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Class of 2020: Good Luck on your Yellow Brick Road

sr catherine

Sr. Catherine McAuley statute on Rohde Family Plaza in uniform of 2020.

In 1982, the year I graduated from college with my bachelor’s degree, I didn’t have a job lined up. I had interviewed that spring with a small weekly newspaper in Minnesota, and although I was a finalist for the editor’s job there, I didn’t get it.

Which probably was a blessing. I was engaged to a nursing student from the same college (Marycrest College in Davenport, Iowa) that I was graduating from, and my future  and current wife, Audrey, was not impressed by the 16-bed country hospital in Nowhere, Minnesota. She wanted a bigger hospital to get more experience as she started her healthcare career.

But there was a deep national recession going on. Unemployment that year reached levels never seen since the Great Depression. This was before the farm crisis of the mid 1980s, but economic times in the Midwest were not good, and it did not feel like a great year to be launched into the cruel real world—engaged, unemployed, uncertain of my future.

For me, the scary picture turned around quickly. My wife had a job offer from the University of Missouri-Columbia Hospital, and I made an embarrassing attempt to talk myself into a job at the “Columbia Tribune,” where an editor looked down at me and told me he just hired from the giant journalism factory at the local state university.

But, 20 miles away was the small town of Boonville, Missouri, where the “Boonville Daily News” was looking for a sports editor. My part-time job during my senior year in college was as a sports correspondent for the “Quad City Times,” so I had plenty of clips about sports, an activity I had assiduously avoided my entire life. And I got that job, and Audrey started her career at the UMCH and later we both earned graduate degrees from that nearby university.


Looking up from Grotto towards Warde Hall this odd spring–but spring nonetheless.

Class of 2020: This year makes 1982 look mild and tame. The “greatest unemployment rate since the Great Depression” was over 10 percent, but nowhere near the unprecedented economic meltdown we’re experiencing now under COVID-19. There was a Republican president in office in 1982, a Hollywood star many people thought ill-suited for the job—but little did we know the scale of showbiz incompetence our political leadership could descend to during the pandemic of 2020.

In 1982, I at least got to attend my own college graduation on the grassy central campus of Marycrest. You’ll be watching yours from MMU via YouTube.

So, it is difficult to be graduating from college in 2020. But it’s still your day, your life is still ahead of you, and nobody knows the next twists and turns fate has in store for you.

The world is full of challenges, but it always was and always will be. This pandemic is a tragedy that is still unfolding, but it will unfold. It will get better. Of course, in the short term it could get worse before it gets better, but life isn’t only lived in the short term.

As a university professor, honestly, I am bored every year by the commencement ceremony where my part is to put on a ridiculous outfit and sit there as a set piece in a rather formal, repetitive ritual. To amuse myself, and because I think it is a bit of service to Mount Mercy, I shoot and post images of graduation events.

And this year, I miss it. I would give a lot to sit there and be bored during your graduation, just for the joy of gathering to celebrate you. There is a lot that I miss this weekend—the reception after the Honors Convocation when you often get to meet your brightest students’ families, the energy in the gym as new nurses-to-be get their pins, the morning Mass on the day of commencement when singing and flowers bring seniors and their families to joyous tears, seeing the creative ways students decorate their hats before the commencement ceremony, the hugs and goodbyes after commencement that you hope are only temporary.


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I miss it all. It saddens me that we can’t be together on this commencement day and this weekend.

But still you commence. The next phase of your life is unfolding.

I wish you the best. And I want you to remember that Dorothy didn’t know how she would get to the Emerald City when she put her first foot on the Yellow Brick Road. You’re deep in a virus-caused evil enchanted forest, and it’s hard to know when you will see the light of day again.

Yet, there will be light. I hope it’s not too far ahead. And I hope that like me, even if you feel inadequate on the day of your commencement, that this day leads to better future days. May it become the start of an educated life well lived.

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The Corona Diaries

via The Corona Diaries

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April 1, 2020 · 9:35 pm

What is Beauty?


