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Here’s a cheer to the wonderful AG staff, who willingly accepted pastries in return for early mornings: Chief-Editor:
Olivia Close
Front Cover:
Cecilia Lang &Annie Johnson
Back Cover
Sarah Cosgray
Illustrations by:
Cecilia Lang
Advisers:
Patricia Bernardo, Nathan McCabe, Gracie Smart, Hannah Glick, and Jeff Fink
A special Thanks to Dean Sanford, who made these publications possible, and to Sybil Novinski, head of Archives, without whom the Avant Guard could not be the incredible work it is.
Avant Guard 2015
Outgribe 1972
Some Early Morning Ramblings From the Editor Of what he greatly thought, he nobly dared.” (The Odyssey, Book 2). The Avant Guard can now celebrate the beginning of its second year as a UD publication. Perhaps, this gives you a pause and makes you consider, “Aren’t you a bit young to be reminiscing?” Why yes. Yes, we are. Yet, the Avant-Guard has always (well… for this past year at least), found it a great pleasure to “embrace the experimental, the bizarre, the newness of the avantgarde, while still preserving, guarding, and laboring for the beautiful traditions of this university” (Vol. 1, Iss. 1). With that in mind, I do not think it is at all inappropriate that this first issue of our ‘sophomore’ publication is one which seeks to look back a bit at the history from which we came. The above quotation, from ‘our very own Homer’, I think could be used to demonstrate a special aspect of UD- it is a place of great vision and outlook, which daily dares to go against the norm. While UD students embrace innovation and imagination, we base it on a strong foundation, an education that has been building for millennia, from a school which has been flourishing for decades. It is in part because of the example of alumni that the students now are able to so grow. Past publications such as the Outgribe, Groundhogiad, and I.U.D. have helped guide our production here, and we hope to pay some small amount of tribute with a few reprintings, but also by showcasing the creativity and skills of the students now. With that in mind, we chose a cover that demonstrates a place where past and present meet. Our presidents of old and our current President Keefe gather in a very ‘UD-esque’ setting. In the background there are the signs of change with the destruction of Lynch. While the loss of this historical figure may be painful, there is always the knowledge that such changes cannot destroy what makes UD special. With that in mind, we offer you our ‘Avant Guard Pub’ and a brief look at UD’s own odyssey. -Olivia Close, editor
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A Note From the President of Student Foundations “In this place, where tradition is alive because it has meaning, the new will always be with us.” Donald Cowan adroitly summarized the essence of UD, which the Student Foundation seeks to impart to the new members of our school. Like a snail peeking out of its shell, UD realizes the living tradition engaged by the study of the humanities while not retreating to the buttress of exclusive ancient and medieval thought. The Avant-Guard captures this notion perfectly: according to Google, ‘Avant-Garde’ means “new and unusual or experimental ideas, especially in the arts, or the people introducing them.” Through creative artistic and literary mediums, the Avant-Guard humorously engages and represents the timeless ideas of the living tradition that UD seeks to channel through artistic forms. This year has been very exciting for SF, as there is an increasing interest among the student body, so that nearly every spot is filled. SF has also recently expanded its activities to include a Pasta and Pizza Cookoff as well as nursing home visits. The Avant-Guard has also embodied the traditional financial status of UD, many thanks to Olivia Close for her efforts to cut costs and fundraise to keep this journal alive. Soon a Rome edition will be coming out, and we would love to include stories from alumni to capture the spirit of the Rome semester through the ages. If you know a whopper, or any former student who does, please feel free to write it down and send it to avantguardpub@gmail.com. -Charlie Archer, President of Student Foundations
Oh, who shall understand but you; yea, who shall understand? Between us, by the peace of God, such truth can now be told; Yea, there is strength in striking root and good in growing old. We have found common things at last and marriage and a creed, And I may safely write it now, and you may safely read. -G.K. Chesterton
Presentation of the Avant Guard Seal: As if you didn’t already know the Avant Guard staff is full of fun- here we present to your our seal. Literally, our seal, in honor of our founder, Killian Beeler, who will always be a part of this production. Thanks for all your hard work! (P.S. There is no guarantee accompanying this seal concerning Killian’s ability to balance a ball on his nose. You’ll have to ask him for yourself.)
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Table of Contents:
Poetry: 5. Tribute to Dr. Mauer, Joseph Malone Ode to Lynch, Zachary Foust 6. Images of Lynch 7. Fingertips, Grace Zischkau Eden, Tom Pierick 8. Early Bird, Megan Brennan
Five Course Meal, Riley Roberts 9. Jacob’s Well, R. Jacqueline 10. Mother Earth, Megan Brennan My parents reunite in airports, Riley Roberts 11.The Consistory of Cardinals, Joe Dougherty Good Friday, Michael Simmons 12. La Sagrada Familia, Jonathon Cunningham Last Night, Michael Simmons 13. I Never Dreamed of Magic Like This, Joe Dougherty I have resolved to tell, by absence, if I should share, Brendan Luke Essays & Such 14. Shut up and Eat up, Emma Pistov (Reprint) 15. If Your Friends Jumped Off a Cliff Would You? Tom Pierick 16. All in One Semester, Anonymous The Dungeon, Megan Kimbrell 17. UD Rules: 10 Years (Reprint) 18. A Memento vivere from an Odysseus to his friends still at Ithaca, Alex Taylor 19. An Evening with Mr. Adams, Eric Stevenson 22. Reflection on Pilgrimage, Mary Lindberg 23. Accompanying Images Artwork
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In Memoriam Tribute to Dr. Mauer Joseph Malone
Ode to Lynch Zachary Foust
illum qui multis suum amorem discipulis tum
The first to fall of our first six constructions,
et Graecaeque Latinae conferret nunc magistrum doctum teneamus tam ut amorem illum aliis impertiamus. aspergebat verbis discipulos asperis sic appellans vermes canes stultos. doctor Maurer carmen amans eheu te desiderabimus. haec misera accipe dicta fletu multum o filokale denique ave atque vale.
