Monday, September 11, 2006 - The Michigan Daily - 7A BRANDON Continued from page 1A munity hospital where they were born could not treat the boys' rare blood disease. One of the twins had been taking from the other's blood supply in the womb, leaving one anemic and the other over- whelmed with red blood cells. One of the twins, Brandon said, was purple. The twins spent the first sev- eral weeks of their lives in the facility before making a full recovery. "That's not something you forget," Brandon said. Brandon, then 28 at the time, was just beginning a new busi- ness venture with partner Larry Johnson called Valassis which would lead to Brandon's future corporate success. And 26 years later, with a $4- million donation to the Univer- sity, half of which will go to the facility that saved his friends, Brandon has remembered. The money from Brandon and his wife, Jan, will bring the Uni- versity's Michigan Difference fundraising campaign closer to its goal of $2.5 billion. To date, the campaign has raised more than $2.1 billion. Brandon, an Ann Arbor Republican who is the chair- man and CEO of Domino's Pizza, was elected to the Board of Regents in 1998 and is up for reelection this November. The Brandons' donation will be split across several areas of the University where their fam- ily has personal connections. Two million dollars will be dedicated to the construction of a state-of-the-art neonatal intensive care unit within the new $523-million C.S Mott Children's and Women's Hospi- tal. University officials expect to break ground on the new hospital this October. Brandon said the hospital is cramped for space, particularly in the neona- tal unit. "Chairs are wedged between incubators," he said. Brandon said the unit's new layout will be much more accommodating to families, giving them more private space and allowing them to stay with their children 24 hours a day. Of the remaining $2 million, $500,000 will go toward cre- ating a center to store digital records at the School of Educa- tion. Brandon graduated from the school in 1974 with a bach- elor's degree and teaching cer- tificate. He said that while the school had the space to house the research materials, it lacked the funds for the proper technol- ogy. The Brandons earmarked $750,000 for the Athletic Department, $250,000 of which will be set aside for the David and Jan Brandon Scholarship Fund to assist student athletes. As a defensive end on the football team, Brandon was apart of three Big Ten champi- onship teams and the 1972 Rose Bowl squad. The last of the funds will be split into three $250,000 gifts, one to the University's Muse- um of Art, one to the urology department and one to the Busi- ness School. Brandon said the timing of this donation is completely unrelated to his re-election campaign. He will compete for one of the two board seats up for grabs. "I can't imagine that giving $4 million to the University can be viewed negatively," he said. "I can't imagine that there will be many voters in the state of Mich- igan that will even know I made this donation to the University." NANO Continued from page 1A horse. When a cell recognizes a dendrimer that resembles a sugar molecule or something equal- ly appealing, "the cell says hello, and brings it inside," Banaszak Holl said. Once inside, the dendrimer releases a pack- age that wouldn't have otherwise made it into the cell. The gifts that the nanoparticles bear would differ depending on the mission. If a dendrimer is synthesized to seek out and bind with a specific cell in order to alert a researcher of its presence, the payload might take the form of fluorescent tags. If the goal is to infiltrate and kill a can- cer cell, a lethal chemical could drop from the dendrimer's belly and lay waste to the unsuspect- ing cell. Banaszak Holl said nanotechnology could become an extremely useful tool for screening, diagnosing and treating cancer. Some predict this technology, in addition to the growing arse- nal of medical tools used to fight cancerous dis- ease, could extend the human lifespan by up to 40 years. Extraordinary health benefits may exist in the world of nanotechnology, but so may unforeseen risks. Banaszak Holl compared developing nano- technologies with the introduction of pesticides. Like the harmful effects of pesticides not appar- ent for several links down the food chain, adverse effects of nanotech may go unforeseen. Banaszak Holl, whose current project explores the potential of some dendrimers to behave like cholera toxin by tearing holes in cell membranes, said he appreciates the foresight being exercised by those doing nanotech research. "I think we're doing a much better job address- ing the obstacles," than