USD Magazine, 1993 Winter-Spring 1994

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hen Tom Burke joined USD in 1973, the fledgling student affairs division needed a leader. In Burke, it got that as well as a compassionate guide and "the nicest man in shoe leather," as one colleague described him. Not only has he steered student affairs through phenomenal growth - including the addition of four residence halls, an award-winning dining service and catering operation, a university student center and a Division I athletic program - but, with his faith and humor, Burke has shaped the very spirit of the division. Through it all, this vice president for student affairs and dean of students has never forgotten the reason his division exists: to serve the students. Burke lives by his ow1;1 credo that service is para– mount, and his door is always open to students. After all, he says, "Students don't come back to see buildings. They come back to see people." In our cover story, we celebrate Burke's 20 years as "Dean of Wildlife," and we look forward to many more. As the student affairs division has matured, so too has the academic side of the university. This year, USD reached a milestone: five endowed chairs - professorships fully funded by donations - are either operational or committed. "A Time– less Tradition" illustrates how these positions enrich life at USD for both faculty and students. Finally, in this issue, we remember the day - rather, the instant - our nation matured, when an assassin's fatal gunshots rang out in Dallas on Nov. 22, 1963. In "The End of Innocence," one man explores the impact of the John F. Kennedy assassination on himself, on our nation and on a generation that is unified by the question "Where were you when you heard that Kennedy had been shot?"

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A Timeless Tradition by Dianne Ludlam

USD MAGAZINE EDITOR Tris ha J . Ratledge CONTRIBUTING EDITORS Kate Callen Jacqueline Genovese Michael R. Haskins ART DIRECTOR Visual Asylum PHOTOGRAPHERS Jim Coit Ken Jacques COVER ILLUSTRATION Troy V iss

At a time when many are looking to the future for progress, USD has wisely reached into the past. A 700-year-old tradition of academia has taken root at Alcala Park, and the faculty and stu– dents are all the better for it.

The End al Innocence by Michael P. Soroka

Some say Oliver Stone's film, "JFK," reopened an old national wound. It is probably more accurate to say that this wound never fully healed. A USD professor of sociology examines why the assassina– tion of John F. Kennedy - and of a nation's innocence - remains acutely painful even 30 years later.

THE UNIVERSITY OF SAN DIEGO

PRESIDENT Author E. Hughes VICE PRESIDENT FDR UNIVERSITY RELATIONS

John G- McNamara DIRECTOR OF PUBLIC RELATIONS Jack Cannon DIRECTOR OF ALUMNI RELATIONS John Trifiletti ' 78

Dean al Wildlile by Jacqueline Genovese

He calls himself the Dean of Wildlife, but thanks to Tom Burke's unerring wisdom and guiding hand, student life at USD has been relatively tame for the past 20 years.

USD ilfagazi11e is published quarterly by the University of San Diego for its alumni, par– ents and friends. Editorial offices: USD Mag– azine, Publications Office, University of San Diego, 5998 Alcala Park, San Diego, CA 92110-2492. Third-class postage paid at San Diego, CA 92110. USD phone number: (619) 260-4600; emergency security: (619) 260-2222; disaster: (619) 260-4534. Postmaster: Send address changes to USD ilfagazine, Publications Office, 5998 Alcala Park, San Diego, CA 92110-2492.

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ALUMNI GALLERY

PARTING SHOT

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Hill's high school friends had typical teen-age concerns: clothes, dates and grades. . Hill, on the other hand, worried about getting dinner on the table for his 2- and 6-year-old nephews. "When my parents lost their house, we all had to separate, and I was the only one who could care for my nephews," he explains quietly. Instead of allowing that responsibility to overwhelm him, Hill approached the task with the same attitude he dis– plays today on the USD basketball court. "I told the boys that we were like a team, and that we could get by if we just worked together," he says. Knowing that his recruit had forfeited a high school social life to raise two children impressed Hank Egan, USD's men's basketball coach. Dis– covering that he writes poetry and dreams of one day becoming a doctor impressed Egan even more. "The minute I met Val, I knew he was different," Egan says. "He is one of the most driven, focused people I have ever known." Hill's drive can be traced to a childhood defined by great financial struggle and great spiritual strength. "Even as a five-year-old, I was very conscious of my parent's struggle to make it day to day," he explains. "But there was also a strength there, I'd say more spiritual than religious, that kept things going." Discovery of the written word also kept Hill going when times got tough. "As a child, I didn't know the words 'discrimination' or 'oppression,' but I knew the feelings that came along with them," he says. "When I started keeping a journal, that allowed me to express those feelings of frus– tration in a healthy way." Hill's journal-keeping led to an interest in the works of black authors such as Countee Cullen, Malcolm X and Alice Walker. "Reading their work helped me realize the power of words, and helped me understand that as a young black man, I could have a voice, too." That voice has come to Hill through poetry. This spring, a collection of his poetry, "The Last Applause," will be published by Third World

