Month: January 2012

  • One of the World’s Greatest Record Collections

    THURSDAY, JANUARY 26, 2012


    Unpacking Music Man Murray: My visit with one of L.A.’s last great record collectors

     
    by C.P. Heiser

    Murray and the collection © C.P. Heiser

    Turning to his record player and switching to a 78 stylus, Murray lets drop a scarce test pressing of a Valentino recording, circa 1923. “Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar…” he croons, the voice on key and sure, if only a little brittle. Meanwhile, the door into the collection is open, and I see just a hint of it: a glimpse of the shelves stuffed with the engraved sound of countless other voices and instruments.

    Music, as it relates to an object bearing recorded sound: this is what Murray Gershenz has been obsessed with for decades. Born in the Bronx in 1922, he served as a parachute mechanic during the Second World War before moving west and stumbling into a career as a cantor for various Los Angeles synagogues. All the while he collected records and tapes, and soon collecting took over. Big band, jazz and blues. Classical, folk, rock and roll. Murray collected all of it. In the ’60s he opened up a book and music shop at Santa Monica and Western. It wasn’t long before the books were jettisoned and the music took over.

    Fifty years later, one of the largest private record collections open to the public sits on Exposition Boulevard between the 10 freeway and Baldwin Hills. Painted twice across the cinderblock exterior — once in large block letters and then in cursive, over the security-gated entrance — is the name Music Man Murray. If a building can be called a doppelganger, than this drab, isolated structure might be the corollary for the man who unlocks its doors and shuffles inside each day.

    ¤

    We speak at Murray’s desk, in the anteroom of the two-story building. Behind me, I can feel the presence of the collection — one that numbers in the hundreds of thousands. Half a million. Maybe more. (The rest is in a warehouse somewhere else.) But let’s get something straight from the outset: this is no museum exhibit, and hardly an archive. It is a singular mass, a monster comprised of hundreds of thousands of recordings, many of them ancient 78 pressings or eight-track cassettes or acetate prints, which, I am beginning to sense, no longer matter so much without each other. Maybe this is why the Collector, who is fast approaching ninety, doesn’t want the thing to splinter apart, doesn’t want it to be sold off piecemeal. He wants a buyer for the monster.

    “I want to get the hell out of here,” he mutters at his desk, surrounded by favored memorabilia. An insomniac, he’s spent many nights recording compilations of rare records he didn’t want to lose track of through sale: collecting, in other words, his own collection. These favorites are here, near his desk, always in sight. “Crazy,” I say, admiringly. Murray gives me a sweet look that might be his signature. He is straight out of central casting. Behind a ticklish-looking mustache and large glasses, his eyes are bright and thoughtful, with white tufts of hair decorating the sides of an otherwise bald pate. Glancing over my shoulder I wonder if it’s time to see the collection. Go on in he tells me. He’s feeling tired today.

    Behind me, the Collector stands propped within the jamb (doubtless where he ought to be in case of an earthquake), backlit by the open door to the warehouse, the shelves of the collection looming over him: sagging under the stock, insurmountable, and almost pointless — who’s going to climb them? Stymied by the albums which are shoved in so tightly together it takes effort just to pull one out, I turn to look at Murray in the doorframe, and snap a picture. What’s happened to the Collector? What is happening?

    “Things just stopped moving,” Murray says, not so much glum as done. Along the side of the staircase, a hulking conveyor belt, used for transporting boxes of inventory between the first and second floors, sits idle. It hasn’t moved in a long time either.

    Murray’s got other stuff to do anyway. As it turns out, he’s an actor, does TV and film and radio. If you watch Modern Family or Parks & Recreation, for example, you might have seen Murray. A documentary film by Richard Parks, about Murray and his attempts to sell the collection, debuts this weekend (see the trailer for the film below). In all, Murray seems satisfied with his life. In fact, he seems fine with moving on, leaving the collection — his life’s work — behind. The question is whether somebody will buy it complete and allow Murray to leave, for lack of a better term, with a clear conscience. Otherwise, there will be another, more ambiguous question to face: when does a collection stop being what it is?

    ¤

    Murray remembers the early days of his career, when he was visited by another music collector. The man wanted to sell his collection. Murray went to the man’s house and valued the collection of records — it was full of gems and rarities and worth a small fortune. At the time, starting out as he was, Murray was in no way prepared to make such an acquisition. Of course, he did anyway, taking out a loan and spending much of a day heaving boxes of the man’s records back to his shop. It was an epic score, and Murray still relishes the memory.

    Two weeks later the man returned, asking if Murray would consider selling back the collection. The man must have been terribly distraught to embarrass himself this way, but Murray doesn’t remember very well. Why should he? There was no chance in hell he was giving it back. Murray does remember asking the man why he sold the collection in the first place. “Persian rugs,” the man answered. They were his new love, but not for long. The man bought a rug with the money Murray had given him, but missed his records. I imagine a distinguished-looking man in a smoking jacket. Lying on some fine, elaborate carpet, he stares mournfully at the useless record player beside him. Murray shakes his head. The Collector may have wise eyes and a kind face, but there is little sympathy now, only bemusement for the fellow who didn’t know himself well enough to understand that the collection represents the collector, and that to abandon it is to abandon oneself. If you’re ready to let go of what you once were, like Murray says he is today, that’s one thing. If you’re not, you’re like the poor fool who handed Murray his soul. Murray, it turns out, isn’t as sweet as he looks.

