Profiles

C

onstructed of limestone from Monroe County quarries, the IU Main Library looms ominously over the lazy atmosphere of the Arboretum. Its sharp, stony angles contrast severely with the sloping, grassy knolls. From its throne on the corner of Tenth and Jordan, the monolith beckons scores of motivated students and threatens the dilatory. From morning to night it persists: a savior, a second home, a hell. How could we do without it?

The IU library's presence on campus originated in 1829 with 235 books kept in a single room. By the mid-1960s, it had outgrown its home in the Franklin Hall building, and a temporary undergraduate library was set up next door in the Student Building until the present library opened its doors in 1969.

The current library system consists of the Main Library, 15 branch and 11 Halls of Residence libraries, plus three "extra-systems" libraries: the Archives of Traditional Music, Kinsey Institute and Law Library.

By 1989, the Libraries collections on the Bloomington campus had multiplied to more than 4.5 million volumes, making the IUB Libraries the 18th largest academic library system in the nation. In a single year, the libraries circulate more than 1 million items, and during a typical week, the library staff

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Todd Anderson (2)

ABOVE:The card catalogue in the east wing of the Main Library provides a place for students to begin their research. RIGHT:Newspapers from around the world are available for quiet perusal in the newspaper reading room.

answers as many as 11,900 reference questions.

The sheer size of it all is overwhelming. The Main Library in particular — the heart of the system — can be:

Intimidating. Where to begin? Scanning the card catalogue on the Research Collections side, or perhaps by consulting the InfoTrac computer in the Undergraduate Library Services wing?

Frustrating. You treck to the tenth floor to retrieve an essential book, only to find it absent from the shelf. Or, after locating that November issue of Newsweek, you discover the desired article has been ripped from the binding.

Tiring. Staring at the words in a textbook...you suddenly feel your face pressed against the smooth, cool pages and realize you've been asleep for the past twenty minutes. Is it the sickly fluorescent light that saps the will to study, or the constant whisper of the air ducts amid the silence in the stacks that hypnotizes?

Exhilarating. There are times it is thrilling to be completely surrounded by information; to be secluded with intriguing material; to mingle with throngs of fellow students... finally to emerge from the bowels of the beast — book in hand — knowing you have learned.

Lisa Champelli

Christina Casey (2)

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E

berhard Reichmann, professor of Germanic studies, scoffs at the source that determined his vocation. When he was 14, he explains, the Nazis decreed that all talented students would go to school irrespective of their parent's income. Reichmann was awarded an educational scholarship, and because the Nazis needed teachers, he was sent to a teacher's prep school. "So I was in the teacher's college, thanks to Adolph Hitler," Reichmann says sarcastically, before adding a defiant, "Ha, ha." For although influenced by a man whO sought racial homogeneity, Reichmann is a man who celebrates ethnic multiplicity.

Reichmann was born in Stuttgart, Germany, in 1926. He fought with the German army on the Eastern front during World War II. Shortly after, he was one of 140 German educators invited by the U.S. Office of Education to study in America for a year and learn about life in a democracy. Since that first visit to the United States, he has been captivated by the mosaic beauty of the "American miracle." "To me it's a miracle how all these nationalities blended beautifully.... From all over the world, coming together here and forming a nation. Unbelievable," he exclaims in a deep voice still saturated with a rich German accent.

Upon receiving his Ph.D. from the University of Cincinnati in 1959, Reichmann had planned to teach in Germany. But when the Board of Education refused to waive the state examination in favor of his educational degrees, he changed his mind. "Apparently you don't know what compromise means," Reichmann told the education official, "and that's a very important word in American everyday life. If you can't compromise then..." Reichmann lowers his booming voice to a secretive whisper. "...1 think I don't fit in here anymore. Thank you very much, goodbye," he says, and slaps his knees with his hands as if getting up to leave. "It's funny," he reflects. "It was decided in my professional life I would not go back to Germany. I couldn't stomach the old fashioned ways that were coming back."

Although he left Germany and became a citizen of the United States, Reichmann did not forsake his heritage. "I could have long dropped my second 'n'," he says. "But it's a marker, showing that I am from German ancestry, German background — and I am proud of that."

Vice president of the Society for German-American Studies, Reichmann co-founded the Indiana German Heritage Society in 1984 and devotes his energy to researching German culture in America. In 1989, he celebrates 30 years at IU with a spring sabbatical, using the free time to gather material for two books: "Hoosier German Heritage" and "Hoosier German Tales."

