My Summer as a Painted Turtle

by Aaron Webb ’20

California for a 20-year-old from Indiana is mystical—a dream world filled with granite ridges dotted with green and brown pines; miles of beaches sprinkled with blues, reds, and pinks deposited from the seemingly infinite ocean; and endless streams of sunlight that warm the skin and spirit.

When I was hired to work at The Painted Turtle, a camp at Lake Hughes, CA, for kids who have been diagnosed with serious medical conditions, I prepared myself to work in beautiful California. I prepared myself to travel around the state, taking in as much of its natural treasures as possible before my time was up. I prepared to bring back stories of spiritual journeys through the towering sequoias and whimsical follies on the beach.

I had not prepared to see the world’s unlimited, unlabeled, and unavoidable beauty as seen in the lives of Nando, Roy, and Nathan.

Nando embodied cool, maintained an “I’ve been here before” air about him.

Regardless of the unshakable California heat, Nando committed to a look featuring black high-top Vans with white accents streaking from heel to toe, black denim cuffed to reveal the socks covering his ankles, T-shirts that ranged from all white to black with “Thrasher” sprawled across his chest, and always topped off with a headband to maintain the center part in his swirling, dark hair.

Nando calculated when to show his personality but would always humor us counselors with a slight chuckle and sly grin whenever we would crack a bad joke or make fools of ourselves.

Nando knew camp, and you could tell.

Roy’s facial expressions provided the counselors with everything we needed to know about his thoughts and feelings. Roy was nonverbal—the few times he did speak his voice was faint, and he never spoke more than five words. He used a wheelchair to get around and braces to help support his legs. Roy’s fluorescent shirts and pants mirrored his personality.

Roy loved camp, and all you had to do was look into his eyes and his broad, beaming smile to see it.

Nathan loved theater. He knew by heart parts of his favorite musical, Hamilton: An American Musical. He would quietly perform the songs, accents and all, as we wandered from activity to activity.

Nathan quickly became a leader for the others in our cabin. He was always one to crack jokes and fuel the silliness camp promotes, but he was just as willing to be vulnerable, to provide eye-opening insights that forced us to think, to feel.

Nathan wanted others to feel the magic that camp had instilled in him, and he would do whatever it took to pass that gift along.

But Nando never danced with us, never felt compelled to participate in that, our favorite post-meal ritual. Which was fine. At camp we believe in challenge by choice. Everything is possible and encouraged, but nothing is forced.

Soft-spoken, Nando never embarked on long-winded responses or contributed to the pool of goofiness that amassed whenever the cabin had some downtime.

Nando preferred to observe.

That changed when our cabin paired with another, and the campers in my cabin got the chance to mentor younger campers. Being a mentor gave Nando a way to show everyone who he truly was. He began engaging more with his cabinmates. He allowed more of himself to show. He was a tremendously supportive mentor, and would do anything to encourage the others.

He became the heart of our cabin. A grin that defined camp’s power and magic.

And by week’s end, Nando could be seen dancing next to the camper he mentored, joy in his face and moves. Nando was always compassionate, loving, and intelligent. He was just never given the chance. Camp gave him that chance.

Roy rarely stopped smiling. From shooting arrows at the archery range to swimming in the pool, Roy’s smile came to be standard equipment.

Nothing ever got to Roy—until he encountered the high-ropes course.

The most emotionally and physically demanding activity at camp, the high ropes force campers to face their fears and doubts, to search for courage they may not know is within them. For a camper who relies on a wheelchair, the high-ropes course can seem impossible.

For Roy, the ropes course was the impossible.

Under a cloudless blue sky we harnessed up and prepared to take on the ropes course, Roy included.

He was nervous. The beaming smile faded to a frown. He had overcome so many challenges in his life, but you could tell that the ropes course was something else. Bigger. Still, Roy prepared to take on the challenge. We transferred him into the black mesh sling that would cradle him as he ascended to the top of the course, where he was placed into the wheelchair waiting for him.

I followed behind to lend a helping hand. A tension-filled exchange of commands flew from counselor to counselor to ensure that Roy was safely locked into the rigging. The stress showed on Roy’s face. He stared off into the distance. Then he reclined in his sling and was guided to the ledge of the 30-foot-high platform, and on a count of three he was released to a whiz of cable and rigging.

