Passion for Pedaling

Ask Angela Wright what kind of bike she rides and she answers, “Oh boy, who has just one bike?” Her current “quiver” includes a Tern GSD electric cargo bike, Specialized S-Works Diverge gravel bike, a Specialized Epic Pro, and a Specialized S-Works Stumpjumper. “I may have a few community cruiser bikes in my fleet as well,” she adds.

A Utah native, Wright MBA’14 has been riding bikes for more than 25 years and says cycling has impacted every aspect of her life. As majority owner of Bingham Cyclery, with locations in Salt Lake City, Sandy, Sunset, and Ogden, she has gained a strong community of friends and had some incredible biking experiences. With her 5-year-old daughter in tow, she loves exploring Salt Lake on her cargo bike. “We make an adventure out of each ride,” she says. She also enjoys biking the Wasatch Crest Trail, Corner Canyon in Draper, and other trails in Park City, Moab, and St. George. “Honestly, we truly live in the best place to ride,” she adds.

Raised in Pleasant Grove, Wright remembers riding her Big Wheel with her brother and sister in the family garage. “Once we graduated from that, the rest is history. We rode our bikes everywhere!” One of her childhood favorites was the Canal Road, which is now a paved multi-use path called the Murdoch Canal Trail that runs along the base of Mount Timpanogos. “Bikes have shaped my life since then. I love the freedom and joy I feel when I’m pedaling,” she says.

Wright’s first job, at age 16, was at the Broken Spoke bike shop in Orem. After graduating from high school, she attended Utah Valley University, then Utah State University, where she earned an undergraduate degree in geography and spent her senior year in a national student exchange program in New Hampshire. She lived in the area for about eight years before moving back to Utah, where she had the opportunity to buy Bingham Cyclery.

“Because of my lifetime passion for riding, I realized that owning a chain of stores would allow me to utilize all my skills and life experiences to create the dream profession for myself,” she says. But there were challenges. She had to find investors who were willing to take a risk on her. “I worked with my lawyer to build the investment framework and then talked with maybe four dozen people about it—all of which had to be done before the purchase could be made. Needless to say, there were many moving parts to make it all come together.”

She also realized that getting an MBA would provide her with extra skills to ensure her success, so she applied and was accepted to the U’s program. The experience gave her the tools and resources she relies on every day to run her business. “But the most unexpected outcome of the MBA program was the increase in my self-confidence, which I use to my advantage as often as possible,” she says.

Busy as she is, Wright finds time to serve on the boards of several bike-related nonprofits and has created a formal giving program to provide bikes for kids, as well as women-specific clinics to bolster confidence, form friendships, and build community.

“I love where I live,” says Wright. “Access to the mountains and desert and hundreds of miles of single track, dirt roads, paved roads, and wilderness—it’s genuinely hard to beat.”

—Ann Floor BFA’85 recently retired as associate editor of Continuum and is now freelance writing.

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Sorority Sisters for Life

The simple act of getting together monthly has kept a remarkable group of women firmly bonded since the late 1940s. They first met as U “coeds” at the Kappa house at 33 South Wolcott, where they played a lot of bridge. As they married and their families grew, they began meeting in the evenings. Now in their late 80s and 90s, the remaining 11 members now meet once a month for lunch, where they share updates on their lives and often have the occasion to sing “Happy Birthday”—which they’ve now been doing for more than six decades.

Paige Paulsen Erickson BS’80, daughter of Kappa sister BJ Paulsen, who passed away in July, was fortunate enough to be a guest at a gathering last year. “Even though my mom had talked about her Kappa friends for years, I had no idea how extraordinary this group of women is. They come from all walks of life.”

Some are true pioneers, Erickson says, like Frances Johnson Darger BA’46, who played the violin in the Utah Symphony from the time she was 17 until she retired at 87. Darger’s sister, Jewel Johnson Cutler BA’48, who sang lead roles in U opera productions and was a longtime member of the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square, is also a member of the group. Virginia Isaacson Peterson BS’47 spent decades making outfits for members of the Tabernacle Choir and laughs as she relates how so many of the women fibbed about their dress size.

Then there is Pat Warshaw Ferrin BS’47, who always has a new report about her ever-popular husband Arnie, a former U and NBA basketball star who was also the U’s athletic director for nine years. Twins Marillyn Barker Johnson BA’47 and Marie Barker Bennett BA’47 MA’51 PhD’80 went on to earn graduate degrees at Yale, where one (Marillyn) studied English and the other (Marie) studied music. Erickson says that on the day she was there, “Marillyn read a poem she had written, and Marie invited the group to an opera she had recently composed that was produced last fall.”

Joyce Beck Barnes BS’48 earned a degree in management from the business school and went on to own The Inn at Mazatlan, a popular destination for many Salt Lakers. Others in the group include Kay Reynolds Patterson BA’47 MSW’69; Marian Cheney Baldwin BS’47; Jeanne Forrest Christensen BS’49; and Mimi Byrd Mortensen JD’47.

Some of the women have lost their spouses, but many are still married and serve as caretakers for loved ones. Not surprisingly, they take great pride in their families. Some were full-time moms, some worked full time outside the home, and some worked part time. Some are financially well off, while others are not. But no matter their paths, the bonds these women share are unbreakable. Their genuine affection for each other is palpable. And to boot, they’re still huge U sports fans. At a recent lunch in September, they were all aflutter, discussing the Utes’ latest football loss, some of them suggesting with good humor that they should coach the next game.

“Their friendship is founded on trust. They’ve been there for each other through the trials and tribulations life throws at all of us—and all the joy as well,” says Erickson. “The key is that they have experienced life together. They are an amazing and unique group of women who learned early on that bonds created in college and nurtured throughout their lives really do create honest-to-goodness lifelong friendships.”

Editor's note: Sadly, Marie Barker Bennett passed away Nov. 18, shortly after we went to press. Read an obituary here.

Conservation in Common

Anyone who knows Angela Dean or Tim Brown would understand why they had an immediate connection when they met as coeds at the U in the 1990s. They not only share a love for Utah’s deserts and mountains but also a deep interest in conservation that has fueled both of their professional paths. An architect dedicated to sustainable design, Dean established her own firm, AMD Architecture, in 1997. Brown is director of Tracy Aviary, which he has dramatically transformed during his 14 years of leadership. Together for more than two decades, and now with two teenage kids, the couple’s passion for their individual work is entwined with their shared passion for sustainability and environmental education.

HER: Dean BS’92 MArch’94 was born in upstate New York. At 15, she moved from Long Island to Lehi, Utah. After attending Utah State University for a couple of years, she transferred to the U to pursue her passion for architecture. “I had many inspiring teachers who made an impact on my development in the field,” she says, mentioning Tom Kass, Bob Hermanson, Tony Serrato-Combe, and Peter Goss.

During their studies at the U, she and Brown spent a good deal of time in southern Utah—running rivers, hiking, and exploring the wonders of early Native American dwellings. “This spurred a deep passion to provide architecture that was as naturally harmonized with its surroundings and climate as these cultures had been,” says Dean.

To pursue this approach in her graduate studies, Dean was proactive in customizing her own curriculum at the U and received a research fellowship grant that gave her the time and resources to pursue architecture studies outside of formal class time. “It was a game changer in terms of my professional path,” she says.

Three years after finishing her master’s degree, she founded AMD Architecture in Salt Lake City, with the goal of providing quality building design that is equally responsible to her clients and the greater environment. Her 2003 book, Green by Design: Creating a Home for Sustainable Living, describes the environmentally responsible design principles she holds dear: to make green building and healthy living accessible to everyone.

HIM: Tim Brown ex’90, a native of Salt Lake City, pursued graduate studies at the U after earning his bachelor’s degree at the University of Vermont. He had nearly completed his master’s in education before deciding he wanted to add a community component to his studies, which the U had yet to offer. So, he transferred to Antioch University Seattle, where he completed his degree.