Dr. Lawrence Feingold speaks in the Chapel of Mercy Feb. 18, 2020.

Is beauty subjective or objective? Does it reflect man’s reality or reach higher?

On Feb. 18, Dr. Lawrence Feingold, Associate Professor of Theology and Philosophy, Kenrick-Glennon Seminary, visited Mount Mercy to give the annual Aquinas Lecture sponsored by our religion and philosophy program. The speech was the first in the annual spring lecture series on faith and reason, this year centering on the “The Good Life.”

Feingold shared interesting ideas and his thought-provoking history. Growing up as an atheist, he converted to Catholicism while working as a sculptor in Italy, and went back to college to earn graduate and undergraduate degrees in theology.

He argued in his speech called “Beauty and the Good Life” that beauty is an objective ideal, not subjective. “Beauty is the seal of truth,” he said, quoting Pope Benedict.

Perceiving beauty in art, he said, is enhanced by experience and by education—it’s identified most clearly with the “well-formed mind’s eye.”

I am not educated in art, so my mind’s eye is probably not all that well formed. I liked Dr. Feingold’s talk, but I also found myself standing apart from it, a little. For one thing, his authorities on beauty were Catholic saints and popes—and what they mean by “beauty” probably has something to do with godliness. I think those are important voices to listen to, but I don’t know they are the only ones I want to hear on the topic of beauty.

And to me, “beautiful” and “good” can sometimes be confused, at least in human terms. That which is most pleasing to the eye is not always that which has the greatest depth of meaning. The old hag witch with the warty nose can sometimes have a purer heart than the most gorgeous super model.

Feingold wasn’t talking about strictly human physical beauty, or surface beauty, and I understand that. Yet, at one point he showed a painting by a teenage Picasso, who was portraying a scene with some Catholic religious themes. Later, as an atheist adult, Picasso’s art became less representational, and Feingold contrasted the teen Picasso’s work with a disturbing image painted in the 1930s by the adult Picasso.

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And that’s where I most resisted his thesis. The vibrant colors, the disturbing mix of parts, the many small figures in the adult work—to me, in some ways, the second paining was more creative, more interesting, had more to say and, yes, was to my ill-formed eye, more beautiful partly because I enjoy art that is provocative and well as evocative.

Which is not to say Dr. Feingold was wrong. After all, he’s studied the question in much more depth than I have and has an eye is much more formed. And when he said “beauty,” it was a shorthand for a whole intellectual structure, whereas I’m reacting more emotionally just to how I view the images. I concede that he has more expertise.

And, as a writer, much of what he said about beauty resonated. Writing is a creative endeavor, too, and makes more sense when it hangs together, when it has some sense of unity and is about something. A poet once noted that “poems should not mean, but be.” I disagree. Writing both is and means something, if it is worthwhile, and I think my point of view is more consistent with Dr. Feingold.

Yet, in my church, there is a relatively new crucifix over the altar, installed not long after a recent renovation. The figure of Christ in it is a bit abstract, almost faded into the background metal. At the time it was installed, it was a bit controversial, but I have always liked that particular crucifix. In being slightly abstract, in making the human figure suggested rather than literal, I feel like it invites me in and makes me think in a way that the more common representative figures seen in Catholic art don’t always do.

Abstract isn’t always bad. It can be beautiful. Anyway, having heard Dr. Feingold’s speech, I’m looking forward to the others in the spring series. I’ll still like a modern Picasso painting, but I appreciated the chance to hear an interesting rumination on what beauty is and what the Good Life means from a provocative thinker with a well-formed eye.

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Two Great Things to Say Thanks For

Thanksgiving 2019—I’m a day late with this post, but Thanksgiving Day was busy and long, in a good—playing with grandchildren, eating way too much dinosaur meat and pie—way.


Craziest wine contest, Thanksgiving day. Apple wine at the right won–it was crazy.

