Browm— Alumni Monthly ''It--. What twenty-five years of curricular (r)evolution has done for Brown Now, more than ever, we are convinced of the need for extensive educational reform at Brown Such .^ reform would. . .create? ii vital educational atmosphere which would influence all that occurs h rown would take on a new stature as ... a leader in the field of undergraduate educational innovatio Ira Magaziner, Elliott Maxwell, et ai. Draft of a Working Paper for Education at Brown University 9^968 .\viilon\ bemli seat features (I iftKitttihle armrest for more ftersonal tlrivini^ eomfort. It is a world of superior COMl'ORT, r o o 111 a 11 tl refined d r i \' i n g p e r f o r m a n c e . It has an expansive \V H I S P E R- Q_U I ET interior that offers a SERENE feeling unlike a n \ t h i n g else. 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A liquid-fdled engine mount makes a quiet, all-alumitium engine even quieter. s i I I I ABSOLUT' VODKA. PRODUCT.OF SwtS6ft;:40 AND 60% ALC/VOL (80 AND 100 PROOF). 1fll% GRAIN NEUTRAL SPIRITS. ABSOLUT COUNTRY OF SWEDEN VODKA & LOGO. ABSOLUT, ABSOLUT BOTTLE DESIGN AND ABSOLUT CAtCleBAPHY ARE TRADEMARKS OWNED BY V&S VIN HSPRIT AB. ©1994 VSS VIN S, SPRIT AB. IMPORTED BY THE HOUSE OF SEAGRAM. NEW YORK. NY BirO^ATI!^' March 1995 Alumni Monthly 8 Under the Elms Cyberspace cops . . . hanging with Bell Gallery director Diana Johnson . . . why Brown cares about Congress (and City Hall) . . . an applied mathematician gets inside our heads . . . an important legal collection emerges from obscurity in the stacks . . the co-op movement lives . . . and more. 18 Carpe Diem It's still controversial at age twenty-five. Was the New Curriculum an educational blunder or the best thing that ever happened to Brown? By Janet Phillips 'jo 26 Wayland's Legacy Contrary to widely-held belief, curricular reform at Brown did not begin in 1969. Its roots extend at least as far back as the presidency of Francis Wayland (1827-55). By Vartan Gregorian 28 Liberal Education, Liberal Campus Brown students, argues a recent graduate, benefit more from courses they take outside their concentrations than do undergraduates elsewhere who merely fulfill distribution requirements. By Jaeob Levy 'qj 30 'My Foot Is in My Mouth' Three alumnae in Asia are among many who have fanned out from the Van Wickle Gates to teach English in schools around the world. The experience sometimes disappoints, but also enlightens in unexpected ways. By Jennifer Sutton 34 Portrait: Through a Lens, Darkly Christine Vachon '83 has made her cinematic name outside Hollywood by producing movies that probe humanity's dark side. By Jennifer Sutton Cover: If the curriculum could be said to have a grandfather, it would be Professor George Morgan (at blackboard), an early force behind interdisciplinary studies at Broiim. One of his students was Ira Magaziner '69 (inset). Cover design by Sandra Delany; file photographs. Volume 95, Number 6 Departments Carrying the Mail 4 Sports 16 Books 17 The Classes 36 Obituaries 51 Finally 56 Brown Carrying the Mail Alumni Moiithh/ March lygs Volume 93, No. 6 Editor AniH' Miiini.in niffilv '73 Managing Editor Norman Boucher Art Director Kathrvn de Boor Assistant Editor jonnitcr Sutton Editorial Associate James Reinhold -4 A.M. Photography John Foraste Design Sandra Delany Sandra Kennev Business Manager Pamela M. Parker Administrative Assistant Chad Gaits Board of Editors Chairman Ralph J. Bej^leiter '71 Vice Chairman Lisa W. Foderaro '85 Tom Bodkin '75 Philip Bray '48 Douglas O. Cmnming '80 A.M. Rose E. Engelland '78 Eric Gertler '85 Annette Grant '63 Eraser A. Lang '67 Dehra L. Lee '76 Martha K. Matzke '66 Cathleen M. McGuigan '71 Ava L. Seave '77 Robert Stewart '74 Tenold R. Sunde '59 Jill Zuckman '87 Local Advertising & Classifieds (401) S63-2873 National Advertising Representative Ed Antos Ivy League Magazine Network 7 Ware Street Cambridge, Mass. 02138 (617) 496-7207 © 1995 by Brown Atumm Monthly. Published monthly, except January, June, and August, by Brown Univer- sity, Providence, R.I. Printed by Tlie Lane Press, P.O. Box 130, Burlington, Vt. 05403. Send changes of address to Alumni Records, P.O. Box 1908, Providence, R.l. 02912; {401) 863-2307; alum@brownvm.brown. edu. Send editorial correspondence to Box 1854, Provi- dence, R.l. 02912; (401) 863-2873; FAX (401) 863-939S; BAM@brovvn\'m.brow'n.edu. Member, Council for the Ad\ ancement and Support of Education. Address correction requested PRINTED IN rilE U.S.A. To our readers Letters lire alwnifs leelcome, and we try to print nil we receive. Preference 'will be giivn to letters that address the content of the magazine and arc limited to 200 words. We reserve the right to edit for style, clarity, and length. - Editor The Stealth Professor Editor: My love-hate I'elatioiiship with Brown and its local manifestation in my life, the BAM, continues unchecked. Just when I think I can dismiss the BAM as just another liberal magazine, you come back at me with such pieces as Hugh Pearson's story about his book on the Black Panthers ("A Hero in Name Only," November) and John Minahan's "The Stealth Professor" (December) that challenge and intrigue my generally conser\'ative mind. The latter article brings me to write, however. Minahan's class on "The Personal Essay" sounds like one I would have enjoyed had it fit into my graduate physics program. Tlie topic dovetails so well with our nation's current reexami- nation of its values and directions. It is a comfort to me to see such courses being taught. I guess I can't write Brown off as totally sold out to the liberal canon - not yet, anyway. Consider the discussion presented about the Bill of Rights. "It's amazing how suspicious of power this thing is," one student says. This is an essential concept of how our government was supposed to function. The Bill of Rights and the Tenth Amendment in particular were seen as unnecessary by the Feder- alists, but insisted upon bv the Antifed- eralists as guarantees against growing central government power. How right their concerns were. It is good that such ideas are seriously debated at Brown. In turn I wish we could have seen where the discussion of implied rights finally ended. The issue of strict inter- pretation is even more essential now than it was then. The creativity of our courts must be seen as another way our Constitution is amended, but one that bypasses The People. A serious point, well worth serious evaluation. Finally, the discussion of Hirsch's Cultural Literacy caught my eye, as his books occupy a valued place in my library. I would have dearly enjoyed being in on the discussions described here. Classes such as this represent the best I can expect, and may force me to skew my stereotyping of Brown. A fair and open airing of truly diverse values, rather than a lockstep politically-correct curriculum, should be what Brown offers. It appears there are some glim- mers of political diversity at Brown. To my mind, that's good news and a story well worth sharing with us. Thanks! Richard Shalvoy 'yj Ph.D. Cheshire, Conn. Spare change Editor. The late Irving Harris '28, founder and leader of the Brown Band for his four college years, was my late husband - hence my interest in the Brown Alumni Monthly. The article, "Small Change," by Sarah Baldwin-Beneich '87 (Finally, December), has moved my present hus- band and me to insure that we always have coins in our pockets to help those less fortunate. We will be rich as we help others. It is a beautifully-written piece and should influence many of your readers. Beiilah Harris Ignall New York City 4 / MARCH 1995 Free markets Editor. I enjoyed the article and photos about open-air markets in Asia by [Assistant Editor] Jennifer Sutton and [photographer] John Foraste ("To Mar- ket," December). Yes, we lose much by "pushing metal carts under fluorescent lights and buying food in boxes and cans." We lose our freedom. What would happen in a U.S. city if individual vendors tried to set up such markets? First the city would demand a business license. Next the inspectors would come. Third, insurance would be required. In the name of safety, security, and governmental order, the poor ven- dor would be out of business before he or she had a chance to start. When governments learn to get out of the way and allow people to earn a living, we will be one step closer to the multisen- sory beauty of Asia's back-alley markets. Congratulations to the Broiun Alumni Monthli/ for sharing such beauty with us. Congratulations, also, to the author and the photographer. Frank Ri/ajk jr. '66 Jefferson City, Mo. Judging Chuck Colson Editor. Since the article on Chuck Colson '53 appeared ("Prophet for a Postmod- ern Era?" September), I've been sad- dened by the cynicism of so many who have written to you. I have not only read many of Colson's books and heard him speak, but I know the man who was a vital instrument in turning Colson to God twenty years ago. I firmly believe the sincerity of Col- son's conversion and faith. He is no saint, but neither is he self-serving; rather, he is serving others and his Lord. Gilbert Pierce '62 Wayland, Mass. Editor: Thank you for your cover story on Chuck Colson and for printing the wildly divergent responses. 1 am intrigued that such a polariza- tion of views about this man has sur- faced. Your cover headline, "Sinner or Saint?" was apt; it seems there is no middle ground. Yet one writer pointed out that the two terms are not mutually exclusive, with which I agree. I am saddened that the philosophies of correspondents Vogt and Allen have no room for compassion. Respectively, they referred to Chuck as "a convicted criminal" and "some convicted felon." It seems they cannot see any good in Col- son's work since his conversion. No doubt Colson would be the first to admit he is not perfect. He has embraced Christianity's central message of redemption for himself and is trying to carry it to others. To believe that the Watergate Chuck is doomed to a life of sin is a very dark world-view indeed. The Nazi Oskar Schindler was lion- ized by Jews for saving a tiny percent- age of them from the Holocaust. His was a story of redemption for himself and for a handful of survivors, who did not begrudge him. He was both sinner and saint. You don't have to agree with Schindler's political beliefs to admire what he did; the same is true for Colson. After all, politics is only religion stripped of mysticism. /, Douglas Sivnffield 'j^ Danvers, Mass. Fuzzy-headed futurists Editor. I was surprised to read in "Four Choices, Twelve Voices" (December) that the distinguished group had con- cluded the main threats to the future of the world were dictators, global warm- ing, and America's economic decline. There are lots of things declining in this country, such as morals, principles, and common sense, but one thing that isn't is the economy of the United States. Gross domestic product is expanding beyond record heights and will proba- bly continue to do so if fuzzy-headed futurists such as the person who believes "competitiveness is destruc- tive" will stay out of the way. ].L.S. McLay '51 Garrett, Ind. Carberry checks in Editor. On a visit to the LBJ ranch (Lady Bird and I have been discussing Barn- aby Keeney's leaving Brown - at Lyn- don's request - to head the NEH), I was handed a copy of the December BAM. While one dislikes to carp about pos- itive press (or about such honors as the naming of the on-line service at the libraries, or the naming of the snack bar at the new dorm), modesty compels an appeal for restraint. After all, only a Carberry still expected (by some) to Education Is About Making Choices. "The Masters School offers so many choices that at first it seemed a httle overwhelming. But if there's any point in my life when I should be overwhelmed with choices, it should be now." The Masters School AT n O B B S F K R R V ti boarding/day school for girts, grades 6 -12 catalog & video available 49 Clinton Avenue Dobbs Ferry, NY 10522 (914) 693-1400 iictuall\- delher a lecture remnins a Car- berr\ trulv worth following. Too much attention to, shall we say, my spotty attendance record (to sav nothing of pri- \ ate famih' matters) threatens the hard- earned family reputation. This is not to sav that 1 do not con- sider myself still not eligible for ser\ing in the office of the president, should it become a\ailable, or not. Josiah S. Carbern/ Somewhere in the Texas hill country P.S. We'll be back in Little I^ody soon - the armadillos here are hell on Grayson. The writer, n professor of psi/chocemniics, is on an extended sabbatical. - Editor Patterns of bias Editor. As a current Brown student, I read with interest the article in vour November issue (Under the Elms) on the U.S. Department of Education's investi- gation of the Office of Financial Aid. Since the federal inquiry into racism and elitism opened in early September, the Brown administration has consistently tried to discredit both stvident com- plaints of poor treatment and the investi- gation itself. Citing the basis for the investigation as a series of inter\'iews Now available at a computer near you - the BAM! Starting witli ttie September 1994 issue, portions of ttie Brown Alutnni Monthly are available electronically through Brown's gopher server, the Campus Wide Information System (CWIS). In order to read the BAM in this format you must have an Internet con- nection and a gopher client program. Point your gopher client to gopher.brown.edu and Brown's CWIS root menu should appear. The BAM is located under "Brown University Information" in the "Brown Alumni Infor- mation" folder. If your gopher client is configured to point to another server, Brown's gopher is listed under "All the Gopher Servers in the World," geographically in the state of Rhode Island. If you have a World Wide Web client, point it to gopher: //goplier.brown.edu:70/l. For further assistance in reaching the BAM via your home or office computer, send e-mail to BAM@brown\'m.brown.edu. conducted oyer a two-year period, the article adds that the interviewer, Kathy DeLeon, recently began serving a ten- month sentence in a federal penitentiary. By casting doubt on DeLeon's integrity. Brown hopes to undermine the credibility of the interviews, and hence, the investigation. What the Uni- \ersity refuses to admit, however, is that students ha\'e been organizing to fight discriminatory treatment in the Office of Financial Aid for years. The problems that DeLeon documents are in no way isolated to the students with whom she spoke, nor should we think her results are somehow flawed because of her current whereabouts. Rather, her research reveals patterns of bias towards students of color and working- class students that the federal govern- ment finds disturbing, even if the Brown administration doesn't. The administration has attempted to further compromise the investigation by framing the issue as one of communica- tion and claiming that financial aid offi- cers engage in "ec^ual opportunity rude- ness" without respect to a student's race or class. That officers behave rudely is troubling in itself, hut this defense disre- gards the extent of the problems in the Office of Financial Aid. The situation cannot be resolved simply by changing leadership or disciplining personnel, but instead rests on the fundamentally inequitable ways in which the Univer- sity distributes financial aid. Brown might be able to justify its policies when it chooses the forum, but both students and the federal govern- ment have thus far refused to accept the University's response. As members of the Brown community, we are entitled to fair coverage of this investigation. Leyla Mei 'g; Campus The imprisoiiincnf on federal charges of any principal in a formal complaint against the Universiti/ is newsioortln/. For that reason we noted Ms. DeLeon's current status in our report on the financial-aid investigation. - Editor Irony men Editor. In the December obituary col- umn, it is ironic that Alan S. Rosenberg '44, the manager of the football team, was listed alongside Daniel G. Savage '44, the captain of the same team. V.j. McManus '4.4 Providence Intolerance Editor. As one who has studied the Bha- gavad-gita and the Bhaga\ata Purana for the last fifteen years, 1 had some doubts about Dilip D'Souza's article on religious intolerance (Finally, September). Although his concerns are valid, I am worried that his emphasis may promote an unnecessary cynicism toward religion. In the Gaudiya Vaisnava tradition, which some might consider a Hindu sect, there is the idea of the "neophyte de\o- tee." The neophyte has faith in God and worships Him, but doesn't respect other people. This beginning worshipper is expected to elevate himself to the middle level by studying imder the direction of a realized soul. The middle-level devotee treats people so that their spiritual con- sciousness develops. Beyond this is the topmost devotee, who, filled with love of God, sees each soul to be God's servant, regardless of his position in society, and sees God situated in everycine's heart. In any religious faith neophyte devo- | tees are most numerous. Neophytes of ; different religions may sometimes clash over relatively unimportant issues, such as method, time, or place of worship or I c^ualification of the worshipper. This is 1 simply a fact of life, and those actually | aware of religious principles must try to ! bring such people to a higher level of ' spiritual realization. The Gaudiya Vaisnavas say Krsna | descended as the Lord Sri Krsna Cai- | tanya about 500 years ago in Bengal. At that time there were many Moslems in Bengal, including some who were vio- lently anti-Hindu, but Lord Caitanya never encouraged the harming of Moslems or their mosques. Rather Cai- . tanya taught Hindus, Moslems, and Buddhists ahke that one should chant the holy names of God, tolerate offenses ^ against oneself, and offer all respects to others without demanding any respect for oneself. This process frees one from all sectarian designations and develops j one's dormant love of God. \ I submit that the solution to intoler- ! ance in the worki is to follow the instruc- tions of saintly authorities. Merely to : claim to belong to some particular reli- ^ gious faith, be it Hindu, Moslem, or whatever, will not do. Neither will denying religion altogether, which will deprive society of the godly people who develop when sincere souls apply them- selves to religious principles. Christopher Beetle 'Si Alachua, Fla. 6 / MARCH 1995 The Latin diploma Editor. The dates accompanying Dr. Ruth Hanno's complaint (Mail, Septem- ber) that she dici not know what her Brown diploma said because it was written in Latin bespeak a disturbing lack of intellectual curiosity. She received that diploma in 1972! In 1994, she finds its words incomprehensible and is moved to protest. As Dean Hall points out in her response, any graduate can inquire of the registrar's office as to the meaning of the Latin ciocument. But what difference do the words make? The diploma is the symbol of the completion of a course of studies developed in Europe over 1,500 years; a course universally conducted (imtil quite recently) in Latin; a course to which no one had admission without that language. Is it surprising that this vestige of an ancient tradition should inspire respect in the academic community? When the barbarian hordes engulfed the western Roman Empire and were introduced to its glorious heritage, there were some who rejoiced in what they found and began to build. There were others who saw an opportunity to express their indifference anci spent their energies in destroying what they could not understand. They were called Vandals. They are still aroimd. Robert F. Higgins Jupiter, Fla. The writer, a Brown parent, is a retired Latin teacher. - Editor A stigma overcome Editor: I want to tell a personal story that may cast some light on the admission process at Brown. I was born in the United States in 1958; my family emi- grated to Israel when I was eleven years old. At the age of twenty-one, after com- pleting my military service, I applied to \-arious American universities, includ- ing Brown, Harvard, Wesleyan, Amlnerst, and Rutgers. Everyone turned me down except Brown. The problem was that my SAT scores were unimpres- sive: 510 in English and 600 in Math. Someone at the Brown admission office decided to look past my scores, and that person changed my life. I graduated from Brown magna cum laudc, went on to complete a doctorate in philosophy at Yale, and then applied to law school in Israel. The Israeli law schools asked me to submit SAT scores, so I took the exams again. This time I was twenty-nine years old. My math score remained unimpressive (620), but my English score soared to 740. I now serve as assistant to the dis- trict attorney of the central region of Israel. I also teach legal philosophy at two universities. What is the point of all this? I think my case illustrates the Catch-22 of admission to American universities. My SAT scores improved dramatically because I studied at first-rate American uni- versities. But all of the first-rate universi- ties, except for Brown, rejected me because of my poor SAT scores. Is this an argument for affirmative action? I am not sure. But I am sure of one thing: someone at Brown was wise and kind enough to ignore the stigma of my SAT scores. I hope other admission officers will follow his or her example. David Weiner '82 Ramat Aviv, Israel El P- ^ OPPORTUNITIES IN MANAGEMENT CONSULTING AT McKINSEY & COMPANY IN SEOUL McKinsey & Company, a leading management consulting firm with 62 offices around the world, is interested m hiring MBAs, JDs, Science and Engineering Masters or Ph.D.s for full-time positions in its Seoul office. McKinsey seeks individuals who are interested in tackling broad-gauge questions and are comfortable working in a team-based environment. Candidates should have outstanding academic records, exceptional communication skills, proven problem solving abilities, leadership qualities and fluency in Korean. Further information may be obtained by sending a resume via fax to the following: Ms. Kyung H. Yoon Heidrick & Struggles Consultants in Executive Search 2740 Sand Hill Road Menio Park, CA 94025-7096 (415) 854-4191 fax & 4i Brown University ..:lliiiiilltL..:...v:::::::::::.