Twenty years ago this month, I boarded a plane for South America and an experience that would change my life.

It was the summer after my junior year at Earlham College, a Quaker school that prides itself on teaching students to engage the world. In the classroom, I learned about issues of war and peace, nonviolence, the arms race, global hunger and human rights. These experiences prepared me for — but paled in comparison to — the three months I would spend in Chile.

Hugging South America's Pacific Coast, Chile is a sliver of land that stretches 3,000 miles from Peru to Antarctica. Never more than 150 miles across, the nation is tucked between the Andes and the ocean. Its dramatic geography matches its dramatic history.

Once hailed as South America's most enduring and stable democracy, Chile suffered a bloody coup d'etat on Sept. 11, 1973. During its rule, the military was responsible for more than 3,000 Chileans deaths, plus many more who suffered torture or exile. Fear of repression influenced nearly every aspect of Chileans' lives: what they read, who they associated with, what they said in public. At the time of our visit in 1988, the nation had endured 15 years of military dictatorship and the military's presence was palpable.

This history was backdrop to the project that our college group traveled to Chile to study — a "popular education" program that served married couples in the slums of Santiago. The program used games and other simple activities to facilitate conversation among the couples. The goal was to improve communication in the family by helping women assert themselves and men to be less macho. At the same time, it built community and trust among the participants. On both counts, it was remarkably successful.

The groups met in a classroom at a local Catholic church. The sessions were facilitated by a couple who had "graduated" from the program the year before. We used "participant-observation" techniques to learn about the program — we pretended to be couples to participate in the activities in the hope that our presence as "outsiders" would not inhibit the group's discussion.

In these conversations, we heard stories of people's struggles with unemployment and underemployment. We learned of their move from the countryside to the city. They talked about living in shacks that offered little protection from the cold or the rain. We heard about the harassment they suffered when the police raided their neighborhoods.

We also met three Franciscan priests who served this community. They, too, lived in a simple wooden shack with a corrugated tin room. They slept on hard cots and ate little more than bread, butter and scrambled eggs. But their home was built around a small chapel that filled with sunlight as it passed through a roof tile made of translucent corrugated plastic. The simple altar, benches made from tree trunks, religious art and plants made it one of the most beautiful sacred spaces that I've ever seen.

During our time in Chile, we met also people who had been victims of the military regime. A neighbor had been forced into exile after the coup and still struggled to reestablish her life after she was allowed to return. We visited the "VicarA a de la Solidaridad," the church's human rights office that offered legal, medical, and financial assistance to those who had been arrested, tortured or "disappeared." The practice of "disappearing" its opponents was one of the regime's most heinous human rights violations — it meant that family members never knew the fate of their loved ones. Their wounds were never allowed to heal.

And we met courageous people who were willing to speak up against the government's abuses. I was particularly moved by a group that used nonviolent direct action in the style of Martin Luther King or Mahatma Gandhi to protest torture. Organized by a Jesuit priest, Father Jose Aldunate, the members of the Sebastian Acevedo Movement Against Torture put their bodies on the line to say that torture is wrong. They carried out a series of actions — often at the site of clandestine jails and frequently in the face of police billy clubs, water canons and tear gas. But they did not strike back and they did not give up. They inspired me to return to Chile a few years later to write my seminary thesis about their work.
We were also witnesses to an historic event.

On Oct. 5, 1988, the people of Chile voted in a national plebiscite on military rule. It was a simple vote: Yes to support eight more years of military rule or No to call for competitive elections within a year.

There had been other plebiscites. Marked by fraud and intimidation, they were little more than a show to legitimize Chile's military government in the eyes of the world. No one expected the plebiscite of 1988 to be any different.

But a group of political leaders — many of whom had been deeply distrustful of one another — worked together to seize this opportunity. For 30 days before the vote, each side was allocated 15 minutes each night to broadcast their views on national television. It was the most significant media access that the opposition had in 15 years.

The pro-government side used their time to continue the scare tactics of the past. The opposition broadcast a message of hope: Chile, la alegria ya viene. Chile: joy is coming. The opposition also organized marches and rallies and gave workshops on civic participation. For many Chileans, this was their first experience of democracy.

On the morning of Oct. 5, the lines were long at every polling station in the country, but voting proceeded without incident. As night fell, the military government remained silent and fear increased that they would engage in fraud. A momentary black out in the nation's capital increased this concern. But late that evening, the head of Chile's national police broke ranks with the other members of the junta and announced to the press that the No vote had won.

Chile had overcome military rule — not by revolution, but by the ballot box.
I learned many things during that trip, but two enduring lessons remain with me:
Ordinary people, working together, can overcome extraordinary circumstances to change their lives and the lives of their community. People need not be victims of forces beyond their control — even when those forces have guns and bayonets, and tanks — but they can write their own history.

