I owe much to Boatwright, Ryland and Mitchell
Dr. Herman J. Flax, R’36
Memories of those student days at the University of Richmond, about three quarters of a century ago, have mostly faded away. Such is the dilemma of old age! Still, as I sit racking a tired old brain, I find myself awakening endearing moments of those notable years. My eyes grow misty as I linger over these recollections, and I must confess to dropping a few tears on the desk blotter.
There is no question that who I am and what I have accomplished in my professional life can be attributed in great measure to the four years spent at Richmond College. First, however, let me explain how this came about. Upon graduation from high school in 1932, I received a scholarship from a college in Ashland, Va. To attend orientation, I traveled on the Richmond-Ashland trolley. The trip seemed unending, and the day was nerve-racking for a 14-year-old. What was even worse, the return ride brought me back home after dark. I conferred with my high school principal the next day and explained why I did not want to go to college in Ashland. She advised me to apply to Richmond College.
An appointment was made and my father accompanied me. We were ushered directly into the office of President Frederic William Boatwright. I showed Dr. Boatwright my high school diploma, the letter from the Ashland college awarding me a scholarship, and explained my reasons for not wanting to attend this college. Dr. Boatwright listened quietly, asked my father a few questions, called in his secretary, and said, “I believe we can match the offered scholarship.” Then, he told the secretary to give me the proper papers to explain the admission process. All told, the whole procedure took about 15 minutes. On the way home, my father commented that we were indeed fortunate to have met such a great man and that I must honor this scholarship award by always making good grades.
To say the least, good grades are essential to progress in college, and I did my best to earn them. I wanted to become a physical chemist, but my father preferred that I become a physician. To please him, I arranged a schedule of studies to prepare for both professions. In the end, I became a physician specializing in physical medicine and rehabilitation, complementing both wishes.
Chemistry was the most important pre-medical subject, and I was fortunate to have started with a magnificent professor, Dr. Garnett Ryland. He chaired the chemistry department and became my student advisor. For some good reason, perhaps my youth, he sat me on the front row in chemistry class. During lectures, he would prance from one end of the room to the other waving a big stick up and down. Many a time, as Dr. Ryland neared, all of us sitting up front would push our heads and torsos back against our seats for fear of getting hit. He never hit anyone, of course, but he scared the daylights out of me and kept the class awake. Dr. Ryland was active in several important national scientific societies and associations and brought many renowned visitors to lecture to the class. Fortunately, none of these guests waved big sticks in our faces.
There is no question that I owe my admission to medical school to Dr. Ryland. My senior year was drawing to a close, and I was still undecided whether to begin graduate studies in physical chemistry or apply to medical school. At the time, I was taking a class in physical chemistry under Dr. Abe Whitenfish, who had just completed his doctorate at Duke University. Frankly, he was non-committal but suggested that I visit several industries that employed physical chemists to get an understanding of their work. I visited the Dupont Company near Petersburg, Va., and the Sauer Company in Richmond. The first manufactured and researched chemicals, and the second prepared and tested food extracts. The work at both companies appeared monotonous and not very interesting. I was told there were no vacancies for employment then and none were anticipated. Next, I inquired about a job teaching chemistry in high schools. There was no vacancy in the city, but there was an opening at Westhampton High School paying $50 a month.
After I told Dr. Ryland about my experiences, he simply asked, “Why don’t you study medicine?” I thanked him and consulted my father, who said Dr. Ryland was right, and I should follow his advice. Shortly thereafter, as graduation was approaching, I called on Dr. Ryland again and asked for a letter of recommendation to study medicine at the Medical College of Virginia. To my surprise, he picked up the phone in his office and told his secretary to call the dean of the medical school, who promptly responded. Over the telephone, Dr. Ryland gave Dr. Lee Sutton his recommendation. Within the next fortnight, I received a letter accepting me to the next freshman class at the Medical College of Virginia. This is why I say I owe my profession to having been a student under Dr. Ryland
There were many other memorable faculty members who motivated me during those important undergraduate years. They molded a neophyte, and I am most grateful to each and every one. However, of all my illustrious professors, I must name one, Dr. Samuel Chiles Mitchell, my wise history professor. History was my only festive course. There was always time to gather around Dr. Mitchell after class to discuss history and other matters. He became a staunch confidant and true friend during my college years. I learned much about caring and reasoning from him.
My tight curriculum of science and mathematics courses scarcely left time for those other obligatory subjects required for graduation. My attempts at poetry helped in English, and my speaking Yiddish facilitated my grades in German. I took Latin as well as German, because both were deemed necessary for a physical chemist and/or a physician. Were not the great Nobelists mostly German scientists, and were not medical prescriptions written in Latin? Indeed, my college days were full and overflowing with subjects vital to my future profession.
After graduation, I found ample proof that my education at the University of Richmond could compare favorably with the larger and more famous universities in the United States. This was proven during postgraduate fellowship studies at several of those institutions. I can truly say, without belittling the good genes inherited from my parents, that the educational experience provided by the outstanding faculty at the University of Richmond was of greatest importance in my preparation for a professional career. Indeed, those college years also were most significant in molding a very young, contentious adolescent into a dedicated, young adult.
Herman Flax migrated to Puerto Rico in 1941, and spent a half century practicing physical medicine and rehabilitation, including distinguished service at the Veterans Affairs Medical Center in San Juan. He has written more than 100 scholarly papers, two books of poetry and a book about his life.
