It might have been the Chef Boyardee pizza kit he received from a grade school friend as a birthday present, or the cookbook his mom gave him with the peanut brittle recipe he couldn’t wait to try. Or, maybe, it was the “bologna-banger” sandwiches — an original recipe — he loved to whip up at lunchtime.
When Glenn Lyman’s love affair with the kitchen began isn’t clear, but it is unmistakable.
“I cooked in high school for my friends and our dates before dances,” said Lyman, Class of 1990. “In college, I’d leave campus and go to Dorothy Lane Market and just look around.”
The culinary arts, however, weren’t an immediate career path for the communication management graduate. Lyman spent more than a decade working in sales — his first commission check, in fact, went to buy a gas grill. His kitchen time was limited to nights and weekends but, at the urging of his wife Lynda Kely Lyman ’90, that all changed in 2003 when he finally shifted gears and became a personal chef.
“It was the scariest thing I had ever done, but the best thing I’ve ever done,” he said. “I drove home the day I gave my notice
and felt free. It was incredible.”
Six months into his new endeavor, everything changed when he met with a young NBA rookie in his penthouse apartment — LeBron James.
“I cooked his first pregame meal of the preseason,” Lyman said.
Within days, the Cleveland native was the personal chef for the now four-time NBA Most Valuable Player — a position he held for five years.
The owner of GCooks, in Charlotte, North Carolina, has built an athlete client list that has included five-time Pro Bowl wide receiver Steve Smith Sr., four-time NASCAR Cup champion Jeff Gordon and 12-time Olympic medalist Ryan Lochte.
While much has changed since he regularly grilled out on his porch in the UD student neighborhood, he said one thing has not — his passion for cooking.
“Looking back, this journey has been amazing, and I’m not done yet.”
I am a vowed Marianist religious with nearly 40 years of profession. When I talk with our young religious — women and men who feel excitement about this moment of possibility in the Church — too often the conversation shifts to the recent past. They comment on how disheartening it is to hear others talk not about the vibrancy of religious life but about the loss of the great numbers of religious we once had.
It’s important to acknowledge the sense of loss that many older Catholics feel when invoking the “diminishment narrative” about today’s religious life. But the reality is that we no longer need large numbers of religious to build hospitals or create schools — those Catholic institutions already exist and in many places are thriving. While we’ll continue to support the spirit of such institutions, we are listening for the spirit to understand how we should focus our energies into the future. Marianist co-founder Blessed William Joseph Chaminade told us “new times call for new methods,” and it’s especially instructive in this challenging moment of U.S. history.
How do we leverage transformation of the society for God’s vision for the world? For God’s people — which is everybody, not just the Catholics, not just the poor?
While there is a genuine questioning from Catholics about what the future will hold, we can look to our foundations for insights into our ways forward. For our first 15 years, Marianists were a lay group, and only later a small number of individuals felt called to dedicate their life energy to fostering those communities. Chaminade called us “religious sodalists,” reinforcing that we are a continuation and extension of the lay groups.
The laity will be our partners and even our leaders in whatever our future holds. It’s a gift we’ve been given for the Church — that lay and religious are equal and have gifts that are complementary. We celebrate our Marian model for the Church, one which has its foundation at Cana when Mary recognized the needs and called them to Jesus’ attention to meet them. At the University of Dayton, having lay leadership allows the religious to focus our energies not on the day-to-day business of the University but on making sure we provide the support for the people who fill those crucial administrative roles: President Eric Spina, Provost Paul Benson and Director of Campus Ministry Crystal Sullivan. Although the religious have had more opportunity to steep in the charism, our faculty and staff who are Marianist Educational Associates own the charism also. They bring it to campus and the classroom in greater numbers and in ways that are unexpected and inspiring for our students. We have students who each semester study the Marianist charism and make a commitment to share it here at the University and beyond as they move on.
Recently, I was invited to give a talk in Rome to the International Union of Superiors General where I discussed Pope Francis’ challenge of moving “from the center to the margins.” People in religious life today are quite accustomed to having been at the center of things — of the Church, of the big institutions we built. But our call is also to move to the margins and to be with and people who aren’t at the center and perhaps don’t have access.
How do we share our resources with people who live on the margins? The congregations in Rome are doing all they can to respond to the immigrants in need on their shores. In the United States, how are we at Catholic universities going to stand for the protection of our own students and those whom society has put at its margins? We may not know what the future will hold, but we certainly have hints about where we need to put our energies.
We know that as Marianists we are always going to be providing community spaces because faith formation in community is our method. That’s what attracts people — students and staff, faculty and presidents — to Marianist institutions. They recognize communities in which they can thrive.
That is our gift in the Church.
We have to make sure that the people at the margins have access to that kind of community.
When the angel visited Mary, she said “yes” so that Christ could be born into our world in her very flesh. The newest generation of vowed religious are saying “yes.” They are called today to give flesh to God’s Spirit in a world both blessed and broken by globalization; they are called to be blessed to communicate and partner with people from all parts of the globe who are excluded and oppressed for their race, class, ethnicity, geography, religion and a host of other identities.
Whether lay or religious, we will re-shape our institutions and communities and our very selves.
We will take the Gospel, as Pope Francis has charged us, to the margins.
Sister Laura Leming, F.M.I., is director of novices, an associate professor of sociology at the University of Dayton and a board member at St. Mary’s University. She received a master’s in theology from UD in 1987.
As they entered the World War on April 6, 1917, the U.S. Army had something to prove. They succeeded with the help of great men, including Dayton-born Joseph T. Dickman, a former student at St. Mary’s Institute. He would become commanding general of the Army of Occupation under Gen. John J. Pershing.
The life story of Joseph Dickman lives on campus in a yellowed scrapbook in the archives on the second floor of Albert Emanuel Hall. Carefully turn back the pages and you’ll discover brittle newspaper clippings with headlines like “Dickman Leads Advancing Army.”
His sister kept the scrapbook; she signed the inside back cover, “Mrs. Chas. Frech, 16 1/2 Auglaize St., Wapakoneta, O.” As you unfold each story you reveal a new account of his life, from his many campaigns in Europe to his trip to Dayton in 1923 to receive from his former secondary school, now known as the University of Dayton, an honorary Doctor of Laws.
