“Uncommon decency,” said Morrison. “He’s a man of uncommon decency.”

Dave Nimmer

That describes the man I know – whether he was setting a policy, writing a note or admitting a mistake.

The mistake was back in 2007 when he decided not to invite Nobel Peace laureate Desmond Tutu to campus to speak as part of the Peace Jam celebration. His reason was that Tutu had made remarks offensive to Jewish people in a 2002 speech about Israeli policy toward the Palestinians.

What I recall is a noon hour several days after he made the decision. Congressional candidate Coleen Rowley, a former FBI whistle blower, was standing on the grass in front of the Arches holding one end of a banner that read “Let Tutu Speak.”

A retired WCCO colleague of mine, Roger Nelson, and I were walking by and paused to talk with Rowley and her husband, telling them we supported their point of view and admired their courage.  At that very moment, Father Dease walked up to the four of us.

“You can take your sign down,” he said. “I have changed my mind.” He went on to tell Rowley that he had made the wrong decision and now “would be proud to extend an invitation to Archbishop Tutu to speak at UST.” He looked them in the eyes, shook their hands and said he was sorry. Nelson later told me how impressed he was by Dease’s sincerity … and humility.

“How often has any official, public or private, done that (admit a mistake) in the recent past?” Tutu’s supporters later wrote. “The action not only sends a much-needed signal on behalf of academic freedom and the cause of justice and peace worldwide, but it’s a rare example of ethics in action.”

Father Dease never changed his mind about the importance of increasing diversity at UST, most especially providing scholarships to students of color. One of those scholarships went to Laura Lee, a Hmong woman from a big family with a husband and two children of her own when she graduated.

Her mother and father had come to Laura’s December graduation from Missouri and I asked Father Dease whether he could greet them. He not only shook their hands, he spent 15 minutes telling them how proud he was of Laura and how pleased he was to offer aid and assistance.

But his best touch was when he told the Hmong elders that they had done “a fine job” of raising their daughter and St. Thomas was honored to have her as part of its family. Father Dease was both graceful and gracious.

He was also generous with his time and attention to others. They often came in handwritten notes on his office stationery. I got mine two weeks before my surgery for prostate cancer in August 2008.  He’d heard about it from others and wanted me to know I was in his thoughts and prayers.

It was that pastoral touch at the end that defines the man for me. “Please let me know if there’s any way I can be of help,” he wrote.

You have been of help, Padre. You’ve taught me what a good man is and what he does.

Editor’s note: Faculty and staff are invited to attend a celebration for Dease from 3 to 5 p.m. Friday in Woulfe Alumni Hall in the Anderson Student Center. A program will begin at 3:30.

In spring, nature shows us what is possible. First, buds appear and later we see trees become full with leaves, and flowers show us their color. Sometimes this is a gradual unfolding, each leaf or flower taking time to show itself. We get to know what is possible with each new leaf and begin to imagine how full the tree might become. Other times it seems to happen overnight with a great burst of energy. We go to bed with the tree outside our window looking nearly bare and wake up with leaves everywhere. It’s as if the tree is saying “I’m here, notice me, look at what I have to offer.”

Salina Renninger

For those of us working in higher education, May is also a time of graduation and the celebration of many student accomplishments. Like spring, it calls forth a sense of potential and possibility. Many students excitedly look toward their futures. Families feel a mix of pride in their child’s accomplishments and hope for a successful path beyond college. As educators, we join in these emotions. We have guided, cared and supported students toward their success and we want the best for them.

The truth is, however, that upon graduation some students will show up fully right away and some will take a bit longer to show their fullness. This will depend on a number of variables. The “right conditions” matter. Just as the spring vegetation varies in inherent hardiness and response to the soil, sun and water conditions, students vary in their own internal resources and responses to the various environments in which they are expected to bloom. There is only so much that one has control over, and given the current news headlines, it might be well to remember this.

If one Googles the term “college graduate outlook,” a variety of headlines will appear. These will range from “job outlook positive for 2013 college graduates” to “job outlook for college graduates is grim.” Many of these stories focus on data that evaluates rates of unemployment, underemployment (part time or poorly paid work), and overqualified workers (working in a “high school job” with a college degree). A 2012 Rutgers University study titled “Chasing the American Dream: Recent College Graduates and the Great Recession” (http://www.heldrichpodcasts.com/Chasing_American_Dream_Report.pdf) noted that only one-half of the 444 study participants (individuals who graduated between 2006 and 2011) indicated they worked full time. A 2013 report from the Pew Charitable Trusts (http://www.pewstates.org/uploadedFiles/PCS_Assets/2013/Pew_college_grads_recession_report.pdf) suggests that while all young adults are impacted by the economic conditions in the United States, college graduates are better off than their peers with an A.A. or high school diploma.

On the one hand, it’s not looking good; on the other hand, it could be worse. By any stretch of the imagination, this is not likely reassuring to a new graduate or anyone who cares for a new graduate. Still, it’s what we have. Given this reality, I am reminded of John Krumboltz’s happenstance learning theory (http://www.studentintegration.fi/filebank/77-The_Happenstance_Learning_Theory.pdf ). The theory provides a dose of optimism and expectations for success, eventually. One of the important tenets of this theory is that one’s career path is a result of a mixture of planning and serendipity, and that it is not fully within one’s control.  It is not linear and organized. Rather, most career trajectories are a mixture of intentionally planned events (e.g., earning a degree) and making the most of the opportunity that comes one’s way (serendipity). Additionally, people play an active role in what opportunities come their way. Maintaining an exploratory attitude to each endeavor in which one engages has the potential to yield more opportunity over time.

Ask any person you want about “work story” and you will quickly see how much the role of “chance” plays in his or her trajectory. Sometimes it comes in the form of discovering that your neighbor knows someone who knows someone who can help you get your foot in the door at a particular corporation. Other times it’s applying for one job but being offered something else you hadn’t considered, but wind up loving. Nonetheless, it’s also important to recognize the same chance opportunities may not be as readily available to all individuals. Work by Mahzarin Banaji and Anthony Greenwald (http://www.npr.org/blogs/codeswitch/2013/04/22/177455764/What-Does-Modern-Prejudice-Look-Like) on why individuals may be more likely to help others who are perceived to share some type of group identity suggests that discrimination can unintentionally occur when individuals solely reach out to those more “similar” to them. While happenstance learning theory recognizes the power of the individual to create opportunity through networks and experiences, it is important to recognize some inherent limits. Extending opportunity toward all, versus solely those who share similar identities, is necessary and required for everyone to thrive.

Happenstance learning theory is not only about making interpersonal connections and creating opportunity through openness to various experiences. It also is about getting to know one’s self and what that could mean in the work world. It might involve discovering aspects of a job that are satisfying and determining how to have similar experiences, but in a different work setting.  By way of example, I would suggest that my own experience of cleaning residence hall bathrooms as a college sophomore taught me that I love completing tasks with a beginning, middle and end.  It’s quite satisfying. Nearly 30 years later, doing very different work, I find I am the same. I still enjoy tasks that have clear beginnings and endings. Happenstance learning theory suggests observations like this are worth paying attention to. I didn’t take the job to clean bathrooms because I love cleaning. I took the job because it was conveniently located in the residence hall in which I lived and paid a fairly decent wage compared to other positions on campus. By staying open to the experience and learning what I could, I found out something important to my lifelong career satisfaction.

