie Lei Smiddy, tenberg with Father Ambrose Manning Stein, Needham Ward his wife of 48 years. An ROTC Wheeler profoundly changed ’68 and Diane Rodgers Ward, Hobie Herber and wife Colleen, Sharon Wunderlich Reid and husband D. Ried, and Karen Wunderlich Prowd. The group enjoyed an evening at Augustienerkeller and was entertainment by a local Austrian traditional chorus, plus spent hours reminiscing about living in Haus Wartenburg and the blessing of their experience living and studying in Salzburg. Every UP student should be so fortunate to have this life-changing opportunity.”

’71 Remembering Jeff

We received a note from Don McCabe recently, and he writes: “I bear sad news that Jeff Hammer passed away on April 6 while recovering from surgery at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City. Jeff was the leader of the ‘filthy five,’ president of the Iota Kappa Pi fraternity, and the first Pilot representative to the OSPIRG consumer advocacy program. Joel Marick ’02, ’05 and wife Kristen (Romanaggi) Upon graduation he entered the Peace Corps. Stationed in Marick welcomed a baby girl, Theodosia Edwina Greenland, he was to meet and marry his wife of 41 years, (“Thea” for short) on September 4, 2016. Aaaaaaaaw.... Susan. His professional calling took him to the Big Apple, and cadet in college, Bill went on our lives. Of the 32 students in upon retiring from Morgan to become a fighter pilot in our group, four became doctors, Stanley on Wall Street, he the U.S. Air Force. In his dis- and sadly Dan is the third of turned to his passion for sailing tinguished twenty-year career, them to die. Right now, we are his yacht, Dreadlocks.” Thanks Lamb fought in the Vietnam stunned because Dan’s cancer for letting us know, Don, and War; flew the F-100, F-4, F-5, spread so quickly we really our prayers and condolences. and F-15; and was commander didn’t have time to process the A note from Thomas J. Rothof the Fighter Weapons School fact that we could lose him.” schild, who writes: “I graduated at Nellis Air Force Base from Thank you for your heartfelt from the University of Portland 1983-1985. He retired from the note, Chris, we note his pass- in May 1971 with a bachelor of Air Force in 1988 and was an ing under his class year. Our science degree in chemistry instructional pilot with Lear prayers and condolences. and a commission in the United Siegler British Aerospace. He States Air Force. From Septemretired from flight instruction ber of 1969 through May of ’69 Feeling Welcomed, in 2013. Bill loved fully and was Feeling Blessed 1971 I co-authored “Guerrilla fully loved in return. Survivors We got a lovely note from Kay Garble,” a weekly column in include Janie; sons, Mike and Pendleton, who writes: “I am The Beacon. Immediately after Steve; their wives, Stephanie blessed to be married to Bob graduation I spent five years and Jennifer; grandchildren, Pendleton, a member of the of active duty in the Air Force, Tatym, Cameran, and Drake; 1966-67 Salzburg class, and living in places such as Illinois, sisters, Martha Lamb Cammar- to have been lovingly folded Florida, and Madrid, Spain. ata ’62 and Joan Lamb Brenner into this very special group of I left active duty in 1976, but ’64 ’66; dog Beegs; and loads people. I wanted to send a note I continued in the Air Force of friends in the United States, about their 50th reunion this Reserves for another 21 years, Great Britain, and Australia. past September. Fifteen mem- serving in positions such as Our prayers and condolences bers of the class gathered in disaster preparedness for the to the family. Salzburg to celebrate friend- City of Portland and environWinter 2016 43

C L A S S mental chemist for Hill Air Force Base, Utah. I returned to Portland, and I worked as a chemist for several different employers, the last of which was Siltronic Corporation, where I was involved with the production of ultra-pure water. I spend my time now enjoying our grandchildren, my genealogy investigations, and my classic car, a 1972 Plymouth Satellite Sebring, which I bought on May 5, 1972, in Fort Walton Beach, Florida. In May 1972 I married the woman I met while I was vacationing in Bermuda in August 1970. On May 20, 2016, we celebrated our 44th wedding anniversary. We have three children and five grandchildren.”

since 1973. He has one sister, Donna McDowell. Born in San Diego, Don graduated from Sunset High School in 1965, served in the U.S. Army from 1966 to 1968, and worked as a transportation planner and mental health counselor. Our prayers and condolences to the family.

