The Alumni Council is putting its label – complete with the image of the Nott Memorial – on bottles of wine from award-winning wineries. “We hope these wines will help alumni and friends of the College recapture the magic of days at Union, and support the Alumni Association,” said Nick Famulare '92, director of alumni relations.
The wine portfolio, offered by Signature Wines, includes six different varietals available by the case or in mixed collections. To order a four-bottle set or twelve-bottle case of Union College Alumni Council wine, visit www.signaturewines.com/union or phone toll free 1-888-968-7946.
After several false starts, a strong Alumni Council
The College's first alumni organization – the “Association of Graduates of Union College” – was formed in 1825, the fourth such group in the country (predecessors were Williams in 1821, Brown and Middlebury, both in 1824).
According to the group's constitution, it was founded “for social and literary purposes.” Its first president was John Savage, Class of 1799, the chief justice of New York State, and its second president was John W. Taylor, Class of 1803, the speaker of the House of Representatives. Despite the prestige of the group's leaders, however, its focus on literary activities was too narrow, and it drifted into inactivity after 1830.
After a brief (and unsuccessful) attempt to revive the association in 1842, it found more permanent footing in 1857, when the state legislature incorporated the Union College Alumni Association. In 1871, the Board of Trustees agreed to alumni representation on the board, and the alumni association has nearly always been responsible since then for nominating alumni trustees.
By the early 1900s, the association had become moribund, victim of frequent disputes with various administrations. In 1909, President Charles Alexander Richmond persuaded class officers to accept a new system, and a year later he hired Charles Waldron, of the Class of 1906, to become graduate secretary.
The new Graduate Council (later the Alumni Council) consisted of elected representatives of each of the thirty-five most recent classes, joined by fifteen at-large members. The council set up a number of standing committees to do much of its work, encouraged the establishment of local alumni clubs, and in 1911 launched Union College Monthly, the first in a series of Union magazines. Although the council's activities have changed over the years, its structure is essentially the same as it was when Richmond and Waldron founded it.
Here is your Alumni Council Executive Committee:
Robert Danziger '89/Immediate Past President – Apartment 7D, 245 West 104th St., New York 10025; Robert.a.danziger@citigroup.com; 212-865-4425 (h)
The ways to measure a person's connection to his or her college include the statistical and the emotional.
In the former, we note that there were nearly seventy alumni events and activities during a recent year; that more than 6,000 alumni, parents, and friends participated; that the number of regional alumni clubs has risen from two to more than twenty; and that the number of alumni volunteering on behalf of Union has increased by more than 200 in the last two years.
The emotional category is more elusive, but it undoubtedly includes the sense of contemplation inspired when the alumnus visitor sees the setting sun touching the weather vane atop Memorial Chapel; the pride when a son or daughter decides to apply to Union as an “Early Decision” candidate; the smile that comes when the name “Union College” pops up in an unexpected way, as it did in a recent episode of “The Sopranos.”
The following pages describe some of the many ways alumni and college connect. We hope they inspire you to call or write the people in our Alumni Office, who are always happy to say, “Sure, we have room for one more.”
Representing Union
A number of alumni represented the College recently at presidential inaugurations at other institutions. They are:
Eugene Setel '50 at Medaille College in Buffalo, N.Y.
Brian Dearing '77 at Ripon College in Ripon, Wis.
Fred Longe '42 at Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, N.Y.
Dr. P.J. Fugazzotto '53 at Muhlenberg College in Allentown, Pa.
Dr. Wendell L. Bryce '48 at Cornell University in Ithaca, N.Y.
Nancy D. Grundman '87 at Fordham University in New York City
Kathy Mullaney '74 at Clarkson University in Potsdam, N.Y., and at Naropa University in Boulder, Colo.
Hon. A. James Dickinson '62 at Macalester College in St. Paul, Minn.
Alumni Awards
Alumni Gold Medal Award – Presented by the Union College Alumni Council recognizing distinguished service to the College.
Special Appreciation Award – Presented to alumni to recognize service and unwavering loyalty to Union College and to the Alumni Council.
Distinguished Service to Union Award – Presented to alumni who have demonstrated exceptional commitment and loyalty to their alma mater and who have made significant and diverse contributions to the College over their lifetime.
Alumni Club Contacts
If you want to get involved in alumni club activities, here are the volunteers you can contact. And if your city isn't on the list, call the Alumni Office (518-388-6168) to see about starting your own club.