Lynch, the hall of lectures, plays, instructions, Nobly on the dusty Dallas hill
Where back in fifty-six it did fulfill In holy function mass first said for us, Who from that time to present day as thus Have heard and seen with apprehending mind No end to virtue, wisdom there enshrined In echoes’ voices famed, who have kindled hearts And molded minds to love the liberal arts, Has stood for sixty years itself in silence,
Letting fill the walls with excellence, In awe inspired, words of life and love. So now in beauty ending, Lynch above The ground let’s keep, though brick and mortar fall. Let’s praise the souls who birthed and reared this hall.
*A Note From the Editor* For those of you who are not able to understand the poem in Latin and wonder why we do not provide a translation, Dr. Mauer would probably hold that if you can’t read it, you don’t deserve to understand it!
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Lynch through the Ages: Opening day of the University of Dallas, Spetember 24, 1956. Lynch and Carpenter Hall– then the Science building– shown here.
Bishop Gorman celebrates opening Mass at Lynch auditorium
Photographic proof that Lynch has been an 8-am torture since the 60s
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POETRY “If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.� -Emily Dickinson Fingertips Grace Zischkau Reach, reach, reach up little ends. Now is the time, make amends. Crisscross betwixt each other And hold onto your lover. Soft, slow caress the other, Curl up caref'ly in wonder. Your crowns of ivory glint As does freshly polished flint. Your faces unique in print, None ever to look a hint. Hold fast, hold fast, dear sweet hands As we traverse foreign lands.
Eden Tom Pierick The tree stands tall Shielding me from the light. I gaze upon my new fruit And take a small bite. I bite it again and Then bring a friend. We linger until dawn And look up to find All the apples are gone.
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Early Bird Megan Brennan For now, on my porch, sitting silently secluded suffices,
Five Course Meal Riley Roberts Embrace me, dear, consume me. Then eat with me a spoon. Hold me like an ice cream cone Melting in the warmth of June.
the earth’s cool morning breath exhaling almost imperceptibly through my bones; day is not yet begun, but patiently waiting for the light of our sleeping sun to rise and set the world in motion. the only sounds quiet rustling of leaves and birds just awaking and sheer nothingness are numbed and muffled with the weakening darkness, all the more clear and distinct for their isolation. despite knowing action must soon follow, these moments sipping coffee from painted china and savoring the velvet smooth of yogurt and honey are simply and deeply peaceful, untouched by time
My nerves make delicious soup To slurp and sip at your ease, And when you finish with me Smiling, indulgent, and pleased, Dab the corners of your moth But save room for a special treat: For dessert you can scoop out my eyes And make them chocolate ice cream
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Jacob’s Well R. Jacqueline
You have left me with this land, Oh Israel, and I am in ruin! For seven years I have toiled on parched earth and infertile soil. Oh, love of mine! Where could you be that is taking you so long? Laban is gone, and our crops have yet to mature. My heart burns with longing Jacob! I feel as if it was on fire! My very soul resides in limbo. My body wanders aimlessly while tending the flock of my Shepherd. I suffer for you, Oh Israel. When will you come to me like Jesus in Samaria? When will you finally see the beauty and heart that is set a part for you? Will you wait another seven years to remove the stone Covering Christs’ waters? Will you weep tears of joy? Jacob, please stop wrestling with God’s angels and be brave. Until you come home, I will labor in your stead I will water our land with my mourning I will love the land and trust that God will grants me my hearts desires. Oh, Israel, When will you come home?
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Mother Earth Megan Brennan
My parents reunite in airports Riley Roberts
I. I lie down and press my face to her life-giving breast, grass crunching quietly as I go II. Eyes focus to: dried, crumbling dirt and ever-growing green and yellow stalks spotted with little clovers. III. A persistent ant climbs up and down, slowly making his way through the maze of Earth in search of food IV. Birds, meanwhile, fly and fill the air with their song and conversation, exploring a much different terrain. V. Wind blowing and the sun on my back, I run my fingers through the grass like the hair of my child VI. Words dismissed and forgotten lay by my head
she falls asleep in a bed too large, his is miles away. he works and sweats with her in mind, she passes the time each day. they wait and wait with weary hope and we, the kids, wait too. until we’re whole again and all this waiting is through. she sees him at the terminal he embraces her like a friend. no, they do not kiss at baggage claim like new lovers reunited once more they hold each other so tightly as if they’re magnets, drawn at the core
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The Consistory of Cardinals
Joe Dougherty Celebrating the creation of 17 new cardinals in Rome
Good Friday Michael Simmons Mortem autem crucis echoes sublime through the abbey, and the sun shines in, texturing
Beginning with a bird's-eye Rome (don't miss it:
the stone walls, revealing their timeworn worth, while, approaching Iudaeae Rex,
We have a NAC for this and hope you'll visit)
my old friends, recent acquaintances, new
We joined the feverish flock below us, those who
faces mostly—my very brothers!—all
Sought with us diagnosis for their bird flu.
saints or sinners—not I!—leaving their pew-
What could we offer, fledgling from the bubble,
s, seem entranced, transfixed, fixated: full fall-
How truly grounded, wings of faith a stubble?
ing deep in love—more than I!—with the careworn lamb upon the cross. Was I not sent
They seventeen, we hundreds, wondering whether
to love? I, unfeeling, removed, can bare-
They were for us or of some stiffer feather.
ly mouth "fiat," much less with real intent.
