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SEE BOB LISTEN. See Bob learn. See Bob spend a night on a futon and unfold his old bones to tell about it.
Actually, see Bob practice total immersion two days, one night, five classes, four meals in UMass undergraduate life, which for him personally is twenty-seven years back there in the mists of time. And not only rise from his futon "an item of furniture that had not been introduced to our consciousness when I was a student" without signs of damage, but emerge from the entire experience elated about everything except some aspects of the physical plant. Also reinforced in his ire that his alma mater is not regarded especially out in eastern Mass, where he lives with a fraction of the admiration he feels it deserves.
Now, since Bob Goodhue '70 is president of the UMass Alumni Association, he might be suspected, by the cynical, of shilling for the management in his enthusiastic account of a stay on campus last October. That would be by the cynical who haven't experienced the chronic irreverence of the close-bearded Topsfield attorney, but it would be a legitimate question: is Goodhue indulging in partisan hyperbole when he describes the excellence in the trenches?
We don't think so. For instance, when asked about the food in Hampden and Worcester dining commons, where he ate, he said, "I thought it was adequate. There was plenty of it, they had some choices." He didn't even have to be asked about physical conditions. Though he commented that Washington tower, where he stayed, seemed very clean and safe and so security-conscious that when he went for a late-evening walk one of his undergraduate hosts had to be called down to get him back in Goodhue volunteered his distress at the shabby conditions in some classrooms, and the lack of proper, or any, furniture in some lounges he saw in Southwest and Orchard Hill.
"I think we really need to push to provide the infrastructure improvements that this type of teaching and student involvement deserves," he told Collegian reporter Tamar Carroll on the second day of the visit by which time he'd attended classes taught by both senior faculty and graduate students and spent the better part of twenty-four hours in the close company of undergraduates. "We have to make the physical surroundings equal to the faculty and students."
Goodhue was preaching from the same text and with unabated conviction a few weeks later, when he returned to address the faculty senate, and after the holidays, when we called to ask him to reflect back on his experience. "The excellence of the teaching and the responsiveness of the students that's my most positive impression from the whole experience," he said in January.
Some of what Goodhue experienced he says he'd just forgotten, or failed to appreciate the first time through. After "spending fifty minutes being very much entertained" by a class taught by psychologist Morton Harmatz, "I went up to Mort and said, "Geeze, how the hell did I waste all this when I was eighteen?" He'd also forgotten the quasi-familial aspect of the dining commons, with students sitting around talking about their day, their plans for the evening "Some of which involved study" and how those who were going to parties were going to handle transportation and alcohol.
Some things really have changed, Goodhue thinks. Barriers seemed lower: he was struck by the amount of exchange between students and faculty even in Harmatz' class in a big lecture hall in Hasbrouck. In smaller groups, like a journalism class taught by Karen Bliss in Bartlett or several sections that were taught by graduate students, he was struck by both quality "You know, they were good," he says of the five-minute plays being presented by students in a theater class he sat in on Friday morning and the balance between openness and control maintained by the teachers. "She wouldn't take any baloney," he remarks of the T.A. in the theater class. "She was clearly in charge." At the same time, in every class he attended, "everybody weighted in. Almost to a person, the students were participating."
Similarly, on a personal level, he found students who were "very comfortable with themselves; very mature in some ways; who talk with each other about things we didn't talk about." Goodhue looks back at his undergraduate days and sees "four or five fraternity brothers I realize now were alcoholic." Among the students he spent time with in Southwest, he saw and heard apparently unfeigned indications "that the educational messages about alcohol are getting through."
What his two days in the trenches provided, says Goodhue, was eyewitness confirmation of what the familiar statistics about award-winning programs and professors suggest: that you can't do better than UMass. It makes the man froth over the phone that so many people don't get it, even at the statistical level. "I've told people out here about the number of MacArthur genius grant winners we have, or the number of graduate programs singled out by the National Research Council, and had them say, `I don't believe it.' Just not believe it!"
Believe it: if anybody's listening and Goodhue affirms that in the wake of his visit he kept his promise to write about it to the governor, the senate president, and speaker of the house they're going to get this guy's clear and persistent message: "I want the faculty to know the alumni care about them. I want the students to know the alumni care about them. Excellent teaching, bright, responsive students that's what I saw, and everything that all the rest of us are doing is going to support that."
CLASSMATES OF CARL THORNBER can see him without going to Hawaii, where he now lives. Just surf the TV channels until a program about volcanoes comes up. Chances are Carl will be on it.
"I've done twenty-four programs in the last two years," Thornber says. "On the Discovery Channel, CNN, ABC, NBC, CBS." One program placed him in one of "The World's Most Dangerous Jobs," but he laughs that off. "This is a fantastic job," he says. "I tried for years to put myself in a position to get it."
Formerly a petrologist working in Saudi Arabia, Thornber is now staff geologist for the U.S. Geological Survey at the Volcanoes National Park in Hawaii. There he monitors Kilauea, the world's most active volcano. Kilauea's current eruption began in 1983 when lava poured over roads, destroying park facilities, archeological sites, and 180 homes before streaming into the Pacific. "Our main goal here is to learn about how volcanoes work so we can predict eruptions and mitigate disasters," Thornber explains.