“It is a genuine pleasure … as this is the scene where the Brothers laid the foundation of my education more than half a century ago,” Dickman said in his address to the Class of 1923.
Dickman was born in Dayton Oct. 6, 1857. When his father went to fight in the Civil War, Dickman’s mother took the children to live in Minster, Ohio. There, he attended the village’s elementary school. In 1871, he returned to Dayton to attend St. Mary’s Institute. When his father was elected sheriff of Auglaize County, Ohio, the family moved to Wapakoneta, where Dickman graduated from high school before entering West Point.
In the army of the early 20th century, Dickman rode horseback to capture Mexican bandits, policed union strikes in Chicago, sailed to Cuba for occupation duty, fought insurgents in the Philippines and provided relief to China at the end of the Boxer Rebellion.
When war was declared in Europe on July 28, 1914, Dickman wrote that his cavalry unit was living a calm and peaceful existence. “Little did we dream that our cozy garrison of Fort Ethan Allen [Vermont] was soon to become one of the initial points in the hegira of a great American army to transatlantic fields of action,” he wrote in his memoir, The Great Crusade.
The United States had, as Dickman wrote, taken an “ultra-pacific” position on the war raging overseas. It was not until continued attacks by German submarines, and an intercepted correspondence showing Germany meant to ally with Mexico and threaten our southern border, that the U.S. intervened.
Dickman transferred to Camp Greene, North Carolina, where he assumed command of the 3rd Infantry Division and trained until they deployed to France in April 1919.
When the Americans arrived, they found the French influence on their activities stifling: Their units were distributed among the French, they took command instructions from the French, and they received little credit for victories they achieved. American officers began to question why the Americans could not lead independent operations, with Dickman particularly vocal about what he saw as the superior manners of his men. As Dickman wrote in his diary, “Colonel P. Brown C. of S. 2d says our secret service has written evidence that the reason English and French try to prevent us from having Corps and Army organization is that a victorious American Army would have too much influence in the peace negotiations. I asked Gen. [Hunter] Liggett whether the
time had come for us to speak out a little.”
The Americans began pushing their tactical suggestions, such as allowing the Germans to advance unmolested into the open before an attack. “[T]he principal object of the bit of bravado had only been to convince our Allies that the American rifleman was not under intimidation,” Dickman wrote in his memoir.
After a successful defense at Château-Thierry by the American Expeditionary Forces, Dickman noted a change in the French
attitude: “[I]t became apparent … that the days of tutelage, patronage and condescension had passed.”
Dickman wrote that he saw such respect intensify during battles, including the reduction of the St. Mihiel salient and at Meuse-Argonne. After the Armistice, Dickman was honored by an appointment as commanding general of the Third Army. Under Pershing, the Third Army became the Army of Occupation, with Dickman and his troops following the retreating Germans through France and back to the Rhine River.
As a forward to The Great Crusade, Pershing wrote of Dickman’s valor: “In July, 1918, the German advance against his front was halted by a regiment of his division in a most brilliant action. His Corps in the battle of Saint Mihiel and in the grilling struggle of Meuse-Argonne performed distinguished service. After the Armistice, under circumstances requiring tact and discretion, he commanded our Army of Occupation on the Rhine for several months with marked efficiency.”
“His services both in staff and line, whether in peace or war, have been marked by constant devotion to duty,” Pershing wrote.
For Dickman, the conclusion of his 45-year military career brought more travel, including an assignment to Texas. He attained the rank of major general, and he retired in 1921.
As an officer, Dickman held his men in high esteem. After the war, he wrote of their discipline and how it influenced the role America played in the World War. “Their conduct not only surprised the Europeans but exceeded the expectations of our best-informed officers,” he wrote. “From the moment of their enrollment they exhibited a degree of willingness, loyalty and devotion to duty that was beyond praise and was of inestimable value during the formative period of their careers.”
The admiration was returned. His men considered him a “soldier’s soldier” and endeared him with the nicknames “Uncle Joe” and “Daddy Dickman.” The evidence lies in the family scrapbook. Open it and unfold a tattered newspaper tucked lovingly inside. Upon his death, the newspaper of the 3rd (Marne) Division, The Watch on the Rhine, devoted its entire cover to the man the headline calls both a commander and a friend.
As it wrote, “His graciousness of spirit and nobility of character were symbolic of his life.”
To read an excerpt from Joseph T. Dickman’s memoir, please click here.
Among the battles in which Joseph T. Dickman commanded troops was the battle for the reduction of the St. Mihiel salient. The chunk of land in northeastern France had been seized by the Germans and blocked the Allies’ communications and transportation lines. In the war’s first independent U.S. operation and supported by the Allies, forces attacked the Germans in September 1918. Dickman commanded the IV Corps, sending three divisions in from the south. This included the 3rd Division, which he had commanded as it landed in France in April 1918. In Europe, Dickman found himself fighting not just the Germans but also the perceptions of the French and British militaries, which regarded the American troops as underprepared and the American tactics as foolhardy for their embrace of open warfare tactics. The success at St. Mihiel, followed closely by the battle of Meuse-Argonne, proved the mettle of the U.S. troops and the strategy of the Americans. It also made Dickman proud of his men.
The edited excerpt below is from his book The Great Crusade, published by
D. Appleton & Co. in 1927 just months before Dickman’s death following a heart attack. He is buried in Arlington National Cemetery. ___________________________________________________________________________________________
The immense fields of wire known to exist in front of the enemy’s lines gave me much concern. One method proposed of overcoming this obstacle was by means of portable sections of wire matting, which were to form a kind of bridge over the entanglement for the passage of attacking doughboys. A demonstration at Vaucouleurs on Sept. 8 was fairly successful.
The next day there was an exhibition of the operation of five French tanks at Autreville. These machines, in addition to dealing
effectively with machine-gun nests, were counted upon to go through fields of wire, unless the rains should make the soil of the [Plain of the] Woevre too soft and slippery. However, our principal reliance was placed on wire cutters, and arrangements were made to secure a large supply of the powerful two-handed kind to assist in clearing the way for the advance.