in the past, he said. There is still an enormous amount of work to be done before emerging nanotechnologies can be put to practical use which might mean job and research opportunities for some college students. Pascale Lerouli, a chemistry graduate stu- dent instructor and a member of Banaszak Holl's research team, encourages students to get involved in nanotechnology research at the Uni- versity. "Not everyone gets a chance to get involved with something that is on the cutting edge of technology and is going to affect everyone," she said. Most of the new diagnostic tools and treat- ments involving nanotechnology are only in ani- mal-testing phases right now and applications of nanotech such as cancer treatment may be years down the road. Lerouli sees the obstacles as a chance to wit- ness the unfolding of progress. "It took a long time to develop computers," she said, "but now they've ended up in our liv- ing rooms and drastically change the way we live." Lerouli predicts that the future of nanotech- nology will affect the overall health of our gen- eration more than anything else. "You don't want to be sick, and you don't want to see your family sick," she said. "You owe it to yourself while you're at the University to learn about this." Quake sends shock waves from La. to Fla. r Magnitude 6.0 earthquake too small to trigger tsunami; no damage reported TAMPA, Fla. (AP) - The larg- est earthquake to strike the east- ern Gulf of Mexico in the last 30 years sent shock waves from Loui- siana to southwest Florida Sunday, but did little more than rattle resi- dents. The magnitude 6.0 earthquake, centered about 260 miles south- west of Tampa, was too small to trigger a tsunami or dangerous waves, the U.S. Geological Survey said. The USGS received more than 2,800 reports from people who felt the 10:56 a.m. quake. Scien- tists said it was the largest and most widely felt of more than a dozen earthquakes recorded in the region in three decades. "This is a fairly unique event," said Don Blakeman, an analyst with the National Earthquake Information Center who said the quake was unusually strong. "I wouldn't expect any substantial damage, but it is possible there will be some minor damage." The most prevalent vibration, which lasted for about 20 sec- onds, was felt on the gulf coast of Florida and in southern Georgia, Blakeman said. But residents in Alabama, Mississippi and Louisi- ana also called in reports. "It rattled our trailer pretty good," said Dan Hawks, who lives near Ocala in the small cen- tral Florida community of Pedro. "The house started shaking. We could actually see it moving. We looked at each stupidly and said, 'What's the deal?"' Florida counties along the Gulf of Mexico called the state emergency operations center with reports of tremors but no damage was reported, spokesman Mike Stone said. Gov. Jeb Bush was informed of the situation, Stone said. The earthquake likely did not have any effect on oil operations in the Gulf of Mexico, according to Ray Connolly, a spokesman for the American Petroleum Insti- tute, the trade association for the U.S. oil and natural gas industry. Earthquakes are factored into the design of the industry's equipment both onshore and offshore, Con- nolly said. The epicenter is an unusual location for earthquake activity, but scientists recorded a magni- tude 5.2 temblor in the same loca- tion on Feb. 10. "This kind of occurrence is unusual in that spot, especially for an earthquake of this size," Blake- man said of Sunday's quake. The temblor was unusual because it was not centered on a known fault line. The "midplate" earthquake, deep under the gulf, was probably the result of stresses generated by the interaction of tectonic plates in the earth's crust, the agency said. Only one of Florida's rare earth- quakes caused significant damage. In January 1879, St. Augustine residents reported heavy shaking that knocked plaster off the walls. A more recent temblor, in November 1952, prompted a resi- dent of Quincy to report the shak- ing "interfered with the writing of a parking ticket," the USGS said. the michigan daily PART-TIME EARLY CHILDHOOD position avail., Mon-Fri, 3:30-5:30. $8/hr. Fall semester openings. Fun working environment, great for psych students, teacher ed, or anyone who likes kids. Call director at 668-0887. C PART/FULL TIME BABYSITTER needed. Email zeinshamma@aol.com ARE YOU A morning person? We are looking for a childcare provider M-F, 7:- 30 -9 AM to help our 4&9 yr old kidsk U E U go school. Non-smoker, car and refer ences required. $10-$12/hr based on ex-SOON$** perience. funnannyjob@gmail.com 9/11. Continued from page 1A "We're under attack?" Later, she would recall meeting