Each folk story he learns is meaningful, Reichmann says, but it gets lost unless it is linked with others. "It is the collection of things that really gives the round picture and provides the value." And the challenging part of his work, he says, is in making people realize that what seems to be junk is in fact extremely valuable documentation of days gone by.

As an example, he presents an old German primer used by immigrant children that illustrates the integration of two cultures. Paging through the book, he stops at the word for flag. " `High in the air blows the flag,' " he reads, translating the German text. " 'It is the symbol of our land and it is the most beautiful flag in the world.' " The banner pictured is the American flag. "Now, were the Germans, Germans only, or were the Germans also Americans?" he asks.

Reichmann solves the cultural puzzle by fitting together the pieces of the whole. "At the same time that I am an American citizen," he says, "I am also a citizen of the world."

Lisa Champelli Mic Smith

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Dan H osteiler

Jim Hudelson A sk Dan Hostetler if he wants to be famous someday. With a slight smile rising slowly, his eyes become slivers, to better see into the future. He will tell you, "Yes. I want fame."

Hostetler is a drummer. But after seven years in the School of Music he has become a musician, by listening and playing. Hostetler has gone beyond practicing music. He lives it.

The 25-year-old's lust for music is obvious. During a rehearsal of Professor David Baker's jazz band, Hostetler's constant, concentrated smile is proof. This music is not work. It fills him to the point where being without it is an impossibility. "I can't imagine not having this feeling in my life," he says. And he can't imagine not trying to make it part of everyone else's life. Teaching after graduation is a possibility. But playing gives the high, he says. All musicians talk about the high. But Hostetler's is not the euphoria of an egoist. Rather, the satisfaction comes from giving music and having the gift appreciated.

After three years of playing with the Zulu Beatniks, performing at Jake's, the Bluebird, and Second Story, Hostetler knows he cannot play clubs forever. "Everybody drinks; you get the feeling sometimes that nobody's listening. But when your music can make people dance and move, that's important. You know they are listening and they had to do something about it. They had to get up and move."

Since coming to IU in 1982, he has moved in and out of pop, jazz, orchestra music and IU's Marching Hundred with the ease of a native speaker who knows many languages. This fluency has extended the usual student stay in Bloomington, but it has earned him a bachelor's degree in music performance and a performance certificate, the school's highest honor. "He could play in an orchestra, as a studio musician, in a jazz or rock band. His breadth of knowledge is that far-reaching," music professor William Roberts says.

Quite a compliment from the teacher who almost kicked him out of the music school in 1985, when Hostetler refused to choose a single concentration. High school marching band in South Bend brought Hostetler to music. But no single form could contain his desire. He needed to play jazz fusion with Innuendo. He wanted to perform Leonard Bernstein's Mass. It was a chance to play under the composer's own baton at Boston's Tanglewood Center.

Other performances have included jazz at the Madame Walker Center in Indianapolis, on national tour with the Star of Indiana Drum and Bugle Corps; music of celebration at the weddings of friends, music for a cause at Live From Bloomington in Dunn Meadow.

Whether for Bernstein or in a basement, each chance to play has been a gift Hostetler says. "You're playing in somebody's basement and you sound really loud. You can hear yourself playing and there are some people listening. Then you play in one of the clubs and it gets bigger. Playing outside, it's amazing! It's all out there and you know the guy on his porch down the street can hear you."

When Hostetler wears his Star of Indiana jacket to Baker's jazz rehearsal, he is teased by graduate student players who seem to see music through jazz-colored glasses. He knows the teasing is in fun. "But I have a problem with the whole superiority thing, that some music is better than others," he says. "The whole point of marching band is you're on a football field, I know that. But you're making music."

Whether in jazz, in a studio band or as a theater musician on Broadway, Hostetler's place is in music. But he remains uncertain of where that place will be. Each option is a temptation. As for fame, if it is ever realized through passion, Hostetler will certainly achieve it. "It's frustrating, but I do know in ten years I'll be a drummer," he says. "I get tired of moving drums. But I never get tired of playing."

believe that almost any African-American who attends Indiana

University has at one point or another, felt the disheartening pangs of isolation to which author Maya Angelou gives voice in the above quote.

Since the first African-Americans were forcibly brought to America in 1619, we have had to struggle with the confinements of slavery, stereotypes, segregation, racism and colorism, as well as the challenges of assimilation, integration, Africanization and affirmative action. After awhile, each issue seems to interwine into one massive web of theoretical confusion that ultimately induces the African American's search for an identity.