The only cavalry in the IV Corps was a squadron of the 2nd Cavalry, comfortably located in barracks and stables at Dommartin,
a mile east of Toul. A review of the squadron was held and an inspection of its equipment made, partly to show the troopers that, [as] their former colonel, [I] had not forgotten them among the large forces of the other arms now under [my] command.
One of the difficult things to teach new troops is the avoidance of exposure, not only on account of the unnecessary personal danger, but also, in many cases, to avoid betrayal of the plans of the High Command. At one time the division recently arrived in the Marbache sector was suffering daily casualties from artillery fire, about noon, although the sector was rather quiet at other times. One of the enemy’s aviators had discovered that the American soldiers formed long lines in the streets while waiting for their turns to be served with the midday meal at the company kitchen. This exposure furnished good opportunities for artillery concentrations which the enemy was not slow in utilizing. Eventually our local Commanding Officer realized that this artillery activity was not a mere coincidence, so he ordered that the men come up in groups of four, the rest remaining behind a wall or other cover until ready to be served.
The original plan of the American Commander-in-Chief, [Gen. John J. Pershing], contemplated a strategical operation of the highest importance, namely, a break in the enemy’s line and a deep advance at a point seriously menacing the line of communications so vital to the existence of his army. When the Meuse-Argonne operation was decided upon by the Allied High Command, the reduction of the St. Mihiel salient was considered as preliminary thereto and thus became a secondary and limited operation to flatten out the salient and to liberate the enclosed territory and several important lines of railroad.
The principal attack was to be made by nine American divisions; the secondary attack by two American and one French division; and the holding attack by a French corps of three divisions.
The Germans had established a succession of strongly fortified defensive lines, with many bands of wire. Their command, as organized, was divided into three groups, [with] six divisions in reserve.
The American concentration commenced on the 28th of August. As secrecy was highly important the movements were made by night, the marches being about 10 miles per day for foot troops and 15 miles for vehicles. In the daytime the troops were concealed in woods and buildings. In this way our forces opposite both sides of the salient were increased to about 600,000 men, but depositions on the outpost line were not changed until the last day, to prevent identifications. Although the Germans expected an attack, it came sooner and much stronger than they had anticipated.
The IV Corps was to attack on a front of about 6 miles, from Limey to Richecourt with the 89th, 42nd and 1st Divisions in line from east to west, each with a front of about 2 miles.
Promptly at 1 a.m. Sept. 12, the battle commenced when our artillery opened an intense fire of penetration that was intended to damage the German wire, destroy many of the enemy’s machine guns, and drive his troops to cover. On the southern face of the salient this artillery fire continued until 5 a.m., and the infantry of the corps front then moved out under a powerful barrage.
Some of the French generals had gone to the hills of Boucq to observe the great bombardment from the walls of the château. This was too far from Corps headquarters, where a busy time was in prospect; but a position on high ground about 200 yards in advance of the Corps dugout enabled me to witness, for about an hour, a display of fireworks never seen except in a great war. More than 2,000 fiery mouths belched forth their vehicles of destruction against the enemy who scarcely made a reply.
The attack came as a tactical surprise to the Germans who were thrown into the utmost confusion. Mustard gas fired on occupied woods and crossroads contributed to the disorder; large trains of transportation were caught on the roads and destroyed.
Rainy weather had left the ground soft and in poor condition for military operations. The 12th was cloudy, with squalls of rain; our air observation was deficient and rendered very mediocre assistance. The tanks got into trouble early in the game, on account of the mud, rough country and impassable trenches.
Much of the wire was found to be old and insecure. The enemy was demoralized by our artillery fire and the rapid advance of our troops, and made but weak resistance. Numbers came out of dugouts and gave themselves up. Occasional strong points and machine-gun nests made more resolute opposition, but as a rule the resistance was quickly overcome.
In the evening of Sept. 12 a report was received that the retreating German artillery was choking the roads south of Vigneulles and Hattonchâtel. The rumbling of retreating German transportation on that highway was audible in the night. This indicated a
good opportunity to make huge captures. Accordingly, the 2nd Brigade, with machine guns and cavalry, was ordered to advance in force to the outskirts of Vigneulles and Hattonville, so as to close all roads to the north and east of these towns.
y the evening of Sept. 13 the St. Mihiel operation practically was over. All the exits from the salient had been closed since early morning and the escape of the troops remaining therein cut off. Early in the day the last division had attained the Army Objective, and all divisions were consolidating their positions and operating towards
the Exploitation Line.
Sept. 16 marked the end of the battle of St. Mihiel, the front having become stabilized. The operation was a success in every respect. We captured nearly 16,000 prisoners, 182 guns, hundreds of machine guns, and an immense store of material, supplies and ammunition. [We] recovered 200 square miles of territory and freed the Paris-Avricourt railroad. The force and speed of our attack had overwhelmed the enemy so that he offered but slight resistance. Our casualties were so small, less than 7,000 during the period of advance, that these units were immediately available for another and greater operation in a new theater of war.
The greatest results of the victory were moral. It raised the morale of our troops and of our Allies; the Germans were correspondingly discouraged and began to realize that final defeat was inevitable. An efficient American army had been developed and its fighting power demonstrated to friend and foe. The victory gave our troops implicit confidence in themselves and a sense of superiority over the enemy. Wire entanglements ceased to be regarded as impassable obstacles, and training for open warfare required no further
To read some historical background about Joseph T. Dickman, please click here.
George Scott Baker is an average guy. He’s OK with it, though, and he wants other average folks to embrace their averageness too. In fact, he gives entire seminars on how to be average. Baker, the alter ego of Andy Boehnlein, says that being average gets a bad rap when it really shouldn’t.
“People think of average as not even trying,” said Boehnlein. “But it’s really about being OK with who you are rather than
being stressed out all the time trying to keep up with the person next to you.”
George’s debut was hardly average, however. He appeared on Chicago’s famed The Second City stage in what Boehnlein called, “kind of a terrible sketch.” Still, Boehnlein, who spent six months studying sketch writing, improv and acting during his sophomore year, never forgot about his pal George.