For a few brief moments Roy achieved a freedom that kids with his conditions rarely, if ever, feel. He was flying.

The smile that defined Roy returned as he descended. Kids who come to The Painted Turtle camp are given the chance to live without labels, and, as the camp’s founder Paul Newman put it, “raise a little hell.”

Roy told the world that anything is possible louder than any of us could shout it, and all through a smile.

Nathan’s week at camp was nearly over, and the emotion-filled Bale Closing (we call each cabin a “bale,” the collective noun for a group of turtles) hit him with that realization all at once. Bale Closing was a time for reflection, and Nathan had a lot to think about. He had met and made friends with so many others dealing with the same condition as his own. As Bale Closing finished, the guys in our cabin began making our way to closing campfire, the official end to camp. Nathan walked alone, his head dipped and eyes closed.

I worked my way up to Nathan to check on him. We talked about some of the moments he had experienced with his fellow campers, and before rationality or pride could intervene, we were walking side by side, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, crying. Not tears of bitterness or regret, but tangible reminders of camp’s importance in a time when joy and love are hard to find. As we neared the campfire, Nathan mustered enough composure to mutter, while shaking his head, “Best week of my life.”

Aaron Webb ’20

Nando, Roy, and Nathan each have given me more than I ever deserve. They taught me how life should be lived, regardless of our circumstances. Nando’s love, Roy’s smile, and Nathan’s vulnerability each hold more meaning than any of those solitary moments on a trail or beach parties I had imagined for myself when I dreamed of California. They taught me to be true to myself and love completely and wholly, to live unlabeled and unlimited, to live unafraid, to be emotional in times when emotion and genuineness are needed more than ever.

They teach me to be a Painted Turtle, wherever I go.


Aaron Webb is a philosophy and pre-med major and received the Dr. Paul T. Hurt Award for All-Around Freshman Achievement at Awards Chapel last April. The Painted Turtle is a summer camp program in the Los Angeles area for children with cerebral palsy, hemophilia, kidney and liver disease, and a variety of other chronic and life-threatening medical conditions.

All About the Brand

The topic at hand on a recent Thursday was high fashion. Professor Christie Byun quickly took her freshman tutorial students through 150 years of fashion history and its impact on society.

Luxury got its start through local craftspeople. Now, it’s global conglomerates and big financiers – a billion-dollar industry.

Byun used legendary examples of Coco Chanel, Christian Dior, and Louis Vuitton to open the discussion and quickly touched on fashion’s impacts on a post-World War II economy post-war, and quickly moved into the elaborate world of high fashion. A then-and-now comparison of the labels above and their landing pages today introduced the concept of accessible entry points – how to get people into fashion. Let’s just say that Louis Vuitton has come a long way from its trunk-making roots of the 1850s.

“Fashion, Innovation, and Entrepreneurship: How to Dress Like a Gentleman in the 21st Century” is Byun’s brainchild, and she, somewhat jokingly, explained after the discussion that the class had the “potential to be highly engaging or bomb miserably. So far, it’s been very, very good.”

Associate Professor of Economics Christie Byun (left) interacts with freshman tutorial students in class.

Some of that engagement was evident as the talk turned from haute couture to wearable fashion. “Is this fashion?” Byun asked. “Why, when it’s not wearable?” came the first reply, ushering in a discussion on creativity and art, ideas of pushing fashion forward, edits, plays against proportion, and even a Kardashian reference.

One student quipped, “She’s wearing a tablecloth,” thus signaling the transition to a new topic.

Talk continued of how high fashion moved from haute couture and the high-end elite to the aspirational middle market, or consumers who want to be connected to high-end brands. Such desire often leads to counterfeit goods, which is no surprise since the retail markup is roughly 10 to 12 times the production costs. Such a market is created when even the low-end bags retail for $1,000-5,000.

“This is kind of insane,” said a student who managed to summarize what most were thinking by the head nods. “It’s literally all about the brand,” came an immediate follow as the conversation steered toward intellectual property, copyright, and functionality.

Byun pressed the students to think about the differences between inspiration and a blatant copy by allowing the class to inspect a number of watches and handbags, some real and some not. Are they real or fake, she asked, can you tell by the materials, how it smells, what do you look for?