A place of honor and respect
By W. Dortch Oldham, R’41
In many ways, the University of Richmond changed my life. I was from about as far back in the country as you could get when I arrived there. I attended high school in Hartsville, Tenn., which is on the Cumberland River, 40 miles north of Nashville. When I got to Richmond, I lived in a fraternity house, and that is where I learned things as basic as table manners and how to dress. That’s how country I was.
If I had attended high school in my home county, I would have had to pay $2 a month to ride the bus. I didn’t have the $2, so I attended school in an adjoining county and had to walk three miles to catch that bus, which also hauled children to an elementary school there. So I was on the bus before daylight, and I got home after dark.
My father was a farmer and my mother kept the house. Neither one had even gone to high school. I believe my father should have been something else. He didn’t belong behind a plow, but in that place and time, there was nothing else to do. He was a very honest and honorable man and he taught that to me. My parents wanted me to get an education. They knew that was important.
I started at Cumberland University in Tennessee, which was close to home. At that time, I didn’t know there was much difference between colleges. I sold books for the Southwestern Publishing Co. to pay my way through school. I sold dictionaries and Bibles door to door.
My sales manager, a man named Henderson, said Richmond was a fine school, and I should go there. He said he would send me some money, I think $20 a month, and I could pay him back by working. This was the Depression and that was pretty good money. The dean once told me I probably made more money than some of the professors, but I don’t think that was true.
I did pretty well selling the books. I even met the woman I would marry. And some time later, I was able to buy the company. Whatever money I’ve been able to make came from that.
Before I went up to Richmond, I had never heard of the school, but right away I could tell it was a class place and a step in the right direction for me. Everyone spoke to everyone else on campus. There were two boys in the fraternity I joined who had cars and they were very popular. The girls were on one side of the lake in Westhampton College and the boys were on the other side in Richmond College. I think the whole time I was there I had just one class—an advanced math class—in which there was a girl.
We had great teachers who exuded integrity and that meant a lot to me. Dr. Modlin was my major professor. He had come down there fresh out of Princeton. He dressed well and that made an impression on me. He was a role model for me. Even today, I can’t think of a better person to model your life around.
I was most taken by the honor system. When I was in high school, there was one time when I recall looking on the paper of the guy next to me. I knew the answer to the question, but it just wouldn’t come to me, and I saw it and I wrote it down. Afterward, I felt so bad that I went to the principal and told him and asked that I not be given credit for that answer.
With that experience in mind and with all that my parents had taught me, the honor system at Richmond was very special to me. Professors would give you a test and leave the room, and you were purely on your honor. That transferred to everything we did. You could not subject yourself to that experience without it having a great affect on you. I’ve always run my business that way. I insisted that my children go to schools where there was an honor system.
The University of Richmond changed my life in many ways that I am grateful for, and I think that respect for honor is the most important thing I learned.
Dortch Oldham sold Southwestern Publishing Co. to Times Mirror Corp. in 1969 for $17 million. He diversified into banking, real estate, insurance, hotels and restaurants. He and his wife, Sis, started the Oldham Scholars Program by giving $2 million to the University in 1983.
My professors pushed me in the right direction
Dr. Jesse Markham, R’41
There is no question that the professors I had at the University of Richmond influenced the rest of my life, which became an academic life like the ones they lived so well.
I can easily single out three of those men, those great professors, who encouraged me, persuaded me and greatly affected my life. I am grateful to them all.
There probably were not many freshmen who came to Richmond with biographies similar to mine, but those were the war years, and a lot of us came and went along unusual paths.
I had grown up in Sharps, Va., a small place near Warsaw on the Middle Peninsula. My father died before I was a year old from an infection that resulted from an accident. Had he lived in the time after penicillin, he would have survived. My mother was a practical nurse. I went to Farnham High School, which didn’t have a lot of frills. I was able to take two years of Latin, four of Math, as well as English and history courses. There was not much else.
Math was my strongest subject, and I thought I might want to be an accountant or an engineer, so I attended Virginia Mechanics Institute, which was a professional school in Richmond. I realized about the time that I was eligible for the CPA exam that I didn’t want to be a numbers pusher. I wanted a broader education, and that is what attracted me to Richmond. I think I was 20 years old.
I took my high school records out to see Dean Raymond B. Pinchbeck. He looked them over and said, “You’re pretty good in math,” and I believe that helped.
My intention was to enroll in a pre-engineering program that Richmond offered then, but that’s when I encountered the three professors who changed the course of my life.
Dr. George Modlin taught economics, a course that I enjoyed. He liked my work and encouraged me to take more, which I did.
Dr. Samuel Chiles Mitchell taught two history courses that I took. He encouraged me to go on to graduate school. I believe he mentioned it every time I appeared in his class. He was very persuasive. I’m not quite sure what he saw. I think perhaps he and Dr. Modlin got together on this and decided to give me a push.
Dr. Robert Loving was a physics professor who also influenced me greatly. I enjoyed his course so much because he was such a great teacher. I still remember the day Dr. Loving hailed me on campus to notify me that I had been elected to Phi Beta Kappa.
Fraternities are not very popular with some people at universities today, but when I was at Richmond, the fraternity was my home away from home. I remember with fond affection many of my brothers. One was president of my class, who would go on to some fame—Dr. Earl Fox was the last World War II veteran to be released from active duty.