N O T E S an assistant to Edward Teller, the noted nuclear scientist, at Stanford University’s Hoover Institution. It was there she met her husband, Tim Ashby. They lived in Washington, D.C. before moving to the U.K., then Edinburgh, Scotland, and the London area, where their daughter, Georgina, was born.

’72 A Born Teacher

Mary A. Ruzicka died on August 13, 2016, at the age of 77, after a brief battle with cancer. Mary Ann taught fifth and sixth grade for 12 years in the Omaha public school system. In 1970, Mary Ann moved to Portland to teach. She taught middle school in Portland Public Schools until her retirement in 1994. Survivors include her brother, Joe Ruzicka; sisters, Joan Christen and Virginia Karas; and many nieces and nephews and great nieces and nephews. Our prayers and condolences to the family.

’74 Sad News

Steven Greenberg died on July 10, 2016. Steve Greenberg was born in Newark, New Jersey on July 14, 1945. Most of his adult life was spent in Portland, where he had a long career at Moss-Adams Accounting. A naval aviator during the Vietnam War, he flew over 125 sorties in an A-6 jet from the U.S.S. Ranger. He met and married Cathi Howell in 1985. Cathi and Steve spent as much time as they could at their two successive beach homes in Manzanita, where they were among a handful of bathers at the first (and now well-known) Polar Plunge. With the love of his family and friends, and by his own extraordinary grace and acceptance, Steve survived cancer far longer than his doctors had forecast. Survivors include his wife, Cathi; sister, Ann Greenberg Small; first wife, Jacqueline Loree; children, David and Jonathan Greenberg and Hadley Howell Van Vactor; five grandchildren; and an extended blended family. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Donald McDowell passed away on August 20 2013. He and his wife Carol had just celebrated 40 years of marriage and lived in Gresham, Ore.,

Laura Gunderson ’97 has been named editor of the editorial pages at The Oregonian/OregonLive in Portland, the first woman to ever hold that position. She chairs the editorial board and is responsible for setting the newsroom’s opinion and commentary agenda. Laura has deep Portland roots: Her grandmother, Connie McCready, began working at The Oregonian in 1944 and later served in the Oregon Legislature, on the Portland City Council, and later as mayor. Her grandfather, Al McCready, was the managing editor of The Oregonian in the 1970s. ’79 Prayers For Liz

Elizabeth Anne (Wolfrom) Ashby ’79 passed away on August 14, 2016. She graduated from Notre Dame Belmont, an all-girls high school, and spent a year in UP’s Salzburg Program, where she, like everyone else, made lifelong friends — not a surprise from someone who had lifelong friends from the first grade. Her first job was as

When Tim was no longer in her life, she got a job as assistant to the CEO of Univar Corp., where she supported three different CEOs over the years. Liz was highly intelligent, incredibly witty, very giving, and a most devoted mother. She is survived by her daughter, Georgina, a student at the University of St. Andrews; her mother, Dorice

Portland 44

Wolfrom; her brothers, Jak and Lew; sisters, Mary Mikel and Katy; and twelve nieces and nephews. Our prayers and condolences to the family. We heard recently from Janet (Crabbs) Turner, who writes: “I wanted to share the loss of one of our ’79 classmates: Elizabeth (Wolfrom) Ashby passed away after a battle with cancer on August 14. She lived in Kent, Wash., and worked at Univar Corp. Liz was in the 1976-77 Salzburg program and was one of the most witty, gregarious, fun-loving, and kind people, truly beloved by all. Seven of us former Salzburgers were able to attend her funeral.” Thank you Janet, Liz was a special friend to so many. Edward E. Rumohr passed away on June 10, 2015. Ed, loving husband of the late Muriel Jean (nee Henderson), is cherished and survived by his four children (Lynnell, Brian, Gordon, and Dorianne), nine grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. A proud World War II veteran, Ed entered the Merchant Marines as a young man and returned home to sail the inside passage with the Princess Steamship line. He embarked on a teaching and professional music career and retired in 1991. As a proud member of the original Vancouver Canucks, having come into the National Hockey League in 1970 as their organist, he remained a fervent Canuck fan. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Please remember John Pliska and his brother Bernard and their family in your prayers after the loss of their father, Raymond Eldon Pliska, on October 15, 2016. Ray’s wife of 65 years, Tessie, died in 2011. He is survived by his children, Carolyn Criteser (Bill), Susan Masog, Dan (Kathy), Anne Van Daam (Dave), John, (Sandi), Maureen Beaudry (Marc), Bernie ’84 (Pamela); 16 grandchildren; 11 great-grandchildren; his sister Mildred Lofstedt; and numerous nieces and nephews. Our prayers and condolences to the family.