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APPLAUSE

Tbedame

To my AncedtoN, who are hidden from the pagu of bi.Jtory and are bei11g de11ied from the etJed of the you11g ge11eratwlld, I will help f u/fill your Ladt Grand Guture your la<1t Great effect and renw,,e the mu=led from my peoplu 11wuthd giving you the abilihJ to ditzg agauz a11dfinally liberating your dhackled dotdd - from the doiu of thid nation. It'd 11ot until your dOUU a<1cend

d Ull wbicb I a<1k to 11ouridb my garden bring warmth to my dki11 or reflect it.J beauty through a rainbow (011 rai11y dayd) held no mercy formy Ancutord, ad thetJ i11dividually died died to durvive - in the fie!dd of the great plantatiolld. Tbedame ocean which I rely 011 to di1zg to me and rid me

(temporarily)

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that thede great walld

life ofopprudwn - brought my Ancutord to theiN. will crumble but whe11 thetJ do

will that thi11 dound I hear be your applatue 1

-Val Hill

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Press. Hill has read his poetry in front of student groups at USD and youth groups in his hometown of Tucson, Ariz. "If I can help just one person gain an understanding of a black man's struggle, or if someone sees himself or herself in my writing, then I will feel as though I've accomplished something." The USD sophomore already has accomplished things in the classroom and on the basketball court. A pre-med major with the goal of becoming a pediatric neurosurgeon, Hill was named scholar– athlete of the year last year, and is looked to as a team leader. "Val is a very physical, emotional player," Egan explains. "His physical abilities, combined with his seriousness and focus, are a big asset on the court." Hill says he's grateful to have the opportunity to play the game he loves while earning a college education. "Basketball gives me the chance to accomplish other things in my life."

USO BOARD GAINS THREE NEW MEMBERS

Unismi

of trustees has welcomed three new members to its ranks - two prominent San Diego business leaders and the head of the Society of the Sacred Heart's United States province. Robert H. Baker, president of Bob Baker Enterprises Inc., began his leg– endary career in the automotive industry as a car salesman 40 years ago. Today, he owns a variety of automobile fran– chises in San Diego and Imperial coun– ties. He is a recipient of many awards, including the 1991 Distinguished Ser– vice Award from the New Car Dealers Association of San Diego County. Baker is a member of the board of directors of Catholic Charities, the Catholic Diocese Finance Council and the board of the Academy of Our Lady of Peace. He was recently knighted into the Holy Sepul– chre of Jerusalem. Sister Barbara Dawson, RSCJ, is the newly named provincial for the Society of the Sacred Heart in the United States. A member of the order since 1968, she is an educator and an attor– ney-advocate of human rights. A gradu– ate of the University of San Francisco School of Law, Sister Dawson served as the directing attorney for the Mental Health Advocacy Project in San Jose from 1980 to 1982, when she was named director of ministry for the Soci– ety of the Sacred Heart in the United States. In 1988, she became director of immigration programs for Catholic Charities in San Francisco. She left the faculty of Atma Jaya University in Jakarta, Indonesia, in August to assume her current position. John A. McMahon is executive vice president and managing principal of Johnson & Higgins of California, a privately owned international insurance broker. In 1974, he joined Pacific Mutual Life as a group insurance and pension representative. Shortly after, he was named manager of the General American Group Insurance office in San Diego. In 1984, five years after joining Johnson & Higgins, he was named senior vice president and manager in San Diego. In 1992, he was appointed exec– utive vice president and invited to become one of the 40 owners of J&H worldwide. He recently became manager of Johnson & Higgins in Los Angeles, the broker's largest branch in the world.

-Jacqueline Genovese

PRESIDENT HUGHES ADDRESSES THE FUTURE he University of San Diego faces enormous challenges in the coming years, President Author E. Hughes university will continue strengthening its future. Toward that end, a university

committee representing all academic units began in January 1993 to review the planning process, making recommen– dations on how to improve the process for the 1995-2005 plan. Hughes asked the audience to think seriously about the questions facing the university in the near future. "One thing we have to think about is size," he said. "How big an institution do we want to be at the end of 10 years? How much larger, the same size or smaller? We also need to know what kind of institution we want to be. Faculty, look at the issue of balance between teaching and research. Do we direct ourselves where we want to go on this issue?" Strategic plans will be made based on scenarios blending USD's identity and academic opportunities with the needs of society, Hughes said. "Obviously, we can't do all the scenarios," he noted. "We need to select those that best fit USD's mission statement and its pur– pose. Those will then be the institu– tion's objectives.'' He urged all faculty and staff mem– bers to stay involved in the planning process and to make the plan their own. If that happens, he commented, the future for USD looks especially bright. "I think we have been blessed at this institution," he said. "My only prayer is that we continue to be blessed."

