USD Magazine, Winter 2000

,: ;MA G A Z I NE ~ ----'------

D ear Readers, If you're Like most ofus, you're not particularly fond ofchange. Change is confusing. Change throws offour comfy routines. Andfrankly, changing over to this - dare we say it? - mi/Lennium has really thrown us a curve. Not only did we have to survive this Y2K thing, it gives us fits each time we have to write the date on our checks. But some change is good. And we're hopingyou feel that way about the changes to USO Magazine. As you'LL find when you read this issue, not only have we changed our Look, but we're also changing our content in hopes of bringingyou more relevant news and information about the university and its alumni. You'LL find more photos, more stories and more features about the people and places that helped shape your Life while at USD. You also can find us on the Web, where you can read about your farmer classmates in the Alumni Ga/Lery sec– tion, or send us updates on major events in your Life. Our web address is Imp:// alumni.acusd.edu/usdmagazine. In an effort to better serve you, we'd also appreciate you dropping us a Line to Let us know what you think. Good or bad, we want to know. And we'd appreciate suggestions about issues that you'd Like to see addressed in the maga– zine, or a good tip on a graduate who is doing something amazing since Leaving Alcala Park. Above aLL, we wish you a joyfal new year fi/Led with the best changes Life can bring. Oh, and don't forget, when it comes time to write the check far the water bi/L, it's 2000, not 1999.

<.A Golden

USD alumni, faculty and friends did it up right for the university's 50th

anniversary celebration, a week– long series of events in November that culminated with fireworks, dancing and the presentation of a $2.4 million check from the alumni association. Homecoming weekend included sentimental

favorites such as the Founders Day Mass, tailgate party and decade-wide reunions, which drew more than 1,350 people combined. New events included a reunion of residence hall advisers, a Carribean cruise raffle (won by Lilia Alvarez '93) and a USD fine arts production highlighting plays performed during the past five decades. Above all, it was the perfect setting to recall good times and catch up with old friends.

Sincerely,

Susan Herold Editor, USO Magazine

Sendyour comments or suggestions to Sherold@acusd.edu; or drop a Line to Editor, USD Magazine, 5998 Alcala Park, San Diego, CA, 92110-2492.

WINTER 2000 volume 15 • no. 2 USD MAGAZINE features On Any Given Sunday by John Titchen 7 Monsignor Daniel Dillabough does

USD Alumni Magazine

EDITOR Susan Herold e-mail: Sherold@acusd.edu

CONTRIBUTING EDITORS Michael R. Haskins John Ticchen DESIGN & PRODUCTION Warner Design Associates, Inc. PHOTOGRAPHERS Pablo Mason Rodney Nakamoto Gary Payne '86 Marshall Williams ADVISORY BOARD Arian E. Collins '87 Laura Hale '92 Thomas Scharf '72 (M.A. '73) Prof. David Su!Jivan PRESIDENT Alice Bourke Hayes VICE PRESIDENT FOR UNIVERSITY RELATIONS John G. McNamara DIRECTOR OF ALUMNI USD Magazine is published quarrerly by the University of San Diego for ics alumni, parenrs and friends. Edirorial offices: USD Magazine, Publicarions Office, University ofSan Diego, 5998 Alcala Park, San Diego, CA 92 110-2492. Third-class poscage paid arSan Diego, CA92110. USO phone num– ber (6 19) 260-4600; emergency securiry (6 19) 260-2222; disasrer (6 19) 260-4534. Posrmasrer: Send address changes ro USD Magazine, PublicarionsOffice, University of San Diego, 5998 Alcala Park, San Diego, CA 92110-2492. RELATIONS John Trifiletti 78 Univenity of San Diego

double duty as chaplain to the San Diego Chargers and vice president of mission and ministry.

Mending Broken Hearts by Susan Herold 8 Tbilisi's children get needed cardiac surgery thanks to alumna Cindy Basso Eaton's tenacity. Doctor Mom by Michael R. Haskins 9 A little giggling goes a long way in raking the fear our of Mary (Kovac) O'Connor's young patients. Split Decision by Susan Herold IO Judge H . Lee Sarok.in, USD's Distinguished Jurist in Residence, freed pro boxer Rubin "Hurricane" Carter, who spent 19 years in prison before jus– tice prevailed.

departments

Alcala Almanac 4 New college savings programs give

tax breaks .. . Society of Sacred Heart celebrates its bicentennial ... English Professor Dennis Clausen's new novel tells a personal tale ... Latest designs for the Joan B. Kroc Institute for Peace and Justice.

Going High Tech 12 by john Titchen

Alumni Gallery 21 Nearly four decades after first meeting at USO, two alumni find true love ... Laura Stuart '92 is on pace for the Olympics ... Melissa Levey '97 finds the pen mightier than rhe sword. Calendar 31 "Biblical Jubilee and Jubilee 2000" .. . All Faith Service ... 12th Annual School of Nursing Lectureship ... Authors Judith

Professors and students anxiously await USD's proposed Science and Technology Center, which will replace outdated facil- ities one professor describes as "from rhe Stone Age."

A Question of Honor 16 by Michael R. Haskins

As surveys show cheating is common– place at campuses throughout the nation, universities are responding by examining the fundamentals of academic integrity. Ar USD, some believe an honor code system, in which students are trusted nor to cheat and ro moniror their classmates, could revolutionize the academic and social culcure.

Viorsr and Jon Woodson ... USO Symphony Scholarship Concert.