^ Something for everyone. ■ Credit courses for undergraduate and pre-college students ■ Non-credit courses ■ Intensive English as a Foreign Language ■ Athletic camps ■ Cultural and recreational activities in a great location Office of Summer Studies Box T • Brown University Providence, Rhode Island 02912 U.S.A. (401) 863-7900 ■ FAX (401) 863-7908 BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 7 UNDER THE ELMS Watch the back door Her name is Stacy Bauerschmidt, hut on the internet slie calls tier- self White Knight. As an agent for the U.S. Secret Ser- vice, White Knight jousts with hackers and dumpster di\ers; she ferrets out viruses, worms, and demon dialers. And she warns that "university computer sys- tems are the ones hackers most often attack." "Hackers," Bauerschmidt insists, is too benign a word for them. She once tracked down a student who threat- ened President Clinton via e- mail. She's peered into the darkest comers of cyberspace and found a subculture of pedophiles: "Yoimg computer geeks are being lured by these guys. They can't do it at the playground, because par- ents are nearby, watching. But if Junior is upstairs on the modem, you don't know who he's talking to." Bauerschmidt's stark observations were part of a January panel discussion of burgeoning computer crime. Convened to help Brown's computer-svstem managers anticipate invaders of their cyberspace realms, the panel also included Bauerschmidt's boss, computer sleuths from the Rhode Island state police, and one of the state's assis- tant attorney generals. Tlie speakers urged Brown to protect itself from a wide range of felonies, from on- line software piracy to finan- cial fraud. Bauerschmidt described a hacker who'd written a program for his computer that dialed an account-balance telephone number for a bank credit card. When the bank's auto- mated system answered. the hacker's computer fired off random bursts of digits. Whenever it received a bal- ance back from the bank, it recognized the "hit" and saved the valid credit card number onto a disk. "After losing $1.5 million," Bauer- schmidt says, "the bank fig- ured it had a problem." The incident illustrates the most likely threat: unau- thorized access through a so- called "back door." Savvy hackers "sniff" their way to it with a device that can cap- ture passwords and sign-on protocols, and then use them to get in. Bauerschmidt, who says she has busted fourteen sniffers in the last year, esti- mates that about 13,000 oper- ate on the Internet. Unfortimately, such a scheme is usually a solitary, private act. "The biggest problem in solving computer crimes," explains Robert Mattos, director of the Rhode Island state police's financial crimes unit, "is the lack of eyewitnesses able to identify the perpetrator." And even when one is caught, admits Rhode Island assistant attor- ney general Richard Ratcliffe, current law rarely covers the crime. "Most laws weren't writ- ten for the world of cyber- space," he says. "Under com- mon law, for example, stealing requires something you can pick up and carry away." Pirating software off a university computer system and distributing it for free (as students at Brown and MIT did last year) does not deprive the "victim"of its use and does not meet the copy- right-theft requirement that the perpetrator profit materi- ally from his crime. "These hackers," Ratcliffe says, " are almost like anarchists." Which is precisely the point, say the hackers, who view themselves as smart, adven- turous Robin Hoods or cyberspace Hardy Boys. But whether these com- puter trespassers are adven- turers or rogues, universities should beware: While lawyers upgrade old laws for cyber- space, someone had better be keeping a sharp eye on the back door. -N.B. I MARCH 1995 Hanging Weegee Polict' arri\ ing at an accident or murder in New York City in the 1930s and '40s often found Arthur Fellig already photographing the scene. In fact, the dean of the crime paparazzi, who died in 1968, was so skilled at seeking out tragedy that he started calling himself Wee- gee, his phonetic play on the name of the fortune-telling game Ouija. His first one-man show. Murder is My Business, was held in 1941 at New York's Photo League; his latest runs through March 12 at Brown's David Winton Bell Gallery. The exhibition is the brain- child of the gallery's director, Diana Johnson '71 A.M., whose eclectic exhibitions - from Kiki Smith "multiples" to works by Mexican-Ameri- can artist Celia Alvarez Mufioz and photos of North- ern Ireland - have made the Bell an increasingly prominent center of contem- porary art. The diversity of media and styles reflects Johnson's inclusive vision of what a Weegee 's Norma, The Star of Sammy's-on-the presented by Diana Johnson, star of the Bell University gallery should be. "Half our audience is from Brown and RISD," she says, "and half is the community beyond them. I do see us as one of the areas in the Uni- versity that reaches out into that community." Johnson's broad outlook developed over what she Revenge of the nerds CIENCEWATCffir^ In a surprise for those who associ- ate Brown with liberal arts, the University was recently rated the top engineering school in the country by Science Watcli, a magazine that monitors basic research. The November /December issue calculated the rate at which more than 100 universities were cited in academic papers between 1981 and 1993. The magazine concluded that the impact of work done at Brown exceeded that of such better-known engineering schools as Caltech and MIT. calls a long and checkered career. Fresh out of Radcliffe in 1962 with a B.A. in govern- ment and international rela- tions, she went to Washing- ton to fulfill her ambition to join the Foreign Service. Women, however, were rare in the Service at the time; unable to get in, she consoled herself with visits to the National Gallery. "I looked at art," she says, "and it made me feel a whole lot better." After moving with her husband to Providence in 1964, Johnson eventually enrolled in the first class of Brown's art history graduate degree program. To support her activism in the arts, she left College Hill for a down- town job as a \'ice-president of Fleet National Bank. Art was never far from her mind, though. In 1982 she became chairwoman of the Rliode Island State Council on the Arts, a post she held until 1989. She became director of the Bell the following year. -Bowery, GaiJery. These days Johnson's time is divided between the gallery's exhibitions and its permanent collection. Thanks to her passion for photography - and a gener- ous group of donors - the collection is about to obtain 100 prints by the photogra- pher Harry Callahan. She has also collaborated with several Brown academic departments to tie shows into classroom study. John- son points to a recent exhibit of "outsider" art (works by artists with no formal train- ing) as "a particularly inter- esting counterpoint to a university setting." As for Weegee - well, it's fun, but is it art? "If you think it's art," Johnson says, "it's art. If somebody else says it's art, it's art." The more inter- esting question, she argues, is whether what's called art is any good. Around Brown, Weegee's photos are adding fodder to this perennial debate. -N.B. JROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 9 -rt**:^ «^ 4 Future shock ■ onventional wisdom ^-> - has it that officials lose elections because they're out of touch with the elec- torate. But what if voters want contradictory things? Puzzling out the future of federal funding for higher education is not for the faint of heart. On the one hand, voters last fall elected a Con- gress of aggressive budget- slashers who pledged to bal- ance Washington's books in seven years, mostly through cuts in domestic programs, including those affecting higher education. Yet domes- tic programs make up less than one-third of the federal budget, which means reduc- tions will have to be severe. The same public that elected fiscal conservatives in November, however, was telling pollsters in February that, after Social Security, the program they most want left intact is stvident financial aid. Welcome to the surreal world of politics and govern- ment. These days it's also the world of Edward Abrahams '80 Ph.D. and Christine Heenan, the newly appointed staff of Brown's Office of Government and Commu- nity Relations. Figuring out just what government is up to is difficult enough, but Abrahams and Heenan also find that many students, faculty, and alumni don't sufficiently understand the importance of federal funds to Brown. "One-fifth of the Univer- sity's budget flows from or through the federal govern- ment," says Abrahams, a Capitol Hill veteran who became director of the office last fall after the retirement of Vice President Levi Adams. "Yet our natural constituen- cies don't really grasp gov- ernment's important role in making education and research opportunities possi- ble here." Even Heenan, who became associate director in January, did not under- stand until recently that the Rhode Island state scholar- ship she received as a Boston University undergraduate was financed by government. One potential change in higher-ed programs could hit students particularly hard, says Heenan, a Providence nati\'e and former senior pol- icy analyst in the Clinton White House. "The fastest- growing piece of Brown's Christine Heenan and Edward Abrahams '80 Ph.D. are getting the word out that today's government austerity threatens the quality and affordabiiity of tomorrow's college education. budget is financial assistance for Brown students," she explains. Forced to cover even more of these costs, the University will increasingly face the same tradeoffs now confronting health care: trying to ensure access for students who have the talent but not the money to attend Brown, while attempting to maintain its high-caliber research and teaching. Heenan, who handles Brown's local and state affairs, is particularly con- cerned about the impact of the coming budget squeeze on the Rhode Island econ- omy. "Legislators are having to meet voter demands to do more with less," she says, "while growing the state economy by generating jobs in new and growing indus- tries. No single course for doing that is more important than having a quality research university in the state." The sense of urgency has never been greater. "There has been a bipartisan consen- sus since World War II that excellence in education and research, as well as access to it, are important national goals," says Abrahams, a for- mer historian and author of The Li/rical Left: Randolph Bourne, Alfred Steiglitz, and the Origins of Cultiirnl Radi- calism in America. "That con- sensus is now in danger of falling apart. Should that happen, it's going to be diffi- cult to maintain the excel- lence Brown has achieved through the years." He pauses. "That's the issue in a nutshell: The shape of our future is at stake." - N.B. 10 / MARCH 1995 In your head T I his is science fiction JL at the moment," Ulf Grenander says, pausing to call up images on the com- puter of two human heads, one pink and one pastel green. With the click of a few keys, Grenander rotates them and cuts each like a deck of cards, revealing two of the 128 magnetic resonance imaging (MRl) slices that form each brain. The futuristic vision of Grenander, professor emeri- tus of applied mathematics at Brown, and his engineering colleague Michael Miller of Washington University in St. Louis, is to incorporate such images into a centrally located database of three- dimensional templates for the entire human body. These could one day be called up by physicians on a hospital terminal a thousand miles away and, by using certain mathematical equations, compared to the cerebral images of the patient before them. Already a project at the National Library of Medicine is constructing a "Visible Human" made up of com- puter-generateci templates of a "normal" man and woman. Such a project is the cul- mination of recent break- throughs in imaging technol- ogy, especially in the fine resolution now provided by MR] and in the ability of positron emission tomogra- phy (PET) to detect changes in blood flow. Using such techniques, scientists can now observe metabolic changes in the brain when a patient moves a finger, for example, or sings a song. Grenander says that with PET one of his colleagues can even watch a brain think. But there is one obstacle left, and that is where Gre- nander's mathematical wiz- ardry comes in. "Variability - that's what makes this diffi- cult," he says. "If all normal brains were alike, it wouldn't be difficult to find what is abnormal and what is not." Grenander, who last year liter- ally wrote the book on the field of pattern theory, is in effect trying to invent an algebra of brain configurations. "The idea is not compli- cated," he says. "It's that bio- logical variability can be understood. Formulas can express that in a typical brain the distance between the left and right ventricles is this distance with this percent of variability." Computers then take this information and produce an elastic, three- dimensional template that incorporates countless varia- tions on the normal. The fin- ished template could be a map guiding early diagnosis of an ailment such as schizo- phrenia, which some doctors say is preceded by abnormal volume changes in a part of the brain. All this talk of swelling, brain shapes, and human behavior is reminiscent of the long-discredited science of phrenology, which postulated that the shape and protuber- ances of the skull can predict certain personality traits. Grenander, when asked about this parallel to his work, smiles impishly. "Something like that," he says. - N.B. What They . Wrote "In Western literature, the 'East' is often an exotic and imaginary realm, con- jured up by its more fabu- lous folk tales, its classic literature, its historical leg- ends, while our own part of the world Is more prosaic, workaday, often oppressive, devoid of mar- vels: Dorothy's gray Kansas is West and Munchkinland, over the rainbow, is East." Robert Coover, T.B. Stowell University Professor, re- viewing a collection of Sal- man Rushdie short stories in the the January 15 New York Times Book Review. "It Is... unlikely that Con- gress can change another reality of life on the Hill: the power of special-inter- est groups. . . . Nothing in the political history of the past century suggests that these interest groups will lose influence or that Congress as an institution can curb them in ways that will enhance its public reputation." James Patterson, professor of history, in "Not So Fast, Newt, " published in the January 23 New Republic. te: >. BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 11 Country doctor I he cluttered alctne _M. of the genernl store in remote Guateniala is a strik- ing contrast to Dr. Steven McCloy's bright and spot- less examining room in Providence. Cases of Pepsi are stacked just a couple of feet away as he peers at his patient, a tiny infant in the arms of a mother who appears barely into her teens. Another girl waits nearby, her elbow hooked over the rim of a grimv oil bar- rel that serves as a trash can. The young mother's color- ful embroidered pullover, favored by the Mavan women of the Guatemalan highlands, brightens the dingy room. McCloy, a clinical assis- tant professor of medicine at Brown, saw the girls last August during his sixth trip to the remote villages clinging to the steep volcanic slopes above Lake Atitlan, along Guatemala's Pacific Coast. He is now preparing to return again this summer, as part of the San Lucas Project, a Rhode-Island-based effort that has been bringing volunteer phvsicians to the region for the past seven years. Mostly the work involves treating the illnesses of poverty, particularly the diar- rhea that can kill an infant living with poor nutrition, inad- equate sanitation, and dirty water. It's work made easier by the warmth ancH dig- nity of the patients, whose company keeps drawing McCloy and his colleagues back. "Guatemala has become a passion for me," he says. Other Brown doctors have joined McCloy from time to time, and their enthusiasm is spreading. Elaine Bearer, a pathologist in the medical McCloy and the Pepsi generation. school who accompanied McCloy last summer, is trying to devise a way of bringing Brown medical students to the region, an experience that she and McCloy are con- vinced would benefit both impoverished Mayans and future physicians. "1 just believe," McCloy says, "that life without service to other people is an empty life." -Richard]. Walton '51 Contributions to the San Lucas Project can be sent to the Rhode Island Central America Fund, P.O. Box 2314s, Wei/bosset Hill Station, Providence, R.I. oigoj. Save that comb! Question: What do stumptail macaque monkeys and members of the Hair Club for Men have in common? Answer; a tendency to go bald. Which is why researchers at the pharmaceuti- cal giant Merck recently enlisted the help of James Harper, a clinical associ- ate professor of pathology and veteri- narian for one of only three stumptail colonies in the Uruted States. Harper gave the primates daily doses of finasteride, a Merck drug origi- nally designed to treat benign prostate enlargement in men, but which also reverses baldness. In a recent issue of the Journal of Clinical Endocrinologij and Metabolism, Harper reported that his monkeys - both male and female - re-grew hair within two months. His study is the first to include sim- ian females. More recent trials have The Latest Nezvs from Broivn 's faculty produced hair growth on men, and researchers hope to eventually test finasteride on women, who can suffer hair loss after menopause. Blowin' in the wind El Nino is back, sending soaking rains to the California coast, flooding roads in Florida, and generally raising havoc with the world's weather. According to David Murray, a senior research associ- ate in geology who has been studying the phenomenon's history in the sedi- ments of the Gulf of California, strong El Ninos like this one have occurred about every dozen years for centuries. During an El Nino year, equatorial tradewinds relax; warm surface waters slosh east- ward in the Pacific and flow north and south along the American coasts. By monitoring phytoplankton in Gulf waters, Murray found that trop- ical forms of these minute floating aquatic plants are more abundant in the area during El Nino events. Their skele- tal remains, preserved in deep-sea sedi- ments, provide a history of the pattern over the past few thousand years. By placing today's El Nino in the context of past events, Murray and liis colleagues hope to one day predict the weather system's development far enough ahead to prepare for the floods and crop damage that can result. 