West Palm Beach/Miami, Fla. Ryan Smith '98, Megan Smith '99, 138 NW Willow Grove Ave., Port St. Lucie 34986; Ryan.t.smith@smithbarney.com; 772-344-4575 (h)
Sign up to help
Alumni who want to volunteer at the College have lots of opportunities. Here are a few:
Annual Fund
• Class Giving Chair
• Class Ambassador
• National Chair
• Terrace Council National Chair
• Leadership Chairs
• Phonathon Volunteer
Alumni Relations
• Class Correspondent
• Class Officer
• Alumni Council Representative
• Alumni Council Officer
• Club Officer
• ReUnion Chair
• ReUnion Volunteer
• Garnet Guard Chair
• Choral ReUnion Committee
Shanon LaCorte '04 turned his term paper assignment into a look at some of New York City's subway musicians.
It is noon on a stormy Monday afternoon, and the rain is pouring down in midtown Manhattan. With Central Park drenched and the streets slippery, even a casual stroll is out of the question. But for a fee of two dollars you can attend a concert that will keep you dry and lasts as long as you can stand on your own two feet.
This performance is not publicized, and it takes place twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, all year round. There is no usher to welcome you, only the steel escalator into the New York City subway-the stage for the dozens of musicians who take to New York's underground day in and day out. It is here that you can spend an entire day listening to everything from an Afro-Cuban drum to Spanish guitar and vocals.
Under a sixteen-year-old program called Music Under New York, funded by the Metropolitan Transit Authority's Arts for Transit office, close to 100 musicians obtain permits to play in various subway stops all over the city. The talented and fortunate few who do obtain permits (they audition for the privilege) are not paid, but they receive a “Music Under New York” banner and the “o.k.” from transit police. There are dozens more, however, who play without authorization.
Sandra Bloodworm, director of MTA's Arts for Transit, says that the feedback her office receives is generally positive. “New York is a challenge, and the music takes people's minds off the daily issues of life. It gives them a chance to pause and get caught up in the music.”
Behind each note is a talented artist striving to “get you caught up” in their tunes. Here are some of their stories:
The Beat of 42nd Street
Eugene Armstrong, 41, plays a ceremonial West-African drum at the Grand Central subway stop at 42nd Street. He sits on a small folding chair perched against a garbage can in the middle of the platform. His long dreads spill out of his Rastafarian hat, and he wears a black t-shirt stating “African American History Month.” As the dozens of commuters pass him by, he closes his eyes and focuses only on the sounds coming from his drum.
Eugene Armstrong is the beat of 42nd Street
“I have had a relationship with music all of my life,” Armstrong says, noting influences of John Coltrane, Miles Davis, and Max Roach. “This music is not mainstream at the moment, so I come underground to work among a culturally and ethnically diverse group. The subway has the most critical audience members you can find; they have zero tolerance for bad music. But music is a universal language, emotional and relational.”
He is very aware of the audience while he plays. When the 456 local train screeches by, he plays a loud, masculine beat to battle its sound. As the trains pass, he lowers the voice of his drum to a sultrier, feminine beat.
In the three years that Armstrong has played in the subway, he has learned that a certain “caste system” of respect exists among the various musicians-and that there is a certain camaraderie . When he was starting out, a street performing veteran taught him how to tune his drum to accommodate to the volatile weather conditions in New York. “When we see one another, it's customary to drop a little something in the basket,” he says. “It is also a good way to help each other out in finding gigs.”
Armstrong finds that playing in the subway has far more variables than playing in clubs. “It's wet in New York today. It makes my skin dry,” referring to the skin on his Indonesian Djembe drum. “I prefer to play in the cold. It makes the sounds resonate deeper into the tunnels.”
Armstrong attended Binghamton University, where he studied dance and took classes in Afro-Jazz music. He left college to quench his musical thirst and pursue a career in the arts. “I rely on my own skill to make something out of it.” He does exactly that, earning anywhere from two dollars for an entire day to sixty dollars for a single hour playing underground. His busiest time is 4:30 to 6:30, when the rush hour commuters are heading home.
In addition to making some cash and spreading Afro-Cuban music, Armstrong wants to affect people on a personal level in a place where they least expect it. “In post-9/11 society, New Yorkers seek healing. In this fast-paced concrete jungle, the echoing sound I produce can be very therapeutic for the soul.”