Thus, while the job outlook data may look somewhat discouraging, I challenge new graduates to adopt an attitude of discovery, potential, possibility and generosity. Scan the horizon for new prospects and say yes when they arrive. Offer your assistance to others when you can. Notice what energizes and excites you, and what depletes and diminishes you. Make efforts to engage in greater energizing activities and fewer activities that deplete you. This approach will yield results. I also encourage the important others in our young folks’ lives to help them maintain this perspective during daunting times.

And always know that like the trees and flowers of spring, some graduates will burst onto the scene in full foliage and color and others will take a bit longer to unfold. In the end, their beautiful offerings will all be revealed, if we assist with creating the right conditions for discovery and success.

On April 1 (yes, April Fool’s Day), I had my groceries on the conveyor belt when I remembered the milk. My favorite checker said, “Run back for it.” So, I did just that. I should have sauntered. I fell hard on my shoulder. Against the advice of my personal injury attorney, Father John Malone, I am freely admitting that it was not the fault of Rainbow Foods. I am a first-class klutz.

Dr. Susan Alexander

The end of my humerus was sticking out of my arm about eight inches below the ball and socket joint where it belongs. Even with a morphine drip sufficient to make me slur my words, it hurt like – well, just as much as you’d guess from my description.

The first attempt to reset my dislocated shoulder gave me my second Rainbow Experience. Warning me that I might have an out-of-body experience, the emergency room attendant gave me ketamine. Those of you who watch too much “Law and Order” will recognize ketamine as a street drug, Special K. Street drugs!? Really? Me? I am a semirespectable economist; street drugs and I are not well acquainted. I did stay in my body, but the drab florescent lights lowered from the ceiling until my face was in a chandelier of prism lights reflecting every color imaginable.

Now for my UST end of the Rainbow. If you ever doubt the strength of the St. Thomas community, just show up at a meeting with your arm immobilized. From setting up for a board meeting to cutting my meat, offers of help have been thoughtful and plentiful. It is so irritating not to be able to manage buttons and zippers properly, but those problems pale in comparison to one-handed keyboarding – numbers, signs and symbols show up in the oddest $@*&!& places when I hunt and peck. See what I mean? But even in the face of reduced productivity and inconvenience, I recognize that the warmth of our community is truly my own pot of gold.

Of course, all my helpers were hoping for a good story in exchange, and all I had to offer was falling in the grocery. Liz Wilkerson suggested a bar fight, Rick Kunkel a bench-pressing accident (just shouldn’t try to press 300 pounds) and Rich Rexeisen suspected me of punching out my hapless bridge partner over a bad bid. But it’s the grocery story, and I am sticking to it.

The challenge to traditional colleges from MOOCs – massive, open online courses – is very real, Friedman concludes. He believes the competition will force professors to improve their pedagogy and colleges to nurture the unique student-teacher interactions while blending in technology to improve outcomes and lower costs.

Dave Nimmer

In short, the student would come alive as a critical thinker in her philosophy class while garnering enough skills and competency to land a job in her chosen field. I believe that is already happening at St. Thomas, in classrooms all over campus, where students are learning skills (as well as how to think) because of the lively, interactive nature of a well-taught class.

The lessons I learned as an undergraduate at the University of Wisconsin stick with me in my 70s, and they are not job skills. I recall a freshman philosophy class where we critically discussed the proofs for the existence of God. I remember a history course, prior to the Vietnam War, where we debated the basic tenets of American foreign policy. I treasure a Philosophy of Religion course that helped me to discover that, indeed, a rational man could believe in God.

College ought to prepare students to live a thoughtful, rich, rewarding and expansive life – as well as to get a job. Colleen Schreier, a communication and journalism senior at St. Thomas, had that kind of experience in a media law course she took last semester.

“Going in, I was pretty scared because the topic involved law and I’ve never been able to grasp the concepts,” she says. “But the thing that made this class was the interaction you had with everyone else each day.

“You would learn a concept and then be able to ask a follow-up or ‘What if?’ to test the boundaries of the new idea. By the end of the semester, my class had a handful of inside jokes that all pertained to something we learned.”

Junior Lindsay Goodwin discovered the combination of teaching and technology that Friedman talked about in her Introduction to Programming and Problem Solving class in the Department of Computer and Information Sciences. Associate Professor Patrick Jarvis was able, active and available.

“Even though the majority of the class work requires the use of computers, having certain lines of code written on the board as they’re being broken down is extremely helpful,” Goodwin says. “Whenever someone had a question, he or she could simply raise a hand and he (Jarvis) was there to help. That benefits students greatly.”

What also benefits students is the passion of the professor. Goodwin found that in Professor Bob Craig’s Visual Communication course, the favorite in her college career. “His passion and excitement for us to learn,” she says, “created an environment for my class to have discussions.”

It would be tough, I believe, to create passion online for a course like Professor Lon Otto’s Intro to Imaginative Writing. This kind of writing is the stuff of life’s short stories, the ones we want to gracefully and artfully recall as we age. Somewhat surprisingly to me, Otto is of three or four minds about online learning and writing.

“I love face-to-face teaching and learning,” he says, “in discussion-based classes. It’s what feels most natural and engaging to me. On the other hand, at fairly advanced levels, anyway, writing can certainly be taught effectively through active, thoughtful correspondence. This was true long before the Internet was available, back when we wrote letters and sent manuscripts to each other in envelopes with stamps on them.

“Passion about our subject matter is probably most readily and richly conveyed when we’re in each other’s presence, when we can hear a voice tremble or grow harsh or quiet, when we notice the little hunch in the shoulders or narrowing of the eyes as something strikes a person oddly … .”

Amen. At the age of 72, I find the richness of life is in the details, and they’re not always available from a 24-by-20-inch screen, a dozen icons and a blinking cursor.

Dr. Susan Alexander

If you are a regular reader of The Scroll, you will not mistake me for Kant or Dickens, but walking to work does get those brain cells moving for me. Some mornings I think of solutions to problems. Other days I compose memos or blogs in my head. I rarely need multiple drafts – by the time I reach Selby the first draft is written; by the AARC, revisions are complete.

Behind the wheel, it is just not the same. I am sure that there are people who can think and drive, but that’s not me. Truth to tell, from the erratic turns I see at Cleveland and Marshall, it’s probably not them either. Activity that requires too much attention is not conducive to English comp, and vice versa.

Some of my colleagues, like Elise Amel, bike to work, but they need to pay even closer attention to traffic conditions. Even with a helmet, bikers are quite vulnerable. So I hope that Elise isn’t writing the next great American novel as she pedals.

Well, of course, I’m not writing the great American novel either. Still, I like to think I provide value as a walker. When I’m not composing haikus as I stride along, I pick up trash. Jim Rogers tells me he picks up one piece every day as he walks to work. Overachiever that I am, sometimes I collect as many as three cans and a couple of bottles.

So, when you see me crossing the quad toward the recycle bin, you shouldn’t leap to the conclusion that I throw down half a six-pack for breakfast with a vodka chaser. If you care to be charitable, you can assume that my synapses are firing.

No, it’s not the new babies; our ’hood has those, and each is decidedly cute. Nor is it the spring tulips; when they pop, they are praise-grabbers for sure. What could it be that has even erstwhile neighbor Father Dease joining in on the oooo and ahhh action?

Carol Bruess

Simple. (Literally!) It’s a Little Free Library, one of an estimated 6,000 in more than 36 countries. These little containers of goodness unilaterally capture pure and good-spirited attention by the young, the old and the priestly alike. Our own stands happily a just block from campus down Portland near Wilder. And it reflects the mission of the Little Free Library concept: Take a book, return a book.