To look for one solution to the problem would be futile. But, as an atypical representative of the African-American community, I think I have a unique perspective to offer.

I grew up in a small town in New York's Southern Tier — a predominantly white community. I was one of three blacks in my high school graduation class. Just as almost all black children in the 1970s, I had to endure both subtle and blatant forms of harassment. My parents told me to ignore people like the boy on the bus who spit on me when I was in first grade. My father, specifically, taught me that knowledge is power and that I could do anything I wanted to do. Visits with my relatives, most of whom are from predominantly black cities in the South and urban North, exposed me to and instilled in me, segments of traditional black culture: the food, music and folklore, etc.

Yet somehow, I couldn't help but feeling, through high school, inferior because of my race. I believe this subconscious racial shame often exists among my peers, and within the micro-society of a college campus, personal insecurities and prejudices can surface in the form of racial tension.

But with pride in our selves and indentification with our heritage we are able to appreciate the differences in others. It wasn't until I became more than aware of, more than conscious of my heritage, and accepted it as my own that I began to develop a sense of confidence and pride as a woman, an African-American — as a person.

This change evolved during the summers I spent working in New York City. I lived once with my grandmother in Brooklyn and once with my aunts in Harlem. It wasn't just that I was in an urban setting, surrounded by others of my own race — but in New York City the definition of "Black" was broader than the narrow descriptions I had encountered before. I didn't have to fit into the stereotypical slot expected in my hometown and on a Midwest campus.

I think for the first time, I identified fully, on my own, with my background. I knew that I could carry this self-image with me anyplace; I could return to Bloomington and live in my house with my five roommates, who all happen to be white and my very good friends, and be just as comfortable and secure in my place among them. My "Blackness" does not depend upon where I live or spend my summers, but on how I feel about myself.

I think that if people could maintain this integral connection with who they are and where they're coming from, while accepting with an open mind other people from all walks of life, we'd all be more at ease. African-American, Native-American, Irish-American, man, woman, gay, straight, Democrat, Republican, Jew or Christian...we could revel in our differences, and there would probably exist less tension in the nation and on campuses.

Perhaps then, when our acceptance of self becomes the foundation on which we build our acceptance of others, identification with Maya A ngelou's statement will be a lot less easy. Our unity will be forged in the celebration and respect of our differences.

Dave Yoder

Kimberieigh Smith

Patrick S iddons

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T odd Anderson

t is like graduating from college all over again. That is how Patrick Siddons describes leaving his post as publisher of the Indiana Daily Student, his job of nearly a decade. "It is something really final, something I hadn't thought about too much," he says looking out his Ernie Pyle Hall office window. The trees outside lining Seventh Street are green, flowering bushes are in bloom. Spring's newness is ending another semester, Siddons' last as a newspaper publisher, and his last as a journalist.

Siddons' interest in journalism began with novels, the writing of Ernest Hemingway, he says. After studying engineering at Purdue University for one semester, the Ellettsville native returned to southern Indiana to study journalism at IU.

In 1950 Siddons left Bloomington to be a reporter in Crawfordsville, Ind. and later came back to serve as Bloomington bureau chief for the Louisville Courier Journal.

After nearly 40 years in the business, Siddons leaves journalism working for the paper that started his career. In the late 1940s he was a reporter for the Daily Student, a paper very different from the newspaper he now publishes. When Siddons was a student, IU's campus paper was affiliated with the School of Journalism, and professors served as supervisors. Today's paper is independent of the University and all newspaper policy is set by the students. It is the way Siddons likes to see things done.

During his tenure as publisher, Siddons, 65, smiled and nodded and reached for another handful of his popular popcorn snack when critics called the Daily Student "the Daily Stupid." In defense of his reporters, photographers and editors, he always explained the paper's purpose: teaching students to become journalists. Even when the morning mail contained scathing criticism from readers or threats of libel suits, Siddons protected the students' right to a free press.

Siddons often was criticized by those very students for his relaxed approach to publishing. Young editors wanted their publisher to push for later deadlines, more space for news copy, less for ads. "Student editors want leadership. They are searching for inspiration," says David Haynes, fall 1979 editor in chief of the Daily Student and longtime friend of his former publisher. "Pat was always ready to give advice when we asked for it. But he never told us what we should or shouldn't do."

