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The Harry and Jeanette Weinberg building, home to Hopkins'
state-of-the-art cancer treatment center, opened in 1999 to
rave reviews. After a while, however, one problem became
apparent. No one could find the meditation room. "It opens
into the main lobby right next to the Juice and Java Bar,
but it blends in so nicely that no one knows it's there
until you point it out," says the Rev. Nick McDonald, staff
chaplain.
All that should change this spring, when the room's
inconspicuous entrance is replaced by a swirling wall of
stained glass designed and fabricated by Martha Hanson,
SPSBE '91. Founder and principal artist of Paned Expressions
Studio of Edgewood, Maryland, Hanson was one of several
respected stained glass artisans asked to submit proposals
for the space. Of the three designs she submitted, her
favorite--titled Persistence--was deemed "excellent"
and she was commissioned in 2001 to execute the design.
The work consists of nine individual panels of various sizes
that complete the overall effect of an eternally crashing
ocean wave. Incorporating design elements used throughout
the Weinberg building, it contains nearly 500 shaped pieces
of stained glass hand-selected from manufacturers in
Germany, the U.S., and France. The panels in their metal
framework traverse the entire wall separating the meditation
room from the building's lobby, and include a 10-foot-tall
entrance door.
"When it's complete, you'll have to stand and look carefully
to find the actual door," Hanson says of her work, in which
an encompassing whole is meant to convey feelings of
endurance, resoluteness, and tenacity. Those attributes of
persistence are "something I feel all cancer patients need
to survive," she observes.
She speaks from personal experience. Hanson credits Hopkins
with helping her father recover from lung cancer two years
ago. In gratitude, she is donating two of the nine panels to
Hopkins'
Sidney Kimmel Comprehensive Cancer Center. Spectrum
Glass, a manufacturer she has used on many previous
projects, has joined her recognition of the Kimmel Center by
donating the swirling "baroque glass" that provides the
design's background.
"Our studio is noted for pushing the envelope when it comes
to cutting and shaping glass, and this window will be no
exception," says Hanson. "The background glass surrounding
the wave will be a special challenge to match from piece to
piece due to the swirling textures of the glass. We have to
allow a certain privacy for those within the meditation
room."
Hanson will use techniques that date back to the earliest
methods in creating stained glass, yet will also employ the
more modern Tiffany copper foil method of construction. It
is, she says, a "hostile art" that demands both artistry and
a certain physical fortitude. "One may be cut, pelted with
flying glass particles, burned with acids or a soldering
iron, poisoned with lead, and so on," she says. "But the
rewards lie in selecting just the right glass effect which,
when completed, gives you chills as the light passes through
it. To have created a painting in glass, without painting on
the glass, is our goal."
In Persistence, Hanson has painted a glowing tapestry
of meditation. "Martha's work is open to the contemplative,
and I think that's freeing in a good way," says chaplain
McDonald, who keeps a drawing of the window by his desk. "In
the cathedral tradition, stained glass was first used to
tell stories. Then the rosette windows evolved as objects of
meditation. Martha's circle is in that tradition. It's
dynamic: you see waves, clouds, sky, flow. It moves within
the circle, and below it, and it ends up moving the viewer.
I know it moves me. I see a dream catcher from the Native
American tradition. I see a portal. The more I live with it,
the more I get it." --Mike Field
Peabody students
trumpet the breaking of ground for the Institute's $24
million capital improvements project, which focuses around a
magnificent Grand Arcade. The project's launch was made
possible by generous gifts including $10 million from an
anonymous donor, the largest gift ever received from a
private individual in Peabody history. Other leadership
donors honored during the ceremonies were the Rouse Company;
the Richard and Rosalee Davison Family Foundation; and Hilda
and Douglas Goodwin. The State of Maryland provided a $3
million matching grant.
Caleb Deschanel, A&S '66
Whether in the midst of a Revolutionary War battle scene, or
knee-deep in mud during a Malaysian monsoon, Caleb
Deschanel, A&S '66, loves the often messy and unpredictable
process of movie making. "I don't know if I could survive a
9-to-5 job," he says, explaining that he thrives on the
adrenaline rush and creative challenge of making a world of
imagination come to life.