’80 Please Pass The Jelly

Mike Cebula writes: “The low sugar raspberry jam I shared with the UP development team was awarded Best of Show at the Clackamas County Fair (best of any jam or jelly of any flavor entered at the fair) and a First Place ribbon, too! Thanks for your support and encouragement!”

C L A S S ’86 Remember Rev. Fred

Rev. Frederick W. Ruhnke passed away on August 17, 2016. In 1973 he met and fell in love with his wife Linda, and they were married in her hometown of Palmer, Kans., on August 17, 1974. They migrated west to accept his first call as a high school teacher at Concordia High School in Portland. He served as director of pastoral care for Portland Lutheran School, which he loved as he would a family member or friend. He later served as a professor at Concordia University. Survivors include his wife Linda; and sons, John and Marcus, who loved him dearly; and grandchildren, Robert, Amy, Lucy, Tatum, Maggie, Emmy Lou, and Ruby. Our prayers and condolences to the family.

Battalion specializes in training small teams of about 20 logistical soldiers before they deploy. The battalion also helps to guide National Guard and Reserve units through the administrative process when they return from deployments. Congratulations, Jim, and welcome home!

N O T E S new school leader with a vision for success” in the August 24, 2016 edition of the Portland Tribune. Kyle has taken on the job of Newberg High School principal — the third principal for that school in as many years. He’s working hard to chip away at numbers which indicated that only 48 percent

’96 Prayers, Please

Prayers, please, for Gary Hortsch on the death of his mother, Edna Hortsch, on July 31, 2016. She married John Hortsch on July 7, 1956, in Silverton, Ore. She served as treasurer of the Corn Festival for the last 25 years. For decades, she could be found working in the Shaw booth at the Mount Angel Oktoberfest. She had a green thumb and, with her husband, tended a large garden specializing in dahlias. She is survived by her husband, John; sons John, James, Michael, and Gary; four grandchildren and three great-grandchildren; sisters, Gertrude Borschowa, Cecelia Schiedler, and Alice McHugh; and brother, Frank Gubbels. Our prayers and condolences to the family.

’97 A Dream Job!

Jim Gannon (mechanical engineering) has landed “a dream assignment,” according to him, leading a training support battalion at Fort Bliss in El Paso, Texas. He took over as commander of the 1st Battalion, 361st Infantry Regiment, Brigade Support Battalion with 5th Armored Brigade on June 14. He met his wife, the former Christian Daw, during a previous assignment at Fort Bliss from 2007 to 2012. During that time, he served for two years as a staff officer with what was then called the Future Force Integration Directorate, which is now the Brigade Modernization Command. He and his wife are happy to be back home in El Paso. He is also excited about a new chapter in his Army career. Like the rest of 5th Armored Brigade, Gannon’s unit helps to train National Guard and Reserve units before they deploy overseas. The Redhawk

Two future University students with Captain William Clark and his friend Ben York during a recent visit to campus with their moms. At left is Claire Maul, Class of 2032; at right is Gabriela Bastardo, Class of 2027. Their moms are Mandy Maul ’98 and Monica Bastardo ’98. ’98 A Life Of Service

Prayers, please, for Stefanie Flora and her family on the death of her mother, Laurel Ann Flora, on October 15, 2016. In the 1960s, Laurel spent four years providing medical services at Sudan Mission Hospital in Ngaoundere, Cameroon, Africa. After returning to the U.S., she moved to Portland and began her career as a medical technologist at Bess Kaiser Hospital. In 1971, she married Bill Flora. Survivors include Stefanie; son, Erik (Liz); sisters, Marlys (Bill) Shields and Elaine Fick; brother, Arlan (Linda) Paulson; granddaughter, Avari; former husband, Bill; and many nieces, nephews, extended family, and friends. Our prayers and condolences to the family.

