HELPING HANDS
I was struck by the unselfishness of the students and professors helping the villagers in Papua New Guinea (“Getting Better,” November/December). In a world where we have become self-centered and self-involved, it is truly inspiring to learn about this project.
Janet McSweeney
Seabrook, New Hampshire
CATACLYSMIC EVENTS
The three articles on World War II were most timely (“In the Wake of the War,” “A World Gone Mad,” “Breakout Performance,” November/December). I know of no one who was old enough who doesn’t remember where he or she was on December 7, 1941. That day and the ensuing four years affected our lives in a unique and lasting manner. Your articles captured the essence of our resolve and the sincerity of our patriotism.
We now have another day to remember as long as we are alive (“Everything Looks Different Now,” November/December). It is unfortunate that we need a cataclysmic event to make us aware of how blessed we are to live in this nation. My hope is that the outpouring of support for our nation, particularly on the college campuses, will mark the beginning of a new era of devotion to our great nation.
Don MacGinnis, ’55
Villa Park, California
I enjoyed the latest issue, especially Frank Tremaine’s article, “In the Wake of the War.” However, on page 59, there is a slight error in the statement, “This is the flagship of Fleet Adm. William F. Halsey Jr."
Adm. Halsey was never promoted to the rank of fleet admiral (five stars). There were only two fleet admirals, Chester Daniel Nimitz and Ernest Joseph King. In photos taken at the surrender ceremony on September 2, 1945, you can easily see the four stars of a full admiral on Halsey’s cap and collar, while Gen. MacArthur, next to him, wears five.
Ogden J. Lamont, ’50
Belmont, California
Editor’s note: Halsey was, as you note, a full admiral at the time of the September 2 signing, according to the Naval Historical Center in Washington, D.C. On December 11, 1945, however, he took the oath as fleet admiral, becoming the fourth and last officer to hold that rank. (The other three fleet admirals—Nimitz, King and William Daniel Leahy—had taken the oath in December 1944, when the five-star naval rank was created.)
SIMPLICITY, SELF-DEFINED
I agree with the steps mentioned for simplifying (“Enough Already!” November/ December). These include taking control of one’s life, differentiating what is necessary from what is desired, applying critical thinking, letting go and freeing up time.
To enact these steps effectively, one must question belief paradigms. Doing what someone else thinks you should do is not simple! It is necessary to pare down and strip away within one’s self-definition. First, consider what one has been told—by parents, peers, society—about who one is and what one should do. Deeply feel the desire to purchase, consume and acquire. Then investigate the source of need.
Critics say people can’t afford the simplicity movement. Simplicity can’t be bought; simplicity is.
Jonathan Ward, ’88
Salt Lake City, Utah
OUR COUNTRY’S FOUNDATIONS
Regarding President Hennessy’s column of November/December, in which he restates Leland and Jane Stanford’s undergraduate education goals of “teaching the blessings of liberty regulated by law, and inculcating love and reverence for the great principles of government,” I worry that Stanford may be missing the boat.
As I understand it, the newer variations of undergraduate requirements, with their strange names like Cultures, Ideas and Values, virtually ignore U.S. history, in particular our wonderful Constitution, Bill of Rights, Federalist Papers and other relevant documents. How is our society to survive unless we can all understand and argue effectively for the foundations of our country, especially in these times of crisis?
Morgan Sanborn, ’53
San Clemente, California
John Bravman, vice provost for undergraduate education, responds: We no longer offer Cultures, Ideas and Values. Instead, Stanford’s general education requirements now include the yearlong Introduction to the Humanities (IHUM). The program, taken by freshmen, is quite rigorous. Courses address significant themes involving human identity and existence, develop students’ understanding of what constitutes culture, and enhance abilities in analysis, reasoning, argumentation, and oral and written expression. I encourage you to visit the program’s website (www.stanford.edu/dept/ undergrad/areaone/) to learn more about specific courses.
I often wish I could enroll in some of these courses, in particular one called Citizenship, which is team-taught by former President Gerhard Casper, a constitutional scholar, John Perry of the philosophy department, and Ramon Saldívar of the English department. The students read Mencius, Aristotle, Machiavelli, Rousseau and U.S. Supreme Court cases, examining citizenship through different political systems. The course asks, for instance, whether citizenship is being transformed by globalization and whether a democratic society can function effectively with a concept of citizenship increasingly based on liberal rights and legalization rather than republic obligations and virtues.
I am confident that the IHUM program, along with the many other new offerings we have instituted in the past five years, gives our students the tools to think critically about the world and to fulfill their roles as good citizens and leaders in an environment that is increasingly international.
MISCONCEIVED METAPHOR?
Now that Taylor Antrim has found the secret of living a happy life, he should be able to devote some time to refining his stock of metaphors (End Note, November/ December).
The notion that all sharks must swim continuously to force water over their gills, and cannot breathe unless they keep moving, is false. It has been showing up in schoolbooks for as long as I can remember, but even so, it is wrong. I have summarized the pertinent biology in my article, “Deep Breathing," which can be read at www.textbookleague.org/73shark.htm.
William J. Bennetta
President, The Textbook League
Sausalito, California
Taylor Antrim tells us how the shark—and, by extension, Taylor himself—must keep moving or die. His need for movement and complexity contrasts strangely with an article in the same issue about the benefits of simplification (“Enough Already!”).