The Oscar-nominated cinematographer, who has also directed a
couple of films and episodes of the TV series Twin
Peaks, speaks a multi-faceted visual language that runs
the gamut from the exotic grandeur of Anna and the
King to the graphic historicity of The Patriot.
Whether exploring outer space in The Right Stuff or
expressing inner melancholy in The Natural, he views
his work as a rewarding combination of the rational and
intuitive, the deliberate and subconscious, the overt and
subliminal.
Cinematographers are responsible for the overall look of a
film, so they must work with a myriad of factors that vary
according to the moment, including lens type, lighting,
visual effects, camera movement, and production design.
Deschanel describes the process as "infinitely malleable"
and always surprising and new because there are so many
variables. "The script can be altered by the casting,
performance, weather, politics, studio pressure, and so many
things," he says. "Working in movies is a good career for
people who like unpredictability and can think on their
feet."
Deschanel was inspired by professors like Richard Macksey,
who involved Deschanel and other students in producing a
16mm film for a class, and chaplain emeritus Chester
Wickwire, who organized on-campus screenings of art films.
"It was hard for me to relate to big-budget Hollywood movies
like Ben Hur, but when I saw the French New Wave
films, and work by directors like Fellini and Bergman, I
thought maybe that was something I could do," says
Deschanel. "It whetted my appetite."
He became friends with what he calls a "fringe group" of
people at Hopkins, including Walter Murch, A&S '65, who went
on to become an Oscar-winning Hollywood sound designer.
Deschanel remembers when his friends staged a "Happening" on
campus. "We spread the word and a lot of people came, but
then it ended up just being Walter sitting on a chair in
Shriver Hall, eating an apple and watching the audience,"
Deschanel says, laughing. "It took a while for people to
realize that was all that was going to happen."
Murch, who has won three Academy Awards for his sound and
editing work on such films as Apocalypse Now, was a
year ahead of Deschanel at Hopkins. He was among those who
encouraged the young photographer to attend the University
of Southern California's film school, which solidified
Deschanel's career choice.
"It was really my experience at Hopkins that determined who
and what I am today," says Deschanel. "There are so many
brilliant people at Hopkins. You can be inspired in so many
different ways." --Jeanne Johnson
Recent projects
Directorial Credits
Awards
Family
Book Review
Frank Wu, A&S '88, is Chinese American, which, he points
out, is quite different from being of Japanese, Korean, or
Vietnamese ancestry. Yet in the minds of many, he says, the
fact that he is Asian means he possesses certain attributes
that are common to all Asians: Great at calculus.
Excessively polite. Chronic wrecker of the grade curve. "The
stereotype of me is that I'm a geek," he says.
In his first book, Yellow: Race in America Beyond Black
and White, Wu set out to show that stereotypes are
always limiting, even when they're considered flattering.
His goal, he says, is "to talk about race and civil rights
in a way that's inclusive," with a book that's aimed at
readers of all ethnic and cultural backgrounds, not solely
Asian Americans.
Despite his effort to explode stereotypes, Wu has become
something of a "professional Asian American," finding
himself cast as the voice of the Asian American community
even as he argues for Asian Americans to be treated as
individuals. The first Asian American to be named a law
professor at Howard University, Wu also enjoys an active
career as a commentator, having written for The
Washington Post, The Los Angeles Times, The Chicago
Tribune, and The Nation. He also writes a regular
column for Asian Week.
In Yellow, Wu argues that the prevailing image of
Asian Americans as the "model minority" can be damaging,
because it can limit one's range of opportunities. Wu
himself had the fortitude to swim against the tide but he
admits it wasn't always easy. He was a
Writing Seminars major at Hopkins at a time when most of
his Asian American friends were premeds, then went on to law
school while they pursued medical school or scientific
research.