    In “Unpacking My Library,” his essay on book collecting, Walter Benjamin claims that the best way to acquire a book is to write it oneself. The second best way, he says, is to steal it. The point? There is utter hubris in the collector’s impulse. However self-effacing or geekily awkward a collector might be, however apparently humble in manner or appearance, a true collector harbors inside of him the arrogance of a despot, the blind desire of Cortez. As Benjamin famously quoted the Latin: “Books have their fates.” And copies of books have their fates as well, he says, the most important fate being its “encounter with the collector, and his collection.” For the collector, “the true freedom of all books is somewhere on his shelves.”

    Behind Music Man Murrays’s apparent sweetness, the competitive drive to acquire, to possess, still flickers in the story he tells of the errant collector. The collector is both conqueror and liberator. Of any given specific set of like objects, Murray tells me, “You have to have everything.” That is the mark of the true collector: you must possess a private Manifest Destiny, a fetish driven by rivalry, competition. The problem is that Music Man Murray’s rivals just aren’t coming anymore. There aren’t the same obsessive people out there working hard to track down, say, every last acetate copy of Heda Hopper’s radio program “Hollywood Magazine” (which, incidentally, Murray pulled for me from a pile near his desk). As Murray says, they just stopped coming. So the flicker in his eyes snaps on and off, like a pilot light not finding gas.

    What puzzles me a little is why Murray doesn’t appear to be suffering from even the mildest case of existential angst. Near the end of Benjamin’s essay, the critic distinguishes between public and private libraries, noting that the phenomenon of collecting loses much of its meaning as it loses its personal owner. Why, then, is Murray okay with giving up his life’s project, the single thing that has defined him more than anything else, and just walking away? Perhaps it’s that he’s come to the conclusion that, without other collectors, he simply is no longer a collector himself. The place that is Music Man Murray and Murray the man are no longer inseparable. The place is the place. Murray is Murray. And if the hand-lettered sign on the building has lost hold of its referent, what, then, is the place worth?

    ¤

    Without prompting, Murray tells me an interesting if apocryphal story. It is about a journalist who visits an asylum to investigate patient treatment. The reporter speaks to different people who present clear reasons for their being committed. During his work, the reporter comes across a man whom he believes to be a visitor like himself, given how absolutely normal — totally sane — his behavior seems. It is only after a long, pleasant chat that this man reveals, in passing, that he is a patient at the asylum. The reporter is flummoxed, and blurts out, “But you’re completely fine! Totally sane! One hundred percent uncertifiable. Why in God’s name are you here!?” The man demurs; the reporter insists. At which point the man’s eyes bulge and he explodes in a rage, attacking the reporter savagely, beating him and clawing at his face. “His problem,” says Murray. “He was convinced he was crazy.” That was his sticking point, Murray says: the guy didn’t want to be told he didn’t belong there.

    ¤

    We’re back at Murray’s desk. I ask him what makes a collector collect, and Murray tells me it’s like malaria. “Once you get bitten, you can’t give it up.”

    We smile, but I think we both know that’s not quite accurate. Collecting isn’t a contractible disease, randomly acquired. To be a true collector is an essential trait of personality, like being a “leader,” or a “clown.” It is a private pathology. There is no “somewhat of a collector.” You either are, and you always have been, or you aren’t. If it wasn’t records for Murray, it would have been bottle caps or baseball cards or vintage cars.

    And perhaps this is how the story of the lunatic lines up with Murray, at least the Murray of today. Like the lunatic who isn’t a lunatic, Murray is a contradiction: a collector who isn’t a collector. For both men, it may be a question of place. The lunatic will scratch and claw to stay in the asylum no matter how often he’s told he doesn’t belong there. He will protect his rightful place in the asylum. Murray, on the other hand, is leaving the place that has defined him. And someday soon, he hopes, he will be a collector without a collection. Outside, the building with his name on its façade appears to be shrinking, just as music, too, has shrunk. These days, music lives inside a few scattered bits of data, the fetishized object becoming, at least for the masses, not so much the music as the little hand-held device upon which it plays.

    I nod and Murray nods and the record scratches out the tune, “Pale hands I loved…” That’s “loved” — past tense — though I doubt this is the last time he plays it.

    Left to right, filmmaker Richard Parks, Murray’s son Irv, and Murray © C.P. Heiser

    Richard Parks’ documentary Music Man Murray premieres this weekend at the Santa Barbara International Film Festival. For more information about the film you can visit Parks’ site for the film, or click here for aschedule of screening times. It will also be screening at the East Bay Jewish Film Festival.

     Copyright. 2012. Los Angeles Times. All Rights Reserved

  • A Sharper Mind, Middle Age and Beyond

     

    Margaret Riegel

     

     

    Margaret Riege

     

    January 19, 2012
     

    A Sharper Mind, Middle Age and Beyond

    By 

    IN 1905, at age 55, Sir William Osler, the most influential physician of his era, decided to retire from the medical faculty of Johns Hopkins. In a farewell speech, Osler talked about the link between age and accomplishment: The “effective, moving, vitalizing work of the world is done between the ages of 25 and 40 — these 15 golden years of plenty.”