Equally important, I learned that the church can be more than an impersonal and distant institution or a social club enjoyed by a few lucky insiders. It can change people's lives with a message of hope and joy, even in the midst of great suffering. And it can contribute to alleviating that suffering by speaking and acting on the most critical issues of the day.

Twenty years later, these memories still bring tears to my eyes — and these lessons still guide my life.

— Christopher Ney ’89

The Rev. Christopher Ney ’89 is pastor of the West Gloucester Trinitarian Congregational Church. This article was originally published in the Gloucester (Mass.) Daily Times.

In the fall of 2005, John G. Young ’55 attended the 50th Reunion of his Earlham class. During that reunion he reconnected with Rey Caranza ‘55 of Santa Lucia de la Sierra, Mexico. While the two had not seen each other since 1955, a lasting friendship sparked a conversation that led to the creation of a library in a remote Mexican village.

Young was a member of the International Committee of The Portland Rotary Club and the committee was searching for an International Project that might qualify for matching support from Rotary International. Caranza and Young discussed possible projects that could benefit the citizens of Santa Lucia, a village of approximately 350 families in the Sierra Madres Mountains.

Santa Lucia, which is two-and-a-half hours from the closest restaurant or hotel, has never had electricity, so the needs there are great. The idea of providing books and other educational materials for a library for the children of Santa Lucia surfaced as a project worth pursuing.

A search was undertaken to locate a Rotary Club in Mexico that might be interested in becoming partners for such a project. The Fresnillo Plateros Rotary Club agreed to become the Mexican partners of the project. The president of the club, Carlos Rodriguez, was supportive of the idea. Dr. Miguel Angel Gonzalez Martin, the Fresnillo Plateros Rotary Club’s secretary, was John Young’s e-mail contact in Mexico.

In May 2007, the Portland Indiana Rotary Club agreed to support the project with up to $2500 and to seek a matching grant from Rotary International. In August 2007, Rotary awarded a grant of $1800. Additionally, the Rotary Club of Fresnillo, Mexico agreed to provide $500 of support. Thus, a total of $4800 was available for the project.

Meanwhile in Mexico, Caranza traveled to Zacetecas (the closest major city to Santa Lucia) and met with the head librarian of that state to select materials to stock the library. As a teacher, Caranza had been responsible for working with publishing houses in Mexico City and knew the ropes. He traveled to Mexico City in October 2007 with list and credit card in hand to buy the books and transport them by bus to Fresnillo, a four-and-a-half hour drive from Santa Lucia, and from there by pickup truck into Santa Lucia itself. By November 9, 2007 the books were in place and on December 15, 2007, Gonzalez and other members of the Fresnillo Plateros club drove to Santa Lucia to visit the library and deliver dictionaries, a solar powered TV/DVD system, blankets, and food provided by the members and the wives of the members of the Club to the children of Santa Lucia.

The challenging work was made all the more challenging by the difficulties of communication between Santa Lucia and the outside world. Santa Lucia has only one phone, and so any communication by telephone took place between Caranza and Young. In addition, mail to and from Santa Lucia takes from four to six weeks. The only other available communication was by e-mail between Young, Martin, and Caranza’a daughter, Janine Caranza, who lives in Vermont.

The most traumatic moment of the process occurred when Caranza called from a pay phone in Mexico City, while he was there buying books. He informed Young that a credit card which had been funded and activated to finance the project was being rejected by the book companies in Mexico. Thanks to intervention by Janine Caranza, the problem was cleared up later in the day.

But I went.

Last week-end I most reluctantly let myself be included in the 45th reunion of our class of 1962. Muttering on the plane all the way from Seattle. Humphing and garumphing about how I hate all that cocktail party kind of conversation they do at reunions and who really cares who succeeded at what after all this time because we are all squatting over the grave anyway, and besides, I was just barely out of diapers back in 1962, so why would I want to dredge up anything I thought or felt or believed in way back then?

But I went.

And sure enough, there we all were, back at Earlham. The oaks were turning orange, but that just means winter is coming, I grumbled. The schedule was full of meaty talks, but I declined them all, sure that my head was already full of more than enough information about this imploding culture of ours. There was ample—do I really need to ask one more person where they live and how many children they have?—opportunity to chat, but even we members of the once remarkable class of 1962 have by now turned into a bunch of senior citizens, I reminded myself.

There was one thing I did know, however. I may have been cranky about the reunion, but what I really came to Richmond for was to visit my aunt. The one I used to baby sit for when I was at Earlham. The one who sometimes lent her house to us (emptying it of husband and children and all their clutter and leaving two freshly baked pies on the kitchen counter) so my friends and I could cook a real meal there and sit around her dining room table and pretend we were grown-ups. Better than a restaurant. And almost as good as home.

This aunt was a large part of the reason I came to Earlham long ago. She made me a dress for the homecoming dance, she taught me how to make raspberry jelly, she liked all my Earlham friends I brought over to her house, and she treated me as if I were just fine the way I was and she would always love me no matter what else I might become. And she has. So for sure I wanted to visit her in her new living arrangement, an assisted living facility in a new part of Richmond.