"My parents are a little disappointed that I'm not a
doctor," Wu admits. As a result, he says, "part of my book
is written for Asian American parents. If you have a
community of doctors and engineers, what are you going to do
if you get sued? You have to have the full richness of
life." --Eileen Murphy
Snow Island, by Katherine Towler, A&S '82
(MA), MacAdam/Page Publishing (2002).
What is life like for a girl coming of age in the shadow of
World War II on an isolated island populated by clammers and
eccentrics? In her debut novel (the first of a planned
trilogy), Towler answers this question with a host of
characters at the same time original and realistic,
sympathetic and funny. -- ER
The poet's favorite method is to juxtapose observations of a
tiny moment (a child waking, a cricket singing) with
philosophical or historical musing. His frequent conclusion:
There is much random beauty all around us. The great America
poet William Stafford said of Axelrod's poems: "[They are]
to be cherished and passed around." --ER
In her sixth book of fiction, McGarry, chair of The Writing Seminars, offers up a
collection described by writer Grace Paley as being
"surprising in its riskiness and humor, and smart as
ever." --ER
In peace or war, the Navy is always on watch and prepared to
do its part when the nation calls, says Tom Cirillo, A&S
'76. Little did Cirillo know that doing his duty would renew
his faith in the power of miracles and personally involve
him in a television show on the PAX-TV cable network.
In September 1990, Cirillo was in California training to go
to the Persian Gulf when a helicopter from a neighboring
squadron lost both its engines off the Northwest Pacific
coast. The entire crew, including young co-pilot Tim
Hanusin, was lost when the helicopter crashed into the ocean
and eventually came to rest at the bottom of nearly 900 feet
of water. With one aircraft salvage attempt foiled by bad
weather, recovery was postponed until safer summer
conditions.
Later, it became Cirillo's job to lead the mission to
recover the helicopter. Using a submersible camera drone,
crew members surveying the wreckage noticed a pilot's helmet
on the ocean floor about 30 feet from the aircraft pieces.
Cirillo, knowing time was tight and personnel limited,
instructed them to leave the helmet where it was and focus
on the central mission of recovery. Although the aircraft
was in two pieces, the salvage crew successfully recovered
both sections.
By November 1993, Cirillo had become commanding officer of
the HSL-43 Battlecats, the squadron to which Tim Hanusin and
his crew had belonged. One day, after a series of severe
storms in the Pacific Northwest, Cirillo received an
intriguing phone call from the Coast Guard off the
Washington coast. A fishing trawler had pulled up a helmet
in its net. It was the same helmet that Cirillo's crew had
left on the sea floor. The helmet turned out to have
belonged to Hanusin.
Cirillo had it cleaned up, and then contacted Hanusin's
family. He explained the extraordinary odds against which
the helmet had been found, and asked if he could deliver it
to them personally. He knew that when a family loses someone
and the body is not recovered, the return of such a personal
item can be a key to dealing with grief. With another
officer he set out for the Hanusin home in New York, not
fully prepared for the welcome they received.
The home was filled with family, who urged Cirillo to stay
and visit. After he made his presentation, he heard a
surprising story.
"Tim's mother had recently passed away from a prolonged
illness," Cirillo later recounts. "During her last days she
told her children that she would do her best to give them a
sign that she and Tim were together in heaven." The family
believed Hanusin's helmet--recovered by fishermen on Tim's
birthday--was that sign. The name of the fishing boat that
recovered the helmet? The Rosemarie, which, in an additional
twist of fate, is also the name of Cirillo's mother.
Cirillo isn't sure what others might think of the Hanusins'
story, but for him, he says the event reaffirmed his belief
"that there are no circumstances that occur on their
own--there is a grand design."
The story didn't end there.
After Hanusin's helmet was returned to his family, his
sister Kathy shared the story with a local television
network. Eventually the account came to the attention of
PAX's "It Took a Miracle" program, which created an episode
around it. "It's a Miracle!" was aired nationally as a
Christmas special on December 13, 2001.