We hoped these few would shield us from the hostile
But overall the scene is pleasant; strong
With crimson wings; regurgitate the Gospel; To law with us in Summer's sureness singing, To Son with us in Winter's worries winging. The Cardinals knew why we'd come that day: "Please, pray for us," they begged—so let us pray
beauty trumps the one thing that doesn't belong .
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La Sagrada Familia Jonathon Cunningham
Last Night Michael Simmons
The grey columns provoke an austere tone, Yet, life through a spectrum of colors shown, The gold ceiling seems to shine the glory, Of the eternal heaven upon me, While light of creation flows to my eyes, Red, the blood of Christ's Pascal sacrifice, Green is for the life which Christ freely gives, Yellow dispels the darkness in which we live, Waters of life and mercy shine as blue, Colorless windows give a glimpse into, The complex nature of the trine God, With these ethereal thoughts I am awed,
I looked up at the sky last night and fig-
Almost like the whistle of autumn leaves, Or animals that murmur in the eve, The air vibrates with the hum of tourists, Surround the altar the Evangilists, The four pillars of the New Testament, Christ crucified the central 'stablishment, To both sides wind colossal staircases, Mimicking life's upward endurances,
The depiction of the Father glowing, A tripartide nature in one Being, From Him extend feathers luminescent, We take refuge under the Magnificent, As a marvel of man at it I lookst, For the celebration of the source and summit of our faith - Holy Eucharist.
ured it would look the same it always did, but much to my surprise, I saw, amid the smoke that rose from several cheerful cigarettes, a clear and beaming star, much bigger than the rest, that smiled like a kid, but whose smile pierced like a blade that bid
its victim's heart to rise, walk, and more, dig. I stood like that, discerning near from far, a glimpse of God's gaze from a foreign flame, until I felt the tug of the guitar, a playful call to famine or to fame.... Could anything but God be in that star, that it should so completely know my name?
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I Never Dreamed of Magic Like This Joe Dougherty -A tribute to the University of Dallas Class of 2016I’m quitting this closet! I’m grasping the knob; The lion rears forward, the donkey demurs. Last check in the mirror—we’re dressed. This our job Has our youth brought to freedom; no snow, we’re made pure. We came in as others, but go forth as one,
The world of our brothers and sisters to win. Come with me, all you who, not trusting our sun, At the start disbelieved, then at last transferred in. I came in here to hide, and my true self reveal; I came in with cold feet, yet I leave living warm; Are we young as we look or as old as we feel? Let love measure all in a hundred-year storm. Run free from this door when the penny is dropped; Good Aslan, let this wardrobe bubble be popped!
I have resolved to tell, by absence, if I should share Brendan Luke I see not the world in image and rhyme And I feel there is nothing to say. But the silence, I find, is a beautiful kind, And we sit in the night and we pray As we sit, side by side, there is not much to describe. And the night breeze Blows in the trees. They rustle their branches, and, swayed by the movement Of a force they cannot sense They move, and moved by invisible words That whisper to them, they wave. How cute! How quaint. But here the mystery stops, or rather my story of it.
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essays & such “It took me fifteen years to discover I had no talent for writing, but I couldn’t give it up because by that time I was too famous!” -Robert Benchley
SHUT UP & EAT UP By: Emma Pistov -A reprint from I.U.D. a student publication from 1970sThe punchline of countless jokes at UD seems to be the cafeteria food. The old standbys like “What the hell is it?,” “Is it dead?,” and “Green used (sic) to be my favorite color” can be heard intermittently among the more original humorists in the food line. These hilarious comments of incoming eaters gently mix with the contented and jocular humor of the outgoing students: “Anyone got any Extra-Strength Tylenol? I have an upset stomach.” I must admit that there have been times when I entered the cageteria with slobbering lust and left paying homage to the god Pepto-Bismol. I also admit that there is a certain amount of humor in mashed potatoes you have to cut with a knife; however, those days have been few and far between. What really makes me sick is not the food itself but all the people who complain about the food. UD surely does not boast any starving students—the school does not have an anorectic. In fact, if the food is so bad, then why does it look like hal (sic) the student body has gained ten pounds since the beginning of the year? Also, just about the only time a student uses a kitchen appliance in his dorm lounge is to remove a six-pack from the fridge. The food is not only adequate in the cafeteria, but eating has become the social highpoint of the day. It is too easy to criticize (take it from me), but if you must do it then back your opinions with action. For those of you who are unwilling to take the first step, I have solved your initiative problem. Below (here) is the “Cafeteria Critique Card.” Simply tear it out and place it on your tray after you have filled in the blanks. But before you cut down the food from habit, think of all those starving kids in Pittsburg and remember how lucky you are. Also, before you make another food joke while eating in the cafeteria, remember: It is not polite to talk with your mouth full.
