Re: Professor White’s trees (April, 2008): I remember the warm days at the Diag, particularly with Shakey Jake and his guitar and Dr. Diag and his orations on the concrete benches. Frisbees, tank tops, shorts dogs and, at the time, the beautiful old Economics Building.

I so thououghly enjoyed the article about Professor Whites’ trees (April, 2008). It reminded me of my walks through the Diag in the mid ’60s. I lived in an old house on South University, just east of Washtenaw. I remember walking briskly along South U on my way to morning classes, and walking through the Engineering Arch into the Diag. My first class of the day was usually in the old Econ. Building, which was a relic even in those days.
When I emerged from the Engineering Arch onto the Diag, it was like passing into another world. There was such a wonderful sense of peace and belonging. The Diag brought most students together in a central location. There were about 30 of my high school classmates (Farmington HS) and I would see many of them each day as I crossed the Diag. For such a large university, Michigan had a way of focusing the movement of students that made it seemed much smaller that it really was.

The afternoon and weekend walks through the Diag found a much slower, more relaxed atmosphere. Students were sitting and lying in various states of repose, reading or just enjoying some quiet time. In my memory it is forever warm and sunny on the Diag. The winter memories are few, almost to the point of non-existence. I know I had to cross the Diag in winter too, otherwise how did I get to class enough to graduate? It seems with age that the most pleasant memories remain, while others fade.

As I write this on my laptop, I remember taking only one computer class at Michigan and it seemed to be an endless effort of punching holes in cards. Hanging chads were a problem then too.

I have now resolved to return to campus this summer when I make my annual family visit, to stroll the Diag and enjoy, once again, the “endless” summer days of my time at Michigan.

My friends and I used to spend (perhaps too much) time on the Diag in the spring (Professor White’s trees, April 2008), tossing the frisbee around. After finals were over, and most of the students were gone, we would enjoy the wide open expanse of the grassy area in front of the flagpole, between the chemistry building and natural science. When the way was clear, we would try to throw the frisbee the entire length of the field, from the stone bench at the central area of the Diag to the stone circle around the flagpole.

It was the Saturday before my wedding, July 9, 1994. These same friends who would, the next day, be standing with me as my groomsmen, were having one last lazy afternoon on the Diag. With the way clear, we I took my spot on the stone circle, and my friend Jeff took his on the bench. I put my hand up and waited for him to let it go.

I couldn’t judge the distance between us, but it was easily a hundred feet, probably more. I never even had to move my hand. The frisbee made its way from Jeff’s hand to mine as if drawn by string. We’d never completed that throw before that day, and we haven’t since. In fact, for many of us, that was the last time we’d gotten together to enjoy the Diag. It’s been years since I’ve seen Jeff, but I know that we’ll both always remember “the throw.”

Re: Professor White’s trees, April, 2008: While I was a senior in the Interior Design program, I worked after classes three times a week at a furniture store downtown. I worked there with one of my best friends and classmate, Carl Freiwald. One evening after work we were walking home through the Diag. It was very cold and windy, and I asked him to hurry up. He wouldn’t, so I started to run ahead. No sooner did I get about 20 feet in front of him, when he started to yell, “Hey girly! Girly! Don’t run away from me, I won’t hurt you!” Needless to say, everyone around us started to stare, and I was so embarrassed that I had to stop and continue walking with him! This is a story I’ve retold many, many times!

Interesting article, but many of us fraternity members just cringe when we hear the word “frat” – there are some very negative connotations associated with it. Next time, please use the word “fraternity”!

Thank you for letting us know. We have changed the text to the proper word. –Editor

The article on the mid-19th century “battle” between the nascent fraternities and the faculty (Fraternity war, March 2008) brings back to mind the question, “Was there an Officer Swoverland?”
In my time in Ann Arbor it was well understood that the University employed a cop whose sole business was to raid fraternity drinking parties. Concerns about “Swovie” kept us on our toes. Our house had a marvelously intricate alarm system in the party room connected to a coded electronic lock on the front door. It was never set off. We never saw Swoverland, nor did anyone I ever knew. Was he just an urban legend, convenient to an administration who otherwise showed no particular interest in what went on behind closed house doors?

Reader Wystan Stevens Replies: Yes, there really was a campus cop named Swoverland. His first name was Harold, and he was an officer in the Ann Arbor police department. Besides inspecting parties and checking on drinking by minors, he enforced the student auto ban and other parking infractions on campus.

I enrolled at U-M on July 1, 1944 (How to date women – 1943, Feb 2008) in the Army Specialized Training Reserve Program in Civil Engineering and was there for three 12-week terms until April ’45. The group of 212 uniformed men marched to classes, which brought smiles to the V12 Navy and Marine students. We took the usual early engineering courses plus PT, military drill, martial arts and target shooting.
I played clarinet in the marching band at football games in ’44. In March ’45, the group was shipped to Active service Basic Training, except for 15 of us who were not yet 18. We were sent to the University of Illinois for 12 more weeks, and courses like Calculus, Electrical Engineering, Surveying, Statics and Dynamics, PT and Soccer.
When I re-enrolled at U-M in Feb. ’47, I was given 60 hours credit of 140 needed for graduation and got my degree in Civil Engineering in September, 1949, just in time to start a career with the Highway Dept. of MI on Sept. 26,1949.

Although a faculty member rather than a student, I was there on October 14, 1960, when JFK gave his speech (JFK at the Union, Jan 2008), although I was about to give up when the entourage arrived. I was impressed enough even at the moment to classify his remarks and proposal with historical ones that I had previously heard from FDR.

One of my treasured experiences at the University of Michigan involved a huge class and a professor’s eagle eye.
Having moved to Big Rapids as a Junior High Schooler from an even smaller town in Indiana, I became a Michigan fan because my best friend’s brother, who never attended the school, couldn’t stop talking about the Wolverines.
My later enrollment at Michigan became a given.
I chose electives with a sole criteria–the campus reputation of the professors.
Bennett Weaver, of the English Department, was a specialist in the poetry of Robert Browning. But he was noted for teaching two courses on The Bible as English Literature.
I readily enrolled and found myself in a huge, crammed lecture hall, this Methodist boy in a sea of Jewish students. My first experience as a minority.
I found the class a pure delight and academically on par with the very best seminaries. Weaver, with his crooked nose, unruly hair, crackling wit and utter command of the material, kept me spellbound.
Imagine my shock, when one day before dismissing class Dr. Weaver announced in his Old Testament Prophet voice, “Mr. DeMoss, please meet me in my office later this afternoon.”
Quite mystified, I appeared at Weaver’s door in Haven Hall and was invited to take a seat. On the desk an ancient, desiccated apple was accompanied by a neatly lettered card which declared, “This old apple can’t be polished.”
After greetings, Dr. Weaver, in a most gentle way took the lead. “Mr. DeMoss, this morning when the class was discussing the line from Psalm 63, ‘I think of you on my bed and meditate on you in the watches of the night,’ I saw a look go across your face. Would you care to tell me about it?”
Out of that healing conversation and several to follow was born a lasting friendship.
And proof that even at one of America’s largest universities a student can experience helpful intimacy with an respected professor.