The More Things Change . . .

As he was winding down his Stanford presidency over the last six months, Gerhard Casper got a lot of mileage out of a line by University of Chicago economist George Stigler. "A transition period," Casper would drawl in his trademark German accent, "is a period between two transition periods." He was making light of a reality that came into sharper focus as we put this magazine issue to bed: Stanford is in the midst of a major changing of the guard.

The shifting starts at the top, where new president John Hennessy now finds himself riding herd on some 1,640 professors, more than 14,000 students and a $1.64 billion budget. But the leadership turnover reaches well into the University's next rank. As we note in a rundown of administrative newcomers on page 48, most of the senior people at Stanford the provost, five of the seven school deans, the CEO of the management company, the University lawyer, even the dean of admission are relatively new to their jobs. These are the men and women who will shape Stanford's course over the next few years. They will make decisions about land use and curricula, about faculty hires and research priorities.

But here's what I find amazing: none of this has or will have much effect on the University's greatness. Oh sure, the specifics will be driven by the new team, and there's every chance they'll leave the institution stronger than they found it. But the fundamentals are already in place. Ground-breaking research will go on, remarkable students will arrive by the hundreds, capable people will tackle tough jobs. It will take hard work, creativity, vision. But that's something we can count on because of the incredibly deep resources and wealth spiritual and intellectual as much as financial embedded in this place. The expanding Stanford universe has reached critical mass and, in some reassuring sense, is self-perpetuating.

For proof of that vitality, take a look at the stories in this issue. You'll find faculty shaking up the intellectual sphere, alumni pursuing fascinating paths and a guide to soaking up what it means to be of Stanford.

That last one our cover story is my favorite. In coming up with a list of "the 101 things you must do before graduating" (page 84), we tried to distill the experience of being indoctrinated, in the best sense of that word, into the Stanford subculture. Looking through our list, you might detect a little bit of cheating: we jumped around from era to era, picking activities that struck us as funny, unique or somehow quintessential. So you'll find "go steamtunneling" (a pastime that has pretty much gone the way of, well, steam heat) on the same list with "design a web page" (something few members of, say, the Class of '39 will have done). But there are enough shared experiences to cut across generational lines. And the larger point remains: alumni around the world share a powerful bond with each other and the University.

Once they leave campus, we like to keep an eye on graduates making a splash. Consider the tale of Harold Ickes, '64, former deputy chief of staff in the Clinton White House (page 66). The son of a New Deal legend, Ickes had his political awakening at Stanford and went on to become one of the key figures in the Democratic Party of the 1980s and '90s. Then there's Alexei Parshchikov, MA '93, an avant-garde poet who is finding his way in the literary wilds of post-Soviet Russia (page 94). And don't forget to follow the adventures of Robert L. Strauss, a journalist who's still trying to figure out how to sell his books online (page 92). Finally, there's the roster of Cardinal athletes heading for the Olympics in Sydney (page 58). They continue Stanford's remarkable tradition of combining academic excellence with athletic prowess.

Closer to home, we showcase the work of Professor John Rickford and his son, Russell. They've written a passionate and compelling case for the importance of preserving the African-American dialect (page 72). For anyone who was left befuddled, enraged or depressed by the 1998 debate over Ebonics, the essay likely will be a revelation.

Editing that kind of work is just one of the things I'll miss as I make a transition of my own. After four years as an editor at Stanford, I'm headed back to the world of commercial journalism. Just like Casper, I leave knowing that this magazine will continue to evolve in the period between transition periods.