A Dynamic Duo at Lex
Just a few blocks uptown, as you step off the 456 into the Lexington Ave. station, you can hear a lone voice, harsh and raspy, singing “My Favorite Things.” After a dollar is placed in his bag, doubling as a collection plate and cooler for his lunch, Carlton stops mid-lyric to give a nod and say “thanks” to the generous commuter. He then leads straight into a poignant rendition of “Ain't No Sunshine.”
Carlton, who studied music at Howard University “way back,” sings in various jazz clubs all over New York. In the subway, you can hear him sing anything from R&B, jazz, and classical to gospel and pop. As he sings, a middle-aged man leaning on a steel beam provides a humming accompaniment.
Bob, half of the dynamic duo at Lexington
As Carlton finishes, he takes note of my interest and says, “If you like me, stick around for this guy,” pointing to his backup singer, who has now picked up a guitar. He continues, “On a good day, you can hear my voice up top (the mezzanine level of the station). When people throw in, it's because they know it's me singing. If they don't put down, it's 'cause they don't like me.”
The two men shake hands as they trade off their small section of the platform/stage. “See you in a few,” says Carlton as he hops on the Queens-bound E train.
Equipped with a car battery, amplifier, and music box, Bob warms up his fingers on the guitar. He is the spitting image of Jimi Hendrix, wearing a dark blue bandanna, a Michigan sweatshirt, and tattered blue jeans. After about an hour of jamming, all that Bob has in his sack is the three dollars he began with. He makes his solos more technical and impressive, and the bills start falling in.
Most of the people who “put down” are young hippie-types and music enthusiasts. One young man stops for several minutes to take in an earful. “I just missed my train to hear this,” he says, embarrassed. “I play guitar, and he's real good.” Bob gives a head nod and a tip of his guitar.
Originally from St. Louis and now residing in Queens, Bob left behind a wife and daughter when he moved to the coast and supports them whenever he can. He is self-taught on the guitar, and recently quit his job working as a cashier at Wal-Mart. “I know it was a steady paycheck, but now I enjoy what I do, and I do what I love.”
Clarinet of Culture at Port Authority
The Haitian-born Paul is the clarinet of culture
From below the main concourse at the transfer terminal at the Port Authority, a faint melody guides your ear, with your feet sure to follow. It is “Glory, Hallelujah” performed by the Haitian-born clarinet player, Paul. Nestled on the side of a stairwell, he is wearing a brown suit with a brown hat. A carefully-placed cigar box is propped open atop a piece of luggage in front of him. It currently holds a few scattered coins.
With a smirk on his face he points to me and says, “I'm gonna play 'dis one for your father.” He starts his own twist on the song “La Cucaracha,” with a few scattered squeaks from the instrument here and there.
“Sorry 'bout 'dat. I can't afford no reeds,” he says regretfully.
“Perhaps this will help,” an observer says, slipping a five-dollar bill into Paul's box. His face lights up, and then he gets right back into character by playing “Für Elise.”
Paul immigrated to the United States fifteen years ago and has been playing in the subway without a permit for two years. Speaking with a thick accent out of the side of his mouth, he says that in Haiti he was a musician learning to play at a young age in school. He now resides in Brooklyn and works every opportunity he can find. He admits that he would like to teach music for a living but finds it difficult with a language barrier.
“When I'm not playin' up there, I'm playin' down here.”
Warming Union Square
If a soothing saxophone is what you seek, then Union Square is your stop. Lou stands about six feet tall, resting comfortably in his black suit and sneakers. With his tenor sax hanging around his neck, he checks out the people as they scurry by during rush hour.
He moved to the city in late July, all the way from the West Coast. With less than six months under his belt, Lou has few intentions of ever returning to the West. “The music out there is superficial, and just not very good. Here it's real.” And the New York audience is much more aware of a performer's integrity, he says. “They can tell if you're playing from the heart, putting yourself into it, or if you're full of bullshit.”
Lou had been used to playing private parties for a decent living. In New York, he has got street performing down cold. “It's not an exact science. What works for one person won't necessarily work for another.”
He often rotates the spot where he is going to play. One of his favorites is Canal Street; “there is a lot of reverb there, almost too much, but it makes for a nasty, frustrated blues.” He also likes to play under a bridge in Central Park, but the temperature is too cold for that now.
Lou admits that he makes much more money playing in the subway and on the streets than he ever did at a private party. “When you are at a club, the paycheck is guaranteed. Here people can feel obligated to pay. If I make eye contact with a person who is enjoying my sound, then they will feel guilty if they don't throw in. It's the New York way.”