An auspicious idea born by a lone, creative, big-hearted man in Wisconsin a few years ago, the LFL concept is becoming an international phenomenon. You’ve probably started to spy, right in the Twin Cities, LFLs sprouting like spring daffodils in fertile spring lawns. Some of the earliest (I would argue the cutest, not that I’m competitive or anything) are right here within blocks of our own, big and beautiful O’Shaughnessy-Frey Library.

While Littlefreelibrary.org offers a full history of the super-simple LFL concept, I especially appreciate the answer to “What’s so special about having a Little Free Library?” Indeed: “If this were just about providing free books on a shelf, the whole idea might disappear after a few months. Little Free Libraries have a unique, personal touch and there is an understanding that real people are sharing their favorite books with their community … .” Refuge Films has even made a fab little documentary about Little Free Libraries, capturing a movement that “celebrates the joy of reading and the power of community.” The one-minute trailer will make you grin because, well, the idea is just a good old grin-worthy one. Watch the trailer.

Most recently, I have curated our own LFL collection with some books that just might have been shared by someone who just might be president of a university with which you might just be familiar; a president who always has been a generous, delightful leader; and a president who has long been a really caring neighbor as well.

While I can’t say for sure what you will find in our LFL (no records kept, no checking-out required!), you might just find a book that one soon-to-be-retired president, as well as others who wander the best neighborhood in St. Paul, has left in our ooooo-worthy and ahhhh-inspiring, cedar-shake-roofed, always-open library.

In the spirit of LFLs everywhere, we invite you to stop by! Literally, any time. You might take a book; you might leave one. For sure, you’ll enjoy a little moment of looking. It’s impossible not to.

Someone was sweet enough to offer me breakfast – literally sweet enough, as I was given a choice between a Nutella cornetto (a horn-shaped, filled pastry) or a ciambella (an otherwise plain donut rolled in sugar). I quite fittingly have become attached to Nutella in Rome, so with little consideration I chose the Nutella cornetto in the midst of a large group of people ready to rush their way into St. Peter’s Square.

Lisa Weier

As soon as I got a couple good bites, rush they did. And rush I did. And, I guess you could say, the Nutella rushed only slightly more slowly out of the cornetto, all over my right hand. The hazel nut and chocolate delight oozed into my palm, through my fingers and over my ring.

I was a mess. I had only a bit of a napkin, my tongue and some hand sanitizer. So I cleaned up as best I could once we were in place for the Mass, caught in between the annoyance of sticky fingers and the hilarity of my situation. Soon after, Papa Francesco rode by in the popemobile, without bulletproof glass between him and the surrounding, cheering throng. At one point, he stepped down to greet people and bless babies.

The papacy may seem to some to be merely politics and power, but if I’ve learned one thing from my thus-far unique semester in Rome, it’s that Catholic people love their pope – and not because of either of those things. The pope loves people. Benedict did and Francis does. Francis is a simple man of virtue called to an extraordinary job. He speaks simply, he acts simply and he’s chosen the name of a simple, yet extraordinary saint.

I think he would have handled the Nutella situation with grace and humor, and I’m excited for his pontificate and the rest of my Nutella-eating time with him in Rome.

Dave Nimmer

This is the season of hope, with spring around the corner. At my little Evangelical Lutheran Church in Afton, we have weekly Lenten services on Wednesday night. The sanctuary is dimly lit, the parishioners are usually quiet and the music is genuinely prayerful.

My favorite Lenten hymn is “We Shall Rise Again.”

“We shall rise again on the last day

With the faithful rich and poor.

Coming to the house of Lord Jesus,

We will find an open door there, we will find an open door.”

What I found one night, a Good Friday a decade ago, still sticks in my mind and nourishes my spirit. The pastor had called and asked me to read some Scripture. I showed up at 7 p.m. and the sanctuary was almost dark – a few shafts of light piercing the windows – and silent. The altar was draped with a black cloth. An old wooden cross was tipped to one side. I sat next to the pastor.

When it came time to read, the words that came from my mouth had already settled in my mind: “And He went on a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, ‘O my father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.’”

I sat down. The choir sang. The pastor spoke. The Scripture continued: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” These words could have come from me: the doubter, the prodigal son, the wanderer in the wilderness. This was Christ with the human touch, and his words touched me that night.

Darkness had fallen. I could only see silhouettes. The sound of the organ settled over the sanctuary, slow and sorrowful, and the Scripture concluded, “Jesus, when he had cried again with a loud voice, yielded up the Ghost.”

It was over. As the Lutherans left that night, they came silently up the center aisle, two by two, family by family, body and spirit. From my front-row seat, I saw it all: the elderly husband and wife who held hands as they knelt, said their prayers and struggled to rise again; the children who came solemnly, as though they had tapped into a wisdom beyond their years; and the choir, singing “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.”

To my surprise, tears streamed freely down my face – one of the few times in my life. It was though I was watching all of humanity, through eons of time, pass in front of me: the young and old, the youthful and fragile, the saints and sinners. When my turn came, I knelt in front of the cross and put my hand on the pastor’s shoulder. Then I got to my feet, walked silently out the back door and felt the mist on my face.

For the moment, I knew all was well with my soul.

Dave Nimmer

I admit I’m no poster child for new ways and different strokes, but I’ve also learned that dreaming of days that never were is neither productive nor practical. So I’m trying to find comfort in the months ahead, and what I see is reassuring.

First of all, St. Thomas is positioned well in the marketplace: a hefty endowment, a strong faculty, an attractive campus, a supportive staff and a good reputation. Together, they create an environment that will survive in the competitive world of higher education.

Our mission statement makes it clear who we are and what we’re about: “Inspired by Catholic intellectual tradition, the University of St. Thomas educates students to be morally responsible leaders who think critically, act wisely and work skillfully to advance common good.”

That means to me UST is primarily devoted to teaching, turning out enlightened students who can find jobs and know what to do when they get one. It also means we’re Catholic and always will be engaged in that delicate dance between faith and reason.

If new leadership does, in fact, prompt new ideas, they will come at a propitious time. Higher education, in my opinion, increasingly will be under the gun in the months and years ahead.

The University of Minnesota recently was challenged in a front-page story in The Wall Street Journal about what the story termed “administrative bloat” that may contribute to higher tuition.

A front-page story in the Minneapolis Star Tribune described an “open rebellion” against the president of Gustavus Adolphus College in St. Peter, from professors, students and alumni who feel he is autocratic and insensitive to academic traditions. On the other hand, one Gustavus faculty member says he thinks the president is being blamed for a crisis that affects all of higher education.

I don’t know whether crisis is the right word, but I’ve got a pretty good hunch what the issues will be at four-year colleges all over the country:

• How to keep college affordable, especially in light of online alternatives that offer a degree AND direct contact with employers who are interested in hiring its graduates.
• How to preserve the integrity of a liberal arts core curriculum while acknowledging the need to teach specific skills to land jobs.
• How to control budgets judiciously, with a surgeon’s scalpel, not a forester’s axe.

To me these are reasons enough to welcome a new leader and some new thinking. I have a hunch that among the qualities of Dr. Julie Sullivan impressing the search committee was her ability to manage high-powered people and bottom-line budgets. And this is coming from a guy who worked for 15 years at the Minneapolis Star, giving nary a thought to changing lifestyle patterns that would spell doom for afternoon newspapers.