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ALCALA ~ ALMAN AC

New College Savings Programs Give Parents a Tax Break

F ear you'll never save enough for your children's college education, especially in light of terrifying predictions of a doubling in education costs over the next 18 years? Well, Uncle Sam has made saving a lot less scary, thanks to a 1997 change in the tax code that allows parents, grandparents and even future students to create tax-deferred savings accounts for college educations. All but five states (Arkansas, Idaho, Nebraska, Oregon and South Dakota) have some version of the savings program, which generaliy allows anyone to set up a college savings acco unt for the beneficiary of their choice, or themselves. The maximum amount deposited each year varies by state, but the acco unt grows tax-deferred until withdrawn for college tuition, books, room or board. Earnings are then taxed at the child's rate, which is usually 15 percent - considerably lower than their parents' tax bracket. California's program, ScholarShare, began last October and is available to all California residents, regardless of income. Accounts can be opened for as little as $25, and parents

can save more than $ 100,000 for their child's education. If that child doesn't attend college, the money can be transferred to a sibling, relative or anyone who attends college-level courses, including continuing education, graduate and law school. "We certainly emphasize starting the account as early as possible to compound the growth of the investment," says Tom Pinto, media relations director for TIAA-CREF, the investment firm that oversees California's program and aims for returns higher than the 5 percent annual college tuition growth .

To find out about a program in your state, contact the College Savings Plan Network at (877) 277-6496 or check the Web site at http://www.collegesavings.org. California residents can call ScholarShare at (877) SAVE4EDU.

J,, PO b x or tr c e

Online, It's About Time

Admittedly, we got stuck in the slow lane of the information .M. highway, but now that it's 2000, we're flipping on the blinker and going for it. You now can check out USO Magazine on the Web, where you'll find the latest editions of the magazine (we're gradually adding past issues), updates on your former classmates and a quick conduit to send us news, comments or class notes information. The site also provides links to the alumni home page, which offers an array of services including free e-mail, message boards and postings of alumni activities. Point your browser to http://alumni.acusd.edu/usdmagazine to find us.

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USD M AGAZ I NE

ALCALA ALMANAC

Sacred Heart Celebrates 200th Anniversary A s USD wraps up its 50th anniversary -"" celebration, the order of nuns who helped fo und the university are celebrati ng a significant an niversary of their own.

The Society of the Sacred Heart, which has more than 5,000 members worldwide, marks its 200 th anniversary this year with an international celebration focusing on women and children, particularly those in poverty. In the San Diego area, the 40 members of the order will mark the bicentennial with a year of lectures, retreats and prayer groups designed to increase collaboration among nuns in Southern California. "There are sisters here who are child-advo– cacy lawyers, who work with immigrants and the disabled, and we felt we could use the anniversary to get to know what each of us do and collaborate on projects in the future," explains Sister Virginia Rodee, assistant to USD's vice president of mission and ministry. Highlighting the year will be a series of lectures by theologian Sister Barbara Bowe, who will speak in February on women and spirituality. For informatio n on this and other events, contact Sister Rodee at (619)260-7431.

The sisters of the Society of the Sacred Heart were a key component of USD's success, helping to found the university in 1949. They will celebrate the bicentennial of the founding of their religious order this year.

USD by the Numbers That was then ... Percentage of USD freshmen in 1974 who rated career planning and development as very important I · 46% or extreme y important: .......................... on political, social and cultural topics as very important or extremely important: ................................ 62% Percentage of USD freshmen in 1974 who rated attending formal or informal dances as very important or extremely important: ...... 49% Percentage of USD freshmen in 1974 who rated attending lectures

This is now... Percentage of USD freshmen in 1999 who rated career planning and development as very important or extremely important: ...... 58% Percentage of USD freshmen in 1999 who rated attending lectures on political, social and cultu ral topics as very important or extremely important: ................................ 14% Percentage of USD freshmen in 1999 who rated attending formal or informal dances as very important or extremely important: ...... 28%

Source: Office ofStudent Affairs annual freshman interest survey.

WI NTE R 2000

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ALCALA ~ ALMAN AC

In the Name of His Father English professor Dennis Clausen's latest novel tells a very personal tale

affected Clausen's life. During a book tour, he often was surrounded by elderly men with similar tales of being adopted for their value as farmhands. Clausen also was amazed by the number of people who cold him how his father's story made them appreciate their own loving, adoptive parents. Yer the most unexpected was the day he received an e-mail from a woman who wrote: "Guess what?We share the same grandfather." The woman is the granddaughter of the man who fathered Lloyd Clausen. Her family had known about the adoption and unsuccessfully tried to find rheir relatives. It wasn't until she read a review of Prairie Son that she found the missing piece of her family. "This summer my sisters and I had the opportuniry to meet them, and they were wonderful," says Clausen, who is considering writing a follow-up on his father's adult years. "I think my dad would have been happy we found them."

"He had been adopted at 6 months and brought onto a farm more as a worker than a son," Clausen says. "He talked about being neglected, about being held our of school every four of six weeks to work, about how he basically educated himself." Intrigued by his father's tales and his own interest as a writer, Clausen asked his father to write down his memories. After his farher's death from lung cancer, Clausen came across three legal tablets filled with his father's handwriting, stories penned in the final weeks before he died. For years, Clausen re-read the tablets, finally sitting down to rhe computer in 1994. He used a technique that is contro– versial in some circles, "creative nonfiction," in which he adopted his father's voice to tell the story. "Ir was almost like my farher was in my head," he says. "It felt so natural, so it only could be cold in his voice, with his words and with his timing." Met by positive reviews, especially in Minnesota, Prairie Son has profoundly

L ike most writers,

Dennis Clausen had

a story to cell. Ir was the tale of a lonely, abused boy growing up during the Great