I have a lot to be thankful for this year, and I’m grateful to be writing this blog with no deadline—it’s OK to say thanks the day after Thanksgiving, I think. And this Thanksgiving, I can be full of gratitude for many things, but to me, two things that brighten my life stand out: Family and work.

He’s only 3, but he’s in a hurry to grow up and take on the world. At meals, he pauses regularly to stand by the table and indicate to us how tall he is growing. It wasn’t that long ago that he was the youngest grandson, but now in England he has a male cousin more than a year behind him, and in California, another cousin is on the verge of taking his first breath.

And I don’t value grandsons more than granddaughters—it’s proximity puts this young guy in front of my camera more often than his female and male cousins. So I’ll let his image stand in for the third generation:


Wiping his mouth after Thanksgiving morning hot chocolate break with his cousins.

Family—siblings, cousins, children, grandchildren—we can be a prickly bunch, we tease and tussles and disagree, but there is a deep well of love there, too. So thanks for family.

My job can make me weary at times. I’ve a mountain of projects to try to get done during this Thanksgiving “break” as the end of the semester is coming. But even as I’m buried in student worksheets and papers, there is also so much to be grateful for. I had the good luck, partly due to a timely nudge from my sister Cate, to land a faculty position at a small Catholic college some 18 years ago.

And it continues to be wonderful. Just in the past fortnight, I’ve been able to participate in some delightful events at Mount Mercy University:

I saw a nursing faculty member give an interesting presentation on the health implications of modern agriculture. Some 70 percent of antibiotic use in the U.S., she said, is for livestock. It was a sobering and eye-opening presentation.

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And then, on a recent Friday, several colleagues on the faculty reported on their summer research projects. One has written a book that is coming out in the spring. A math professor did things with numbers and charts that my youngest son would have to explain to me. A biology professor drilled into the mysteries revealed by chemical analysis of human teeth that are thousands of years old. One takeaway—apparently you can fly with a suitcase full of human jaws, even if you can’t take a decent sized bottle of shampoo.

Later, on that same Friday, my wife and I attended an Improv festival at Mount Mercy’s McAuley Theatre. MMU students, high school students and a visiting troupe from the University of Northern Iowa all reminded us of how energetic, bright and funny young people can be.

I’m glad to have been there, and thrilled that Karen, the staff member who leads the Improv group, is planning to bring the festival back next year.

So, I can be grateful for working at a place that keeps me in touch with young people and lets me labor to try to make some positive change in some of their lives. It’s a place that provides all kinds of mental diversions that help keep an old man curious and learning.

A loving wife, a large and active family, a job at a place with a mission I love …

Life is not perfect and has its share of heartaches and struggles, and mine is not perfect, either. But on the whole, it is darn good. All I can say is thanks.

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California Day 5: Walk on the Wild Side

Walking in Balboa Park.

Zoo day. If you have not visited Balboa Park and the San Diego Zoo, I do recommend both.

Memorial Day was cool and pleasant in sunny San Diego. We arrived at the zoo at opening time, and met our native guide, Katie, a grad school friend of Nalena’s. With her easygoing manner and infectious laugh, she was the perfect zoo guide.

There was a lot to see, monkeys and snakes were, for me, among the highlights. We also ate lunch at the zoo, and I was pretty impressed at the quality of zoo chow in San Diego.

After visiting the elephants, we rode a suspended cable car across the zoo. For a man with a fear of heights, it was a death-defying feat, and I am happy to report death was defied.

Our crew at zoo, image by Katie.

Once done at the zoo, we strolled a bit at Balboa Park and paused for drinks at a bar in the park.

After that, Katie dropped us off at Extraordinary Desserts, where we enjoyed some decadent afternoon refreshment. There is a location very close to where we were staying, but our guide had taken us to another over a mile away. No matter, after cake, we decided a walk was a good idea.

Another pleasant California day. Flying back to San Francisco today!

Extraordinary Desserts time!

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California Day 4: Four Acres of Flight Deck

On the bridge of The Midway.

History was the theme of Sunday…maybe even transportation history, since planes and trains feature prominently.