Committed to the environment and with a belief that education and conservation were two means by which he could make a difference, Brown returned to Utah with a plan to position himself to lead a top environmental education organization. After working for a decade with the Utah Society for Environmental Education, seven of those as its executive director, he found himself drawn to the Tracy Aviary in Liberty Park. After the executive director position opened in 2004, he landed the job.

The aviary, founded in the late 1930s, has experienced periods of neglect over the years, and Brown says the biggest challenge has been “recasting people’s memory of the facility.” During his tenure, more than $35 million has been invested in transforming the nine-acre oasis. “It’s a treasure today unlike anything else in the country, and we hear that feedback every day. But convincing people to give it a second try is a challenge,” says Brown. Giving credit to her husband, Dean adds that “everyone who sets foot in the aviary [today] comments on the positive transformations that have taken place during Tim's tenure.”

Angela Dean and Tim Brown outside the Chase Mill at the Tracy Aviary. They led a renovation of the building to turn it into much-needed indoor programing space.

TOGETHER: When Brown started working at the aviary, he discovered an untapped opportunity to renovate the historic Chase Mill (built between 1848 and 1852) into a much-needed indoor program space. The charming mill is the oldest commercial building still standing in Utah and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. A previous effort to revitalize it had been unsuccessful. Turning it into a family affair, Dean offered her assistance in programming potential uses of the space, providing designs for renovation, and organizing educational building workshops with volunteers to help complete the project.

Dean’s architecture firm received a 2009 Heritage Award for the project, and subsequently a 2015 Associated General Contractors Cultural Award for design of the aviary’s Treasures of the Rainforest indoor exhibit and another in 2017 for its Bird Feeder Café. Dean continues to volunteer at the aviary, including as a participant in its citizen science program, which has more than a half-dozen projects and 100-plus volunteers. “Our kids have also been volunteers (or ‘voluntolds,’ as Tim likes to call it) throughout these 15 or so years,” she says.

Brown has been in the nonprofit world about as long as he and Dean have been together. And because the organizations he’s been involved with have been focused on community services that she believes in, too—environmental education and conservation—it has been a natural fit for her to offer support. “It's been an honor to be able to put my skills to use and be a part of that positive change,” she says.

“We’re making a difference,” Brown says. “It’s awesome to see the impact we're having on the community in our work in citizen science, in the faces of young people participating in our education programs, and in saving birds and habitats throughout the world.”

Learn more about Angela Dean's professional path in the prior Continuum feature here.

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A Fond Farewell

A Utah Man through and through, John Ashton has served as executive director of the U’s Alumni Association for nearly 30 years. Now, he’s decided to hang it up and move on to new adventures this spring. “At first it felt quite strange, because I’ve been doing this for so long,” says Ashton BS’66 JD’69. “But as more time goes by, I realize it’s time for fresh eyes and a fresh attitude.”

He and Fred Esplin MA’74, vice president for institutional advancement, have known one another since the late 1980s, when Esplin was manager of KUED-TV and Ashton was the Alumni Association’s newly appointed leader. “Because of the many new programs and activities John implemented, thousands of alumni have become involved with the U through board service, volunteer leadership, and financial support,” says Esplin.

Indeed, Ashton has accomplished a great deal in the world of alumni relations. Beginning in the early ’90s, he helped establish Continuum magazine and has since served as executive editor. He also founded the alumni scholarship program, which today has a $2.5 million endowment. Under his tenure, the annual food drive was started and now garners enough donations to feed more than 100 families of four for a year. And, it was his idea to begin a legislative advocacy committee, which has impacted successful legislation on behalf of higher ed for many years.

Before his role as executive director, Ashton served as president of the Alumni Association and as a member of the university’s board of trustees. In addition, he was a member of the boards of Red Butte Garden, KUED, and the Hinckley Institute of Politics. He also served on the University of Utah Hospital board for 11 years and the Utah Hospital Association board for five years. Ashton credits Lee Ence, his predecessor, who served 23 years as executive director, and Ted Capener BS’53, former vice president of community relations at the U, as the two people who most influenced him for success leading the association. And during his tenure, he says, he has especially enjoyed interacting with the many alumni board members.

“John has a keen, dry sense of humor that puts people at ease, and he’s very careful to consider all sides of an issue,” says John Fackler BS’89 BS’94 MprA’95, director of business and outreach for the association. “We know he will stay active in the campus community and will remain a proud Utah fan and supporter.” Ashton’s wife, Linda, can attest to that. “The football and basketball games are ‘must-attend’ events.” John adds that staying involved with the U and doing community service are things both he and Linda look forward to.

Ashton’s ties to the U are long and deep, and most would agree with Esplin, who says, “In his retirement, John should take great pride in how he has successfully engaged countless alumni and students with the U.”

Life After the Game

Photo by Malia Akinaka

Leaving the NFL was difficult for Lauvale Sape BS’02. After being drafted by the Buffalo Bills in 2002 and playing with other pro teams, including the Oakland Raiders and Tennessee Titans, the former Utah defensive tackle was released from the NFL in 2012 with multiple injuries.

He tried to stay busy and maintain the “high” he had experienced when he was playing, but he didn’t know how to go about everyday life without the game he loved. All he knew was football. Sape began spiraling into depression.

And there was more: He had been keeping a secret. From the time he was 6 until he was 13, Sape had been abused. He had never told anyone, but had found an escape in football. “I could go out on that eld and focus all my energy on football,” he says. Sape explains that his family and his Polynesian culture had taught him to rely only on close family and friends to work through troubles, and to first deal with things himself. So his support network was small, and he kept much hidden away.

Then in 2013, new heartbreak struck. When he and his wife, Sarah, were expecting their first child—after trying unsuccessfully to conceive for 11 years— their son was stillborn. “The emotions I felt that day, when I saw my wife’s pain and held my lifeless son in my arms, haunt me,” says Sape. “It’s a deeply seated wailing that I don’t want to forget, because it changed who I am.” This pivotal moment is when he fell farther down the hole to depths where he felt there was no hope. “I hid my depression and pain so well. Those who knew me would probably say you were lying if you told them I was severely depressed.”

In early 2016, without telling anyone but wanting to help himself, Sape started looking for a therapist. At about that same time, Sarah contacted The Trust—an organization that helps eligible former NFL players successfully transition into life after football—to find out if their resources and services could help.

Resistant at first, Sape finally realized that Sarah’s idea was right, and he contacted The Trust himself. From there, he learned about a partner program called After the Impact, an intensive and transitional residential wellness program developed by e Eisenhower Center in Michigan to educate and care for individuals with health or behavioral issues. He began to learn about mental illness for the first time and received tremendous support. “I owe my life to them,” he says of The Trust’s staff , and to Sarah for urging him to get help. Through group counseling, Sape learned he was suffering from PTSD.

“It’s not that it’s ‘bad,’ it’s just that we have to understand... where we stand with our illness. PTSD, depression, and other illnesses do not discriminate. You could be anyone,” he says. “Recognizing the signs and being honest about your thoughts and feelings with someone who cares for you is a great starting place to seeking help.” One member of Sape’s support network is his former coach at Utah, Ron McBride, who told him, “Don’t do this alone. Talk to us, and let us know what can help.”

Sape hopes his story will help others who have left a college or professional sport: those who “are hurting and hiding behind a closed door. I want them to know that if they trust the process, it will all work out. I’m happier now. I can be that ‘happy- go-lucky’ guy without having to feel like I’m not being myself. I am focused on being me, staying in my lane, and loving my family.”

Our thanks to The Trust for collaboration on this article. Read more about Sape’s experience here.

Safi Safiullah

As a young boy in the ’60s living in a rural Bangladesh village, Sheikh "Safi" Safiullah often dreamed of traveling the world and coming to America for an education. But first, he dreamed of improving his village’s school situation. Safiullah’s elementary school was a three-mile walk from his home. When he was in 10th grade, he and some friends took the initiative to build an elementary school for their own village. “We secured the land, bamboo for the walls was donated, and the roof was covered with dried rice leaves,” he says. “Within one year, the five-room school house was ready to serve the children in the village.” Since then, Safiullah has sought to make education accessible to all.