- Susan Herold

Depression, a boy selected by his adoptive parents more for his value as a farm laborer than as a beloved son. If he published the story, Clausen knew he had to get it right. Too much was at stake. The boy, after all, was his father. "Writing rhis was one of the most difficult things I've ever done," says Clausen of Prairie Son, published last February by Mid-List Press and a nominee for the 1999 Los Angeles Times Book Prize. "Bur it also was one of the most fulfill– ing," adds the USD English professor, who joined the faculry in 1972. "I think if my father were alive today, he would have would have cold me I did the best I could." Clausen's father, Lloyd, died alone in 1980 in a tiny Houston, Texas, trailer after a life spent running from his childhood and relationships. Only 6 when his father lefr him, his four siblings and his mother in their native Minnesota, Clausen kept in touch with his father over the years through emotional phone calls in which his father cold tales about growing up in 1930s Alberta, Minn.

Joan B. Kroc Institute for Peace and Justice to Open June 200 I

The latest designs for the new Joan B. Kroc Institute for Peace and Justice feature Spanish Renaissance architec– ture in keeping with the University of San Diego's signa– ture style. Construction on the project is expected to begin in late April, with a scheduled opening in June 200 I. The research and teaching facility includes classrooms, interactive meeting and conference areas, and features meditation gardens and a reflecting wave pool.

USD M AGAZ I NE

6

Each

Sunday during the fall , Monsignor Daniel Dillabough suits up in a National Football League locker room and runs out onto rhe stadium turf, surrounded by men twice his size and half his age. He's not playing, though. He's praying. And not just for divine intervention on a San Diego Chargers' third and long, although if a wide receiver happens to come down with a Hail Mary pass, he doesn't mind raking his share of high fives . OnAny Given un By John Titchen

Diego diocese before heading USD's mission and ministry department. Monsignor Eagen died in 1997. "In a way, my job is co continue what was most important co him," says Monsignor Dillabough. "He spoke about listening to the voices of the community and challenging all of us co live more deeply and fully the mission of the university." The pasror ofThe Immaculata Church for six years before assuming the vice presi– dent's position, Monsignor Dillabough encourages all members of the USO com– munity co discover and share the university's mission - education in a Catholic tradition. He enjoys participating in freshman retreats and "search weekends," introduc– tions co Catholic higher education. "I remember my first weekend as a student," says the 1970 College ofArcs and Sciences graduate. "To be part of it all these years lacer as a priest brought back a lot of memories of what USO is about." He reaches a Christian marriage class, using it ro illustrate how faith and values are applied in daily life. "What I like about working in the classroom is char it connects me with the primary purpose of this institu– tion, which is co reach. " The monsignor's love of communication was rewarded with a nickname by his stu– dents- "Father Casey," after radio disc jockey Casey Kasem. "What I really enjoy most is listening," says Monsignor Dillabough, "whether it's here on campus or off. Sometimes, everyone needs co talk about something-even if it's just about football. " + WI N T E R 2000 7

"What I have found most fulfilling in my life has been my work as a priest," he says, "and the one-on-one work with people where I can help chem talk about mission, values and faith ." He does the same for Chargers players, whom he has counseled the past nine sea– sons. The ream began the practice in 1961 by inviting the chancellor of the San Diego Diocese to breakfast on game days, in part to establish good relations in their new home city after moving from Los Angeles. Eventually, the visiting priest became the ream's chaplain. "Players and coaches gather in the morning before the game," says Chargers spokesman John Hinek, "and Monsignor Dillabough offers counseling and support for chose who wish co rake advantage of it. Ir's a tradition." The monsignor offers a pep talk of sorts before players rake the field, then roams the sidelines during the game. Some players have even sought him our on campus. "Ir's something I chink helps build and strengthen our community," says Monsignor Dillabough of his work with the Chargers. "Ir's my role ro foster and talk with people about USO and our mission, and I chink it can only help co talk with as many people as possible." He rook over the Chargers assignment from his close friend, Monsignor I. Brent Eagen, who served as chancellor of the San

"Ir's a lot of fun when they're winning," says Monsignor Dillabough slyly, "because then I can kind of rake some of the credit. When they're not doing so hot, well, I try to keep in the background." USD's vice president for mission and ministry since 1998, Monsignor Dillabough doubles as rhe chaplain for Chargers, hold– ing informal morning Mass on game days, talking with players who share the Catholic faith and generally giving the ream support. On campus, he leads major events such as the All-Faith Service and the annual Alumni Mass, teaches religious education classes and directs the spiritual side of the students' education.

MENDING BROKEN HEARTS Tbilisi's children get needed cardiac surgery thanks to one alumna's tenacity wth each box she hoists inro the mas– sive shipping container that long ago rook over her front driveway, Cindy Basso Earon promises herself this will be the last time. The last time she'll use her family's garage