told faculty and administrators in his annual fall convocation address. He noted that the university is preparing to overcome those challenges through a new phase of strategic long-range plan– ning. The current long-range plan con– cludes in 1995. Hughes outlined several internal and external factors that must be addressed by the 1995-2005 plan: -The university is adapting to lead– ership changes, some of which have occurred on the board of trustees and at the vice presidential level. Additionally, Hughes' retirement is planned for the summer of 1995, with longtime Acade– mic Vice President and Provost Sister Sally Furay, RSCJ, to follow a year later. -Dramatic demographic changes that are occurring in today's society must be accounted for in the planning process. -The depressed economy continues to affect USD's operations. -The public view of higher educa– tion is changing, particularly concerning funding. State and federal funding has shifted dramatically, with more of the burden falling on the student. Through the new long-range plan, Hughes noted, USD will be better pre– pared to manage these concerns and, by further defining its identity and direc– tion during the planning process, the

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GIL BROWN ACHIEVED TRUE SUCCESS tion of integrity and down-home kind– ness. A number of professional and civic organizations were close to his heart, including the American Red Cross, the San Bernardino-Riverside Industry Education Council, the American Association of University Professors, the San Felipe del Rio Cor– poration in Taos, N.M., St. Madeleine Sophie's Center for developmentally disabled adults in El Cajon, Calif., and the Philip Y. Hahn Foundation. Largely through the Philip Y. Hahn Foundation, Brown was instrumental in securing a substantial portion of the funding to establish USD's School of Nursing. He was a recipient of the B'nai B'rith's Leadership Award, the Ameri– can College Public Relations Associa– tion's Seasoned Sage Award and the Southern California Industry Educa– tion Council's Educator of the Year Award. To honor Brown's contribu– tion to USD, the Gilbert L. Brown Jr. Memorial Scholarship was established at the university in 1993. Brown is survived by his wife of 52 years, Marion, and his four children, Candace Brown Deaton, Jill Brown Becotte, Gilbert Douglass Brown and James Nicholas Brown. He had 10 grandchildren and one great-grandchild. "Gil gave so much to this university community," Hughes says. "He served with great distinction for 21 years. He will be missed."

I n 1972, shortly after he was named USD's vice president for university relations, Gilbert L. Brown Jr. asked his secretary to bring him the list of donors to the school. Minutes later, she returned with the names - on a sin– gle sheet of paper. At the time, Brown laughingly said he knew there was no place to go but up. In the ensuing years, first as vice president for university relations and later as spe– cial assistant to the president, Brown played an integral role in boosting that handful of donors to more than 3,500 by 1984. Under his leadership during that same period, contributions to USD grew from less than $100,000 to more than $6.2 million. But when Brown passed away this past July at age 75 after a long battle with cancer, USD lost much more than a successful fund-raiser. "Gil was proba– bly the best friend-raiser this university has had," says John McNamara, USD's present vice president for university relations. "He came on board at a time when the university desperately needed to be exposed to the community. Gil helped achieve that." One way Brown achieved that expo– sure was through the establishment of the Invisible University, a program of community outreach that Brown said was designed to "provide academic enlightenment and a chance for people to discuss intellectual problems together." The program is fueled by USD faculty members who volunteer their time and expertise by giving talks to various groups throughout the community. "We call it 'invisible' because there are no rules, no fees, no nothing," Brown once said. "Ideally, we want the program to serve the public by providing experts and interesting speakers on timely sub– jects. But, selfishly, I guess we just want the university to become better known." Brown's service to the Invisible Uni– versity was recognized at a luncheon and rose garden dedication near Sacred Heart Hall last spring.

Gil and Marion Brown

The dedication was attended by hun– dreds of university and community friends and, importantly to Brown, his wife, children and grandchildren. That day he noted, "True success is when you manage to balance your home life with your career. I hope I have done that." According to his son, also named Gil, Brown needn't have worried. "The person I admire most in the world is my dad. It's so nice to see what he means to all of these people," he said at the dedi– cation, gesturing toward the tables full of well-wishers. "I know USD has meant a lot to him over the years." A native of Pasadena, Brown received two degrees from the University of Red– lands before earning his Ph.D. at the University of Southern California. His career began in 1939 when he joined the University of Redlands as a public relations assistant. Over the next 33 years, Brown served the university as director of public relations, associate professor of journalism and vice president for development and public relations. In 1972, he joined the newly created University of San Diego as its first vice president for university relations. In 1979, he was named special assistant to USD President Author E. Hughes, a post he held until his death. USD and the University of Redlands weren't the only institutions that bene– fited from Brown's endearing combina-

MAGAZINE

A TIMELESS TRADITION

700-year-old tradition has taken root at the University of San Diego, and the faculty