We spent much of the day touring The Midway, a giant aircraft carrier launched in 1945. It serves for half a century, and was reconfigured from a WWII flight deck to a modern angled one.

The hanger decks and flight decks were packed with historic aircraft, and I may add a gallery of those in a few days when I download my camera.

While I liked the aircraft, I think the tour of the carrier island, even if it meant standing in line for a while, was the highlight.

That took a good part of the day. Later, we visited the Old Town area. An odd and entertaining diversion there was an anachronistic “train museum,” set up with models in a faux imagined 1950s town. At a model drive-in movie theater, “The Blob” was showing.

Later, we ordered Chinese food delivered and played spades.

Another historic day on the West Coast.

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California Day 3: All the Shacks

Why “The Crack Shack?” Well, their logo is a chick peeking out of an egg’s crack, and it is a chicken restaurant.

As we Lyfted away from the San Diego airport, Nalena told the driver we were changing addresses.

We ended up at The Crack Shack for a hearty feast…fried chicken, slaw, fries smothered in stuff, biscuits. It was hearty and grand and all inspired…with the possible exception of the biscuits, which were fine but a bit dry and nothing special.

After that was a sightseeing hike. I had been lukewarm to visiting the Midway, an aircraft carrier turned museum…but then I saw it and now I’m on board with exploring it. That may happen Sunday.

We walked around Little Italy and later met one of Nalena’s friends at a brewery. Then we planned a lighter supper of fish tacos, but the internet lied and the place was closed. So we had feast two at an Irish restaurant.

Not sure I have lost weight this trip, despite the walking. But day one in San Diego seemed to portend a pleasant visit. If you are not a chicken.

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Bad Political Ideas

The Gazette recently ran an editorial that resonates with me. “Iowa Senate Should Drop Flawed Election Bill” ran the headline.

The Gazette is right. The bill that prompted the editorial is truly terrible. It would end any satellite voting at state universities, and also ask all college students to sign an affidavit attesting intention to live in Iowa in order to not be dropped from voting rolls.


Front page of March 14 MMU Times. I hope all Iowa college campus newspapers are full of outrage over this awful law.

The first idea is not just voter suppression, but doubly damaging since it is directly counter to the need to draw young people into political life. It’s not as if college age people are over voting.

And as for the second idea—say what? When I retire, they won’t ask me if I plan to stay in Iowa. And suppose I do plan to move—that does not justify taking away my vote.

I’m not often moved to contact my state lawmakers, but I’m planning to, on this issue. It seems some elected officials in Des Moines are on the attack against the very foundation of representative government. Shame on them.

Speaking of shame, the Iowa king of shame, Rep. Steve King, has been at it again, posting a weird meme that seems to promote civil war–and that identifies Iowa as being on the liberal side of that conflict. Well, at least the crazy Congressman of western Iowa and I can agree on one thing–I would like to see a more blue Iowa, too.

Seth Meyers does a good takedown of King’s terrible moment:


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Life in a State of Emergency

Are you OK? Is your door locked, your curtains drawn, your family and loved ones gathered in a safe place?

We’re under state of emergency. I’m a bit vague on exactly what the emergency is—apparently hordes of drug-dealing, violent, brown bad hombres are headed our way to human traffic us, fill us with drugs and force us to hablo español.


Ancient Roman defensive wall in France. No doubt it worked well, since the Empire still rules Europe. From Wikimedia Commons, user Yougo.

It’s been a slow-moving, rather quiet emergency. The response is going to be a bit slow, too. “Build the Wall” seems like something someone does between emergencies, not to assuage one.

Anyway, I checked, it would be a tight fit, but if the caravan of terrorists shows up in my hallway at work, I could squeeze myself under my desk.

To hide form a world where we blow $8 billion on a vanity fence to short guy (look it up, officially he’s 6-3, but not in the real world). All for a non-emergency. Make American Grumpy Again.