home computer. Yet since the organization opened in September 1996, Global Healing– trained docrors have performed more than 300 surgeries, the charity has renovated a pediatric cardiology ward to Western stan– dards, and it is creating the first safe blood bank in the city of 2.2 million people. For her dedication and tenacity, Basso Eaton in December received USD's Bishop Charles Francis Buddy Award, presented each year ro a graduate who personifies human and spiritual values of peace, justice and faith. "In addition ro orchestrating the medical team trips ro Georgia, Cindy is solely responsible for the financial well-being and fund raising of Global Healing," says Greg Weaver '92, who with his wife, Jessica (Dobson) Weaver '96, nominated his cousin for the award. "She is a role model for all USD students and faculty. " Basso Eaton's foray into philanthropy came innocently enough. After graduating with a degree in accounting, she took a job with accounting giant KMPG Pear Marwick in Paris, where she met her husband, Jeff. The couple moved in 1992 to Sc. Petersburg, Russia, at a rime when the regimented Soviet Union was dismantling and a chaotic new nation was emerging. There, Basso Eaton raised her first child, learned enough lan– guage to get by, and, after watching a 60 Minutes episode on the terrible condition of Russian hospitals, called up American pediatrician Jo Ann McGowan, who was then caring for Russian children through her charity, Heare to Heare. "She asked me if I'd put on a fund-raiser. I figured, 'why nor?' " Basso Eaton recalls. With a newborn and a limited grasp of Russian, she ended up staging an event featuring a baller and che Sr. Petersburg Symphony Orchestra. After Basso Eaton returned to the states, McGowan, with whom she had grown close, asked her to handle the financials for che struggling new charity, Global Healing. Ir had raised enough money and medical sup– plies to open its first pediatric cardiac ward in Tbilisi in September 1996. Basso Earon couldn't make the long trip for the opening, something she regrets to this day - her friend and mentor, McGowan, died of a stroke juse three weeks after che clinic opened. "We had no money, we were in debt and our figurehead was gone," says Basso Earon. "We could have folded. Someone had to step up to the plate." Even though she had yet to go to Tbilisi,

BY SUSAN HEROLD

as a makeshift storage unit for hundreds of pounds of donated med– ical equipment. The lase time she'll drive a forklift until long after dark, loading surgical gauze and X-ray equipment bound for a

Lasha, 11, had two heart surgeries at the Tbilisi clinic and remains close to Cindy Basso Eaton. Cindy Basso Eaton '89 (left) received the Bishop Buddy Award at December's Alumni Mass.

run-down hospital a continent away. The last rime she'll tell her three small children char mommy's too busy crying to help some dying children to read chem a bedtime story. 'Tm out there sweating, sore for days, and I say I'll never do it again," says Basso Earon, "but then I stop and chink about how chese people live. And chat's all it takes ro keep going." Through sheer determination, a little stubbornness and a lot of sweat, che 1989 graduate has kept going one of the more unusual and gutsy charities in the United Scates - G lobal Healing, a nonprofit dedi– cated to caring for children with heart defects in Tbilisi, Georgia, a struggling city in the former Soviet Union where electricity is available six hours a day and a month's pay is $20. The charity is unique in chat its goal is ro train and supply Georgian doctors to be self-

Eight-year-old Nika asked to have his photo taken after undergoing open-heart surgery.

sufficient in all types of pediatric heart sur– gery, rather than simply flying in An1erican surgeons to do the work. There are no paid employees. And it is run by a youthful board of directors - most in their 30s - without affiliation ro any religious or social groups. Its leader, Basso Earon, has no medical training. Her office is rhe telephone and her

8

USD M AGAZ I NE

DOCTOR MOM Award Winner Keeps Kids Smiling

she organized trips for American surgeons and worked through cusroms ro get supplies sent. She then set out ro raise money, attack– ing rhar with the same no-nonsense attitude. Dialing up mega-millionaire George Soros, she talked her way inro the tycoon's inner sanctum. "He gave us $51,000 for our first year, which was great, because our entire budget was $57,000," Basso Eaton says. The charity has continued to grow, open– ing a pediatric intensive care unit and an adult cardiac care ward. Basso Eaton makes biannual treks to Tbilisi, organizing rhe training trips for American surgeons, han– dling delicate negotiations with Georgian officials and curring through red tape to make sure medical supplies are delivered. Yer her passion is the people of rhe Caucus region. She says she is stunned when, despite their poverty, the Georgian people welcome American visitors into their tiny homes and offer them gifts of hard-to-find chocolate. She has developed a special relationship with Lasha, an 11-year-old boy who underwent two heart surgeries at the clinic and lives with his two siblings and parents in a one– room apartment without electricity. She and husband Jeff spent their own money to fly a Georgian gi rl to the United Stares for dou– ble-valve surgery because rhe procedure was roo complex for rhe Georgian docrors at the time. While Lasha's repaired heart will cake him into adulthood, there are still 900 children on the waiting list for surgery and only enough funds to pay for 120 operations a year. "I had one friend rel! me, 'Cindy, you can't save everybody,' " Basso Eaton says of her dedication to Global Healing. "That's all I needed to hear."

BY MICHAEL R. HASKINS

Mary O'Connor '83 says keeping her young patients laughing takes the fear out of a trip to the dentist's office. Enjoying her time in the dentist's chair is Lauren DiCenzo, 6, as brother Gabriel, 4, lends a hand. developmentally challenged adults. "Sometimes it's the parents who are hard to deal with, because they get so nervous." O'Connor has a way with adults, too. When she received the Mother Rosalie Hill Award at Homecoming last November - the honor is given annually to recognize commitment of service to USD - O'Connor was feted in large part for her longtime work with the alumni association, which she served as president and key architect of the association's long-range plan. As in her dental practice, O'Connor made the process as painless as possible. "Mary dedicated so much of her rime and engaged orhers in the year-long effort that yielded a clear set of goals for the alumni association," says alumni relations director John Trifiletti. "Her greatest gift is that she inspires so many others to volun– teer and give of themselves." Ir helps, too, that O'Connor has seem– ingly endless patience. She has no problem spending a half-hour on the phone with a concerned parent, explaining treatment options and procedures. Ir's also not uncommon for USD biology students interested in dentistry to drop by and spend the day observing her work. "I like raking care of people from USD, because I felt very taken care of when I went to school there," O 'Connor says. "Even now, as the university gets bigger, I feel very comfortable and welcome there."