I think a more apt metaphor than the stalled shark is a feeding shark. Apparently, a shark’s senses are so acute that it can sense blood in the water at absurdly low concentrations. The thing about sharks is that they are always looking for the next snack and, I suspect, don’t have a real life between meals. (No letters, please; no one could surpass me in my ignorance of ichthyology.) For the shark, it’s not “you are what you eat,” but rather “you are only when you’re eating.”
I suspect that Taylor and his bud from D.C. have succumbed to a modern disease, the search for constant stimulation: if it’s new, it’s good; if it’s current, look again, ’cause it’s probably boring. What had he and his friends done? They had achieved different levels of accomplishment: graduation, advanced degrees or jobs, places to live, paychecks, bonuses, furniture—even, in the case of the D.C. bud, a happy relationship, which for a lot of us is a supreme accomplishment.
We train ourselves to be unfulfilled. We are always looking for a new furrow to plow rather than deepening the one we are in. There are so many options today that young adults want to do everything, and many have the resources and abilities to do just that. It’s just deciding that’s the problem, and knowing what you’ve got when you’re there.
Maybe Taylor’s Next Big Thing will be the thing that counts.
Reynold Dacon, ’72
Mesa, Arizona
BRILLIANCE VS. ILLNESS
Professor John Felstiner’s article left me with a very bad feeling (“this dust of words,” September/October). Rather than honoring a brilliant but troubled student, as Kevin Cool suggested in First Impressions, the article was a sad, confused, somewhat self-serving portrait of a mentally ill woman. Felstiner considers her inability to find a boundary between herself and the text a sign of brilliance rather than a sign of mental illness. Perhaps someone could have encouraged her to get help while she was still a student—but the late ’60s and early ’70s were a tumultuous time, when R.D. Laing made schizophrenia seem so sexy, a revolutionary act. Maybe no one noticed the specific craziness among the general craziness of the time.
Aija G. Kanbergs, ’66, MA ’67
Berkeley, California
‘FIND A REAL HERO’
In my ongoing effort to find something of cultural value about the liberal Stanford milieu, I remain stumped. The article about Chip “somebody” was a perfect encapsulation of a university’s situational ethics and drift (“The Karmic Capitalism of Chip Conley,” September/October).
Such tender and effusive honor you grant his little enterprise. To me, your hero sounds like a self-contradicting self-promoter. Why choose to ponder and elevate a man who puts a shallow veneer of interior decorating on an old, decaying relic of a motel and caters to drug-loaded pop flotsam and “recent plastic surgery patients not quite ready for prime-time socializing”?
Wake up and get some grounding. Then go out and find a real hero to revere.
Marshall Monroe, ’86
Albuquerque, New Mexico
FAIRER MESSAGE
The September/October magazine warmed the heart of this former editor and Stanford trustee. The diversity of content and excellence of writing were notable. I have a suggestion for Farm Report: next time you do a roundup of Stanford sports, such as “The Cardinal Report,” consider another way of listing the teams besides always having men’s first and women’s second. If, for example, you had listed the team that had the highest national ranking first in each sport, the sequence would have changed substantially and the message would have been more fair.
Linda Hawes Clever, ’61, MD ’65
Mill Valley, California
THE 10,000 CLUB
When I was an undergraduate, we got two “good” Draw years consisting of numbers 1 through 3,000, which guaranteed on-campus housing in a dorm or house (“Luck of the Draw,” September/October). Due to a shortage of housing, we also had one “bad” Draw year, consisting of numbers 3,001 through 5,000, which meant no guarantee of anything more than a sleeping bag in the back of a friend’s rusted van. A student who was unlucky on a monolithic scale could attain Stanford housing immortality, better known as the 10,000 club. Those who were even unluckier than that could get the worst housing that Stanford could offer and fall infinitesimally short of 10,000.
In the spring of 1991, I felt lucky living in Roble and envisioned three more years of the same good fortune. I also fantasized about the moment when I would enter my room, utter a number somewhere in the teens, and watch as my stoic roommate Quentin wept for joy and screamed out his window, making the whole campus think Dead Week had arrived a month early.
When Draw day finally arrived, I camped out and was the second person to pick. After returning from Tresidder, I quietly sat down at my computer. My Draw group waited approximately 12 seconds before they asked me the question. My unexpected, non-numeric answer was: Stern.
The memories of the 15 minutes that followed have mercifully faded over time. But I do remember a promise, made by my three friends, that no matter what, I was going to get the worst of everything in Twain. And I still remember sleeping with my bed against a wall whose opposing side contained the urinals for a hallway full of binge-drinking guys with horrible aim.
Our “bad” Draw year was 1992. Still smarting from the previous year’s debacle, two members of my freshman-year Draw group refused to draw with me again. The third, Matt, agreed to do it under the condition that he alone would decide our fate. We added two more brave souls to our group.
After Matt picked our number, we knew two things: (1) our new home would be Crothers Memorial, a graduate engineering dorm whose cinderblock interior could go months on end without seeing a female student; and (2) we had a realistic shot at becoming members of the 10,000 club.
In 1993, Matt and I were joined by Brian (one of the remaining three members of the original group) and Mike, who had lived in Wilbur his entire Stanford career. When it came to choosing who would select the number, it was immediately decided that Matt, Mike and I were personae non gratae.
Brian got us rooms in Wilbur, and Matt and I ended up with a grand total of 9,812. Seven years later, I still look up at 10,000, wishing in that uniquely competitive Stanford way for just one more shot at the summit.Ethan Diehl, ’94
Austin, Texas
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