12 / MARCH 1945 Physician, humanize thyself Among the skills aspiring physicians need to be taught these days is how to be human. Cost- cutting has so overwhelmed the medical profession that primary-care doctors face mounting pressure to rush one patient out of the office so the next one can come in. No longer is it "take two of these and call me in the morning." Now it's just "take two of these." Such trends worry Leon Eisenberg, chairman of the social medicine department at Harvard's medical school and a leader in promoting the idea of physician-activists. Eisenberg believes that today's emphasis on medi- cine's bottom line, as well as overreliance on what he calls "molecular" or high-tech medicine, is increasingly forcing doctors to ignore the patient in favor of the disease. This, he says, is bad med- icine. "Disease is never the same from patient to patient," he told Brown medical stu- dents on January 30 in the inaugural Stanley D. Simon Lecture. (Simon was a Rhode Island surgeon and local activist who died in 1993.) "And illness is a family afflic- tion incurring severe burdens such as loss of income, major changes in life planning, and delayed medical care." Good doctoring, therefore, requires not only accurate diagnoses, but some under- standing of the impact of sickness on a patient's life. Begin by being a good lis- tener, he advises. "Get to know your patient. When you ask him how he is feeling, let him talk. Let him tell you." Eisenberg's words fell on a receptive audience. Beginning in their third year. Brown medical students must join a faculty-directed "affinity group" focused on such concerns as cross-cul- tural medicine and doctor- patient relationships. These sometimes interdisciplinary groups aim to make Brown M.D.'s acutely aware of the human as well as physio- logical complications of medical practice. Most of tomorrow's doc- tors will labor for huge health insurance conglomerates and HMOs that watch every dol- lar spent. Eisenberg's lecture was a reminder that access and quality must be equally urgent concerns. With 40 mil- lion uninsured Americans, and high infant mortality in sections of seemingly pros- perous cities, doctors need to remember who it is they are trained to serve. "You must," Eisenberg told them, "change the social context in which medicine is practiced." - J.R. What They Said 6^ ii ^6 If we all retreat to our laptops and hold our conversations on the Internet, that may be another kind of community, but there's nothing like human warmth and contact." Madeleine Kunin, deputy secretary of the U.S. Department of Education, at Sayles Hall January 25. When people mention 'middle class' in reference to blacks, they talk about Oprah Winfrey and Bryant Gumbel and Montel Williams. It takes $38 million a year to make a black person [be per- ceived as] middle class." Patricia Williams, Columbia law professor and author of The Alchemy of Race and Rights, at a February 2 talk in Alumnae Hall on The Rooster's Egg, a work-in-progress. I v^as terribly mistaken to think that in the late twentieth century you could be a college presi- dent and not be a fundraiser. It's taken a toll on me - physically, psychically. You have to be nice all the time!" Brown president Vartan Gregorian, answering questions faxed by alumni from twenty-five sites nationwide during a February 1 telecast originat- ing from Sayles Hall. Despite the toll on Gregorian, fundraising has lately been successful. The Cam- paign for the Rising Generation recently passed the $400-million mark. BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 13 A room of its own When should hiunan- rights violations trigger United Nations inter- vention? What business does a group of countries have telling another nation how to treat its citizens? As a scholar who often travels to U.N. hot spots in search of answers to such questions, Jarat Chopra, a research associate at Brown's Thomas J. Watson Institute for International Studies, likes to remind students the answers have been fought over for centuries. That's one reason why an increasing amount of Chopra's on-cam- pus time in recent years has been spent on a crusade to dust off the history of international law. A starting point has been tracking down and reassembling the Univer- sity's Wheaton Collection. Donated in 1902, this assort- ment of 6,000 international- law books is named after Henry Wheaton, class of 1802, who as court reporter for the U.S. Supreme Court was one of the first jurists to grasp the significance of a realignment of international law that still dominates world affairs today. Until the nineteenth cen- tury, Chopra explains, coun- tries such as the United States could act anywhere in the world against piracy, for example, because there were universal laws understood by all nations. At the Supreme Court, Wheaton had a front- row seat from which to observe the eclipse of that tradition by the near-absolute sovereignty of the nation- state. "Wheaton's Elements of Intenmtiotml Law," says Chopra, "is a critical work in describing this transition to a new state-based system." Understanding that transition was still important enough early this century for the Wheaton Collection to have a room of its own in the John Hay library. (It "looks eastward across the campus towards Europe and The Hague," according to a 1910 Broum Alumni Monthly.) Inexplicably, says Chopra, "over time, it just began to get broken up and forgot- ten." He only learned of the collection's existence three years ago through a tip from another scholar. Even though the scholar told Chopra the Wheaton Collection is one of the best around on international law, it's now haphazardly dis- persed throughout the stacks and cellars of the Hay and Rockefeller libraries. Chopra and Jennifer Eadie '94 have been tracking the books using an old hand-typed bib- liography dug up by Univer- sity Archivist Martha Mitchell. Chopra argues that recent developments both at Brown and in the world at large have made the collection timely once again. In early December a faculty legal-studies group was formed to discuss creat- ing a concentration in law. And the U.N.'s limited suc- cess with recent interventions in Somalia and Bosnia under- score the current legal and intellectual drift in interna- tional relations. "The need is to look at how that state- based system that Wheaton described was built," Chopra says, "because it's now unravelling." - N.B. During a January luncheon at the Presidential Palace in Lisbon, President Mario Soares surprised Brown President Vartan Gregorian with the medal oi gnnide oficial da Ordem do Infante D. Henrique, one of Portu- gal's highest honors. Soares, who received a 1987 hon- orary doctorate from Brown, recognized Grego- rian's service to higher education, his support of Portuguese and Brazilian studies, and his work in strengthening cultural rela- tions between the United States and Portugal. Election to the National Academy of Engi- neering is one of the tughest honors in the field. Recently named a member was Lambert Ben Freund, the Henry Ledyard Goddard University Profes- sor of engineering, for his research on "dynamic frac- ture mechanics and . . . the mechanics of dislocations of thin layers." Brown /RISD Hillel Director Alan Flam was one of four directors singled out as an "Exemplary Hillel Profes- sional" at the national Hillel Staff Conference held in New Jersey in December. In nominating Flam for the award, local HiUel Founda- tion President Robert M. Goldberg '81 described him as a teacher "who is con- stantly exploring and seek- ing new ideas." 14 / MARCH 1995 A few short months ago, it was a hodge- podge of half-stripped wooden paneling, donated sinks, old carpets, and scat- tered tools. But in January, eleven students moved into 116 Waterman Street, the latest acquisition of the Brown Association for Cooperative Housing (BACH). The $335,000 house on the corner of Waterman and Hope was the first BACH has pur- chased without Brown's financial backing. It will be the fourth cooperative orga- nized by the student-run corporation. BACH searched six years for the right building. Since closing the mortgage in the fall, the group has trans- formed a big mess into a proper home. Under the watchful eye of Dave Klap- haak, a recent RISD graduate and coordinator of the New House Project, walls have been plastered, doors himg, sheh'es and refrigera- tors installed. The renova- tions have been done almost entirely by students, in keeping with BACH's philos- ophy that cooperation gets the job done well at signifi- cantly lower cost. The product of a Group Independent Study Project (for academic credit) on the then-young cooperative movement, BACH was con- ceived by undergraduates in 1970 as a housing alterna- tive that would focus both on interdependence and independence. The organiza- tion acquired its first three houses in 1971, leasing two of them, Carberry and Mil- Studentside The houses that BACH built by Dorian Solot '95 The CO op life: steamed broccoli and knowing you're not alone. hous, from Brown, and pur- chasing a third, Watermyn. The self-governed houses are very different from dorms, as inhabitants are quick to point out. Residents share respon- sibilities for cooking, clean- ing, organizing, and main- taining each house. They also enjoy the sense of commu- nity that co-ops seem to kin- dle. "There's something so nice about saying it's your home," observes Adam Lowe '96, BACH coordinator. Bren- dan Neagle '97 adds, "It's good to live in a place where people are aware that they're not the only ones here. It'd be nice if everyone [at Brown] felt that way." The co-ops must be doing something right; each year's waiting list has more than 100 students. With a year in a dorm roughly twice the cost of one in a co-op, the attraction for some may be a good deal. But money isn't the only thing on students' minds. Homecooked food (almost entirely vegetarian), the notion that each person counts (decisions are made by consensus), and a palpa- ble sense of community are equally important. Says Tom Flaherty '96, "There's some- thing terribly artificial and alienating about living in dorms." One would be hard-put to use the word "alienating" to describe a co-op. A typical end-of-the-day scene includes students cooking dinner - tonight it's African peanut stew, steamed broccoli, and sesame biscuits - to the sound of folk music on the stereo. Other residents lounge on sofas to read the Nexv York Times or discuss campus issues, pausing to stroke the ears of an orange-and-white dog that wanders through. Eric Deriel '96, BACH's bookkeeper, notes that BACH has had decades to adjust to being a three-house organization. "Now we're shaking things up again. We haven't done anything new and exciting in a long time." One major question remains: What will the new house be named? A contest last year failed to produce a winner. Three Milhous alumni have already written a con- gratulatory letter to BACH, playfully pledging a total of fifteen dollars "in exchange for a smallish plaque, prefer- ably in some bathroom [of the new house], bearing our names." Quips Deriel, "That's a good start." Dorian Solot is a senior from CoUingsivood, New Jersey. BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 15 Marian and Dick Lloyd will tell you they never really thought much about it. "We've always done it," they say, almost apologetically. "It's impor- tant to us. It's our way of being with our sons as they are growing up." "It" is attending just about every basketball game their two sons. Rick '92 and Brian '96, have ever played. The streak began when Dick coached his sons in the Little Lad League in their home- town of Belle Mead, New Jersey. Since then the Lloyds have gone to extraordinary lengths - and places - to achieve this remarkable attendance record. A few years ago, there was the problem of conflicting sched- ules when Rick played for Brown while Brian was at Rutgers Prep. The solu- tion? One parent went to Providence, the other to New Brunswick. When Rick played basketball for a year overseas after his Brown graduation, Marian and Dick journeyed to Manches- ter, England, to cheer him. Even injuries haven't slowed them down. Plagued by a back injury in December 1991, Dick piled up the pil- lows and got to the Provi- dence Civic Center to see Rick score twenty-nine points in a 71-69 overtime upset over Providence Col- lege, Brown's first win over its crosstown rival in eleven years. Dick himself played at Bloomsburg University of Pennsylvania, and Marian, a member of Drexel's sports hall of fame, excelled at bas- ketball, field hockev, and tennis. Before the boys were born, the couple ran a sum- mer basketball camp in the Pennsylvania Poconos for eighteen years. Dick has been both assis- tant and head basketball coach at Rutgers, where he is now assistant vice president for alumni relations. He also broadcasts Rutgers basket- Dick Lloyd videotapes son Brian '96 while Marian looks on. "We have taped over some of the stuff we don 't particularly want to remember, " Brian says. ball on the radio, sometimes going directly from a broad- cast booth in New Jersey to a bleacher seat at Pizzitola. Marian tries to manage her schedule as special events manager for Johnson & Johnson to accommodate her first priority. The jug- gling is so successful that the Lloyds' near-perfect atten- dance confounds even their children. Rick and his sister, Debbie, sometimes travel to games from their homes in Boston and New Jersey; but they can barely keep up with their parents. "It still baffles me," says Brian, "how they make it to so manv games." The unflinching support of Marian and Dick may be one reason the sons have done so well at their guard positions. Rick is fifth on Brown's all-time scoring list. Brian, who can be deadly from three-point range, aver- aged 12.3 points a game last year and was an All-Ivy hon- orable-mention. A few years ago, when Rick was a half- dozen baskets away from scoring his one-thousandth point, the Lloyds, video cam- era in hand, were poised to record the historic event. Unfortunately, Rick managed only six points. Dick and Marian flew off to honor other commitments, but were back the next night to see their son shoot his way into the Brown record book. Many athletes would be nervous striving for such a landmark under their par- ents' scrutiny. Not Rick. "I was never nervous," he says, "because they were always there." Men's soccer coach to Clemson Trevor Adair, who in four seasons took men's soccer to the NCAA quarterfinals, armounced on January 24 that he had accepted the head coaching job at Clemson. In his final season, Adair's team finished at 13-4-1, including an early NCAA tournament win against first-ranked Boston University. The team also fin- ished in a first-place Ivy League tie with Harvard, its first such title since 1976. ED Scoreboard (Febriiaiy 9) Men's hockey (10-7-2) Women's hockey (14-1-3) Men's basketball (9-9) Women's basketball (7-10) Men's swimming (3-6-1) Women's swimming (3-7) Men's squash (4-5) Women's squash (5-3) Wrestling (11-2) Gymnastics (3-2) 16 / MARCH 1995 Books By James Reinbold The doctor is out The Strange Case of Dr. Kappler: The Doc- tor WJio Became a Killer by Keith Russell Ablow '83 (The Free Press, New York, N.Y., 1994), $19.95. On April 14, 1990, Dr. John Kap- pler, a retired Los Angeles anesthesiologist, left his daughter's apartment in Medford, Massachusetts, to begin the return trip to his Califor- nia home. For reasons not altogether clear, his wife planned to return sepa- rately. But only moments into his trip. Dr. Kappler veered off the Alewife Parkway at a high rate of speed and smashed his Hyundai Sonata into two people. The collision killed a jogger. Dr. Paul Mendelsohn, and injured a pedes- trian, Deborah Brunet-Tuttle. Kappler's attorney used the insanity defense, but the jury didn't buy it. Today the doctor is serving a mandatory life sentence for second-degree murder. But that is only the beginning of this compelling tale. In telling the sad story of Dr. Kappler's life, psychiatrist Keith Ablow explores terrifying regions of madness and suggests the human tragedy of perpetrators as well as victims. We learn that John Kappler was bom in Pittsburgh to a teenage couple who abused both alcohol and their son. Throughout his life Kappler sought to expunge his past. He graduated from Emory University in Atlanta and then from Bowman Gray School of Medicine in North Carolina, married, and had children. But tragedy seemed to stalk him: he lost a brother to cancer; and his first child, a daughter, was born with cancer and died at age three. Throughout his medical career, Kap- pler, who was known to have a violent temper, suffered numerous mental breakdowns. For some he was hospital- ized; other times his wife, Tommie, iso- lated him in his bedroom and fed him medication until his mental state stabilized. After each episode, Kappler returned to work - one of the more horrifying observations in Ablow's chill- ing narrative. Kappler's destructive pattern began in 1975, when in a single day he attempted to kill three patients, includ- ing a pregnant woman, by administer- ing the wrong anesthetic. In 1980 he injected a patient with a near-lethal dose of anesthetic, inducing cardiac arrest. None of the patients died, although the pregnant woman suffered brain dam- age. In 1985 Kappler was accused of shutting off the life-support system of a quadriplegic patient, who also survived. The physician was arrested for attempted murder, but freed on insufficient evi- dence. After that he retired and van- ished from the newspapers until com- mitting the 1990 Massachusetts murder that finally put him behind bars. Ablow devotes much of the book to the revelations of Kappler's numerous psychiatrists. Most of them, it appears, never treated the troubled man beyond simply prescribing medication. Kap- pler's medical colleagues essentially looked the other way because, as Ablow explains, doctors traditionally have been pressured not to take action against other doctors, even those who are obvi- ously impaired. As Kapper attempted to bury his unpleasant childhood, he became an enigma to all who came in contact with him. "He was, by any measure, a terribly angry man," writes Ablow, reporting on the murder trial. "... He had remained silent . . . never taking the stand in his own defense. Whether found guilty or irmocent, he could be confident that there was not a « soul in the courtroom that winter day who would ever come close to knowing him." Ablow, who was a friend of Kap- pler's victim, Paul Mendelsohn, has entitled several of his chapters "First Person" to separate passages dealing with his personal feelings from his oth- erwise clinical approach. The book addresses two main questions: First, is John Kappler mad, or is he evil? Was his final violent act one of uncontrollable madness or calculated murder? Second, did Kappler's peers in the medical community act responsibly when they learned of his serious mental illness? Did the psychiatrists who treated him and sent him back to work? Did the wife who sheltered him? "Psychiatry having failed to heal him, his colleagues having looked the other way, his wife having cast her own shadow over his life, the criminal justice system having failed to contain him," Ablow writes, "John Kappler had finally left behind undeniable evidence of his destructiveness." ED Cl^ Keith Russell ^^B Ablow is a ■0(9^ practicing psy- P. Ji JM. chiatrist who '"■^^^■Ktt^ writes a column iS^^^F^ on psychiatry I'W*^ and society for the Washington Post. A graduate of the Johns Hop- kins University School of Medicine, he lives and practices in Chelsea, Massachusetts. BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 17 l,s iL-rcrfCffRTfT 111 1969 ^ the University made a bold coiiiniitiiient to a radical educational pliilosophy, one that has been celebrated and second-guessed \ \ ever since his academic year marks two twenty- fifth anniversaries which are impor- tant to my ties with Brown and which have become linked in my mind. The first is the anniversary of the launching of Brown's New Curriculum in 1969-70. When the BAM asked me to do a retrospective on it, I found myself thinking about the second milestone, fast approaching: the twenty-fifth reunion of the class I was supposed to graduate with, the Class of 1970. We were only the first class to get a taste of the New Curriculum, but we certainly got the full flavor of the academic, social, and political ferment that helped create it. We arrived at our respective campuses - Brown or Pembroke - in the antedilu- vian year 1966, on the brink of momentous changes in the University, the nation, and our minds. After three years of upheaval, the New Curriculum was heralded as a climactic event, a culmination of those revolutionary trends. Then most of us gradu- ated and moved on. My own path meandered. I took several leaves of absence, changed my major twice, and finally graduated in 1974. That gave me a few extra years to try out the New Curriculum and see how it actually worked. After graduating, 1 spent six years at the BAM, then went to graduate school at Boston College. It wasn't until 1987 that I found myself back at the University - this time as a freelance writer for the admission office and University rela- tions. What I found was an institution that had transformed itself profoundly. For all its fits and starts, in its first decade the New Curriculum clearly awakened a once rather sleepy institution. But it became obvious to me in During the 1968-69 academic year, a group of students led by Ira Magaziner '69 organized noon rallies on the Green (left) to discuss the 450-page treatise that grew out of an independent study project on curricular reform at Brown. The report provided the framework for the so-called New Curriculum adopted later that year. 1987 that curricular reform was not a relic of sixties activism that Brown was trying to prop up in the face of reactionary social trends. In reality it started a much longer-lasting revolution, an ongoing pro- cess that has reshaped not only the undergraduate curriculum, but the entire academic enterprise - indeed, the University itself. Indisputably it is the curriculum that sparked Brown's transformation over the past quarter-century from a lesser-known Ivy school into an internationally-renowned uni- versity with extremely competitive undergraduate admissions. The curriculum itself has been under a micro- scope for twenty-five years, most recently at an academic convocation last October, which concluded with President Gregorian awarding honorary degrees to Ira Magaziner '69 and Elliot Maxwell '68 (Under the Ekns, December). At times the media's perennial fascination with the curriculum's partic- ulars - "satisfactory/no credit" grade options, the absence of graduation requirements save those pertaining to one's concentration - has obscured the larger picture of how the curriculum catalyzed Brown's transformation. To get additional insight into that process, I interviewed a nimiber of people in the senior faculty and the administration who have both observed and used it over the years. With the exception of George Morgan, recently-retired University Profes- sor, who came to Brown in 1950, most of those I talked with arrived in the late sixties to early seven- ties, during the curriculum's gestation or infancy. n the late sixties, as Elliot Maxwell observed at last October's convocation. Brown suf- fered from "a lack of certainty about where it fit in American higher education." Under the leadership of Presidents Henry Wriston and Bamaby Keeney from the 1940s through the mid- sixties. Brown grew from "an essentially regional college into a university with many strong depart- ments," physics professor Frank Levin points out. But it was still in the shadow of Harvard, Yale, and Princeton. Since college curricula in those days shared a general uniformity of content and approach, it wasn't easy for Brown to distinguish BY JANET PH ILLIPS '70 THOSE INTERVIEWED 1 Sheila Blumstein, dean of the College and Albert D. Mead Professor of Cognitive and Lin- guistic Sciences 2 Ferdinand Jones, professor of psychology and former director of psychological services 3 Elizabeth Kirk, professor of English and com- parative literature 4 Frank Levin, professor of physics 5 George Morgan, University Professor, emeritus 6 Robert Scholes, Andrew W. Mellon Professor of the Humanities and professor of modern culture and media, English, and comparative literature 7 Arnold Weinstein, Henry Merritt Wriston Professor and professor of comparative literature 8 Eric Widmer, headmaster of Deerfield Academy, former professor of Chinese and central Asian history and (consecutively) executive officer for faculty and academic affairs, dean of student life, and dean of admission and financial aid itself from comparable institutions. Yet Brown's con- ventional curriculum belied a long tradition of innovation, as Presi- dent Gregorian has noted (see page 26). Throughout its history Brown has shown a willingness to reexam- ine and refashion itself and, when necessary, to