She uses a walker now, and all that is left of her big house full of possessions is a picture or two on her nightstand and a couple of chairs squeezed in beside the bed. There is no garden outside her window. She is surrounded by strangers. And, hardest of all to see, she has no kitchen. It is one thing to have a kitchen, even a small one, and choose not to cook much at all, but it is something else entirely, I imagine, to be an amazing cook like my aunt and have no kitchen at all.

But the time has come, she says. The time has come for a change. She smiles and greets the passersby in the hall outside her room. They have already figured out how nice it is to talk with her.

How do you like your new home, I ask her, not seeing much to like.

I like it fine, she says softly.

But don't you miss your big house, I think to myself, with your paintings and your grandmother's china and your wine glasses from Germany? Don't you miss your meetings and your old neighbors and your rose bushes and your church suppers?

The food is good here, she says to me, as if she can read my mind. And the people are kind. My children all helped me move in. I'm very, very lucky.

Goodbye, I said, hugging her gently. I will see you at the reunion. For she graduated from Earlham too, as did my mother and father and my other aunt and two of my uncles. All of them are gone now, except her.

And when I see her briefly the next day at the lunch table reserved for the mature older alumni, she smiles at me, the way she always has, and tells me it is so good to see me (even though we both know that she can barely see at all, what with that wretched macular degeneration that has blotted her vision). I kiss her again and wonder if I have ever really told her how much she means to me.

Surely I have. Haven't I? Or have I been too busy whining about reunions and things.

Thus, it began with my Earlham aunt. And it went on from there—the Earlham-ness just started seeping in. I started to pay attention to this reunion of mine. I was astonished to note that of the sixty some people in our class group there was not a single one I could find any reason to dislike. Could this be? They were all, class members and spouses alike, just very nice, very good, very real people. No one was bragging, no one was gossiping, no one was belittling. I had to admit that I was probably the worst person in the room.

Then there was the soothing Earlham-ness that comes from being in a place where most people just plain accept that peace and social justice are real and important goals to work for. I felt safe. I wanted to put my feet up and sigh and soak up the comfort of such a communty.

And then, speaking of Earlham-ness, there was Tom Mullen '56 making everybody laugh in the meetinghouse (where my husband and I were married long ago) because he too finds it hard to stay on course sometimes when the world around him seems to be bursting with pride about its poor choices.

So, let me put it this way. I am now a recovering reunion hater.

Thanks to my wise aunt, thanks to our splendid Suzy-Gloria team, and thanks to the Earlham in all of us, in the space of one short week-end, I found myself spiraling from the cynical why-did-I-ever-waste-time-at-Earlham place to the boy-was-I-ever-lucky-they-let-me-come-here place. I even bought a tee shirt.

My hope now is that I have brought some of that lovely Earlham-ness home with me. And that I will know what to do with it.

—Anne Gilbert Beidler '62

Editor's note: Director of Alumni Relations Gail Clark recently returned from helping to lead the August Wilderness Program. She offers the following reflection on that experience.

“YOU'RE doing August Wilderness?!” The number of times I had heard this from friends and colleagues amazed me, and scared me too. Seeing my reflection in my Carpenter Hall office window, I realize that the suit, panty hose and two-inch pumps I’m wearing make me look like an unlikely candidate. So many times during the week of instructor training and route planning, I had pondered that question and also wondered, “How can I be away from my ‘day job’ for three weeks? Am I strong enough, physically and emotionally, for August Wilderness? Will I be a good teacher? Will I get back to Richmond without mosquito bites on every inch of my body?”

YES! I did it! As it turns out, the alumni association can function without me for three weeks, I’m actually a pretty tough gal, being a good teacher is not as easy as it looks and I narrowly escaped what is now known to Earlham’s Wilderness Programs as the Apocalyptic Year of Mosquitoes in Wabakimi Provincial Park. Even better than these personal accomplishments while on the water course of August Wilderness is the clarity, authenticity and simplicity that was achieved.

We called ourselves “Brigade About…,” pronounced with the proverbial Canadian accent, and allowing us to be “about” anything at any time. We were Brigade About…to be the best brigade ever! We were Brigade About…to set out on a 660 meter portage. Brigade About…to break camp. You get the idea. What we always were, though, was Brigade About...to be forever changed.

Because of the nature of my role as the alumni relations director, I was only able to participate in half of the August Wilderness program. Those thirteen days of mosquitoes, paddling, eating, mosquitoes, sleeping, learning, teaching, mosquitoes, singing, discussing articles and issues, laughing and mosquitoes were some of the best days of my tenure at Earlham, and considerably of my life. In that time, we moved over seven lakes, paddling over 60 kilometers (probably more since we no doubt weaved all over the lakes before we really paddled our strokes correctly) and completed roughly 13 portages. Yet with all of this movement, I experienced a stillness. There was a wholeness and a completeness that settled upon me. I loved the feeling of being absolutely present in the back country with the students and with myself. There were no distractions, no excuses; only my own questions as I wandered about, having faith that the answers would come. My group learned to understand that everyone must work hard individually and as a team to make the paddling work or to get across a portage. How wonderful it felt to have quiet moments of personal pride and loud group celebrations in achieving common goals, knowing we had all worked to come to consensus on decisions and challenged each other’s ideas for how to move forward (or sometimes backward if we didn’t read our maps correctly) in the process.