by Dianne Ludlam

and students are all the better for it. This tradition of academia, which origi– nated in the Middle Ages to recognize and reward excellence in teaching, exists today at USD in the form of five endowed chairs - professorships fully funded by donations. A landmark achievement in the university's 44-year history, the five chairs are either opera– tional or committed. The operational chairs are: the DeForest Strunk Chair of Special Edu– cation, a rotating position in the School of Education; the Price Chair of Public Interest Law, held by Robert C. Fellmeth in the School of Law; and the Ernest W. Hahn Chair of Real Estate Finance in the School of Business Administration, occupied for the first time this semester by Mark J. Riedy. The remaining two chairs are not yet fully funded or operational - the Fletcher Jones Chair of Biology is expected to be fully funded by 1996, and the fifth chair, also in the College of Arts and Sciences, is to be funded by the estate of Churchill and Mary Knapp. and have continued to play an important role in institutions of higher learning. A fledgling University of Paris got its start in the 13th century with professors whose salaries were paid by the church. In 1338, moneys created through city taxes were awarded to Bologna (Italy) University teachers identified by stu– dents as outstanding. The first endowed professorship in England was funded in 1497 by Lady Margaret, mother of King Henry VII, and was first awarded in 1502 to a professor of divinity. During the 16th century, endowed positions became known as "chairs" in England. At the time, commoners sat on stools; kings and bishops in chairs. When a worthy teacher received the rank of professor, with a life income provided by the king or bishop, he also received a physical chair - a symbol of his status. The term continues to be used as a symbol of distinction. ndowed chairs were used in academic institutions throughout ancient Europe

At a time when many

are looking to the

future for progress ,

USD has wisely

reached into the past.

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person. So, it's a combination of educa– tion on-campus and public service off– campus." The chair has had an impact on the students, faculty and the education com– munity. "First of all, it brings expertise from other parts of the country," DeRoche says. "The students benefit from interaction with the chairholder. It also brings a major resource to the entire faculty. Any faculty member who wants to attend seminars with the chairholder or meet with this person individually - not just the special education faculty - it's all arranged. And the third benefit, it is a resource to the community because we want this person to represent us and talk to the educators in the community." Price Chair of Public Interest Law, funded by Sol and Helen Price. Chair– holder Robert C. Fellmeth is director of the Center for Public Interest Law and Children's Advocacy Institute in USD's School of Law. The center has an unequalled track record of drafting legis– lation, litigating test cases in agencies and before appellate courts, and engaging in public advocacy on behalf of unorga– nized and underrepresented publics. During the 1991-92 session of the Cali– fornia state legislature, for example, 12 laws originating with CAI models were enacted, ranging from required parenting classes to child support collection to child care regulation reform. "Everybody is organized horizontally into peer groups promoting their own interests," Fellmeth explains, citing sev– eral of the existing lobbyist groups and trade associations. "The Center for Pub– lic Interest Law was created in the hopes of influencing the rules of the game so that government serves the public inter– est. The Children's Advocacy Institute began in 1989 as a major focus for the center. Children, although a large part of the population and clearly in need, are without organization - children don't vote, they don't contribute to cam– paigns. Hence, they may well comprise the one group most underrepresented and most in need of public interest advocacy." From the center's inception in 1980 until the endowed chair was established 10 years later, the center was funded entirely by "soft money," meaning that USO contributed only to the overhead - the building space - and the rest was ne of the best examples of the impact an endowed chair can have on the community is the

With a tradition so rich and a pro– gram that seemingly benefits all, why wasn't a program of endowed chairs started 40 years ago at USO? First, con– sider that USO is still a relatively young institute of higher learning - the University of Notre Dame was 125 years old before it announced its first fully funded endowed professorship. However, the primary reason for the delay was to establish a development program sophisticated enough to recruit the millions of dollars it takes to fund an endowed chair. "It wasn't started 40 years ago sim– ply because the development program here wasn't mature enough to go after the kind of funding it takes," says Hughes. "It's a different approach. In some cases it's deferred giving, meaning we have people leave funds in their estate. We really weren't geared up to that in past years. But we are now and that's why a number of endowed chairs have evolved. "Any kind of endowment is a new concept to USO,'' Hughes adds. "We've only begun in the last 15 years in earnest to try to develop funding, and the last capital campaign was really our first effort to endow chairs." The Education for a New Age capital campaign, the university's largest com– prehensive campaign ever, officially closed Dec. 31, 1992, after exceeding its goal by $5.5 million. The $53 million result of this campaign has allowed the university to provide support programs for faculty and students, including securing the funding critical for endowed chairs. he DeForest Strunk Chair, now in its fourth year, is held on a rotating basis by a nationally recognized specialist in special education. The chair, the gift of an anonymous donor, was named after the dynamic first director of the special edu– cation program at USO. It was estab– lished as a way to bring top educators to campus either for a full year or a semes– ter at a time, says Edward DeRoche, dean of the School of Education. "The chairs teach a half load, they work with the faculty on research and scholarship, and they do community projects," DeRoche explains. "For example, we've always put on two or three public lectures. We always invite the special education supervisors in the education community in San Diego County to come in and meet with this

ut endowed chairs are not merely a success story of financial support for a schol–