Footage Cirillo had filmed of the helicopter recovery became
part of the show, as did interviews with him about the
events. He and most of Hanusin's family re-enacted such
scenes as the return of the helmet. Although reliving the
events was emotional for Hanusin's family, Cirillo says,
"they wanted the story told."
Cirillo wants the story told, too. "It truly was a miracle.
The odds that Tim's helmet would ever have been recovered
and the confluence of events that had to align to get it
back into the arms of his family are unbelievable. It points
out to me the power of faith, hope, and the divine nature of
God's purpose." --Kathie Dickenson
What happens when you take a group of urban kids to the
woods for a camping trip?
"One girl showed up in glitter camouflage gear--very
Destiny's Child era," remembers Erica Hart, Med '01. "And
the first thing you noticed was, these kids are
loud." During the van ride out of the city, Hart
says, the van was "bouncing up and down the whole time."
Yet there was a moment on that first night in the woods when
the sound of the girls' giggles, the orange glow of the
leaping campfire, and the scent of burned marshmallows
combined to convince Hart of one thing: This is a
success!
The trip Hart organized was just one of 43 projects funded
last year by the
Johns Hopkins Alumni Association, which each year awards
some $35,000 in grants to students and student groups to
support community service projects and campus activities.
Among the projects funded last year: a breast cancer
awareness campaign at Homewood, an aerobics class for
students at Peabody, a community garden project for senior
citizens, and publication of a scholarly journal on
international affairs compiled by students at the Bologna
Center of SAIS. In 2001, the committee of alumni who decide
on funding voted to make the student-run
Milton S. Eisenhower
Symposium a regular line item in the annual budget.
"Many alumni might not know it, but their Alumni Association
membership dues make a significant difference in the lives
of current students and in the life of the local community,"
says Association President Idy Iglehart, Med '83. "We're
really proud of the community work Hopkins students do, and
we're proud to be a part of that."
Erica Hart organized the camping project (which included
three separate trips last summer for students from
Baltimore's Rosewood Community Center and the Druid Hill
YMCA) in collaboration with fellow members of the Hopkins
Chapter of the Student National Medical Association. "The
theory behind the whole thing is that in order to set goals
for your future, you have to know what's available in the
world," explains Brad Sutton, Med '01. "They were really
amazed by the animals, the bugs," he recalls.
Hart says there was a "hilarious contrast" between the van
ride to the campgrounds and the ride back into the city: "On
the way home, they were all fast asleep." --Emily
Richards
Last year the Baltimore Host Family Program matched 209
Hopkins students with 160 local alumni hosts. Far from
home--and home-cooked meals--students enjoy the brief
respite from the rigors of dorm living that the hosts
provide. (At left, Allen Salzman, SPSBE '71, and his wife,
Gloria, visit with Matthew Cohen, A&S '03, and John
Dickinson, Engr/Peab '03.) "Hosts appreciate the opportunity
to show off Baltimore to students. A connection to the local
community is especially important for the foreign students,"
explains program chairman Jim Schaefer, A&S '92 (MA).
Baltimore alumni who would like to participate can call the
Alumni Office at 410-516-0363 or send an e-mail to
alumni@jhu.edu.
A self-described non-religious Jew, Felix Posen, A&S '48, is
committed to providing non- Jews and others like himself the
opportunity to learn about Judaic history and culture in a
secular setting.
In the past decade, he has established two colleges in
Israel--Alma Hebrew College and Meitar, the College of
Pluralistic Judaism--and initiated the first programs in
secular Judaism at seven Israeli institutions of higher
learning.
Now, at Hopkins' Krieger School of Arts
and Sciences, he has endowed the Felix Posen
Professorship in Modern European Jewish History in the History Department. A search is
currently under way for a scholar to fill the chair.
A native of Germany, Posen traces his passion for secular
Judaism back to the end of his college experience at Johns
Hopkins. He had been religious, he says, "but when I came
back home after Hopkins I realized that the religion itself
wasn't for me anymore. It didn't answer the questions for
me.
"The funny part is," he recalls, "when I left religion, I
became more Jewish."
