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Remembering a friend
he first part of this summer went
quite well for me. I was taking a class
I enjoyed, the weather was still fresh,
and the long hours of August tedium were
hull-down on the horizon. Before I knew it,
it was mid-June and my brother was pack-
ing for camp - the same one my siblings
and I had been going to ever since I was 7
and where I had been a counselor the previ-
ous summer. This would be the first year my
brother would be going alone.
Two or three days before he was set to
leave, my phone rang. It was a close friend
from the year before; we'd been an item at
camp, but it had been a while since we'd last
talked. I answered, excited to hear from her.
What she said was the last thing I could ever
have expected.
"Remember Michael Greene?" she asked.
It sounded like she was holding back tears. I
groaned inwardly, expecting some pointless
gossip or drama blown out of proportion. Of
course I remembered him. Michael had been
one of my best friends the previous summer.
"He went down during the pre-camp
swim test. They resuscitated him and evaced
him to the hospital, but he died."
The smile froze on my face. There was a
long silence. I gulped and stammered, "Are
you serious?"
She was.
Michael Greene is dead. The phrase
repeated in my head for days and weeks
after. I learned the details: No one knew
exactly why he'd submerged, but the camp
director had gotten him out and continued
CPR until a helicopter arrived. They'd been
hopeful at the hospital, but he had died after
a short stay.
Ever the cocky daredevil, I had never even
tried to contemplate the fragility oflife; Idon't
think Michael had either. This was Michael
Greene. The counselor who helped his 7-year-
old campers adjust to homesickness, who
joked about cleaning up their piss-stained
beds, who was just about the jolliest jokester
I'd ever had the pleasure of teasing about his
initial anxiety about jumping off the 15-foot
swimming tower at night in the nude.
Michael Greene is dead. What did that
even mean? I thought about death a lot after
what happened to Mike. The idea had always
fascinated me, but I had never experienced
a death so close to home. I'd experienced
brushes with death before by way of near-
misses in the car. One spring I took a glancing
blow to the forehead during shot-put prac-
tice, but nothing came remotely close to hav-
ing a dear friend die. Michael was a healthy
kid. It could have happened to anyone.
MichaelGreene is dead.eNo one atthe camp
talked about it when I went up for visitor's
day. I saw his former campers and watched
as they ran around enjoying themselves, not
dwelling on the tragedy. I walked along the
dock where he and I had been scolded for
swimming after dark, after the kids had gone
to bed. It was the same green wood; there
was no sign of what had happened. What
did I expect? A bloodstain? A gravestone?
I almost felt disappointed at how normal
everything seemed.
I'll never work at Camp Tamakwa again.
Not because it's a dangerous place, and not
because my friend died there, but because
I've realized how many other opportunities
are out there in the world.
Mike and I had talked about traveling
abroad; we'd talked about the Peace Corps
and European topless beaches. I started a list
of "Things to do before I die" with a byline in
a tribute to Mike. The list is long, but he point
isn't whether I'll eventually climb El Capi-
'tan or go skydiving over the Nairobi Desert.
Essentially, I wrote it because I didn't want
to keep being complacent in life.
No one should meet a premature death,
especially not someone as exuberant as
Michael Greene. I feel cheated that he died
under such normal circumstances. He
should have died a hero's death - trying to
save a camper and diving beyond his ability,
anything closer to how he lived. Instead, he
was whisked away just before the best sum-
mer ever. Months later, my vision still blurs
when I think of his hopes and plans for the
future - or simply, the present - sunk to the
bottom, up there in a place he called home a
couple months each year.
But I suppose I have learned something.
To those who haven't been there, the lesson
I took away may sound hardhearted. There
is no why. Michael Greene wasted no time
wondering why; he simply lived and loved.
Although his life was cut short, the years he
did live were not wasted. In the end, it's the
most valuable thing he's ever taught me.
Now, as I sit each morning watching
SportsCenter with my Raisin Bran Crunch,
I always take a moment to think of Mike and
the thumbprint he left on my life. I shoulder
my backpack and set out for class, deter-
mined to get as much as I can out of it, no
matter how boring it may be.
Somehow, two summers ago in the typi-
cal end-of-camp lost-and-found clothing
shuffle, Iended up with one of Mike's sweat-
shirts. I found it in a box where I'd been
keeping it, intending to return it to him. It
was a while before I was able to wear it, but
I realized that if he'd ended up with some-
thing of mine, he'd wear it without a second
thought, and if we met to hang out, he'd put it
on to see if I'd notice. It's a red, zip-up Roots
sweatshirt with a huge hood - at least two
sizes too large for me. Every time I wear that
hoodie, I find myself looking around, biting
back a smile, waiting for him to pop out and
say, "Hey, that's mine!" I'd laugh and hand it
over. I'd give him a big bear hug.