with the University's upper echelon of administrators 10 minutes after that exchange. She was wrong. The University's emergency response team convened at 11 a.m. - about two hours later. Nearly two hours of watching the news had melted into what seemed like minutes. Meanwhile, University spokes- woman Julie Peterson left her office after seeing the second plane strike the tower. Peterson's job requires her to keep up-to-the-minute on the day's news, but the images were too much to bear, so she would use the radio to stay updated for the rest of the day. It wasn't until years later that she saw footage of the towers collapsing. Within minutes, the Univer- sity switchboard was flooded with calls from parents trying to locate students and news outlets trying to find expert professors who might be able to shed some light on the morning's events. 10 A.M. LSA freshman Scott Foley was in Calculus II. He spoke in a hushed whisper to his classmates: "There was a terrorist attack in New York City." The class buzzed and the lectur- er, perhaps assuming that indefinite integrals were causing the anx- ious electricity in the classroom, continued to teach. Foley and his classmates grimly speculated about which cities would be hit next. Outside, the atmosphere was sur- real. Students who would normally be rushing to class talked quietly or stood by themselves, crying. On South University Avenue, groups of strangers huddled around radios. Walking around, it was clear who knew about the attacks and who didn't. People who knew walked slower, their voices muted. Department heads e-mailed their staffs, offering advice and instruc- tions on how to comfort distressed students. One minute before 11 a.m., Carol Dickerman, director of the Office of International Pro- grams, sent out an update on stu- dents studying abroad. She wrote that program directors abroad were taking directions from American authorities. "They will also be alerting stu- dents to ways in which they avoid drawing attention to themselves as Americans," she wrote. 11 A.M. Provost Lisa Tedesco called a meeting of top administrators. Tedesco had assumed the position of the University's second-in-com- mand only six days earlier. At the meeting, which Bollinger joined via speakerphone from New York City, administrators decided to cancel class. At noon, they sent out a statement under Bollinger's e-mail account expressing con- dolences and recommending all classes that week be dedicated to discussion about the attacks. Other than that, few concrete plans were made. NOON Someone at a pay phone in front of Ulrich's bookstore on South Uni- versity Avenue called the police. There's a bomb in the LSA Building, he said. 12:30 P.M. Leaders from LSA Student Gov- ernment, the Michigan Student Assembly and the Muslim Stu- dents' Association, as well as other student leaders, crowded into a con- ference room in Harper's offices after lunch. They decided to hold a candle- light vigil that night on the Diag. Several student leaders headed to grocery stores. They bought all the candles in stock. They also decided to set up walk-in counseling for distressed students in central areas. A sign in the Kuenzel room of the Michigan Union had "COUNSELING SUP- PORT, all are welcome" scribbled in marker. Twenty local therapists vol- unteered their expertise, talking students through the shock. Some went home as late as 1 a.m. 1 P.M. Although he had seen a seen a cloud of smoke hovering over New York City earlier on a West Hall television, Alford Young, a profes- sor of Afro-American studies and sociology, had not yet grasped the day's gravity. He was on his way to his office in the LSA Building to call his mother. He found his co-workers milling around outside the building as police officers and bomb-sniff- ing dogs searched corridors and trashcans for traces of explosive material. People outside the building were skeptical that there was actu- ally a bomb inside. Conversation, of course, centered on the attacks in New York City, Young's home- town. 3 P.M. After almost two hours of search- ing, faculty were allowed back into the building. The canine unit had turned up nothing. The bomb threat was a fake. Young joked with his colleagues that this was probably the most excitement the dogs had seen in months. After all, there aren't very many bomb threats in Washtenaw County.Faculty members laterfound that one of the dogs had defecated in the sociology department's offices. Young finally called his mother. She told him what he hadn't real- ized watching TV earlier that day: Two of the most prominent build- ings in the heart of his home city had crumbled. The cloud he had seen was not smoke, but the rem- nants of the