As publisher, Siddons gave students room to breath, the latitude to make their own choices, to fail and to succeed on their own merit. "It's the way I raised my own kids," Siddons says, connecting his role of publisher to that of father of three. "A kind of be there when you're needed, but let the learning progress on its own."

Former editor in chief Mark Skertic says he wasn't aware of the lessons he learned until after he graduated from IU and began working as a professional journalist in Fort Wayne. "Now I see how valuable the freedom was and is for students," says the 1986 graduate. "I regret having not appreciated Pat as much then as I do now." "When I think about Pat, I think about Ronald Reagan, in a good way," says Andy Countryman, former editor in chief and former assistant to the publisher under Siddons. "Pat believed very strongly it was the students' paper. It was up to us to make decisions, to accept the consequences and the credit. I really admire him for that."

Having given thousands of student journalists the freedom to observe, to question, to speak out, Siddons is ready to accept the freedom retirement brings. Like graduation's classic commencement cliche, the end of his journalism career is a beginning. There are two goals on Siddons' agenda. "I know it sounds sort of corny, but I think I'm going to travel around the United States and visit some old friends," Siddons says, smiling at the prospect of the future as brightly as he remembers the past. "And when I get back I might just sit down in front of the typewriter to see if there is any Ernest Hemingway in me after all."

G

ayle Tate, assistant professor of political science and Afro-American studies, has traveled, studied and taught in places all over the world — from New York City, to the Sorbonne in Paris, to the University of Accra in Africa. Yet she first developed her nationalist consciousness as a child at her home in Brooklyn, NY.

There she listened to historic tales told by the grandchildren of her neighbor, the famous black historian, Arthur Schomburg. Her living room was an arena for political discussions conducted by her politically active mother, whom Tate credits for her sense of pride. "I got familiar with the political crisis that was going on in various parts of the world," she says. "I was fascinated by the African independence movement that was going on in the 1950s and the whole struggle for Carribean independence...."

An energetic activist, Tate has participated in marches, pickets and freedom rides. During the early 1970s, she befriended Angela Davis, the black political activist who was imprisoned in California for 18 months while awaiting trial on charges of conspiracy, kidnapping and murder. Tate was an integral part of the campaign for her freedom; Davis later was acquitted.

A militant participant in the civil-rights movement, Tate said the "dream" has yet to be realized. "I think the whole question of political and social equality in this country is still a question for African-Americans, is still a question for women and is still a question for poor people, etc." Tate insists the reality of the dream lies in an allied effort of minorities to place, "...conserted, political pressure upon those people in power."

Lenora Fulani was one minority who did that. Although Tate says she knew that Fulani, an African-American woman who ran for president on the independent ticket, was not going to win, she considered Fulani a viable candidate. "You need someone on the outside of the system raising the kinds of issues that will not generally be raised in a two-party system. I think she did an incredible job for America. She showed the aspirations of black women becoming president."

Tate views the Reagan years as a regression of civil rights in America. She says Reagan's administration had little regard for social issues and blames the proliferation of racism on the tolerant leadership of an institution — including a college campus. Tate vows, however, not to let this effect her. "Of course," she says, "I am prepared not to be a victim; that would ruin my reputation."

Tate was attracted to IU by its research facilities and transferred here from the City University of New York in September 1986. She is one of 31 African-American professors out of 1,381 total professors at IU in 1988-89. As a teacher of classes ranging from the black woman in America, to contemporary problems in the black community, Tate tries to instill in her students a profound understanding of the historical period from which she came. "I think 1 would like to impart not only a sense of the political interpretation of the (black) history, I would hope that students would come out with political tools they could use to further the political protest, to further the progress of the people, and that they would come out with the ability to critically analyze the status of the oppression and what contributions they can make."

A firm believer in the nationalist consciousness, Tate has recently begun researching her own family history. "I don't think there's anything greater than knowing the richness of your own direct lineage," she says. "You must have a sense of yourself and your people before you can take the next step — whatever else you do, you must start with self, and your racial identity as a people. You must feel proud of that heritage and use the tools that it offers you in terms of your own development."

Christina Casey

Gayle Tate

.1 oe Hillman's choice to put his budding professional baseball career on hold and return to play his last season at IU is a decision he says he will never regret. Drafted by the Oakland A's in the amateur baseball draft, Hillman signed with the A's and spent the summer playing for the Southern Oregon Athletics in the Class A Northwest League. Joe went on to hit .310, knocking in 27 runs and scoring 33 times, to earn him an invitation to instructional league in Arizona.