Years later, Boehnlein wondered what George would look like and what he would have to say. He revived the quirky fellow thanks, in part, to his general studies major that included comedy, leadership and philosophy.
“It built a steady foundation for us both,” said Boehnlein who today demotivates (as George, of course) university staff and
recreational sports departments all over the U.S. His message?
“It’s really rooted in living a purposeful life and being OK with being you,” Boehnlein said. “I then relate it to leadership and how it applies to a job.”
As for the goofy outfit and terrible wig, Boehnlein said it relaxes people and reminds them not to take themselves too seriously.
“People hear this kind of message a lot, but I like to say that I trick people into really understanding
Boehnlein, who also works for the University of Michigan intramural sports league, would eventually like to introduce George to the corporate world. For now, he’s happy with George being, well, average.
In this jubilee year, the siblings are celebrating.
The Marianist brothers and sisters each mark 200 years of service to their communities during a worldwide, 20-month celebration.
“Both religious institutions have been ‘siblings’ from the beginning, according to the mind of our founders,” wrote the superiors general of the Society of Mary and the Daughters of Mary Immaculate.
Born out of the chaos of the French Revolution, the congregations’ roots began in diverse lay communities of faith open to all Christians. Founded by the Blessed William Joseph Chaminade, Adèle de Batz de Trenquelléon and Marie Thérèse de Lamourous, the lay communities grew and sparked the desire of a small group eager to take religious vows.
“Our Marianist founders’ vision for rebuilding society and Church through a network of dynamic and engaged faith communities is as applicable today as it was 200 years ago,” said Sister Leanne Jablonski, F.M.I. ’85, director of the Marianist Environmental
Education Center at Mount St. John and Hanley Sustainability Institute scholar-in-residence for faith and environment.
“Marianist sisters today live Adèle’s spirit by collaborating with our other Marianist branches and with other organizations to
address justice concerns, including the needs of women, children, the environment and those in poverty. In Pope Francis’ spirit of hope, mercy and care, we are joyfully building a Church and world where no one is left out.”
The jubilee theme “To know, love and serve” highlights actions ever-present in Marianist text and traditions.
The celebration began May 15, 2016, just prior to the 200th anniversary of the founding of the Congregation of the Daughters of Mary Immaculate, and encompasses the founding anniversary of the Society of Mary, Oct. 2, 1817.
The celebration continues through Jan. 22, 2018, the feast day of Chaminade.
The congregations commissioned a three-paneled icon, which is traveling the world visiting Marianist communities. It features artwork of the wedding feast at Cana created by Brother Salvatore Santacroce, S.M., of Italy. Flanking the art are original letters penned by Adèle and Chaminade.
“The icon is a way to unify every Marianist community,” said Father Bob Jones, S.M. ’98, chaplain at Chaminade Julienne High School, during the icon’s December visit to Dayton.
The Society of Mary founded what would become known as the University of Dayton in 1850. The Marianist sisters joined them on campus in 1962 when the University opened its first women’s residence hall. Both congregations remain integral to campus, religious and scholarly life.
“We are small but mighty,” said Sister Laura Leming, F.M.I. ’87, associate professor of sociology. “We have about 330 sisters and are the smallest of the three branches. When we choose a ministry, it’s often to complete the Marianist Family because we are best when we — women and men, lay and religious — are together,” she said.
This will again be the case in Malawi, where the sisters will, in a new ministry this year, complement the works of the Society of Mary and lay communities by teaching in a high school for girls. The sisters will also be starting a ministry in Vietnam, their 16th country of service and as the first religious branch to go there.
“I think [Adèle] encourages us to be risk takers and to, in faith, know that Mary and her son will be with us,” said Sister Estella Ibarra, F.M.I. ’68, former member of the general administration in Rome. “When you use that refrain over and over in prayer and everyday
activity, pretty soon you live it. It becomes more than a mantra; it becomes a reality.”
Today, the Marianist Family operates 18 high schools, three universities, four retreat centers and six parishes in the United States. Worldwide, they can be found on six continents and in 34 countries.
“Few things last 200 years these days in our rapidly changing world,” said UD President Eric F. Spina. “Yet the Marianist charism has endured and thrived during an era when it seems we’re always busy chasing the next big idea, when faith and culture often clash, when electronic communication replaces, all too
often, personal conversations.”
Two hundred years ago, Chaminade recognized power in the revolutionary call for “liberty, equality and fraternity,” said Father Jim Fitz, S.M. ’68, vice president for mission and rector. But he also realized something was missing — Christian values. The violence of the Revolution betrayed the Christian values on which it rested.
“If we were all sons and daughters of God, the violence of the Revolution wouldn’t be a part of it,” Fitz said of Chaminade’s insight. “We talk a lot about community. It is rooted in this time, when through adversity we somehow came together to support each other but also to be witnesses to different values — to working together and collaborating across class lines.
“How do we dialogue; how do we work together for a common humanity; how do we keep faith in the mix? Chaminade showed us how in his day and age. We must do the same today.”
*Blue dots: Brothers and Priests — The Society of Mary 1,056
*Orange dots: Daughters of Mary Immaculate 331
“What does a white guy in a suit know about poor people?”
That’s what David Phillips said everyone asked when he decided to open a nonprofit to help low-income people find jobs.
And Phillips has made it his mission to know as much as he can about poverty and its far-reaching consequences. After retirement, Phillips and his wife, Liane, looked at their hometown of Cincinnati — a city with pockets of high poverty — and decided to do something.
They opened Cincinnati Works in 1996 to help residents find jobs. Over time, Phillips learned that the problem goes deeper than simply locating employment.
“People can find a job,” Phillips said. “The hard part is keeping it.”
The reasons are complicated. Phillips says single parents get fired because they have to take time off work when a child is sick. Mental illness can also create roadblocks.
“It seems to have nothing to do with keeping a job, but it has everything to do with it,” Phillips said.
To help ease those stressors, CW provides assistance with childcare, transportation, work clothes, and mental and physical health care for the entire family, as well as assistance to help with any other barriers to employment.