make a fairly radical break with tradition - most notably in the nineteenth century under Francis Wayland, who became famous for his cur- ricular reforms. Former Dean of Admission Eric Widmer observes that while the 1969 reforms were the most far-reaching yet, they were constructed by students, administrators, and faculty who were part of the "old Brown." The "New Curriculum" thus wasn't as sui generis as it sometimes seems. The modern foundations for the 1969 curricu- lum were laid ten years earlier by George Morgan, then a youthful professor of applied mathematics who took a leave of absence from Brown in 1936-37 to wrestle with his intellectual conscience. As he explains it, "I wanted to make questions of human existence more central to my work, because learn- ing and life have to go together." He began looking for ways to apply mathematical analysis to real- world concerns - for example, using his work in fluid dynamics to analyze blood circulation, or to study estuaries and ocean currents. As a visiting scholar at Har\'ard, he sought out scholars in psy- chology, anthropology, and sociology - the so-called "soft" sciences - to see if they were interested in using mathematical models in their work. Those early explorations, though, brought Mor- gan to an unexpected impasse. He began to realize that the social sciences could not be molded into the same conceptual and methodological framework as the physical sciences, and that any attempt to force that model upon them led to distortions. "The scientific approach to social studies leaves you in the end unable to see the real individual or society," he says. That, in turn, led him to questions such as. What is science? Is it truly value-neutral, as is often claimed? What can and cannot be studied scientifi- cally? "\ was not putting down 'hard' science," he says, "but instead seeing it as only one sector of the human mind, to be given its appropriate place within the whole." Morgan became convinced that there had to be ways for such issues to be raised in the university curriculum. He went to see Barnaby Keeney, who gave him an unexpectedly enthusiastic reception. "Keeney felt undergraduate education wasn't vital enough, that it lacked coherence, and that the trend to specialization was too strong," Morgan recalls. As president of the University and head of the Curriculum Committee, Keeney was in a posi- tion to give Morgan the go-ahead to teach a new, extradepartmental course in 1958-59: "Modes of Experience: Science, History, Philosophy and the Arts." Because there was no place in the curricu- lum where such a course fit, it was given the new designation "University Course." A handful of faculty who were also interested in synthesizing approaches fell in step with Mor- gan and created other University Courses. Bruce Lindsey, dean of the Graduate School, taught a course on "Science and Civilization," for example, and a course taught by Professor of Spanish Juan Lopez-Morillas, "The Functions of Literature," planted the seeds of the future comparative litera- ture department. George Morgan's second University Course, "Conceptions of Man: Diversity and Coherence," led to Brown's first nondepartmental concentra- tion. Keeney appointed Morgan to the Curriculum Committee in the 1960s, and in 1967, feeling that "students needed an opportunity to make more of a coherent whole of their major," Morgan devel- oped a concentration in human studies. Foreshad- owing the New Curriculum's emphasis on inde- pendent, integrative studies, it required students to organize a prcigram of courses from various departments around a particular topic, find a fac- ulty sponsor, and present their plan to a committee for approval. (It required a senior thesis as well.) The class of 1969 was the first eligible to choose this concentration. One of those who did was Ira Mag- aziner, who, along with Elliot Maxwell, had taken Morgan's "Modes of Experience" course. 20 / MARCH 1995 Throughout its history Brown has shown a wilhiiguess to reexamine itself and, when necessary, to make a fairly radical break with tradition T ^^M he explosive energies of the late ^H sixties, which on many campuses ^^^^B led to confrontation and chaos, found a positive outlet at Brown in curricular reform. "We got this curriculum bccniisc of the kind of stu- dents and faculty we had, and the interaction between them," Professor Robert Scholes observes. The reforms were debated civilly and, once passed, were implemented in a confident, orderly manner. What the New Curriculum accomplished immediately was to give Brown "a niche, a way of being looked at as distinctive," in Eric Widmer's words. In a decade that wihiessed much educational debate. Brown went further than most colleges were willing to go, risking two centuries' worth of history and prestige, and the support of a fairly conservative alumni body, on one of the most ambitious experiments in American higher education. In retrospect, it was a remarkable act of faith, one that Frank Levin summarizes this way: "Insti- tutions generally change slowly, which is a good thing - but every so often it's carpe diem." Outside the University the curriculum was often misinter- preted as a demolition project: doing away with old structures and rules without building anything new in their place. But as Magaziner noted at a tenth- anniversary Commencement forum in 1979, the curriculum was an attempt both to articu- late a broad vision of liberal education and to iden- tify specific ways of achieving that. Along with promoting student independence and maturity, its long-range goals included stressing active learning and conceptual thinking rather than assimilation of facts, fostering closer student-faculty contact throughout the undergraduate years, and breaking down traditional disciplinary boundaries to inte- grate knowledge. It aimed, in short, to create a whole new climate of learning, replacing the old hierarchical / com- partmental model with a collaborative one, and replacing coercion with freedom of choice. But even those who planned, voted for, and imple- mented it probably couldn't grasp fully the magni- tude of the change they were setting in motion, where it would lead, and what it would recjuire. On one hand, the reforms anticipated a major intel- lectual trend of the late twentieth century toward the integration of knowledge; on the other hand, they bucked an entrenched system in higher edu- cation (and, by extension, the professions) that demanded and rewarded increasing specialization. George Morgan discovered that some faculty looked askance at the human studies concentration, which they suspected was draining away potential concentrators (and ultimately faculty positions and funding) from their departments. Furthermore, the creation in 1969 of several dozen Modes of Thought courses taught by enthu- siastic faculty volunteers did not add up to the kind of broad-based institutional commitment needed to support extradepartmental efforts. As Scholes points out, the New Curriculum was launched with- out a real appreciation of the resources needed to implement its long-range goals - and at a time, more- over when Brown faced a deepening fiscal crisis. T ^H he publicity and controversy that ^H attended Brown's Great Leap For- ^^^^ ward evenhially brought the College a flood of applicants - although there were other reasons, too, for its new popularity. Eric Widmer notes that applications rose sharply after the Brown- Pembroke merger in 1971, which "made Brown appeal to women as a place where they were respected and valued as eciuals." The founding of the Program in Medicine in 1972 also attracted a generation of students who were moving away from activism and toward what was dubbed "pre- professionalism." But despite these strides, the mood of the campus in the early years of the New Curriculum was decidedly mixed. Brown was overextended financially, a problem made much worse by the oil crisis and subsequent recession of 1973-74. And its new president, Donald Hornig, 5ROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 21 The curriciilvun was liberating faculty, too: instead of offering the same courses taught in the same way, year after year, they were free to be creative and original was both out of step with the curriculum and unable to solve the fiscal woes that threatened to undermine it. When Hornig, a chemist and former Graduate School dean, became president in 1970, the Corporation im- pressed on him the need to close the University's bud- get gap. He had been cho- sen in part because he was seen as someone who could bring more government funding to Brown. But fed- eral support for higher edu- cation was leveling off, and in any case it could not have erased Brown's deficits. The administration's stop- gap solution was to collect more tuition and fees by increasing undergraduate enrollment each year. Alarmed by this trend, which threatened Brown's identity as a medium-sized university-college, the Corporation appointed a Committee on Plans and Resources, chaired by the late Thomas J. Watson Jr. '37, to assess Brown's financial and institvitional health and to recommend long-range solutions. Every page of the so-called Watson Report, released early in 1974, reflected the gravity of Brown's financial condition. Drawing the line at an under- graduate enrollment of 5,150, the report recom- mended that Brown strive for a major increase in endowment, actively seek funds to implement the New Curriculum, scale back or eliminate weaker departments, be more selective in supporting graduate programs, shift the burden in financial aid toward loans and work-study jobs, and con- sider year-round operation. The following Febru- ary, Hornig released a "white paper" show- ing where the tough budgetary choices were going to be made. His announcement of cutbacks in financial aid, faculty, and the resident fellows program elicited howls from various campus constituencies and triggered a takeover of University Hall by the Third World Coalition in April 1975. Three months later, Hornig announced he would step down as president the follow- ing year. t the 1979 Commencement forum, Ira Magaziner remarked that when he visited the campus in 1975 the curriculum appeared to be "dead in the water." In reality, it was only semi-comatose. It was true that Modes of Thought (MOT) courses, intended to be a cornerstone of the New Curriculum, had instead become a sort of foster child, thanks to insufficient funding and structural support. It was true that the current gen- eration of students was more careerist and less flexible or experimental. And it was certainly true that, as the takeover of University Hall showed, the vision and cooperative spirit of the sixties had been frayed by an atmosphere where everyone was scrambling to survive, with no fiscal relief in sight. Nonetheless, the basic tenets of the curricu- lum - freedom of choice and integrative learning - were still in place and putting down roots. As Widmer obser\'es, the format of MOTs wasn't as central as the idea behind them, which contin- ued to function in other guises. "What was central," he says, "was for faculty and students to recom- bine subject matter and find new ways of approach- ing their topics." By 1975, enough faculty had begun to sense the possibilities of interdisciplinary work that even standard departmental course offerings. Professor of English Elizabeth Kirk notes, began to be rethought and retaught along MOT lines. University Courses, Modes of Thought, Modes of Analysis, Special Themes and Topics, et ai, became part of a movement toward interdisci- plinary perspectives that has permeated all levels of the University. The curriculum, as it turned out, was liberating faculty as well as stvidents: instead of meeting the distribution requirements by offer- ing the same courses taught in the same way, year after year, they were free to go beyond departmen- tal boundaries and to be more creative and origi- nal. Of course, as Scholes points out, the curricu- lum's "market forces" almost demanded that they I 22 / MARCH 1995 be so if they wanted to attract students and keep them interested. As interdisciplinary approaches took hold, new concentration programs and centers for teaching and research began to crystallize around them: urban studies (1973), semiotics (1974), the Center for Energy Studies (1976), the Center for Law and Lib- eral Education (1977), for example. The infrastruc- ture was expanding to include not just roads and bridges between academic departments, but whole new buildings that sprang up at disciplinary inter- sections. That trend eventually supplanted the cur- riculum's emphasis on independent studies and concentrations, which became institutionalized in a lengthening roster of programs. (Brown now offers more than eighty-five concentrations, compared to forty in the early 1970s.) By 1977, not only were the worst years of re- trenchment over, but Brown had a highly-regarded new president, Howard Swearer. An observation made about Elisha Benjamin Andrews's presidency in the 1890s could equally have been made about Swearer's: "At his touch, the old college leaped into new life and began to grow at an astonishing rate." Swearer resonated to Brown's educational philosophy and encouraged interdisciplinary work, which flourished as never before. He also had visions of his own, particularly with respect to pub- lic ser\'ice and international studies - two fields in which Brown is now an acknowledged leader. Applications for admission began to rise sharply soon after Swearer arrived on College Hill, and by the early eighties Brown was the most sought-after undergraduate school in the country. To ice the cake, in 1979 Swearer launched a major capital campaign that raised more than $180 million in five years, providing a foundation for stability and growth. Dick Salomon rose "to speak as a trustee on behalf of what the curriculum has (lone for Brown. We've made the greatest strides m the University's liistory by sticking to it" T ^^M he success of the capital campaign, ^^M which raised $22 million more than jJILr it^ g'^^l' ^^s ^ testament to the University's vitality and stature. Ten years after Brown had gambled so much on curricular reform, it was reaping the rewards, as its newly-appointed chancellor, the late Richard Salomon '32, observed at the 1979 Commencement forum. Salomon rose from his seat in the audience "to speak up as a trustee on behalf of what the curriculum has done for Brown. We've made the greatest strides in the University's history over the past decade by enact- ing it and sticking to it." The curriculum, and the institution as a whole, were being energized not only by Swearer but by a dynamic dean of the College, the physicist Walter Massey, who committed himself in the mid-seven- ties to curricular development - including finding the funds to support it, a key recommendation of the Watson Report. Massey, with the backing of Swearer and Provost Maurice Glicksman, asked George Morgan in 1978 to become special adviser to the dean for curricular development. Morgan assembled a working group of faculty, out of which grew the Wayland Collegium for Liberal Learning, formally organized in 1980 and funded by Dick Salomon, who backed up his endorsement of the curriculum with a $i-million gift. The Collegium's mission was (and is) to provide funding and struc- tural support for the kinds of interdisciplinary efforts embodied in University Courses and MOTs: broad-ranging teaching and scholarship that addresses "fundamental themes of human life" and integrates the perspectives of various disciplines. The Collegium supplies incentive grants for course development and grants to support study groups whose projects may involve research, publication, and new courses, and whose participants include faculty, students, and outside scholars. Over the years the Collegium has spawned courses on top- ics ranging from "Drugs, Health, and Culture" to "Introduction to the Theory of Literature" to "Medical and Geological Aspects of Natural and Man-Made Disasters" - functioning as a sort of auxiliary engine to keep the curriculum moving for- ward and on track. As applications to the College swelled in the 1980s, Brown had the luxury of being increasingly selective in its admissions. The University's pro- gressive reputation tended to attract maverick stu- dents. The admission committee all along had picked applicants from diverse backgrounds who seemed to be a good "fit" with Brown: not just bright, but independent, highly-moti\'ated, and socially aware. At times, Eric Widmer says, that gave the admission office a reputation for being unpre- dictable and for passing over some of the most aca- BROWN .ALUMNI MONTHLY / 23 Stiuloiils are ahlo to make eoiitril>iitioiis to scliolarsliip and teacliiiig, instead of being mere feeders at the trough of knowledge demicallv-qualified students. But by all measures the caliber of Brown undergraduates in the eight- ies was higher than ever, and they seemed well- equipped to take advantage of Brown's unique opportuniHes. As Magaziner and Maxwell understood at the outset, students would need to be creative and independent in order to get the most out of the Brown curriculum and to contribute something to the academic community. The University had made a fundamental shift from treating undergraduates as older children to treating them as young adults, capable not only of making informed choices but also of teaming with faculty as partners in learning. Students were now able to make real contribu- tions to scholarship and teaching, instead of being mere feeders at the trough of knowledge. One of the best examples of this is UTRA, for Undergrad- uate Teaching and Research Assistantships, launched by a Ford Foundation grant in the 1980s and built on a pilot program at Brown called Odyssey, which was developed by Associate Dean of the College Karen Romer. UTRA/Odyssey has two goals: to create a mechanism for injecting new ideas and perspectives into faculty research and course offerings, and to mitigate a national short- age of college teachers by attracting more students - especially minorities - to careers in academia. The ideas and perspectives come from students themselves, whose questions often suggest direc- tions for scholarship or alternative ways of looking at a subject. UTRA allows faculty and student teams to develop these ideas - many of which have become standard course offerings - by fund- ing research, bibliographic, and teaching assistant- ships for undergraduates. Having bright, hardworking students who want to experiment and develop their ideas has been "a constant stimulus to faculty," Professor of Com- parative Literature Arnold Weinstein observes. He adds that the caliber of its undergraduates has been an important factor in Brown's ability to attract stellar faculty in recent years. So has the multitude of opportunities for interdisciplinary work, which creates a "yeasty," intellectually dynamic atmo- sphere. (Many Brown professors are now so multi- departmental that their titles are positively un- wieldy.) Elizabeth Kirk echoes the sentiments of many when she says, "I continue to find this an extraordinarily exciting curriculum to teach and advise in." Kirk also points out that Brown hires very carefully at the junior-faculty level and doesn't treat assistant professors as disposable. "Many of the best candidates," she says, "choose Brown because it's a real job with a future, not a six-year postdoctoral position." In 1987, the year before Howard Swearer stepped down as president, the Univer- sity commissioned Daniel Yankelovich, a Brown parent and head of a well-known survey research firm, to conduct a survey of New Curricu- lum alumni: the graduates of the classes of 1973 through 1985. These young alumni proved to have overwhelmingly positive feelings about Brown and to be strongly supportive of the curriculum - a powerful validation of Brown's educational philos- ophy, both in terms of the undergraduate experi- ence it offered and how well it prepared its gradu- ates for life beyond college. But they were also candid about what they saw as major weaknesses. First, the academic counseling system (an essential underpinning of the curriculum) was inadequate and poorly organized. Second, the curriculum was so unstructured that, outside of the standard con- centration programs, it failed to provide guidelines to help students define and meet their educational goals. Third, the number of courses required to graduate (twenty-eight) was too low. None of this came as a total surprise: faculty and administrators were aware of these weak- nesses, even if they didn't have solutions for them. But the survey became a point of departure for an exhaustive internal review of the curriculum undertaken by Dean of the College Sheila Blum- stein (at President Gregorian's request) in 1989. While she found that students were already doing a good job of balancing their studies among the major areas of inquiry - the humanities, natural sciences, and social sciences (90 percent of the class of 1989 took at least two courses in each area) - her report recommended a new University-wide initiative for general education. Out of this came the Guicie to Liberal Educa- tion, a section of The Guide to Liberal Learning, a booklet about the curriculum for incoming students. The Guide to Liberal Education broadly defines the components of a liberal education, lists several hundred courses that could be used as building blocks for a student's education program, and pro- vides a worksheet for planning that program. (Brown resurrected the term University Courses 24 / MARCH 1995 Dean Bluiiisteiii's 1989 survey foiuid that 90 percent of Brown's undergraduates took at least two courses in each of the three major academic areas as an umbrella for these building-block offerings, although most were existing courses with an interdis- ciplinary flavor rather than special extradepartmental courses.) The review also led to the development of the Curricular Advising Program (CAP), a