Brigade About…to be terrific first-year students and leaders at Earlham College is ready for the next challenge. I am also excited to bring back to the front country with me my sense of wholeness and completeness, and even stillness. This is no easy feat for my busy life in Richmond. I know I must work harder to maintain these senses in the front country. When I feel myself forgetting, poet David Wagoner helps me go back with his poem “Lost, “which was shared with Brigade About… on our first night at camp in the back country. Perhaps it will take you back to your own wilderness experience or help you settle into a much-needed stillness.

Lost
David Wagoner
From Traveling Light: Collected and New Poems” published by the University of Illinois Press in 1999

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

—Gail Clark

In an address at Regensburg, Pope Benedict XVI reflected on his experience in Bonn as a professor of Theology. His comments provided a very good description of what a University should be:

“There was a lively exchange with historians, philosophers, philologists and, naturally, between the two theological faculties. Once a semester there was a dies academicus, when professors from every faculty appeared before the students of the entire university, making possible a genuine experience of universitas: the reality that despite our specializations which at times make it difficult to communicate with each other, we made up a whole, working in everything on the basis of a single rationality with its various aspects and sharing responsibility for the right use of reason-- this reality became a lived experience.”

Earlham has chosen to suppress lively exchange by its Integrity Statement. That statement makes it unacceptable at Earlham, not only to disagree (deference is required), but makes it mandatory to embrace (admire, i.e. have a high opinion of) the values of others. Students must fear being branded bigots if they challenge certain issues.

Couched in indirection, the Integrity Statement means that Earlham “encourages and celebrates” homosexuality. But the Bible records “disrespectful” statements about homosexuality. Under the guidelines of the Earlham Integrity Statement, reading those Biblical admonishments aloud would qualify as “an expression” inconsistent with Earlham’s “values.”

I strongly disagree with Earlham's Integrity Statement as an attempt to silence dissent. The college is abusing its charter to educate and is choosing instead to indoctrinate.

—Jaye Gibbs
Earlham student 1956-58

In March 1807, the British abolished the slave trade. Two centuries later, in 2007, Hollywood released "Amazing Grace," a movie about this antislavery campaign and its leader, William Wilberforce. Though it won't be immediately apparent from the film, there is an Earlham connection to Wilberforce and to abolitionist efforts in England.

Wilberforce was a friend of Joseph John Gurney and a visitor to the College's namesake, Earlham Hall in England. Gurney was only 19 in 1807 and so was not greatly involved in the efforts to abolish the slave trade. But he and Wilberforce met in 1816 and were co-campaigners in the NEXT big antislavery campaign, the crusade to abolish slavery itself, legally achieved within the British Empire in 1833.

In 1816, Wilberforce visited Gurney and brought along "his whole family group", including his wife, several children, two clergymen who acted as tutors, his private secretary, servants, and others — quite a crowd! Gurney wrote that the house was already quite full, "but what house would not prove elastic in order to receive the abolisher of the slave trade?" That "house", of course, was Earlham Hall.

To make a long story short, Gurney and Wilberforce remained friends until Wilberforce died in 1833. In fact, Gurney visited Wilberforce about two weeks before he (Wilberforce) died, and was one of the last to write him. Gurney wrote a memorial tribute to Wilberforce entitled, "Familiar Sketch of the Late William Wilberforce." Four years later Gurney came to Richmond, to address the Quakers gathered for Indiana Yearly Meeting. His three-year sojourn in America was intended, among other purposes, to encourage abolitionist efforts here.

The friendship of Wilberforce and Gurney reflects (1) the role of Earlham Hall as THE interfaith gathering place of Norfolk, and (2) the abolitionist and reformist commitments of the Gurneys and others associated with Earlham Hall. Another of the abolitionists of Earlham Hall was Thomas Fowell Buxton, Gurney's dear friend and brother-in-law, who practically grew up at Earlham Hall and was designated by Wilberforce himself to be his successor to lead the antislavery crusade in parliament.

We don't know exactly why the good Indiana Quakers of 1859 chose the name Earlham. But the admirable ties of Earlham Hall with Wilberforce and the Gurneys would have been reason enough. And my sense is that a lot of EC students, alumni, and others, don't know about the links between our name and the abolitionist accomplishments of Joseph John Gurney and Wilberforce.

These two events — the bicentennial of the abolition of the slave trade, and the release of the movie — offer a good opportunity to reflect on this bit of Earlham history.