A Personal Odyssey
What makes a talented musician quit his day job, or leave his home, to play in the subway? The only way to understand a battle is to get into the trenches. So I become a subway musician.
As the R train screams out of the subway stop at 49th Street and 7th Avenue in Manhattan, I pull the horn out of its leather case. My B-flat “French Besson” trumpet is so cold that the pitch is going to be a little sharp until I warm it up. I rub some gloss onto my lips to keep them from chapping in the chill. Skipping any traditional preparation, such as scales or long tones, I go right to it. With my first note I have become a New York City subway musician.
Officially, I am playing the New York underground illegally. But the transit cops never hassle me, and it isn't long before I find that the commuters take on a similar role. Perhaps it's because, with my faded sweatshirt, torn jeans, and three-day stubble, I fit the portrait of an authentic subway musician.
For my first tune, it is the swing standard “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Some people tap their feet or walk to the pace of my rhythm. Most people just scurry along. As soon as
the first song is done, two middle-aged women along with three young children approach me. Could this be my first tip?
“Do you know how to get to the World Trade Center from here?” asks one of the women.
Somewhat discouraged, I give the group accurate directions and continue to play. In the first two of the four consecutive hours spent at 49th and 7th, I would receive more questions about subway directions than anything else.
An hour has passed now. The trumpet has finally warmed up and so has my heart. The nerves swarming in the pit of my stomach have all but gone. The pitch of the horn is in the right spot and so is my head. I close my eyes and begin to play. I continue with a Miles Davis tune, “All Blues.” It starts off calm, like the sea before a storm. One graceful note after another fills the underground tunnels. I am not sure how the crowd is reacting because I cannot see them, but it is of no matter-it's just me and the music. I continue to build on each preceding note. Higher and faster, smoother and louder. The storm is now brooding. At the peak of the melody a train pulls into the station. It takes all of my lungs' capacity to match its metallic force.
The train pulls away, and the song has finished. In my mind I can picture the audience. It's a standing ovation for one of the most impressive and emotional performances I have ever given. I pull the mouthpiece from my lips as my eyes open. There is no one around me. Every passerby has just passed me by. All except for one young woman who stands directly in front of me.
“That was really awesome,” she comments, and then drops my first and only tip of the day-thirty-seven cents. I nod my head and say, “Thank you.”
“I really enjoyed that,” she continues.
By the end of the day, all I have to show for my four hours of music is the appreciation of one fan and a handful of change that will not even cover the cost of my metrofare. I decide that what attracts people to the musicians underground is a certain characteristic that cannot be learned in a music classroom. These musicians are permanent fixtures of New York culture-an eclectic group of men and women, young and old, who provide color and texture to a place where you would least expect.
The musicians of the New York City subway often go overlooked and underappreciated. Some are hoping to be discovered, while others struggle to get by. Some play for the practice and some for the thrill. They come from various cultural, ethnic, social, and economic backgrounds, but they all share one unequivocal value-their passion for music. The next time you venture into the maze of tunnels underneath New York City, separate the sounds of the cold steel from that of the warm melody, and a smile is guaranteed to come to your face.
Just be sure you leave a nice tip.
Shanon LaCorte
Shanon LaCorte collected only a handful of change, but he loved playing the music
Shanon LaCorte has played the trumpet since the third grade, and he has always been interested in the street musicians he saw in New York when his father took him on the subway or to baseball games at Yankee Stadium.
So, when it came time to write his paper for Prof. Richard Fox's investigative journalism course, it seemed a natural to combine the interests. His first-person narrative combines insight into this little-known culture with an account of his day as a street musician.
“The goal of the class was to get the best story possible,” Shanon says. “Going from place to place in the subway, listening to musicians and then getting their stories, was great. If I had to do it again, I'd spend the entire term in New York, trying to be a street musician.”
Was he nervous? “Oh yeah, at first, but the first interview gave me confidence. I talked to about fifteen musicians by the time I was done.”
Shanon, a political science major and music minor, plans to go to law school next year, and he says music will continue to be a big part of his life. In fact, his dream law school would be Tulane, where he could combine study with playing New Orleans jazz.
The number of philosophy majors has more than tripled recently as the department focuses on contemporary critical issues.
That philosophy is acting like a magnet to Union students these days is not surprising. Indeed, the department focuses on some of the most pressing issues of our time.