system- atic effort to strengthen academic advising for fresh- men and sophomores by linking each student with a faculty member who teaches introductory courses in the student's field of interest, and by teaming faculty with upperclass student advisers familiar with other subjects. Brown also instituted a writing-competency requirement (with resources such as the Rose Writing Fellows pro- gram to back it up) and increased to thirty the num- ber of courses needed to graduate. But while the curriculum has been time-tested and its flaws fine-tuned, it still faces challenges. Psychologist Ferdinand Jones notes that, particularly since the 1980s, the curriculum's experimental spirit has been dampened by students' anxiety about their long-term economic security and by their fear of jeopardizing career prospects. The curriculum was launched in an era of national prosperity which, even if it didn't trickle down into Brown's coffers, gave students a sense of economic optimism; a bachelor's degree in 1969 was a marketable cre- dential, not just a ticket to graduate school and fur- ther debt. Nowadays Brown's graying professors and deans often find themselves in the ironic posi- tion of being more experimental than the eighteen- year-olds they're advising. Their advice, almost universally, is to loosen up. "If anything. Brown students tend to be too goal-oriented, and they need the curriculum as a counterbalance," Eliza- beth Kirk says. "A very large percentage plan to go into law or medicine when they first get here, but many are cured of that." For all the interdisciplinary emphasis at Brown, Arnold Weinstein says faculty are still caught in the old tug-of-war between specialization and integration. "The real intellectual issues are at the boundaries between fields, both in the sciences and the humanities," he says, "but pioneering is some- thing scholars do at their own risk. Interdisciplin- ary work is often not as recognized or rewarded as what you do within your field." The University as a whole has gotten flak from traditionalists who regard interdisciplinary work (on principle) as "mushy" or lacking in rigor. Everyone I spoke with, however, agreed that whatever image prob- lems Brown has stem much more from a certain defensiveness about the curriculum than from the curriculum itself. The latter is something Brown has earned the right to be proud of. What strikes me most in looking back is that Brown, far from being a "trendy" school, has kept a singularly steady course amid all the ups and downs of academic fashion over the past twenty- five years. In 1969 the University made a bold commitment to an educational philosophy, and it has stuck with that commitment through lean years and fat, staying true to the principles of the New Curriculum while continuing to reevaluate and refine it. The payoff has been a consistent growth in excellence - by any measure you care to use, whether it's U.S. Neivs & World Report's annual col- lege rankings or the amount of outside funding awarded to Brown programs or feedback from recent graduates - and a palpable increase in the energy, zest, and optimism of virtually all segments of the Brown community. I think any member of the class of '70 who gets reacquainted with Brown at our reunion this May will agree that the progress we saw during our undergraduate years was past a prologue. [D Janet Phillips, a former assistant editor of this maga- zine, is a freelance writer in Wariuick, Rhode Island. BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 25 Wayland's Legacy: The Very Model BY VARTAN GREGORIAN 'The various courses should be arranged that, insofar as it is practicable, every student might study vi^hat he chose, all that he chose, and nothing but what he chose" Francis Wayland President, 1827-1855 When Francis Wayland became its tourtii president in 1827, Brown was a community of three profes- sors, two tutors, and ninety students. The situation in Providence was not very different from that which existed elsewhere. B\' 1850, in all of New England, putatively the intellectual center of the country, the enrollment in all the colleges and uni- versities of the region scarcely exceeded 2,000. These figures were not substantially changed from what they had been two decades earlier, and the College came close to bankruptcy on several occa- sions during Wayland's term in office. If the American democracy had required new forms of government, so it needed new forms of education, animated by concerns that expressed the genius and ambition of an American society disinclined to value the monarchical and aristocratic tradi- tions of Europe. Like a handful of others, Wayland knew that fundamental reform was needed, that only such changes serv- ing to make Brown more useful to the city, the state, and the nation could rescue the institution from its doldrums. The United States could no longer afford a higher eciucational system so little altered from what it had been in the eighteenth century. That Wayland, trained in the earlier tradition, should have seen the necessity to alter it, recognizing that it would almost certainly make his own theological inter- ests and concerns less central, suggests a remarkable tolerance for what was incontestably novel. Way- land retired in 1855 before all of his proposed reforms were implemented at Brown, but the Uni- versity nevertheless became something of a "nurs- ery" for a whole generation of college and university presidents and deans who spread his educational message, with its emphasis on teaching, through the country. This major educational reform, which would find place in the curriculum for science and technology, and allowing for student choice in the subjects studied, acknowledged a simple fact: Students came to college with obviously different interests and aptitudes, intent on pursuing very different careers. It was only reasonable for a college like Brown to be aware of the vocational interests of its students, and indeed to provide for them. Throughout the late nineteenth and early twen- tieth centuries, over the course of major institu- tional changes - the admitting of women and the founding of the Graduate School - Brown's com- mitment to teaching remained central. In pursuing Wayland's ideals long after he had left office, it achieved a level of financial stability it had never previously known. With its new and much broader curriculum, which made room for science and much else that had not been thought appropriate, Wayland's hopes were realized. Brown appealed to more students; its tuition income grew, and so did its faculty. ■ he American research university came of H age after World War II. While institutions .^^L. like Brown continued to conceive of teaching as their prime purpose. Brown professors, increasingly recruited from many of the older and more celebrated American research universities, insisted that their own intellectual life and that of their students depended on their being active scholars, as well. Two distinguished Brown presi- dents, Henry Wriston and Barnaby Keeney, who held office from 1937 to 1967, assisted in trans- forming the University into much more a center of scholarship and serious research. In addition, under Keeney the University inaugurated a series of interdisciplinary "University Courses" and, in 1963, a new curriculum that loosened Brown's dis- tribution requirements and allowed freshmen to begin taking courses toward their concentrations. But the major post- World War II reforms at Brown came later, in 1969, mostly through the work of a small number of students and faculty. It was Francis Wayland who first propounded the princi- ples that the New Curriculum advocates argued for. Wayland had said: "The various courses should be arranged that, insofar as it is practicable, every student might studv what he chose, all that he chose, and nothing but what he chose." Way- land, persuaded that such freedom would not lead to deleterious intellectual results, that compulsory courses were outmocfed, that thev did not achieve their intended results, had provided a lesson in the virtues of the "free market" in academe. In his view, it represented the best hope for making all study vivid, for giving even the most traditional sub- jects new life, nev\' x'itality. The new curriculum, with its pro\ision for "Modes of Thought" courses, intendeci to introduce students to ways of knowing, emphasizing the 26 / MARCH 1995 'or a Modern Brown Curriculum Vartan Gregorian and the portrait of Francis Wayland that hangs in his University Hall office. "languages" of the various disciplines and not spe- cific texts awarded a canonical importance, simply institutionalized what was already happening in many courses at Brown. In fact, the Modes of Thought courses never achieved the reputation that was hoped for. Many faculty were doing precisely these same things in departmental courses. The experiment failed, in its new institutional form, and went off the Brown academic stage rather quietly. Not so the supposedly revolutionary changes intro- duced with respect to grading. The proposition that there be only three grades. A, B and C, and that D and E disappear from the academic menu, seemed to those who wished to punish delinquency and indolence a mockery of everything that the Univer- sity purportedly stood for. Yet, for those who knew their Wayland, the pro- posal made excellent sense. It was not necessary to punish delinquency by inscribing failure as its inevitable consequence. If the student did not do the requisite work, or failed to do it in a satisfactory manner, he would receive no grade. In a university where entry had become highly competitive, and where many were turned away, it was taken for granted that few would in fact not receive a grade of A, B, or C. Indeed, one of the other most impor- tant reforms, intended to encourage students to elect courses in subjects known to be difficult or unfamiliar to them - to experiment, in short - was the introduction of another grading innovation, the satisfactory / no credit option. ■ hose who had argued for the New Cur- H riculum had intuited, however partially .^^L. and inchoately, something about the nature of learning and scholarship in the latter part of the twentieth century. "Information overload" became a preoccupying issue, and those who thought about it knew it required tolerance for diverse learning styles. While some universities might still seek to provide the same basic informa- tion to all, imagining that this could be done through compulsory courses, this no longer corre- sponded with the inteUectual and professional expe- rience of most faculty. Even the best of them were specialized, and only a few were prepared to accept that their own special and general knowl- edge was less important than that of a colleague in another department. The principle of a common curriculum remains valid for secondary schools, where it is reasonable to argue that all pupils should be instructed in basic skills. But in the last part of the twentieth cen- tury, an analogous purpose cannot be set for uni- versities. Brown had recognized this very early, and transformed its curriculum to take account of the new conditions that prevailed. ID Vartan Gregorian is president ofBrozvn University. The material on these pages is excerpted from a long essay on Brown's past, present, and future that appeared in the 1994 Annual Report. iROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 27 Liberal Education Liberal Campus BY JACOB T. LEVY '93 When I arrived at Brown in the fall of 1989, 1 took no small pleasure in the University's lack of a life-sciences recjuirement. Biol- ogy as a discipline held little interest for me, and as I looked ahead to college I had dreaded the notion of sitting through a semester of it to satisfy a distribution requirement. Two years later, however, as I began to focus my academic interest in political theory and philosophy, I foimd myself at an impasse. Many political philosophies are grounded in philosophies of the indi- vidual, of identity, of (in some sense) the mind. I couldn't evaluate such material, though; I had no idea where good phi- losophy turned into bad science. Which sorts of questions about the person, the mind, and the reasoning process should I expect philosophy to answer, and which are appropriate for science? In order to continue my work in political theory, I paused for a semester of biology in the cognitive sciences department. Faced with a distribution require- ment, 1 would have tried to rush through the Life-sciences part as early as possible, taking a meaningless freshman-level course along with several hundred other social-science and humanities majors who didn't want to be there. (A few more years in academia, at other schools, have confirmed my suspicion that the teacher wouldn't have wanted to be there, either.) Instead, I discovered on my own the necessary ties between areas hKbU L'iNcH of academic pursuit; and, having made the discovery, I was ready to find courses from which I could actually benefit. My story is not at all exceptional. Others have noted that most Brown stu- dents take a wide enough range of courses to satisfy most schools' distribu- tion requirements. Less noted, though. is the likelihood that Brown students benefit more from the courses outside their major fields than do students merely fulfilling such requirements. The former have decided that the courses are important for their education, while too many of the latter end up killing time in search of a credit. If we believe the rea- 28 / MARCH 1995 I discovered on my own the necessary ties between areas of academic pursuit sorting behind distribution requirements - that the various fields of knowledge are connected and related, making it impos- sible to be well-educated in one while remaining ignorant of all the rest - we are led back to the Brown curriculum. Students are capable of finding tliis truth out for themselves, and they are more likely to believe it when they do so. These are strange times, when the noble word "liberal" is considered to be synonymous with every political idea that comes from the left. Ironically, those labeled most liberal may show no signs of the classic liberal virtues: tolerance, open-mindedness, rationality, independence of thought, belief in the usefulness of learning and the possibility of progress. The same unfortimate confusion of terms has occurred with respect to col- leges. The polihcal warfare in academia has been misconstrued as a conflict between liberals and conservatives. Arguments on both sides often seem disturbingly dogmatic: self-proclaimed "liberals" accuse traditionalists of racism and bigotry, while smug conser- vatives charge their opponents with trashing the very foundations of west- em civilization. Truly liberal colleges have become a rarity, though much of academia seems dominated by the left, ti the midst of this rhetorical wind- storm. Brown has stuck by its 1969 cur- ricular reforms and thus retained its dedication to a liberal education, both teaching and practicing the virtues men- tioned above. The alternative to Brown's curricu- lum is a centrally-directed and planned model, with all students forced to take either a set group of courses (a core cur- riculum) or certain kinds of courses (a distribution requirement). Such systems tend to polarize a campus. A core cur- riculum can't avoid politicization; it is a political statement in and of itself. Once a university declares that "all students must know these authors and these facts," unrest and tension are inevitable. What, and whom, should everyone be required to know? Plato? Locke? Mary Wollstonecraft? Abigail Adams? The Koran? Rigoberta Menchu? A university with a structured set of curricular re- quirements is making enforceable value judgments; anyone who finds those judgments objectionable has an incen- tive to take his grievance public. A few years ago William F. Buckley Jr. asked President Gregorian when he was going to put a little order into our education. (Interestingly, Buckley claims to understand and believe the insights of the late economist F.A. Hayek, particu- larly the idea that order arises sponta- neously from the choices of individuals.) Later in my Brown career. Professor Ronald Takaki of the University of Cali- fornia-Berkeley urged Brown to stop "hiding behind" its curriculum and to require a course in ethnic studies for graduation. Both Buckley and Takaki assumed that any set of requirements Brown might adopt would be inarguably the require- ments tluy had in mind. That's exactly the problem with a core curriculum: it does not allow those who seek a Buckley-style course of study, presumably involving European and American history, lan- guages, and "classic" works of literature and philosophy, simply to pursue their studies and leave those who think like Professor Takaki to pursue theirs. Even distribution requirements, which seem more benign than a list of required courses, are hazardous. The most com- mon of them mandate a certain number of courses in the sciences, a certain num- ber in the social sciences, and a certain number in the arts and humanities. In today's increasingly interdisciplinary academic world, what happens when someone tries to decide whether a course in women's studies or Afro-American studies falls under the social sciences or the humanities? What happens when a Professor Takaki urges that ethnic stud- ies be added as a fourth required cate- gory? The political battle lines are drawn again. Indeed, one of the most vicious battles in the curriculum wars in recent years took place over the content of one university's required freshman course in writing and composition. People at Brown are interested in one another's academic experiences, but no one has a compelling reason to con- trol them. There are active intellectual disagreements about what constitutes a valuable education - minus the distrac- tion of political battles over what courses everyone must take. Significantly, the style of argument in an ongoing intellec- tual disagreement is very different from that of a rhetorical battle which must be won before a vote. One is scholarly, reason-based, persuasive. The other is political, divisive, stigmatizing. Which is a more enriching form of discourse on a college campus? Which capitalizes on the intellectual energy of faculty and students, and which dilutes and depletes it? At the most basic pedagogical level. Brown's curriculum is on solid ground. Students learn more when they are not dragged into courses; professors teach more enthusi- astically when they know the students want to be there. I am convinced that I learned more, and more effectively, at Brown than I could have elsewhere, both for the sim- ple reason that I was in each class by choice and for the more complex one that academic pursuits are not disrupted and politicized at Brown the way they are at so many other schools. I consider myself the beneficiary of both a well- rounded liberal education, which the Brown curriculum encouraged, and the generally liberal environment that the curriculum helps preserve. El Jucob Levy is a graduate student in political science at Princeton. He spent last year on a Fulbright scholarship at the Australian Defence Force Academy, studying the rights of cultural and ethnic minorities, especially aboriginal land rights. Earlier versions of this essay appeared in several editions of the Guide to Liberal Learning. BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 29 stsd Uni^TSity o/Firtanctiand EconomU nortli^astem China consider themselves lucky. To thlm, Li says, an American teacher is "the key to their economic success. " "My Foot is in My 30 / MARCH 1995 Three Brown alumnae succumb to the allure - and the frustrations - of teach ing English in Asia Mouth BY JENNIFER SUTTON ff n 1986 the New York Times published an excerpt from Iron and Silk, a book of essays .about a young man's experience teaching English in the People's Republic of China. Mark Salzman had graduated from Yale with a degree in Chinese literature and, desperate for a job, had signed on with the English department at Hunan Medical College in the city of Changsha. There he taught doctors and medical students who affec- tionately called him "Teacher Mark." He studied ivusliu - martial arts - with a venerable old fighter nicknamed "Iron Fist." He disguised himself in order to ferry a Chinese woman friend around town on his bicycle without attracting attention. At the time the article appeared I was a senior in college, finishing a degree in East Asian studies. Salzman seemed to be living a great adventure, one that beckoned me as well. Six months later I found myself stand- ing in a classroom in Taipei, Taiwan. Instead of doctors, I faced neat rows of thirteen-year-olds in black-and-white school uniforms. At their parents' prod- ding they came to me after school, two days a week, to polish their awkward English. I also taught a rowdy group of nine-year-olds and a class of four-year- olds who should have been home playing or taking naps. But learning English was considered a ticket to success in Taiwan, and parents started their children early, giving pri\'ate "cram schools" such as the one that employed me plenty of business. I had entered the country on a tourist visa, which made my job illegal - a detail that seemed unim- portant at the time. I was too anxious to test three years of college Chinese and live what 1 imagined would be an exotic life. Like most of my western coworkers in Taiwan, I was not trained to teach English as a foreign lan- guage (EFL). To my employer it mattered only that I was a native speaker with no police record. Teaching English is big business outside the United States, according to Casey Turner, coordinator of Brown's summer English program for foreign stu- dents. In Asia, "people need the language primar- ily for economic reasons," she says: to attend a western university or operate with a western cor- poration, to get a job or further a career. Among the many Brown alun\ni who have joined the growing EFL industry are Edith Li '93 BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 31 and Irene Eng '92, both of whom taught for a year at the Tianjin University of Finance and Economics in China; and ingrid Orlow-Klein '93 Ph.D., an assistant professor at the Nagoya Uni\'ersity of Commerce and Business Administration in Japan. They and others teaching EFL overseas are moti- \ated not hv money (most salaries are modest) but by the opportunity to tra\'el and teach in another culture. It is inevitable, says Turner, that the distinctly different motivations of students and teachers may bewilder them both. EFL jobs do open doorways to other worlds. But the very cul- tural contrasts that attract Americans can make the English-teaching experience more confusing than they'd anticipated. Several years ago Ingrid Orlow-Klein began seeking a university teaching position that would be worthy of her Ph.D. in compara- ti\'e literature and that would also offer a departure from the intellectual elitism she'd experienced at Brown and at Stanford, where she earned her undergraduate degree. Weary of longwinded liter- ary discussions and students who "were positively throbbing with the experience of their own intelli- gence," she wanted to teach from scratch. The stu- dents at Nagoya, a combination university-junior college 250 miles southwest of Tokyo, seemed "build-up-able," she says. Orlow-Klein quickly noticed that her junior- college students, all women, focused intently on their studies. They needed English, they told her, to land glamorous jobs as flight attendants, tour guides, and hotel clerks, all of which involved contact with foreigners. In contrast, the university students surprised Orlow-Klein by studying little .