    In comparison, he noted, “men above 40 years of age” are useless. As for those over 60, there would be an “incalculable benefit” in “commercial, political and professional life, if, as a matter of course, men stopped work at this age.”

    Although such views did not prevent the doctor from going on to accept a post at Oxford University, one he retained until his death at age 70, his contention that brainpower, creativity and innovation have an early expiration date was, unfortunately, widely accepted by others. Until recently, neurologists believed that brain cells died off without being replaced. Psychologists affirmed the supposition by maintaining that the ability to learn trudged steadfastly downward through the years.

    Of course, certain capabilities fall off as you approach 50. Memories of where you left the keys or parked the car mysteriously vanish. Words suddenly go into hiding as you struggle to remember the guy, you know, in that movie, what was it called? And calculating the tip on your dinner check seems to take longer than it used to.

    Yet it is also true that there is no preordained march toward senescence.

    Some people are much better than their peers at delaying age-related declines in memory and calculating speed. What researchers want to know is why. Why does your 70-year-old neighbor score half her age on a memory test, while you, at 40, have the memory of a senior citizen? If investigators could better detect what protects one person’s mental strengths or chips away at another’s, then perhaps they could devise a program to halt or reverse decline and even shore up improvements.

    As it turns out, one essential element of mental fitness has already been identified. “Education seems to be an elixir that can bring us a healthy body and mind throughout adulthood and even a longer life,” says Margie E. Lachman, a psychologist at Brandeis University who specializes in aging. For those in midlife and beyond, a college degree appears to slow the brain’s aging process by up to a decade, adding a new twist to the cost-benefit analysis of higher education — for young students as well as those thinking about returning to school.

    Dr. Lachman is one of the principal investigators for what could be considered the Manhattan Project of middle age, an enormous study titled Midlife in the United States, or Midus. This continuing examination of Americans’ physical and emotional health and habits gained momentum in the 1990s as the first wave of baby boomers were settling into their fifth decade and running up against their own biases against aging. More than 7,000 people 25 to 74 years old were drafted to participate so that middle-agers could be compared with those younger and older. And with a new $21 million grant from the National Institute on Aging, the Midus team is beginning its third round of research this month.

    What makes Midus particularly valuable is that researchers can track the same person over a long period, comparing the older self with the younger self to see which capabilities are declining and which are improving. This approach has opened a new peephole into the middle-age brain.

    DESPITE continuing emphasis on SAT-type testing, in recent decades researchers have become much more aware of the range of abilities that constitute intellectual muscle. The Harvard psychologist Howard Gardner called his version of this theory “multiple intelligences” in his seminal 1983 book, “Frames of Mind.” “The human mind,” he later explained, “is better thought of as a series of relatively separate faculties, with only loose and non-predictable relations with one another, than as a single, all-purpose machine that performs steadily at a certain horsepower, independent of content and context.”

    Many researchers believe that human intelligence or brainpower consists of dozens of assorted cognitive skills, which they commonly divide into two categories. One bunch falls under the heading “fluid intelligence,” the abilities that produce solutions not based on experience, like pattern recognition, working memory and abstract thinking, the kind of intelligence tested on I.Q. examinations. These abilities tend to peak in one’s 20s.

    “Crystallized intelligence,” by contrast, generally refers to skills that are acquired through experience and education, like verbal ability, inductive reasoning and judgment. While fluid intelligence is often considered largely a product of genetics, crystallized intelligence is much more dependent on a bouquet of influences, including personality, motivation, opportunity and culture.

    To illustrate how crystallized intelligence can operate, Gene D. Cohen, a founder of the field of geriatric psychiatry, related a story about his in-laws from his book “The Mature Mind: The Positive Power of the Aging Brain.” The couple, in their 70s, arrived in Washington for a visit during a snowstorm and found themselves stranded by the train station. When they saw a pizzeria across the street, his father-in-law had an idea. The couple went inside, ordered a pizza to be delivered to their daughter’s house, and then asked if they could ride along.

    As Cohen explained, one of the brain’s most powerful tools is its ability to quickly scan a vast storehouse of templates for relevant information and past experience to come up with a novel solution to a problem. In this context, the mature brain is especially well equipped, which is probably why we still associate wisdom with age.

    Indeed, mental capabilities that depend most heavily on accumulated knowledge and experience, like settling disputes and enlarging one’s vocabulary, clearly get better over time. If you’re looking for someone to manage your financial portfolio, you might be better off with a middle-ager than a fresh young M.B.A.

    Richard E. Nisbett, a cognitive psychologist at the University of Michigan, has long argued that when it comes to intelligence, experience can outrun biology. A recent study he wrote with Igor Grossmannon aging and wisdom concluded: “Older people make more use of higher-order reasoning schemes that emphasize the need for multiple perspectives, allow for compromise, and recognize the limits of knowledge.” Most important, they discovered that despite a decline in fluid intelligence, complicated reasoning that relates to people, moral issues or political institutions improved with age.

    Dr. Lachman and one of her colleagues at Brandeis, Patricia A. Tun, have been buoyed by the news about crystallized intelligence. But they wanted to know whether anything could be done to halt the seemingly steady decline of fluid intellectual skills through the years. So they devised several quick memory, calculation and reasoning tests that could be easily administered to thousands of the Midus participants. For example: to check verbal memory, they recited 15 common words. After 90 seconds, they asked a subject to list as many of the words as possible.