But there is this interesting study about the effect of exercise on rat intelligence that may be useful to us.

Dr. Susan Alexander

In this study, the rats could avoid a mild but uncomfortable electric shock by moving to the other side of their cages. Okay, I really feel sorry for the rats. But moving to the other side of the cage isn’t rocket science, and all the rats eventually figured it out.

The good part for you regular users of the AARC is that the more exercise rats got, the faster they figured out how to avoid the shock.

Don’t fall off your treadmills, but there is even better news for exercisers.

The experimenters, AKA brutal electroshock sadists if you do happen to be a rat, gave some rats regular rat diets and other rats high-fat diets. The high-fat rats deteriorated intellectually – they were slower to move to the safe side of the cage.

Here comes the good news – high-fat rats that ran the treadmill more were faster to recover their smarts and eliminate the shocks. So, if you have a yen for late-night pizza or curly fries, hit that treadmill.

Better yet, of course, is a low-fat diet with a lot of exercise. That is Dr. Susan’s recommendation as you head into that next big test, but if you can’t avoid the cheese, at least break up your studying with some healthy physical activity.

If I had done that when I was taking biology, I probably would be able to explain the intricacies of the hippocampus versus the formation of new neurons and synapses, and we would understand exactly why exercise aids intellect. I was such a sloth then that it’s a miracle I don’t think the hippocampus is zoo school for large mammals. I was on the verge of calling the hippocampus an ungulate, but remembered just in the nick of time that the river horse has webbed feet, not hooves. (Maybe I didn’t eat too many fatty foods back in college after all.)

Dr. Susan Alexander

Mentioned first were compensation, childcare, work-life balance and health benefits. OK, so it will take some money, I thought, but at least we have a child development center and a work-life balance link on the HR page of our website. This should get us started.

But a lot of places have these. What’s Google got that UST could use to move into the national workplace rankings? I read on:

• 100,000 hours of free massage
• 1,000 bikes maintained for employee use
• A wellness center
• Sports complex

So far, so good. Fortune, waxing eloquent, pronounced Google as “almost like a college campus with free food, benefits for pets and electric cars.” We were doing OK until the free food part. I love the stir fry in Anderson, but free it’s not. Maybe at a stretch I could think of the golf carts and the Hour Cars as electric, though, and, of course, we do have the Department of Dog Advocacy, but the cat people are on their own.

Google also has garden plots for employees to grow their own – vegetables, that is. St. Thomas is probably too space-challenged for that, but there is the community garden.

The Google perk that really got my attention was the nap pods. The Google vice president of work place services recommends five- to 15-minute power naps for all employees. Our Leather Room is nice but those pods look really comfy. I am 100 percent sure productivity would go up if only we had a better place for power naps.

The benefit that looked really perfect for St. Thomas is the Google version of the conference room. Google replaces the traditional conference table and chairs with such creative choices as diner booths, a ski gondola in Zurich, a sidewalk café in Istanbul and a pub in Dublin. We would be on a roll – Archbishop John Ireland would really like that pub.

But then my quest for national recognition hit the skids. Google research shows that the one color to be avoided at all costs is … purple.

I have been in Rome, Italy, for nearly three weeks. Why? I am in a semester-long study abroad program offered to Catholic Studies majors and minors at St. Thomas. I have seen and done many things since I’ve been here, basically checking off the Rome tourism laundry list:

Lisa Weier

Colesseum ✔

Vatican ✔

Trevi Fountain ✔

Spanish Steps ✔

Check out the local artists (DaVinci, Raphael, Michaelangelo)✔

Learn a little Italian. ✔

Eat pasta. ✔

Drink wine. ✔

Voraciously consume gelato. ✔✔✔

It’s obvious that I’ve been partially immersed into a new culture with many things to learn, found in a book or in day-to-day life. Our Bernardi Campus, a large residence that’s home to myself and 33 other students, is admittedly American; however, once I leave the gates, I have some cultural figuring to do.

For example, many vendors line popular streets in Rome. They sell everything from roasted chestnuts and gelato to religious articles and Hello Kitty lunchboxes. One cart a friend and I happened upon recently advertised a plethora of colorful hats and scarves. I was interested in one of the latter: a beautiful purple, green and blue scarf for eight euro (1 euro = approximately 1.33 USD).

I walked up, felt how soft the material was and wanted it. One man (there were two) selling from the cart came up and wrapped it around my neck. “Eight euros,” he demanded, unsmiling.

“Pushy,” I thought. But the scarf did feel nice.

“Oh. You look so beautiful!” he exclaimed, still not smiling.

“My euros are what look beautiful to you,” I thought.

“Would you lower the price? Quattro,” I said, setting my price at four euros.

“No, no, no! Otto (eight).”

“No, grazie.”  I smiled and walked away.

“SEI! SEI!” His coworker picked up the bargaining, dropping his price to six.

I turned around. “Ah, so they are willing to play,” I thought.  I walked to the thinner, pleasant-looking man and said, “Quattro,” with more confidence lining my voice.

“Cinque?” he said, asking for five euros in more of a question than a statement.

I considered for a few seconds and shook my head. I wanted to see if I could get it at four. “No, grazie.” Smiling, I walked away, almost sure I’d leave without the scarf but still happy I had tried.

A dozen steps down the sidewalk, I heard the words explode from him, “QUATTRO!  QUATTRO!” I turned and looked him in the eye. “Quattro.” I returned.

His grumpy coworker came over, “No, no! Cinque.”

“No. No. Quattro,” I said with the dangerous voice of an annoyed female who had been promised one thing and given another.

“Okay, quattro,” he relented. The scarf was exchanged for four euro and two of the involved individuals grinned.

This story is one I will probably present to my future offspring and anyone who cares as The Legend of the ‘Sciarpa della Vittoria’ (the Scarf of Victory). It’s a fun little snapshot of me working my way through the Italian obstacle course I’ve started. I still have much more jumping, dodging and learning to do …

Yet, when I saw the email go out for Take a Tommie to Lunch, I knew that I had to give it a go. It was only one lunch meeting, after all, and I knew how great the program was, having participated my senior year! I have my current employment thanks to networking with a Tommie, and I knew I would want to help a student in the future. Why not start giving back now?

Diane Kulseth ’11

During my senior year, I was paired for Take a Tommie to Lunch with a great alumna who happened to work in downtown St. Paul, just a few blocks from my internship. It worked perfectly for us to meet at a restaurant in the same area. She was a sales manager for a large publication.

While I wasn’t particularly interested in sales, she had a wealth of experience at organizations that offered positions in online marketing, which is what I hoped to specialize in. She took my résumé and made plenty of notes, and over the course of the following weeks she sent me job postings and offered to connect me with people in her network. I didn’t end up finding my postgraduation job through her, but I still value the time that she put in to ensure I had a worthwhile experience.

Once I was assigned a student in the spring of 2012, I was thrilled. I quickly looked her up on LinkedIn and Facebook, trying to figure out what to talk about and how I could help her. When we met, she told me she was relieved I was a recent graduate, as I could talk about the efforts of finding relevant internship experience and a job in this economy. Thankfully, I had plenty of internships throughout my college career, so I was able to highlight how I had searched and obtained them. Usually, they were related to networking or visiting the Career Development Center!

While eating lunch with the student, I kept on thinking about what the alumna had done during our lunch my senior year. I grabbed my portfolio and pen and marked up the student’s résumé, making notes of things to follow up on. I provided advice on networking groups to join and gave her my business card, encouraging her to find me on LinkedIn. I was pleased to see an invite from her later that night!