A resident of Salt Lake City for 35 years, Safiullah has made Utah his new home. Deeply influenced by his South Asian heritage and Islamic faith, he tirelessly creates opportunities to bring diverse groups of people together to experience and better understand other cultures. “If I can touch people’s minds and hearts, they will accept me,” he says.

In May 2017, Safiullah PhD’03 was named Librarian of the Year by the Utah Library Association. He received the honor in recognition of his accomplishments as manager of the Marmalade Branch of the Salt Lake City Public Library, his efforts to increase community engagement, and for his lifelong support of libraries and education around the world. The award is a fitting accomplishment for this man who has dedicated his life to bridging communities through education.

Safiullah has worked at the City Library since 2002 and at the Marmalade Branch since it opened in February 2016. He has established programs and partnerships that celebrate the different cultures found within the community served by the library. In an effort to enlighten Utahns on topics of current importance, his efforts have sparked dialogues on a wide array of topics including religious pluralism, redistricting in Utah, race and gender issues, police violence, and Islamophobia.

Several months ago, in partnership with KRCL 90.9 FM and Utah Humanities, he hosted an event about “fake news,” bringing together journalists and experts. He has organized celebrations to honor cultural holidays including Diwali (the annual Hindu festival of lights), Eid Al-Fitr (the Muslim holiday marking the end of Ramadan), Chinese New Year, Mexico’s Day of the Dead, and Vietnamese Independence Day. He was especially delighted to succeed in arranging a presentation by the University of Utah’s Nobel Laureate Mario Capecchi. And for the 10th anniversary of 9/11, Safiullah engaged around 30 partners, including Utah Valley University and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, to celebrate religious and cultural diversity and tolerance. More than 1,500 people attended the event.

At the University of Utah, where he earned his doctorate in history, Safiullah also continues to be involved. He teaches a Middle East history class each semester, and 10 years ago, influenced some friends to establish scholarships for U students. Since then, his friends have funded four scholarships for refugees and students from other underserved communities.

Being named Librarian of the Year confirms the obvious—Safi Safiullah already is recognized as an essential member of the Salt Lake City community.

And his home village is not forgotten. He has acquired some land next to the school that he and his friends built those many years ago, and next year he will travel there to build a second building, which will house a library, a study room, and a first aid clinic.

Why Humanities Matter

Ah, the humanities. History, literature, languages, philosophy, and more… these subjects have always occupied a place of central importance at the University of Utah. The earliest curricula at the U focused on liberal arts and classics, and the College of Humanities will celebrate its 50th anniversary as a free-standing college in 2020. Yet today, with increasing emphasis on the disciplines of science, business, and technology, the value of a humanities education has become a debated topic on campuses, in workplaces, and on the political scene.

According to a 2016 analysis from the American Academy of Arts & Sciences published in Inside Higher Ed, the number of humanities undergrad majors has been on a slow decline, hitting an all-time low in 2014. Meanwhile, and probably not coincidentally, employers across the country express concern that newer hires often lack the very skills learned through humanities courses, such as critical thinking, contextual understanding, and the ability to write well. Then there’s the annual hold-your-breath ritual around the question of federal public funding for the National Endowment for the Humanities, which divvies out funds to the 56 state humanities councils across the country, dependent on its largess to produce education programs for college faculty and public programs that enrich personal and civic life.

These trends and ongoing discussions are paramount to those who champion the humanities, including Dianne Harris, a history professor and former dean of the U’s College of Humanities. Harris recently left the U after serving two years as dean to take an impressive position as senior program officer in higher education and scholarship in the humanities with the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation of New York City, which is committed to the humanities, the arts, and higher education.

And while she has enjoyed serving as dean and calls Salt Lake City “one of the most welcoming and beautiful cities on earth,” she acknowledges that joining the Mellon Foundation is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to support the humanities in higher education at a time when doing so feels especially urgent. “It provides an opportunity to have a positive impact on the humanities at an unparalleled scale,” she says. Harris began in her new role November 1. But before she left the U, we asked her to share why she believes the humanities matter.

Q: YOU RECENTLY WROTE IN AN OP-ED, “WE NEED THE HUMANITIES NOW MORE THAN EVER.” WHY IS THAT?

Dianne Harris: We are living in profoundly complex times that demand mastery of the skills we teach in the humanities to successfully navigate many key aspects of daily life. The future of our democracy depends on a citizenry that deeply understands its past; that communicates clearly and effectively; that is able to read texts with care and discernment so that fact can be sorted from fiction; that understands ethics and the underpinnings of logic and what is at stake in the leading of an ethical life; that understands how to frame a clear and compelling argument based in rigorously produced research; that embraces the rich mosaic of difference in all its forms and understands that our differences are what make us great; that is multilingual and values diverse modes of communication.

We need to strive for a population that is as widely educated as possible in the critical realms of knowledge that are not simply aimed at problem-solving, but that instead permit our citizens to understand how to frame the most pressing problems that exist now, and to forecast what those will be in the future. That requires creative thinking, not just problem-solving capabilities. If we don’t ensure such an educated citizenry, one that is steeped in a humanities education, our future looks far less bright, and our democracy will be increasingly destabilized.

In the wake of national trauma, we look to the poets and writers, to artists, historians, musicians, and philosophers… to help us ease the pain.”

Q: WHAT ABOUT THE CONCERNS SOME STUDENTS AND PARENTS HAVE ABOUT THE EARNING POTENTIAL OR JOB PROSPECTS OF STUDENTS WHO STUDY HUMANITIES?

Harris: All the available data that have been collected over the past decade by reputable sources such as the American Academy of Arts and Sciences (see their Humanities Indicators project) show us that humanities degree holders do every bit as well financially over the span of their working lives as do those who hold degrees in business, education, and in many of the sciences. But just as important, we also know from that data that humanities degree holders have among the highest rates of lifelong job satisfaction and fulfillment because they are pursuing meaningful work and enriching their lives—and the lives of others—by using the skills they acquired through their humanities majors.

It might be going too far to say that studying the humanities makes you happier over the long haul of life, but I do think the humanities give us the tools to seek out enriching and deeply rewarding resources that move us towards fulfilled lives of meaning and purpose. There is no question that STEM education is tremendously important as well. But in the absence of a strong background in the humanities, STEM education alone will leave our society impoverished and ill-prepared for the rapidly changing world ahead. Far from being degrees to nowhere, humanities degrees—as all the data show us—are degrees to everywhere.

Q: WHAT WAS YOUR PERSONAL EXPERIENCE OF FIRST REALIZING THE VALUE OF THE HUMANITIES IN YOUR OWN LIFE?

Harris: Like many, I was fortunate to have parents who read to me when I was very young, and who frequently took me to the local public library when I was a child. We also read in school, of course, but I particularly remember the ways reading fiction became a mainstay of everyday life in the summer. Instead of summer camp, we would head to the library every week and check out books to keep us busy. We lived in a place where it was too hot to play outdoors during much of the day in the summer, so indoor reading kept us occupied and out of trouble for hours at a time. At first, reading was simple entertainment, but books quickly became an entry point into entirely unknown worlds of adventure, mystery, fantasy, history, and more.

I surely couldn’t have articulated it as such at the time, but the Baker Street branch of the public library in Bakersfield, California, changed my life by making reading—and thus the humanities— essential to my world. Also, my father was a geologist, and he had a profound sense of the earth as an historical document that could be read. Every road trip with my father turned into some sort of teachable moment that wove together the history of the earth with the history of the people living on the planet. Those early conversations forever shaped my sense that we are responsible to and for other humans and for the planet.