Dr. Mitchell took such an interest in students that he not only recommended that they continue their studies after graduation, but he also recommended where you should go. He told me I must go to Johns Hopkins University, and I did for one year before joining the U.S. Navy. I served four years that included the Normandy invasion, where I was aboard the flagship, the USS Augusta. Those were four very important years for me, but I knew when they were over that I wanted to go back to the academic life. They hadn’t started the program back at Hopkins, but a former professor there (who had moved to Yale) suggested I go to Harvard. There, and at Princeton, is where I spent much of my professional life teaching in the Economics Department and in the Graduate School of Business Administration. In 1971, I was appointed to the Charles Wilson Chair in Business Economics, and in 1986, I was honored with the Distinguished Service Award.
In the 1950s, I had done a lot of research and work on the economics of mergers, and I was asked by the Eisenhower administration to join the Federal Trade Commission. This came on the heels of an act of Congress that was designed to erect barriers against industrial mergers that adversely affected competition. I enjoyed the work and found it rewarding, but after about two years, the chair of the commission who brought me in left, and the administration undertook reductions in work force, so it was difficult to keep competent staff. I decided to go back to teaching.
I was happy to devote the remainder of my career to teaching at great universities.
I am grateful that the University of Richmond presented me with opportunities to come into contact with these professors whose examples and advice put me onto an academic path that I followed for some 50 years. They were great teachers, and they encouraged me, and as a result, I found a very rewarding life teaching in college.
Dr. Jesse Markham taught economics for 50 years at Princeton and Harvard. For two years, during the Eisenhower administration, he was chief economist with the Federal Trade Commission.
Inspired by veterans and professors
By Lewis T. Booker, R’50 and H’77
World War II Veterans
It was a heady experience entering college in the fall of 1946, particularly if you were 16. Congress had enacted the G.I. Bill in 1944, and World War II had ended in 1945. As a consequence, my classmates at the University of Richmond were overwhelmingly veterans of the war.
A few had attended a year or so of college before entering the military, but most were men in their early 20s who, in another era, would never even have considered higher education. Many of them were the first in their families to attend college. Virtually all had served overseas. They had seen parts of the world that until World War II were visited only by wealthy people or missionaries.
Many of my classmates had suffered wounds, some still having physical or psychological scars. Some had been captured. Each had an exciting story to tell to an impressionable youngster just three months out of high school. Many faculty members also were returning to positions they had held before the war. The veterans among the faculty made it much easier for them to understand and sympathize with the returning students, many of whom had not been in a classroom of any kind for more than five years.
During the war, the U.S. Navy had trained future naval officers on campus. As a result, many temporary barracks were erected. Some of those buildings were converted to dormitories; others were retrofitted for classrooms or faculty offices. By using every bit of space and every available hour for classroom instruction, the University was able to accommodate both its expanded Westhampton College population and its new Richmond College population.
This post-war milieu was a shock for me. I had breezed through high school and thought that would be the case in college. It was not. It became clear that I would have to work hard to stay even, and work even harder to get ahead. The competition with those who wanted an education so much and who realized they were already five or six years late instilled in me a lifetime respect for people who work hard and endure much to get an education. I learned from the veterans that there is no substitute for diligence, promptness and preparedness.
The common characteristic of the veteran students was how serious they were about getting a good education quickly. Many were married. Some had children. They did not engage in trivial pursuits or pranks and had no tolerance of those who did. They had a clear vision of a better future obtainable only by taking advantage of every educational opportunity.
The veteran students often finished in two and a half or three years. Indeed, by the time of my graduation in 1950, most of the veterans had already departed to start their long-delayed careers. Their example of hard work, diligence and preparation has stood me in good stead for more than a half century.
Two Inspiring Teachers
Dr. Lewis Ball, professor of English, had a sterling reputation. He was a meticulous grammarian and a stickler for using the right word at the right time. His insistence on using the right word, using it properly, and expressing thoughts in a clear, concise and precise manner has been my guide in all my legal writing.
Dr. Spencer Albright, another World War II veteran, and a professor of political science, made the somewhat novel suggestion to a conservative Southern Baptist university that there were two sides to every question. No idea or concept is so sacrosanct, so clear, so founded in tradition that it cannot be subject to fresh examination by later generations.
Dr. Albright in no small measure caused a generation of Richmond students to examine and re-examine their views and perspectives. By his intellect and example, he forced them to examine all sides of a question before making up their minds. Rigor of intellectual debate was his trademark. When I was a budding lawyer, the ability to consider all sides made me, I hope, a more effective advocate for my clients. This ability has been invaluable to me more recently when I have been called upon to resolve disputes among other people.
A Responsible Press
During my last two years at the University, I served as sports writer and then sports editor of The Collegian. That was a great job. I got to go to games and tournaments away from campus with the teams. It was an opportunity to visit large and small college campuses all over the East Coast.
One of my perquisites was to write a sports column each week. I wrote one column that was very critical of a revered member of the administration, complaining that I felt the University was not giving sufficient support to some of its teams. I did not check with that official to get his side of the story.
At his request, I met with him privately. He showed me information that made it clear that the University simply could not have afforded to make the corrections and changes I thought were needed. The condition I had described was correct, but it was only half the story. I should have interviewed the official before writing the column, and I should have included his explanation.
That taught me a valuable lesson—that a free press must also be responsible. It has caused me to review many news items with skepticism, and perhaps even cynicism, when it is clear that there is another side of the story that is not being told. It was a tough and embarrassing lesson to learn, but whenever I read an article or an editorial in The Collegian or in any newspaper that appears to be slanted toward one side, I recall with some pain the valuable lesson I had learned as a free-wheeling columnist.