Students inspect a potentially counterfeit watch.

The answers came with robust certainty at first before wrong answers devolved into blind guesses.

Byun capped class by attempting to draw a consensus on where inspiration ends and counterfeit begins. “You guys are telling me that this is ok, but a knockoff bag is illegal,” she said pointing to an example on screen before deftly swinging it back to the students’ experiences. “How do we apply this to our own work? As in writing, it’s good to be inspired, but you have to make it your own.”

Understanding the Harmonies of the Wabash Glee Club

Being at Wabash not quite a year, I still find that I’m in the ‘I don’t know what I’m getting myself into’ stage quite often.

It’s how I felt before I took pictures in various classrooms last spring, knowing I probably wouldn’t have the slightest clue as to what the professors would be talking about.

It’s how I felt last week when I experienced Wabash Homecoming festivities for the first time. (As much as students tried, nothing could prepare me for being inside the ropes on the Mall the moment that Chapel Sing began.)

Yesterday, however, as I walked from Hovey Cottage to the Allen Center for the first evening of rehearsals for the Glee Club’s 125th Reunion, I thought I knew what I was getting into there.

Wabash Glee Club began rehearsals Thursday for their 125th Reunion on Saturday.

Wabash Glee Club began rehearsals Thursday for their 125th Reunion on Saturday.

Being a singer and a former member of a competitive choir, I understand spending long hours with the same group of people. I understand how well you can get to know someone on long trips. Therefore, I thought I understood the Glee Club.

But the more I watched alumni come down the stairs to Knowling Fieldhouse, oftentimes greeted with a huge embrace, I began to understand that these aren’t just former Glee Club members who are coming back. They’re not just old friends, either. For many, they’re best friends. For others, they’re brothers.

Leave it to Associate Professor of Music and former member David Blix ’70 to figure out what’s about the Glee Club makes their relationships seem so special.

“The music. When you sing together as a group, you have to learn to listen to the other guys,” he explains. “Not only the guys in your section but all the other sections going on. I’m wondering if just that basic activity of listening to how the parts come together and how the music works doesn’t somehow sharpen or deepen the human relationships. I think it does.”

Rob Shook '83 and Kaz Koehring '18

Rob Shook ’83 and Kaz Koehring ’18

One perfect example of the incredible bonds that can come out of the Wabash Glee Club would be NAWM President Rob Shook ’83 and Kaz Koehring ’18.

“We met in Glee Club when he came to visit the fall of my freshman year and we stayed in touch a little bit,” Koehring said. “But then we went on tour to Texas that spring. We’re Lambda Chi brothers and ended up riding together some place in the car. It was only 20-30 minutes, but I was able to share some of the things about my mom. I cried a little bit. We hugged each other. That was probably the moment that we became best friends.”

As president of the alumni association, Shook tries to connect with as many students as he possibly can. But he connected with Koehring at the very time that Koehring needed a constant in his life. And that’s what Shook became.

“We talk all the time,” Koehring said. “I can share anything I want with Rob. I was talking to him earlier about creating a family. And he is my family.”

As I sat on the risers Thursday and watched nearly 100 current and former Wabash Glee Club members rehearse together, a family was exactly what I saw.

It was evident each time a current Glee Club member helped a former member with a piece a music he already knew or when two friends couldn’t stifle their laughter anymore and simply lost it.

So to the Wabash Glee Club members, past and present, preparing for the big concert tomorrow, I say: Happy Family Reunion.

Houston, a Hauler, and the Meaning of Hope

Alejandro Reyna ’17 – The Wednesday evening before hurricane Harvey made landfall, I joined my brother, Dorian, for a drag racing event in Terre Haute, Indiana. My brother owns a diesel performance shop in our hometown of Houston, and we left his shop with his photographer, one of his mechanics, and his 45-foot trailer hauling his seven-ton race truck. After realizing how severe the flooding in Houston was, the trip was cut short, and we left Terre Haute Sunday morning. The plan was to leave the race truck in College Station, Texas to make more room in the trailer and spend the nearly $10,000 donated by other diesel performance shops around the U.S. on supplies for shelters in Houston.

Alejandro (left) gathers supplies for Hurricane Harvey.