^nd attempting to nap during class, though they \ tre considered academically superior and were 1 1 ided for management jobs. Even more of a sur- prise tc Orlow-Klein was that other teachers and administrators didn't mind. College' in Japan, she learned, is viewed as "a four-year trough" between rigorous high school classes and demanding jobs. "Students spend so much time studying during high school that they have no social life at all," Orlow-Klein explains. "The whole dating thing is postponed - movies, anything that has to do with leisure time or plea- sure. What Americans do at sixteen, Japanese don't do until they're nineteen or twenty." Once students pass university entrance exams, "they don't have to demonstrate anything else." But Orlow-Klein is kibishii - strict. She requires that her students come to class, refrain from sleep- ing, and hand in their homework on time. In her cavernous classroom, with its miniature video screens built into every desk, she tries to enliven ' classes with discussions of current events and ref- erences to popular culture. Despite her efforts, even students who have spent time in the United States sound shy, meek. "The general attitude in Japan is that English is terribly difficult," Orlow-Klein says, "so if they learn a little bit, that's great. No one expects them to make great strides." That attitude frustrates Orlow-Klein, who has come to a fresh apprecia- tion of the arduous literary discussions of her past. "I like language-teaching up to a point," she says, "but then I want to go beyond the language itself and talk about how people communicate, why they say the things they say." My foot is in my mouth," shouts a student in Irene Eng's English con- versation class in Tianjin, China. "Please stop pulling my leg," counters another. They are testing their skills with a "Family Feud" game featuring what Eng calls "idioms with leg parts." Down the hall, Edith Li's more advanced students pretend they are astronauts marooned on an unfamiliar planet. "Do you know what grav- ity is?" she asks. "Stick to the land!" one student calls out triumphantly. More than a thousand miles from Orlow's enor- mous, high-tech classroom in Japan, Li and Eng hold court in small, mildewy rooms with stained concrete floors and peeling paint on the walls. On this hot summer day the dusty Tianjin campus has fallen quiet; it's the end of the semester and students are beginning to prepare for final exams. Like Orlow, Eng has a keen interest in teaching; Li took her job as a way to get to China. Both studied Chinese at Brown, which comes in handy as they steer their classes through vocabulary exercises. Li and Eng attribute the lively quality of their coed Tianjin classes partly to their youth and casual teaching styles, and partly because, as Americans, they are celebrities on campus. Students assigned to their classes feel privileged, says Eng, even though English study is mandatory and often viewed as a burden. Other courses are more typi- cal of what Eng calls the "Chinese education mentality": a professor lectures; students listen and memorize. "They're not supposed to ask ques- 32 / MARCH 1995 In Tianjin, Irene Eng (above) loosens up hei English class with a vocabulary exercise a la Family Feud, while Ingrid Orlow- Klein (left) relishes a rare moment of giddiness with her students in Nagoya, Japan. "I'm more on their wavelength than some other professors they have, " she says. tions," says Li, who once was told by a Chinese professor that she instructs her students never to say "I don't understand." When the American teachers try to draw students out in class, "they actually apologize," Eng says. "Tliey say, 'We know you want us to pardcpate more. We're sorry.' " The woman who serves as liaison between Li and Eng and their department has noticed a differ- ence in the students; they're more responsive in class, she says, more likely to challenge other pro- fessors. This news both pleases the two English teachers and worries them. "You won't get very far in Chinese society if you think or act differ- ently," Eng says. An emphasis on conformity is everywhere on campus. The Communist Party is the only official student club. University administrators post the names of rule-breakers on yellow pieces of paper on a bulletin board. One student made the "crime list" when a dean found him and his girlfriend kissing on campus and told them to stop, and the young man said no. "It goes on his permanent record," Li says. "It'll be there every time he looks for a job." Since we visited them last summer, Li and Eng have returned to the United States; Orlow-Klein will come back in a few months. Although Eng still is considering a career teaching EFL, the work lost much of its allure for Orlow-Klein and Li. "I'm not sure I ever had a rosy vision," says Orlow-Klein, but she had not expected the constant pondering of basic linguistic technicalities. The exciting stuff - getting students to "think and play with issues," says Li - was an infrequent diversion. "People [who take EFL jobs] often expect an American-type classroom," Turner says, where relationships are open and direct and debate is encouraged. As an alternative, Li and Eng formed friendships with their students out- side class, since, as Turner says, "the educational systems in China and Japan are more rigid and prescribed." But adjusting to the unfamiliar is one reason Li, Eng, and Orlow-Klein took their jobs; they wel- comed the challenge of "realizing there's not one right way of doing something," says Eng. Mark Salzman wrote in Iron ami Silk that when he grew exasperated with his elderly Chinese teacher's pointed advice on clothes, diet, and exercise, she was appalled that a twenty-two-year-old should exhibit such independence. In China, she explained, the traditional relationship between teacher and student was a close one. "You are far away from home," she told him. "If I don't care about you, won't you be lonely?" Eng found new insights outside the classroom as well as within. She had hated the way her Chi- nese-bom grandparents constantly forced her to eat whenever she visited them in Wisconsin - until she spent time in people's homes in Tianjin and experienced the same thing. In China, she found, food defines hospitality. Good hosts pamper a guest with elaborate meals that can cost an entire month's wages. In her grandparents' home, she says, "it's a way of expressing love." Like all good teachers, she learned. E] BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 33 PORTRAIT Through a lens. FUmmaker Christine Vachon '83 and her postcards from *e edge f ...„„.. ^M the movie Forre:^t Gump, and ^M I it's easy to understand why. ^M j The cheerhil story of a dimwit ^^^ who's always in the right place at the right time is e\erything her films are not: sentimental, apolitical, comfort- able. And a box-office smash. The thirty-three-year-old indepen- dent producer and champion of films with gay and lesbian themes could not care less about moviegoers' comfort. Making films that are "provocative, different, that agitate, get under peo- ple's skin" - this she cares about. Take Poison, the unsettling winner of the Sundance Film Festival Grand Jury prize in 1991. Directed by Vachon's frequent collaborator, Todd Haynes '85, Poison braids together three separate stories: a science-fiction parable about AIDS, a portrait of a misfit boy who shoots his abusive father and flies away, and a Jean Genet-inspired tale of vio- lent sex among prison inmates. Sivoon, by Tom Kalin, retells the 1924 story of Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb, lovers who plotted the murder of a young boy and then blamed each other for the crime. With their bleak plots and frank homosexuality, both movies appealed to narrow audiences. Still, each broke even. As a producer, Vachon is the engine that drives a movie. With her company. New York-based Apparatus Produc- tions, she raises money, finds locations, hires a cast and crew, then peddles the finished project. Rarely is the job easy, but Vachon often complicates it by choosing scripts that, at first glance, seem unmarketable. Such choices bely her concern for "the question of audience," something 34 / MARCH 1995 she says is often forgotten by indepen- dent filmmakers. "I'm not from the school of thought that says a filmmaker should be allowed to masturbate on cel- luloid if that's their preference," she says. Without an audience, a movie makes no money. And if a movie makes no money, there's no next movie. But unlike many producers, Vachon won't take on a project she hates //(Sf to make money. Case in point: Postcards From America, a low-budget film due out this spring, based on the life of the late David Wojnarowicz, a former abused child and teenage hustler who became a controversial artist and AIDS activist. "It's a difficult movie with difficult sub- ject matter, very intense," says Vachon. "I know I can count on a core gay audi- ence, but I don't know if it will cross over to anyone else." Go Fish, the lighthearted lesbian romance that made the rounds last sum- mer, did cross over to mainstream audi- ences - though not as far as the suburban multiplex - and was a far greater com- mercial success than Vachon's previous movies. "I knew it would have tremen- dous appeal in the U.S.," she says, "because lesbians are starved for images of themselves, but also because it's essentially a feel-good date movie." Go Fish's girl-meets-girl simplicity sets the story apart; there are none of the expected coming-out struggles, just a portrayal of a lively, tender lesbian community. Despite that foray into optimism, Vachon generally is drawn more to dark themes than to pretty picloires. One of her favorite movies is Night of the Hunter, the 1933 thriller in which a psychotic preacher preys upon homeless children. And there is nothing pretty about her upcoming film, another Todd Haynes directorial effort. The protagonist of Safe is a woman infected with an environ- mental illness that breaks down her immune system. She becomes allergic to almost everything. This idea digs into the "national Zeitgeist," says Vachon. "Practically every time I pick up a news- paper, there's a story about factory workers suddenly coming down with a mysterious disease, or the carpet in a new office building making employees too sick to go to work." Vachon is proud of Safe; it boasts a recognizable star, Julianne Moore of Short Cuts and Vau\/a on 42nd Street. But actually shooting it, she recalls, was a nightmare. Investors kept pulling out, and the January 1994 earthquake in Los Angeles disrupted producticm. The $1- million budget, higher than that of any other Vachon film, fueled crisis after cri- sis. "On a $200,000 movie," she explains, "you never have to make decisions about whether to get this or that. You have no choice. You can't afford it." With $1 million or $1.5 million - the cost of Stoneioall, a film due later this year - Vachon can do more, but still not as much as she or her directors would like. Instead of no decisions, there are con- stant decisions: a crane or more extras? More film stock or a nicer set? "You're always skating the edge," says Vachon. On the downtown Manhattan set of Stonewall last November, Vachon wandered aroimd in jeans and a faded T-shirt, mingling with her young cast and crew while the director did most of the visible work. The movie's name- sake is the Greenwich Village gay bar where repeated incidents of police bru- tality sparked riots in 1969, helping launch today's gay-rights movement. Over and over a pretty blond boy swaggers onto the set to tlirt with a stat- uesque drag queen tending bar. What takes hours to shoot will end up as just a few seconds of dialogue in the final movie. To Vachon, it is "the part you ha\'e to get through." The magic will happen during post-production, when all the raw pieces are painstakingly fit- ted together. Vachon says Stonewall is one of her more conventional films, but that doesn't mean she's looking to join tlie main- stream movie industry. "What would I do in Hollywood?" she demands. Vachon prefers being a "grovsing marginal pres- ence" in the independent film world. "It's a hard life," she savs. "But I get my phone calls returned." El BY JEN IKF ER SUTTON s^^m In the past five years, Vachon has produced seven films. "I like being prolific, " she says. "I like putting my stamp on a lot of movies. " %. ■^^wNARCHivrs It's deadline time, but the staff of the 1956 Pembroke Record just keeps on smiling. The weekly newspaper was pubhshed from December 1922 through May 5, 1970, when the women's coordinate college ceased to fund it. (The following year, Pembroke merged with Brown.) This photograph first appeared in another now-extinct publication, the Pembroke yearbook, Brun Mael. 3b / MARCH 1995 The Classes By James Reinbold What's new? Please send the latest about your job, family, travels, or other news to The Classes, Brown Alumni Monthhi, Box 1854, Providence, R.l. 02912; fax (401) 863-9595; e-mail BAM@brownvm. brown.edu. Or you may send a note via your class secretary. Deadline for the July classnotes; April 15. 25 The 70th reimion will be held Memorial Day weekend, May 26-29. If you have ques- tions or suggestions, please call reunion headquarters at (401) 863-1947. Remember to save the dates. 26 Horace S. Mazet writes, "Capt. Joseph Bailey was a rough-rider and a guerrilla in Arkansas during the Civil War with plenty of desperate actions - shot through the chest once, but survived to fight the full four years. His hell-for-leather story has been accepted by Eric Hammel, the well-known author, who will add it to his Military History Guild project for publication in 1995. This is the sixth and probablv the last book for me." Horace lives in Carmel, Calif. ic; 28 Fn-e members of the class of 1928 met for lunch and an enjoyable mini-reunion at the Larchwood Inn, Wakefield, R.I., on Aug. 24. Attending were Arline Dyer Beehr, Eleanor Sarle Briggs, Ruth Hill Hartenau, Gladys Kletzle Murphey, and Doris Hopkins Staple- ton. -Ruth Hill Hark'uau Althea Page Smith (see Catherine Towne Anderson '45). Perry A. Sperber and his wife, Muriel, celebrated their ssth wedding anniversary on Sept. 28. Before retiring. Perry practiced meciicine in Providence, New York, with the U.S. Army, and then in Daytona Beach, Fla., where the couple moved in 1974. He has published scientific articles, books, and songs. He and Muriel, a retired registered nurse, live in South Daytona, Fla. 30 Your reunion committee has been busy making plans for your Pembroke and Brown 65th reunion to be held Memorial Day weekend. May 26-29. If you have questions or suggestions, please call reunion headquar- ters at (401) 863-1947. Remember to save the dates. 33 Simon J. Copans, Paris, France, writes that he landed at Omaha Beach in June 1944 for the Voice of America. He arri\'ed in Paris on Aug. 25, 1944 - Liberation Day - and was interviewed on French television. An article on his arrival in Paris appeared in the weekly L'Evi'iienieiit du jeudi. 34 On Saturday, Dec. 10, class officers attended a committal service at the Cypress Columbarium at Swan Point Cemetery, Prov- idence, for class treasurer Daniel W. Earle. Dan, as you remember, served as associate vice presicient and director of development at our alma mater; he was present at our 60th reunion last May. We shall miss his timely and expert advice. Among those present at the service were Ray Chace and Alice; Maury Caito; Marshall Allen's wife. Norma; and Edith Janson Hatch. We were able to speak a few moments with Dan's wife, Marian. Our deepest sym- pathy to her, Diane, and Dan Jr. As spring draws near we begin to think of what our calendar of events will look like when the weather appears promising. Your officers wish to extend to all a heartfelt invi- tation to attend our annual reunion luncheon at noon on Friday, May 26, at the Metacomet Country Club in East Providence, R.I. It seems the older we get, the more loyal we become. Try to be in the area for Commence- ment weekend. Let us hear from you if can't join us. - Edith Jaiifoii Hatch E. Davis Caldwell writes that he and York King had then- annual class meeting on Martha's Vineyard in September. "Beautiful weather," Dave says, "marred only by the loss to Yale." Ralph L. Foster Jr., Albany, Texas, still plays the organ at two local churches and serves as a docent at "our now famous" Old Jail Art Center. "CBS showed a documentary on the Old Jail Art Center Dec. 11 on their early-morning program. A segment of the film featured the 10-0'clock coffee club at the First National Bank, where we oldtimers meet every weekday to determine who's sick, who died, and whose birthdav it is. I was 81 on Sept. 9." York A. King Jr. writes that "good ole" Marty Tarpy '37 phoned while visiting in Wavne, Pa. "It was good to hear a voice from Phi Psi past." 35 Your Pembroke and Brown reunion com- mittees have been busy making plans for the 60th reunion to be held Memorial Day week- end. May 26-29. If y-^" have questions or suggesHons, please call reunion headquarters at (401) 863-1947. Remember to save the dates. 36 Alice Van Hoesen Booth writes from High- land, Md., that she has completed her chemo- therapy treatments for ovarian cancer. "So far, so good. I'm back to swimming and teach- ing French to senior citizens." Barbara Hubbard, Wethersfield, Conn., says, "The older I get, the more I enjoy reading about today's Brown. I will reach 80 in April and my 60th reunion if I can hold out until '96." 37 William Ryan, Los Altos, Calif., writes, "The years keep moving on. I just attended the 50th anniversary reunion of my Navy fighter squadron." 40 Your Pembroke and Brown reunion com- mittees have been busy making plans for the 55th reunion to be held Memorial Day week- end. May 26-29. If you have questions or suggestions, please call reunion headquarters at (401) 863-1947. Remember to save the dates. 42 Jared Linsly Jr., Virginia Beach, Va., writes, "Fortunatelv still very healthy and running a small broker/dealer firm. Seventh grandchild arrived last July." 43 m Flint Ricketson winters in Arlington, Texas, and summers in Maine. "Best of both worlds? Had to come home to outfit all the grandkids for Halloween." 44 Gene Gannon Gallagher has been living at a retirement center since the death of her husband last January. Gene's address is Greenwich Bay Manor, 945 Main St., Apt. 7C, East Greenwich, R.I. 02818. Kenneth A. McMurtrie writes that Lou Howayeck \'isited last summer. Lou and Ken, along with Gene Castellucci, Tom Dav- enport, Hervey Gauvin, John McHale, and Roger Sampson, entered the Army Signal BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 37 Keeping Brown in the Vanpard i II Nat Marshall '44 and his wife, Gloria, estabhsh a charitable remainder trust to ensure Brown's preeminence. .