Mary

(Kovac) O'Connor's kids just love going to rhe dentist. In fact, they go every day. OK, it helps that the dentist is their mom, and the daily trips to che office are made with their dad, John, so the family can lunch together. But still, the 3-year-old twins, Matthew and Patrick, and their 1-year-old sister, Emily, never complain when mom fixes their teeth. "They like the attention," says O'Connor, who graduated from USD in 1983, attend– ed dental school at Loyola University and spent two additional years earning a pedi– atric dentistry credential. "When they come in and they're mom's patient, chat appeals to them." O 'Connor appeals to lots of kids, and vice-versa. Among the family pictures and USD memorabilia in her office is a framed drawing presented by a young patient. The picture of a little girl holding hands with O'Connor is captioned, "Thank you for fixing my tooth. Ir hasn't hurt since you fixed it. You're the best dentist in the whole world." Praise like that isn't easy to come by, but O 'Connor's quick laugh and com– fortable manner with children make her office a kid-friendly place. "Ir's funny, because the kids aren't usually very afraid, and as long as you keep them distracted and laughing they don't feel what you're doing," says O 'Connor, who treats kids from birth to lace teens, as well as

If you would like more information on Global Healing, call (925) 327-7889 or visit www.globalhealing.org.

Cindy Basso Eaton's next challenge: transform this space into a modern bloodbank.

9

WI NTE R 2000

II

II

By Susan Herold

'Tm thrilled with the film in the sense that it shows what a remarkable person Rubin Carter is," says Sarokin, who spends part of che week in a spartan third-floor law school office, quite a stretch from the years he spent as a district court judge in New Jersey, and lacer as judge for the U.S. Third Circuit. "But the film also shows the best and worst of the judicial system. Ir's a won– derful thing for law students to see."

n the same date each November, Judge H . Lee Sarokin's phone rings. On the line is a voice familiar as an old, comfortable shirt. The words the same as those uttered each of the past 14 years. "Thank you, judge, for giving me my life back."

The caller is Rubin "Hurricane" Carter, a one-rime top contender for the middleweight boxing crown who spent 19 years in prison for three murders he didn't commit. After two trials and even more failed appeals, it was Sarokin, at the time a U.S. District Court judge, who saw the truth. Against the objection of state prosecutors and some of his col– leagues, Sarokin signed the rarely used writ of habeas corpus - which allows federal judges to overturn scare convictions - to set Carter free. "Ir's been 14 years since Judge Sarokin penned his big, bold signature on my writ of habeas corpus," says Carter, whose life is portrayed by actor Denzel Washington in the recent release "The Hurricane," touted as a top Oscar contender. "I can still scarcely believe it." Now retired from the bench, Sarokin is chis year's USD Distinguished Jurist in Residence for the School of Law, where he guest lectures and meets with students and faculty. He convinced director Norman Jewison to allow him to screen the film in December for law students and faculty, and asked Career to attend and speak of his experience.

Judge H. Lee Sarokin, who freed Rubin "Hurricane" Carter, will preside over an actual trial in the USD School of Law in February. The judge arranged for the affirmative action case to be heard on campus to give law stu– dents first-hand exposure to the trial process.

Judge Sarokin and Rubin "Hurricane" Carter share a laugh after a screening of the new film based on Carter's life. Below: Carter displays the championship belt awarded him after his release from prison.

Career's story is enough to make the stoutest lawyer shudder. Ar rhe peak of his boxing career in 1966, he was charged with the shootings of four patrons (three of whom died) in a Paterson, N .J., bar, the strongest evidence being the testimony of a convicted felon who was standing lookout on a nearby burglary. The witness fingered Carter in exchange for leniency, changing his story repeatedly throughout the course of the trials. Carter, meanwhile, was nor identified as the gunman by any of the surviving witnesses, passed a lie detector rest, and testified before a grand jury, which refused to indict him. The prosecution's theory on why a famous professional boxer making $100,000 a year would walk into a bar and murder its patrons was racially based: Carter was black, the victims white. In 1966, during the height of the civil rights movement, it was enough for a jury to convict. "They had to prove a motive, and a black person had been killed earlier by a white man in a fight over money," says Sarokin, who rook issue with the racial motivation in his opinion freeing Carter. "And here was Rubin Carter, the most recognized per– son in Paterson, N.J., and you had to ask rhe question , 'why wo uld someone who everyone knew and recognized shoot four total strangers?' " When the case landed on Sarokin's docker, he was only vaguely aware of its notoriety. Several books had been written, including one by Carter while in prison. Singer Bob Dylan recorded "Hurricane" to bring atten– tion to the prosecution's wobbly case. Boxer Muhammad Ali called for his release, and various actors and celebrities lobbied for a new trial. Yer rhe notoriety always faded. And Carter's hopes faded along with them. Until a group of tenacious Canadians Jed by a teenager who read Career's book turned up new evidence that was presented to Sarokin. The judge spent three months poring over 10,000 pages of documents before rendering his decision. It was not met with enthusiasm from his colleagues.

Lyrics from Bob Dylan's "Hurricane" Four in the momin' and they haul Rubin in, Take him to the hospital and they bring him upstairs. The wounded man looks up through his one dyin' eye Says, "Wha'dyou bring him in here for'? He ain'tthe guy!"

