Monk's Tale: The Presidential Years, 1987–2005

By Edward A. Malloy C.S.C.

This long-awaited, last installment of Reverend Edward A. Malloy’s three-volume memoir examines his eighteen years as president of the University of Notre Dame from 1987 to 2005. In this candid and lively account, Malloy, or “Monk” to all who know him, shares his reflections on his presidency following the long-term leadership of Theodore M. Hesburgh, C.S.C.

Malloy describes his transition into the presidency, his approach to leadership, issues related to Catholic identity, the importance of fund-raising, and finding the proper balance in intercollegiate athletics. Communication issues were of paramount importance during Malloy's tenure, and he discusses how he fostered good relationships with the surrounding community, and supported trustees, administration, faculty, and other important constituencies in the governance of the university. An inveterate multitasker, he also examines how he organized his office and schedule, worked with administrative associates, handled a busy domestic and international travel schedule, sustained his participation in numerous external boards, and kept in regular contact with alumni and friends of the university. Finally, he looks at controversial issues, providing an insider’s account of various challenges and crises, from personnel problems to NCAA sanctions to concerns about presidential succession. During nearly two decades, Father Malloy met with presidents and movie stars, sports legends, benefactors, and university employees, many of whom are mentioned in this book. Throughout this volume, Malloy’s love for Notre Dame and its students, faculty, and staff comes through clearly, along with his overwhelming sense of gratitude for the opportunity to lead a university where faith, community, and service are taken seriously and passed on from one generation to the next.

• Language: English
• Publisher: University of Notre Dame Press
• Release date: Aug 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9780268100476

Edward A. Malloy C.S.C.

Edward A. “Monk” Malloy, C.S.C., served from 1987 to 2005 as the sixteenth president of the University of Notre Dame, where he is currently professor of theology. He serves on the board of directors of a number of universities and national organizations and is the recipient of twenty-five honorary degrees. Father Malloy is the author of eleven books, including his three-volume memoir Monk’s Tale: The Pilgrimage Begins, 1941–1975; Monk’s Tale: Way Stations on the Journey; and Monk’s Tale: The Presidential Years, 1987–2005 (University of Notre Dame Press, 2009, 2011, and 2016).

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MONK’S TALE

Photo courtesy of Heather Gollatz-Dukeman.

MONK’S TALE

The Presidential Years, 1987–2005

EDWARD A. MALLOY, C.S.C.

University of Notre Dame Press

Notre Dame, Indiana

Published by the University of Notre Dame Press

Notre Dame, Indiana 46556

www.undpress.nd.edu

Copyright © 2016 by the University of Notre Dame

All Rights Reserved

Manufactured in the United States of America

The Library of Congress has cataloged the combined volume as follows:

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Malloy, Edward A.

Monk’s tale / Edward A. Malloy.

p. cm.

Includes index.

Contents: v. 1. The pilgrimage begins, 1941–1975.

ISBN-13: 978-0-268-03516-7 (v. 1 : cloth : alk. paper)

ISBN-10: 0-268-03516-4 (v. 1 : cloth : alk. paper)

1. Malloy, Edward A. 2. Malloy, Edward A.—Childhood and youth. 3. University of Notre Dame—Presidents—Biography. 4. College presidents—Indiana—Biography. 5. University of Notre Dame—Faculty—Biography. 6. Catholic universities and colleges—United States—Case studies. 7. Priests—United States—Biography. 8. Catholic Church—Clergy—Biography. 9. Catholic Church—United States—History—20th century. I. Title.

LD4112.7. M35A3 2009

378.772'89—dc22

[B]

2009022894

ISBN 9780268100476

∞This paper meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

This e-Book was converted from the original source file by a third-party vendor. Readers who notice any formatting, textual, or readability issues are encouraged to contact the publisher at [e-mail].

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

With great appreciation, I would like to thank:

The members of the Officers Group, the deans, and the other major administrators (and all who assisted them) during my years of service as president. Your talent, commitment, and sense of mission were always manifest and enabled the university to thrive even in times of challenge and difficulty. For your friendship and collaborative spirit, I will be forever grateful.

The members of the Notre Dame Board of Trustees under the leadership of Don Keough, Andy McKenna, and Pat McCartan. You elected me president and supported me with your counsel, encouragement, and resources. It was indeed a privilege to share responsibility with you for the university that we all love.

Those who worked with me directly on this final volume of my three-part memoir—Joan Bradley, Walt Collins, Tom Noe, Harv Humphrey, Matt Dowd, and my student interns Dominic Boyer, Luke Berning, Andrew Owens, Greg Rustico, Mike Ryan, and Alex Sun. Joan Bradley, in particular, has facilitated every stage of the manuscript production from my hen-scratch writing to final editorial revisions. As she finishes her years of service at Notre Dame, I celebrate the pivotal role that she has played in my life and in the recent history of the institution.

PROLOGUE

This third volume of my three-part memoir Monk’s Tale appears seven years after volume 1, The Pilgrimage Begins, 1941–1975, and five years after volume 2, Way Stations on the Journey. The primary reason for the longer time period to complete volume 3 is that I began the process by writing almost a thousand pages about my presidential years for the university archives. Later I sifted through that material to produce a work that is much shorter in length and, I hope, more interesting to the reader.