’99 Determined, Indeed

Kyle Laier was featured in an article titled “A determined

Hawaii Younger Member Forum Student Engineering Night, Arakawa developed a construction engineering activity that incorporated different aspects of the construction industry. The activity was restructured for fifth-grade students and incorporated points based on the speed with which they worked, the height of their tower, and the amount of Lego pieces used. Arakawa and other YMF members also have assisted with recent Special Olympics soccer and bocce tournaments. He has received the City of Honolulu Good Neighbor Award for three years in a row, and in 2012, he received the ASCE Public Service Award. Congratulations, Eric! Jason Jorgenson has been practicing law for the past 10 years, and has been named “SuperLawyers Rising Star” for several years in a row. He practices personal injury law in Portland. His wife, Erin Jorgenson, is a newborn, toddler, and tween photographer in Vancouver, Wash. “I was very humbled to place in the top 100 for the worldwide 2016 Shoot and Share contest at,” writes Erin. “We recently built a new house in Vancouver, and we have a 5-year-old named Jack, who just started kindergarten, and a 2-year-old named Eloise.” Thanks Erin and Jason, your kids certainly make wonderful photography subjects.

’05 Prayers For Bill

Our prayers for the soul and family of Bill Sinclair, Christine Sinclair’s dad, who died in April at age 69. He must have been so proud that his daughof Newberg students felt some- ter became arguably the best body at the school cared about soccer player in the world; but them. “If that’s the only thing we would bet that he was far you know about Laier it’s a prouder that she is a woman of pretty good start,” according grace and generosity and into the article, “because he says tegrity. Condolences. believing in kids and getting the staff to work together are ’07 Douglas’ Update the two most important asDouglas Taylor writes: “I wanted pects of operating a success- to submit a Baptism announceful school.” See the article at ment for our three children, baby Rose Hannah Taylor and our sons, Boyd Alexander and ’02 Congrats To Eric! Drake Michael, on July 17, 2016, The American Society of Civil at the Walter Reed National Engineering (ASCE) has hon- Military Medical Center Chapel. ored Eric Daniel Arakawa with I am married to Sarah (Walton) the 2016 Edmund Friedman Taylor, and my mother-in-law, Young Engineer Award for Pro- Janie (Pival) Walton ’71 served fessional Achievement. Eric as proxy. Sarah and I met our was recognized for profession- junior year at UP. Sarah gradal achievement in service to uated with a bachelor of arts the advancement of the pro- in elementary education and fession, evidence of technical Spanish, and I graduated with competence, high character a bachelor of science in nursand integrity, and contribu- ing and commissioned as an tions to public service outside Army Officer after completing their careers. As part of the ROTC training at UP. We mar-

Winter 2016 45

C L A S S ried that summer and moved to Germany to be stationed at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. Since then we have been stationed at Fort Irwin, Calif., Fort Carson, Colo., and currently at Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences, Bethesda, Md. We will be moving to Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Washington this winter. I’m a captain and currently pursuing a doctor of nursing practice to be a psychiatric mental health nurse practitioner (expected graduation May 2018). Sarah graduated from the University of Washington in May this year with a master’s in library and information sciences.”

fier so far for newness was the film Hell or High Water; this weekend’s offering is going to be on the older Hadestown. It might also be worthwhile to actually include a link so if you wanted to, you could listen to what we’re doing:”

N O T E S ’12 Wedded Blissfulness

Danielle Bibbs has wonderful news to share: “I got married on April 9, 2016, to John Ruffner. We currently live in Columbus, Ga.” Thanks Danielle, and congratulations! Laura Eager writes: “Hello Pilots! I just started graduate school at St. Mary’s College in

’08 An Amazing Day!

“I wanted to give an update of an amazing day in my life,” writes Adam Cyr, and by golly he did. “On August 27, I married my true love Krista up on Schweitzer Mountain in Idaho. A number of UP alumni were in attendance, including Lindsey (Giffin) Thompson, Terence Thompson, Donovan Matteson, Thomas Mock, Douglas Pederson, Michael Rumely, Danielle (Bruno) Matteson ’09, myself, and Whitney (Piper) Mock ’09.” Congratulations, Adam, we wish you and Krista all the best.