15 If Your Friends Jumped Off a Cliff, Would You? Tom Pierick My limbs tensed as the wind whistled through the valley below. “Is this a bad idea?” I asked myself. The grassy fields seemed so welcoming to my feet, the trees sloping down the mountainside, as the clouds skipped across the green meadows. Lights from the city of Geneva shined brightly through cracks of night’s arrival. My view of the valley from the top of the mountain was simply--breathtaking. I surely don’t need to run off the mountain to enjoy my evening. There must be several different activities I can partake in that don’t require a nineteen page waiver. However, before I could head back to my friends and enjoy the rest of my evening, the Frenchman attached to my back yelled, “Run!” Instinctively, I picked up the web of safety harnesses that entangled my feet and dashed to the edge of the French Alps. As the cliff rapidly approached, I doubted the effectiveness of the green sail flapping violently behind me. My short and so far uneventful life was relying on a piece of Chinese fabric that I could easily rip with my own hands. Connected to my harness by only four thin cords, the actual safety of my “safety” equipment began to seem less and less reliable as I inched ever closer to the edge. Unable to watch myself run off a cliff, I closed my eyes. Even though I couldn’t see the edge approaching, the wind violently slapping my face was a rather alarming reminder of my rapidly impending demise. I understand that most people would simply stop running, sit down to watch the sunset, and call it a day. Unfortunately, most people did not have the pleasure of being strapped to the chest of massive Frenchman. If I stopped running, we wouldn’t run off the cliff. My French compadre would trip over my legs, causing us to tumble down the mountain. Call it a falsely inflated ego, but I didn’t really want people to say in my obituary, “Oh, poor Tom. He tripped and fell off a mountain.” I wanted them to say, “That guy Tom was awesome! He willingly ran off a mountain with a French guy attached to his back!” Needless to say, I kept running. For the next few seconds, my arms pumped sluggishly while my legs struggled to keep up. Every step felt like my last. Until, suddenly, my feet were no longer walking on the mountain but now stepped on the clouds. Dangling over hundreds of evergreen trees, my body slowly began to slip out of my harness. Death surely awaited me if I fell. Am I really destined to die attempting to paraglide in the French Alps? What would my friends say at my funeral? Who the hell convinced me to do this anyway? Questions came flooding into my mind, as gravity pulled on me with all its force. Clutching the safety straps with all of my strength, my lower body was no longer within the harness. Panic set in as I came to terms with my own mortality. “Sit! Sit! It is a seat” yelled my French guide over the wind’s roaring. It took a few moments for his words to fully register in my brain that was more that occupied with girl-like screams. A seat? That would have been good information to share with me before we were several thousand feet above the valley, but I held my tongue. My complaint would not be heard over the wind anyway. Pulling my legs back into the paragliding equipment, I leaned back into a comfortable position and looked up for the first time, seeing the clouds stretched over the setting sun. Time stopped as the French skyline entranced me with its glorious spectacle. The gold rays of the sun hid behind the mountain tops. When I rose above the mountainside, I watched the golden star come out of hiding for the few moments before dusk arrived to play with the night sky. It torched the horizon, leaving every cloud with vibrant orange rays bursting through its insides. In the pastures below, cows continued with their activities without realizing the show taking place in the kilometers above their pastures. We glided around the mountainside, spiraling downward before suddenly rising back to watch the sun’s final performance. The wind tickled my face, forcing me into a euphoric smile. I hear, “You ok?” but didn’t even respond. So encompassed in the sheer beauty of God’s creation, I lost all ability to speak. Instead, I burst into hysteric laughter. My friends below told me afterwards they still hear my laugh bouncing through the October night. I began the descent to the original launching point, still captivated by the sun’s countenance. The feeling of flight fleeting my body, I parted ways with my sunset. The sun slowly slipped back into its hiding place while my friends began to appear before me. I glided into the grassy meadow, still wearing my grin and laughing uncontrollably. My words were lost in clouds above the Alps, yet I didn’t mind. For the moment, I was perfectly content with lying in the warm grass that embraced me within its open arms, as I closed my eyes and returned to the sun still dancing in my mind.
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All in One Semester Ah, the rich scent of aged barley, the songs from different tables, the awesome pretzels, could it get any better? So there I stood among friends, enjoying my time, drinking my Dunkel, and, hold on, someone is tapping on my shoulder. I don’t recognize her, this is strange.“ Uhhhh, yes I am… and you are??” I didn’t know who she was, but she asked me to trust her.. Oh boy. I followed her through the maze of beer drinkers, waiters, and pretzel girls, and, wait, could it be? No. She had long brown hair, a nice smile, and eyes that I recognized. Oh my gosh, it was her! You see, I had been trying to meet up with this girl all semester. She was in Rome while I was in Greece; I was in Austria while she was in Prague; it was as if we were not supposed to meet until this moment. So we reunited, enjoyed one another’s company, yet more than these, reveled in the awe of seeing each other without planning it. “Well you must introduce me to your friends”, she exclaimed, “of course! right around this corner.” As we made our way to the group, the chorus of my friends with the Swiss drinking team grew stronger, and I grew more excited. Now, one must understand that after a few drinks—though with the upmost UD etiquette—you become ‘confident’ of yourself. So, what does one do after he finds someone in Europe he’d been looking for the whole semester as he’s present her to his friends… he kneels down. There was I, presenting her to my friends, on a knee. The Swiss men came and gathered around us, clapped for us—wait, hold on, what!—and congratulated us. Future Romers, be careful what you wish for—you just might get engaged. Prost!
