Use the fields below to perform an advanced search of The Chronicle's archives. This will return articles, images, and multimedia relevant to your query. You can also try a Basic search
7 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
I have absolutely no problem with people who support a given candidate or cause, as long as they know why they are supporting it, and it is with a reasonable justification that doesn't violate any other person's rights to existence. Part of what makes America great is that we have different opinions represented in our society. What I have a problem with is when people are completely disrespectful of others or other opinions.
As I was hurrying along West last week, freezing my tail off, I thought to myself, It's cold, but thankfully it's not raining. And then it started pouring. As soon as I arrived at my destination, freezing and wet, I naturally began complaining of my woes to no one in particular and was answered by a rather quiet looking freshman in a corner.
Two Fridays ago, on the only holiday that centers around children taking candy from strangers (truly a great phenomenon) I was fortunate enough to meet one of the most delightful people on Duke's campus. His name is Sam Hammond, and he has been making his presence subtly known since 1965. In fact, I'll bet that you've probably heard him nearly every day while you've been here. How? you ask. The answer, my friends, lies within the bells.
In his Oct. 23 e-mail to the Duke community, President Richard Brodhead reminds us that Duke "was born on the eve of the Great Depression and began its rise in the midst of this country's deepest economic crisis." Indeed, it is fairly common knowledge that Duke's West Campus was built between 1927 and 1932, straddling the 1929 stock market crash of the Great Depression. What is often ignored, however, is that the Sarah P. Duke Gardens-what President Keith Brodie called, "the Chapel's Proper Compliment"-was born during similar economic misfortunes.
A few days ago, I was in my car, fondly dubbed Big Pimpin', attempting to meet friends at the Mellow Mushroom at American Tobacco (wonderful pizza, if you haven't tried it). While rocking out to some quality Steven Kellogg and the Sixers, I missed my exit. Subconsciously, I enjoy joyriding in Big Pimpin' too much.
A few weeks ago, I was strolling calmly along the walkway beneath the Clock Tower on Main West. As I lugged my heavy bag to the Blue Zone, I could not help but witness a quite embarrassing interaction. A Duke student was standing in the center of the busy path staring directly up at one of the carved sculptures on the ceiling. If I had seen simply the Duke student staring up at the boss on the ceiling, I would have most likely paid her little to no attention other than thinking, "Perhaps she's an architecture student," or "Well, they let some weird ones in every year." What made the situation mildly hilarious was the fact that the Duke Student was not alone.
I figure I got my start in investigative reporting when I was 12. You see, that's when I learned how to pick locks. MIT's "Guide to Lockpicking" by Ted the Tool is really a great piece of literature that I recommend everyone read. Seriously. It will change your life. Anyway, I'll be the first one to tell you that investigative reporting turned out to be a little harder than I thought. I had little trouble getting in anywhere (after I picked the front door lock seven times, my father decided it was probably time for a new one) but unfortunately, I figured out after the fact that you really ought not to break and enter into people's houses whom you want to "interview." I found this out the hard way with my next-door neighbor Mrs. Brady, who came after me with a broom after she realized I wasn't one of her four cats or her pet goat Rutabega. Even though I've since moved on to more legal extracurriculars, I still get a little shudder when I see one of those old wooden brooms.