—Alice Almond Shrock '68
Professor of History and Associate Academic Dean for Program Development

Former Earlham Professor Dale Noyd died on January 11, 2007. Current Earlham faculty member Mic Jackson offers this tribute:

Dale Noyd changed my life.

In the spring of 1985 I visited Earlham to interview for a position in the Mathematics Department. Professor Bill Fishback picked me up at the Dayton airport, and on the drive back to Earlham asked me whether I knew a ''Dale Noyd.'' I sat straight up in my seat, looked intently at Bill and said, ''Do you mean Captain Noyd?'' Bill, a bit surprised by my strong reaction and use of military terminology, said that was probably correct and told me that my Captain Noyd was now Dale Noyd, a Psychology Professor at Earlham. During that visit, Dale and I were able to meet and discuss an event that had been very important for both of us.

When I entered the U.S. Air Force Academy in 1965, I had never heard of Vietnam. However, by the end of my first year, I was getting letters from a high school classmate who was seeing heavy combat in Vietnam with the Army's 82nd Airborne Division. I assumed our country was doing what was necessary to stop the spread of communism in Southeast Asia. In the first semester of my second year, I was fortunate to have Captain Noyd as my instructor for Introduction to Psychology. Captain Noyd had the reputation as a very good teacher. But more importantly, at least to young cadets who had visions of flying some of the best aircraft in the world, he had been an F100 Super Saber pilot before being assigned to the Academy. He was a ''red hot fighter jock'' in our language. He loved flying and the Air Force, and intended to make both his career. His class was my favorite that semester.

One day during the following semester, our Superintendent (comparable to a college president) called an emergency meeting of the Cadet Wing (all 2000 students). During that meeting, he explained that Captain Noyd had been forced to leave his position on the faculty because he was a coward, unwilling to accept a combat assignment to Vietnam. I was shocked by the Superintendent's words, turned to the cadet beside me and whispered, ''Captain Noyd is no coward.'' Those were the first ''heretical'' words this young man from a conservative family in the Midwest had ever uttered, and those words initiated a personal journey that eventually led me out of the Air Force and to a career as a professor at a small Quaker liberal arts college.

I heard no more about Captain Noyd for the next 18 years, although I often thought about the bright young pilot who had forsaken a promising career because he understood, and acted on that understanding before any other Air Force officer, that our involvement in Vietnam was wrong.

During my meeting with Dale in the spring of 1985, he told me that the he had discreetly asked for another assignment because he believed that the United States military should not be involved in Vietnam. He did not want to destroy his career as an Air Force pilot and was willing to volunteer for even the most hazardous assignment, but he insisted that he could not take part in an unjust conflict. Since he was the first Air Force officer to refuse assignment to Vietnam, the Air Force felt obligated to make an example of him to discourage other officers from doing the same. He was court martialed and convicted for his ''refusal to obey a lawful order.'' The night before he was to go to Fort Leavenworth to literally ''break rocks'' for a year, his ACLU lawyer found a statement in the Uniform Code of Military Justice that prevented him from having to do ''hard time.'' But it did not negate his felony conviction. Dale also told me that two upper class cadets had voluntarily spoken on his behalf at the court marshal, risking their own careers. He was surprised and saddened to hear me recall that the Superintendent had named him as a coward.

In 1969, Dale was hired by Earlham even though he was a convicted felon. Earlham was proud, and fortunate, to have him on our faculty until 1988.

I am thankful that he stood up for what was right, but Dale Noyd paid dearly for his insight and courage.

Thank you, Captain Noyd.

Michael Bee (Mic) Jackson
Professor of Mathematics
Earlham College
Cadet Squadron 02
Class of 1969
United States Air Force Academy

Below are some books recommended by alumni and current students. If you would like to tell fellow Earlhamites about one of your favorite books, send an e-mail to earlhamite@earlham.edu.

The Powers That Be: Theology for a New Millennium
by Walter Wink
Galillee Books, 1999
ISBN: 0385487522

“The book that had the most powerful influence on my thinking about our country, and the world is "The Powers That Be: Theology for a New Millennium" by Walter Wink. First he tells us who the Powers That Be are. Not only do they staff our hospitals, sit around tables in corporate boardrooms, collect our taxes, and head our families, but they are the systems that weave society into an intricate fabric of power and relationships.

Needed systems are also the source of unmitigated evils. Every individual and every organization imaginable has its own identity, its own personality, its soul, which includes an angelic side and a demonic side. We are on the brink of rediscovering soul at the core of every created thing. Everything from DNA to the United Nations has God at its core. Corporations and governments are “creatures” whose sole purpose is to serve the general welfare. When they refuse to do so, their spirituality becomes diseased. God’s good news is not only can he liberate us from the Powers, but God can liberate the Powers from their destructive behavior as well. The Powers are good creations of God (as we are), are fallen (as we are). Redemption cannot be complete unless the Powers That Be are redeemed.”