"The decision haunted me a bit when I was nominated to the Court of Appeals," Sarokin says. "They dubbed me 'Let 'em Free Lee' because of Rubin's case." Sarokin is portrayed in the film by actor Rod Steiger, best known for his role as the southern sheriff in "In The Heat of the Nighr," also directed by Jewison. Bur Jewison was willing to try out Sarokin for the part, flying him to Hollywood to screen rest as himself. "I thought I had rhe part," Sarokin says, "but they picked Rod Steiger, and I can't complain. He's a bit more of a draw than me." Sarokin admits he was somewhat disap– pointed in his portrayal, which he thought came off as "arrogant, " counter to his career of culturing patience while on the bench. "And I never used a gavel once," he says of Steiger's poetic-license gavel-pounding near the end of the film. Sarokin occasionally speaks publicly throughout the country with Carter, who heads the Association for the Defense of the Wrongfully Convicted. The pair discuss the growing trend in capital murder cases to seek rhe death penalty at all costs, and the rel ucrance of the courrs to approve the writ of habeas corpus, which can overturn death sentences. "Congress and the Supreme Court have raised the bar for the writ of habeas co1pus so high, few can hurdle ic," Sarokin says. "If Rubin's case were appealed today, Rubin Career would still be in prison." Ir is a fact rhac is not Jose on Career, now 63. "These few words gave me back my life," Carter says of the writ Sarokin approved. "We forget chat human Jives are actually affected by the law. Lawyers and judges have the power to make a difference, they can save lives." +

Yes, here'sthe story of the Hurricane, The man the authorities came to blame For somelhin' that he never done. Put in aprison cell, but one time he could-a been The champion of the world. Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise While Rubin sits like Buddha in aten-foot cell An innocent man in aliving hell. That'sthe story of the Hurricane, But it won't be over till they clear his name And give him back the lime he'sdone. Put in aprison cell, but one time he could-a been The champion of the world.

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"We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us. " - Winston Churchill J ust minutes before his class presentation is due, chemistry student Robin Bareng frantically washes equipment, mixes solu– tions and measures his concoctions into vol– umetric flasks. With glass rubes tinkling in a wooden tray, pencil behind one ear and backpack askew, Bareng fidgets as he waits for traffic co clear on Hill Smee behind Copley Library. His classroom is across rhe street. The lab where he prepared the presentation is behind him in the basement of Camino Hall, one floor beneath Shiley Theatre and two floors under women's dormitories. "You gee used co it," says Bareng with a shrug. "Ir's a hassle because of all rhe rime chat's wasted breaking things down, cleaning up and then setting up again, bur what else are you going co do?" Bareng's science shuffle is nor unusual at USD. As the campus grew and the demand for science instruction expanded during the past five decades, faculty and students have

had co hotfoot it among three buildings co gee co classes and labs for the four science disciplines - chemistry, biology, physics and marine sciences. Lack of space and decentralization means labs muse be scheduled down co the minute. Experiments are prepped in one building and hand carried co another. And co make matters worse, cramped labs in the base– ments of Camino and Serra Halls, built in the 1950s, routinely suffer power outages, ofren with experiments in progress, and can't be wired for computers or Internet access. "We're kind of in the Scone Age," admits chemistry professor Tammy Dwyer. Bur the high-tech age is on the horizon with plans for a $45 million Science and Technology Center, which will bring all facets of the university's science programs together under one roof in a new 150,000- square-foor building. Each department will have its own central office, lab space, class– rooms and faculty offices. Plans also call for

By John Titchen

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The old chemistry labs in Camino Hall make for some cramped conditions to conduct exper– iments. Giving it their best try are students (from left to right) Matthew Harrison, Denise Dunn, Hailey Russell and Robin Bareng.

Professor Leigh Plesniak and student Kevin Campos find experimenting much easier in the Science Annex's sleek labs, which serve as the prototype for the planned Science Center.

those involved in the sciences make due with less time for their teaching and studies, pri– marily because of space issues. Facilities are so heavily used - the lab in Serra 106, for example, is occupied from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m. each weekday - that professors must coor– dinate their work weeks, sometimes months, in advance. Dwyer, for example, often prepares experi– ments for her chemistry class in a lab when it's not being used, and moves ro another classroom as students from the prior class are heading out the door. There are no storage facilities for chemicals, and ventilation usually means opening windows. Lack of space also presents pedagogical problems. USD's labs are so cramped, it's difficult for people to move around safely, and classroom discussions are makeshift affairs around a few chairs.

aquariums, an astronomy deck, an aviary and a greenhouse for the Spanish Renaissance– style building, to be located in the parking lot below Olin Hall. Construction could begin in as little as 24 months. "If we're going to go al1ead with the study of science, we must build this," says trustee Anita Figueredo, a physician who earned an honorary doctorate in 1985. Figueredo, who has four children and a daughter-in-law who graduated from USO, said the board was unanimous in its approval of the facility. "It will cement USD's outstanding reputation for graduating top undergraduate and gradu– ate science students. " Dissected Departments Despite antiquated facilities, USO has earned a reputation for producing highly competent, successful science graduates who

are recruited as heavily as graduates from renowned science institutions such as the University of California's San Diego and Irvine campuses. USO graduates land jobs with some of the leading high-tech companies in the world, including San Diego-based companies like Qualcomm and ISIS Pharmaceuticals. 'There are a couple of reasons why USO graduates are so successful," says Kenn Garrett '75, a chemist with pharmaceutical giant Dura. "Nowhere else are you going to get the personal attention from faculty that you do at USO. And that's partly due to the facilities. Professors and students just have to work so much harder. " Faculty and students routinely pitch in to solve problems posed by the aging facilities , creating future scientists who can think quickly and make due with less. Currently,

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Right: Students currently have to set up their exper– iments in one lab and hand carry them to another because facilities are so over-used.

stations like these where students can experiment on the latest equipment.