We arrived at College Station Monday afternoon and emptied the trailer. Victor, the shop’s photographer and social media guru, made a post on the shop’s Facebook page, and the Texas A&M Aggie community was tipped off. The first 30 minutes after pulling into the Wal-Mart parking lot were chaotic. So many students were already waiting to load food, supplies, and over 200 cases of water. To be honest, I actually teared up. For the next four hours, college students dropped off what were obviously snacks and supplies they had just purchased for their upcoming semester. We realized more than seven tons of supplies had been donated when we noticed how the much the trailer tires were bulging.

We arrived at a church in northwest Houston and so many parishioners showed up that we unloaded the supplies in under 30 minutes. All these strangers kept asking “Where are y’all from?” and with a smile my brother told them, “Just ten minutes down the road.” He was not joking and as much as we would have loved to go home, the freeways to get further into Houston were all flooded. We had no choice but to go back to College Station.

Though we could not get home, we were blessed when we got back to College Station. A current freshman at A&M who had helped us load supplies earlier that day invited us to his dad’s restaurant. Even though he had class the next morning, he cooked six meals and was adamant that we not pay. It was already midnight by the time we left and my brother got a phone call that one of his friends had booked and paid for two hotel rooms.

Tuesday morning, we set up at the same Wal-Mart parking lot. Later that night, we unloaded the trailer at a high school shelter in East Houston that was running low on food. A school board member walked us into one of their two gymnasiums. Not one of us was ready for what we saw. Hundreds of families and individuals that had been evacuated from their homes were now taking shelter at this high school. This was the hardest moment of the week for me.

What are you supposed to feel after walking out of a shelter knowing that those families might have lost everything, or worse, someone? Some of these parents’ eyes were red and swollen, and my brain tried to reconcile the emotions from that image while watching children running around playing. Those kids had just met for the first time earlier that day and were now carrying on with being kids.

The only thing that I could feel was hopeful because feeling anything else such as thankful that anyone I knew wasn’t in that shelter just felt wrong.

Trailer with supplies donated for Hurricane Harvey

I continue feeling hopeful because the solidarity I saw those three days was present at Wabash College, my alma mater and a tiny liberal arts school in the middle of Indiana, and a million other places around the U.S. I am hopeful and optimistic that all of the support from selfless individuals will remind those affected families that they are not alone. Even if you don’t catch their name or meet them, someone is always there to help.

Wednesday, we headed to Austin, Texas, where U.S. Army Veteran and Purple Heart recipient Sgt. Omar “Crispy” Avila had coordinated the donation of enough supplies to fill the trailer for the third time. This trailer full was dropped off at a church in North Houston. Veteran Sgt. Omar goes by Crispy because he was badly burned in Iraq after his convoy was bombed. Crispy is now a veteran charity advocate and finds any way he can to help others.

That afternoon, my brother made the decision to head to his shop for the first time in over a week. He parked the trailer outside his shop and walked onto his property. Friends and family had been there all day helping with demolition as the entire property flooded more than four feet, but when they saw him, the completely stopped what they were doing. Everyone knew this was a dreadful sight for my brother. The office, breakroom, and computer systems were destroyed. In his truck yard sat over 50 diesel trucks whose cup holders were filled with water. In that moment, he realized his business and livelihood were at stake.

No time to lose. We all got to work cleaning, and, after about an hour, Crispy showed up. He bought my brother a new printer, computer, and phone so that my brother could be back in business. For the next week, the shop had friends and family show up to help clean.

My brother Dorian is the one person I personally know who was affected by hurricane Harvey. He is the same man who was leading the effort to transport supplies using his trailer. Not once during those three days did I think my big brother and role model would be affected so directly. Even during the week of rebuilding and cleaning, my brother and his wife coordinated a clothing drive at their shop and received and helped distribute an 18-wheeler worth of relief supplies sent to them by friends in Maryland. He’s my role model for a reason.

My experiences taught me true solidarity, the meaning of hope, and how important it is to answer the call when someone needs help. Sometimes the call comes from a friend or family member and your duty to them is binding. But sometimes that call comes unexpectedly from strangers and duty binds us more so than ever.

Creativity Leaps Off the Page

Every yearbook publishes senior photos. It’s a rite of passage.

