It
was about 10 a.m. on Tuesday, November 30, 2004. I was at a meeting
on the 5th floor of Grace Hall, when my cell phone came to life.
On the other end of the line was then-Provost Nathan Hatch, asking,
"How soon can you extricate yourself from whatever you're doing
and come over here?"
As I walked across the Notre Dame campus to the Main Building,
I had a hunch, based on a casual conversation with Father Jenkins,
president-elect, a few weeks earlier, plus the debacle in Los
Angeles vs. USC the previous weekend, that this might concern
Coach Tyrone Willingham's tenure. Within seconds of entering the
meeting, I knew my instincts had been correct. As I heard the
decision I felt some concern but mostly a ripple of excitement,
knowing that this would be a professional challenge. Later, some
of the more depressing realities set in.
That was the beginning of a two-week public relations crisis,
some would say disaster, for the University of Notre Dame, and,
lucky me, I was the University spokesman.
The pros and cons of that decision and the way it was handled,
have been hashed over countless times since then. I can only say
it was a kind of "perfect storm," combining an eight-year period
of football mediocrity, a rare presidential transition at Notre
Dame, decades of American and collegiate racial history, and the
intense media scrutiny the University always attracts.
I had been, for 38 years, on the other side of that media scrutiny.
I was a reporter in Washington and Asia for eight years and spent
another 30 years as an editor at several publications, finally
serving eight years as editor of The Boston Globe. I
know what makes news and how fame and conflict are dynamic accelerants
for the media, especially if there's the added allure of taking
a mighty icon down a peg.
In July 2001, at age 58, I announced my retirement as editor
of the Globe. To my surprise, Notre Dame came calling.
Lou Nanni '84, '88M.A., then vice president for public affairs
and communication, flew out and asked me to take the job of associate
vice president for news and information. I turned him down. I
was going to remain in the Boston area, planning on a second career
that would not be quite as time-consuming and intense as the first
one. But after all those years of throwing myself into something
I really loved, I found it hard to generate enthusiasm for other
jobs.
A job to love?
My conversation with Lou had taken place less than a month before
9/11. Toward the end of 2001, I was reading one of the poignant
"Portraits of Grief" in The New York Times on victims
of the World Trade Center attacks. One fellow had enthusiastically
told his wife the night before he was killed how much he loved
his family and his job. He said he had never been happier. It
made me ask myself what kind of work could excite my passions
like that. My thoughts came back to Notre Dame as a place I had
always cared about deeply. To me Notre Dame was always an ideal
institution of good intentions, community spirit and historical
significance, to cite just a few of its characteristics. Oh, and
I happened to like everything about football and other athletics
at ND, not counting when we lost.
A day or so later, I called Lou and asked if the job was still
open. Silly me. I didn't realize then how slow the wheels turn
in academia. In August 2002, a year after I had first turned down
the job, I arrived back in South Bend, moving into a home that
my wife, Keiko, and I purchased on the southern edge of town.
I started work the following Monday, 38 years and two months after
I was graduated. In fact, I drove into a parking slot about 200
yards from my freshman-year room on the fourth floor of Keenan
Hall.
Another factor, which Lou had taken into consideration with
his initial offer, was my son, Kenny, who was then a freshman.
Keiko and I were concerned about how he'd feel becoming an instant
"townie,'' but he was a good sport about it. He continued to live
in Siegfried Hall and, later, off campus. We got to know his friends
and roommates better and tried to provide a home away from home
for them. Last May we were thrilled to throw a commencement party
for all of them. It was great to share a bit of those years with
him.
I served as chief spokesman for the University, managed the
news release operation and our website, and generally kept an
eye out for both opportunities and "landmines" that could affect
the University's image. I settled into a nice corner office on
the third floor of the Main Building, right above where the Band
of the Fighting Irish steps off before home football games, and
I was happily blessed also with a lively, talented and loyal staff
of eight.
The job had its ups and downs, but which one doesn't? Controversial
coaching changes and political culture wars are not good for the
soul or stomach of the University spokesman. I never had a serious
disagreement with a University officer or decision-maker, but
sometimes I strained to hold back my personal opinions when answering
an angry email from an alum. No, the stresses were no match for
my old editor's job on a day-to-day basis, but occasionally I
was the personification of the University, the one doing the talking,
which in turn prompted the full range of emotional responses one
gets in a public role these days.