If you are considering participating in the Take a Tommie to Lunch program, I couldn’t recommend it more. I found it to be a valuable experience from both sides. As a student, I know there is nothing that makes you feel more important in college than when a successful professional takes you to lunch and is truly invested in helping you in your professional goals. As a professional, there is no greater feeling than to know you’ve helped a student achieve the same success that you have.

The deadline to sign up for Take a Tommie to Lunch is Tuesday, March 5, on the Alumni Association website. Please do so! You will be glad you did.

Dr. John Tauer

During their four years, they have been a part of four MIAC championships, bringing our streak to a record of eight consecutive regular-season titles. They also were part of the program in 2011 when we won the national championship. Over the past four years, our overall record is 98-15 with an MIAC record of 70-9, giving St. Thomas more wins than any other team in the country during that time. This season, we are 23-1 and ranked No. 1 in Division III.

But as impressive as their team and individual records are, these five seniors are even better people.

Will DeBerg came to St. Thomas as a star shooting guard from Edina High School. Will worked diligently his first two years, playing on the national title team as a reserve. As a junior, Will was named all-conference and developed a reputation as a long-range marksman. This year, he has emerged as a leader and captain. A gym rat who can be found in the AARC at all hours, Will is a business major with an entrepreneurial spirit, starting his own basketball camps in Edina.

Noah Kaiser attended Henry Sibley High School, where he helped lead his team to the state finals in 2008. He transferred to St. Thomas from St. John’s and earned court time for his unselfish play. Over the past four years, Noah has been a steadying influence, dazzling fans with his passing and leading the MIAC in field goal percentage in 2011-12. Noah is an accounting major who will graduate with honors this spring.

John Nance is a Cretin-Derham Hall graduate. After playing football for the University of Minnesota for a year, he transferred to St. Thomas. He did not play a lot his freshman year but came on strong as a sophomore and led us in scoring in the national championship victory over Wooster. Last year, John was named all-conference and he has emerged as one of the top defenders in Division III. A business management major, John’s infectious energy and smile make him a great teammate.

Drew Mathews attended Faribault Bethlehem Academy, where he was an honors student. Drew played two years of junior varsity and has been on the varsity the past two seasons. He had hip surgery last summer, and his dedication and devotion to rehabilitation and the team make him an outstanding teammate, leader and role model for our younger players. He is a finance major.

Tommy Hannon also is from Cretin-Derham Hall, where he played junior varsity basketball as a senior. A wonderful example of hope and work ethic, Tommy played junior varsity his freshman season and was a backup center as a sophomore before becoming our starting center as a junior, when he was named to the All-Final Four team in Salem, Va. A finance major who will graduate with honors, Tommy has battled injuries and adversity his entire career.

Each of these five seniors came to St. Thomas to challenge himself on and off the court. I have been inspired by and blessed to coach them the past four seasons. Their teammates and coaches will miss them, but we are grateful for their contributions to UST Basketball and we are excited to see what they do to better their world when they leave St. Thomas.

Kelly Ring

I would be remiss if I did not pay tribute to another senior, Kellie Ring, the starting point guard on our women’s team. Kellie is from Somerset, Wis., and celebrated her “Senior Day” Saturday in our win over St. Benedict. She has started all 23 games this season. The day after her father’s funeral last month, Kellie led the Tommies to a 78-55 win over Augsburg with 14 points, seven rebounds and four steals – a truly inspirational performance. She is a biology major.

Let’s pack Schoenecker Arena tonight – 7:30 p.m. Wednesday, Feb. 13 – to cheer Will, Noah, John, Drew, Tommy and their teammates as we take on St. Olaf. Go Tommies!

Carol Bruess

Rachel’s essay, excerpted below, easily exceeded our expectations on integration and sense-making about course readings, theories and concepts. But content isn’t what bumped up the pretty-neat, professors-are-humans-too meter; rather, it was that something, altogether multilayered and unpredictably raw and human about our elaborate-at-times and yet simple-in-many-ways collaboration with the 9th graders at Cristo Rey Jesuit High School, which serves some of the Twin Cities’ most underserved youth. That something, this time, was the unexpected friendship between two unlikely souls, coupled with serendipitous timing and innocence, each recognized and then articulated by the junior, row four, from Shoreview, Minnesota.

Rachel’s essay is of a life lost and a friendship gained – of stereotypes extinguished and a better sense of life (and self) obtained.

Rachel’s essay, specifically, is about the December week when she lost her friend Mark Langdon and, simultaneously, how her newly forged friendship with Cristo Rey’s Ce’shady (it’s a nickname, and an interesting part of her story!) served as a turning point in her grieving.

Rachel’s essay, consequentially, reminds me that learning experiences in college (life) are always (forever) a complex (yep – usually messy) combination of expanding the mind, heart and soul. I know, right? Significant learning: it’s grand and it’s usually painful, but it’s worth it.

Here are the excerpts from Rachel’s essay:

The Friendship of Rachel and Ce’Shady

I never thought I could have anything in common with a 14-year-old, sassy multi-racial girl from East St. Paul. Yet after spending time every Tuesday and Thursday for a month with Cierra from Cristo Rey, I now have a new and surprisingly deep friendship.

I am quite uncultured and I know it. My family goes hiking at Glacier National Park for a relaxing vacation, I shop at J.Crew, eat salad and listen to Taylor Swift on repeat. Cierra, on the other hand, takes mirror pictures with her cell phone in just a swimsuit, asked me to call her “Ce’Shady,” uses slang words like “finna,” claims to be part of the “trill lyfe” and has called me “ratchet” (as a term of endearment) on more than one occasion.

Spending my childhood in the suburbs with parents who (lovingly) sheltered me from the terrors of “real” life was enjoyable. However, my family’s lifestyle did not prepare me for living and interacting in other worlds, especially Cierra’s. And her upbringing was sheltered in a way as well, because she had trouble interacting in my “real” world. We both fit the stereotypes quite perfectly, and we both hardcore judged each other as we were paired up for this service-learning project. …

Because I am quite sheltered, I had no idea what to expect from the students at the school in “midtown” Twin Cities (south Minneapolis), aside from my presumptions that it would be comparable to what I had seen on MTV and VH1. Those assumptions, which were so embarrassingly wrong, proved to be dangerous; I judged Cierra before I even met her. Initially, I assumed she was a bratty teenager with an iPhone, so I did not make much effort to befriend her. Yes, we engaged in dialogue, but it did not become meaningful until she noticed a change in my behavior one Tuesday. …

It was on our last day together that Cierra politely questioned my unusual silence. I decided to tell her about the recent death of St. Thomas student Mark Langdon and explained how I had worked with Mark all summer, 40 hours a week, in the Development Office.

I told her how my heart was beyond sad for him and his family. After I spent the entire weekend looking at pictures, sitting around with my other friends from work, listening to The National (a horribly melancholy band whose lyrics like “how close am I to losing you?” perfectly fit my somber mood) and crying on the phone to my mother, the very last thing I wanted to do was babysit Cierra when she came to visit St. Thomas. I was feeling frustrated that I had not been comforted in the way that I needed since Mark’s death. I do completely understand that everyone deals with death in different ways. People go through the motions and say all the “right things” to try to support you but everyone needs to be comforted in their own way. And even then, no one can make the pain go away after you lose someone. …

But, that day, the comfort that I needed came from a very unlikely source: Cierra’s questions. Because of her youth, she asked me the questions that adults were shying away from. Simply because of her curious innocence, she wanted to know exactly what happened and why I was so affected by Mark’s death. And she genuinely wanted to know Mark because he was so important to me. I told her some stories, showed her pictures I had been crying over all weekend, mimicked his Nebraskan accent and his pronunciation of “diabetes” and “errrmahgod.” I told her the way he could light up a room without even trying, and how his happiness and laugh was fully contagious.