    To test numerical reasoning, they asked participants to discern the pattern in a sequence: What comes next in the series 18, 20, 24, 30, 38? Their team also tested reaction time by evaluating how quickly someone responded to a change in instructions. Here the subject was instructed to say “Go” when the interviewer said “Green,” and “Stop” when she said “Red.” Then the instructions were reversed, requiring the subject to say “Stop” in response to “Green” and “Go” in response to “Red.” At the end of the survey, the researcher once again asked how many of the 15 words the subject could remember.

    (For those trying this at home, the answer to the numerical sequence is 48.)

    The results varied in expected and unexpected ways. As anticipated, people over 50 performed worse on speed and memory challenges than their younger counterparts. The aging brain was more easily distracted and slower in retrieving information; it had trouble shushing internal chatter and preventing stray thoughts from interfering with concentration. Women tended to do better than men when it came to recalling the list of words, while men were better at picking out number patterns and reacting quickly to changing instructions.

    The most consistent results involved education.

    All other things being equal, the more years of school a subject had, the better he or she performed on every mental test. Up to age 75, the studies showed, “people with college degrees performed on complex tasks like less-educated individuals who were 10 years younger.”

    Education was also associated with a longer life and decreased risk of dementia. “The effects of education are dramatic and long term,” Dr. Lachman says.

    To isolate the specific impact of schooling on mental skills, Dr. Lachman and her colleagues tried to control for other likely reasons one person might outshine another — differences in income, parental achievement, gender, physical activity and age. After all, we know that the children of affluent, educated parents have a raft of advantages that could account for greater mental heft down the road. College graduates are able to compound their advantages because they can pour more resources into their minds and bodies.

    Still, when Dr. Lachman and Dr. Tun reviewed the results, they were surprised to discover that into middle age and beyond, people could make up for educational disadvantages encountered earlier in life. Everyone in the study who regularly did more to challenge their brains — reading, writing, attending lectures or completing word puzzles — did better on fluid intelligence tests than their counterparts who did less.

    And those with the fewest years of schooling showed the largest benefits. Middle-age subjects who had left school early but began working on keeping their minds sharp had substantially better memory and faster calculating skills than those who did not. They responded as well as people up to 10 years younger. In fact, their scores were comparable to college graduates.

    “We have shown that those with less education may be able to compensate and look more like those who have higher education by adopting some of the common practices of the highly educated,” Dr. Lachman says.

    Regular mental workouts can actually alter the brain’s neural circuits in middle-age and older adults, making regions like the hippocampus, a center for memory and learning, more responsive. Cognitive exercise also helped improve executive functioning, the kind of decision-making ability associated with a mission control center.

    In another study, Dr. Lachman showed that adults, particularly men, with low levels of education could also improve mental function by using a computer. Although researchers are not sure why, they speculate that computers required users to switch mental gears more frequently or process information in a new way, which quickened reaction time. (Research on computer use by highly educated adults has produced much more mixed results.)

    When the Midus team put their data together, they noticed other similarities among people with the strongest cognitive skills. Senior citizens who performed as well as younger adults in fluid intelligence tended to share four characteristics in addition to having a college degree and regularly engaging in mental workouts: they exercised frequently; they were socially active, frequently seeing friends and family, volunteering or attending meetings; they were better at remaining calm in the face of stress; and they felt more in control of their lives.

    Just as money and education often run together, these factors tend to reinforce one another. Adults who call on friends and family for support may be better able to reduce their stress, and reducing their stress may give them sense of control.

    Dr. Lachman emphasizes that there is still a lot more research to do before the connections between education and cognitive ability as people age is fully understood. Still, she says: “When young adults think about college, they think about career opportunities and possibly the social benefits. What they don’t realize is college education has long-term benefits well beyond first job and social contacts.” The same could be said for continuing education.

    At a time when the prospect of a longer life is shadowed by the fear of mental decline, the possibility that the aging can have some control over their mental fitness is an idea even William Osler would support.

    Editors’ Note: This article has been revised to remove a list of the specific words in a memory test, which continues to be used in current research.

     

    Patricia Cohen is a reporter for The Times and author of “In Our Prime: The Invention of Middle Age,” published this month by Scribner.

     

    Copyright. 2012. The New York Times Company. All Rights Reserved

     

     

  • How Big-Time Sports Ate College Life

    Damian Strohmeyer/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images

    BUCKEYE NATION Unbridled enthusiasm reigns at Ohio State games.

       

     

     

    Sporting News, via Getty Images

    K-VILLE This is not Occupy Duke. It’s annual tenting outside Cameron Indoor Stadium for the best seats at a basketball game.

     

     

    Travis Dove for The New York Times

    Students hold their spot for tickets, and even squeeze in some studying.

     

     

     

    Craig Chandler/University Communications

    CORNHUSKING New University of Nebraska students mimic the football team’s “tunnel walk.”

     

    January 20, 2012
     

    How Big-Time Sports Ate College Life

    By LAURA PAPPANO

    IT was a great day to be a Buckeye. Josh Samuels, a junior from Cincinnati, dates his decision to attend Ohio State to Nov. 10, 2007, and the chill he felt when the band took the field during a football game against Illinois. “I looked over at my brother and I said, ‘I’m going here. There is nowhere else I’d rather be.’ ” (Even though Illinois won, 28-21.)