Lewis Booker is senior counsel with the Richmond-based law firm of Hunton & Williams. He has served three terms as rector of the University’s Board of Trustees. He received the trustees’ Distinguished Service Award in 1982, the alumni’s Distinguished Service Award in 1994 and the President’s Medal in 2002. The Lewis T. Booker Professorship of Religion and Ethics was established in his honor, and the Booker Hall of Music was named in honor of him and his parents.
Four years I was not about to waste
By Tommy P. Baer, R’60
There is really no preparation for the transition from high school to college. The change is dramatic, challenging and a bit frightening. I remember orientation in the chapel. It did not ease my anxiety. Yet there was something about the aura of the university environment: its striking beauty and the realization that this was my one shot to excel.
Even in those freshman days, I knew that I wanted to be a lawyer. But to earn a bachelor-of-arts degree, certain courses were required, I guess to provide a well-rounded education. But why botany and zoology? The sex life of a flower didn’t appeal to me, and I hate bugs. Dissecting a frog was something I would never repeat. I could not understand how this could be of use in law school. It was the system, though, and I persevered.
I sort of grew into the routine of college life. Fraternity life made it easier. Pledging back then was something like boot camp. The trick was to stay as invisible as possible. Again, I persevered and made wonderful friends for my college tenure and beyond. The camaraderie, parties, even nonsensical escapades were a welcome relief to the rigors of study.
Frankly, I wanted it all—grades, fun, extracurricular activities, the totality of campus life. I knew that those four years would be among the most important of my life. I was not about to waste them.
So I went about the business of college—walking from classroom to classroom across the magnificent campus with those impressive gothic buildings. As a freshman, I focused primarily on my grades and did well, although the change from high school tests to college exams was challenging.
With a year under my belt—and having made the Dean’s List—I felt a bit more confident as I began my major and minor course schedule, political science and sociology. The fraternity became and remained an important part of my social life at the University. Intramural athletics, Greek Week, weekday get-togethers at the frat house and weekend parties were welcome releases from the stress of study. Also, during my sophomore year, I began to look for leadership opportunities.
Over the next three years, I assumed leadership positions in Hillel, the Interfraternity Council, the Honor Council, the Religious Activities Council, the varsity debate team, and my fraternity. I was honored to be elected president of the senior class. I was proud to have achieved the Dean’s List in every semester of my four years. Scholarship being paramount, I also was honored to have been tapped into Phi Beta Kappa, Omicron Delta Kappa, Pi Sigma Alpha and Tau Kappa Alpha.
I mention these achievements, not out of a sense of braggadocio, but to point out the motivation to excel that I gained from the quality of my educational experience at the University. One might say that this is to be expected from a university, but I have learned over the years that not all universities are alike. The University of Richmond’s consistent ranking at the top of all comparable institutions is a testament to its commitment to excellence, its singular objective to produce graduates who will have the ability to succeed as they meet the many challenges of life.
This is instilled in many ways. Students are encouraged to participate in the civic life of the University, and many opportunities are afforded. The combination of scholarship and leadership is essential to becoming an active contributor to one’s community. Richmond alumni have excelled in all walks of life and have brought great pride to the University.
Professorial responsibility is immensely important in the university context. It is not merely to teach, but to educate. Good professors make their students want to learn, not just to survive the course. They can make lasting impressions. I recall three in particular.
Dr. William Woolcott understood my utter frustration with zoology and worked with me. He knew I hated the course, but also realized that bugs and frogs would not be an important part of my life. I managed to eke out a ‘C,’ one of only two I received in my four years.
My major was political science, and I was blessed to be taught and inspired by an extraordinary professor and person—Dr. Spencer Albright. He was the quintessential professor, and we remained friends after my graduation.
Finally, I remember Dr. C.J. Gray, who was beloved by all who knew him. Although I had him in a course, my fondest recollections of him are more as Dean of Students. No person had a better way with students, and few have made so lasting an impression upon me. His consummate decency and caring always came through. We became friends even as I was a student, and that friendship continued. Many years later, when I was honored with being selected an outstanding alumnus, Dr. Gray, though aging and not well, attended the ceremony. I still miss him.
It is difficult to believe that 46 years have passed since graduation. In a large sense, I have never left the University. Its lessons are with me every day as I continue my own journey through life. Whenever I visit the campus, my mind drifts back with nostalgia and pride. The bond remains steadfast.
Tommy Baer is a partner in the Richmond-based law firm of Canfield, Baer, Heller & Johnston. He is a former president of B’nai B’rith International, and he is chairman of the board of the Council for America's First Freedom.
Three mentors, three lessons learned
By Bobby Ukrop, B’69
Learn from losses
I very much enjoyed participating in student activities during my years at the University of Richmond. I played intercollegiate basketball and golf, and served as freshman class president and as a senator in the Richmond College Student Government Association. So I eagerly accepted the challenge when I was presented with the opportunity to run for president of the business school’s student government association. I didn’t win the election, and it was the first student election I recall losing.
Disappointment was the operative word for at least a week. My confidence was so shaken that I decided not to run for senior class president, which some had suggested. Still, I felt the desire to contribute, so I volunteered to be president of Alpha Kappa Psi, a service-oriented fraternity in the business school. Several classmates and I decided that we would try to make the fraternity a more active, integral part of the school community, and we succeeded.
Losing that business school election laid important groundwork for my growth and development—first as a student-athlete and later as a husband, father, and businessman. It helped teach me how important encouragement can be to someone recovering from losses in life.