—Tom Applegate ’59
Dayton, Ohio

The History of Sexuality: An Introduction by Michel Foucault
(originally published in 1976)
Vintage Books, 1990
ISBN: 0679724699

“Foucault’s 'The History of Sexuality' has influenced me to rethink power in all scenarios and all aspects of political, theoretical and historical maneuverings. I think all psychology majors should be required to study Foucault.”

—Katy Martin ’07
Sociology/Anthropology major

The Lorax by Dr. Seuss
Random House Books for Young Readers, 1971
ISBN: 0394823370
The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein
Harper Collins, 1964
ISBN: 0060256656

“'The Lorax' had a profound effect on me as a child when the words “clear cutting,” “air pollution” and “deforestation” held little meaning. The story illustrates what can result from greed and ignorance in commerce and from the disregard for balance in the consumption of natural resources. A beautiful forest of Truffula Trees teeming with wildlife, cut down and destroyed to use the Truffula tufts for clothing, despite warnings from the Lorax. When the narrator, the negligent entrepreneur himself, finishes telling his story, he passes to the listening child one remaining seed to a Truffula Tree that he has saved.

Shel Silverstein’s 'The Giving Tree' has several interpretations, a couple of which I will share here. Silverstein relates the touching story of a generous, loving tree and the boy who loves her. When the boy is young, he likes to climb the tree, eat her apples and swing on her branches, but as the boy grows, his conditions for happiness become more demanding. The tree gives of herself without hesitation, even giving her own trunk so the boy can build a boat. One cannot help but think about the effect we have on the world as it keeps giving and giving, and we keep taking and taking. How long before we’re left with nothing but a stump to rest on? As I’ve reread the story in early adulthood, I think of my own parents and everything they have done for my brother and me in our still-short lives — their unconditional love and ceaseless giving. Are there times when they hesitate to give more of themselves? Do I have the capacity to love and give to my own future children?

These simple tales are more than mere entertainment for children. They are commentaries on our lives that continue to teach 35 and 40 years later.”

—Jessica McDaniel ’07
Spanish and Hispanic Studies major
God Calling
God at Eventide by Two Listeners
edited by A.J. Russell
originally published by Arthur James, The Drift, Evesham, Worcs, England in 1935.

“When I was about half as old as I am now, and at a juncture where life was troublesome for me, I mentioned to an elderly Quaker that I thought I might need to consult a psychiatrist. Rachel said little then in response, but the next time we met she handed over to me a small daily devotional guide, explaining that it was her psychiatrist.

... At first, I used God Calling sporadically, but gradually it has become an essential part of my existence, as is the case with God in Eventide, a companion volume from the same [publisher].

Each of these two little books consists of a few introductory, explanatory pages, and then 366 messages that were allegedly received by the two listeners — both women — from the holy spirit. Divested of the terminology of Anglican Christianity in which many of the message are expressed, they tell in a multiplicity of ways that you are loved, supported, and guided by the spirit that in turn requires, and longs for, your love and service.”

—Jack Wright ’45
Bro, Sweden

by Madeline Bachner ’02

(Madeline Bachner ’02 is a graduate student in Environmental Education with the Audubon Expedition Institute (AEI), sponsored by Lesley University. The following essay about her experiences in Hawai’i was previously published in AEI’s publication "Connections.")

From the bustle of downtown Hilo I have moved to the hostel outside of town. The roar of traffic on the busy street below is replaced by the call of invasive coqui frogs, rattling palm fronds and the faint crashing of waves on a rocky shore. Instead of clean white sheets in a high-ceilinged room, I have my sleeping bag separated from the muddy ground by a thin sheet of plastic in a tent. It is not raining and has not for most of the day though everything is moist with the humidity from weeks of precipitation. The all but full moon peeks out through a thin veil of clouds. After five weeks of camping out on the bus as we travel around the Big Island of Hawai’i, I feel the pull of both of these lives in my move today: comfort and convenience in the detached life of downtown against the simplicity of sleeping on the ground, hearing the night, seeing the moon and being connected with these cycles and the Earth.

We began our semester on Hawai’i reading David Quammen’s Song of the Dodo about island biogeography, “the study of facts and patterns of species distribution” in the isolation of islands (1996 p. 17). Hawai’i, of course, is an island within an archipelago, separated from the mainland by 2,300 miles of ocean; isolated but not unconnected. “Via wind, water, or wing” (Moore, 2003 p. 67), the islands here were naturally colonized by plants, insects, birds and one mammal, the hoary bat. Human landfall by the Polynesians circa 400 AD began the onslaught of introductions of new plants and animals. Now the myriad cultures of people living here have brought all the technologies and disruption of humanity.