    Tim Collins, a junior who is president of Block O, the 2,500-member student fan organization, understands the rush. “It’s not something I usually admit to, that I applied to Ohio State 60 percent for the sports. But the more I do tell that to people, they’ll say it’s a big reason why they came, too.”

    Ohio State boasts 17 members of the National Academy of Arts and Sciences, three Nobel laureates, eight Pulitzer Prize winners, 35 Guggenheim Fellows and a MacArthur winner. But sports rule.

    “It’s not, ‘Oh, yeah, Ohio State, that wonderful physics department.’ It’s football,” said Gordon Aubrecht, an Ohio State physics professor.

    Last month, Ohio State hired Urban Meyer to coach football for $4 million a year plus bonuses (playing in the B.C.S. National Championship game nets him an extra $250,000; a graduation rate over 80 percent would be worth $150,000). He has personal use of a private jet.

    Dr. Aubrecht says he doesn’t have enough money in his own budget to cover attendance at conferences. “From a business perspective,” he can see why Coach Meyer was hired, but he calls the package just more evidence that the “tail is wagging the dog.”

    Dr. Aubrecht is not just another cranky tenured professor. Hand-wringing seems to be universal these days over big-time sports, specifically football and men’s basketball. Sounding much like his colleague, James J. Duderstadt, former president of the University of Michigan and author of “Intercollegiate Athletics and the American University,” said this: “Nine of 10 people don’t understand what you are saying when you talk about research universities. But you say ‘Michigan’ and they understand those striped helmets running under the banner.”

    For good or ill, big-time sports has become the public face of the university, the brand that admissions offices sell, a public-relations machine thanks to ESPN exposure. At the same time, it has not been a good year for college athletics. Child abuse charges against a former Penn State assistant football coach brought down the program’s legendary head coach and the university’s president. Not long after, allegations of abuse came to light against an assistant basketball coach at Syracuse University. Combine that with the scandals over boosters showering players with cash and perks at Ohio State and, allegedly, the University of Miami and a glaring power gap becomes apparent between the programs and the institutions that house them.

    “There is certainly a national conversation going on now that I can’t ever recall taking place,” said William E. Kirwan, chancellor of the University of Maryland system and co-director of the Knight Commission on Intercollegiate Athletics. “We’ve reached a point where big-time intercollegiate athletics is undermining the integrity of our institutions, diverting presidents and institutions from their main purpose.”

    The damage to reputation was clear in a November survey by Widmeyer Communications in which 83 percent of 1,000 respondents blamed the “culture of big money” in college sports for Penn State officials’ failure to report suspected child abuse to local law enforcement; 40 percent said they would discourage their child from choosing a Division I institution “that places a strong emphasis on sports,” and 72 percent said Division I sports has “too much influence over college life.”

    Has big-time sports hijacked the American campus? The word today is “balance,” and the worry is how to achieve it.

    The explosion in televised games has spread sports fever well beyond traditional hotbeds like Alabama and Ole Miss. Classes are canceled to accommodate broadcast schedules, and new research suggests that fandom can affect academic performance. Campus life itself revolves around not just going to games but lining up and camping out to get into them.

    “It’s become so important on the college campus that it’s one of the only ways the student body knows how to come together,” said Allen Sack, president-elect of the Drake Group, a faculty network that lobbies for academic integrity in college sports. “In China and other parts of the world, there are no gigantic stadiums in the middle of campus. There is a laser focus on education as being the major thing. In the United States, we play football.”

    Dr. Sack, interim dean of the University of New Haven’s college of business, was sipping orange juice at a coffee shop a few blocks from the Yale Bowl. It was a fitting place to meet, given that when the Ivy League was formed in 1954, presidents of the eight member colleges saw where football was headed and sought to stop it. The pact they made, according to a contemporaneous account in The Harvard Crimson, aimed to ensure that players would “enjoy the game as participants in a form of recreational competition rather than as professional performers in public spectacles.”

    There is nothing recreational about Division I football today, points out Dr. Sack, who played for Notre Dame in the 1960s. Since then, athletic departments have kicked the roof off their budgets, looking more like independent franchises than university departments.

    It is that point — “this commercial thing” in the middle of academia, as Charles T. Clotfelter, a public policy professor at Duke, put it — that some believe has thrown the system out of kilter. In his recent book “Big-Time Sports in American Universities,” Dr. Clotfelter notes that between 1985 and 2010, average salaries at public universities rose 32 percent for full professors, 90 percent for presidents and 650 percent for football coaches.

    The same trend is apparent in a 2010 Knight Commission report that found the 10 highest-spending athletic departments spent a median of $98 million in 2009, compared with $69 million just four years earlier. Spending on high-profile sports grew at double to triple the pace of that on academics. For example, Big Ten colleges, including Penn State, spent a median of $111,620 per athlete on athletics and $18,406 per student on academics.

    Division I football and basketball, of course, bring in millions of dollars a year in ticket sales, booster donations and cable deals. Penn State football is a money-maker: 2010 Department of Education figures show the team spending $19.5 million and bringing in almost $73 million, which helps support 29 varsity sports. Still, only about half of big-time programs end up in the black; many others have to draw from student fees or the general fund to cover expenses. And the gap between top programs and wannabes is only growing with colleges locked into an arms race to attract the best coaches and build the most luxurious venues in hopes of luring top athletes, and donations from happy alumni.