She didn’t say “it’s okay.” She didn’t tell me she understood. In fact, she didn’t say any of the cliché things I’d heard from everyone else that week. Simply, after learning about Mark, she listened to me and asked me simple questions in a refreshing, sincere manner, one I had not yet experienced but very much needed. She demonstrated she didn’t only care about me, she also, simply, cared about Mark. She reminded me death is bigger than all of us. …

After Cierra left St. Thomas that morning, I felt at peace for the first time. This scrawny 9th grader, who pretends to go to the bathroom multiple times an hour to check her phone, became an unexpected friend exactly when I needed her. Yes, we are extremely different in many ways, but the universal concept of death helped me realize that differences don’t have to be resolved for a friendship to be formed.

Dave Nimmer

To that end, I have some suggestions for the “powers that be,” whoever and wherever they are. Who better to offer a few suggestions than someone like me: with no authority, no expertise, no business card … and no responsibility for outcomes. I’ve spent four years blogging about the traditions and triumphs of this place; here are few obstreperous observations:

Put a new fine arts building at the very top of the To-Do List. The financial driver of St. Thomas is its undergraduate program and nothing is more central to its success than support of the liberal arts. And no liberal art is in greater need of its own space than the Music Department. The building also could house the Art History Department and whatever else we define as a “fine art.”

From the Festival Choir to the Symphonic Wind Ensemble, the music program is getting attention. And nothing does more to enhance the Catholic nature of St. Thomas than students making a joyful noise – especially at alumni functions and the annual Christmas concert.

Hold a second Christmas concert just for UST’s St. Paul neighbors. I read the letters to the editor in the newspapers and realize neighbors will always be complaining about students and their behavior – some of it justified, much of it unfair.

Unfair or not, neighbors’ perceptions might be affected slightly if UST would extend them a holiday event: a concert on campus in the chapel with, if not the whole entourage, a representative sample of choirs, woodwinds and horns. Students could pass out tickets to neighbors on the weekend following the Thanksgiving break.

It’s hard to be angry or resentful after singing four verses of “Silent Night” with a 100-voice student choir.

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth but … be aware of its care and feeding. The new scoreboard is, indeed, state of the art and bigger than a garage. The football team is worthy of the gift. And I have no doubt the scoreboard can be a part of other events besides football games.

But the operational price tag causes me to take a timeout; I know it’s expensive to hire outsiders to put moving pictures on that scoreboard, even if the money comes from deep-pocket donors. Maybe students could eventually serve as photographers, producers and engineers, although I wouldn’t bet on it in the short term.

Put some pictures over the 90-second news updates on TommieMedia.com. I generally like the job that TommieMedia.com does in covering the campus: quick to find a local angle, dedicated to fairness and balance. I also would like to see some moving images over those updates so I’m not staring at a talking head for a minute and a half. I don’t need a lot of video – just enough to at least cover a single story.

Give us a chance, sooner than later, to have a question-and-answer session with the new president-to-be. I know the selection process has been, by necessity, cloaked in secrecy and silence, given that some of the candidates didn’t want their names bandied about publicly.

However, once the Board of Trustees has made its decision, let faculty, students and staff have at the next UST president. I know it’s too early for specific policy and program questions, but it is the right to time to ask: Why were you interested in the St. Thomas job? What did the trustees and their selection committee members want to know from you? What are UST’s unique challenges – and opportunities?

Well, that’s it from the peanut gallery. I will not be expecting a follow-up report.

Dr. Susan Alexander

Most of the time, it doesn’t matter so much. If I gobble up blueberries thinking they prevent tooth decay when actually they are helpful in avoiding macular degeneration, well, I like blueberries and my vision will be better. No harm, no foul. I am also quite sure that the filled long johns at Tee’s increase my life expectancy, but that’s a different story.

But sometimes, wrong information is disastrous. If I think the days of the gold standard were bliss and tell my economics students that, it can be disastrous. The gold standard is highly deflationary in times of world economic growth, leading to panics and recession and highly inflation whenever the mother lode comes in. There are also inter-country balance of payments problems that make the euro issues look minor in comparison. I certainly don’t want our students leaving UST recommending creating a gold-based drachma to solve the problems of Greece.

On a more local scale there seem to be pieces of (mis)information in our community that negatively affect our climate. Some of them have surfaced in the focus group work preparatory to the climate survey to be undertaken this month.

Two “facts” stand out involve students of color. Another involves recruiting. So, try my quiz – Myth or Fact:

1. The undergraduate student body is less diverse than the local population – myth or fact?
2. St. Thomas has no special programs to recruit or support veterans – myth or fact?
3. St. Thomas does not recruit nationally for faculty and upper level staff – myth or fact?

They are all myths, of course. Freshmen were 14 percent people of color this year (Quick Facts on the website). St. Thomas participates strongly in programs that support veterans returning to higher educational opportunities. All faculty and upper-level staff openings must be advertised nationally, and the university’s Recruiting for Diversity policy has very helpful suggestions for improving the hiring of underrepresented groups in all areas.

Which brings me to question No. 4:

Communication at St. Thomas could stand some improvement – myth or fact?

I recently received or read three emails or letters to the editor praising St. Thomas students for brushing snow and scraping ice from the car of an 80-year-old woman, as well as changing her flat tire, and for pushing two other motorists stuck in the foot of snow we received Dec. 9.

Doug Hennes

As an administrator who tends to hear from neighbors only when there are complaints about students, the opportunity to read not one, not two but three “thank-you” notes was a welcome respite … and made me think that this winter weather isn’t so bad after all.

Here are excerpts from the correspondence:

A Mendota Heights woman, writing in the Dec. 15 “Sainted and Tainted” column of the St. Paul Pioneer Press, said she has an aunt who has lived near St. Thomas for 80 years. A few months ago, the aunt and her brother got a flat tire, and “two St. Thomas boys came by and changed it for them,” the niece wrote. During the recent storm, two students saw the aunt brushing snow from her car and offered to do it for her. “Later in the day,” the niece wrote, “she went out to scrape the ice from the car when two more young men from St. Thomas offered to help again!”

An email came from a neighbor hung up on ice while driving up the Marshall Avenue hill near Cretin Avenue. “We couldn’t get going again after we stopped,” he said. “The car only went from side to side. But a group of young men and women – they looked like college students – spontaneously got behind our car and pushed us. … I didn’t get your names, but thank you, thank you and thank you! There are a lot of negative things said about college students’ actions in our neighborhood but I think we need to acknowledge all the good that is done as well.”

Another neighbor wrote to Father Dennis Dease and Jane Canney, president and vice president for student affairs, to thank four students who helped her and her daughter extricate their car from a snow mound on Summit Avenue. They “pushed me out when the car got stuck (more than once),” she wrote, and then helped another stuck driver. “I told them they restored my faith in the good nature of people and in the youth of today and didn’t know how to thank them,” she said. “They told me to just pay it forward and help someone else when I can.” When the mom and her daughter got home and noticed their elderly neighbor’s driveway wasn’t shoveled, “guess what (we) did?” she asked. “What a great feeling we had when we saw him the next morning open his garage and wonder where all the snow went on his driveway.”