Enter here David Robbins, the business school dean who was well known for his entrepreneurial spirit, zany antics, and for his love of his students and basketball. He became quite a mentor to me.
When I was closing in on graduation, Dean Robbins complimented me on how we had rejuvenated Alpha Kappa Psi, and he reminded me again and again how much he appreciated my taking on that service opportunity after being defeated in the student-government election.
During my years in the Business School Alumni Association, and through regular attendance at basketball games since 1969, I continued to interact with Dean Robbins on many occasions. Nearly every time we met, he would recall the experiences I described earlier, and he never failed to mention fondly my infatuation and love for my future wife, Jayne Brown (also a regular at home basketball games).
I will be grateful forever for the nurturing Christian environment my parents provided, for the lessons learned through my years of participation in intercollegiate athletics, and for Dean Robbins’ steadfast, genuine interest in me. He taught me that not only can one recover from losses, but better yet, one can find other ways to serve.
Never give up
During a timeout with less than a minute remaining in a basketball game against George Washington, Coach Lewis Mills looked at me, put his hands on both sides of my neck and said, “Son, get me the ball one more time.” We had fallen behind, but we were making a comeback and had cut the deficit to four points.
As the clock ran down, we made another steal, forced a turnover and converted both into baskets, winning the game the way we did numerous times that season. Those wins reinforced Coach Mills’ first lesson: Never give up until the final buzzer sounds.
One of the comeback victories in that memorable 1967–68 season was against the University of Virginia. We were behind by 17 points with seven minutes left, and we kept playing hard and won. I never saw Coach Mills so happy as he skated in his wing tips down the hallway off the University Hall arena floor. (Of course, if I had not played so poorly earlier in the game, the great comeback would not have been necessary.)
Through the combination of hard work, determination, teamwork, luck, and that “never-give-up” spirit, instilled in us by Coach Mills, our team overachieved all year long. Picked in the preseason to be the Southern Conference doormat, we finished in the middle of the standings, and my roommate, Wilton Ford, garnered all-conference honors. Coach Mills was named Coach of the Year.
Follow through
My accounting professor in the spring of my junior year was Bob Courain, a recent graduate of the Darden School at the University of Virginia. He made it very clear that he would hold us accountable for completing all of our work.
I received excused absences for missing class due to basketball and golf trips. I tried to leverage the excused absences by asking for and receiving deadline extensions on numerous occasions. Since Professor Courain was just a few years older than his students, he connected well with our circumstances, including the practice and game schedules of student-athletes. (He also liked to play golf.)
Professor Courain made his classes interesting. He helped us learn the material and graded fairly. In doing so, he periodically reminded us (a number of UR golfers were in his class) that all written assignments had to be completed for us to pass the course. Deadline extensions would be granted, but the assignments had to be completed. I recall trying to negotiate my way out of a few assignments, but Professor Courain held us all accountable for our obligations. Eventually, I completed my work.
I realize that Professor Courain taught me more than how to post credits and debits on a ledger. He taught me the importance of completing a job, delivering on one’s promises, and maintaining performance standards. When I read something about Bob Courain (who went on to a successful career in business) or when our paths cross at community events or on the golf course, I give thanks for his holding me “accountable” back in 1968.
Bobby Ukrop is president and CEO of Ukrop’s Super Markets, a Richmond-based grocery store chain that has become a nationally acclaimed case study in how to run a business based on The Golden Rule. He is actively involved in community organizations that promote charity, economic development and sports. His is a former trustee of the University.
Richmond taught me how to learn
By Dr. Kwang-I Yu, R’73 and H’05
I came to the University of Richmond in 1969 as a foreign student of Chinese descent from Malaysia. I was the only Asian student at the University my freshman year.
Now Richmond has nearly 200 international students. In that and many other ways, Richmond has changed and grown over the years. I used to have to describe my alma mater to folks on the West Coast, who had never heard of it. Now most people nod when I tell them that I graduated from the University of Richmond. In spite of all the changes and greater renown, the school that I visited in 2005 felt not all that different from the one that I left in 1973.
I received a first-rate education at Richmond. I also grew up, became comfortable in a foreign land that would become my home, and thoroughly enjoyed my life as a student.
In the 1960s, few students from Malaysia came to the United States for college, and I did not know much about American universities. Friends of my parents in Washington, D.C., recommended Richmond. The decision came down between Richmond and the University of California at Berkeley. It was 1969, and my mother had misgivings about the hippies at Berkeley. So I came to Richmond.
One evening during orientation week, the freshmen were roused from our dormitories with cries of “panty raid!” You have no idea how exciting this sounded to someone who went to an all-boys Catholic high school in a Muslim country. We ran across the bridge, up the hill and breathlessly to the girls’ dormitories on the Westhampton side of campus. It was terribly disappointing that all we did was to stand there in the courtyard and plead, “We want panties!” For our troubles, we received a few pairs of panties in rather generous sizes thrown down from the windows and about an equal number of buckets of water.
Twenty or so of us were declared physics majors. We made friends as we sat on the front steps of Richmond Hall, waiting for our turn to talk to our advisor. As it turned out, everyone else changed majors along the way, and I was the only one from our class to major in physics in 1973, so I won the Physics Prize.
I felt welcomed by everyone—from faculty to students—and right at home, despite being the only foreign student that I remember during my freshman year. (A handful of other Asian students enrolled between my sophomore year and graduation.) I went to two or three fraternity rush parties and had a great time, though ultimately I could not afford to join a fraternity.