    College sports doesn’t just demand more and more money; it is demanding more attention from fans.

    Glen R. Waddell, associate professor of economics at the University of Oregon, wanted to know how much. In a study published last month as part of the National Bureau of Education Research working paper series, Oregon researchers compared student grades with the performance of the Fighting Ducks, winner of this year’s Rose Bowl and a crowd pleaser in their Nike uniforms in crazy color combinations and mirrored helmets.

    “Here is evidence that suggests that when your football team does well, grades suffer,” said Dr. Waddell, who compared transcripts of over 29,700 students from 1999 to 2007 against Oregon’s win-loss record. For every three games won, grade-point average for men dropped 0.02, widening the G.P.A. gender gap by 9 percent. Women’s grades didn’t suffer. In a separate survey of 183 students, the success of the Ducks also seemed to cause slacking off: students reported studying less (24 percent of men, 9 percent of women), consuming more alcohol (28 percent, 20 percent) and partying more (47 percent, 28 percent).

    While acknowledging a need for more research, Dr. Waddell believes the results should give campus leaders pause: fandom can carry an academic price. “No longer can it be the case where we skip right over that inconvenience,” he said.

    Dr. Clotfelter, too, wanted to examine study habits. He tracked articles downloaded from campus libraries during March Madness, the National Collegiate Athletic Association basketball tournament. Library patrons at universities with teams in the tournament viewed 6 percent fewer articles a day as long as their team was in contention. When a team won an upset or close game, article access fell 19 percent the day after the victory. Neither dip was made up later with increased downloads.

    “Big-time sports,” Dr. Clotfelter said, “have a real effect on the way people in universities behave.”

    AT Duke, one of the country’s top universities, men’s basketball sets the rhythms of campus life. Of 600 students who study abroad each year, only 100 do it in the spring. It probably doesn’t need to be said, but you don’t schedule anything opposite a basketball game. Ever. “If there’s a basketball game, you don’t hold the meeting, you don’t hold the event,” said Larry Moneta, vice president for student affairs.

    Then there’s the annual campout of 1,000 at Krzyzewski​ville, the patch of grass named for Coach Mike Krzyzewski outside the hulking Gothic-style gymnasium, to determine the order of the line into the game against the rival University of North Carolina, which the Blue Devils host on March 3. Dr. Moneta several years ago stepped in to ban tents before the first day of classes after winter break (some had started the day after Christmas), but he has mostly “let the students own this.” He was pleased when they decided tenting wouldn’t start this year until a week later, Jan. 15. Tenters can sleep indoors when it’s below 20 degrees or there is “more than two inches of accumulated snow.” The rest of the time, students must prove their devotion (extra points for game attendance) and their residency (middle-of-the-night tent checks by “line monitors” signaled by a bullhorn).

    Even grad students hold their own campout, with 2,200 spending a weekend in tents and RVs to enter a lottery for season tickets; only 725 get lucky. It’s become such a big deal that a law professor said they “have to figure out when that is” so as not to invite law firms to campus for interviews that weekend.

    While Dr. Moneta has “concerns about occasional alcohol use and abuse” among K-Ville undergrads (line monitors must intervene if they spot drinking games), he said students manage to camp out “for the most part without any negative effect on academics.”

    Orin Starn, a Duke professor who is a longtime critic of its participation in Division I athletics, begs to differ. He objects to sports occupying “this gigantic place in the university landscape.” He calls basketball “a strain of anti-intellectualism” that claims too much time and attention. But as an anthropologist — he teaches “Anthropology of Sports” — he understands why. “It’s like going to the Metropolitan Opera or the New York City Ballet,” he said. “It’s a chance to see these incredible athletes and this legendary coach.”

    Dr. Starn put a scholarly spin on it: “Big-time sports have become a modern tribal religion for college students.” There are sacred symbols (team logos), a high priest (Coach K) and shared rituals (chants and face painting). “This generation loves pageantry and tradition. School spirit is in right now. Now it’s hip to be a joiner and it’s hip to be a sports fan.” Also, he observed, “these kids have grown up with the idea that sports are really a major part of American society and something they should care about.”

    Duke’s game against North Carolina is special, but it doesn’t take much to provoke a queue for men’s basketball. At 8:50 a.m. one day last month, students gathered at K-Ville. It didn’t matter that it was Wednesday, that the game wasn’t for 10 hours, that it would rain (even pour), or that Daniel Carp and Matthew Grossman — first in line — had papers due (Mr. Carp on the religious indoctrination of children; Mr. Grossman about Kant and the boundaries of mere reason).

    The matchup against Colorado State wasn’t even a compelling out-of-conference game. But the point was not just to be at the game but to befirst to enter Cameron Indoor Stadium, thereby securing the best seats in the famed student section.

    “Every time they swipe my card and I go in, I get this overwhelming enthusiasm. ‘I’m here! It’s game time!’” Mr. Grossman, a freshman from Atlanta, explained between bites of a burger topped with crumbled blue cheese after the game, blue and white paint still adorning his face.

