by Ronald R. Thomas

I’ve been thinking a lot about the soul lately. I’m not sure why. Maybe because in a time of change and transition—and it sure seems like the world is in one of those times right now—the mind turns to the things that are eternal and essential. The soul is the thing you don’t sell, and you don’t surrender, you don’t lose—no matter how trying the times may be and no matter the price.

So I’m on Alaska Flight 3 out of D.C. National, somewhere Pittsburgh-ish on my way back home after a week in our nation’s capital. Coast to coast, in the darkness, about six hours in the air. I’m taking my first listen to Bob Dylan’s freshly released Shadows in the Night, an album of classic American tunes, all of which were once recorded by Sinatra but in this collection definitely done Bob’s way. I’d added the music to my iTunes playlists just before takeoff as an early birthday present to myself.

It was like stepping over a battlefield strewn with the corpses of fallen warriors. On that first morning after December’s harrowing windstorm, the same breathtaking walk I take every day—from the president’s house, through the president’s woods, beside the library, and out into the central quad to my office—took my breath away for a new reason. So many of the Douglas firs that make our campus a lovely arboretum were down. Their great root systems, normally secure and invisible underground, were upended and exposed to the air.

What are our sacred spaces? This was the first thing our dream team of architects and planners asked us to consider as we began a year-long enterprise that will guide campus development over the next 20 years.

The question asks us to consider the future's shape by first taking a look into the past. It urges us to note our most memorable places on campus, the points of inspiration that have helped give Puget Sound its distinctive character. How can we preserve and make the most of these spaces, and what can they teach us as we think ahead?

The Stones were singing. The Rolling Stones, I mean. And they were turned up pretty loud on my rental car radio. It was "Ruby Tuesday." I was making the soft turn on the Schuster Parkway just past the big grain elevator, coming out of Old Town and headed toward I-5 when, boom, there it was, right on my windshield: The Mountain. It was too big to be real and, it seemed, right there in the front seat with me.

May 1, 2007

On Sunday, the New York Times carried a lengthy article reporting on the astonishing proliferation of environmental events and activities being conducted on American college campuses:

"Rising concern about the environmental crisis is sweeping the nation's campuses with an intensity that may be on its way to eclipsing student discontent over the war ...a national day of observance of environmental problems...is being planned for next spring...when a nationwide environmental 'teach-in'... is planned...."

It seemed smaller than I expected it would be. The ceiling was a little lower, and the hallways narrower. But it was pretty awe-inspiring, especially that short corridor leading to the big, dark, wood-grained door with the presidential seal on it. The name itself invoked a mixture of respect and anxiety: The Situation Room. Big things happen here. Critical decisions made, disasters averted, policies hammered out, secrets kept, the power wielded—the West Wing of the White House, up close and personal.

No one really believed it‹the claim made by some commentators in the wake of electing our first African-American president that we are now living in a post-racial society. The myths and realities of race are just too deeply ingrained in our history, and we have learned them too well. Even if we no longer believe race is an essential biological category--that it is a historical and social construction, a surrogate for class conflict and political oppression--it is difficult, and not even desirable, to imagine its erasure, even as we seek to progress in our understanding of it.

from the Business Examiner, January 9, 2012

When people ask me about my job, I say it’s the most impossible job in the world, and it’s also the most fulfilling. I love my work, and when I am tossing and turning at night, it’s from the combination of excitement about making the future come true for 2,700 young people at any given time and the awesome responsibility of doing that when so many forces in our culture are aligned against making long-term investments in the things that matter most.”