The biggest impact the organization has had, though, has been on Phillips himself, who says he is amazed at the strength of the human spirit. He recalled attending a CW participant’s wedding.
“This big, tall guy ran over to me and picked me up off the floor. He said that without the CW, he’d be dead right now. That was powerful.”
According to its own statistics, CW has placed more than 9,000 people in the workforce since it opened its doors in 1996.
Phillips is now traveling the nation sharing the CW model with other communities.
“Poverty is totally unacceptable in our society,” Phillips said. “It’s a condition that strips people of all human dignity. It’s time for citizens to say it is our responsibility and it’s time to say ‘no’ to poverty.”
When a health trauma leads to a mental health crisis, medical professionals and patients have a new, groundbreaking resource for ensuring a patient’s emotional health isn’t on the
Michelle Flaum Hall ’02 nearly lost her life when she gave birth.
She went to the hospital anxious and excited to meet her daughter. But as doctors induced labor, she suffered the most severe type of hemorrhage and required 18 units of blood — the equivalent of the entire blood supply of a person plus half that of another.
She underwent an emergency Caesarean and a life-saving hysterectomy. She spent five days in the intensive care unit and developed pneumonia.
A steady stream of health care professionals visited her room to give her additional units of blood, monitor her vital signs, check her incision, look for infection, adjust her IVs, administer painkillers and closely monitor her physical recovery. But, Hall says, “My emotional needs weren’t even on the radar.”
Now, she is working to change that for other patients.
Hall, a graduate of the counselor education program, and her husband, Scott Hall, associate professor of counselor education and human services, have written a new guide for health care professionals that, for the first time, describes best practices for treating medical trauma in health care settings.
They say the need was clear: Too often, the emotional costs of medical experiences go undetected, untreated and unvoiced. It is staggering to think about the number of people who might be affected, they write. Every minute in the United States, one person will have a heart attack and two will suffer strokes; every hour, nearly six women will suffer grave complications while giving birth, according to the Centers for Disease Control.
Their book, Managing the Psychological Impact of Medical Trauma: A Guide for Mental Health and Healthcare Professionals, offers models for how to bring mental health professionals into the treatment team to ensure a patient’s emotional health isn’t on the back burner. It also gives doctors, nurses and students the tools and strategies they need to recognize signs of stress in patients and their families.
“Health care has really become a team sport, in a sense. But what we have seen is mental health is still sometimes separated, or even absent,” said Michelle Flaum Hall, an associate professor in counseling at Xavier University.
“We want to put the need for mental and emotional well-being on the radar for health care professionals and for patients,” Scott Hall added. “It starts with awareness.”
Building a bridge
There’s never been a better time to work to bridge the gap between mental and physical health care to better meet the needs of patients, the Halls write in their book. Medicine has made great strides in treating the whole person, but more can be done to address the emotional effects of medical trauma.
“In medicine, it’s often only about doing the surgery, making sure this person is healing properly and getting the right medication,” Michelle Flaum Hall said. “There’s nothing that says, ‘You might really struggle emotionally following this surgery. Here are some signs of depression or anxiety, and here are the resources that can help you.’”
The Halls drew on their own experiences as patients and professionals to develop tools that allow clinicians to be much more proactive about protecting a patient’s emotional well being.
One tool, the Medical Mental Health Screening, helps doctors flag risk factors in patients before a surgery or treatment. It asks patients to mark “yes” or “no” on a series of statements, such as “I have experienced depression at some time in my life” or “I tend to be pessimistic about many things (for example, the future or my health).” It also gauges whether the patient is worried about going under anesthesia or how their families will cope with the illness or procedure.
Other tools help monitor the patient’s emotional well-being after a procedure, including the Secondary 7-Lifestyle Effects Screening. The checklist also uses “yes” or “no” questions, such as, “Since my medical procedure/diagnoses, I have had to alter my life plan or have been unable to reach important milestones (for example, delayed graduation or marriage, relocation).”
Also included are tools Michelle Flaum Hall developed as part of her work on a maternal safety bundle for the Council on Patient Safety in Women’s Health Care. The materials lay out what every hospital should have in place to support women, their families and health care providers when the unexpected happens, said Christine H. Morton, research sociologist at Stanford University and program manager for the California Maternal Quality Care Collaborative.
“The impact for this work in the area of maternity care is potentially quite high,” said Morton, who worked with Michelle Flaum Hall as part of the council. “This book is essential reading for every maternity care clinician in the United States.”
The assessments, available online at hawthorneintegrative.com, are also important for many patients because it can be difficult to recognize what is happening to them emotionally. Physicians need interventions and strategies in place automatically, as the Halls write, as a “safety net to ensure that fewer patients who experience medical trauma ‘slip through the cracks’ of a health care system that can sometimes have a singular focus on caring for the physical body at the expense of all else.”
“We’re all responsible,” Michelle Flaum Hall said. “It doesn’t end when the patient walks out the hospital doors. We have to do a better job of protecting patients’ mental health.”
A personal journey
Medical trauma goes beyond what is obviously a traumatic event — like someone in a car crash who is rushed to the hospital in an ambulance with life-threatening injuries. Any kind of medical experience can be medical trauma. There are different levels of trauma, and many just aren’t on the radar, the Halls write.
Patients can also suffer emotional effects later — long after a hospital stay or doctor’s visit.
“Patients can suffer what we call a secondary crisis,” said Scott Hall, whose more than two decades of experience as a counselor includes work with veterans who experience trauma. “A traumatic event can impact them in terms of their careers, their relationships and in developmental milestones. And sometimes that impact might not show up for three months, six months, 12 months.”
Scott Hall said he gained insight into secondary crises after he had lower-back surgery and realized he could no longer do taekwondo with his daughter. Their weekly lessons had been a bonding time over the eight years they earned black belts together. With his surgery, he was not able to achieve the second-degree black belt they had been working toward, although his daughter did.
“I couldn’t do taekwondo anymore. I couldn’t do the kicks or the twists. I had to stop doing the very thing we shared for years, and in some ways it redefined our relationship,” he said.