Q: YOU OFTEN SPEAK ABOUT THE IMPORTANCE OF HUMANITIES BEYOND THE WALLS OF HIGHER EDUCATION. HOW DO THE HUMANITIES BENEFIT US AS A SOCIETY?

Harris: The humanities are crucial to a healthy democracy, just as they also provide opportunities for fulfilled and gainful employment and an enriched life. But I’m also recurringly struck by the ways in which we consistently and necessarily turn to the humanities and arts for answers, for healing, and for resolution in the most difficult and trying of times.

In the wake of national trauma, for example, we look to the poets and writers, to artists, historians, musicians, and philosophers, for the tools that help us ease the pain of trauma into memory, and to help us process grief and sorrow. We also look to those same humanities and arts disciplines when seeking how best to express joy and to celebrate human achievement. I can’t imagine, nor do I wish to do so, a life without the beauty of artfully crafted texts, images, and sounds.

Web Exclusive Video

A Long Line of Alumnae

Life at the University of Utah in 1898 was in transition. Students overflowed the classroom buildings that served as campus near 200 West and North Temple, President James Talmage had just resigned, and Joseph T. Kingsbury had been newly appointed as president. Just four years earlier, Congress had granted 60 acres of undeveloped land from the Fort Douglas Military Reservation to the university for its new—and permanent—campus. Leaders were busy raising money and designing the new school. In June of 1898, Sabina J. Larson graduated from the U. Flash forward nearly 120 years to 2017 and meet Sabina’s great-great-granddaughter Hannah, who graduated in May. Sabina and Hannah are the bookends to five generations of women in their family who have graduated from the U. Here is their story.


Sabina J. Larson Goff  1898

Sabina, first in the lineage line, received a “Certificate of Graduation” from the U on June 15, 1898, signed by President Kingsbury. She sewed her own dress, pictured in this photo, and styled her hair in a high bun with corkscrew curls. At her graduation, Sabina received a silver pin noting her as a member of the class of 1898— a pin that would later become a treasured family heirloom. Sabina fought for the right to vote as a suffragette and became the first licensed female mortician in the West. She worked side by side with her mortician husband, founding Goff Mortuary in Midvale, Utah. (Click on photo to see a larger image).


1931

Melba B. Goff Matthews bs’31

Melba graduated from LDS High School and later was the librarian at Cyprus High in Magna, including when future governor Norm Bangerter ex'60 was a student. Both Bangerter and Utah Governor Cal Rampton JD’39, one a Democrat and one a Republican, would later attend her 90th birthday party. Melba received a bachelor’s degree from the U in health and physical education, along with a teaching certificate. She also ran track and was a member of the U’s modern dance group Orchesis (featured in the large image at top here). One of her best memories about her time at the U, according to her granddaughter Jill, was dancing on the stage at Kingsbury Hall for its grand opening in May 1930. Her daughter Connie Jo and great-granddaughter Hannah also have performed on that stage.


1958

Connie Jo Matthews Hepworth-Woolston BA’58 MA’77

Holding down the middle spot in the line of five generations, Connie Jo received a bachelor’s degree from the U in dance education with a minor in physical education, and later, a master’s degree in modern dance with a minor in radio and television studies. She says the U offered her the finest dance education available in the country. In addition to graduating with “high honors,” she served as vice president of her junior class, was a member of many service organizations, and was named U Days Queen, head cheerleader, and president of her sorority.

“When I first realized my family had five generations of women U graduates, it took my breath away. With seven degrees between the five of us, our combined history took place in three different centuries.”
—Connie Jo


1989

Jillian SabinA Hepworth Clark BS’85 BS’89

Jill entered the U on a Presidential Scholarship earned from her scholastic excellence and leadership skills. At the U, she not only received undergraduate degrees in psychology and physical therapy (PT) but also held elected office in her sorority each year and was elected president of her PT class. One of her favorite courses was—no surprise—a dance class taught by the legendary Anne Riordan BS’56. Jill’s mother Connie Jo spoke at her graduation, and her grandmother Melba was there, too. One of Jill’s prized possessions is the silver pin her great-grandmother Sabina wore the day she graduated from the U. Jill’s grandmother Melba gave it to her to wear the day of her graduation, and this year, Jill gave it to Hannah. “It was such a pleasure to pin it on my daughter’s gown when she graduated in May,” she says.

“It’s humbling to realize the trails these women before me had to blaze to attain their education.”
—Jill


2017

Hannah Lindsay Clark Hilton BA’17

Hannah, fifth in line, graduated in May with a bachelor’s degree in emergency medical services from the College of Health and a minor in disability studies from the College of Humanities. Her favorite class was her emergency medical technician (EMT) course her freshman year. The class provided her an incentive to study hard, and when she finished, to certify as an EMT. At Commencement, as she went through the ceremony and moved the tassel on her mortarboard from one side to the other, she proudly wore her great-great-grandmother’s silver class pin with full awareness that she was the fifth link in her family’s chain of U graduates. “I loved having a piece of my family with me as I received my diploma,” she says.

“I come from a line of extraordinary women. I’m grateful to call them family and am proud to be a Ute.”
—Hannah

Brand New

In July 2015, David R. Perry was named chief marketing officer for University of Utah Health Sciences and was charged with creating a comprehensive strategy for further developing and growing the reputation of University of Utah Health Care and Health Sciences. The two separate names have caused some confusion over the years, so the new strategy involves consolidating them into one brand—University of Utah Health (U of U Health, for short). Today, more than a year and a half later, the campaign is going public. Perry came to the U with more than 25 years of marketing experience at institutions ranging from Bentley University and Seattle Children’s Hospital to Microsoft to The Quaker Oats Company. But his interest in health care is rooted in personal experience. “In 2002, our youngest son was born with a cleft lip that required craniofacial surgery. Six months later, our oldest son was diagnosed with autism,” he says. “So health care became a major part of our lives and has been a primary focus ever since.” Perry finds the U’s leadership in genetics and commitment to value-driven outcomes intriguing, but he is most enthusiastic about the U’s potential to become a national health care innovator and leader. What follows is some insight into Perry’s thinking and approach to the rebrand.

Why did the two areas—University of Utah Health Care and Health Sciences—decide to consolidate names and logos?

It is all about integration—integrating the clinical, research, and education domains of our institution to deliver greater value to patients and other key stakeholders. The change reflects the need to communicate the full spectrum of what we provide from wellness to cancer care. “Health” reflects the full breadth of our services. Simplifying our name from health sciences and health care to “health” is more patient-focused than “us-focused” and more accurately reflects our end goal in all that we do. The theme of our brand campaign is “One You,” which we hope resonates with the individuals we serve every day.

Is anything changing organizationally with these two entities, or is this just a consolidation of marketing efforts?

Our rebranding efforts are not the tail wagging the dog but rather the brand catching up to the incredible momentum and progress we’ve seen over the past five to 10 years. Breaking down silos, collaborating, and integrating our efforts has been a key area of focus. We’re training students to work in interdisciplinary teams to both care for patients and invent new medical devices. We’re colocating researchers from multiple departments to focus on such diseases as diabetes and heart failure. We're working on steps to improve areas like billing processes that streamline the experience for patients. Frankly, as an academic medical center, we’re already fairly far along in areas of collaboration compared to many of our peer institutions.

What drove the timing of the rebrand? Why now?

Much of the impetus behind a new brand relates to the growth of our institution, including the recruitment of new clinical and research leaders since the arrival of Dr. Vivian Lee, CEO of U of U Health. In my mind, it is the perfect opportunity to rebrand. Nationally, health care is undergoing tremendous changes, and we are taking a leadership role in that transformation. I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say that the country is really looking to Utah for solutions. So it’s critical that our brand reflect our forward thinking and our focus on health.

What are the main goals of the rebrand?