Now living in London and retired from his career as partner
in one of the world's largest international trading firms,
Posen is working to educate the world about the cultural,
intellectual, economic, and historical contributions of Jews
over the centuries.
He is governor emeritus of the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and
Jewish Studies, and has been the main support of the Center
for the Study of Anti-Semitism at the Hebrew University of
Jerusalem.
Posen doesn't imagine he is alone in his experience as a
non-religious Jew. In fact, according to a recent survey
funded by the Posen Foundation, 2.5 million Americans who
consider themselves to be Jewish say either they have no
religion, or they identify with another religion.
Giving up their religious beliefs shouldn't mean that Jews
turn their backs on their heritage, Posen emphasizes. But,
he notes, most education about Jewish history for youngsters
is tied to religious institutions, especially in the U.S.
Says Posen, "I am helping to redefine the Jewish world in
the sense that I want to be a service provider for those
Jews who are no longer religious by giving them a chance to
learn about their civilization and culture." --EM
When Johns Hopkins first began educating nurses in 1889, the
field was solely the domain of women--a state of affairs
that continued through much of the 1900s. In 1971, the first
men in Hopkins history--three in all--graduated from the
Hopkins training program. By 1990, there were 15 men
enrolled at the School
of Nursing; this year, 39 of the 577 students enrolled
are men. Says Steve Allen, Nurs '98 (left): "These days, all
the old ideas about what's a man's job and what is a woman's
job are changing. It makes sense that while many doctors are
women, more and more nurses are men."
More than 30 years after man first set foot on the moon,
work is under way to plan and accomplish a voyage that will
take astronauts to the surface of Mars and bring them safely
home again. Few people understand just how difficult and
daunting a task that will be.
"Right now, a plausible scenario is one in which six
astronauts will spend a year getting there, six months on
the planet surface, and a year coming back. And this is in a
spacecraft that won't be large when compared to the
shuttle," says Harry K. Charles Jr., Engr '72 (PhD), an
assistant department head for engineering at Hopkins'
Applied Physics Lab.
Charles is leading a group that is working on how to keep
astronauts healthy--and how to administer effective medical
care in the event of an emergency--during prolonged travel
into deep space. Since a manned mission to Mars is
unprecedented, Charles and other scientists are essentially
operating in uncharted territory.
"On a shuttle mission or on Mir, the protocol for injury or
serious illness is: stabilize and transport," says Charles.
"Essentially, get the sick person back to Earth as quickly
as you can. But on a mission to Mars that just won't be
possible."
The problems may be difficult to predict, but Charles is
well prepared. As a senior engineer in APL's
micro-electronics group, Charles has worked for years on
space and biomedical projects, including the development of
a lightweight X-ray system. He is now leading the technology
development team of the National Space Biomedical Research
Institute, a multi-site consortium of universities and
research centers that is working to prevent or solve health
problems related to long-duration space travel. NASA
established the NSBRI in 1997 to bring some of the best
medical minds in the country together to effectively invent
the new science of deep space medicine.
A space mission that takes astronauts more than 32 million
miles from home for a period of years presents new
challenges for man and machine alike. By contrast, the
Apollo 11 mission that first took men to the surface of the
moon lasted just slightly longer than eight days, two of
which were spent in lunar orbit. The distance between Earth
and the moon is less than one-hundredth the distance to
Mars.
Charles's responsibility as head of the technology
development team is to help invent the new medical devices
that will allow an onboard physician/surgeon to monitor,
diagnose, and treat the ship's crew. It is anticipated that
the physician will be faced with conditions that aren't seen
on Earth. Most of the difficulties will result from
weightlessness--more correctly described as
"microgravity"--which profoundly affects the human body over
long periods of time. "All the body's systems are geared for
one 'g' [normal Earth gravity]," notes Charles. "In micro-g,
the body begins to adapt. There is bone loss, muscle loss,
heart arrhythmias, and sleep anomalies, to name some of the
more serious effects." In addition, without the protection
of the Earth's atmosphere, the spacecraft is subject to a
steady bombardment of neutrons and other radiation that may
kill cells, damage tissues, or cause mutations and other
types of injury.