Well, maybe there is upside to Life in The Emergency. What could LiTE do for you? What’s the upside of the Alice-in-Wonderland world that the tangerine White King has established?

Here are some tips for surviving and emphasizing the upside of the emergency:

  • Stock up on salsa and avocadoes. With hordes of Central Americans overrunning our country, certain foods may become in short supply.
  • Employ your seduction lines. “Baby, I know you wanted to wait, but who knows if there will be a tomorrow? We need to enjoy life while we can before the caravan arrives.”
  • Watch where you step. With so many Republicans suddenly lacking their backbones, be careful you don’t mess up your shoes in a puddle of GOP Senator.
MAGA Lego man

Feb. 17–Late addition to post–wife was playing with grandson and created Lego MAGA construction worker with wall behind him. Can we just tell Trump the wall is done?

What suggestions do you have for coping with this national emergency? What are your survival tips? In what circumstances can you image, “hey, don’t you know there’s an emergency” being a useful phrase? Let me know. No hurry. For an emergency, it does seem to be a rather slow speed situation. But comment and add to the list of survival tips.

Happy Emergency Day to you. We’ll always remember this as the day we woke up and found out about this “emergency,” What’s next? “There is a shortage of supermodels and porn stars—EMERGENCY!”


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For 2019 I Can Still Change

I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions. Mainly, it’s because I resist the sort of corporate business management notion that meaningful changes require measurable outcomes—that goals have to be quantifiable to be “real.”

I think that’s a valuable notion for an organization. But I reject it as an individual. In my opinion, all of me is too complex, too bound up with other parts, too connected to past and biology and knowledge and experience to be reducible to such math.

I am more, and less, than the sum of my parts. For example, I could set a goal to lose 20 pounds in 2019 (or, maybe more appropriately, 19 pounds), and such a goal would make sense since I can easily afford to lose that weight and more.

But, to celebrate New Year’s Eve, I just washed down my emotions with a full-calorie beer. Is there any possibility that my habits and tastes will change so much in 2019 that the leaner Joe within will emerge? Yes, yes, I know that in a larger sense the answer is “yes.” But, to be brutally honest, the answer is, honestly, probably not.

And why should that number define me?

Isn’t it more important that I strive to be kind in 2019? To read more new books? To enjoy the latest Tessa Violet or Lake Street Dive video no matter what my students in the Times newsroom think? To be a better husband, grandfather, professor, person?

Maybe lean Joe would be mean Joe, and if there is one thing I hold self-evident, it’s that the last thing this sad planet needs is a other Angry White Male.

So, if you’re into measurable New Year’s resolutions, more power to you. I’m not. Still, whatever, works for you is fine with me.

As for me, I want to experience less irrational anger in 2019. (Rational anger is another story—some measure of anger is simply a sign that you’re aware of the state of the world.) I want to experience more love in 2019, and I think the Beatles where right—the love you take is equal to the love you make.

And Lake Street Dive has it right, too. Their video is interesting, because Rachael Price is changed by others as she sings about how “I Can Change.”

I feel the same way. I can change, whether I bother to quantify the change in some measurable way. Yet at the same time, I can caught in a web of external forces that ensure, in fact, I will change, and if I don’t recognize and direct my own change, that may not always be a good thing.

I’m 60. I don’t look forward to 2019 as a young person would—my life is not always full of all of those possibilities. I will never be a professional musician or rodeo clown. One of my daughters made me proud in 2018 by running her first marathon—a feat that arthritic knees rule out for me.

But I can change. I should not focus on the possibilities that biology, fate and age close off to me—there are too many roads that still remain open. And the world is on its own path, and while I’ll try to do what I can to contribute to the good, to reduce the level of bad—mostly, I’m responsible for Joe.

My main New Year’s resolution? Sort of the serenity prayer. To change what I can and not be brought down by the rest.

Happy New Year, reader. May you not dwell in the new year in the shadow of hate. I hope you and yours find positive change in 2019, and I hope you can take heart in that possibility. We can’t control everything. Yet, we can change.

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