ar; the concept is a foundation to build a program based on academic excellence. The positions are a means of attract– ing and retaining the best professors and, in some cases, they are a reward for confirmed excellence. The holder of an endowed chair will have exhibited high levels of achievement in his or her field and will be able to make significant con– tributions to the academic discipline. Faculty members of special caliber and recognition draw to the campus col– leagues of similar abilities and students with high promise. "Faculty development precedes curriculum development," explains Pat Drinan, dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. "Because of our commitment to teaching, investing in the faculty pays off for the students." Supporting an endowed chair is a way of providing direct budgetary support for the university, says USO President Author E. Hughes. While the core of an endowed fund remains in the bank, a portion of the interest is spent to fund the cost of a chair position. "The chairholder performs the functions of a university professor and is paid out of endowed funds, meaning we don't have to raise that amount of money every year to pay that person," Hughes explains. "The money is there; it's in the bank, so to speak. So from a finan– cial point of view, an endowed chair secures a position for the long run, in most cases in perpetuity." From an academic point of view, endowed chairs provide a university with a distinguished scholar, either on a permanent basis or on a rotating basis, to bring a flow of outside talent into the program. "For example, our chair in spe– cial education is formulated in such a way that it isn't with a permanent per– son," Hughes says. "On the other hand, in law we have a chair that is devoted to just one person. That person is probably one of the best people in the country in his area."

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funded by grants. Fellmeth spent 60 per– cent of his time trying to raise money for the center. If the grants ended, so too would the long list of accomplish– ments by students and faculty, including creating the only civil remedy for Cali– fornia's sunshine (open meeting) laws, writing in part the rules of 10 state reg– ulatory agencies, and developing a "sun– rise" law to guide (and limit) the creation of new agencies. "This chair provides a sense of per– manence and also a shows a commitment by the university to public interest law, which is very important to morale," Fellmeth says. "This allows us to recruit the very best and to plan long-range - because we are assured of a future."

He is teaching a new undergraduate course called "Financing Real Estate" and a revamped version on the graduate level called "Policy Issues in Real Estate Finance." Through these classes, Riedy wants to share practical knowledge in a lively atmosphere. "I think the students will learn more when having fun. I want to translate my last 22 years in the busi– ness world to what students need to know to get into the business world. I want them to be able to relate their work to life, to understand how finan– cial institutions work and how they lend money to real estate." He has definite ideas about the direc– tion the USD program in real estate finance should take, even though it's still in its embryonic stage. One of the long-term goals is the establishment of a center for the study of the San Diego economy, which would include northern Baja California and Tijuana. "If there's no real estate to be done in San Diego, head south and there's a lot to be done," Riedy says. "You've just got to learn how to get involved with real estate workings in Tijuana or northern Baja. If I can be the catalyst, then I'll be happy to do that." The Fletcher Jones Foundation over a period of several years. Once the chair is fully funded - probably by the fall of 1996 - the holder will be selected from outside the university in a nationwide search. The fifth chair will be funded by Churchill and Mary Knapp through an estate planning technique with the gift of their home, which will be bequeathed to the university after their passing. Proceeds from the sale of the house will be used to fund the chair in the College of Arts and Sciences. Drinan says the chair might be estab– lished as a visiting professorship or it might be used to pay the salaries of USD professors who need reassigned time from teaching to do research. This is particularly beneficial for professors who can't afford to live on the half-pay that full-year sabbaticals offer. Several other options for the Knapp Chair also will be considered during the next few years. he fourth chair will be estab– lished in developmental biolo– gy with funds contributed by

irector of Capital Programs Elizabeth Schiff says the first five chairs at the Uni–

versity of San Diego are good examples of the various ways to fund endowed positions. "As part of the 10-year, long-range planning process which led to the Education for a New Age capital cam– paign, we set our goal as trying to raise an endowed chair in each of our five academic units," Schiff says, pointing out that two have been established for the College of Arts and Sciences but one has not been established yet in the School of Nursing. The means were not always available for individual donations of $1 million to $2 million, so the campaign fund-raisers explored other avenues, including pool– ing several smaller resources to fund a single endowed chair, encouraging the funding through estate planning and submitting several different proposals to a possible source. With the tradition of endowed chairs established at Alcala Park, many new possibilities are opened. DeRoche fore– sees the rotating chair in special educa– tion eventually becoming a full-time position, and he would like to see a chair in leadership established in the School of Education. Fellmeth would like to devel– op a chair for the Children's Advocacy Institute. While the wish lists in each of the academic disciplines continue to grow, they all have one goal in common - improving the educational experience for both the faculty and the students.

n his first semester as holder of the Ernest W. Hahn Chair of Real Estate Finance, Mark

Riedy is working to make an impact as well. He brings a wealth of practical national experience to the university - his previous positions included president

and chief executive officer of the National Council of Community

Bankers, president and chief operating officer of the J.E. Robert Cos., one of the nation's largest real estate workout firms, and president, chief operating officer and a director of the Federal National Mortgage Association (Fannie Mae). The chair, which was officially dedi– cated Nov. 15, honors the late Ernest W. Hahn, the first lay chairman of USD's board of trustees and a national pioneer of commercial real estate devel– opment. A 23-member steering commit– tee headed by Daniel F. Mulvihill, chairman of the board and chief execu– tive officer of Pacific Southwest Mort– gage, raised the $ 1.5 million to create the endowment fund supporting the chair. Riedy will be developing for USD students an extensive range of courses, seminars and lecture series emphasizing the importance of real estate finance in the regional and national economies. His game plan is action-oriented and is intended to increase dramatically the extent of interaction among students, faculty and industry executives, both in the classroom and in the business community.