Probably my greatest frustration was being on the other side
of the journalistic divide from reporters, particularly young
ones, who in my previous role paid me at least a modicum of deference.
Now I was lucky if they returned my phone calls or emails when
I tried to sell a story idea.
Tense time
Then there was the day Father Malloy decided to criticize the
decision by Father Jenkins to fire Coach Willingham. Whatever
skills I had for "spinspeak" had to be utilized. With counseling
from both inside and outside the building, I fashioned a statement
that acknowledged the disagreement but looked to move forward.
It was a tense episode, but, in a way, exciting, if one is given
to that kind of high-wire act. It required my digging deep into
my professional experiences to do what I felt was best for Notre
Dame.
Though the Information Age makes for more intensity in crises
like these, it also floods the public with so much information
that soon the details of the latest controversy blend into a white
noise of facts and opinion. A year later, with Charlie Weis doing
well as our football coach, much of the pain of 2004 seemed to
be forgotten.
Surrounding my professional duties were the joys of being back
within the warm embrace of the community. Every corner of campus
carries a memory. Any alum knows that from occasional visits.
For me, that experience didn't lessen with frequency. Time doesn't
always allow for a stroll around the grounds, but when it does,
I recall with vivid clarity the touch football games, the practical
jokes, a nocturnal beer run (a "hanging offense," back in those
days) or throwing a football in front of Walsh with a guy who
eventually won a Heisman Trophy, John Huarte '65. Whenever I cross
that diagonal sidewalk stretching from the South Dining Hall toward
Lyons, I remember sophomore year when I saw classmate Dick Wolsfeld
'64 break his elbow diving for a football. It still makes me shudder,
and I wonder how Dick feels when he crosses that spot.
Lyons also reminds me of bringing my daughter, Aimee, to start
her college career there in August 1983. Sitting on a bench near
Morrissey that day, I marveled that 19 years after I had left,
guys were still playing touch football on that quad. On the North
Quad I often think of Nick Schoen, a fellow freshman who transferred.
Nick and I were close friends, and I visited his home in Minnesota
the following Thanksgiving. He died of cancer in 1966, but the
memories linger of hanging together on that quad and on the fourth
floor of Keenan.
New stories
Better than the memories are the new experiences.
Notre Dame is a wonderful place to work, which is not to say
perfect. Unlike some of my experiences in the private sector,
nearly everyone really wants to be here and shares allegiance
to the basic tenets of the mission. They also tend to be friendly,
generous people. Although I managed to avoid his chemistry classes
as a freshman, Dr. Emil T. Hofman '53M.S., '63Ph.D., who sits
on a bench near the Main Building virtually every day of the year,
has become a great friend and confidant. At age 84, he's been
here more than half a century, student, teacher and inaugural
dean of first-year studies. Every village has its living legend.
And no matter how intense or low-key your own faith, the spiritual
nature of the people and the environs are truly food for the soul.
My predecessor in the Department of News and Information, Denny
Moore '70, was such a person. Denny was a great writer, an unmatched
interpreter and historian of Notre Dame, and a great fan of beers
and movies. Yet he lived the life of a saint. When cancer took
him from us much too soon, in December 2003, we were comforted
with the knowledge he would surely be welcomed home by the Lord.
Fortunately, there are others like Denny, and if I can't match
their examples I can still take pleasure in my observations of
their goodness.
Then there are the students. Maddening sometimes when engaged
in alcohol-induced foolishness, but wonderful to know as people.
Some worked in our office and some I have taught in my journalism
classes. They are earnest, good-hearted, amazingly bright kids.
Though gender relations on campus would appear to still be in
need of improvement, the young women of Notre Dame have improved
this campus immeasurably. For my money, women are the best thing
that happened to Notre Dame since it was named after one.
The Notre Dame campus is a great place to watch families. Parents
strive to be able to afford to send their child here and do what
they can to encourage him or her to excel. They sweat out the
admissions process and then, on a weekend in late August, prepare
to turn this child over to a new life. I am an avid observer of
freshman orientation, those moments when pride and anxiety compete
ferociously in the humid summer air. Over the next few days, one
occasionally sees a newly independent son or daughter who appears
confused and bewildered. But in a few more weeks the first year
students are blending seamlessly.