We want to leverage the brand to accomplish three key goals: increase awareness, change perception, and drive consideration. Awareness involves letting people know— locally and nationally—all of the fantastic things we’re doing to improve quality in our clinical practice, our groundbreaking research, and how we’re recruiting the best and brightest. Changing perception includes informing audiences that we’re not only a critical care facility for life-threatening situations but also a leader in primary care, wellness programs, and women’s health. Finally, driving consideration involves moving audiences to take action—influencing potential patients to make an appointment or a community physician to refer a patient to our facilities or a new recruit to join our team.

What is the symbolism behind the new design of the logo?

The University of Utah is a fantastic institution, and we felt it was important that our new logo reflect that our health programs are an integral part of the U instead of a separate entity. So we adopted the “block U” logo to show that alignment and also to leverage the equity in the U’s master brand. What I’ve noticed is that there is so much pride in the University of Utah, and I think this new logo with the block U will tap into that strong community feeling. I also think it will tap into the tremendous pride we have in Utah as a state. The DNA helix featured inside the block U denotes our specific role in health and science and recognizes our role as a leader in genetics. Importantly, it also highlights our commitment to treat each patient, student, faculty, and staff member as a unique individual.

When and where will the public notice a change?

There was limited exposure to the new brand during the Sundance Film Festival in January, but the major public debut is in March via different forms of advertising and outreach. The initial stage of the launch will take about a year, but some elements will extend through another 12 months including updating of signage.

What interests you most about this project and your participation with it?

I’ve stated throughout the rollout of this project that the brand needs to catch up with this dynamic institution. University of Utah Health is one of the nation’s leading academic medical centers. We are ranked #1 in quality among our peers and are emerging as a leading NIH-funded research institution. We now have 12 community clinics, nine urgent care centers, and 18 affiliate hospital partners throughout the Mountain West region. This growth and level of expertise and service to the community needs to be communicated and amplified. Finally, working with my talented team and the U of U Health leadership here has exceeded my expectations and been very rewarding!

How do you think the rebrand will be perceived from the consumer’s perspective?

That is a great question. Based on our research with consumers and patients, we know that they view the university’s health system as progressive and a step ahead when it comes to patient care and research. I believe the new brand will be consistent with their perception of us. Our new strategy is to inform and update the community about what makes U of U Health unique and where we are adding value, from breakthrough research to world-class education to improving the convenience of urgent care centers. Above all, we want to celebrate the unique community we serve and the people in it.

Godfather of The MUSS

Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

John Fackler keeps this quote in his office. He says it symbolizes his lifelong passion for athletics—from the time he was a child in awe of college football to today, as he steps down after 15 years leading the U’s wildly successful student cheering section, The MUSS.

When Fackler BS’89 BS’94 MprA’95 was around age 7, his family moved from La Vale, Maryland, to Salt Lake City, where he joined the other kids playing sports in his new neighborhood. “Broke a few windows but never any bones,” he says. Around that time, his dad took him to a game at the U’s then Ute Stadium. “I fell in love with college football that day,” he says with conviction. “From the game to the band to the green grass. I’ve always joked that I asked my dad if we could live at the stadium.” What Fackler couldn’t have known then was that he would grow up to essentially call that stadium home—and that he would become known as Godfather of The MUSS.

In 2000, after working several years as a CPA, Fackler learned that he had attention deficit disorder and was counseled to consider another line of work. His good friend Bill Coen BS’83, on staff at the U’s Alumni Association, called to tell him about an opening for director of business relations. Fackler had served on the Young Alumni Board and thought it would be a “cool” place to work, so he called executive director John Ashton. “Hiring John Fackler was an easy choice,” says Ashton BS’66 JD’69. “He had a unique blend of accounting, finance, athletics, and alumni experience.”

Two years later, Fackler took over as adviser to the Student Alumni Board and was charged with getting more students to attend games. He was confident that he could prove the naysayers wrong—those who said Utah students wouldn’t go to football games—but there were, admittedly, occasional obstacles. “One day, a bit discouraged, I ran into Bruce ‘Woody’ Woodbury [BS’72], the sports information director for the U,” says Fackler. “He said, ‘A lot of people have tried to get students to football games, but you’re the guy who can do it.’ I always remembered that encouragement during tough times.”

Fackler partnered with Kim Sorrentino, assistant marketing director at the Athletics Department, and together they started the Utah Football Fan Club, which one year later, in 2003, was renamed The MUSS (from a phrase in the U fight song, and also known as an acronym for Mighty Utah Student Section). “We knew it would be difficult, but we were optimistic. We went to various campus organizations—Greek row, residence halls—wherever and whatever it took,” says Fackler. They assembled a board of nine students and made a goal to attract 300 students to every home game. Eight hundred signed up. And the rest is, well, history. Today, you can find The MUSS, capped at 6,000 strong, sitting on the southeast side of Rice-Eccles Stadium cheering their hearts out. They’re also a regular fixture at other athletics events including men’s basketball and women’s gymnastics.

Fackler, who has been named national outstanding student adviser twice in his career, admits he’s had an incredible run leading The MUSS. He now passes the MUSS advisory baton to his longtime assistant, Brynn Whitchurch BA’05. “And she’ll do a great job,” he says. “Kevin Stoker [BA’06 MBA’09] also has played a significant role. It wouldn’t have happened without either of them.”

“Coming to work at the Alumni Association is one of the best decisions I’ve made,” says Fackler. And although he’s handing over the MUSS reins, he is not retiring. “I still have a full plate of alumni duties, and will still be involved with The MUSS. I’ll probably also still be busy writing recommendation letters—I write more of those than anyone else on campus!”

—To learn more about The MUSS, read the Continuum feature here.

Partners to Prevent Cancer

 

JOSHUA SCHIFFMAN IS A LOVER OF ALL THINGS ELEPHANT. As a pediatric oncologist and a professor in the University of Utah’s Department of Pediatrics, he and his exceptional team from Primary Children’s Hospital, Huntsman Cancer Institute, and the University of Utah are working to expand the focus of childhood cancer research to include prevention— and elephants have become important partners in that work. Curious, we sat down with Dr. Schiffman to find out more.

CONTINUUM: Why are you and your research team turning your focus toward cancer risk prevention, and what do elephants have to do with it?

SCHIFFMAN: Cancer researchers have done a great job providing cures for cancer, but it’s still the leading cause of disease-related death in children. Childhood leukemia used to be a death sentence. Now the cure rate is over 90 percent—which is fantastic! But there is much more we need to do.

Medications are toxic, care is extremely expensive, and there seems to be an increase in the incidence of leukemia and brain tumors, and we aren’t quite sure why. Of the 350,000 childhood cancer survivors in the U.S. today, most of them have chronic disease—heart problems, pulmonary problems, hearing problems—all related to the treatment we give them.

While medical research shows that up to one in three childhood cancers may be caused by genetic risk, there has been little action by medical research in cancer prevention. By the time symptoms appear, it’s often too late. If we can find the cancer before symptoms are present, we have a much better shot at a good outcome—100 percent versus 20 percent survival in some situations. Cancer prevention is most important, and we are discovering that the p53 gene in elephants may play a pivotal role in it.

Schiffman with Eric Peterson, the elephant keeper at Hogle Zoo.

Schiffman with Eric Peterson, the elephant keeper at Hogle Zoo. (Photo by August Miller)

CONTINUUM: What is the p53 gene, and how does it help prevent cancer?

SCHIFFMAN: P53, also known as TP53, regulates the cell cycle and cell death, so it functions as a tumor suppressor. P53 is one of the most important genes to protect people from cancer. It’s called the Guardian of the Genome in the peer-reviewed literature and behaves much like a superhero. If there is DNA damage to a cell, p53 shows up on the scene to stop the cell from dividing and to help coordinate repair, or sometimes even to kill the cell. If p53 doesn’t work because it is missing or mutated, then the cell accumulates massive amounts of DNA mutations, keeps dividing, never dies, and that’s cancer. That’s why p53 is so important.