    The rise of near-professional college sports has fueled the rise of near-professional fans. Mr. Carp, a freshman from Philadelphia sporting a No. 2 jersey, said that being a fan was integral to college life. “You just learn really early on how to make going to basketball games part of your everyday routine.”

    K-Ville is legendary, but similar scenes play out at Oklahoma State, Texas A&M, North Carolina State, the University of Missouri, San Diego State and Xavier University, where students line up or camp out for days to get into games. At the University of Kentucky, they camp out for access to the official start of basketball practice.

    For a Tuesday night game against Duke in Columbus (for which there were enough seats, according to Mr. Collins, the Block O president), Ohio State students pitched tents along the outside wall of Schottenstein Center starting at 5 p.m. on a Sunday.

    “I can imagine they may have neglected a class or two on Monday and Tuesday,” Mr. Collins said. “But we are here for four years. What will you remember 10 years from now, that you decided to write that English paper, or you had front row seats at the Duke game?”

    Worry about students making that sort of academic tradeoff led officials at Indiana University, Bloomington, to cut short “Camp Crean” (after Coach Tom Crean) last month when students started lining up four days in advance for the Hoosiers basketball game against Kentucky. “It’s the week before finals, and we didn’t want the kids camping out and staying up for days when its going to be in the 20s and — oh, by the way — it’s finals,” said the university spokesman, Mark Land.

    While only “a small number” of students had started camping, Mr. Land noted, “if you get hundreds out there, it’s a party atmosphere.”

    TELEVISION has fed the popularity. The more professional big-time college sports has become, the more nonathletes have been drawn in, said Murray Sperber, author of “Beer and Circus: How Big-Time College Sports Has Crippled Undergraduate Education.” “Media coverage gets into kids’ heads,” he said, “and by the time they are ready to choose a college, it becomes a much bigger factor than it was historically.”

    In the last 10 years, the number of college football and basketball games on ESPN channels rose to 1,320 from 491. This doesn’t include games shown by competitors: the Big 10 Network, Fox, CBS/Turner, Versus and NBC. All that programming means big games scheduled during the week and television crews, gridlock and tailgating on campus during the school day.

    “How can you have a Wednesday night football game without shutting down the university for a day or two?” asked Dr. Sack of the Drake Group with a twinge of sarcasm. He’s not exactly wrong, though. Last semester, the University of Central Florida canceled afternoon classes before the televised game against the University of Tulsa. Mississippi State canceled a day of classes before a Thursday night broadcast of a football game against Louisiana State, creating an online skirmish between Bulldog fans and a blogger who suggested parents should get their tuition back.

    Even Boston College bowed, canceling afternoon classes because the football game against Florida State was on ESPN at 8 p.m. Janine Hanrahan, a Boston College senior, was so outraged at missing her political science class, “Immigration, Processes and Policies,” that she wrote an opinion piece headlined “B.C.’s Backwards Priorities” in the campus newspaper. “It was an indication that football was superseding academics,” she explained. (“We are the national role model,” a university spokesman, Jack Dunn, responded. “We are the school everyone calls to say, ‘Where do you find the balance?’ ”)

    Universities make scheduling sacrifices not just for the lucrative contracts but also because few visuals build the brand better than an appearance on ESPN’s road show “College GameDay.” (In November, it had John L. Hennessey, president of Stanford, out on the Oval at daybreak working the crowd.) The school spirit conveyed by cheering thousands — there were 18,000 on Francis Quadrangle at the University of Missouri, Columbia, on Oct. 23, 2010, for “GameDay” — is a selling point to students choosing colleges. When Missouri first started recruiting in Chicago a decade ago, few prospective students had ever heard the university’s nickname, “Mizzou,” according to the admissions director, Barbara Rupp. “Now they know us by ‘Mizzou,’ ” thanks in part to “GameDay.” “I can’t deny that,” she said.

    Universities play the sports card, encouraging students to think of themselves as fans. A Vanderbilt admissions blog last fall featured “My Vandy Fanatic Weekend” describing the thrill of attending a basketball game and football game back to back. “One of the things we hear in the admissions office is that students these days who are serious about academics are still interested in sports,” said John Gaines, director of undergraduate admissions. Mr. Gaines slipped in that its academic competitor Washington University in St. Louis is only Division III. “We always make sure we throw in a few crowd shots of people wearing black and gold” during presentations. Imagine, he is saying, “calling yourself a Commodore.”

    Or calling yourself a Cornhusker. A few years ago, the “Big Red Welcome” for new University of Nebraska students began including a special treat: the chance to replicate the football team’s famed “tunnel walk,” jogging along the snaking red carpet below Memorial Stadium, then crashing through the double doors onto the field (though without the 86,000 fans).

    When Kirk Kluver, assistant dean for admissions at Nebraska’s College of Law, set up his information table at recruiting fairs last year, a student in Minnesota let him know he would “check out Nebraska now that you are part of the Big 10.” He got the same reaction in Arizona. Mr. Kluver said applications last fall were up 20 percent, while law school applications nationally fell 10 percent.

    PENN STATE’S new president, Rodney Erickson, announced last month that he wanted to lower the football program’s profile. How is unclear. A Penn State spokeswoman declined to make anyone available to discuss the future besides releasing a statement from Dr. Erickson about seeking “balance.”

    What would balance really look like?