I liked my teachers. My advisor, Dr. Wayne Major, looked every inch the college professor—from wry smile to herringbone jacket with elbow patches to the ever-present pipe. I assisted Dr. Major with some experiments with lasers and mirrors. I am not sure I was ever of any real use to him, but he was very patient and never complained.
Dr. James Seaborn, a young professor who was very smart and very earnest, taught statistical thermodynamics. For our first test, he had the class re-create the proof for a theory for which someone had been awarded a Nobel Prize. The test consisted of a series of guided steps, and we were given all the mathematics required. That was the hardest test that I have ever taken. I received something like a 67, and that was the highest score in the class. Statistical thermodynamics convinced a lot of folks that they should perhaps major in mathematics or history instead of physics.
Dr. Pierce Atkins chaired the mathematics department. He was warm and full of good humor and a wonderful teacher. One day, I complained to him that I had trouble visualizing anything more than three dimensions, four if you count time. So he wrote on the board, “a,b,c,d,e,f,g” and said, “There you go, seven dimensions, what’s the difficulty?” I think that was the first time I had some understanding of the concept of mathematics.
It felt as though all my German language classmates were girls who spoke German with their grandparents. Our professor asked us to speak German in class, and I attempted to comply despite questionable vocabulary and an exotic accent. After a couple of classes, he looked at me and said with a smile, “Mr. Yu, as a favor to me, would you please speak English?”
I joined the campus painting crew in the summer. The full-time painting crew good-naturedly trash talked the student painters. By the end of the first summer, I had gotten good enough that I challenged the foreman to a race, to see which of us could paint a dormitory room—walls, trim and all—in less time. I beat him and was hero for a day to the student painters.
I figured that if I were good enough to do that, I should test the market. For the next two summers, I worked on a commercial crew off campus and was paid as a “first-class” painter—$4 an hour, a princely wage in those days.
By the summer after my junior year, I had decided that I would like to stay in America. I also had come to realize that I had modest aptitude in physics and in mathematics, despite the best efforts of my professors. So I had to acquire a marketable skill. I thought that I might like architecture because I liked to draw, or I might like computers, which was something new.
My father visited me on campus that summer. He said that an architect might need to be a businessman, and that might be a handicap to a new immigrant, but computers represented a purely technical skill. So I applied to graduate schools in computer science and chose Caltech.
Richmond did not have a computer or programming class in those days. As far as I know, I was the only Ph.D. candidate in computer science at Caltech ever who had never seen a computer before arrival. Fortunately, Richmond had taught me to learn, and I became a computer scientist and later a businessman.
Richmond has changed—with all the new buildings and international student body, not to mention men and women in dormitories on the same side of the lake. I am very proud of the growing recognition of its achievements.
However, in its essence, it remains the same school that I remember—a caring and elegant educational institution where young people grow up and acquire the skills that prepare them for life and career. I think it is symbolic that the new buildings have remained architecturally consistent with the old, and the campus is as beautiful as I remembered it to be.
Dr. Kwang-I Yu invented the Fast Data Finder, a computer system that could pinpoint words quickly in large volumes of text. In 1992, he founded Paracel Inc., which provided supercomputing products for analyzing the human genome and other biological data. Eight years later, Celera Genomics purchased the company for $250 million.
Richmond fosters ‘incredible relationships’
Dr. David T.K. Ho, B’77 and H’02
My experiences at the University of Richmond were so numerous and varied that it would be impossible to describe them all here, but I shall try to provide the highlights.
The size of the University and its classes fostered much one-to-one interaction with classmates and professors. Being from Hong Kong, it was nice to experience the hospitality offered by new friends and faculty as they invited me into their homes for holidays and other special occasions.
Terri Heilman, daughter of President Bruce Heilman, was a classmate of mine. The Heilman family often had me to their home, and I was able to observe the dynamics of an incredibly close-knit family, a father figure and a university president. From Dr. Heilman, I learned what a Southern gentleman was, and I learned the values of honesty, integrity, patience and tolerance.
While at the University, I had the opportunity to meet and get to know people from many different walks of life. I learned that each person has unique talents and contributions to make regardless of their background. You need to listen to what each has to offer and treat everyone with respect.
I developed some incredible relationships with classmates and faculty that are still very strong almost 30 years later. We formed true bonds of friendship and trust, and that does not happen very often in one’s lifetime. These are people I can call on and discuss anything and everything in complete confidence and expect them to provide me with their honest opinions rather than just saying what I may want to hear. One such classmate, Bob Sangster, recently came with me to head up a new company we are forming. Bob demonstrated exceptional organizational and leadership skills while at the University, and he continued that throughout his career at AT&T. His ability to build organizations from the ground up will be a great asset to our new venture.
We had an exceptional faculty at the E. Claiborne Robins School of Business. At the time, I believe it was the only business school in the nation where every faculty member had their doctorate, so the quality of the professors was outstanding.
The late Dr. Dave Robbins, who was dean of the business school, was a unique and exceptional man. Aside from the always lively bantering we enjoyed, I learned from him the ability to adapt to rapidly changing circumstances.
Dr. Tom Cossé was a new professor of marketing, and people told me he was an assassin prior to becoming a marketing professor, and I was afraid of him. This story turned out to be false, and I found him to be one of the greatest marketing professors I have ever met. Our friendship continues to this day.
I also learned from Bob Dillard, chief of the campus police. We were always going back and forth about the many parking tickets I had. (When I was running a little late or it was raining, I liked to park close to the door of the building.) I think we both learned it is better to make friends than fight enemies. We formed a friendship that exists today. I even named my youngest daughter, Kristen, after Bob’s daughter.