Four years later on commencement weekend, the joy is palpable,
although there is a new character to the fear of separation. Many
of those once bewildered students are now struggling with the
notion of life away from the Dome. My favorite part of that weekend
is the final visit to the Grotto on Thursday evening. It's a mixture
of fun and prayer, and a procession of lighted candles from the
Basilica to the Grotto as our marvelous Folk Choir sings, "Lead,
Kindly Light." Every year, it's a great Notre Dame moment.
Which reminds one of another benefit of working here, or at
any college: the academic calendar. Its many breaks can impede
progress in a business sense, but it's a wonderfully varied way
of life, mixing intense labor with rites of passage and time for
reflection.
Most alums experience the campus on beautiful fall weekends.
But we who work here know the campus is even more attractive during
the quiet weeks of summer with all its lush greenery. There's
nary a plant without a new layer of mulch. There is a sense of
anticipation for the school year ahead and a tinge of mourning
for the seniors who have just moved on. The quiet season begins
the Tuesday after commencement, when the last senior has departed
and the Grotto is still wall-to-wall with their farewell candles.
The work life for staff, and some faculty, remains, but at a
slower pace. Sometimes the only noise is the powerful sprinklers
arcing over the quads. Starbucks in LaFortune is nearly empty
most summer mornings. There is a week or so right after commencement
when the campus is at its emptiest. Summer school has not yet
started; visitors are few. One such evening, I happened to be
sitting outside the totally darkened LaFortune. I thought of all
the thousands of students who have passed through its doors, contrasting
with the utter silence of that twilight. It's the kind of moment
you only have if you are part of the permanent population. At
that time of year, the campus seems to be regenerating itself,
a feeling that intensifies as August begins to pass. Then one
day late in the month, one hears the band echoing off buildings
across campus, and, as Father Hesburgh says of that moment, "You
know we're back in business."
On the other end of the climatic scale is winter. Mornings are
dark, and one often drives to work under lighted street lamps.
The skies are perpetually gray. The icy chill can freeze high
spirits for everyone on campus, but it also can be conducive to
getting things done without the distractions of football season.
Crossing the DeBartolo Quad as classes change on a February morning
reminds you that serious work is going on here. Sunday evenings,
the students gather in their dorms for late Mass, sharing a kind
of intimacy as they join hands for the Lord's Prayer and circle
the altar for the Eucharist. There's a lot going on here beneath
the perma-cloud and the falling snow.
As mentioned, my office overlooked where the marching band steps
off in front of the Main Building. In November, the nearly 400
musicians step on the damp fallen leaves, and stains cover the
sidewalk. During the winter the snow sweepers come by and gradually
erase the stain. When the sidewalk is free of darkness once again,
you know it's spring. Anyone can tell you it's not easy to find
spring in South Bend, so it helps to have clues.
Coming back to Notre Dame gave me a chance to find a new love
-- teaching. I preside over a seminar on media ethics each spring
semester. This January I gave up the cozy corner office to take
up teaching full time. I will teach a "News in American Life"
course in the fall. It will allow my wife and me to spend our
summers in Maine, where we have just built a new home. But I can
still do the things I like most at ND -- interacting with students,
visiting Emil on his bench, taking in athletic and cultural events,
trekking daily to Starbucks, and enjoying the scene as I walk
those old sidewalks.
Returning here was one of the best decisions of my life. After
an intoxicating and hectic life as a newspaper editor and the
life of a minor celebrity in Boston, I tell friends back home
that it allows me to live my life in the present tense. No one
comes up to me on the street, still telling me what's wrong with
the Globe. Instead I live a life in which I am often
emotionally touched. If nothing else does it in a given week,
the 11.45 a.m. Folk Choir Mass at the Basilica will restore my
spirit. And I'm in one of those few spots on earth where you just
feel you belong.
At one of the commencement ceremonies last year, a departing
senior said it well. "The Notre Dame experience -- from the outside
looking in, you can't understand it; from the inside looking out
you can't explain it."
* * *
Matt Storin retired as associate vice president for news
and information in January 2006. He continues to teach at the
University.
(April 2006)