- Paul Blumer is a Daily staff reporter.
the quiet president.
COLEMAN
From pages 6B-7B
This defiant side to Coleman
doesn't often shine through.
Although the University has a stake
in a wide variety of issues, Coleman
seems reluctant to take advantage
of the bully pulpit her position
affords her. For example, she has
only mildly engaged on the issue of
stem-cell research, an area of piv-
otal importance to the University,
especially after the construction
of the new Center for Stem Cell
Biology. Federal restrictions limit
research at the center to the rough-
ly 60 already-derived stem cell
lines, that, coupled with even more
stringent state-level restrictions,
ties researchers' hands behind
their backs. If these restrictions
continue, the University risks los-
ing its best researchers and its edge
in an important new field. That
seems to be a threat worth fighting
against.
The same goes for a multitude
of other issues, which have been
touched upon but not stressed. As
proved by the eight University pro-
fessors who shared in this year's
Nobel Peace Prize, the University
has had a large stake in the global
warming debate for a long time, but
it hasn't taken much of a leadership
position. The same is true of uni-
versal health care plans, which the
Democratic presidential candidates
are reviving and in 2004 Coleman
herself called "an urgent problem"
with "no justifiable excuse for
delay."
In her first five years, it's been
easy to praise Coleman for her abil-
ity to raise money. The strength of
her behind-the-scenes, low-profile
approach' is debatable, though. It
could be the answer to the Univer-
sity's problems or it could be mak-
ing it less socially relevant.
THE FUNpRAISER-IN-CHIEF
While it's easy to notice the
contrast between Bollinger's out-
spokenness and Coleman's more
considered approach, the dramatic
difference is symptomatic of the
changes that are occurring across
the country in higher education. In
comparison to many other schools,
Coleman's emphasis on fundrais-
ing and development, and relative
silence on social issues is common-
place.
University spokeswoman Kelly
Cunningham agrees. Although
maintaining that Coleman has been
the exception to the rule, Cunning-
ham said: "Up until the later half
of the previous century university'
presidents were turned to as opin-
ion leaders. Since that time it seems
many universities have, slowly
moved away from that role."
As public support for higher edu-
cation has dwindled, demand for a
college education has soared and
rising tuition prices have brought
greater scrutiny, the American uni-
versity is changing and the presi-
dencies are going with it. In the
balance between social criticism
and social promotion, colleges are
increasingly becoming a servant of
society, not a separate force.
In his book, "Positioning the
University for the New Millenni-
um," former president Duderstadt
explained the changing context
well. He wrote the following: "The
American university is clearly
under attack: criticized by parents
and students for the uncontrolled
escalation of tuition; attacked by
state legislatures and governors for
insufficient attention to state needs
... attacked by the left and the right
for the quality and nature of under-
graduate education; and generally
blasted by the media in essentially
any and all of our activities." It
makes for a difficult work environ-
ment.
As higher education transforms
to meet the changing needs of
the nation, university presidents
have found themselves piloting
multi-billion-dollar institutions.
And they are making big money
to do it. After her 3 percent raise
last month, Coleman is up to a
base salary of $532,000 a year and
with added bonuses and retire-
ment compensation, according to
the Chronicle of Higher Educa-
tion, she is now the third highest
paid public university president in
the country, at a total package of
$757,643 a year.
With the new demands on high-
er education, what the public wants
is less of the university as an "Ivory
Tower," telling society how to bet-
ter itself, and more of the univer-
sity as a training ground. What this
new model also calls for is an end to
the crusader president. _
There is no better example of this
change than at America's prodigy
child, Harvard University. When
Larry Summers, former Secretary
of Treasury under President Clin-
ton, became president of Harvard
in 2001, he came in with an agenda
to change the complacent culture
that he saw as preventing Harvard
from becoming a social force. It was
Washington D.C. meets Cambridge
in dramatic fashion. But after five
years of criticizing grade infla-
tion, comparing divestment from
Israel to anti-Semitism and, finally,
insinuating that women might not
be biological capacity of compet-
ing with men in math and science,
Summers's loose tongue lost him
his job.
His replacement is Harvard's
first female president, Drew Faust,
who bears an uncanny resemblance
to Coleman in both appearance and
leadership. At her inauguration last
Friday, she echoed what has guided
the new image of higher education,
saying, "College used to be restrict-
ed to a tiny elite; now it serves the
many, not just the few."
With the bitter aftertaste of
Summers still stinging, it's prob-
ably not unfair to say that "serving
the many" may mean clamming up
and keeping the social advocacy
behind the scenes.
Coleman is leading the Univer-
sity in a new direction. Only time
will tell if the it retains its position
as a socially relevant critic.
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