“I had to think about what the new normal was, and what else in my life I needed to modify,” he said. “And I realized: If I’m experiencing this, how many modifications are other people trying to make in their lives by themselves as a result of health care? It highlights the need on a much larger scale of how there are deficits in the health care system.”
Scott Hall, whose experience as a patient is built into a case study in the book, said he has addressed similar issues with patients and friends. It could be someone who can no longer play golf. Or someone who can no longer run with their husband, wife, son or daughter because of an orthopedic injury — an example they use in the book.
“It’s the kind of medical event that a lot of people would say is outpatient surgery — no big deal,” Michelle Flaum Hall said. “The focus of recovery is very much on managing pain and recapturing whatever mobility may be possible. But something like an orthopedic injury and surgery can be the first of many dominos to fall in someone’s life, because all of a sudden they’re not as mobile and they’re not engaging in aspects of their lifestyles that are really important to them.”
Even for professionals, it can be difficult to recognize the signs of depression and get treatment. Michelle Flaum Hall described herself in the hospital as “utterly drained” and “exhausted, raw and very fragile.” In a daze, she did not ask for mental health care.
“If anyone on my treatment team had enlisted the help of a mental health professional … then I could have begun treatment for what eventually became PTSD,” she wrote for Nursing for Women’s Health. She notes PTSD refers to a long-term clinical set of symptoms, which for her stemmed from the magnitude and complexity of the trauma she experienced and the fact that she spent several more days in the hospital where the trauma originally occurred.
Sharing her story in the Nursing for Women’s Health clinical journal started the Halls’ journey to write the book. Through new connections, the Halls pitched the idea for the book and received almost immediate acceptance.
“It’s been a very personal journal for me,” Michelle Flaum Hall said, “because it’s been about ensuring the suffering I endured was not in vain, and I could potentially make a difference, even in a small way in sharing my story.”
Michelle and Scott Hall hope their book can revolutionize the way mental health and health care professionals work together to better meet the needs of patients. From current practitioners to better training protocols, their goal is to have this model at the forefront of people’s minds when they approach their work with patients.
And while the book is written for health care professionals, the message has resonated outside the industry.
“People reached out with their personal stories of being patients or knowing patients, and knowing how painful emotionally these experiences can be,” Michelle Flaum Hall said. “They just wanted to say ‘thank you’ for bringing awareness because there was a hopefulness that something would change.”
In the early 1980s, at a nearly sold-out UD Arena, a barnstormer crouched in one of the seating sections, trying to hide his big head among the crowd. Attached by a long rope tied to the Arena roof rafters, he leapt up and soared across the basketball court, cape flowing behind while fans laughed and pointed at the silly, but daring, mascot who brings them so much joy.
For more than 35 years, Rudy Flyer has captured the hearts of fans. The friendly, muscular mascot leads cheers at games, gives high-fives to fans and takes photos with children and alumni — all while fostering and supporting the University’s commitment to Flyer community.
But Rudy didn’t fly out of thin air. The beloved mascot was born at a basketball game Dec. 1, 1980, after years of spirit-filled, sometimes four-legged predecessors. The history of Rudy is a story that involves those who helped conceive him, as well as the Flyer Faithful who have cheered beside and supported him along the way.
The making of this modern Flyer icon began in France in 1880 with the opera La Mascotte, composed by Edmond Audran. According to the International University Sports Federation, the popularity of the opera hastened the translation of the word and concept into English by 1881.
The term was often applied to live animals that U.S. sports teams brought to games to intimidate opponents and entertain fans. The University of Dayton had its own livestock, such as a chicken who once appeared at a soccer game. In 1956, the Flyer News interviewed Pedro the Donkey, which the writer described as having “large, dreamy, brown eyes” and a red and blue blanket with the letter “D.” “I hope to be on the Flyers’ team for many years to come,” Pedro was quoted as saying.
But Pedro’s days — and those of live animal mascots everywhere — were numbered after the popular embrace of the Muppets, those plush, sarcastic creations of puppeteer Jim Henson.
According to the federation, teams in the late 1960s started creating Muppet-like mascots that were friendly with fans and good at helping teams with marketing and public relations efforts.
Up until the early 1970s, the University of Dayton didn’t have an official mascot. In 1972, Gene Schill, the director of athletic public relations and promotions, sent a letter to world-renowned cartoonist Milton Caniff.
In his letter, Schill wrote, “To the best of our knowledge, UD is the only college or university in the country with the nickname of ‘Flyers,’ and it has been a source of irritation to the Department of Athletics that we have not had an official mascot or logo for use on decals, tee shirts, letterheads, etc.”
Ohio born and Dayton raised, Caniff had become famous for creating the comic strips Terry and the Pirates and Steve Canyon. When asked to draw UD’s mascot, Caniff inked the D-Bird — part bird, part plane to help represent the Flyers nickname while also paying tribute to Orville and Wilbur Wright, the inventors of powered flight.
Caniff described the D-Bird to Schill in a letter, now housed at the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum at Ohio State University.
“The drawing shows a winged-goggled-beaked-helmeted creature, carrying on its head a flashing, beacon-like device and brandishing four menacing legs each wearing a different kind of shoe (football, basketball, track and baseball),” Caniff wrote. “The blue helmet bears the U. of D. major letter in red. The bird’s bill and legs are also in the school’s traditional red color.
“The wings represent the Wright Flyer aircraft which gave the teams their nickname of Flyers. The shoes symbolize the major sports in which the University participates while the aggressive attitude of the bird diving out of the sun on its prey reflects the competitive spirit of the various athletic teams.
“Topping it all is the flashing light reminding the viewer that learning is the main issue of any university function. The participants in sports are there for an education. As an antenna, the symbol indicates that these athletes are in touch … they are with it!”
Dayton Daily News sports writer Hal McCoy called it “a weird little creature” when it debuted on a football program in fall 1972. But the D-Bird had huge wings attached to his back and two stubby legs, giving it a form with no hope of translating into a human-inhabited costume.
By the late 1970s, UD was ready to try again, and this time it wanted a walking, cheering mascot.