In the 1970’s, The Wabash took the practice to new heights, publishing photos taken in different campus locations often with a prop or two, including significant others, babies, and even pets. If you remember the ’70’s, it looks completely normal.

When it came time for Class of 1977 members Bob Kniskern, Bob Snodgrass, and Mark Van Buskirk to submit theirs, the gentlemen were hoping for something out of the ordinary. Inspired by equal parts Butch Cassidy and Salvador Dali, the guys, and photographer Ben Thomas ’75 came up with the photo below, shot on location in Waynetown near a mobile home Kniskern and Van Buskirk lived in as seniors.

Class of ’77 members (from left) Bob Kniskern, Bob Snodgrass, and Mark Van Buskirk channel Salvador Dali and Butch Sundance in this senior pic taken by Ben Thomas ’75.

And the photo remains memorable to that group 40 years later.

“We ran together toward the road from the farm field across the road from our trailer and jumped into the air together over the ditch to get some good air underneath us,” Kniskern explained via e-mail. “It took a lot of takes before our photographer buddy Ben was satisfied he got one that would be cool.”

Thomas was inspired by “Dali Atomicus,” the 1948 Philippe Halsman portrait of Salvador Dali that appeared in Life magazine. It’s the one where Dali, three cats, an easel, a chair, a painting, Dali, and some water are all suspended in the frame.

“’Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid’ was not far from memory at the time, and they happy attitude of the gang’s successful migration is well reflected in our charging brothers’ faces,” Thomas recalled.

The nearly full-frame print was done in Thomas’ darkroom in the wiring closet on the second floor of the Phi Psi house on H&W Control film. He used a Leitz Tiltall tripod and a 300mm f5.6 Canon FD lens on his F1 camera. He was at least a hundred feet away from his subjects to get them

Philippe Halsman’s “Dali Atomicus.”

framed that way.

“In retrospect, it would have been better on a more contrasty film, even if it would have been grainy,” Thomas said. “If I ever see the negative again – I have no idea where it is, but I may still have it – I may have a go at it. That film I used, while very, very fine-grained, was notoriously lacking in contrast.

“It’s still one of my favorite photos, regardless.”

While the whereabouts of the negatives are in question, the final print still survives. “I have the only print from the original negative for that photo,” Van Buskirk said.

“It was fun and we wanted to be different,” Kniskern said, “and I think we succeeded.”

Reflection on Big Bash 2017

Alumni Chapel Sing

Alumni Chapel Sing

Ian Ward ’19-

With Big Bash 2017 in the books and being able to meet Wabash greats and watch friendships reignited, it reminds me Wabash is special.

You can have a conversation with an alum celebrating his 50th reunion about fraternity tradition, having only met five minutes before. Everyone has a connection to common experience even with a 40, 50, or even 60-year gap. Nearly 42% of living alumni in the class of 1967 came back for their 50th reunion. It may be a number, but at a college where we have only 12,000 living alumni, 42% is amazing.

Three days, and five meals, and 320+ alumni descended on campus to relive college days for a few hours, and renew their love for this place. I heard countless stories, from pledge brothers helping an injured brother get ready for a date, to hearing how freshmen had to fight sophomores to keep their treasured freshman pot. I could tell the great traditions that we hold today were built on the shoulders of these generations of Little Giants. There was a feeling of camaraderie in every room, whether it was men from 2007 hanging out with Wabash men from 1967, or just the class of 1987 together. I could feel the love the alumni have for this place, and readily shared it with people like me; a current student. How else can you explain alumni coming from 36 states and three countries just to meet up for a mere 60 hours? How else can you explain a record setting $9.6 million 50th reunion gift?

You can’t. Speaking to alumni from the 1960’s up to the class of 2012, it’s apparent that the common links that connect Wabash men are there, from how they got here, to their paths on campus. They are all unique, highlighting the individuality of this place. There is no one word or phrase to describe it; it’s just SPECIAL.

At Big Bash 2017, I saw the paths alums have taken from remaining in Crawfordsville, to living across the globe. The choices they have made like going to law school 15+ years after graduating from Wabash. Then I thought of the contributions these men have made to society. They have made medical devices to save lives, run political campaigns, and defended our freedom on the battlefield. Through their support they have provided generations of students with top of the line facilities, the ability to immerse ourselves in travel, help us get jobs through Career Services, and provide the best education we can get. It makes me wonder what my story will be? What will I do and how can I, as a Wabash man, contribute to such a special place in my heart?