We live in a world of islands isolated by either surrounding seas or by the divided and disrupted environments humanity has created. Apart from land masses, one can view, for example, parks, preserves, interstate medians and lone trees in agricultural land as islands, set adrift in an environment that no longer fosters continuity. We in Western culture have also begun to define ourselves as islands, isolated in our individual worlds of fenced-off habitations and technological devices. We actively engage in our own separation, the fragmentation of our lives and our time, the isolation from others (human and non-human), the natural world and the cycles we ultimately depend on. In some ways, to become ecologically literate might be as simple as recognizing this isolation and walking back into the connected world.

Ecological literacy can have many definitions. At the heart of it is the knowledge and experience of a place and the acceptance that we depend on and are part of the greater natural systems we live within. This cannot come only by reading about eco-literacy or studying it. It cannot come by simply teaching it. Being ecologically literate is a process of immersion. Prominent author and educator David Orr writes, “if literacy is driven by the search for knowledge, ecological literacy is driven by the sense of wonder, the sheer delight in being alive in a beautiful, mysterious, bountiful world.” (1992 p. 86) In order to feel this wonder we must be able as ecologically literate citizens to acknowledge the connections we have with this wonder-filled world around us, and work to mend the connections that have been damaged.

This afternoon upon returning from the day in downtown Hilo, I felt chewed up by the barrage of sensory information, the sharp edges and loud noises. Having ridden a bike there and back it felt like I had thrown my soft self directly into the hard grind of traffic to be spat out now in the late afternoon drizzle. I quickly threw on my swimsuit and sarong and walked to the rocky beach park nearby. The surface of the water was stippled with raindrops. With my snorkel on, I sank into the solace of the cold salty ocean and took a deep breath. It was a cool, quiet, wet blue world that greeted me. I had come to renew myself, to find what the ocean could teach me about calm and serenity, to fill myself once again with wonder. I had come seeking connection.

On this island in the middle of the vast Pacific there coexist, as in all places, human isolation and fragmentation with natural cycles and connections. Eco-literacy for each of us begins with the recognition of this duality as we actively take steps to mend the divide and reconnect with our own wonder, wherever we source it in our lives.

References:
Moore, S. (2003). I myself have seen it: The myth of Hawai’i. Washington, D.C.; National Geographic.

Orr, D.W. (1992). Ecological Literacy. Albany, NY; State University of New York.

Quammen, D. (1996). The song of the dodo: Island biogeography in an age of
extinctions. New York, NY; Scribner.

Former professor Jim Brown would love to hear from alumni who attended ski classes in the Black Hills. These classes, run by Jim and his wife Carolyn date back at least to 1978. Contact Jim Brown at 910 S. Miller Ave., Litchfield, MN 55355.

by Earl J. Prignitz '53

I have many memories of my years at Earlham college, most of which revolve around the Stout Memorial Meetinghouse, where I supervised it's construction and worked 40-44 hours a week for over two years, while I took 10-11 hours of classes and preached every Sunday at Williamsburg Friends Meeting.

That project was a unique effort from start to finish. Through the efforts of President Thomas Jones Union workers, non-union workers and volunteers worked together to accomplish the building of Stout Memorial Meetinghouse. There were three of us full timers on the staff Ed Nicholson, Bob Starbuck and me to start with. Then there was an over all supervisor from Philadelphia, Walter Coppack who came out every few weeks to check on how things were going. Later on several others joined the staff, Arnold Trueblood, Ed's brother, John H. Baxter and one more and his name I have forgotten.

I well remember laying all the block for the foundation before the brick masons arrived to lay the brick walls. I remember the time when the brick masons were just about to complete there part of the job and they were taking down their scaffolding when one of the helpers had called for a hammer and someone threw it up to him and it was just out of his reach so when he tried to catch it at the peak of the Meeting room he fell to the ground. Fortunately he only received minor injuries. And constructing the main beams for the large room and the Oberle construction firm coming and lifting them in place. I certainly remember cutting all of the trim around the windows and having others putting them in place as well as the wains- coating around the rooms. I remember how students and faculty would come out and do what volunteer work that they could to push the work along. I recall Bill Fuson laying block in the retainer wall that provided the space for the heating pipes and electrical wires to be hidden from view. And yes I remember Tom Jones one Saturday morning on top of the scaffolding using a belt sander on the exposed beams in the Wymondham room. His hair became very dusty that day! I remember D Elton Trueblood on his knees fitting the stones together on the porches and laying flooring in the library. I remember the day when the old facing bench and the beams arrived from Wymondham Meetinghouse in England. Those beams were so hard they took several saw blades to cut them. I remember getting the poplar lumber from West Virginia just two weeks before the dedication of the building was scheduled. Fortunately with a lot of help the pews were assembled and ready, even if not coated. Those a few of my memories of those years in 1950-53.

by Tony Bing

When I attended the thirtieth reunion of the PAGS program, one of the things alums talked of was their desire to share another off-campus experience together, perhaps revisiting sites they explored as undergraduates or sites they would have wished to see. Many talked about a trip to Jerusalem, where they could see what has taken place in recent years.