First, UD identified the person who would inhabit the costume. Ric Cengeri ’81 was an enthusiastic management major with a passion for basketball. He was discovered at the 1979-80 AIAW Women’s Basketball National Championship, hosted at the Arena. While waiting for the Flyers to take the court, Cengeri cheered on William Penn, later helping rally the William Penn fans to push their team to win in the overtime consolation game.
UD’s band director and cheerleading adviser took note and invited Cengeri to try out for the cheerleading squad.
“I was terrible,” Cengeri recalled. “I had all kinds of spirit, but I couldn’t do the lifts.”
The team kept Cengeri from potentially dropping fellow cheerleaders by having him entertain fans with mannequins and other skits.
Around this time, the band director approached Athletic Director Tom Frericks ’53 about getting a mascot costume, said Rory Falato ’77.
“Tom Frericks was intent on building up the basketball program,” said Falato, director of athletic and arena promotions at the time. “He understood the benefits not just for the athletic department but the University as a whole.”
Frericks knew a competitive basketball team would attract students, and Rudy became part of refining the Flyer sports brand. “We started selling Flyer merchandise at games,” Falato said. “There were blue crying towels and kids’ dribble-pass-and-shoot contests at halftime. Get people involved. Fill the seats. Make it family friendly. It’s not just a game, it’s an event.”
The athletic department hired southwest Ohio artist D.W. Biggs to draw the first Rudy, who resembled a 1920s barnstormer, a term used to describe stunt pilots performing tricks with their planes. UD sent the watercolor and ink image to Stagecraft, a Cincinnati mascot design company, where owner Randy Kent brought the drawing to life.
Kent said he started by first sculpting the head, then adding a giant mustache below the bulging nose and topping it with a leather pilot cap. Next came the body, arms and feet, all covered with a flight jacket, pants, gloves and high-top boots.
Just after the costume arrived on campus, it suffered a wardrobe malfunction. The mascot’s goggles came loose and needed to be reattached. So the costume was sent back to Stagecraft, and Kent said he glued the goggles back on and brought it up to Dayton so that it could be used for the game that night, Dec. 1, 1980, against San Francisco.
Cengeri said he put the mascot head on, immediately smelled the glue fumes and became lightheaded. But he performed his role as the mascot for the night.
The following day, the head was placed in the ticket office. Cengeri said that the fumes from the glue were so bad the ticketing employees evacuated the office.
The fumes did not discourage Cengeri, and at the Jan. 24, 1981, basketball game against Marquette, the mascot finally got his name. The athletic department had run a promotion, with fans ranging in age from 4 years to Golden Flyers submitting entries of their favorite names. It was Falato’s idea.
“I had the bright idea to have a name-the-mascot contest with a group of randomly chosen fans who would vote on the name,” he said. He received more than 600 entries, including Pontius Pilot and Freddie Flyer. “It came down to Barney Barnstormer and Rudy. The name Rudy reminded me more of a WWI German Flying Ace. But, that’s what they picked,” Falato said.
Falato took to the Arena floor and made the announcement — and it sounded as if all the fans in the Arena were booing, he said.
“We stuck with it,” Falato said. “Here we are almost 40 years later, and he’s still around. I’m very proud of that, but I will tell you I’ve never had a name contest again.”
Cengeri said it took fans several years to embrace the name, but they warmed to the mascot quickly, making the man in the costume proud.
“It was the best,” said Cengeri, now a producer and announcer with Vermont Public Radio. “I’m a massive sports fan. I love the UD Flyers. To be able to attend every home game and some away games — to be right there on the floor — it was fantastic.”
While Rudy rallied support for the Flyers, the fans began supporting their mascot and transforming him into a cherished icon, said Joe Yokajty ’85, who became the mascot in 1982.
“During my second year as the mascot, Rudy started getting fan mail from some of the kids attending the UD games,” Yokajty said. “It was awesome.”
Yokajty made sure to reward the fans with some antics he knew they’d love, including the night when he got to fly.
Yokajty said he was hidden in one of the seating sections, then jumped out and flew across the basketball court with the cape on his back.
“I am still amazed that President Brother Raymond Fitz gave the ROTC permission to tie me to a long rope attached to the ceiling rafters. I think it was because we were both engineers,” said Yokajty, now an engineer based in Rochester, New York.
As Rudy got older, he not only got more adventurous but also more hip.
“Back in 1983, Michael Jackson first performed his Moonwalk on a TV program celebrating the history of Motown,” Yokajty said. “Rudy immediately taught himself the legendary move and incorporated it into his own dance routine during a Flyer basketball halftime. I swear most of the women in the Arena screamed.
“Rudy’s head might have been even bigger that day.”
The head was big, yes. And hot, with Yokajty losing up to 10 pounds while working football games. And, well, funny-looking.
“At one point Rudy’s face became a bit worn,” Yokajty said. “I overheard folks saying Rudy looked a bit like Mr. Potato Head. That was somewhat embarrassing for Rudy, until the costume was sent away for restoration that summer.”
Fans continued to think that Rudy looked like Mr. Potato Head throughout the 1990s. In 1997, the University decided Rudy needed to grow up.
According to a Dayton Daily News article by Bucky Albers, Rudy received a new blue pilot suit, red satin scarf, black boots, a black leather cap and goggles.
“The floppy-footed World War I biplane pilot who has frolicked at UD Arena for the past 17 years has been replaced by a character who looks more like Chuck Yeager,” Albers wrote in the article, referring to the famed test pilot who in 1947 became the first person to break the sound barrier.
More changes took place in the mid–2000s, Jay Nigro ’06 explained. After he became Rudy in August 2004, the mascot upgraded his blue jumpsuit by adding muscles and a bomber jacket. Rudy started wearing the basketball team’s jerseys and even the same shirt as Red Scare when rival Xavier came to town.
“They pretty much let me go where I wanted to go,” said Nigro, who now owns Liftoff Entertainment in Dayton. “It was a lot of fun interacting with fans,” he added, noting that he would walk to where his professors were sitting. They had no idea who was in the costume.
“It was something I’ll definitely remember about my college experience. Everyone loves Rudy,” he said.
Four years ago, Rudy beefed up his image again — taller, bigger and more muscular, said Adrienne Green ’08, director of marketing at UD Arena. He donned a new muscle suit and got a new bomber jacket, though he does dress for the occasion.