The Dungeon Megan Kimbrell Countless hours spent working in one place can make you sick of it; it is a fact of human nature. A place once so formerly despised due to the grueling hours spent working in it is one anyone can relate to. Like working on a group project with partners who don’t seem to pull their weight, this room at UD looms with the menacing personality of an annoying classmate who you must encounter to get the job done, yet it will not leave. Frequented by the few, it is a required evil. This room confuses the many and is an enigma to all. In the special case of an education major it is the blessing and the curse to have all of our major classes in one room. Since a department this small only warrants that we take them in this one room, the room itself takes on a personality of its own. Deep in the bowels of Braniff a room, musty and dank, filled to the brim with books of all kinds, anticipates all who enter. Once the photography dark room with wall to wall dark wood panels, there is a lack of natural lighting due to want of windows (except the fake one, of course). There is also the superb juxtaposition of isolation while hearing the ongoing of all who pass through the Braniff stairs (yes, we hear all of you on your way to and from class). It has now been transformed into a seemingly normal classroom. This is why it is so lovingly referred to as The Dungeon. But there comes a day when, upon leaving the bubble, whether it be for winter break or student teaching, for those lucky few who get to embark on this adventure for a semester, this room is a reminder that the so-called Dungeon, though dark and dank, has an altered place in our hearts. No longer a pest to escape from, the Dungeon is but a warm cocoon that welcomes all back into its soft embraces. Working to improve yourself in the Dungeon is no longer a chore which must be managed but a wonderful gift when compared with the idea of attempting to educate the noisy miscreants who do not want, nor care, to be educated. Change of perspective is a wonderful remedy to make you cherish the gifts given to you, even if it is in the form of a dungeon.
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UD Rules: 10 years -A reprint from The Knight, Volume 1, Number 2, November 20, 1979-
So, Deb, you think the Housing rules are rough? Let’s take a look at various rules from the 1969 UD student Handbook: 1. a Possession or use of alcoholic beverages on the University property is prohibited. The penalty is automatic suspension from the University for the remainder of the term. b. Drinking by students is not permitted at any University sponsored function off the campus. C Any student reported in an intoxicated condition at any time or place makes him subject to suspension. 5. The university of Dallas students must be well dressed. Blue jeans, “T” shirts and similar attire are permitted only on the athletic fields, or whenever appropriate for the occasion, but never in the school buildings. Sunday Mass and hose, and hats. is essential in or other casual
dinner, gentlemen will wear coats and ties. Women will wear heels, Boys may wear Bermuda shorts in the cafeteria. Neatness and self pride campus dress. Women students may not wear Bermuda shorts, long pants, clothes in campus bldgs..
11. No student may engage a hotel or motel room within fifty miles of the University. Violation of this rule makes a student liable to dismissal. III D. Approved chaperones are required for all University sponsored overnight trips. IV C. Men in the vicinity of the Women’s Residence Halls after sign-in hours will be dismissed from the University. Women students who leave dormitories after sign-in hours and before 6:00 a.m. without permission to the Director of the Residence Hall incur automatic dismissal.
Almost anything then got you dismissal; now they put you on the Landscape Chain gang!
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A Memento vivere from an Odysseus to his friends still at Ithaca Alex Taylor “I think that if any good thing shall go forward, something must be adventured.” - St. Thomas More, A Dialogue Concerning Heresies I toyed with a few ways of starting to write this - I was going to rip off Robert Herrick, and title it “To the Seniors, to Make Much of Time,” but I decided against it, because first of all, I didn’t want to increase already rising pressure towards the Sacrament of Matrimony, and secondly because I wanted to say something to all of you wonderful people still on the beloved (sometimes) green of our alma mater. Some friends showed me some Irving hospitality a few weekends ago, and the time I spent in the Rat speaking with lovely people and admiring a truly awesome painting, as well as the many conversations I had in the Cap Bar, furnish me with some context for my thoughts here (as well as material for the beginning of a stream of consciousness novel watch out, James Joyce, I’m coming for you.) During our four years, we can often be a bit mouthy when it comes to talking about “the Bubble” - whether it’s laughing about our ignorance of obnoxious world events which matter little in reality to confused strangers, or in murmuring against our ignorance of lovely Dallas establishments which sell drink until a month before we lift our sails off for a new adventure. Having been one so newly set off, I have a simple thing to say: relish every day where you are now, because it is somewhere truly distinct. You are embarking on an education which is not a simple memorization of facts, accumulation of tests, or invention of paper topics, no matter how it may feel at times. Rather, you are learning anew how to sail amidst winds and waves, piloting the ship of your sail according to the virtues which are the good of our kind, and learning that the One whose say-so stills the storm steers when we sleep. While I think I can say with some honesty that I tried to truly understand our unique society while taking classes with those great masters who encouraged us to never be content with mediocrity, being away in another university setting for grad school sets my UD years in relief, and I can picture the recent past as if it were carved in stone alongside Assyrian kings and roaring lions. I cannot exaggerate the way that we as sons and daughters share a unique culture, a conversation with the ages of educated men and women who asked larger questions than how many drinks you had last night and how badly we lost in football. It is harder to find such a depth of community once you graduate, so truly cherish it now. G.K. Chesterton loved to point out how oftentimes the way we used phrases worked against their true meaning, once given a little thought - one important one is “taking things for granted.” When we say that one takes something for granted, we tend to mean that he disregards it or doesn’t pay it the attention it is due, but Chesterton points out that things which are granted need not be ours - to take them for granted means to receive them as gifts, for which the proper response is gratitude, an outpouring of thanksgiving to the Great Giver of Gifts. Remember (this is to the seniors, but more especially the juniors) to breathe, and while working hard, to really live in community. Your work right now is being a student, but being a student requires being a human person, which requires a number of goods, especially friendship. Learning to put down the books and go out with friends for a lovely stout or perhaps some prosecco is an art - and likely enough, you’ll end up talking about your work and will have glorious insights. Remember to live, and ask questions when you’re curious (this is to the freshmen and sophomores): you may be asking questions that have been asked before, but the process of learning is so tied to true knowledge of life that we need energetic folks running around stirring things up every now and again. Fight battles to make things better, but be courteous to your enemies and pray for them too - and when you can, do away with your enemies (by making them your friends). Laugh at your failures, knowing that you are but a child of the Most High who lovingly sustains us in existence even as we are in our errors and wayward ways, seeking to draw us and all things to Himself. Life will change in time, but you will live off the interest of your storehouse if you put your treasure and heart into loving truth and justice, investing where neither rust nor moth consumes.