That is where the conflict began.

Joe, who graduated from IU with a degree in business, still had a year of basketball eligibility remaining and was strongly considering cashing in on his final season.

The instructional league season, however, would not be over until late October, which would force Joe to miss several weeks of basketball practice.

Joe explained the situation to Coach Bobby Knight, who agreed to try and work something out for him.

At first, Joe's mother couldn't understand why he would want to return for another season at IU. But Joe stood behind his decision in hopes of great success for the 1989 Hoosiers.

Little did Joe know that the 1989 basketball season would be one of the most exciting seasons to date, as the Hoosiers surprised everyone in winning their 18th Big Ten title.

During the season, Joe, who averaged 12.6 points per game, was praised by opposing coaches throughout the conference and across the country for his tough, scrappy play.

Coach Knight made his feelings toward the 6-2 guard very clear. "Nobody in the 18 years that I have been at Indiana did a better job doing what had to be done to get a team to play than Joe Hillman,"

Knight said.

After the season, Joe, who returned to the A's farm club, was named IU's Most Valuable Player at the Hoosier basketball banquet in April. "I'm very pleased that it turned out to be a great year that Joe could share with this team and, in fact, lead them," Knight said.

Rob Smith

Todd Anderson

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Veronica Vas

Christina Casey G oing to college: being exposed to new ideas, cultures, lifestyles.... Junior Veronica Vas can tell you all about the new horizons that college has to offer. Hers took her to Graz, Austria for a summer.

A chemistry major, Vas decided to study German to fulfill IU's language requirements. She says it is a useful language, along with Latin, for a potential pre-med student to know. A flyer posted in Ballantine Hall, proclaiming the advantages of studying in another country, prompted her to inquire into the Overseas Study Program. "I participated in the program at first just to get the requirements done, but it was a fantastic experience, and I decided to add Germanic Studies as a double major," she says. In April 1989, the Delta Phi Alpha National German Honor Society invited Vas to join the Beta Alpha chapter at IU.

During her six-week stay in Graz, where the official language is German, Vas lived with an Austrian family. She says she still refers to her foster relatives as "Mom," "Dad," "Brother," and "Sister." "I had a really good family. Mom would take me sightseeing when I didn't have class, and I got to see all the nooks and crannies of the city. Things were a lot different over there," she adds, breaking into a smile. For instance, she says, there are no Kroger groceries; Austrians do their shopping — particularly in the summer — at open markets. And they observe a custom similar to the Spanish siesta called "mittagpause" when everything is closed from 11:30 to 1:30, she says.

Because her education in Graz was a 24-hour experience, Vas credits the program with providing a much more thorough understanding of the German language and culture than she would have received from a traditional IU German class, had she remained in Bloomington. Continually confronting German words on street signs, menus, etc., helped her increase her vocabulary and retain it, she says. "Unless you speak a language constantly, you can't really learn it. There's so much to learn in the beginning levels, as far as grammar and such, that you don't get that opportunity to speak it," she says.

The program was such a valuable experience, Vas plans to go to Germany over the summer and serve for four months as a work-study student with the Bayer company in Cologne. The work-study job will help defray the expenses of the non-credit summer program. "It's not going to be really glamorous work, mostly a lot of routine stuff like cleaning laboratory glassware, and probably clerical work. But I'm really excited about it."

From there, Vas will continue her on-location learning strategy with a year-long study program at the University of Hamburg. The courses she takes there will complete her language requirements. "Right now," she says, "I'm planning to have German as a major part of my career. If I don't go into medicine, I'd like to get a job that will get me to Germany at least once a year. I love being there." "Europe is wonderful for students, especially those under 25. You can get lodging in youth hostels at reduced rates, get train passes at about half price, discount admissions to museums and galleries. I definitely recommend the program to anyone considering majoring in a language. It's the only way to really learn it inside out."

Although her trips abroad will set her back a year in her studies, Vas emphatically states that she never intended to restrict her college experience to four years anyway. She accepts the consequences of her overseas excursions, adapting to the knowledge that for sixteen months she will be far from her home in Valparaiso. "I guess I'm a little nervous about being away for so long," she says. "I'll miss two weddings while I'm gone — my brother's and my sister's — and I'm sad about it...but this is the best time for me."

Stacey Elise Torman