Behind each of these men mentioned above is a strong and supportive spouse without whom they would not be the same. I came to know them through their hospitality as I was invited into their homes for dinners and other special events. I respect their friendship over the years and admire them greatly, as well.
The University experience does not stop when you graduate. We have the wonderful Jepson Alumni Center to come back to. When I returned to campus for my 25th class reunion, I was thoroughly impressed with this fine facility and the exceptional catering staff.
My experiences continue with the friendship that I have developed with President Bill Cooper. His hospitality has made me feel right at home. Like Dr. Heilman, he seems dedicated to making the University of Richmond the best it can be.
David Ho sees the world through entrepreneurial eyes. His business interests have included an airline, a luxury car dealership, real estate developments, golf courses, security service, and the largest soft drink distributorship in western Canada. He also has worked in his family’s business, Hong Kong Tobacco Co., one of the largest manufacturers of tobacco products in the world.
I finally found my way at Richmond
Edward “Grant” Shaud, R’83
If the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, then my journey to becoming a professional actor would be the antithesis of that concept. And the University of Richmond was an unlikely starting point for such a journey.
When I arrived at the University in 1979, I had no real idea of what I wanted to accomplish in my life. Nor did I have the tools to accomplish much of anything. By the time I graduated, I knew I wanted to be an actor, and I had what I needed to pursue that goal.
One thing that I could not avoid at Richmond was high standards. I was constantly exposed to what success looked like, which made it all the more painful for me to not be committed to high standards. I was not a committed student, so I was not a good one. I say this without pride and not without regret, but I have come to accept that everything happened the way it was supposed to happen. If I had been capable of doing better at the time, I would have.
There are many reasons why people don’t strive to reach their full potential. In my case, those reasons lay within me. I arrived at Richmond with difficult personal issues and a warped mindset. My solution to these bedevilments was to seek solace in alcohol. Other students could strike a balance between their studies and their social life. I could not. My parents very much wanted me to get a business degree. Even though my interests and abilities had always gravitated toward the liberal arts, it seemed more practical to get a degree in business. But I flunked out of the business school in one semester.
I feel that some of my most powerful lessons have come from either experiencing or witnessing failure. And Richmond did not give up on me, even if I might have felt like giving up on myself. But what kind of degree could I now pursue that would lend itself to a satisfying career? I became a journalism major, acknowledging a passion I had for following sports. Unfortunately, my problems followed me, and my passion did not extend to the discipline of journalistic pursuits.
My strengths in high school had been English and history. Thoughts and ideas relating to the human experience seemed to be what compelled me. I took a creative writing class with Dr. Steven Barza. We were encouraged to write about experiences that were personal to us, and to read them aloud in class. I received encouraging feedback from my classmates upon reading my piece. It was a thrilling moment for me to connect with others through my own self-expression, but how does one make a career of that?
I was in the last semester of my senior year in college, and I remained rudderless. I had always wanted to be an actor, but I was embarrassed to even consider such a thing, so I kept it to myself. Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that it wasn’t acceptable to do what I really wanted to do, that my peers would judge me negatively for having such a desire, let alone pursuing it.
Becoming a professional actor seemed completely unrealistic. There didn’t seem to be any way to get from here to there. My despondency grew. Many of my classmates seemed to have a life course. They were interviewing on campus with Xerox, IBM and Merrill Lynch.
I’ve heard it said that any journey begins with a single step. That step for me was the realization that, as far as I knew, I had only one life, and I was responsible for that experience. Nobody was going to live with the consequences of my choices but me, and that included the choice of not doing what I really wanted to do.
A professional football player once said that he went after his dream of playing football only when the pain of not doing what he wanted to do became greater than the fear of doing it. I wanted to be a professional actor. I had heard that there were open auditions for a University Players production of Henry V. I had no idea, as I walked across campus to the auditions that evening, that my willingness to go there would be the first physical steps toward my career.
I cannot say that I acquitted myself with any distinction that evening, but I will forever be in the debt of Dr. William Lockey for giving a walk-on an opportunity to play for the team. And I’m eternally grateful for the support that the University Players gave to a new guy. I am particularly thankful for Charles Hood, who went out of his way to welcome and include me. And I would be remiss in not mentioning my fraternity brothers of Sigma Alpha Epsilon, who were more encouraging than I had ever given them the chance to be.
In order to even have a chance of success after leaving Richmond, I had to first receive help in breaking the cycle of dependency I had developed with alcohol. I write this only in the off chance that there is one person reading this who might identify with this problem, and to let you know that there is help, both on campus and off.
The University of Richmond is an exceptional place. Yes, it’s easy on the eyes. But it provided me the environment and opportunity to discover my own uniqueness. It is an environment that showed me what excellence looks like, what good character looks like, that those things come in many forms, and that they are worth striving for. Though I sometimes fell short, like a good parent, Richmond never lowered its expectations for me.
My classmates with whom I am still in contact, embody these values within their different communities. It has been my experience that the current University administration, faculty and students are taking us even beyond these lofty standards.
I have interviewed for jobs alongside people from Yale and Julliard. Sometimes I have eaten the bear and sometimes the bear has eaten me. But there isn’t a school I would rather be from. I don’t believe there is another experience I could have had that would have taken me where I’ve been.
Grant Shaud is an actor who is best known for his portrayal of Miles Silverberg, the neurotic producer on the Murphy Brown sitcom. He has played many roles on stage and on television including Jerry, the eccentric dentist on the Oliver Beene sitcom.