This winter, for example, Raymond Martin, professor and chair of the department, offered “Technology and Human Values,” a new course that he developed under a Converging Technologies grant. “The course covers philosophical aspects of pharmacology, human-external-world systems (all kinds of technological devices, some implanted… the whole idea of a cyborg replacing the traditional idea of a biological human as the entity of interest), and computers,” he says.
The rationale for the course? “Technological innovations, such as cosmetic surgery and replacement organs, are already posing special problems we have to think about-questions about who we are and what matters. As pharmacology evolves, you'll be able to take pills that bring about specific changes, and all of a sudden, you feel and act like a different person. It will become increasingly possible to design yourself.
“How does this play into the notion of the true self? Philosophically, what does this say about how we understand ourselves? Would this be a good thing? What sorts of abuses could occur?”
Martin was surprised at how popular the course was: “I thought twelve or thirteen students would sign up. There are thirty-four! I don't know why it's drawn so many.”
The students know why. As Nathaniel Brown '06 says, “What makes this class particularly interesting is its application to the world outside the classroom. Through philosophical methods, it confronts issues that stem out of our ever-increasing technological advancements. How might Prozac affect the notion of the self? Will computers ever be conscious? These are the types of questions that Professor Martin encourages us to consider in thoughtful and inquisitive ways. Finally, the material is completely new. The field is being created as we learn it.”
Brown, an interdepartmental philosophy and history major, plans to go on for a Ph.D. in philosophy. “Philosophy is by far the most interesting subject I have ever studied,” he says. “The very etymology of the word is synonymous with what a good liberal arts education instills in the student. Philosophy may not provide readily tangible skills, such as those an engineer might acquire in four years of college. Rather, philosophy fosters in the student a love of knowledge, purely for the sake of enlightenment. It develops minds in a way that other disciplines do not; it shapes thinkers and opens their thoughts to the world around them. Philosophy has taught me to love learning.”
Classmate Aaron Edelstein '05 believes that “ethics and ideologies motivate people's actions more than lust or fear. To me, philosophy is not an ethereal academic study but rather a living and influential force in societal and personal development.”
Edelstein, also an interdisciplinary major, is combining Americana studies and philosophy with a focus on ethics. He signed up for Martin's course “in part because technology, and especially psychopharmacology, is changing society's definition of the self. As computers (including pacemakers) and Prozac become inseparable from the self, how do concepts of ethics change? Is there a computer ethic or a Prozac ethic? Can extensions of the self influence one's sense of right and wrong? These are types of questions which I'm enjoying working through in the course.”
David Liepmann '05 admits that his majoring in philosophy was a “total accident.” He started out as a computer science major with a philosophy minor, “until I finished my minor and realized I had no intention of not taking more philosophy. So I'm doubling up between computer science and philosophy.”
Conferring in Raymond Martin's office: Nell Alk '06, Martin, Nathaniel Brown '06, and David Liepmann '05
What drew him to the course? “The idea that physical things around us shape our understanding of what we are, and what we want and value is at the same time completely wild and totally obvious. That's the best kind of class-the stuff makes sense, but you want to find out why.
“I have a history of taking philosophy courses that reflect the current chapter in my life, and this is no exception. We were hammering out a conception of the self just as I was dealing with conflicting pulls in my life. The class helps me think through, for myself, how I see the self and the things that affect it.”
Eleanor (Nell) Alk '06 agrees: “Philosophy holds high expectations of those who study it. It presents opportunities to challenge and expand the way we think. The successful student of philosophy can neither afford to ignore a lecture nor can she sink low in her seat and avert her eyes when called on. Philosophy is interactive, and discussion within the classroom is paramount. Studying philosophy has stretched my mind and expanded my understanding of numerous issues. It's taught me how to truly get my mind around an idea. Philosophy, and the professors who have taught it to me, have truly opened my eyes to a new level of learning-and living.”
Raymond Martin, who arrived at Union in 2002, taught the first philosophy course Alk ever took. “He is an amazing professor and person, thought-provoking and personable. The subject of this course, the ever-evolving evaluation of what the future holds for humans, sounded intriguing, while having the added benefit of being a cutting-edge area of study. Turning over in our heads where our world might be in the next ten, twenty, however many years was both delightful and daunting.”