’09 A Tragic Loss

Megan C. Pizzitola of Seattle, loving daughter to Mark and Marianne, loyal sister to Nick, and devoted fiance to Eric, passed away on September 7, 2016, of a ruptured cerebral aneurysm. She was 29. “It is rare, sudden, but thankfully painless,” according to a family statement. “Megan always spread love and joy to everyone around her, and because of that, her love has been given back to us tenfold.” In lieu of flowers, Megan’s family suggests remembrances be made in her name to the Megan Pizzitola Memorial Fund at any Wells Fargo Bank branch. Megan’s passion for art began the first time that she picked up a crayon. Her art inspired all who knew her and her fund will be used to support local art programs, especially for children. Our prayers and condolences to Megan’s family and friends. In case you’re been wondering what Daniel Lower and Patrick Tomassi ’14 have been up to, here’s your answer: “We struck up a podcast called Pop-Culture Pelican and have been covering whatever the heck we want, with an eventual shift towards newer and more properly popular things,” writes Daniel. “Our best quali-

Roots International Academy, a charter school in Oakland. I am very excited to begin my teaching career!” We appreciate the note, Laura, and wish you the best.

’16 Off To Sydney!

Sara Bindl is off to Sydney, Australia, as of October 2016. She is a former UP women’s soccer student-athlete, directed one of the UP Encounter retreats, and, according to Dan McGinty ’97, “she is generally awesome. I have high confidence that our friends Down Under will think very highly of her.” Thanks Dan, and good luck and safe travels, Sara! Mackenna Krohn was featured in a story titled “Puyallup High School graduate veers from planned career path to join Teach for America” in the September 28, 2016 edition of the Puyallup News. Seems Mackenna had planned to head for law school after her days on The Bluff, but a little persuasion from friends at UP nudged her in the direction of teaching for two years in Texas as part of Teach for America. See the full story at hgokw68. Ashley Asahina writes: “It sure has been crazy up here in Japan. With all the typhoons, school festivals, and testing, I’ve certainly been busy (not to mention all the traveling!). The students here have their midterms soon, and hopefully everyone will perk up once exams are over! But overall, it’s been a blast being up here. It is a bit hard since I’m on a tiny island with not much to do, but I’ve been making the most of it by just taking the buses to Kobe and Osaka.” Ashley graduated in May and is now teaching in Japan through the JET program.

’17 Doing Something Right! He was always smiling; he always had a kind word; he cheered up thousands of students as the Bon Appétit cashier in The Cove; and we miss him. Glen Childs died in August at age 72. Devout man, Army veteran, finance whiz, good husband, great dad, a wonderful grace in this place. Prayers. Fantastic news from Ryan Lien and Megan (Fitzgerald) Lien: “We welcomed our first child, Oscar Jerome Lien, on September 10, 2016. He was 9 lbs. 1 oz., 22 inches, and born in Portland, Ore.” Congratulations, Ryan and Megan. It’s never too early to start looking into colleges, you know.

Moraga, Calif. I am a single subject credential candidate in English and look forward to teaching at the middle or high school level. After I complete my credential courses, I will start my coursework for my master of arts in teaching. I am student teaching in a seventh grade English class at

Portland 46

College of Arts and Sciences dean Michael Andrews shares the following, from IES Abroad: “We are delighted to let you know a UP student won the new McQuade Donor Funded Scholarship for study in Nantes, France. Samantha Savarese was awarded the scholarship in addition to need-based aid. The McQuade has only been offered since Fall 2016 and both winners have been UP students — Madame Booth is doing something right!” We wholeheartedly agree. IES Abroad offers more than 120 study abroad programs in more than 30 locations worldwide.