World Trade Center floating above the city. 8 P.M. Asad Tarsin stood on the side of the Harlan Hatcher Graduate Library facing Haven Hall, watch- ing campus police officers assume posts around the Diag. Worried that the campus might violently lash out against Muslims, he and the vice president of the Muslim Students' Association had met with campus police earlier that day. They were especially worried about the women of their commu- nity, who were easily identified by their headscarves. Between 15,000 and 20,000 people flooded the Diag for a vigil, students standing shoulder-to- shoulder from the steps of the grad- uate library to Ingalls Mall. Tarsin was amazed at the sea of people stretched out before him. Everyone on campus who has a pulse must be here, he thought. Police estimated it was the larg- est crowd ever assembled on the Diag. In front of him, he noticed a man with an American flag painted across his bare chest. He was wav- ing, chanting, enticing the crowd to join in his patriotism. As the night's speakers took the stage, Tarsin thought briefly of the dan- gers of mob mentality, unnerved by the chance that someone out there might accuse him and other Mus- lims of having links to terrorism. Police were relieved to see the crowd sit down silently. Despite their numbers, people spoke in hushed voices. One person coughed near the graduate library, and the sound echoed across the Diag. Five campus religious leaders took their turns at the microphone on the steps of the library. Tar- sin studied the crowd's reaction to each. Some waved flags, others cried, holding onto friends. Sherman Jackson, a professor of Near Eastern studies and a promi- nent figure in the American Mus- lim community, urged the crowd to understand that the men responsible for the day's events did not repre- sent Islam. "This act, in Islam ..." he stut- tered and stalled, searching for words. He yelled: "No! It has no place" Applause thundered from the crowd. Tarsin was comforted by the thought that the speaker's words would stifle any backlash against the Muslim community. Greg Epstein, a humanistic rabbi and a graduate student, was the last speaker that night. Take one hand, and hold onto your culture and family, he told the crowd. With the other, he instructed, reach out to the people around you. He sang a song and stepped off the stage, his own hands shaking so violently that he had to hang on to fellow speakers Jackson and Hillel Director Michael Brooks for sup- port. The vigil ended, and Tarsin walked Jackson around Tisch Hall back to his car on State Street. Although they had earlier cautioned friends to seek safety in numbers, Tarsin and other Muslims felt safe going out again. Campus Muslims would see isolated incidents of hate in the following weeks, but not the wave of hate some had feared. Epstein and Rachel Tronstein, a leader in LSA Student Government, walked home together that night. On the way, Epstein said something he would remember and later repeat to Newsweek magazine. "Our generation, as long as we've had an identity, was known as the generation that had it easy," he said to Rachel. "We had no crisis, no Vietnam, no Martin Luther King, no JFK. We've got it now. When we have kids and grandkids, we'll tell them that we lived through the roaring '90s, when all we cared about was the No. I movie or how many copies of an album sold. This is where it changes." Five years later, he realizes he was right. Students found their way home. The clock on the Bell Tower struck midnight. It was Wednesday. This story was researchedby Daily staff reporters Anne VanderMey, Christina Hil- dreth, Laura Frank, Kelly Fraser, Amandta Markowitz and Walter Nowinski. They conducted a series of interviews withadministrators,faculty, staff and stu- dens. To reconstruct the amiisration's response, theyspoke with E. Royser Harper, vice president for student affairs; Lester Monts, senior vice provostfor aca- demic affairs; University spokeswoman Ju- lie Peterson;James Etzkorn, then-clinical director ofCounseling And Psychological Services: Bob Winfield, director of Univer- sity Heath Services; DPS spokeswoman Diane Brown; and then-Business Prof. B. Joseph White, who served as interim presi- dent ofthe University after Lee Bollinger left. He dedicated his tenure to the victims of the Sept.11attacks. Faculty interviewed were Alford Young, associateprofessor of Afro-American studies;RClecturerHelenFox; and Priti Shah, associate professor of psychology. Students interviewed were Tricia Bass, Loren BergerAmanda Czop, Greg Epstein, Scott Foley, Dave Krease, Steven RodriguezAsad Tarsin, Rachel Tronstein and Phillip Zinda. 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