Richmond enhanced my ability to see
By Jennifer Learn Hyde, W’92
September 1995. The Appalachian Trail in the North Carolina hills. My husband and I, both Richmond graduates, are a few miles into a gorgeous Saturday hike. The hills remain verdant and lush, with little suggestion of the crisp air and short days to come. Suddenly, around a soft bend in the trail, I notice a shoot of brilliant yellow leaves bursting from a hardwood tree. The color is bold, and the leaves on the branch twist and tremble in the breeze. I point it out, and we spend some time discussing how this shock of leaves resembles so closely the grand mobiles of Alexander Calder. Large, geometric plates of color, balanced on long, thin metal branches twisting through open spaces, through atriums and art museums. We talk of art and leaves and Calder and keep walking.
When we reach the mountaintop, we pause at an old fire lookout. I get out the camera, carefully balance it on a railing, take one self-timed picture and make adjustments. For 10 minutes, my husband and I fiddle and work to take the perfect photo, to freeze the moment in time. I tell him it is like Susan Sontag wrote—the hard effort for a picture, like some sort of price paid for the pleasure of vacation. I sit back, enjoying the view of the valley and the first inklings of autumn in the air.
It was many months later that I thought back to this day and our discussions. About how easy it was to lose ourselves in the smell of the air and the vibrant color, to see Alexander Calder in the fragile yellow leaves, and to understand the process behind taking the perfect picture. Sontag and Calder had both come to us during our education at the University of Richmond. And the art and theories of both remain a part of our lives whether in the National Gallery or on a wooden trail.
As a University Scholar, I had enormous flexibility in selecting my coursework and, as a result, took the most interesting classes from the most fascinating professors I could find. At the top of this list was Margaret Denton, and I took her art history classes until I had taken them all.
In Dr. Denton’s classes I learned the standards—the movements, the dates, the players, the techniques, the history of art. I learned what “color field” painting was. Why the Salon des Refuses was important. How photography developed. I met characters from Manet to Man Ray. I also drank my share of coffee and stayed up memorizing dates, titles, slides, images, names that, sadly, I no longer remember quite as well.
But, in honesty, the elusive dates that populated my late-night cramming were not really the most important things I learned in Dr. Denton’s class. Instead, it was the ability to see. To think about art, understand and appreciate beauty. To spot an astute storyteller, whether a sculptor, photographer or painter. To hone my views and articulate my own response to the material. To have true vision, and to use that vision in my life every day to experience the world. I learned of Alexander Calder’s energy and whimsy, of Susan Sontag’s views on photography, and of theories and sculptures and images that I recognize to this day in places as far a field as the Appalachian Trail.
In the classes of others I added to my skills. Irby Brown taught me to read—to really read—until the words crawled inside my head and warmed me from the inside. Steve Barza took strong but nascent writing skills and helped me find my voice and focus. He helped me point all my written talents in one direction, to explore skills I didn’t know I had, to express myself in ways that took courage.
And so, years later I find myself at a desk, more than a dozen years into a career as a television producer. From my post at CNN over the past 10 years, I have tackled a wide variety of documentary subjects: the epic struggles of the Cold War, the healing of post-apartheid South Africa, the scars and horrors of Rwanda, the Tsunami, North Korea. I met a powerful storyteller named Saira Shah and, before 9-11, brought to CNN’s audiences the wrenching story of those suffering in Taliban-run Afghanistan. Last year, I saw through the eyes of Sue Rubin—intelligent, funny, strong, surprising, autistic and non-verbal.
Every day, I use my skills to write, to recognize and help those with important stories to tell, to see the world in ways that are enlightening and exciting. And, in doing so, bring to CNN’s worldwide audience of 1.5 billion viewers important and engaging stories about the world they live in. I have been fortunate, in doing this work, to spotlight important issues to a global audience, and to be honored by my colleagues with awards that include the Peabody, Emmy and an Oscar nomination. The road to these present-day successes runs clearly through the classrooms of my past.
In Dr. Denton’s history of photography class, we learned about a photographer named Lewis Hine, who traveled the country making documentary images of, among other things, children laboring in fields, mines and factories. One day during class, I was so struck by his images that I began writing and couldn’t stop until I’d finished a short story, featuring a fictionalized character of Hine’s description, and an emotional journey with a young and suffering child worker. It was one of the best pieces I wrote during that time, and it had little to do with official coursework or assignments.
Instead, it was about vision, creativity and expression, three of the most valuable parts of my education at the University of Richmond, three of the most precious gifts honed by extraordinary professors, three of my most valued skills in my work now and every day.
When my husband and I married, our professor, now friend, Dr. Denton gave us a piece of art from her own collection. It is a Paul Strand photograph of a young Mexican woman holding a child close. The image is simple, real, expressive, with an elegant and unmistakable story to tell. From this single image, a viewer imagines the life of this pair, the work that they do, the joys that they share, the moments growing and working and playing under the sun in some remote, nameless village.
I am a long way from that village, the Modlin Center or the Appalachian Trail. And though my work now happens at 30 frames a second, the stories I tell, like this one, rely on the same lessons and power of expression. On the keenness of vision. The importance of truth. The joy of expression. The power of storytelling. All skills awakened and honed by my days at Richmond.
Jennifer Hyde is director of development for CNN productions. Her documentaries have garnered Peabody and Emmy awards and an Oscar nomination.
Let us know what you think about these stories. Send e-mail to krhodes@richmond.edu.