C L A S S Faculty, Staff, Friends

Emeritus nursing dean and cancer survivor Joanne Warner appeared on KGW Channel 8’s Straight Talk program on August 8, 2016. She joined Dr. Walter Urba and Dr. David Page on the topic of immunotherapy and the ongoing work at Providence Cancer Center. Linda Susan Adams of Milwaukie, Ore., passed away in her home on July 20, 2016, after a four-year battle with ovarian cancer. During college at Cal State Northridge she met Sam Adams, whom she married. They moved to Oahu, Hawaii, where Linda finished her degree and began her nursing career. Linda and her family moved to the Portland area, where Linda continued her career as a nurse, later becoming an instructor of nursing at the University of Portland and Oregon Health & Science University. With no small amount of fear over the risk she was taking, Linda went back to school, received a master’s degree, and became a certified nurse midwife at a time when midwife-assisted delivery in hospitals was still rare. At one point, Linda’s love for Christ and love for others brought her to Kenya, where she participated in an Orthodox mission by providing medical care to those in need. Survivors include her daughter, Christiane (Christopher) Blakemore, her son, Scott (Kateryna) Adams, and her daughters, Kathleen and Carolyn Adams. She will be dearly missed by her beloved grandchildren, Emmalie Blakemore, and Aleksey, Ilya, and Anastasiya Adams. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Bud Evans Griffith passed away on July 26, 2016. He graduated from Jefferson High School in 1956, then served six years in the U.S. Navy and three years in the Merchant Marine. He is survived by his two children, four grandchildren, one great-grandchild, two brothers, and many nieces and nephews. Our prayers and condolences to the family. Glen Davis Childs died on August 23, 2016, after a battle with cancer. “He left the world better than he found it,” according to his obituary. “He was a humble man that celebrated others’ successes but rarely shared his own. To paraphrase Will Rogers, Glen never met a person he didn’t like, and vice versa. Nor did Glen have a job he didn’t embrace, and he started young in the berry and bean fields, delivering handbills for a penny each,

and doing yard work.” He was working in the Pilot House Cove when he got sick; if ever you encountered a smiling, bearded, bespectacled, blueeyed man working the cash register there, you know Glen. A lifelong Portlander, he married Vivian Shaw in 1977, and they grew together through

N O T E S Brassard has been named as the new book review editor for The Space Between: Literature and Culture 1914-1945. At UP she was involved in the creation of the Gender and Women’s Studies minor, and she serves on the Faculty Advisory Board for the new program. Her articles

Our very own Sr. Angela Hoffman, OSB, chemistry professor extraordinaire, was featured in the October 2016 (Volume 94 Issue 39) edition of Chemical & Engineering News. The chances that we would not seek out and publish the accompanying incredibly wonderful photograph: not good. Angela is the oldest here, seated with her sibs Ray, Jim, and Mary. triumphs and tragedies. Glen was an amazing son, brother, husband, father, uncle, grandpa, friend, neighbor, and role model. He had a great sense of humor, accented often by wiggling his eyebrows or opening his eyes really wide. He enjoyed his coffee, “zippy” wine, and adult beverages. Survivors include Vivian; their children, Patrick, Charlene Beasley (Mark), Laura, Benjamin (Michelle), and Nicholas (Marjorie); siblings, Harold (Jacqueline), Carolyn Stokke, and Janet; grandchildren, Alex and Adrian Simpson, Jennifer and Michael Beasley, and Jan Walker Childs. He was preceded in death by daughter Katherine. Our prayers and condolences to the family. English professor and department chair Genevieve

on gender and war, and on representations of women’s sexuality in the interwar period, have appeared in Women: A Cultural Review, Minerva Journal of Women and War, and NWSA Journal. Her most recent publication, the chapter “Virginia Woolf and Translation,” appears in the Blackwell Companion to Virginia Woolf, edited by Jessica Berman (2016).


Robert Molin ’40, October 27, 2016. Frederick Raymond (Ray) Utz, Jr., ’46, ’50, ’55, September 4, 2016. Ruth Elaine Thalhofer ’47, August 21, 2016. Ambrose M. “Bubby” Cronin III ’48, August 22, 2016. William E. Fordney ’49, July 25, 2016.