As a rising junior, I don’t really know what my path will look like in 2019 when I graduate, however, after listening to others, and contemplating for myself, it is apparent that many Wabash men feel this way at some point. It’s growing up. It’s becoming a man. It’s learning. It’s thinking critically. It’s never selling myself short.
This is what makes Wabash special, not the buildings and trees, but the company you keep, the connections you make, the ability you think for yourself. To paraphrase current Dean of Students Mike Raters ’85, “Be gentlemen guys, you are Always Wabash men.”

The Diligence of a Wabash Man

Christina Franks — When students need a little extra help with their work, they often turn to their professors. But who do professors turn to when they need help with their work? Sometimes, it’s those very same students.

Wabash College students are often called upon to help their own professors as they publish research. Many times students are asked to be editors, which can be a daunting task in itself. Other times, however, students are asked to take part in a professor’s research from beginning to end, which means that the College offers its students a chance to have their names on published work before they graduate.

Cole Crouch ’17.

“Having the opportunity to be published before graduation is a huge deal,” said Director of the Schroeder Center for Career Development Jacob Pactor ’04. “These experiences solidify the real-world applications of the learning and professional development we hope our students experience daily.”

In the summer of 2016, Assistant Professor of Rhetoric Jeff Drury had focused work on Robert F. Kennedy that he thought would make for a great summer project with a student. So he hired Cole

Crouch ’17 as an intern for eight weeks, hoping the experience would be beneficial for both of them.

“I knew I could benefit from the diligence of a Wabash man, and I thought the student could benefit from the experience of going through the research process,” Drury said. “Cole was a great fit for the internship. He is someone who is eager to learn and open to new experiences. Our work together was a true partnership. We both contributed to the writing and revising, and I had total trust in Cole’s work.”

Though the now-graduated rhetoric major had research experience in this particular field and had writing experience, having been the Editor-in-Chief of The Bachelor, this was a brand new challenge.

Jonathan Murdock ’19.

“Co-writing and publishing a paper is a lot of work,” Crouch said. “However, it prepared me for senior year and it will help me in law school with writing more extensive and critical pieces. I thought we balanced well and had fun working together all summer.”

Taner Kiral ’17 and Jonathan Murdock ’19 say they also had a lot of fun working with Assistant Professor of Mathematics and Computer Science Colin McKinney when they joined his mathematical history research and worked through its applications.

“Working with Dr. McKinney was a lot of fun, and it was convenient having someone passionate and experienced to guide Taner and me as we edited, checked, compiled, created, and presented,” Murdock said. “I find it hard to believe that I would have gotten an opportunity to work as closely as I did with Dr. McKinney at a larger institution. To think that, as a sophomore, I have submitted an academic paper for publication in conjunction with my professor is amazing to me.”

Taner Kiral ’17.

The benefits for students is obvious. As undergraduates, working so closely with a professor and having published research will help immensely as they work on résumés, apply for graduate schools, and try to make themselves stand out.

As someone who has been working with students through the Wabash 3D Printing and Fabrication Center since 2015, Associate Professor of Chemistry Lon Porter knows that the experience can have a great impact on the professors at the same time.

“To know that I had some small part in introducing the students to what I believe will be the thing that sets innovators apart in the future makes me feel like I’m giving them a leg up in achieving their goals and dreams,” Porter said. “And that’s the best thing you can ask for as an educator.”

The Best Problem Solver on Campus

Richard Paige — Nearly lost in the shuffle of Senior Week and Commencement was a noteworthy announcement out of Goodrich Hall.

Yang Yang ’17 was named the FortKnight of the Year. Again.

Four-time FortKnight of the Year Yang Yang ’17.

Every other week, the mathematics department issues a Problem of the Fortnight that is open to any member of the Wabash community. Submissions are judged both on correctness and elegance. Nods are given for solutions, while the best ones are posted. The person with the most solutions over the course of a year is named the FortKnight of the Year.

To say he’s the best problem solver on campus might be an understatement. Yang has earned the FortKnight distinction four years in a row.

“We don’t keep good records, but I’m guessing no one has done it before,” said Mathematics and Computer Science Professor Robert Foote.