Most people have two copies of p53—one from mom, one from dad. However, it turns out that people with Li-Fraumeni syndrome, or LFS, have a hereditary genetic condition with just one working p53 gene in all the cells in their body. They also have more than a 90 percent lifetime risk of cancer—along with their affected family members. Over half the time, LFS cancers occur at a very young age, including childhood. The lack of a working p53 gene in patients with LFS is responsible for their extremely high rate of cancer.

But p53 is also very important in people without LFS. In fact, the p53 gene is broken in at least half of all human tumors, leading to initial tumor development. There is also evidence that p53 stops working as we age, an observation that correlates with increased cancer risk in the aging population. Without our p53 superhero, it is difficult to prevent the development of cancer.

CONTINUUM: Was there an “aha” moment when you first realized the potential of elephant genes for the future of cancer research?

SCHIFFMAN: Yes. A few years ago, I attended a medical conference to learn why we develop cancer. Carlo Maley, a biologist and associate professor at the Biodesign Institute in the School of Life Sciences at Arizona State University, gave a presentation, and it changed my life forever. He talked about something called Peto’s Paradox, the observation that cancer occurrence does not correlate with the number of cells or lifespan of an organism.

For instance, the rate of cancer in elephants is much lower than cancer in humans despite the fact that an elephant has 100 times more cells than a human, and elephant cells continue to divide over and over again throughout the 60- to 70-year lifespan of an elephant. Half of all men and a third of all women will develop cancer in their lifetime, but less than 5 percent of elephants appear to develop cancer. And that’s the paradox. With elephants having so many dividing cells for so long, but so little cancer, it’s clear that they must have developed a genetic mechanism for cancer resistance.

CONTINUUM: How did you connect the dots between elephant and human cancer resistance and the number of copies of p53?

SCHIFFMAN: At the conference, Dr. Maley reported that when he looked at the genome of African elephants, his team discovered that elephants have 40 copies of p53. I nearly fell out of my seat when I heard that. Dr. Maley said they couldn’t find any other animals with that many copies of p53, and although he didn’t know for certain, this might be the reason why elephants are so resistant to cancer.

After his presentation, I introduced myself to Dr. Maley and told him about my lab at Huntsman Cancer Institute at the University of Utah and about Primary Children’s Hospital, where we’re taking care of children with LFS, collecting their cells, trying to understand why their cells are more susceptible to cancer. “You just said that elephants have 40 copies of p53 and almost never get cancer. Our patients only have one copy of p53 and always get cancer,” I said. “What if somehow we could get elephant blood and test it next to the blood from our patients with Li-Fraumeni syndrome to try to determine for sure why elephants don’t get cancer?” Dr. Maley was very excited by this idea and asked me how I was ever going to get elephant blood, and I said, “I have no idea.” He said, “Well, give me a call if you find out.”

CONTINUUM: How did you get the elephant blood, and how do you go about studying it?

SCHIFFMAN: A few weeks later, my kids and I were visiting Utah’s Hogle Zoo. We arrived just as the daily elephant show was starting and sat down on the steps to watch. Out stepped Eric Peterson, the elephant keeper. “These are our African elephants,” Eric explained. “You can tell they are African elephants because of their big ears. They have big veins on the back of their ears to circulate the blood. That’s how they stay cool.” And then, and I swear it’s true, he said, “Did you know that once a week here at the Hogle Zoo we draw blood from the elephants to make sure they’re healthy?” That was it! A light bulb went off.

Schiffman watches as veterinarian Ashley Settles takes a blood sample from one of the herd at the Ringling Bros. Center for Elephant Conservation. Photo courtesy Ringling Bros.

Schiffman watches as veterinarian Ashley Settles takes a blood sample from one of the herd at the Ringling Bros. Center for Elephant Conservation. (Photo courtesy Ringling Bros.)

The show ended, and Eric thanked everyone for coming and then invited anyone with questions to find him upfront. I immediately headed to Eric to ask my question. After introducing myself, I simply asked, “How can I get some elephant blood?” Eric explained the process of submitting an application to the zoo’s scientific review committee. After months of paperwork, we received permission for Eric and his team to collect extra blood for our research while doing their weekly blood draw. Since that day, the fantastic people in my lab take a weekly trip to the Hogle Zoo to pick up the elephant blood— still warm—to bring back to the lab to study.

From there, our team sorts the elephant white blood cells and intentionally treats the cells to cause DNA damage, which you can think of as pre-cancer. We were excited to learn that many of the elephant cells self-destructed with their extra copies of p53, whereas half as many human cells died despite their DNA damage, and hardly any cells from LFS patients died. Based on this and other laboratory experiments, we believe that these extra p53 copies in elephants may help to protect them from cancer.

CONTINUUM: We understand you’ve now partnered with Ringling Bros. to study other species of elephants as well. Could you tell us about that?

SCHIFFMAN: In addition to the African elephants at Utah’s Hogle Zoo, we have been working with the Asian elephants from Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus. It turns out that Ringling Bros. has a Center for Elephant Conservation and owns the largest herd of elephants in the Western Hemisphere. Similar to what we do with the zoo, we study blood that is already being collected for regular care of the elephants.

We have learned that Asian elephants also have multiple copies of the p53 gene that help to promote a very robust cell death when DNA damage is present. This entire project has been an absolutely amazing partnership between Ringling Bros. Center for Elephant Conservation, Utah’s Hogle Zoo, Primary Children’s Hospital, and our lab at Huntsman Cancer Institute.

CONTINUUM: What are your studies showing? Any surprises? And what’s next?

SCHIFFMAN: Science is great because it takes you places you don’t expect to go. Our hypothesis was that elephant cells would repair the DNA-damaged cells extremely quickly. But the elephant cells were not repairing faster; they were repairing at the same rate as human cells. Then we looked closer and found that in the elephant blood, there was much more cell death—more than twice as many elephant cells were dying than in humans.

So although the p53 in elephants wasn’t repairing cells quickly, it was killing the cell quickly so it could no longer divide—much more efficient. We thought to ourselves, evolution has done it again! Taking a step back, this makes perfect sense. If you want to prevent cancer, this is the way to do it, kill the cell before it can ever go on to become cancer. We are now working to insert p53 from elephants into human cancer cells to see if there is any effect and to find out if there is a way we can translate these laboratory findings into clinical medicine. With enough research, support, and effort, we hope that the first clinical trials could begin within the next three to five years.

THE RESULTS OF THE RESEARCH by Schiffman and his team were published in the October 2015 issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA) and were met with phenomenal interest. The article was ranked as the No.2 most popular story in JAMA for 2015 and was named one of the top 100 science articles around the world for 2015. It also made the cover of Newsweek and has generated more than 20,000 individual news stories to date.

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Siblings Unite to Confront the Overdose Epidemic

Sam and Jennifer Plumb

Sam and Jennifer Plumb

Twenty years ago this spring, Andrew Plumb, an exuberant 22-year-old affectionately known by family and friends as The Eternal Kid, was found unresponsive from a heroin overdose in a Salt Lake City basement. Fearing reprisal, friends who were with him at the time, instead of calling 911 for help, left him alone, buried the paraphernalia in the yard, and fled the scene. He died alone, a victim of addiction.

“After Andy died, I heard from a friend in Emergency Medical Services who said he wished naloxone had been present when Andy overdosed,” says Jennifer Plumb, who is Andy’s sister and an emergency medicine pediatrician at Primary Children’s Hospital. “His words stuck with me.” Last summer, Jennifer MPH’96 MD’00 and her brother J. Samuel Plumb HBA’09 MPH’15 MPA’15 founded the nonprofit Utah Naloxone.

NaloxoneThe medication, also known as Narcan, is used to reverse the effects of opioids, especially in overdose. When given intravenously, naloxone works within two minutes. When injected into a muscle, it works in two to three minutes. It also can be sprayed into the nose. The drug is safe and has no side effects. According to Sam, 37 states, including Utah, now have laws allowing individuals to carry and administer naloxone.