I have spent much of my time since retirement continuing my passionate involvement with the Israel/Palestine conflict, coauthoring an AFSC book, “When the Rain Returns,” making several trips to work on a school for traumatized children in Bethlehem, setting up a Friends International Center in
Ramallah, picking olives, and serving on the Middle East advisorycommittee of the AFSC. I was thus more than happy to plan an Earlham Alumni trip to catch up with realities on the ground.

With the recent Palestinian elections, that political landscape has changed dramatically since I was there in October and will undoubtedly shift even more by the time we take our fifteen day trip June 25-July 8 this summer. I hope you will consider going with us, even if you have never been before. To learn more about the itinerary, the costs, the goals, contact Julie Bruns in the PAGS office, brunsju@earlham.edu .

For a detailed description of the trip, visit: http://www.earlham.edu/~pags/israel-palestine.html .

by Kenneth Paul Blake ’04

The summer I graduated, I returned home to California and felt that I had to explain Earlham’s ideals, its ranking, and its learning community to prospective employers as a plea to get hired. On paper, to someone who has never read Loren Pope’s "Forty Colleges that Change Lives," Earlham could have easily been one of those universities that mail its diplomas to anyone who requests one. I never went as far as to bring my transcript or a copy of my financial aid offer to prove that I had received a rich education, although it was distressing searching for employment in San Francisco where people with bachelor’s degrees regularly are rejected for jobs as office assistants and receptionists.

My father reminded me it did not matter that I did not have my ideal job directly out of college. It was more important that I made it, graduated with honors, and that this was a perfect time to enjoy the luxury of having a college degree. I knew that he was right, but I had spent the last four years of my life as an Earlhamite, a Bonner Scholar and I was ready to change the world. The first job I had that lasted more than two months was as a telephone banking representative with Bank of America. I was hired the day I applied and it was frustrating that I knew I could have gotten this job out of high school. However, the position afforded me the privilege of not taking on too much responsibility and I began a venture that I would not have cared about had it not been for my Earlham education.

Earlham’s mission statement boasts of instilling the value of being a life-long learner to prospective students, current students, and alumni; it was not until I left the college that I understood and accepted myself as a “mini-intellectual.” In my mind professors like Barb Caruso, Phyllis Boanes, Gordon Thompson, and both Paul and Mary Lacey were intellectuals. Even though I am literally taller than them, I can only aspire to think and read like them – so I am a “mini” intellectual, the junior whopper of Burger King if you will. I began to read all the books I had started, thought of reading, or wanted to read. I had no intention of writing a paper on them, or preparing for a comprehensive exam, but to consider the ideas, actions, and viewpoints of another person. I finally read "Frankenstein," "How the Garcia Girls Lost their Accents," "The Bean Trees," "The Lost Language of Cranes," "Mysterious Skin," "Running with Scissors," "Black Girl in Paris," "A Million Little Pieces" followed by "My Friend Leonard" and the entire "Tales of the City" series. I was at a used bookstore in Berkeley every weekend and spent entire days reading and writing at Café Flor in San Francisco. It did not matter that my job did not allow for me to buy a house my first year out of college. My job did, however, keep me in used books, BART tickets, and enough money to drink coffee and tea all day at café’s.

A year after I left Earlham, I finally encountered someone — aside from a friend or family member — who recognized the name Earlham. I was interviewing for a position with the Admissions office at California State University, East Bay and the vice president of Enrollment Services looked at my resume, looked at me, and remarked, “Earlham College? I think that is the best kind of education a young man can receive.” A week later I was hired, was being paid on a salary instead of by the hour, and decided that I would take advantage of the fee waiver program so that I could earn my MA in English while I worked.

I miss Earlham. I will always miss Earlham. I think about how I want to return, someday, to sit on the bench in front of OA where I once considered going back home during my first year, to see whether or not there is still my inscription of “K-Dawg likes to read here” on one of the basement tables in Lily, to hear the sound of the leaves cracking under my feet in the fall, or hear the wind outside Quaker meeting during the spring. Whether or not the actual campus looks different I will remember how it looked as I left: welcoming - despite the fact that I was heading the opposite direction on National Road.

When I started work as Earlhamite Editor in August, I noticed a remarkable thing. Almost everyone I talked to at the College expressed a sense of ownership of and responsibility for the institution, yet they wanted to hear my ideas and allowed me great latitude in exploring new approaches to the magazine. This combination of commitment and open-mindedness has made my job so much easier, and I thank my colleagues for it.

I expect that alumni will embrace this new supplement to the Earlhamite with a similar generosity of spirit. What's more, I hope that Earlhamite readers will choose to participate in the success of this site by contributing letters and essays. We welcome your comments about the magazine and this online supplement. We hope to read first person accounts of how an Earlham education has shaped the lives of our students, faculty and alumni. Most of all, we hope that Earlhamite Extras, with the help of readers like you, will offer some sense of how Earlham alumni remain engaged in our changing world.

Welcome. We hope to hear from you soon.

Jonathan Graham
Editor