“We get all kinds of requests, even on campus,” Green said about Rudy’s appearances at weddings, alumni events, Christmas and birthday parties, and fundraisers.
Rudy Flyer donned a red satin scarf for a special occasion in 2011. “Guests were entertained by Rudy Flyer, who made a surprise appearance during the reception,” wrote Paula Veihdeffer Markley ’07 for her wedding announcement in UD Magazine.
Becky Dunn Kaster ’07 and Chris Kastner ’07 couldn’t have Rudy at their wedding, so they had the next best thing — a custom cake topper with boy and girl Rudy standing beside a Lowes Street sign.
“Rudy to us means family,” said Becky Kastner, “whether it’s our family members who also went to Dayton, our close-knit friends from UD who are now like family or the alumni community as a whole. Even though we graduated almost 10 years ago, the Flyer spirit remains with us and is something that we are both proud of.”
“We are both big UD sports fans and like to see Rudy motivating the crowd,” said Collin Brown.
Fernando del Monte ’08 and Molly Bytnar del Monte ’07 also named their furry yellow pup Rudy. “The main reason we named our dog Rudy was to remind ourselves of where we met,” Fernando del Monte said. “Our time at UD was so incredible.”
When the Arena marketing crew discusses how to schedule Rudy, they capitalize on his fan appeal to make a good time even better — including delivering free food during game breaks. “People like to get a pizza, especially if it’s from Rudy,” Green said.
Two to four students per school year have the opportunity to be Rudy, and their ideal height is between 5-foot-7 and 6-foot-3. If someone is not in that height range, the suit becomes disproportional, and Rudy loses his powerful image, Green said.
“I have a lot of respect for our students who do Rudy,” Green said. “It’s hot in there, and you can’t see anything. But it’s fun, and people get excited to see you.”
The love for Rudy — and Rudy’s evolution — continues. This year, Rudy will be able to be in two places at the same time; the athletic department had the costume “cloned.”
Such adaptation calls for a formal portrait. As of fall 2016, fans can purchase Rudy’s likeness on T-shirts, key chains and cut-outs.
Although Rudy has undergone many changes throughout the years, one thing remains the same: his readiness to cheer on his beloved Flyers with an army of Flyer Faithful beside him.
Michelle Tedford ’94 contributed reporting to this story.
Chuck Noll had a childhood dream. When he was 17, he saw it destroyed. Then he came to Dayton.
Noll’s Dayton years are part of the story told by Michael MacCambridge in his book Chuck Noll: His Life’s Work. MacCambridge’s journey to writing the book about the coach who moved the Pittsburgh Steelers franchise from laughingstock to Super Bowl legend took some time. In researching his award-winning America’s Game: The Epic Story of How Pro Football Captured a Nation, he had interviewed Dan Rooney, Steelers executive and son of the franchise’s founder, Art Rooney.
A few months after the book was published in 2004, “I received a handwritten note from Rooney saying that it was a good book but didn’t have enough about the Steelers,” said MacCambridge while visiting the University of Dayton in October for a book signing.
In doing another book some years later, MacCambridge again interviewed Rooney, who was nearing 80 and had added to his achievements being the first U.S. ambassador to Ireland to visit all of the island’s 32 counties. After a while, he heard back from Rooney, by then Steelers chairman emeritus, his son Art II now heading the franchise.
Rooney wanted him to do a book on Chuck Noll.
“I was interested,” MacCambridge said, “but I told him it can’t be just about Noll being a good football coach.”
“You look into it,” Rooney said. “You’ll see.”
So MacCambridge talked to men who played with and for Noll. He talked to Noll’s family. He saw.
Three years, 300 interviews and a lot of writing later, the book on Noll has been published by the University of Pittsburgh Press. It is about a successful football coach. No other coach has won four Super Bowls while losing none. But it is also about a successful man.
Noll’s perspectives were broader than football. During his life he became a photographer, a wine connoisseur, an airplane pilot. If something interested him, he wanted to become an expert on it. “He may have been,” MacCambridge said, “the last Renaissance man.”
Noll loved his wife, Marianne, and their son, Chris. And he loved his nieces and nephews. His sister, Rita, and her husband, Clarence, had seven children under the age of 10 when Clarence died suddenly. Noll became a source of financial help and more. Noll kept his family life private; he neither sought the spotlight nor enjoyed it. But MacCambridge noted that, as he was researching the book, the nieces and nephews were very clear to him about their uncle’s love and help and their gratitude to him.
One remembers struggling with algebra. He took her aside and quietly went over it with her. “From that day on,” she said, “math was my best subject.”
The intelligence, the skills, the attitude that Noll brought to everything in life, he brought to football. And he changed the game.
“His big contribution,” MacCambridge said, “was reducing the game to its components. Football was then, in terms of coaches, a cult of personality, of willpower, of overblown rhetoric, ‘give 110 — no, 120 percent.’”
Noll considered it the player’s job to motivate himself. What Noll as a coach did, MacCambridge said, was to teach players “what to do, how to do it and why they should do it.”
After graduating from the University, Noll played for Paul Brown in Cleveland for six years. Brown was a coach who stayed on message. One message his players heard repeatedly was that “this is just what you’re doing now. You have to think of what your life’s work will be.”
Part of that advice had to do with economic necessity. Pro football didn’t pay much in those days. As a player, Noll did consider what his life’s work could be. He sold insurance. He sold trucking services. He did substitute teaching. He studied law a bit. He thought about medicine.
He didn’t like any of it much.
“I had a horrible, horrible fear of him ending up selling time on a truck line forever,” MacCambridge quotes Marianne as saying. “And I wanted him to have a passion.”
In 1959, Noll got a call from his old roommate, Jim Currin ’53, who told him that former UD assistant coach Joe Quinn ’42 and others thought he would be a good candidate for Dayton’s head coaching job. After interviewing in Dayton, he returned home to Cleveland and Marianne waiting with dinner and wine. He explained he knew he wasn’t going to get the job.
“But I do know one thing now,” he said. “This is what I really want to do. I really want to coach.”
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