Over the years since Andy’s death, Jennifer and Sam, with their parents, have been frustrated by the well-meaning talk of those wanting to help loved ones in trouble with heroin but at a loss for knowing what to do. Then, one evening last summer, when Jennifer and Sam were attending their first family support group at Utah Support Advocates for Recovery Awareness, known as USARA, something changed.

“We listened to heartbreaking stories from parents who had watched their children nearly die from opiate overdoses— powerless to do anything but hope,” says Jennifer. “Some had been denied access to naloxone by multiple medical providers and shamed for even asking. Attending that session made it clear to us that we had to charge forward.”

Newly motivated and inspired to formalize their efforts, they founded Utah Naloxone on July 1, 2015, with a goal to reduce the social stigma around opioid addiction and make naloxone available to as many people as possible, whether they are active opiate users or not—and that user number is growing fast.

U. S. attorney for Utah John Huber joined other local, state, and federal law enforcement officers last winter in warning of an impending “heroin tsunami” based on a serious increase in arrests and confiscations of the narcotic in Utah in the past three years. “The amount of heroin seized by law officers in Utah reflects the increase in usage—46 pounds in 2010 compared to 244 pounds last year [2014],” Huber said in a December 12, 2015, Salt Lake Tribune article.

This chart from the National Center for Health Statistics shows the dramatic increase of heroin overdose deaths in the U.S. from 2001 to 2014. (Source: http://1.usa.gov/1QBSs0r

This chart from the National Center for Health Statistics shows the dramatic increase of heroin overdose deaths in the U.S. from 2001 to 2014. (Source: http://1.usa.gov/1QBSs0r)

Determined to stem the tide, the Plumbs are taking action. They come to the task well-prepared: Jennifer received a master’s degree in public health and her medical degree from the University of Utah, and Sam has master’s degrees from the U in public administration and public health.

“We started going out into the community to educate family members, active users, and at-risk youth about overdose recognition and to distribute free naloxone kits and demonstrate how to use them,” says Sam. They also work to educate health care providers at all levels and those who work in the substance use disorder community to increase awareness of and access to naloxone. “From July 1, 2015, to January 21, 2016, Utah Naloxone has distributed more than 1,100 naloxone rescue kits, with 20 documented overdose reversals that we know of,” says Sam.

Their work includes regular visits to Pioneer Park, where many drug dealers and users hang out, and where, in the summer of 1996, a plum tree was planted by the Plumb family to honor Andy. “Despite multiple park renovations, and huge crowds using the park, it is by far the largest and most beautiful plum tree I have ever seen,” says Sam.

Experiencing firsthand the reactions of people who have been equipped with naloxone has been life affirming for Jennifer and Sam. “These are people who many times feel that no one cares if they die, and hearing from us that their lives matter has brought palpable gratitude, relief, and inspiration to them—and to us, honestly,” she says. “We know what it feels like to face the stigma of addiction, and we know that it is simply not acceptable for that to remain the status quo.”

Housed in the U School of Medicine’s Department of Pediatrics, Utah Naloxone has many partners who are advocating for its cause and working to increase public awareness about opiate addiction and overdose-related issues. “But Utah Naloxone is the only organization in the state of Utah that is distributing, educating, and training people to administer naloxone,” says Sam.

In the end, Jennifer says this project is allowing her family to find some peace from the pain they have experienced since Andy died. “Knowing that we are saving other families from the heartache and loss that we experienced has been tremendously healing.”

—Ann Floor is an associate editor of Continuum.

Amicone and His Bees Create a Buzz

Marc Amicone (center) proudly displays the 2015 Bob Freitas Award with Gail Miller, owner of the Larry H. Miller Group of Companies, and Jim Olson BS’92 MS’93, COO of Miller Sports Properties. (Photo by Brent Asay/Salt Lake Bees)

Marc Amicone (center) proudly displays the 2015 Bob Freitas Award with Gail Miller, owner of the Larry H. Miller Group of Companies, and Jim Olson BS’92 MS’93, COO of Miller Sports Properties. (Photo by Brent Asay/Salt Lake Bees)

When asked why he loves his job so much, Marc Amicone’s response is simple: the fans and his coworkers. “We’re fortunate to have some of the most dedicated employees in the business,” says Amicone, vice president and general manager of the Salt Lake Bees Triple-A baseball team since 2005. “They love coming to the ballpark, they love the Bees, and they take ownership in our product and how we interact with our fans.” And, their efforts are paying off.

Amicone BS’80 MS’94 and his Bees (an affiliate of the Los Angeles Angels) were named the top Triple-A franchise last year when they received the 2015 Baseball America Bob Freitas Award. Freitas was a longtime minor league baseball operator, promoter, and ambassador, and the award recognizes excellence in the operation of minor league baseball franchises with a focus on business success, operational practices, and community involvement. The award was presented to Amicone and the Bees on December 8, in Nashville. “This award is a testament to the combined efforts of every employee on our staff,” says Amicone, with characteristic generosity.

Amicone first became interested in baseball in high school, when he played for the Granger Lancers. He went on to play four seasons with the Utah Utes baseball team and majored in sports management. During the summer months, he played on a fastpitch softball team with some of the Golden Eagles, Salt Lake’s first minor league hockey team. That led to an internship opportunity, and by the time he graduated from the U, he was already working for the Golden Eagles. By 1986, he was general manager of the team. Under his leadership, the hockey franchise won four league titles, and in 1987 and 1988, the International Hockey League named him Executive of the Year— making him the first and still the only person born in Utah to receive the title in both professional baseball and hockey. He was also named the Triple-A Pacific Coast League’s Executive of the Year in 2009.

After the 1988 season, Amicone left the Eagles and returned to the U, where newly appointed Athletics Director Chris Hill MEd’74 PhD’82 hired him to run the sports marketing department. The two had first met when Hill was the basketball coach at Granger High School, after Amicone graduated. At the U, “I ended up doing a little bit of everything over the years,” Amicone said in an interview with Lee Benson for the Deseret News in August 2014. “I did ticket sales, football team travel for awhile, supervised baseball, golf, and swimming. I was tournament director for the men’s basketball tournament a couple of times, and did some gymnastics nationals and regionals.” Ultimately, he was promoted to assistant athletics director and spent 16 years at the U, where he found time to obtain a master’s degree in health. “My best friends to this day are those I met as a student at the U and during my time in the athletics department,” he says.

Today, as Amicone celebrates more than a decade with the Bees, he seems to enjoy his job more than ever. He and his staff work hard to ensure that those with simply a casual interest in baseball can have a great time. “We like to say ‘It’s better at the ballpark’. The games are affordable, fun, and provide what I consider to be the best gathering place for all members of our community. …I know that the Bees and the experience at Smith’s Ballpark have enriched the lives of millions of fans over the years, and I’m proud and humbled to be a part of that.”

—Ann Floor is an associate editor of Continuum.


Virtue and Vice

When Teresa Jordan was 6 or 7 years old, friends of her family took her swimming, and she remembers watching the father play with his three kids in the water, helping them climb up onto the side of the pool and then opening his arms so they could jump to him. They were splashing and laughing and having a great time, and she felt a longing so intense, it still takes her breath away.

Her own father didn’t swim and didn’t play. He was a big, stern man, and on the ranch where they lived, he taught Jordan how to shift her weight when training a horse to rein, how to double clutch the stock truck, and how to hog-tie a calf. From as far back as she can remember, he told her she could do anything she put her mind to. But he was not an affectionate father, and in that moment at the pool, she realized how much she wanted one.