A typical day for Thornber begins with checking his "seismometers" and "tiltometers" to see what's happened overnight. Seismometers measure earthquakes, and "Seismic swarms hundreds of tiny quakes, many too small to be felt unless you're right on top of them precede eruptions, " Thornber notes. Tiltometers measure changes in the slant of the land; shifts indicate that lava is shouldering its way to the surface.
After this, Thornber might go out to inspect the latest lava flow in a remote part of Kilauea. One regular task is to snag a glob of molten lava and quench it in water. Later, chemical analysis will shed light on what's happening in the volcano's fiery heart. On quieter days, he might settle down to write a seminar presentation or a journal paper, sometimes collaborating with UMass geosciences faculty Michael Rhodes and Stephen Haggerty , the mentor he credits with "opening my eyes to geology." (He also praises Richard Hamilton '53 , his natural sciences teacher at Mount Greylock Regional High School in Willamstown, for "setting me on the right track.")
Thornber grew up in Lanesboro. He and his wife Mary lived in Lincoln Apartments during their Amherst years; then they moved to Kingston, Ontario, where Carl got his master's in 1978. Later came a stint at the University of Colorado in Boulder, where the work he calls "cooking rocks in Saudi Arabia" earned him a Ph.D. Now the father of four children and grandfather of two, he delights in Kilauea, not least because "Instead of cooking rocks in a lab, the volcano hands them to me."
If you've missed Carl on TV so far, he notes that "Some of the programs seem to be on constant rerun. And there's a good BBC series, `The Earth Story,' due on PBS this year."
-Claire Hopley '76G, '83G
HEIDI SARVER WAS BORN HEADSTRONG: she admits somewhat ruefully, somewhat mischievously, that faced with such a spirited child her mother had to be"creative" to win cooperation. Determination in the face of doubt or resistance has taken Sarver far, however. Today she holds a position coveted in the marching band world, that of director of the"Fightin' Blue Hens" at the University of Delaware.
Growing up in a musical family,Sarver tried several instruments before settling,in the fifth grade, on the trumpet.Why trumpet?
"Ego" she says matter-of-factly,"Solos,the melody line,being in the limelight appealed to me" The trumpet is sometimes thought of as a"masculine instrument," she adds,and"guys gave me lots of grief " In spite of,or because of, the grief, Sarver kept on blowing her chosen horn, becoming first chair in her high school's orchestra
In college, some music faculty members advised her not to march in the UMass band. (It was considered "non musical activity. ," says Sarver.) She responded predictably: she played right through graduate school. In fact, she recalls,"l did them all" -"them" being the wind, jazz, and brass ensembles, the orchestra, and the symphony as well as marching band, and finished her last semester on campus with a 4.0.As for being a band director - an ambition she formed in the ninth grade - not everyone understood that. "You want to be a what ?" Sarver mimics. Nonetheless, two weeks after graduation she had her first job, as a high school band director
It was Minuteman band director George Parks,says Sarver,who helped her keep her drive from always going into overdrive."He taught me that it's important that passion for what I believe in,but also how to be positive, to see things from other peoples perspective. You can't barge full-steam onto the field without anyone behind you"
Parks had recruited Sarver to UMass after working with her in her high school drum corps. Fifteen years later she is still a full-blown fan,as well as a friend and colleague. Summers,she works for Parks giving drum-major workshops. She also choreographs some of the UMass half-time"drills." (She estimates each takes about sixty to seventy hours to create - working, as much as possible, straight through.) For Homecoming last fall,Sarver left Delaware after work Friday,drove to Amherst, arrived at midnight, and was rehearsing a halftime program with fellow Alumni Band members at eight o'clock Saturday morning (The program had special meaning for all involved this year, because Parks is celebrating his twentieth anniversary at UMass,and band alumni returned from as far away as California.) Afterwards, Sarver drove to Allentown, Pennsylvania,to be with her charges for a college band festival on Sunday.
In October, when Sarver brought her Blue Hens to play at halftime during the UMass/Delaware game she was formally inducted into the Minuteman Band Hall of Fame. Has the dogged determination paid off? Says Sarver,"l am exactly where I want tobe" In her three years at Delaware,she's built the band from 104 members to 240-with the help,incidentally of fellow Umie Jim Ancona '92, the band's percussionist. Having been hired to develop the band, perhaps it's not surprisng that she has had the support of administration and students. But Sarver is still very grateful .
"At Delaware:' she says fervendy,"a football game is not just a game, it's a full day.Tailgating starts the night before, and the crowd does not leave the stands at halftime.They stay to watch the band, just like at UMass They go nuts! They appreciate any band, they love a great band "
It all comes down to"being paid to have fun," she concludes."l love the music,the pageantry,the sweat and grind of putting a show together. And having the band succeed - it's the thrill of my life "