-JSti C4 Since the Campaign for the Rising Generation began, almost 250 peo- ple have made a planned gift to Brown, providing them with income and tax advantages while allowing them to make a significant contri- bution to the University, if you are interested in learning more about whether a life income gift is right for you, please call or write: Marjorie A. Houston Director of Planned Giving Shawn P. Buckless Associate Director Planned Giving The Office of Planned Giving Brown University Box 1893 Providence, Rhode Island 02912 1-800-662-2266, ext. 1221 own THE Rising GENERATION w ■ ■ c hen I started my college career at Brown in 1940, I never expected that at the end of my sophomore year, I'd be in a race with Uncle Sam. But when the war intervened, I was forced to accelerate my education. With the aid of a scholarship, plus campus jobs, I grad- uated from Brown in October of 1943 with an engineering degree. I was promptly sworn in as an ensign in the Naval Reserve and assigned to radar training at MIT. After the war, my engineering background led me to a long associa- tion with General Precision Equip- ment Corp. Moving to Arizona in 1967, 1 became CEO of Systems Com- munications Cable, Inc., a pioneer in the cable television industry. Last year, my adviser suggested I diversify my portfolio by establishing a charitable remainder trust for Brown with some stock I had been holding for a long time. It really was an ideal opportunity to help both Brown and the Engineering Department and to provide for my children, by setting the trust for a term of years. I also wanted to make a special gift to Brown to celebrate my fiftieth class reunion. My wife, Gloria, and I are happy to contribute in this way to the long- term success of Brown and to take an active role in guaranteeing that Brovm will remain in the vanguard of great universities in the years to come. ^ % Nathaniel Marshall, Class of 1944 Scottsdale, Arizona Corps in October 1943. "We were graduates at that time, thanks to attending two summer semesters." Ken and his wife, Carolvn, com- pleted their fourth two-month cruise around South America, visiting twenty-two ports in nine countries. They live in Salem, S.C. _. The time is drawing closer and we want everyone to join us for our 50th reunion. May 26-29. W^ have planned a gala weekend for all to enjoy. Come back to Providence to share memories of college and to update the stories of our lives. If you have not received any mailings from your committee, please call reunion headquarters at (401) 863-1947. Your final reunion registration mailing will be arri\'ing in the mail soon. A reminder to the women of '43. If vou have already sent in your dues, we thank you. If not, please send them to Enzina De-Robbio Sammartino, 25 Greening Ln., Cranston, R.I. 02920, to help develop our plans. We look for- ward to a great reunion weekend. Catherine Towne Anderson writes that she was saddened by the passing of Althea Page Smith '28, a fellow member of North Congregational Church in Amherst, Mass. "She was a delightful person; we shall miss her. I was glad of the chance to meet her sis- ter, Dorothy Page Webb '^S." 46 William H. Stone, San Antonio, Texas, was on sabbatical lea\'e for the 1994 fall semes- ter. He spent the time in Barcelona, Spain, doing clinical genetic research and enjoying the great food, wine, and cultvire. 50 ... We hope you have reserved the weekend of May 26-29 f'^'' your 45th reunion. The excitement is building and we are looking forward to seeing as many classmates as pos- sible. You should be receiving your registra- tion mailing shortly. If you have not received any mailing regarding the reunion, please contact reunion headquarters at (401) 86^-3380. Bruce and Caroline Decatur Chick (see Nancy Chick Hyde '80). Pauline Longo Denning (see Teresa Den- ning Sevilla 82). Ema Hoffner Gill (see Laura Gill '85). Fran Becker Koenig is in her fifth year of retirement from Central Michigan University. She is busy in church and community activi- ties, especially as head of fundraising for the local chapter of Habitat for Humanity. Fran lives in Mt. Pleasant, Mich. Donald A. Marshall, Sarasota, Fla., retired again in No\'ember, this time from county government. Now, he says, he has more time for volunteer work, travel, and outdoor activities. Bernard M. Schuman, gastroenterologist and director of the special procedures and endoscopy unit at the Medical College of Georgia (MCG), has been elected a master of the American College of Gastroenterology. He was made a fellow in 1980. In 1988 he The people's politician ■ first; politics second. Tliose were es lovino's priorities through many i of public service - as the first town : manager of Randolph, Massachusetts; as town manager and first mayor of Milford, Connecticut; and as city manager of Nor- pvich, Coraiecticut. "I was \ er\' controversial," lovino said in a December profile in the Lawrence, Massachusetts, Sundat/ Eiiglc-Tribiiiic. "I always put the well-being of the people first. Politicians hated my guts, but I didn't care. I made sure there was no corruption." His first job, after military service in World War II and then studying city man- agement at Northeastern University, was as administrative assistant to the Quincy, Massachusetts, city manager. In 1955 he became Randolph's first town manager. Dui"ing his career, lovino recounts, he slugged it out with selectmen and went toe-to-toe with aldermen. With no political agendas, he hired people based on merit, including Milford's first woman treasurer in 7962 and a black man as his assistant Ldirector of finance. "I broke the ice," he says. I' In November 1959 the town of Milford decided to switch from an appointed to an elected form of government, and lovino, the town manager, was chosen as mayor. receix'ed the Schindler Award, the highest award given by the American Society for Gastrointestinal Endoscopy, and in 1991 he was awarded the Society's Distinguished Service Award. He also has received a distin- guished faculty award for patient care from MCG School of Medicine and the first Pre- miere Physician Award of the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of Georgia. He is immediate past president of the Georgia Gas- troenterologic and Endoscopic Society and has been a member of the MCG faculty since 1983. 51 < : Judith Brown MacDonald, Tenafly, N.J., has published Tcncluiig and Parenting: Effects oftlw Dual Role with Um\'ersitv Press of America. She is an associate professor in the department of curriculum and teaching at Montclair State Uni\'ersitv in New Jersey. She is interested in hearing from teaching parents about their views of the dual role. As mayor and town manager, Charles lovino looked out for the little guy. It was the first time in history that a towr^ manager whose go\'ernmenf was vo out was voted in as mayor, accordij the Eagle-Tribune. "I had spoken oui ing the mayor form of go\'ernment iii corruption," lovino recalls. But voters knew who the best man was for the job. And it had been Io\'ino who brought indusr trial growth and jobs to Milford. In 1967, when his term as Norwich, Connecticut, city manager ended, lovino 3 retired from government and joined a private engineering firm. But lovino re excited by talk of politics and muni^ governance, focusing now on his presenf hometown of Andover, Massachusetts. "1 watched every piece of expenditui"e of public monev," he recalls of his career. "And officials should do that today." 52 J. James Gordon, Greenwich, Conn., was elected to the board of directors of Keystone Bank of Stamford, Conn. He also serves on the board of directors of Liz Claiborne Inc. and as director and vice president of the Jew- ish Federation Association of Connecticut, and chairman and vice president of the WJA/ Federation of Greenwich, Conn., com- munity relations committee. He is still run- ning Gordon Textiles International Ltd., con- sultants for companies on five continents. Margaret Jacoby is professor of astron- omy and physics at Community College of Rhode Island and director of the college's observatory in Warwick, R.I. Last No\'ember she received a Faculty Recognition Award from the Community College Consortium. The awards were given to thirty teachers throughout the U.S. and Canada. Since 1992-93 she has been listed in Marquis' Wlio's Who in Science and Engineering, and since 1993-94 she has been listed in Marquis' Who's Who in the World. Last summer, she adds, "I BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 39 oxperionci'd the thrill of winning >i gold modal .It tho 141)4 North Amoricin N.ition,i, Glen Cove, N.Y.: Sept. 1 He was a retired administrator at New York Hospital-Cornell Medical Center in New York City. He is survived by his wife, Doris, 18 Stuart Dr. East, Glen Cove 11542. Samuel Calvin Clark '32 A.M., Melrose Park, Pa.; Oct. 3. He taught at the Patton School in Elizabethtown, Pa., anci Shadyside Academy in Pittsburgh, in the late 1950s and early 1960s. He is sur\i\-ed by his wife, Ruth, 7442 Overhill Rd., Melrose Park 19027. T. Allen Crouch '32, Pawcatuck, Conn.; Nov. 21. He taught social studies and was depart- ment head at Stonington (Conn.) High School before becoming superintendent of the Ston- ington school system from 1944 to i960, the longest term of any superintendent in the town's history. After retiring as superinten- dent for health reasons he returned to teaching social studies at Pine Point School. He was a member of the Stonington Board of Education from 1973 to 1977. He was a corporator of the Westerly Hospital in Rhode Island; a former member of the board of the Westerly YMCA, of which he was vice president; and former vice president of the Community Chest. He was a member of the Connecticut and national associations of school administrators. He is survived by a brother, Howard E. Crouch, 31 West Broad St., Pawcatuck 06379. The notice of the death of Mary Lally Mur- phy '32, '37 A.M. in the November issue did not mention by name her surviving son, John '69; and a niece, Barbara Murphy Patrick '58. Dorothy Whittemore Olson '32 A.M., St. Petersburg, Fla.; Oct. 7. A mathematician for the U.S. government for ten years, she had hved in Florida since 1966. Phi Beta Kappa. She is survived by twin sons, Jofm Whitte- more Olson, 2234 N. Winthrop Circle, Mesa, Ariz. 85213; and Peter Orbuck Olson of El Paso, Tex.; and a daughter, Karen tUson Lennon of Cos Cob, Conn. R. Ford Bentley '33, Chicago; Dec. 28. He worked as an advertising executive until retiring in u)s8. As an undergraduate he was active in Sock & Buskin. He is survived by his wife, Elizabeth, One East Schiller St., Chicago 60610; and two daughters. Alvin Lester Natelson '33, of Boca Raton, Fla., and Wantagh, N.Y.; Mar. 15, 1994. A self-employed insurance consultant, he was active in Brown alumni affairs and was a NASP volunteer. He had been an editor of the Bwwn Daily Herald and a member of the Brown Debate Team. He is survived by his wife, Jo, 3600 Manchester Rd., Wantagh 1 1793; and three daughters, including Wendy Natelson Nolan 75, and Debbie Natelson Rollinger '80. Edward Thomas Raney '33 A.M., '38 Ph.D., Birmingham, Mich.; Feb, 1, 1991. He was an assistant professor and later chairman of the department of management at Wayne Uni- versity in Detroit. Bessie May Troutman Steinmetz '33, Rich- land, Pa.; No\'. 17. She was active in commu- nity affairs and was a member of the local branch of the American Association of Uni- versity Women. Paul Boyles Chaney '34, Whittier, Calif.; Oct. g. He retired in 1975 as shipping coordinator for Caltex Petroleum Corporation, New York City, after twenty-seven years. He is survix'ed by a niece in Whittier. Daniel William Earle 34, Manchester, Conn ; Dec. 5, of cancer. He was associate vice presi- dent and director of development at Brown for fifteen years before retiring in 1973. Before joining the Brown administration he held several executive positions with the Boy Scouts of America. He was a former national director of financial ser\'ices for the Girl Scouts of America. He served on the advisory committee of the Narragansett Council, BSA, and on numerous committees of the Episco- pal Diocese of Rhode Island and the Rhode Island Council of Churches. During World War II he was a special agent in the U.S. Army Counterintelligence Corps in the Pacific The- ater. He was secretary of his class. He is sur- vived by his wife, Marion, The Arbors, 403 West Center St., Apt. 108, Manchester, 06040; and two children. John Henry French Jr. '34, Grosse Pointe Farms, Mich.; Aug. 3. A leading figure in the Detroit banking community in the vears fol- lowing World War II, he was said to be Michigan's youngest bank president when he took over at City National Bank in 1953. He was a consultant before retiring in 1983. He was an Army Air Forces veteran of World War 11. He is survix'ed by his wife, Katharine, 130 Merriweather Rd., Grosse Pointe Farms 48236; and two sons. Barbara Strachan Trinick '34, Nashua, N.H.; Jan. 2. A social worker for the American Red Cross, she was executive secretary of its Cape Cod chapter in Hyannis, Mass., until her marriage in 1969. During World War II she worked in private hospitals in Rhode Island and for the Red Cross. Survivors include a sister, Dorothy Whipple Chaplin, of Nashua. Dorothy Currier Bourdon '35, Ft. Myers, Fla.; Dec. 17. She was actixe in social and commu- nity affairs in Albany, N.Y., where she lived before moving to Florida. In the 1960s she was first vice-chair of the New York State Women's Joint Legislative Forum. She was a class agent. She is survived by a son, Clinton C. Bourdon '66, 45 Candlewood Rd., Ipswich, Mass. 01938. Robert Jerrett Jr. '35, Palm Beach Gardens, Fla.; Nov. 14, in Mt. Pleasant, S.C. After working in the airline industry before and after World War II, he was a consultant for McKinsey & Company, New York; vice presi- dent and general manager of American Tackle & Equipment, Philadelphia; and cor- porate controller for Daystrom, Inc., Murray Hill, N.J. In the late 1960s he formed Venture Resources Inc., and served as vice president for finance at Emerson College, Boston. Before retirement he was an independent consultant. He was chairman of the race com- mittee and commodore of the Corinthian Yacht Club in Marblehead. He served with the Naval Air Transport Service during World War II, attaining the rank of lieutenant commander. He is sur\'ived by his wife, Lee, P.O. Box 31563, Palm Beach Gardens, Fla. 33410; and three sons, including Robert Jer- rett in '6s and David H. Jarrett '66. William Raymond Loughery '15, Middle- town, RL; Dec. 20. He was principal of Mid- dletown High School from 1961 until 1971, when he retired. Before that he was a teacher in Providence, and from 1950 until i960 he was head of the fiistory department at Rogers High School in Newport, R.I. He was a U.S. Navy veteran of World War II and retired from the Navy Reserve as a commander. He is surv'ived by his wife, Mary, 2 Jude St., Mid- dletown 02840. Jacob Miller '35, Providence; Nov. 19, 1992. He was a retired teacher. He is survived by his wife, Natalie Rouslin Miller '41, 84 Savoy St., Providence 02906. Harrlette O'Neil Stone '35, Warwick, R.I.; Nov. 26. She was a teacher in the Warwick school system from 1942 to 1979 and an edu- cator at the Rliode Island College Off-Cam- pus Facility in Providence for twenty years. She was a member of the Warwick Retired Teachers Association and the Rhode Island Retired Teachers Association, the Humane Society, and the East Greenwich Animal Pro- tection League. She is survived by her hus- band, Raymond, 525 Love Ln., Warw-ick 02887; and three sons. Ralph Roscoe Walker '35, Bryn Mawr, Pa.; Dec. 23. He was manager of Strawbridge & 52 / MARCH 1995 Clothier, a Philadelphia department store, from 1954 to 1977- He served in the U.S. \'avy during World War II and was com- manding officer of the USS George E. Dnvis. He was a member of the National Bonsai Society, past president of the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society, and a member of the American Red Cross. He is survi\'ed by two sons, including Donald Walker of Rockport, Texas. Thomas John Caracuzzo '^6, Baltimore; Dec. 2. He was a former \ice president of the Title Guarantee Company of Baltimore and retired in igSo. In World War II he served in the 311th Fighter Squadron, Asiatic-Pacific The- ater, U.S. Army Air Forces. He was a 1940 graduate of Columbia University School of Law. Among his sur\'ivors are two sons, including Thomas J. Caracuzzo Jr., Sand Cas- tle Key, Secaucus, N.J. 07094. George Maynard Kuhn Sr. '36, Houston, Texas; Nov. 7. He retired from the Travelers Insurance Company after forty years. He is survived by his wife, Helen, of Houston; and two sons. Irving Lionel Himmel '38, Clearwater, Fla.; Oct. iS, 1993. He was a U.S. Army veteran of World War II. He is survived by his wife. Ruby, 2492 Laurelwood Dr., Apt. D., Clear- water 34623. Donald William MacMillan '38, San Fran- cisco, Nov. 22. He was president of the Motor Carriers Accountants Council from 1959 to i960 and entered city civil service shortly thereafter, retiring from the assessor's office for the City and County of San Francisco in 1977. During World War II, he served with the U.S. Navy on convoy duty in the North and South Atlantic and the Mediterranean. He is sur\'iyed by his wife, Harriet, 2739 38th Ave., San Francisco 94116; and three daughters. Mildred Vandam Bomstein 39, Interlaken, N.J.; Dec. 18. She was a school teacher in Asbury Park, N.J., for many years before retiring in 1981. She was a member of the Monmouth County (N.J.) and national educa- tion associations, and of the Monmouth County Symphony League. Survivors include a daughter, Kate Bomstein '69, 78 Webster St., San Francisco 941 17; and a brother, Leroy Vandam '34. Raymond William DeMatteo '^9, Warwick, R.I.; Jan. 21. He was a sales manager for the Jannell Truck Body Co., Woonsocket, R.I., for thirty-five years before retiring in 1983. He was a U.S. Navy veteran of World War II and secretary of the Class of 1939. He is survived by his wife. Moraine, 38 Vancouver Ave., Warwick 02886; and three children. Carlotta Jencks Grazulis '19, Sterling, Mass.; Dec. 5. She was an English teacher at North High School, Worcester, Mass., for many years. She was a former regent of the Colonel Timothy Bigelow Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and a member of a number of education and teacher associ- ations. She is survived by a sister, Elizabeth Baldarelli, 22 Bean Rd., Sterling 01564. Charles Frederic Mort '39, Winchester, Va. He was a retired sales representative for Westing- house Electric International Company, New York City. He was a captain in the U.S. Army Chemical Corps during World War II. Lt. Col. Robert Ralph Clifford 40, USAF (Ret.), Costa Mesa, Calif.; June 30. He was a navigator in the U.S. Air Force for Iwenty- two years. Among his awards were the Air Medal and the Korean War Medal. He then had a nineteen-year career with Douglas Air- craft Company in Long Beach, Calif., retiring in 1984 as manager of material for the DC- 10/KC-io programs. He is survived by three daughters and his wife, Janet Fine Clifford '42, 2775 Tern Cir., Costa Mesa 92626. Harold Eshleman Weaver '40 Ph.D., St. Simons Island, Ga.; Nov. 4. A longtime resi- dent of Paoli, Pa., he retired as manager of the ion exchange department of Rohm and Haas Company, Philadelphia. He was a life member of the American Chemical Society. He is survived by his wife, Paula, and three children. George McTammany '41, Foxboro, Mass.; Dec. 15. He worked for the Foxboro Com- pany for thirty-five years, retiring in 1982 as a certified purchasing manager. He was a member of the New England Purchasing Agents Association and former treasurer of St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Foxboro. He served as a staff sergeant in the U.S. Army Transportation Corps during World War II. He is survived by his wife, Agnes, 15 Clark St., Foxboro 02035; 3""^ three daughters. Peter Prudden '41, Hingham, Mass.; Jan. 8. He was a district sales manager for American Airlines in Boston before going into business on his own. For his service in World War II as lieutenant commander of a Naval Air Squadron in the South Pacific he was awarded two Purple Hearts and the Distin- guished Flying Cross. A trustee of the Hing- ham Bathing Beach, he was also on the Hing- ham Cemetery Committee. He is survived by his wife, Constance, and four children. Carlton Manock Singleton '41, '51 A.M., Arlington, Va.; Feb. 28, 1991. He worked for Education Inc., Washington, D.C., in the late 1960s. Before that he was deputy director of Appalachia Educational Laboratory, Inc., Charleston, W. Va. Thomas Edward Morton '42, Fair Haven, N.J.; May 30, 1993. He was retired sales man- ager for Parmatic Filter Corporation, Living- ston, N.J. He was a lieutenant commander in the U.S. Navy Reserves during World War II. Charles Merriam Raymond '42, Doylestown, Pa.; Aug. 9, 1979. He is survived by his wife, Hilary, Box so6, Doylestown 18901. William Scott Potter '43, Houston; Aug. 3. He was retired from Fallon Industries, Hous- ton, where he was an engineer. He is sur- vived by his wife, Alice, 7480 Beechnut, No. 433, Houston 77074. Arvid Herbert Seaburg Jr. '43, Glastonbury, Conn.; Nov. 11. He retired in 1986 from Arbor Acres Inc., a construction company. Before that he worked for L.F. Silversmith Construction Company, Hartford. He is sur- vived by his wife, Geraldine, 98 Minnechaug Dr., Glastonbury 06033; ''"d ^ s""- A. Harry Sharbaugh III '43 Ph D., Clifton Park, N.Y.; Aug. 15. He worked in research and development for General Electric Com- pany, Schenectady, N.Y., for forty-two years, retiring in 1984. He held ten patents, pub- lished more than 100 scholarly articles, co- authored ten books, and lectured worldwide. He received the IEEE Dakin Award for out- standing technical contribution in electrical insulation and was former secretary, vice chairman, and chairman of the National Academy of Science's conference on electrical insulation. He was a fellow of the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers. Phi Beta Kappa. Sigma Xi. Survivors include his wife, Doris, 28 Hemlock Dr., Clifton Park 12065; and two sons. Hilda A. Calabro '45, '50 A.M., Providence; Sept. 30. She was professor emeritus of edu- cation at the University of Rhode Island. She also taught at Salve Regina University, New- port, R.I.; and in the North Providence, R.I., school system. She is survived by two sisters, including Olga Calabro Howell '53, John Mowrv Rd., Pole 159, Smithheld, R.I. 02917. Alex Anderson Trout '45, Harper Woods, Mich.; 1993. A U.S. Army veteran of World War II, he was wounded in the Battle of the Bulge. He graduated from the University of Michigan Law School and practiced law in Detroit until retiring in 1992. He is survived by his wife and three children. Gerald Francis Franklin '46, Glastonbury, Conn.; Sept. 2(1. He was a professor of eco- nomics at the University of Miami and assis- tant dean of its school of business administra- tion from 1948 to 1954. In 1955 he joined Pratt & Whitney Aircraft, retiring in 1985. He was a lieutenant in the U.S. Navy on the Cruiser U.S.S. Fargo during World War II. He is sur- vived by his wife, Jeannie, 76 Shipman Dr., Glastonbury 06033; 'i'''^"' f^'o children. Harold Joseph Rose '46, Marina del Rey, Calif.; May 29, of lung cancer. He was Harold Rosenblum while at Brown. An engineer and a businessman, he was also leader of the Hal Rose Orchestra, which played in the Los Angeles area. He is survived by his wife, Bar- bara, P.O. Box 9519, Marina del Rev 90295. William Charles Wattendorf '46, Scituate, Mass.; Sept. 1 1, 1991. He was an Army vet- eran of World War II. Walter Hardie Zillessen Jr. '46, .Atlanta, Ga.; No\'. 