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Michael P . Soroka

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n that particular afternoon of my senior year in high school - Nov. 22, 1963 - I was fighting to stay awake in my "Problems of Democracy" class. It was a Losing struggle. Brother O'ReiHy was trying to make the federal government's system of checks and balances inter– esting, but my mind was occupied by more pressing thoughts: both the Long-dreaded Scholastic Aptitude Test and the Long-awaited Thanks– giving dance were coming up, and I was not prepared for either. Just before the dismissal beU rang to end this agony, our shaken principal came on the public address system to announce the news that changed everything. The president had been shot. One era had ended, another was about to begin. Looking back on that day from a distance of 30 years and 3,000 mites, I am stiH amazed at the intensity of my response to the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Normatly one to keep my emotions in check, I became unglued as events unfolded in DaUas and in Washington. "This can't reaUy be happening," I thought. "Kennedy hasn't reaUy been shot - weU, maybe he has, but he can't be dead. Maybe he's just wounded and they have him hidden away until he recovers and they catch whoever did this terrible thing." But it soon became painfuUy clear that the president's wounds were fatal. After recovering from the initial shock, my neighbors and I crammed into a beat-up car and headed from Philadelphia to Washington, D.C.,

where Kennedy's body Lay in state in the Capitol's rotunda. For eight hours, our tittle neighborhood con– tingent joined a half-miHion people in an eerily hushed march of mourn– ers filing slowly through the rotunda to pay their respects. The bitter, cold wind numbed our bodies much as the events already had numbed our minds. To this day, I'm not sure just why I made that trip, as I never was much of a Kennedy supporter. Cer– tainly, I was glad that a Catholic had at Last been elected president, but unlike many of my friends, I had not been swept away by the glitz and glamour of the Kennedy clan or by the myth of Camelot. Perhaps, on a subconscious Level, I joined that pilgrimage to bring about closure in a world that suddenly had gone chaotic. Closure was not to come, however _ not for me and not for many other members of my generation. The fiag– draped casket in the rotunda was closed. Who could teU whose body, if any, was in there? Perhaps there was something to the rumor that Kennedy, temporarily shattered by the would-be assassin's buUet, was in carefuUy guarded seclusion await– ing fuH recovery and a triumphant return to the White House. But John F. Kennedy never did recover, and neither, it seems, wiH our country.

(Continued on page 10)

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!Atter

lust seconds after the assassin fired, Jacqueline Kennedy reached out to the president (in the lead car) while bystanders were stiU unaware of the tragedy unfolding before their eyes.

three decades, the assassination of John F. Kennedy remains as contro– versial, painful and unresolved an issue as ever. Millions of pages of official transcripts and documents have been released, thousands of unofficial books and essays have been published and a multitude of documentaries and docu– dramas have been aired. For better or worse, the events of Nov. 22, 1963, have been institutionalized in this society, becoming an integral part of contempo– rary American culture. Computer imaging and other state-of– the-art reconstructive techniques notwithstanding, "Who killed JFK?" is, at this point, a question that cannot and will not be answered to many people's satisfaction. A half-million pages of gov– ernment-held documents were recently made available to the public, but chances are they will neither verify nor disprove any theories about the events. Those who originally accepted the Warren Commission's finding of a lone assassin will continue to do so. Those who origi– nally saw a conspiracy will find yet another manifestation of that conspiracy in action. People will continue to make of the evidence what they want or need to make of it. Why are so many people still analyz– ing and theorizing about JFK's death? What is it about John F. Kennedy that continues to make us search for an answer that probably will never surface? Why does the JFK assassination strike an emotional chord that is nearly as painful today as it was 30 years ago? For the most part, the continuing concern appears to be centered among members of the so-called baby boom generation, those of us now in our 30s to mid-40s. It would be a mistake to assert, however, that all baby boomers have such a driving need to know the final truth about the shooting in Dallas that it controls and directs their lives. Even so, for those of us with a sustained interest in the Kennedy assassination, the question "Who really did it?" is far more than just an academic puzzle to be solved and then forgotten. After all this time, it as much an emotional burden as an intellectual challenge. If one were to judge this sustained interest solely on the basis of contempo– rary political analyses of John F. Kennedy's presidency, it would seem that much of the attention is misguided. His presidency, which is legendary in the public's eye, is rated by many histo– rians and political scientists as "low– average," while the publicly unpopular Richard Nixon scores higher marks with

respect to knowledge and policy accom– plishments in both foreign and domestic affairs. Kennedy the man does not fare much better. Allegations of marital infidelities and other personal problems have surfaced

recently in the media. Why, then, do so many people continue to mythologize his life? 7. understand the lasting and haunting impact of the JFK assassination on an entire generation, one first must under– stand the spirit of the time. Popular cul– ture analyst Harold Schechter described the 1960s as a "magical" time, heavily infused with eastern-inspired mysticism (and, perhaps, some hefty doses of hallu– cinogens). If we include the naive ideals that characterized the time - but were often lacking a rational foundation - "magical" is probably as good a descrip– tion as any. The innocent hopes and beliefs of the generation passing through junior and senior high school helped create a John F. Kennedy who was larger than life, both then and now. And it is the residue of those beliefs that largely keeps Kennedy's death an open topic for so many of this now-aging generation. Growing up amid the apparently limit– less affluence and optimism of the post World War II era, the young adults of the 1960s were raised with what social biographer Landon Y. Jones has called "great expectations" about the world and their place in it. America was the greatest country in the history of the world, and they were the greatest (that is, the largest) generation in the history of America. Schechter argues that this self-definition of being blessed with a unique destiny was as much responsible as any other factor for the decade's "magical" quality.