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An Evening with Mr. Adams Eric Stevenson Once on a crisp winter evening, two men stood side by side on the back patio of a large Washington state house after dinner, catching a bit of fresh air before returning inside. An outsider looking in at the scene would have thought the two an odd pair and would never have guessed that they could be found together in the same place, for they came from opposite poles of the social world. The man on the right was an Englishman who had come to America after accepting a position at Harvard. He was a distinguished professor of science, specializing in math and physics. He was so distinguished in his field that there were few authorities greater than he. His discoveries were accepted as law by the scientific community, and if disproven, were only accepted as having been disproven if he disproved them himself. This unfortunate position had affected his character such that he began to see himself as a final authority in everything. His theorems became his creed, his laws became dogma. This had narrowed his vision to such an extent that he saw all the world as a huge mass of kinetic energy, hurtling through space at a terrifying speed towards God only knew what (that is, if God existed, and even then only if he were omnipotent). Such was the effect of his education. On the left stood his social opposite, a poor Irish-American from the working class, who had recently received an honorable discharge from the United States Army. The son of Irish immigrants, he couldn’t afford regular schooling, so he had received most of his education at home, learning arithmetic and logic from his father and rhetoric, music, and the classics from his mother. His education had served him well, especially in his military career, helping him to rise to the rank of 1st Lieutenant before completing his time of service. He was naturally Catholic, having been born and raised in the bosom of the Church. He both knew and prayed his Credo and Ave and had a fiery devotion to the Blessed Virgin and the Crucified Christ and the Blessed Sacrament. It was this devotion perhaps, which mixed with his Irish blood, had developed his greatest fault. For his theological debates often ended with a shillelagh match rather than a scholarly rejoinder. Yet that particular evening, neither man seemed to consider or even notice the differences between them. They were captivated by the sunset, a thing which they had seen a thousand times, yet had never really taken notice of till that moment. Some trick of the light, or perhaps the hand of an angel had touched the sun in such a way that four beams of light blazed out from the four compass points of the sun’s face, forming something much like the Cross of Constantine. Both men saw it, though it may be more proper to say that neither man saw it. For they saw the flaming sun with such different visions that, had they each described it to an artist, the two resulting paintings could never be mistaken as images of the same scene, even by an expert of post-modern art. The professor looked on the sunset with wonder and began to search through his vast knowledge of astronomy and physics for theorems or laws which might explain the celestial phenomenon. Finding none that would satisfy him, he began to formulate his own. “Perhaps,” he thought to himself, “it is a result of light reflecting off the dust particles in the atmosphere and we just happen to be at such a point that the light appears to take on that shape?” He continued to develop his theory, weighing the probabilities and making necessary calculations, allowing his gaze to drop to the ground, his mind wrapped in thought. The Irishman, however, could not think of any way to explain what he saw. Rather, he accepted the fiery cross as a grace and admired its beauty. As he gazed, the heat of the flames seemed to transfer from the sun to his soul and he saw in it the Celtic cross of his island nation. The sunset continued to move in his vision, and he thought for a moment that it resembled a great celestial Host, held up in silent benediction over the earth. The four rays shooting out from its center became like rays of benevolent grace, giving light and warmth to an otherwise cold and dreary world. The sun finally dipped below the horizon and the vision ended. The two men found themselves standing in the twilight, unsure of what they had seen. They simultaneously resolved to go back into the house and find their host, who had remained inside due to his health. They found him in the library, studying over a large tome of which he was particularly fond. As they entered the room, they were greeted with the site of his balding head, bent over the book to which he had given his full attention.