Charles's team is currently at work on eight projects, each
funded in the $200,000 to $400,000 range annually, that are
focused on developing lightweight, compact tools and medical
devices that could one day be carried aboard a spacecraft.
They include exercise equipment that may help prevent bone
loss, a radiation-monitoring portable neutron energy
spectrometer, an ultrasonic bubble detector (for prevention
of decompression sickness), a small MRI machine capable of
examining arms and legs, and several other diagnostic
medical devices that will measure bone and muscle loss and
monitor other vital functions non-invasively. Several of
these instruments will also be important for the delivery of
improved health care on Earth.
"Our goal is to have equipment on board the spacecraft that
will enable real-time measurements and diagnostics," says
Charles, noting this represents a complete change in
approach from earlier space missions. "Previously, samples
were collected and stored and analyzed later. But on a trip
to Mars we won't have that luxury." --MF
Rhodes Scholar, track star, master physician and teacher
Benjamin Baker, Med '27, has witnessed many changes during
his century-long lifetime. His longstanding association with
Hopkins has also sometimes brought him into association with
the rich and famous. But whether wealthy or poor, prominent
or not, every patient, Baker believes, "deserves the best
we've got."
The year Ben Baker was born, 1901, Picasso had just started
his "Blue Period," Marconi transmitted the first telegraphic
radio messages across the North Atlantic, and Teddy
Roosevelt became president following the assassination of
William McKinley.
During his 100 years on this planet, Baker (pictured at
right) has witnessed
tumultuous societal changes and the implementation of
medical advances that, at one time, existed only in the
realm of science fiction. He has also treated numerous
celebrities--men like actor Clark Gable, England's Duke of
Windsor, and the great journalist and critic H.L. Mencken.
Another was novelist F. Scott Fitzgerald, whose penchant for
gin combined with his recurring bouts of tuberculosis
ultimately thwarted Baker's attempts to keep him healthy.
Baker's first inspiration was his father, a prominent
physician in Norfolk, Virginia, who made house calls from a
horse and buggy, and then later owned one of the first
automobiles in Norfolk. Baker remembers, as a 12-year-old,
that his father left him alone for hours with a man who was
passing kidney stones. The patient was in excruciating pain.
"It was my job to divert the man's attention from his pain,
administer chloroform, and notify my father when enough time
had passed to administer another morphine dose," says Baker.
"It's amazing it didn't kill the both of us." It was an
awesome responsibility for a 12-year-old, but the young
Baker handled it well and the incident impressed upon him
the important role a physician can play in offering
relief.
Baker came to Johns Hopkins on the basis of a coin toss. He
and a friend, another Rhodes Scholar, were accepted into
medical school at both Hopkins and Harvard. "To decide where
we would go we tossed a shilling. It landed on the Hopkins
option," says Baker, so it was off to Hopkins they went.
In those days, patients were housed in wards separated by
sex and race, it was not uncommon for pneumonia to be fatal,
and an EKG machine was a room-sized contraption.
Baker graduated with honors from the School of Medicine in
1927, after only two years of study. After his internship,
he became chief resident at a time when residents were put
fully in charge of the hospital at night. Among many
problems he addressed as chief resident was an epidemic of
typhoid fever that depleted Hopkins' medical staff. The
outbreak was eventually traced to a hospital kitchen
worker.
One of the accomplishments of which Baker is most proud is
his association with the treatment of pernicious anemia
using liver serum, a technique first developed at Harvard
but proven effective by Baker and others at Hopkins. "It was
so exciting to be a part of that because pernicious anemia
was a uniformly fatal disease," he says. "Treatment made the
difference between death and a complete cure, and it was a
wonderful thing to witness."
During World War II, Baker was involved in treating malaria,
and then became a medical consultant to General Douglas
MacArthur, stationed in the South Pacific. It was an intense
time. "I could write a whole book about my wartime
experiences alone," he says. "I went into Okinawa on D-Day
with 25,000 pints of blood collected in the United States
and gave it all out in the first month." Lacking the help of
trained medical personnel, he says, "my principal
transfusion-givers were a bootlegger from the mountains of
Tennessee and a ladies' hairdresser."