A visitor to the class one afternoon found the students, having read from Peter Kramer's Listening to Prozac, discussing what constitutes a person's true self. A lot of what-ifs were being tossed around: What if, while you were sleeping, an evil scientist attached electrodes to your brain that caused foreign desires to pop into your head? Would that have any implication for who your true self is? “No,” was the consensus. “It would be considered static or interference.”
In the real-life case of Charles Whitman, who went on a shooting spree from the University of Texas library tower in the 1970s, the autopsy revealed a brain tumor that had been interfering with the part of the brain that controls aggressive impulses. “We don't think he freely went up there to shoot people,” says Martin, “but that he was in the grip of something external, and things went amok.”
But it's hard to draw the line. “Isn't a tumor natural?” exclaimed one student. Martin replied, “I should have said 'normal, healthy functioning,' assuming, of course, that we knew enough about what that is.” Another student asked, “But what if a kid had bad parents, or an upbringing in Nazi Germany?” This led to an exchange about nature vs. nurture. One student wondered if a technological intervention like Prozac isn't a form of nurture. As Martin pointed out, “The kinds of changes that come from taking Prozac come about, in the first instance, through direct chemical manipulation of the brain, not through increased self-understanding.”
The discussion, animated and thoughtful, continued, about a recent behavioral modification experiment in some Maryland schools. Yes, learning increased in the schools, and test scores went up. But there was a shadow over the project. “When behavior gets molded, people aren't changing for reasons they now understand better,” Martin said.
Drug therapy produces the same kind of dark cloud. Ritalin has lots of positive effects, but do you lose something more valuable in prescribing it for kids? Before that, there was Mother's Little Helper-Milltown, the pill of the '50s, where something very significant was lost in the process of calming down and causing less of a disturbance. “So the cure can be worse than the disease!”
These days, almost everyone is involved in some kind of self-improvement program, pointed out Martin, even though most of these don't work very well. What if you pursued one that did work well, but there was a price to pay? What if you could choose to change one thing about yourself-would you do it? If you lost a portion of your personal memory in exchange, would it be worth it? Personal memory is integral to our identity, but to someone otherwise in bad shape, the change might be a boon. In any case, arguably, if enough personal memory were lost, after the change that person might not be the same as the one who elected to undergo it.
Martin is experienced in posing tough questions. He came to Union straight from early retirement. He had been professor and director of graduate studies in the Philosophy Department at the University of Maryland. It was “the lure of making a fresh start,” he explains. “I'm very happy with the change. Union is completely different from Maryland, which has a huge campus and a very research-oriented department.” So far, he even likes winter in Schenectady. “New snow is beautiful,” he says.
Last year, Robert Balmer, dean of engineering and computer science, offered liberal arts faculty an incentive to devise courses that would fit in with Union's Converging Technologies initiative. Raymond Martin was one of three philosophy professors who took Balmer up on his offer. Felmon Davis and Linda Patrik are the other two-this year offering courses titled “The Self in Cyberspace” and “Cyberfeminism.”
Comments Martin, “In a way, it's understandable that of five new Converging Technologies liberal arts courses, three are coming out of the Philosophy Department-the technology connection is so close. A lot of contemporary philosophy tracks science pretty closely.”
As for his proposal for “Technology and Human Values,” Martin says that teaching around technology was something new to him. He devoted the summer and fall to reading extensively and planning, looking for books and trying to find things he thought would work. “This went on right up to the last minute, when I discovered Andy Clark's book, Natural-Born Cyborgs, and substituted it for one I had selected before.”
Martin is also teaching “New Directions in Philosophy,” a two-term course requirement for philosophy and interdisciplinary majors. The course is built around the department's Philosophy Speakers Series, which brings top people to campus every other week. “It's as good as any such series at any university in the country,” Martin says. “For the students, as well as for us on the faculty, being with people of that caliber is very valuable.”
Also new is the Philosophical Café, which is designed to deal with a timely topic that wouldn't ordinarily get covered in class. The café has a group discussion format, moderated by an expert, and everybody's invited-students, faculty, staff, the off-campus community. The February café session was a stimulating debate on same-sex marriage. Andi Clark, of the Theater Department at the University of Albany, spoke in favor, and David Lefkovitz, of the University of Maryland Department of Philosophy, spoke against. Their presentations were, by design, relatively brief, followed by a thoughtful, but spirited, discussion by more than forty attendees (the Philosophy Department now has more than thirty majors).
Other Philosophical Café topics have included the death penalty, free will, reality and appearance, and difficulties of being religious in a secular academic environment.