20 Their host, Mr. Adams, was a well-educated, well-traveled, and generally well-rounded old man. He was an accomplished scholar, much like the professor, having graduated from Harvard at the top of his class and studied in Europe for several years after, though he often liked to claim that his education had barely begun. He followed the discoveries of science and took particular interest in research on electricity as a means of power. Yet, like the Irishman, he also had a devotion to the Virgin, though he was not himself Catholic. Over the years, he had become increasingly attracted to her, mostly as a result of his time in Europe, visiting the great Cathedrals dedicated to her which still managed to draw mankind under their roofs, even after two thousand years of strife. It was this part of his character which caused some people to question whether or not he could truly be called an American, though by birth he was as American as the soil he lived on. To the outside observer, Mr. Adams appeared a peculiar synthesis of the two seemingly opposed forces who were his guests. And surely this was the case, for had it not been for the unifying part that he played that evening, it is highly doubtful whether the two would ever have acknowledged each other, much less dined together. Yet together they were, for better or worse, and in the presence of Mr. Adams neither man dared to show the other any less than common courtesy and respect. As they approached the desk, Mr. Adams looked up and rose to greet them with a genial smile. “Ah, Gentlemen,” he said, “I take it you are thoroughly refreshed. An amazing sight, wasn’t it?” “You mean the sunset?” replied the professor, “Yes. Indeed. It was quite a fascinating phenomenon.” “Aye, that it was, “said the Irishman, turning to face the large Bay window, out of which could be seen the last rosy traces of the sunset. “I never saw anything quite like it, an’ I may never again. For a moment, I wished I’d had a camera to preserve it, but I suppose it was one of those things that are best taken as a surprise and kept in the mind an’ the heart to be remembered by fireplaces at the end of long rainy days.” The professor shuffled his feet and cleared his throat in unconscious reply to the Irishman’s comment, then turned his attention back to their host. “Yes, well, if you don’t mind Mr. Adams, I would like to continue the conversation we were having at the end of dinner. I have had some time to think on it and I believe I have come to a satisfactory conclusion to our inquiry.” “Of course, Professor,” Mr. Adams replied, “I don’t believe any of us could sleep well tonight if we left the question where it stood. Please, both of you, draw up a chair.” Once his guests were comfortably seated, Mr. Adams lowered himself slowly into his own chair, then, placing his hands on the desk, he looked up at the two men with a kindly face, like that of a grandfather preparing to listen to a child’s story. “Now where were we?” he said, “I believe we were discussing man’s free will and his relationship with the rest of creation. You say you’ve come to a conclusion, Professor?” “Yes I have.” The professor replied, nodding his head proudly. “And it was that sunset that helped me to do it. You see, science has shown that everything in existence is made up of the same basic building blocks, and these are made up of atoms. Now, depending on how these atoms interact with one another, they form different elemental structures which can then combine with one another, creating the physical and biological processes which we observe on a daily basis. While we do not yet fully understand how or why they are moved, we can know that they do move and that their interaction with one another affects the physical world. Take that sunset for example. As I gazed at it atoms from the sun were coming into contact with those of my body, which were then compelled to react according to Newton’s laws. The innumerable number of reactions which took place added up to what I perceived as the sensation of warmth and even that of wonder. For the atoms of my mind would have reacted with the atoms of my body and, having been moved along a particular series of reactions, would have resulted in the many thoughts and feelings which I experienced, such as astonishment, curiosity, and even joy. In relation to free will, I deduce that these processes are the movers of our thought and that the atoms of humans are ordered in such a way that they give us a kind of self-locomotion, though only a perceived one.” Mr. Adams thought for a moment, then replied, “It seems to me, Professor, that according to your theory there is little more separating me from my chair than a number of atoms?” “Quite right!” the professor proclaimed, “And I believe it could be explained in this way. Everything is made of a particular number and arrangement of atoms. Therefore, in a way, each thing has its own specialized serial number. This is what distinguishes me from you or the chair or a dog or anything else. It is quite simply a question of mathematics.” It was at this point that the Irishman could take no more. He had listened quietly to the professor’s speech with increasing discontent, though he had made an effort to conceal his dislike for the professor’s logic. However, after hearing this final proclamation, he could no longer keep his temper in and finally cut loose.
21 “I’ve had enough of this nonsense!” he said, shooting out of his chair like a rocket. He turned to face the professor, “You would say that man is simply a more complex cluster of atoms than a dog or a rock, yet I’ve seen real men and I see them every day and I know they are more than numbers. Man has a free will, he must! I have seen the worst of him and the best. I watched soldiers fight with the brutality of animals. I saw two men, spitted on each other’s bayonets, each clawing at the other to the bitter death, both just hoping he could send the other to Hell first! But I’ve also seen men act with heroism that can only be found in men. One of my own Corporals used his body as a shield to protect a young boy who had been caught in a firefight one day. He took six bullets for that lad, three in the back and two in the legs, and don’t you tell me that a bunch of bouncing atoms told him to jump in front of a machine gun to save someone he didn’t know and probably never would know! Your man is composed solely of energy, mine is composed of body and soul, and it cannot be otherwise, no matter how much you deny it!” The professor was taken aback at this reaction to his discovery. He sat silently for a moment, then looked at his watch and stood up. “I’m afraid I haven’t the time to continue this discussion, gentlemen. I am giving a lecture tomorrow for which I still need to prepare. Mr. Adams, I thank you for your hospitality and hope to come again some time to finish our discussion.” With that he turned quickly on his heel and walked out of the room. Both the Irishman and Mr. Adams were surprised at the abrupt departure of the professor and felt that a great tension had released in the room. Mr. Adams turned to his remaining guest. “Please sit down, Lieutenant. Do not be too harsh towards him. He is a brilliant man, perhaps too brilliant. Sometimes