Single-Cell Organism The most important aspect of a new science center, professors say, is simply uniting the university's physically scattered biology, chemistry, marine sciences and physics departments. Communication and collabora– tion between science faculty that has relied on e-mail, memos and phone rag will become a face-co-face affair. "If you want to talk to someone about something you're working on, you have to get up and walk a couple of blocks," says Sister Patricia Shaffer, who retired last year after reaching chemistry for 40 years. "Thar doesn't seem like such a big deal, bur it is. Thar's valuable rime lost on something as simple as talking with a colleague." Beyond the unification of the departments, rhe center wi ll allow for classes in multiple science disciplines. Chemistry classes char are nor so lab-intensive and similar classes in marine science could be combined, making for a richer, diverse curriculum and prevent– ing overlap in related sciences.

"We've got one small compurer room here in Camino," says Dwyer, "and it's in use all the rime. Ir's a small room with no windows and one table, and it's where the students gather." The departments got partial relief in 1996, when a temporary Science Annex faci lity was erected behind Camino Hall. There, two general chemistry labs feature hooded work stations and the latest in equipment, including spectrometers and instruments for thermodynamics and chro– matography. Designed to be moved into the new building, they are the prototype of the lab/classroom of the future. The Science Annex boasts five other labs for environmen– tal, rock and wet lab study. "It's where we can do modern chemistry," says Dwyer. "When you walk into the labs down here in Camino, it just smells like chemistry. It gees all over you. Over there, you don't smell anything. Ir's how a lab should look."

"So many of the things we reach in biolo– gy classes are taught in other classes," says biology professor Sue Lowery. "Ir's natural and normal for those classes to be offered together in the same place." The new building also will improve the reputations of already highly regarded pro– grams. In their report to the board of trustees, faculty said the new building will allow them to "expand successful reaching programs, promote interdisciplinary research, reaching and learning, provide adequate space for current enrollment, achieve safety standards and enhance recruitment of faculty and students." "Ir will change the way we teach," Lowery says simply. Designs call for centrally located faculty offices with surrounding classrooms and labs. Large, auditorium-style lecture rooms will share lab prep spaces that are mere feet from the podium and front of class. Professors can prepare experiments when they need them, without the risk of moving flasks and beakers,

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Initial plans for the 150,000 square-foot building include not only classroom and lab facilities, but aquariums, an astronomy deck, aviary and greenhouse.

Old labs, which have no storage and poor ventilation, will be replaced by high-tech work stations with the latest safety features.

to cake a look at what we're crying to do here." Garrett, whose employer, San Diego-based Dura, has hired several USD graduates, says improved facilities will means students will be in even more demand. "When you consider some of the people who have come out of those programs, it's mind boggling," Garrett says. "Doctors, researchers, technicians. It shows you the quality of the faculty." +

and can invite students to the front of the room for a closer look. Then students can return to nearby work stations and conduct their own experiments under close supervision. They lacer will be able to discuss their work in forum areas on each floor. "We've seen the plans for the new building and I for one am jealous," says Bareng, a junior who will graduate before work begins on the new building. "That's how it should

be - a class with lots of space to work with experiments and talk about them. " Adds Lowery, "It will allow us to teach classes the way other universities do." But faculty know they're only halfway there. A fund-raising drive is getting under way and a lead gift is needed before university officials can finalize a construction timetable. "We have so many graduates working with very big companies," Sister Shaffer says. We're trying to get some of those larger companies

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UESTION

OF

ONOR By Michael R. Haskins

Cheating is rampant at campuses across the country, surveys say, and the Internet makes plagiarism almost effortless. Universities are responding by examining the fundamentals ofacademic integrity. At USD, some students and administrators believe an honor system, in which students are trusted not to cheat and to monitor their peers, could revolutionize the university's academic and social culture.

L ike most university students, Kenji Nishihara felt che temptation co cheat. Pressure was intense co make the cop grades chat would gee him into a good medical school, and N ishihara knew chat copying some phrases from che Internee on a term paper or cribbing some notes for an exam could garner him higher marks. He also knew the risk of geccing caught, much less punished, was minimal. Yee Nishihara never gave in co chat temptation. "I easily could have cheated and received beccer marks, but I had enough faith in myself not co do ic," says the '99 graduate, who says he understands why some students - particularly chose applying co graduate schools where grade point averages can make or break a career - feel the need co cue corners. Now applying co medical schools, Nishihara says his grade point average falls somewhat shore of chose cop medical schools wane. Bue he's satisfied with the knowledge chat he honescly came by every grade. "Whatever happens now, my personal integrity is intact. " Noc many students share Nishihara's attitude. Across the nation, cheating by university students is commonplace. More than 75 percent of students admit to some form of cheating, says the Center for Academic Integrity, a national clearinghouse for discus– sion of chese issues. Internet "paper mills"

offer free or low-cost research papers, down– loadable at the couch of a button. A recent US. News & World Report national poll found chat 90 percent of college students believe cheaters are never punished for their actions, and that 84 percent believe they need co cheat co get ahead. Ac USD, a values survey conducted in 1997 revealed that almost half the students questioned had seen cheating on tests "a few times or several times. " "In terms of academic integrity, USD is in many ways ahead of ocher schools, but we can't deny that problems exist," says sociology professor Anne Hendershott, who coordinated the USD survey. "We need co be pare of the national dialogue on cheating and see where we can improve the culture of academic integrity at our university." Some students and administrators believe USD can benefit from the introduction of an honor code, essentially a system that defines ethical academic conduct with the expectation chat students will monitor their peers, report violations and mete out penal– ties. At most honor code schools, students are crusted co cake exan1s without supervision, and the cruse engendered in the classroom extends to many other aspects of campus life. Although reported incidents of cheating and plagiarism at USD are relatively low - around 30 cases a year for undergraduates - some on campus believe that an honor code has benefits beyond coursework.