Sprawled in front of televisions in the new suburbs that came to define life in the 1950s and 1960s, the baby boomers saw the world as theirs for the taking. The same televisions that became their electronic nannies played an enormous role in creating and maintaining their sense of a special destiny. More often than not, television shows offered slices of life as the generation wanted and. expected it to be, rather than life as it actually was. And it was no different when it came to television's portrayal of Kennedy, the man and the president. 7.e John F. Kennedy splashed across our television screens and the rest of the media was the embodiment of the all– American success story. He had been born into an Irish immigrant family whose father had risen to a position of wealth and power by virtue of hard work and fierce determination. Not content to rest upon his father's laurels, Kennedy prepared for a life of public service, first at Harvard and then in the turbulent waters of the South Pacific. His heroic exploits on the PT- 109 later were recounted in the film of the same name, with Hollywood star Cliff Robertson as the young JFK. As husband to a beautiful and cultured woman who was a success in her own right, and devoted father to two adorable children, Kennedy seemed to be all that an entire generation hoped and believed it could become.

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MAGAZINE

Afeer the requiem Mass at St. Matthew's Roman Catholic Cathedral, John F . Kennedy Jr. saluted the caisson bearing his father's casket. Standing beside him were his mother, Jacqueline, and his sister, Caroline.

As president, he would do for the country what the country had done for him. Long before Jimmy Carter pledged to bring a new vision to the drab and stale corridors of government, Kennedy appeared poised to do just that, to sweep away the old and bring in the new. In effect, he became a living icon, a flesh– and-blood representation of all that was good and promising about postwar America. Though not himself a bona fide member of the baby boom genera– tion, he and his family became symbols for what the members of that generation aspired to be. The fact that Kennedy's image may have been more a reflection of a public relations ideal than of reality in no way diminished its impact on a generation poised on the threshold of adulthood. For the most part, the calculated behind– the-scenes work of what we would now call the Kennedy "spin doctors" went unnoticed by all but a few people. As far as anyone knew, this was the real John F. Kennedy, a person we could admire and live our lives through until we had attained our own "great expectations." As a result of American television and radio networks, Kennedy's sudden and violent death on the streets of Dallas was one of the first assassinations to be witnessed almost live by millions of peo– ple around the world. The subsequent shooting of Kennedy's accused killer, Lee Harvey Oswald, was captured live on television, as were the preparations for and observances of Kennedy's funeral. For almost a week, viewers could tune in at any hour of the day or night and have the reality of Kennedy's death dri– ven deeper into their hearts and minds. Images of the riderless horse and the bravely saluting John-John would not and could not be forgotten quickly. In addition to relentlessly replaying the terrible moment that shattered our great expectations, television allowed the public to witness the surrounding events firsthand and conclude that there were inconsistencies in the official explana– tion of the assassination. It seemed most

Vietnam, Watergate and a host of other politically inspired atrocities. As we pass its 30th anniversary, it is not only JFK's death we are still trying to unravel, but the untimely and unfair demise of our own innocence as well. That effort is not likely to end until the passing of the last members of a genera– tion that can remember exactly where they were when they first heard that their president had been shot. As for the young man in Brother O'Reilly's "Problems of Democracy" class, two lessons were brought forward that day: one that concluded with the school's dismissal bell and one that has continued for 30 years. ~

of our leaders were incompetent, or there was more going on than was being told. Either way, facts didn't add up, and no amount of verbal dodging and weav– ing by government officials could make the explanation ring true. nedy's assassination was not only tl:ie end of a beloved president. On a much deeper level, the hopes and inno– cence of a large portion of America's young adult population died with the man that day. The president had been killed, and America would never be the same again. What had been an idealistic generation in the early 1960s became a much more hard-bitten and cynical lot as the decade progressed. A basic belief and trust in government officials was quickly replaced by a firm sense of gov– ernment duplicity and lies - a feeling verified time and again, it seemed, by

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M A G A z I N E I ::1..::1..