such men have great difficulty accepting things which they cannot examine in a lab or test in the field.” The Irishman’s anger had entirely evaporated now, and he could not help but feel ashamed for his explosion. “I’m terribly sorry for the outburst, Mr. Adams. I don’t know much about atoms and such, but I just know that there’s more to man than that. Perhaps the professor is right and our actions are influenced somehow by those things; that still doesn’t explain man’s ability to choose.” “Yes, that is still an unanswered question. I have tried for a long time to find an answer to that. The closest I have come is with the Angelic Doctor.” Mr. Adams tapped a finger on the book in front of him. “It seems that we must have free will, but even Thomas Aquinas couldn’t quite explain how it could be so. Perhaps it’s like what you said about the sunset, that it’s best taken as a surprise and a mystery and kept for further contemplation in the hopes of shedding some light on greater truths?” “ Both men now turned their faces towards the window, out of which could be seen the stars of the evening sky and the moon beginning her nightly vigil. They remained silent for a while, until Mr. Adams finally spoke. “Have you ever been to Rome, Lieutenant?” He said, still facing the window. The soldier was slightly taken aback at the abrupt change in topic. “Well… no, sir. I have heard stories though, an’ I always thought it would be worth seeing one day. Why d’ye ask?” “Well, friend, I cannot help but think of my time there long ago. It comes back to me, vividly, almost every day now. I would very much like to go there again and visit St. Peters and sit on the steps of Ari Caeli, as I used to when I was younger. It was the only place where there actually seemed to be an answer to all my questions. It wasn’t a spoken answer though, or something written in any book. It was more of a presence. The very air in Rome is thick with tradition, and even something greater than tradition, and I should very much like to go back again to find out what it is. Would you care to join me?” The Irishman thought for a moment, still looking out the window. He suddenly recalled a story which his grandfather used to tell of his visit to Rome before the wars. He said it was an enchanted place, and that if the Fair Folk had any cousins, they all lived in Rome. And he always ended his story describing a sunset, much like the one which they had seen that very evening. “Gladly, sir, I would be honored to accompany you on such an adventure.” They continued to gaze at the stars for some time, and Mr. Adams thought to himself that this trip could very well be his last. Perhaps this time when he visited St. Peter’s, he might just go in. Perhaps he would finally find that place where Science became Art, under the dome of the Great Basilica.
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Reflection on Pilgrimage By: Mary Lindberg As long as I have been a student at the University of Dallas my education has been incredibly wholesome and holistic. What I have learned in Theology classes has also applied to me emotionally and spiritually. One example would be the lesson about the Gelasian principle I learned recently in one of my classes. The takeaway from this principle is that our pope, as Vicar of Christ, speaks the words of Christ, in direct quotation as in the case of the principle, and words about Christ for us to integrate into our daily lives. This lesson helped me to reflect on two such wise sayings of recent popes during my pilgrimages in 2015 to see Pope Francis, both in Rome on the Feast of the Annunciation and in Washington D.C. for the canonization of our new missionary saint, Saint Junipero Serra. The first was commonly used by Pope St. John Paul II: “Be not afraid” (John 14:27). The second is Pope Francis’: “How can I become a little poorer in order to be more like Jesus, who was the poor Teacher?” I come from a solidly Catholic background; my catechism instruction was always very good. I wanted for nothing materially. However, I grew up wondering about the wide world around me, wondering, as we all do, why people are poor and why the saints could have such abounding courage. My soul yearned to know this Jesus, for whom the poor had such an affection and the saints were martyred. So I went on pilgrimage. Despite my reservations, financial and otherwise, I got up the courage to leave my home, my cozy niche of Catholicism as I experienced it in the pews of my home parish and on my campus. I went to Rome to see the pope and, recalling the words of Pope St. JPII to “be not afraid,” on the day we saw the pope I also remembered it being the Feast of the Annunciation. On that day I recalled the words of my namesake, Our Lady’s response to the Annunciation, her “fiat.” And this word, “fiat,” also reminds me of my UD education, of the time when I discussed in a Chesterton class the Catholic faith’s emphasis on the “gift-quality” of Creation. When I reflect on how we discussed that our “fiat,” our acceptance of all that God has given us and to which He has invited us, leads us to great joy, “the gigantic secret of the Christian,” a pilgrimage just makes sense. Mary’s “fiat” reminds me of her humility, a virtue on which Rome, as one type of pilgrimage, allowed me to meditate. A beautiful blessing, which came out of my Rome experience was my ability to continue to meditate on humility back at home. God blessed me with the opportunity of visiting the chair of the successor of Peter in Dallas’ cathedral. There was a Pope Francis quotation about the joy of being a Christian hanging in front of the church and not much later I received a card in the mail with the quotation about being like the humble, “poor Teacher” from Pope Francis. How wonderful it was to continue to learn from this pope even after leaving Rome! That humility that I had been reflecting on in Rome, and that joy, were both things the pope was reflecting on too. When I was blessed even further to be invited to travel to D.C. and then got tickets for the canonization Mass with Pope Francis at the last minute I prayerfully accepted the gift and thanked God. The experience of the canonization greatly affected my realizations about the Faith because I witnessed the pope’s joy, which is apparent to all who see him, and the new Saint’s humble missionary spirit united. And this unity inspires me because as often as I experience feelings of fear that I cannot do as God asks he pours His grace into me, reminding me that in my lowliness, a humble spirit will help me to realize the joy of serving His people. This assurance encourages me in an indescribable way as I attempt to make the next two years at UD really count in loving my neighbor and in preparing to serve Him in whatever capacity awaits me after graduation.
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Photos Accompanying “The Reflection”
To the left: A painting of Our Lady Below: Mary and her group outside the papal residence
Artwork “The beautification of the world is not a work of
nature, but a work of art, then it involves an artist.” -G.K. Chesterton
Untitled Painting, Annie Johnson
Tired Submission, Megan Brennan
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