Baker's long and distinguished medical career includes
private practice, teaching, and clinical investigation. In
his early years, Baker served as principal investigator at
Hopkins for a study that first established a link between
diet and coronary heart disease. As a Hopkins professor, he
later changed his focus from heart disease to colon cancer,
establishing the Bowel Tumor Working Group. Baker and his
family have been among Hopkins' most generous benefactors.
His mother- and father-in-law in 1947 established the
Clayton Fund for Medical Residents at Hopkins. This fund and
Baker's family in 1993 endowed the Clayton Professorship in
Oncology.
As an internist in private practice, Baker developed a
reputation as a master diagnostician. Consistent with his
reputation for gentlemanly thoroughness, he has always
maintained that "everybody who is sick needs the best we've
got."
Baker says there is no secret to his longevity. He
attributes his long life merely to luck. "Because of kidney
problems, I was told by some of the best doctors at Hopkins
that I wouldn't live to be more than 55," Baker says,
smiling, "but here I am." --JJ
"Whenever he'd get a cold, he'd raise pluperfect hell. He'd
blow his top because he couldn't work as hard." When sodden
with hay fever, "(Mencken) would say, sneezing and blowing
as loud as he could contrive to do, 'What a heinous
affliction that baffles you quacks!'"
Occasionally, Baker would see Mencken walking around town
with Blanche Knopf, the wife of his publisher. "Mencken
would be streaming with hay fever, hair awry, mopping his
face, perspiration coming through his seersucker suit, and
here she was, looking like Mrs. Vogue, walking down the
street with sweating, disheveled Mencken and they'd go into
the Belvedere and eat lunch together. She adored him, and he
adored her."
Baker on F. Scott Fitzgerald:
"He would sit there (in the emergency room) especially on
weekends and holiday nights when the emergency room was a
madhouse, trying to acquire material for short stories. He'd
get so in debt that he had to produce things, so he'd hole
up in the Stafford Hotel with a goodly supply of cigarettes
and gin and come out with five short stories bound to sell
for $2,500 a piece."
Fitzgerald's alcohol addiction, combined with his
co-dependent relationship with his wife, Zelda, made his
behavior frustratingly compulsive and erratic, but, "When
Scott was sober he was a charming and delightful man. He
looked you in the eye, was interested in you."
I was so impressed that President
Brody found a way to speak with just about every single
alum here," reported a Philadelphia alum last November. The
occasion, a cocktail reception followed by an update on
university affairs from the university's president, was held
in the Market Street Philadelphia offices of University
Trustee Mark Rubenstein, Engr '62, '67 (MA). Nearly 100
alumni attended. President Brody, Hopkins president since
1996, travels around the country meeting with alumni
throughout the year.
Hopkins alumni in the greater Philadephia area: 2,527
Recognize personal, professional, or humanitarian
achievement
William H. Miller, A&S '50, Med '54, collaborated on
investigating the anatomy, optics, chemistry, and physiology
of invertebrate and vertebrate eyes, which led to basic
understandings of photoreceptors, including the optics of
visual acuity. He is particularly distinguished for his
studies of the molecular mechanisms of vertebrate
photoreception.
Barry A. Solomon, Engr '69, is former president and
CSO of Circe Biomedical in Lexington, Massachusetts, a
spin-off that he established from W. R. Grace & Co. Circe
resulted from Dr. Solomon's dedication to the development of
a liver-support system and an artificial pancreas. His
liver-support system has already saved many lives.
Recognizes outstanding service to Johns Hopkins
University
Marshal L. Salant, Engr '80, helped devise the annual
Wall Street trip for undergraduates and served in the Second
Decade Society and on the Alumni Council. A member of the
Whiting School's National Advisory Council, he has
established a program providing undergraduates the
experience of investing, with proceeds going to
scholarships. |
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