The woman concluded: “Thanks to your students not only for pushing me out of the snow mound but for spreading the true Christmas spirit and inspiring my daughter to act with kindness.”

Merry Christmas, yes! And we’ll see you around the ’hood when the next storm hits.

But it’s more than the coffee. It’s the guy pouring the java: Traves Lundberg, the 28-year-old who grew up on St. Paul’s East Side. To me, he is the smiling face of the franchise, just the right mix of banter and business.

Dave Nimmer

It took me three weeks to learn his first name and a year to know his surname. It took him three days to know how I wanted my coffee: dark roast with a touch of skim milk.

“I’m a face person,” he says. “I remember your face and that tells me something about you. I can remember faces from kindergarten.” From all indications, Lundberg’s got plenty of faces to remember; the library branch of Coffee Bené is doing very well, thank you.

Lundberg has been working for the coffee house for two years and has spent 10 years in the food and service business – Sbarro’s, Chipotle and Dairy Queen – since graduating from Johnson High School. He’s washed dishes, waited tables and cooked meals.

Brewing coffee, at least at St. Thomas, suits him. “I like the people I serve here,” he says. “I’m a social butterfly, the kid who got in trouble in school for talking. There’s always something going on in this place.

“The St. Thomas library has a pulse. I can feel it every day.”

Lundberg also feels the need to think about going to college. His girlfriend is urging him to begin now. He says he has to work full time so he feels a community college might be the best place to start.

Then, he’d like to finish at a place like, well, St. Thomas. “I played football in high school and I had a dream about going to Notre Dame,” he says. “Turned out that wasn’t realistic but, you know, St. Thomas might be.”

“I like the people I serve here,” Lundberg says. “I’m a social butterfly, the kid who got in trouble in school for talking. There’s always something going on in this place.” (Photo by Mike Ekern ’02)

Lundberg’s interests point him toward music or journalism. “I like telling stories,” he says. “And I don’t have any trouble talking to strangers. And music, to me, is how emotion sounds. When I play rhythm and blues (on a bass guitar), I feel like I’m plugged into life.”

That’s the way Lundberg makes his customers feel. Kellie Longworthy, the assistant manager at Coffee Bené, says Lundberg is a big reason for the success of the library coffee satellite. “He just knows how to treat customers,” she says, “and gives phenomenal service.”

Lundberg’s contribution is more than service, though, to library director Dan Gjelten. He wants the library to be a center for the campus community – a living, learning and listening post.

“Traves has created a particular kind of atmosphere around the coffee shop which is warm, welcoming, personal,” Gjelten says. “He makes me feel important, he makes me feel known, he makes me feel appreciated.”

Lundberg makes me feel understood, in my passion for fishing. He loves it. He talks it. And he understands it’s an essential part of life – why no one ever wastes time sitting in a boat with a pole in hand.

“Fishing,” he says, “is never finished, never done. It’s the pursuit of something we can’t have. There’s always the next hole, the next hot spot. There’s something real spiritual about all of it.”

Now I tell you, how can you not take to a guy like that? He’s my five-day-a-week Christmas present.

Lisa Weier

When snow fell on snow this past weekend, it could have just been the icing on top of my complaint cake; however, while walking across campus in the new, frosty stuff, I found myself thankful for it. I had fun compiling this list of 10 reasons why I, and perhaps you, should appreciate the abundance of white outside:

1. That burning, tingly feeling on our cheeks. I’ve psychologically learned to associate it, in a Pavlovian way, with hot chocolate. Whenever we would go sledding as kids, we’d get a cup. Cold cheeks also make me crave marshmallows.
2. Inconvenience. Please don’t stop reading! I fully sympathize with any car accidents, difficulty of travel, frostbite and slips on the ice (as does my computer; it’s gotten a dent or two from this particular phenomenon). I’ve just realized that difficult things are often the ones that help me to grow the most if I take advantage of the opportunity. I’ve already found this snowstorm to be a good chance to be more patient and to sacrifice some time to lighten others’ loads.
3. Extreme Makeover: Campus Edition. Brown has never been my favorite color. I appreciate, then, how a white cloak settles down on us during the winter months. In my opinion, the trees especially look beautiful.
4. All things warm. They’re that much better when it’s this cold!
5. The dream of a snow day. Perhaps we were spoiled as freshmen, but now every time it snows more than a couple of inches, we have the beautiful hope rise in our hearts that classes will be canceled and we can devote a day to being highly irresponsible, watching movies and sleeping in.
6. The odds of having a white Christmas. They have increased exponentially!
7. Less likely to be snuck up on. As I traversed the campus sidewalks, I saw two chatting ROTC women, quite visibly. Their camouflage wasn’t really helping them blend in as much as it usually does. Between this irony and the crunching sound of feet connecting with snow, I’m slightly more difficult to take by surprise … unless I get thwacked by a snowball.
8. Snowballs and snowmen. This is the thick, heavy, sticky snow that is perfect for making forts and snowmen, and engaging in a good snowball war or two. As a former child, I take delight in the prospects of play for all. As soon as I have less on my plate, I will make good attempts at it.
9. It’s Minne-snOw-ta. I knew what I was getting into when I moved to Minnesota. Let’s just say that I didn’t expect tropics. This time of year, it should be snowy here; I really appreciate having all four seasons be what they should.
10. Less guilt about not knowing where I am. I have a real talent and reputation for getting lost.  Driving to St. Thomas on Monday, I realized that almost all of the St. Paul street signs are covered in snow. Yay! Something to blame my faulty navigation on!

So, there it is, folks! I hope you are able to enjoy the snow while it lasts and the winter as it comes. I know I’ll be doing my best to do so.

P.S. My next blog post for The Scroll should be from Rome, Italy. I’m studying abroad there in the spring. Arrivederci, fellow Americans!

Dr. Susan Alexander

Our good friend Title IX turned 40 this year.

And do we have a present for her – the NCAA Division III championship volleyball team. Now, I realize that schools in Division III give her champions every year, but our champions are something special.

Recently, I saw a video clip of the St. Thomas team; its spirit and sense of family shone through. Ali Wahlin, international studies major, may have best expressed the closeness of the team when she said, “Any time I need anything, I count on my teammates.” Also shining was Coach Thanh Pham, whose low-key, understated manner inspired the team more than any rah-rah stereotype could have.

I also learned what a “dig” is – the MIAC career record now held by Kaiti Wachter, a legal studies in business major.

But the academic in me probably resonates most with Kia Johnson – biology major, UST Dease scholar, one of nine Minnesota winners of a Goldwater Scholarship and one of 15 recipients nationwide of the UNCF/Merck Science Research Scholarship. For two out of the last three years, Kia has possessed the highest grade point average of all the volleyball players in the national playoffs. Kia talks about the balance that volleyball gives to her academic life.

The late Professor Patricia Howe, Ph.D. in history and alternate for the U.S. Olympic swimming team, always told me that women’s sports complement women’s academic performance. Klutzes like me tended to doubt that claim. Now I believe her.

As I sketched the tenets of emotional contagion theory on the chalkboard and extolled the usefulness of good theory in all contexts, I heard the giggling. It rapidly evolved into almost full laughter. “Please do share what’s funny,” I encouraged her, even though, gosh darn it, I was thinking the lecture was quite interesting; what could be so humorous?