U S D

He calls himself the

Dean of Wildlife,

but thanks to Tom

Burke's unerring

wisdom and guiding

few years ago, Tom Burke got word that a fraternity on campus was planning an

hand, student life at

unsanctioned event at a hotel in Palm Springs. So USD's vice president for student affairs and dean of students defused the problem in his usual style: He "leaked" the news to students that he and his wife, Barbara, would be enjoying the weekend at that very same hotel. USO President Author E. Hughes throws back his head and laughs when he hears that story. "That sounds like Tom," he comments. "There is nobody who knows the mind of an 18- to 22-year-old better than Tom Burke." That knowledge is something Burke has earned during a 35-year career in student affairs. During that time, Burke, 57, has seen college campuses grapple with the civil rights movement, the sexual revolution, anti-war protests, cynicism, apathy, and drug and alcohol abuse. In short, there isn't much Burke hasn't seen or heard. That's why his continuing compassion for students and calm, optimistic outlook are viewed with wonder and enormous grati– tude by almost everyone connected with USO. "I couldn't do his job," Hughes admits, shaking his head. "It has to be tough when what you're dealing with constantly are the neg– atives - the mistakes students make or the complaints people have." Rudy Spano, USD's director of dining services, echoes Hughes' assessment and adds his own tongue-in-cheek view of what he sees as a nearly impossible job. "I think when universities were first started, whoever was in charge took all the areas that nobody else wanted, like dining services, the health center, housing, athletics and student discipline, and stuck them all in one area and called it 'Student Affairs,'" he laughs. "Really, if you look at it, Burke's division probably has all the worst headaches and nightmares."

USD has been

relatively tame for

the past 10 years.

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On a trip to Italy in 1993, Barbara and Tom Burke met Pope John Paul II.

ARMED WITH FAITH AND HUMOR So how does this bear of a man - who introduces himself to parents as the "Dean of Wildlife," and who this past June celebrated his 20-year anniversary at USO - stay sane in such a high-pressure, potentially high-burnout job? Burke's friends and colleagues offer two answers: his faith in God and his sense of humor. "Being Catholic isn't something Tom brings to the job. It's who he is," says Skip Walsh, USD's director of residence life and assistant dean. "You just can't separate the two. His Christianity is reflected in the way he treats people and in every decision he makes." But Burke's spirituality is not preachy or theologically high– brow. "The message of the gospels is simple," he says. "Love God and love your neighbor. We humans tend to complicate things when we don't need to." Burke credits his parents with bringing him up "so Catholic" that he didn't have a choice in the values he'd end up with. "I grew up in Chicago where people - both Catholics and non– Catholics - identified themselves by their local Catholic parish, not their cities or towns," he explains. "My first role model in life was Father Jim O'Donnell, a young priest in our parish who took me under his wing." It was Father O'Donnell, says Burke, who introduced him to the concept of "dry wit." Today, Burke's legendary wit keeps lots of people on their toes, including contestants on a nation– ally syndicated television show. "You know he's got a great sense of humor if he was on 'Family Feud!'" laughs USO Aca– demic Vice President and Provost Sister Sally Furay, RSC). "We were so happy for them when they won." (The Burkes used their winnings to fulfill a lifelong dream of a family trip to Ireland.) NO SUCH THINGS AS PROBLEMS But Burke's attributes can't be summed up with one or two anecdotes. His faith and his humor have shaped the very spirit of the non-academic side of the university. When Burke arrived at USO in 1973, after serving as dean of students and vice president of student affairs at Creighton Uni– versity and as assistant dean at Marquette, the student affairs division consisted of three staff members, two residence halls, a fledgling recreation and athletics program and, by all accounts, "horrible" cafeteria food provided by an outside vendor.

Sister Furay notes that when Burke arrived, he had just spent a well-compensated year working for a private food-service business. "I asked him why he was leaving such a lucrative field to return to education," she remembers. "He said his job involved a lot of travel away from home and he didn't think that was any way to raise four little children. I knew then that his values were in line with what this university is about." Even so, the prospect of building a student affairs division practically from the ground up must have seemed daunting. "Well, Tom has this favorite little saying," Walsh says with a smile. "There are no such things as problems, only opportunities." The job at USO must have seemed chock-full of opportunities. "Just taking over food service alone was a huge task, and a risk," says Sister Furay. "Tom even told me, 'Food is something you can really get murdered on if it's not done right."' The athletic program was another challenge. "We wanted a Division I program, but we wanted to create that without com– promising academic integrity," explains Hughes. "That's no easy task, and I don't think many people realize that Tom is the chief reason we have been able to build a successful athlet– ic program that is in line with the academic integrity of the university. In this day and time, that's something to be proud of." From Burke's perspective, accepting the job at USO gave him a chance to get in on the ground floor of something exciting. "I liked the challenge of being involved with a developing univer– sity - one that didn't quite have an identity yet - and the prospect of taking part in the formation of that identity." If Burke wasn't daunted by the challenges facing him at USO, it was because he already had a track record for solving prob– lems and getting things done, says Father James O'Leary, S.J., a USO professor and Burke colleague. "I had heard about Tom Burke before I even came to USO,'' he explains. "I was at Marquette after Tom left, and all I ever heard from those Jesuits was, 'I wish Burke was here. He would know what to do. He'd know how to handle this.'" John Trifiletti, USD's director of alumni relations, says Burke's epitaph should be, "He built.''