    Duke officials pride themselves in offering both an excellent education and a stellar sports program.

    Six years ago this spring, Duke experienced its own national scandal when three lacrosse players were accused of rape by a stripper hired for a party at the “lacrosse house” — a bungalow since torn down. The charges were deemed to be false, but the episode prompted university leaders to think hard about the relationship between academics and athletics.

    Kevin M. White, the athletic director, now reports directly to the president of Duke. It was part of structural changes to more healthily integrate athletics into university life, said James E. Coleman Jr., a law professor who is chairman of the faculty athletics council and was chairman of the committee that investigated the athletes’ behavior. (Vanderbilt made an even stronger move in 2008, disbanding the athletics department and folding it into the student life division.) Sitting in his office on Duke’s Durham, N.C., campus, Dr. Coleman set his lunch tray on a mountain of papers and explained the challenges. He calls sports “a public square for universities” but also acknowledges how rising commercialism comes with strings that “have become spider webs.”

    A 2008 report by the athletics department, “Unrivaled Ambition: A Strategic Plan for Duke Athletics,” praises the K-Ville bonding experience and the “identity and cohesion” of the rivalry with U.N.C. as it describes in stressful language the facilities arms race, skyrocketing coach salaries and the downside of television deals.

    “We no longer determine at what time we will play our games, because they are scheduled by TV executives,” it laments, going on to complain about away games at 9 p.m. “Students are required to board a flight at 2 a.m., arriving back at their dorms at 4 or 5 a.m., and then are expected to go to class, study and otherwise act as if it were a normal school day.” And: “our amateur student-athletes take the field with a corporate logo displayed on their uniform beside ‘Duke.’ ”

    “The key thing is to control the things you can control and make sure the athletic program doesn’t trump the rest of the university, as it has in some places,” Dr. Coleman said. “These presidents have to do more than pay lip service to this notion of balance between athletics and academics.” He suggests that elevating academic standards for athletes is one way to assert university — not athletic department — control over programs.

    He has also tried to foster rapport between faculty members and the athletic department. “The difficulty is having faculty understand athletics,” he said. “Both sides need to cross lines. Otherwise, it becomes these two silos with no connection.” Last month, Dr. Coleman hosted a lunch that brought together Mr. White, athletics staff members and professors on his committee. He’s also revamping a program to match faculty members with coaches, and sends them sports-related articles to bone up on issues.

    Pointed questions about oversight of its athletic program were raised at Penn State’s faculty senate meeting last month, and faculty involvement is the subject of a national meeting of the Coalition on Intercollegiate Athletics at the University of Tulsa this weekend. John S. Nichols, the group’s co-chairman and professor emeritus at Penn State, says professors typically ignore the many issues that swirl around sports and influence the classroom. His list includes decisions about recruiting and admissions, and even conference realignments. Starting in 2013, the Big East will stretch over seven states, meaning not just football and basketball players but all student athletes — and some fans — will be making longer trips to away games. Dr. Nichols says it is time to “put some checks in place” on uncontrolled growth of athletics “or consider a different model.”

    To be sure, efforts to rehabilitate major college sports are not new. Amid much debate, an N.C.A.A. plan to raise scholarship awards by $2,000 was being reviewed this month. Some have seen it as the athletes’ due, for the money they bring in, and others as pay for play; some colleges have complained they can’t afford it.

    Many are skeptical that reining in college sports is even possible; the dollars are simply too attractive, the pressures from outside too great. Mr. White said that it was naïve “to think we will ever put the toothpaste back in the tube.” He added, “There is an oversized, insatiable interest in sports, and college sports is part of that.”

    But some decisions are in university hands.

    Despite Duke’s ascent to basketball royalty, Cameron Indoor Stadium — built in 1940, renovated in the 1980s and at 9,300 seats one of the smallest venues for a big-time program — still gives thousands of the best seats to students. At many large programs, courtside seats and luxury boxes go to boosters. But “outsiders with money,” Dr. Coleman said, can make demands and change the way the team fits in with a university. “We could easily double the size of our basketball stadium and sell it out,” he said. “That will never happen. If it does, you will know Duke has gone over to the dark side.”

    Laura Pappano is co-author with Eileen McDonagh of “Playing With the Boys: Why Separate Is Not Equal in Sports.”

     

     

     

     

  • Nurse reveals the top 5 regrets people make on their deathbed

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    Nurse reveals the top 5 regrets people make on their deathbed

    Submitted by  on December 22, 2011 – 10:11 AMNo Comment | 61,822 views

    For many years I worked in palliative care. My patientswere those who had gone home to die. Some incredibly special times were shared. I was with them for the last three to twelve weeks of their lives. People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality.
    I learnt never to underestimate someone’s capacity for growth. Some changes were phenomenal. Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected, denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance. Every single patient found their peace before they departed though, every one of them.

    When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here are the most common five:

    1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
    This was the most common regret of all. When people realize that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.

    It is very important to try and honour at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it.

    2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.
    This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.

    By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.

    3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
    Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never
    became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a
    result.

    We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.

    4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
    Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.

    It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical
    details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end.
    That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.

    5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.
    This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again. When you are on your deathbed, what  others think of you is a long way from your mind. How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying.

    Life is a choice. It is YOUR life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness.

    Source: Received via Email

     

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