Carol Bruess

“We’d all love to know,” I uttered, even though I was both curious and afraid of the response. Did I have something stuck to my pants? Was my zipper down? Was there a sign on my back? Nope. Nope. And no, thank goodness.

“I was just thinking what it would be like to be one of your kids!” She giggled even more heartily.

Huh?

This student was confident that at my family dinner table, I surely offer a non-stop stream of tips to my teens on excellent communication skills, theories of rhetorical and interpersonal savvy, and the importance of audience analysis.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” I said. “I’m officially inviting you all over for dinner.”

Blank stares from the class, and a mumble, from somewhere in the back row: “At your house?”

“Yep, at my house.”

Perfect, I thought. My paired course faculty partner, Dr. Jeff McLean of the Mathematics Department, and I had been looking for an opportunity to host our out-of-class social event.

Almost all of the 13 students in my section of COJO 100 also are taking Calculus (MATH 113). As a paired course, only first-semester, first-year students can enroll, and the goal is to have all students in both courses. Designed to build a tighter community of learners during the first few months at their new university, the paired model provides students a stronger sense of connection, a heightened sense of social and academic support, and sometimes even the experience that – gulp – professors are “real people” too … with kitchens, kids and maybe even a dog that barks at students strolling up the front steps.

And so, we began to plan the menu for the little feast.

Jeff, a master chef, prepared the main course of hearty fall chili and handcrafted cornbread. (The kind they make where he grew up in the South, not the sweet stuff that northerners like.) I, being a rather decent baker and party-maker, prepared grandmother-in-law’s secret recipe of double-chocolate caramel brownies, set delightful tables in my dining and living room, filled fancy (not really) glasses with ice water, lit a dozen or so candles and built a large blaze in the fireplace. It was appropriate ambiance on a chilly fall evening … especially one where we warmly welcomed our students into our lives, if just a little.

The aroma of homemade food prepared by their two professors greeted students to the Bruess’ home last Tuesday evening. And, hopefully, each student then left with new-found knowledge that faculty don’t actually (at least not every night) talk to their dinner companions about the latest and greatest communication theories, nor lecture on the coolest calculus theorems, while they dine.

After-dinner entertainment? Of course! The men’s basketball team provided it. We strolled right down the street to cheer the Tommies to an exciting win over UW-River Falls.

It was a fun night – no studying required – in this paired course.

Dave Nimmer

One of the blessings is to still be associated with this place, years after I retired. St. Thomas is more than a place to be each day; it’s a state of mind: where someone is always 20 years old, change is welcome and everything is possible.

I’ve read a few letters recently to the Star Tribune and Pioneer Press from St. Thomas neighbors complaining about student behavior, especially on weekends. When I was in college, I recall that I occasionally was one of those behavior problems.

But the only behavior I see from students on campus, at least where I’m involved, is unfailingly cheerful, helpful and thoughtful. The students I meet heading to OEC say hello, offer a smile and hold the door – they always hold the door. Part of it is being respectful to their elders (otherwise known as old farts). However, I suspect another part is simply being aware of others in the world around them.

That awareness was a trademark of Monsignor James Habiger, the retired executive director of the Minnesota Catholic Conference, who died last month at the age of 85. His unfailing good humor and sweet spirit were gifts to all of us on campus, where he was a pastoral associate in Campus Ministry.

My last memory of him was rolling down the sidewalk on a red, motorized chair a week after the semester started. Despite his congestive heart failure, the grin on his face – as usual – stretched from ear to ear. His work with the Catholic Conference gave hope to the poor. His presence on campus brought peace to the soul.

The gift that Paul Schons brought to the classroom was passion. When I first met him in 1989, he already had been teaching German for 23 years. When he died Oct. 21, he was the most senior faculty member in the College of Arts and Sciences. The Journalism Department and Modern and Classical Languages shared quarters in OEC, so I’d pass by his office daily.

He was welcoming from day one, puffing his Winston cigarette and pouring over students’ papers. “How are your classes, your students?” I’d ask. “Just fine,” he’d reply. And he never complained in the 20 years that followed; he told me that if it were his choice, he’d die in his classroom. He almost made it.

A few weeks ago, the opinions editor of TommieMedia made my day when she wrote that “there is something about holding the news in your hands, knowing there’s a beginning and an end. The images are still and the ads don’t blink.” Carly Samuelson was extolling the virtues of ink on paper – an old-fashioned newspaper.

But what impressed me most was her willingness to change the medium, as long as the emphasis on getting the story stayed the same. “We’ll move into the digital age with a happy turn,” she wrote, “or should I say click of the page.”

One reason the Opening Doors capital campaign gala last month was memorable was the music, from the Symphonic Wind Ensemble and the Festival Choir. The music program at St. Thomas is growing and maturing, and it was as obvious as the ties and tuxedos, the glitter and gowns.

The choir’s close was a rousing gospel rendition of “Thanks” – and that said it all:

“Thanks. I give you thanks, for all you’ve done.

“I am so blessed. My soul is at rest.

“Oh, Lord. I give you thanks.”

Dr. Susan Alexander

Earlier this month, another sign of Christmas appeared. The big stone pots sprouted evergreen sprays and other seasonal greenery. One morning as I walked between the chapel and the res halls, I spied an alien twig in the pots. I went closer. Lo and behold, it was a magnolia shoot. A real magnolia – not a Japanese magnolia, not a tulip tree, not a northern pretender at all, but a real magnolia. My heart turned to grits – I love magnolias. This twig even had a vestigial flower on it.

I like our other Christmas decorations, too. Those huge white poinsettias in Schulze Hall are nothing short of glamorous. But magnolias … the only thing that makes me happier is the equally out of place and equally beloved redbud trees that bloom by the library every spring – and maybe when the Christmas lights first flicker on.

On Dec. 4, the switch will be flipped and those lights will twinkle. As is only right, St. Thomas waits until after Thanksgiving for this. Still, we get our money’s worth out of those lights. With short winter days, the lights are on when we go out in the evening and are still on when we return for work or early classes the next morning.

Admittedly, some Minnesotans get more use of their lights than St. Thomas does. I noticed red and green LEDs shining as early as the second week of November. I admit to putting mine up but not leaving them on that weekend – you never know how long the good weather will last. Best to string the lights before the snow flies.

But like the Southerner that I am, I turn them off after New Year’s Day. Not so, my neighbors. Christmas lights become Valentine lights and they morph into St. Patrick’s Day lights. Then, maybe add a few blue and white ones to the reds for the Glorious Fourth. Why not Christmas in July?

After all, it’s the spirit that counts.

Dr. Susan Alexander

So, here is my list of Ten Negative Things. (If you want to stay happy, do not read further.)

1. Big puddle on the sidewalk between Ireland and John Paul II halls.
2. Having to interact with a six-foot-tall, non-verbal cat.
3. When we think we know something, but it’s not true.
4. When we claim no one ever told us that, but it was in the Newsroom three times.
5. Rooms without windows.
6. The statue of Monsignor Terence Murphy, in front of McNeely Hall. (It looks like him, but doesn’t capture his spirit.)
7. The entrepreneur statue on the Minneapolis campus, especially when there is ice on it.
8. The sloping sidewalk on the north side of the John Roach Center, when there is ice on it.
9. The sauna/refrigerator HVAC system in Aquinas Hall.
10. That we don’t always think like economists.

I admit this is a very idiosyncratic list, particularly No. 10, and I am sure there are people who love sliding past the JRC windows on icy days.

But it’s my list and I’m sticking to it.