Winter 2016 47

Don Galarneau ’49, August 20, 2016. Robert Sweeney ’50, July 16, 2016. William Radakovich ’51, October 7, 2016. Byron Meurlott ’51, August 22, 2016. Frank Henry Gordin ’52, October 15, 2016. Gerald R. Lobb ’52, October 10, 2016. Carol Irene Curtis ’52, July 12, 2016. Vivian K. Williams ’54, October 10, 2016. Robert W. Bruechert Sr. ’55, September 23, 2016. Jim Flynn ’55, March 12, 2016. Ron Gamroth ’55, July 23, 2016. Kazuo Kiyomura ’57, January 11, 2015. Shirley White Snyder ’58, December 11, 2013. James T. Covert ’59, October 13, 2016. Harry “Hank” Slangal ’59, May 22, 2016. Melvin E. Gelow ’59, August 3, 2014. James Link ’59, March 20, 2013. Lynne Beth Roy ’60, August 15, 2016. David R. Hartung ’61, November 1, 2016. Kathleen M. Downey ’61, November 7, 2016. Patricia (Doherty) Colsch ’62, April 13, 2016. Richard Allen Lawton ’62, July 24, 2016. John Bordes ’63, October 23, 2016. Sr. Eileen Brown, SNJM ’64, September 6, 2016. Daniel Joseph Gebhardt ’66, November 8, 2016. Jean Van Haverbeke Bouton ’66, August 11, 2016. Lt. Col. William J. Lamb ’68, August 4, 2016. Jeff Hammer ’71, April 2016. Mary A. Ruzicka ’72, August 13, 2016. Steven Greenberg ’74, July 10, 2016. Donald McDowell ’74, August 20, 2013. Elizabeth Anne (Wolfrom) Ashby ’79, August 14, 2016. Edward E. Rumohr ’79, June 10, 2015. Raymond Eldon Pliska, October 15, 2016. Rev. Frederick W. Ruhnke ’86, August 17 2016. Edna Hortsch, July 31, 2016. Laurel Ann Flora, October 15, 2016. Bill Sinclair, April 2016. Megan C. Pizzitola ’09, September 7, 2016. Linda Susan Adams, July 20, 2016. Bud Evans Griffith, July 26, 2016. Glen Davis Childs, August 23, 2016.




The Effervescent Jim Covert ’59, 1932-2016 He was a brilliant, empathetic, entertaining, and, yes, beloved history professor on The Bluff from 1961 to 1997, but he was also, as his children noted in their eloquent eulogy, a maniacal packrat, gifted musician, fervid Sherlock Holmes scholar, Air Force veteran (serving in remote Alaska), student of beer, devout Catholic uninterested in religiosity and awed by humility and service, adoring husband (to his Lincoln high classmate Sally, for 64 years), father of six wild kids, author, choir director, founder of the University Museum and the Broken Wall war memorial, and on and on. He was witty and funny and opinionated and gracious and urbane and personable and tireless and actually loved committee meetings. He was one of those few people who over the years incarnate the University, are the University, are the spirit and grace of the place in their every hour. He died in October at age 84. Do we have a scholarship celebrating the grace and love and commitment of the man to the students he loved? Of course we do: the Covert Family Scholarship. Want to add to it? Call Kara McManus at 503.943.7460, Goodbye, James. Peace on you, brother. Thank you. Portland 48



Here’s your Christmas present for people who love to read, and be moved, and be amazed, and be sparked and startled — a shining new collection of some of the very best essays from the University’s Portland Magazine, for only twenty bucks. These are some of the finest writers in the world, we guarantee you will find at least five essays here that you will never forget the rest of your life, and if you read them all and do not laugh and weep we will be flabbergasted. Proceeds go toward scholarships at the University. You get a terrific collection of amazing essays, and we get a little more money with which to help change a kid’s life. What’s not to like about that? Contact the publisher: Orbis Books (the Maryknoll Fathers and Brothers) 85 Ryder Rd, Ossining, New York 10562 / 1-800-258-5838. And thank you. And Merry Christmas.

University of Portland Portland Magazine 5000 N. Willamette Blvd Portland, OR 97203-5798

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PASSING THE BATON One of the prized exhibits in the University Museum is this pair of track shoes worn by Eugene “Gene” Schmitt, a 1915 graduate of Columbia University Preparatory School and father of Elizabeth Cebula, matriarch of a slew of Cebulas who grace our campus to this day. The shoes are old, made of leather, lightweight, unpadded, and sport short sharp rusted metal spikes — gripping in more ways than one. Gene Schmitt’s legacy counts four grandchildren and two great-grandchildren who are proud Pilots and enthusiastic members of the University of Portland alumni family. Want to help generations of kids live up to their full potential in Gene’s spirit? Call Kara McManus in development at 503.943.7460.

Portland Magazine Winter 2016  

University of Portland's quarterly magazine featuring articles and essays by Brian Doyle, Chris Anderson, Steve Duin, Robert Michael Pyle, D...

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