For the physics and mathematics major who earned distinction on comps, the uniqueness of this accomplishment is as appreciated as an elegant solution. To hear him describe it, each problem was 20 minutes of fun.

“It’s funny to think of this as a big deal for me at Wabash,” Yang said. “It’s just interest that drove me to do this. Every time I saw the problem, it was a fun diversion. There are some problems where the formula looks beautiful and once you get it, you get so excited about it.”

Now that he’s moving on to study physics in graduate school at the University of Minnesota, Yang has another problem left to solve – the weather.

“Summers are nice,” he says, “but it’s going to be cold.”

The Promise of a Silent Hour

Richard Paige — The pause lasted 12 seconds, so I knew the answer was meaningful.

During a recent visit to Phoenix, where Stephen Batchelder ’15 teaches eighth-grade science, I asked him about his favorite Wabash memory, and he took that long pause before responding.

“There are a lot of favorite memories,” he starts slowly, “but the one coming to mind right now, I think because its April now and the Springtime…”

He went on to describe “Poetry Hour,” a time during the spring semester his senior year that he and classmate Ryan Horner would carve a free hour out of a week and meet at the Senior Bench to share things of interest, whether it was a piece they had discovered or something one of them had created.

“We would kind of sit there and be quiet with each other and do some writing of our own,” Stephen remembers.

Ryan fondly remembers that shared time well, including the text message that started it all.

“Stephen sent me a text completely out of the blue, saying that he would be at the bench at so and so time, probably reading or writing a little bit of poetry, and that I’d be welcome to join him,” he says via e-mail from UC Davis, where he is finishing a master’s in creative writing.

It didn’t take long for these Poetry Hours to become a regularity, even a necessity. Nearly everything about the get-togethers were malleable. Sometimes they read (Horner started reading David Foster Wallace’s “Infinite Jest” during one of these sessions), other times, they wrote. They even took it on the road to places like Sugar Creek or Shades State Park. The only constant was friendship.

“We hardly ever talked,” Ryan shares. “Occasionally we would read aloud from whatever we held in our hands, no intro, no context, just conjuring poetry out of silence and then returning to silence afterward. Stephen is one of my best friends, someone who I look up to and who I know I can trust with anything, and the bench was our kind of shared space.”

Anyone’s senior year can rush by, and for Stephen and Ryan, those moments on the Senior Bench were much-needed respites of calm as a new chapter of life was dawning.

“When various responsibilities had piled up and the real world was calling out from beyond the gate of graduation, that’s when the promise of a silent hour, spent in mutual appreciation of something beautiful, at a special place with a dear friend, was enough to keep holding the world together for another week.”

Change of Plans

Not everything in college goes according to plan, not even for those focused and driven like Riley Lefever ’17.

One doesn’t collect 158 career victories on the wrestling mat, four national championships, including a spotless 129-0 mark against Division III opponents, and lead his teammates to three consecutive top-five national team finishes without those two adjectives linked closely to his being.

He came to Wabash thinking he would be a math major until his confidence was shaken by his first calculus class. “I didn’t do so hot,” Lefever explains.

That same semester, he also took an introductory English class with Professor Warren Rosenberg, which Lefever says sparked an interest in creative writing and literary theory that continues today.

“Anybody who knows Professor Rosenberg knows how awesome he is,” says the four-time champ. “That experience definitely persuaded me to take more English classes. I became an English major because of Professor Rosenberg.”

Riley Lefever relaxes in Rogge Hall.

The professor quickly returned the compliment.

“In the case of a student like Riley the pleasure is particularly great,” Rosenberg says. “He is an exceptional person and it is very gratifying to know that taking a class with me had an effect.”

Rosenberg went on to say he was particularly pleased that Riley, on the heels of that appearance in English 101 as a freshman, also signed up to be in Rosenberg’s final class at Wabash (he retired in 2016), where students took a deep dive into great texts, like “Moby Dick.”

“Riley showed me that not only did he have the skill, courage, and fortitude to win all of those wrestling national titles, but he had the requisite skill, courage, and fortitude to read, truly understand, and gain pleasure from studying such challenging literature.

“And, no,” he says, “it never gets old to hear a student believes you played some part in his making such an important life decision.”