"The goal is to help students take fair advantage of their studies and do what is right. " - fa.son Apolinario,

Chair ofthe Associated Students Academic Integrity Committee

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Raising these issues is important to both the intellectual and social climate of a campus," says College of Am and Sciences Dean Pat Drinan. "Not only do you help prevent incidents of cheat– ing, but adhering to the principles of academic integrity also creates a sense of trust and community responsibility that permeates campus life." CHANGlNG THE CHEATING CULTURE Getting a discussion of academic integrity off the ground requires the dialogue begin with freshmen as soon as they set foot on campus. At freshman orientation, new students hear from their peers in Associated Students - USD's student government - about the principles of academic integrity and the higher standards they are expected to meet as college students. Faculty advisers have been asked to talk about the issue with their freshman students, and all students receive a pamphlet explaining the university's expectations on the subject. If a violation occurs, the current academic integrity policy for USO undergraduates works like this: When a faculty member suspects cheating or plagiarism, he or she submits the case to a hearing committee made up of faculty, administrators and one student. The hearing committee decides if it is justified and hands out penalties, which can include reduction in grade, additional work, suspension or expulsion. Faculty are expected to confront the student and determine if the offense was intentional before going to the committee. "The committee is important because it can document instances of multiple cheating offenses in different courses, which is much more serious," says Drinan. "But the overall philosophy is one of assistance and education, not just punishment. The goal is to help the student learn from what has happened, and ultimately to help them suc– ceed in college." Faculty and administrators who attended honor code schools are the biggest proponents of institut– ing an honor code at USO. Orinan, a graduate of the University ofVirginia, recalls not just being trusted to take exams unsupervised, but leaving books around campus without fear of theft and being trusted by local merchants to cash checks without showing identification. At other schools with honor codes, libraries are left open and unse– cured 24 hours a day, and students pile backpacks in buildings without concern for theft. "Obviously you can't create a utopia, especially when your campus is in an urban area," says Orinan. "But graduates of honor code schools look back with reverence at the virtue and habits of character they learned. Academic integrity in the classroom often translates to personal integrity outside the classroom."

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"The most common form of cheating is rests char are passed on and recycled from semester to semester in classes where the professor doesn't change the exams," says one USD senior. "It's an easy way out for people raking a subject outside their major, because they don't wane to spend rime on work they don't feel they need for their career." Ir's changing those views, not necessarily an honor code itself, char makes academic integrity a part of a university's culture. Many schools make the attempt without actually purring a code into place, which is not necessarily a sign of failure. "Plenty of schools don't institute honor codes bur still do a tremendous job of promoting academic integrity, and an honor code is no guarantee against cheating,"

shouldn't cheat and think there's nothing wrong about it. In the future, the pledge will fit into a larger discussion about academic integrity." McCabe says it's a good start. "Cheating is a problem chat develops early and is pervasive at the high school level," he says. "But when students arrive at college, they expect things ro be different. If they arrive on a campus where cheating is socially unacceptable, and they see very little cheating around chem, most will leave char cheating behind." Freshman quickly assess the character of the campus by watching older students, McCabe says. USD student leaders are attempting to educate upper classmen, encouraging chem to set the example. Associated Students representatives talk about academic integrity at career services functions and ocher educational events, and this spring a planned "ethics bowl" competition will allow students to respond to different ethical scenarios.

s B

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Any discussion of academic integrity and honor codes must be initiated by students, experts say. Since they will run the system and enforce the rules, they must rake the lead in creating the right attitude for an honor code. "You can't stop cheating through enforce– ment or punishment," says philosophy pro– fessor Larry Hinman, who studies academic integrity issues relating ro the Internet. "So the solution is to create an environment where students say, 'Why would I wane ro cheat at something I love?' " Implementing an honor code means changing the culture of a campus to one in which cheating is not acceptable, a process char can rake up to 10 years. Student atti– tudes about cheating are rough to change, and rationales for cheating are a dime a dozen. The stress of an overwhelming num– ber of assignments, poor rime management, personal problems and competition for good grades to impress graduate school admissions offices are cited by students as reasons to cheat. Students also blame their teachers, saying char plagiarism can be committed unintentionally by students who haven't been caught to properly acknowledge their sources, and that professors who don't update exams and syllabi make cheating easier.

says Rutgers University professor Don McCabe, founder of the Center for Academic Integrity, a consortium of more than 200 honor code schools based at Duke University. "The most important part is ro maintain a continuous dialogue about honor and integrity." THE ROAD TO A CODE USD students last year formed an Academic Integrity Committee to examine how cheating is handled at the university and to start che dialogue chat McCabe describes. The first steps have been tentative but con– crete. The Associated Students introduced a voluntary academic integrity pledge that professors can choose to include on exam booklets, and students may choose to sign. The pledge - which states "I have neither given nor received unauthorized assistance on chis exam" - received a mixed response. Some professors have used it on their exams, but many have not. "A number of faculty don't chink the pledge is necessary, or they don't see what effect it has, " says Jason Apolinario, Associated Students student government vice president for academics and chair of the academic integrity committee. "At chis point, it's more of a reminder chat people

"The overall philosophy is one ofassistance and education, not punishment. The goal is to help the student learn from what has happened, and ultimately to help them succeed in college. " -Pat Drinan, College of Arts and Sciences Dean

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