Jordan BA’02 uses this memory to introduce an essay on envy in her new book The Year of Living Virtuously (Weekends Off). Author of four other books, she had been away from writing for several years involved in what she calls “a midlife expansion”—studying visual art at the University of Utah. After receiving a bachelor’s degree in fine arts, with an emphasis in painting and drawing, she was looking for a project to get her back to the written word. When she came across Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography and his experiment to write about 13 different virtues as a way to work toward moral perfection, something clicked and she knew she had found the writing project she was looking for. Her book follows a similar thread, but with a twist: taking weekends off to attend to the Seven Deadly Sins.

book photoJordan wondered if Franklin’s centuries-old ideas of virtue could influence a nation today that is struggling with increasingly polarized positions around who’s right. “I wanted to write about extremes—about the angry righteousness that is dividing the country,” Jordan says. “Just look at terrorism. It’s a righteousness taken to the extreme. Anything taken to excess becomes a vice.” Unlike Franklin, she was not using the project to aspire to moral perfection, but rather, “to examine the ordinary strengths and weaknesses that shape the quality of our relationships, to see how virtue and vice play out in ordinary life,” she says. “What interests me is what we talk about over the dinner table.”

The 45 essays in the book go beyond Franklin’s 13 virtues and range from examining courage, listening, and punctuality to pondering grumpiness, procrastination, and stubbornness. She says she realized, only after completing the project, that The Year of Living Virtuously for her was all about the questions: “What was I raised to believe? What do I believe now? To what degree are the decisions I make on a daily basis congruent with my core beliefs? That was the gift of this book.”

The Year of Living Virtuously has drawn praise from national reviewers since its publication in December by Counterpoint Press. In The Wall Street Journal, author Tom Nolan called the book “an engaging and moving collection” and noted, “Teresa Jordan is a writer who aims to stick to resolutions. But like many of us, she has noted more than an occasional disparity between the ideals and values she aspired to in youth and some much less appealing habits of thought and being that have encroached upon her over the years.”

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To begin her project, Jordan made a commitment to write one essay on a different virtue or vice each week and post to her blog every Sunday night. Weaving in her own experience with the views of theologians, philosophers, ethicists, evolutionary biologists, and a range of scholars and scientists within the emerging field of consciousness studies, the project involved her skills as a writer, storyteller, researcher—things she already knew how to do and enjoyed.

In doing research for the book, she stayed for a few days at the Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah. “I am not Catholic,” she says. “As a child, I did not attend church of any kind, and my adult observance can best be described as Cafeterian, drawing nourishment from many spiritual traditions.” But the abbey provided seclusion for anyone seeking renewal, and during her three days there, as she told KUER’s RadioWest in a recent interview, she realized that “it is a generosity to allow silence.”

In her essay on cleanliness, she writes about her mother, who did not want to be known for her housekeeping. “She was not a slob, but neither was she overly fastidious, a poise that left her time for reading, play, and genuine connection.” Her mother was 5 feet 11 inches tall and often wore four-inch heels, and she taught Jordan to enjoy her height. “My mom wasn’t invested in being a perfect mom, or wife, or friend. She liked her own solitude, and her lack of the need to be perfect gave her space, which made her more fun to be around. She brought balance into what would have been a two-dimensional view of the world,” Jordan writes.

Growing up in the 1950s and ’60s on her great-grandfather’s ranch property in the Iron Mountain country in southeastern Wyoming, Jordan says she “was raised to be Western, which is to say, stoic.” Her parents were devotees of Ayn Rand’s philosophy of objectivism, and she and her brother Blade were surrounded by brandings, roundups, and trail drives. Not surprisingly, many of the book’s essays reflect Jordan’s life on the ranch.

Writing about habit, she recounts how each day “started with the last gesture at night, the thermos of coffee my mother made and took up to her bedside table in preparation for the morning to come. When the alarm rang at 5 a.m. she woke to light a cigarette and drink a cup of coffee in the dark before she dressed quietly and headed downstairs to put the kettle on and let out the dog. When the dog came back in, he bounded upstairs to wake my father, who gave him a biscuit before rising to pull on his jeans, his boots, his snap-fastened shirt… the first motions in the daily habit of my family.” And, Jordan says, the barn was “the heart of it all, the cathedral, the place where the day truly began, a hall you entered with a sacred tone— ‘whoa’—to avoid startling the horses.”

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U alum Teresa Jordan is an artist as well as a writer.

In her 1994 memoir, Riding the White Horse Home, Jordan writes that it was perhaps her great-grandmother, Matilda Tait Lannen—Nana—who had the most influence on her as a child. On their long, magical walks together on the land around the ranch, Jordan could count on the two of them discovering fossilized crinoids, snails, clams, and Indian relics—things she didn’t easily find when Nana wasn’t with her. “It is a matter of looking, of learning to see,” writes Jordan, recalling Nana’s words to her. The idea still guides Jordan today. During Jordan’s junior year at Yale University, her mother unexpectedly died of an aneurism and Jordan “felt like the sun had fallen out of the sky.” She returned home and withdrew from school for the rest of the semester. “I couldn’t bear the thought of my father all alone on the ranch 50 miles from town, and the truth is that I was devastated, too,” she says now. She received permission from Yale to do an independent study program from the ranch, and switched from Latin American studies to American history with an emphasis on the American West. Working on her senior thesis—how Wyoming ranchers had responded to the Great Depression—Jordan would drive the pickup every day from the ranch to the archives in Cheyenne, fascinated with the information she found there.

In 1977, Jordan received a bachelor’s degree in history from Yale, graduating summa cum laude, and was elected to Phi Beta Kappa. Her thesis, Wyoming Ranchers During the Great Depression, won the McClintock Prize for History of the American West. That same year, due to a declining economy, her father sold the ranch property that had been in their family for 90 years—four generations—leaving Jordan feeling “untethered.” (It changed hands a few more times and ultimately was bought by an oil company.)

During the 1980s, Jordan continued researching and writing. She wrote the script for the documentary Cowgirls: Portraits of American Ranch Women; conducted several oral history projects; and recorded nearly 100 interviews as background for her first book, Cowgirls: Women of the American West, published in 1992. That same year, she met Hal Cannon.

“Teresa and I met when we were both presenting at a conference in Sun Valley, Idaho,” says Cannon, a musician, folklorist, and public radio producer. “I was married at the time, she was involved with someone, but we recognized each other and kept track.” Years later, when they were both free, they met again at the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering, where Cannon was the founding director. “She gave a keynote address about women and families in the West,” says Cannon. “She convinced me. We fell in love and got married a few months later. That was nearly 25 years ago.” They live near Zion National Park in Virgin, Utah, where they raise a few Navajo- Churro sheep and keep an old pioneer pecan orchard. Among numerous collaborative ventures, Jordan and Cannon created The Open Road, a series of radio features for Public Radio International’s The Savvy Traveler, and continue to partner on many projects. For venues ranging from the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering to the Conference on World Affairs, Jordan has turned many of her Open Road features into stories that she tells live on stage without notes. “Both Teresa and I have a strong inclination to live artistic lives,” says Cannon. “We like to make things happen. Our canvas is the American West: its people, landscape, animals, and music. Wherever we go, we like to bring people together around stories, songs, and imagery.”

In all, Jordan has written or edited seven books about Western rural life and the environment, and she has received numerous literary awards. She has served as writer in residence at the University of Nebraska and the U, and has taught writing throughout the West. Her artwork ranges from notebook sketches, black and white paper cuts, and ink-onpaper portraits to hand-colored monotypes of landscapes and animals, including a surprising number of chickens, one of which graces the cover of the new book. Her work has been exhibited in galleries in Utah, Colorado, and Idaho.

In The Year of Living Virtuously, the theme that emerges most consistently is “the need to create space in which that still, small voice can make itself heard,” she writes. “As I searched for stories with which to understand the various aspects of virtue and vice, I repeatedly encountered the importance of stillness in creating a meaningful life.” She says when she first conceived of the book’s title, she added (Weekends Off) as something of a joke, “to suggest a vacation from the arduous pursuit of decency. Now I realize that weekends off are a more serious concern, for without periodic time for renewal, we forget what we care about.” She notes that the project started as a way to practice writing. “It continues to engage me, long after my self-assignment of weekly reflections has expired, as a way to practice life.”

Ann Floor is an associate editor of Continuum.

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