23. He was a broker with Insurance Underwriters of Georgia Inc. He served in iROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 53 U.S. Armv Intelligence during World VVor II and w,is stationed in India Thomas John O'Neill 47, I'alm City, Fla.; Sept. 21), ot a heart attack. A highlv-regarded member ot the bankruptcy bar, he was a partner in the Newark, N.J., law firm of Crummy, (.VNeill. DelDeo and Dolan, as well as O'Neill, Moore and Mclinroe. At the time of his death he maintained an office in Clifton, N.J. He was a first lieutenant and a na\'igator with the Eighth .Air Force in Europe during World War 11. .After the war, he was a special agent for the FBI in North Carolina and Kansas. He was a life member of the Ameri- can Bar .Association, the New Jersey Hospital and Health Council, and the Essex County Retarded Children's Association. He is sur- viyed by his wife, Mary, 2207 Seagrass Dr., Palm City 34990; and two children. Cmdr. Stanley Wadsworth Birch Jr. '48, USN (Ret.), Virginia Beach, Va.; Dec. 17. He began his career in the Nayy after gradua- tion. .After retiring in 1974 he taught mathe- matics at Jones Junior High School, Hamp- ton, Va., for eleven years. He is survived by Jiis wife, Louise, 3417 Warren PI., #101, Vir- ginia Beach 23452; and four children. Robert Faulkner Dinnie '49, Somerset, Mass.; Dec. 13. An engineer and surveyor for the Montaup Electric Company, Fall River, Mass., he retired as its vice president and general manager in 1983. He was a U.S. Navy veteran of World War II, serving in the Seabees. Sur- vivors include his wife, Dorothy, 687 Buffin- ton St., Somerset 02726; and three children. George William Hagman '49, Clover, S.C; Oct. 2. He \s as a national markets manager for United States Plywood, president of Con- tinental Vinyl Products, vice president of marketing for Phillips Industries, and presi- dent of Vanply, a subsiciiary of Getty Oil in Charlotte, S.C. He was a U.S. Army veteran of World War II and retired from the reserves as a captain. He is survived by his wife, Phyl- lis, 14 Hollyberry Woods, Clover 29710; four children; and a stepson. Richard Swan Hale '49, Plainfield, Mass. He was the owner of an antiques store in Plain- field. He was a decorated Air Force veteran of World War II. RoUand Henry Jones '49, East Greenwich, R.I.; Oct. 29. He was a general agent for the New England Mutual Life Insurance Com- pany, Providence, for forty-two years. He was a member of the company's hall of fame and its Million Dollar Round Table. He previ- ously worked for the Phoenix Mutual Life Insurance Company, East Providence, R.I., and was associated with the First Colony Life Insurance Company of Virginia. For thirty years he operated The Bearers, a concession stand at Brown Stadium. He was a U.S. Army Air Forces veteran of World War II. He was a class agent, secretary, and president of his class, and a NASP volunteer. Among his sur- vivors are his wife, Alice, 401 Cedar Ave., P.O. Box 294, East Greenwich 02818; five daughters, including Elizabeth Jones '79; and three sons, including Holland H. Jones Jr. '66 and Jeffrey Jones ^S Edward Forbes Smiley 11 '49 Sc.M., Bedford, N.H.; Sept. 27. He was an engineer in research and development for Sanders Asso- ciates, Nashua, N.H., for thirty-five years until retiring in 1989, after which he owned and operated a horticultural book business. He is survived by his wife, Adele, 41 Liberty I till Rd., Bedford 03102; and four children. Howard Van Name Young Jr. '49 A.M., '38 Ph.D., Hampton, Va.; Sept. 17. Professor emeritus at Hampton University, he was appointed chairman of the history depart- ment and director of the general honors pro- gram in 1966. He was a Fulbright program faculty advisor and held numerous other fac- ulty committee positions. In 1962 he was a participant in the first Summer Institute in Chinese Civilization at Tunghai University in Taiwan. He was a member of a number of historical associations. Henry Linwood Barker II '50, New Rochelle, N.\ . He was a buying manager for Lever Brothers Co., New York City. George Ogilvie Brodley '50, Savannah, Ga.; 1993. He worked in the industrial relations department of Sylvania Electrical Products, New York City. He is survived by his wife, Shirley, 41 Delegal Rd., Savannah 31411. Earl Henry Conn '30, Narragansett, R.I.; Nov. 3. He was president of Breakwater Village in Narragansett for twenty-nine years before retiring in 1989. Survivors include three chil- dren and two brothers: Alton Conn 's7, s Jack Pine Rd., Coventry, R.I. 02816; and Ken- neth Conn '-^c|. Alan Sheldon Lash '50, East Providence, R.I. He was the owner of the Fashion Store, Fall River, Mass. Rodney Blair Noble '50, Mount Laurel, N.J.; Oct. 15, 1992. He rehred as principal engineer for Esscube Engineering Inc., Marlton, N.J., in 1992. John David Warwick Sr. '51, Cary, N.C.; Nov. 9. He was retired from Johns Manville Sales Corporation, Newbern, N.C., where he was a sales engineer. He was a U.S. Na\'y pilot during World War II. He is survived by his wife, Helene, 200 West Cornwall Rd., #2114, Gary 27S11,; and five children. Mary Alice Bullen Rich '52, Tucson; June 27. George Graham Vest '52, New Canaan, Conn.; Dec. 13. He was a partner at Cum- mings & Lockwood in Stamford, Conn. He is survived by his wife, Elizabeth, 43 St. John PI., New Canaan 06840. Earl Francis Bradley Jr. '34, Stratford, Conn.; Nov. 27. He was a teacher and dean of stu- dents at Andrew Warde High School in Fair- field, Conn., and a member of the Fairfield Education Association, the Connecticut Edu- cation Association, and the National Educa- tion Association. He was a U.S. Army Air Force veteran of World War II. He is sur- vived by his wife, Dorothy, 595 N. Johnson Ln., Stratford 06497; and three children. Roger J.R. Cromwell 'S4, Cheshire, Conn.; Nov. 2 V I le was publisher of Search, the Source nfBKsi/if.ss Opporhiiiitiea, a national publication of mergers and acc]uisitions; and chief executive officer of the Cromwell Group Inc. He is survived by his wife, Ilene, 1696 Orchard Hill Rd., Cheshire 06410; and two children. John Joseph Henningson '34, Southborough, Mass.; Nov. 1 3. He was employed by the New England Electric System in Westboro, Mass., and retired in 1993 as director of labor relations. He taught at Anna Maria College Graduate School of Business, Fisher College, and Clark University, all in Massachusetts. He served as chairman of the Regional Edu- cation Council of the Board of Education for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and was on the board of directors and a trustee for the Alliance for Education. He coached youth basketball and baseball for many years. He served in the U.S. Navy from 1955 to 1958 and retired from the Naval Reserve in 1991 as a commander. Survivors include his wife, Alyce, 10 Tara Rd., Southborough 01772; and six children. Presley F.E. Norton 'ss, Guayaquil, Ecuador; 1994. He is survived by a cousin, David M. Gray 'ss, 4364 Hopeloa PI., Honolulu, Hawaii 96816. Sue Curtis Trainor '56, Phoenix; Sept. 8. For the last ten years she was an editorial assistant at Applied Computer Research in Phoenix. She is sur\i\ed by four children, including Michelle Trainor, 3321 N. 41st PI., Phoenix 83018; and a sister, Nancy Curtis Kem '55. Gordon Hazard Greene '57, East Greenwich, R.I.; Dec. 10. He was an electrician for Nyman Manufacturing Company, East Providence, R.I., for twelve years. He was a member of the R.I. Historical Society and the R.I. and New England genealogical societies, and of the American Radio Relay League. Survivors include his wife. Beryl, 128 Friendly Rd., East Greenwich 02818; and two children. Francine Glaser Aron '39, Cranston, R.I.; Dec. 19. She was a member of the Women's Association of Miriam Hospital, Providence, and the Cranston League of Women Voters. Survivors include her husband, Edward, 169 Beechwood Dr., Cranston 02921; and two children. William Joseph Donovan '39, Malibu, Calif.; July 6, of a brain tumor diagnosed two years earlier. He spent his entire career with Atlantic Richfield Oil Company and at the time of his death was a vice president of ARCO Products Company. He ser\'ed two years in the U.S. Marine Corps and was dis- charged as a lieutenant in 1961. He played 54 / MARCH 1995 basketball at Brown. He is survived bv his wife, Carol, of Malibu; and three children. Allen Compere Pipkin '59 Ph.D., Rumford, R.I.; Oct. 30. He was a professor of applied mathematics and engineering at Brown. He was a research associate at the University of Maryland before joining the Brown faculty in i960. As a Guggenheim fellow he taught at the University of Nottingham in England in 1968 and received senior visiting fellowships from the British Science Research Council in 1978 and 1982. He is survived by his wife, Ann, 87 Greenwood Ave., Rumford 029:6; and three children. Russell Gilpin Weeks '61, Ivyland, Pa.; Oct. 7. He was product manager for Clemmens Construction Company, Philadelphia. Rev. William Carl Lieneck Jr. '62 M.A.T., Worthington, Mass.; May 7, 1991. He was an assistant professor of mathematics and physics at Concordia Collegiate Institute, Bronxville, N.Y., in the 1960s. In the 1970s he served as pastor of Christ Evangelical Lutheran Church, Yonkers, N.Y., until his retirement. He is survived by his wife, Mar- jorie Hartmann Lieneck Jr. '48, Box 95, Worthington 01098. John Chauncey DeWolfe HI '65, Chicago; March 4, 1994. A 1968 graduate of Cornell Law School, he practiced in Chicago for many years, he is survived by his wife, Dorothy, 1448 North Lake Shore Dr., Chicago 60610. Robert Alexander Davidson '66, Gilroy, Calif.; Sept. 21. He was employed by Digital Equipment Corporation for twenty-five years and at the Hme of his death was Western Region credit manager. An avid sailor, he was a member of the U.S. Power Squadron and Anacortes Yacht Club. He is survived by his wife. Donna, 6630 Angela Ct., Gilroy 95020. Col. Joseph Jennings Ladd '66 M.A.T., USAF (Ret.), Bensalem, Pa.; Oct. 17, 1987. He is survived by his wife, Betsy, Wood River Village, Apt. 202, Bensalem Blvd., Bensalem 19020; two daughters, Martha Ladd '61 and Louise Ladd Wiener 's8; and son-in-law Thomas F. Wiener '57. Yvonne Luttropp Sandstroem '66 A.M., '70 Ph.D., Providence; Nov. 20. She was a profes- sor of English at the University of Massachu- setts-Dartmouth since 1969. She was a trans- lator of Swedish literature, and her work was published in Tlw New Yorker and by the pub- lishing house New Directions. She was also a Renaissance scholar and received numerous grants and honors, including several from the NEH. She was a member of the Modem Language Association, the Society for the Advancement of Scandinavian Studies, the Milton Society, and the American Literary Translators Association. She is survived by a companion, Albert Katt, of Providence; and two daughters. Gordon Lee Rashman Jr. '67, Buffalo, N.Y.; Nov. 15. After graduating from Cornell Law School in 1970, he worked as an attorney in an anti-poverty program in Philadelphia before returning to Buffalo to join the family business, L.L. Berger Inc., a department store. He was elected president of Berger's in 1984 and remained in that office until the store closed in 1991. In the last two years he had been working with investors to open a travel goods and clothing store. He coached and organized youth sports programs. He served on the Nicliols School Alumni Board and the boards of Buffalo Place and Planned Parent- hood of Buffalo and Erie County. He was active with the Downtown Retail Merchants Association. He played golf at Brown and was a two-time champion at Westwood Coun- try Club. He is survived by his wife, Mary Ellen, 665 Lafayette Ave., Buffalo 14222; and three sons. John Louis Ciani '73, Washington, D.C.; Dec. 22, of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. A Jesuit priest, he was director of Roman Catholic ministry and a professor of theology at George- town University since 1992. In 1993 he was named one of the university's top ten profes- sors. He was a preacher and lecturer at Holy Trinity Catholic Church in Georgetown. A historian of the Catholic Church, he wrote a book. The Vatican's America: Catholicism in the United States Obseroed in an Age of Crisis, i8<)i - 1914. He is survived by his parents, John and Phyllis Ciani, 1923 Narragansett Ave., Bronx, N.Y. 10461. Robert Stang Follett '74, Santa Monica, Calif.; Jan. 4. He was an economics consultant for Welch Associates, Santa Monica, for twenty years after receiving his master's degree from UCLA. He is survived by his parents, Warren S. and Phyllis F. Follett, 95 Audubon Rd., Warwick, R.I. 02888. Betsy A. Lehman '77, Newton Centre, Mass.; Dec. 3, while undergoing treatment for breast cancer. For the past eight years she wrote "Health Sense," an award-winning column in the Boston Globe wliich was syndicated to about 350 newspapers. Before joining the Globe in 1982 as a general assignment reporter, she was a reporter, food editor, and editorial writer for the Worcester Telegram in Massachusetts, and a feature writer at the Stamford Adz'ocate in Connecticut. Phi Beta Kappa. She is survived by her husband, Robert J. Distel, 170 Jackson St., Newton Cen- tre 02159; ^ri'l t^'" daughters. Contributions to establish an award for excellence in writ- ing may be sent to the Betsy A. Lehman Memorial Fund, Box 1893, Brown University, Providence 02912. Patricia C. McDonagh '78, Brooklyn, NY.; Dec. 19, of cancer. She was an associate at the law firm of Lankier Siffert & Wohl in New York City for ten years, specializing in litiga- tion. She was an author and speaker on breast cancer awareness. She won a land- mark lawsuit against Blue Cross/Blue Shield of New York regarding insurance coverage of experimental cancer treatments and was a member of the Cancer Forum, an on-line computer support and information group for cancer pahents. At Brown she was the first student publicist for the Sarah Doyle Women's Center, and her logo for the Provi- dence "Take Back the Night" march is still its official logo. She is survived by her parents, Edward and Cathy McDonagh, 80 Fisher Rd., Unit 45, Cumberland, R.l. 02864; tw broth- ers; and seven sisters, including Dolores McDonagh '80. Coe C. Paisley '86, Key Biscayne, Fla.; Aug. 4. She is survived by her parents, Adelia and James Paisley, 345 Redwood Ln., Key Bis- cayne 33149. Michael Puglisi '88, Chicago; Sept. 11. He received his master's certificate from Penn in 1990 and was a physicist at the Supercon- ducting Super Collider Laboratory, Dallas, until 1993. He moved to Chicago, where he was a securities trader at Martial Trading Inc. He was captain of the Brown fencing team for two years. He is survived by his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Anthony J. Puglisi, 320 West Swedesford Rd., Exton, Pa. 19341. Robert Scott Martin '92, St. Charles, 111.; Dec. 4, 1993. He was a graduate student at North- western Uni\'ersity. Survivors include his father, Robert H. Martin, 3N 772 Mead- owridge, St. Charles 60175. Martin Henry Dawson '94, Chestnut Hill, Pa.; Dec. 22, in an automobile accident. Known as "Tinry," he was working in Boston and plan- ning a career in secondary-school teaching and coaching. At Brown he was captain and MVP of the rugby team that went to the New England Invitational and Ivy League Rugby Tournament finals last spring, and was named to the All-New England team. He was a Big Brother and coached an undefeated youth soccer team. Survivors include his par- ents, Murray and Elizabeth Dawson, 102 West Mermaid Ln., Chestnut Hill 19118. A memorial fund has been established to sup- port a rugby award and to provide an annual event for Providence children. Donations payable to Brown University (Men's Rugby Endowment Fund, in memory of Martin Henry Dawson) should be mailed to Brown Rugby, c/o Jay Fluck '65, Box 1932, Provi- dence, R.I. 02912. Dr. Edward Allen Mason, Barrington, R.L; Oct. 27, of prostate cancer. He was the New- port Rogers Professor of Chemistry Emeritus at Brown and a chemical physicist known for his work with intermolecular forces. The author of 336 works, he contributed to the theory of transport phenomena, especially the thermal conductivity of molecular masses. His research resulted in a quantita- tive treatment of gas transport in porous media that has come into widespread use in engineering practices. Before joining the Brown faculty in 1967, he taught at the Univer- sity of Wisconsin, Pennsyh-ania State Univer- sit\', and the Uni\'ersity of Mar^'land, where he was head of the Institute for Molecular Physics. He is survived by his wife, Ann, 26 Nayatt Rd., Barrington 02806; and four children. E3 BROWN ALUMNI MONTHLY / 55 Finally... By Lynne I'atnode Nado.iii 'Sz A.M. The Vocation S o 1 am, once again, a teacher. The profes- sion I have worked toward, rebelled against, acquiesced to, and left behind for thir- teen years has reasserted itself. It began in my 1960s childhood. As I grew from preschooler to adolescent, 1 answered that tedious adult question, "What do vou want to be when you grow up?" with an acceptable girl response: "A teacher." I was an insatiable reader. When my father used diffi- cult words, I looked them up. Soon a child's unin- formed choice crystallized into a goal. In college I worked dutifully on my education certificate and my English degree. I found part-time jobs as a writing tutor and a professor's assistant. But a sudden attack of doubt during student teaching my senior year led me to inves- tigate other jobs. I made the interview rounds, talking to insurance companies and other corporations. Since teaching positions were scarce in 1978, 1 half-expected the offers I received to make my decision for me. I reckoned without fate. Unexpectedly, my application for a prestigious teaching fellowship at a preparatory school came through. I was the first senior from my undergraduate school to be accepted into the program. Under pressure from my own past, I took the position. During my year at the private school and two years in a public high school, I enjoyed the portion of my work that I could rightly call "teaching." But it seemed a small percentage of the whole. The students did not share my enthu- CAROLINA ARENTSEN siasm, and I found myself doing more babysitting than teaching. I began to make mistakes, to feel frustrateci. My temporary solution was to spend a year at Brown earning a master's degree in literature. I loved the long hours of reading, writing, and talking. But even then, teaching dogged my footsteps. After my oral presentation in one grad- uate course a classmate commented that my paper was one of the few that had kept her awake. I knew what this meant: I am natural in front of a classroom; my emphasis is right for my audience; I cap- ture attention. I am, in short, a teacher. After graduate school I believed I had turned my back on education, although my new job as a magazine editor felt oddly akin to teach- ing writing. Then, after the birth of my second daughter, I spent several years at home. I joined and often led a book-discussion group; I created and presented a first- grade poetry unit in my daughters' school. I volun- teered to do literary readings and discussions at the local library. I joined the state humanities council as an inde- pendent scholar. For a long time, I did not see the pattern in these choices. But then - from fellow readers, from my children's teachers, and finally from my own heart - I heard the old refrain: "Why aren't you in the classroom?" Last summer I saw a tiny classified ad seeking adjunct faculty. Classes would be at night and close to home. My youngest child was entering first grade. Friends encour- aged me to apply. When he hired me, the dean observed that 1 had been teaching all along. For the first time in thirteen years, I have a classroom. My teaching has changed. I have changed. But it feels right, this calling with which I have struggled. When family and friends ask me how my work is going I tell them that, to my surprise, I am still a teacher. E3 Lyime Patnode Nadeaii teaches English composition at New Hampshire Technical College. She originalh/ zvrote this essay to giiv her students a chance to criticize and respond to her writing; the final version reflects their questions and thoughts. 56 / MARCH 1995 ■8 How DO YOU KNOW WHEN IT'S YOUR TURN TO GIVE? You may have a good idea how much it cost you to go to I Brown. But, what you probably didn't know is that the price of pro- t viding a Brown education has always far exceeded the cost of tuition. That's why we depend on the generosity of alumni and I friends to help us furnish all the benefits of living and studying in the Brown community. Every gift, no matter how large or small, means that we can continue to maintain the highest level of excellence. Why not take a turn at giving something back? Once you take a look at all that Brown has given you, you'll come around. Brbwn TH E R/silll' OENt RATION Your gift is the one we need. T (I llie (.omiHitfr witliiii the Lexus ES300, a discussion about the weather is anything but idle ehit-ehat. Mter all, by monitoring the temperature and barometric pressure, it can teU the engine the optimal air-fuel mixture and The Engine And Transmission Ai'e Constantly Talking. As Alwajs,Weatlier Is A PopnlaiTopic. D> :^ 3> g. n "^ ignition timing. To make sure this timing is as precise as possible, the compu- ter also listens to input from the transmission. This communication translates into smooth acceleration as well as nearly imperceptible gear shifts. And, despite the constant banter, an exceedingly quiet ride. To learn more, please call 800-USA-LEXUS. We'll put you in touch with a dealer who will be more than happv to have a conversation on the subject. Cw\ * Thg Relentl^^ Pursiul i)j Perfection ©1995 Lexus^ A Division Of Toyota Motor Sales, U.S.A., Inc. Lexus reminds you to wear seatbelts and obey all speed taws. For the dealer nearest you, call 800-872-5398.