Volume 1 started at the beginning, with my family roots, educational history, vocational discernment, and ministerial and academic preparations. Volume 2 covered my years as a professor of theology at Notre Dame, the succession of administrative responsibilities that I exercised, my years of residence in Sorin Hall, the range of my extracurricular involvements, the process by which I was elected as Notre Dame’s sixteenth president, and how I spent the time between my election in November and my formal assumption of that office on July 1. Volume 2 also described in some detail several of the outside boards I served on (or chaired) during my vice presidential and presidential years, as well as the period of more than ten years during which I participated in the Ex Corde Ecclesiae consultative process. By including that material in Volume 2, I intended to have a clearer, less cluttered focus in this final volume.

Volume 3 is basically chronological and has eighteen chapters, one for each year of my presidency. The chapters vary in length, depending on the particular challenges and opportunities that we faced as an institution in a given year, and also on my own personal schedule of activities, both on and off campus. In Chapter 1 I lay out the typical annual structure of my life and work. I usually participated in many recurring student- and alumni-focused events, such as orientation, home football weekends, Junior Parents Weekends, commencements, and Alumni Reunion Weekends. There were also many other less public but still regular events: meetings with the board of trustees, the Academic Council, the Alumni Board, and other such representative bodies.

I will not mention many of those regular meetings and events in subsequent chapters because I presume that by then the reader will already be familiar with my normal routines, and also with my efforts to find a comfortable balance among my varied roles as president, professor, writer, liturgical leader, pastor, Holy Cross community member, and public speaker. As a result, for those later years I usually include short updates and a range of stories and commentaries that are particularly noteworthy in my memory.

I was often engaged in long-term matters that took up my attention over the course of some years, including my membership on various boards and my involvement in projects such as Notre Dame’s Tantur Ecumenical Institute in the Holy Land and the founding of the University of Notre Dame Australia. Some of these activities I covered in sufficient detail in volume 2. Other activities took place primarily during my presidency and are covered here. Of course I will not relate every relevant board meeting or overseas trip chronologically in an annual rundown, but will instead provide summary accounts at appropriate points, pausing in the basic year-by-year account. In this way the reader will be able to understand these long-term stories as a whole, as they developed across several years, rather than trying to understand them piecemeal as they happened. Similarly, I want to give the reader of this volume some insights into the more important overarching themes of my life and my administration, and those insights would be difficult to convey and be fully appreciated in a purely chronological account. Among these themes are my life as a priest of Holy Cross, athletics at Notre Dame, and our efforts at being a good neighbor to the local South Bend community. Again, I will pause at appropriate points in the narrative to consider these topics more thematically than chronologically.

Because my term of office as president began on July 1, and because commencement (and Aumni Reunion Weekend close on its heels) always communicates a powerful sense of final accomplishment and closure in the life of a university, it seemed appropriate to begin each chapter with July 1, considering first the activities of the summer, then moving into the beginning of fall semester and then keeping a typical university schedule in mind.

As a public figure, I have had to choose carefully what to include and what to exclude in this volume on my Notre Dame presidency. I’ve tried to be truthful without being hurtful. I’m well aware that, in a large, complex institution, there can be (and are) multiple interpretations of the events I have described. In the end, I hope that my love for Notre Dame and its people comes through clearly, along with my overwhelming sense of gratitude for having been given the opportunity to lead this great university for eighteen years. I believe that the future for Notre Dame is bright and promising. All of us, indeed, stand on the shoulders of giants.

CHAPTER 1

The First Year of a Peripatetic President (1987–88)

In the circumstances of my birth and upbringing, there was little to suggest that I might someday be elected to lead a great Catholic university. I was fortunate to have had loving parents who believed deeply in the value of education and personal formation. They continually encouraged me to set high goals for myself and to seek to make a difference in the world by using my God-given talents.

As I grew older, I discovered more about my personal strengths and weaknesses. I was an inveterate reader, and I came to enjoy learning. I prospered in the context of Catholic primary and secondary education. I was tall for my age and sufficiently gifted athletically to succeed in multiple sports, but particularly in basketball, which fortunately became my route to Notre Dame. I was always seen by my peers as a leader, and with the encouragement of my academic and extracurricular mentors I developed a richness of experience in student organizations, where one level of responsibility led to another.

By the time I graduated from Notre Dame, I had been to Latin America on several social service projects, and I had defined multiple areas of academic interest. I had discovered a vocation to become a priest in the Congregation of Holy Cross and I had begun to pursue formation in ministry and in graduate education. By the time of my ordination to the priesthood, I felt called to pursue doctoral work in theology at Vanderbilt University in order to prepare myself for service in my C.S.C. community’s apostolate of higher education at Notre Dame.

When I returned to campus with my doctorate, I became deeply involved in Notre Dame and its mission. I began teaching in the theology department and later assumed multiple administrative responsibilities within that department. I also served as director of the C.S.C. college seminary, as a member of the governing board of my religious community, and as a volunteer in a variety of other capacities with not-for-profit groups at the local, state, and national levels. Eventually I began what became several decades of life in Sorin Hall, a male undergraduate dormitory. I also began publishing articles and books and taking an active role in academic societies in my field. Finally, I continued traveling internationally, beyond Latin America to Europe and the Middle East.

In 1982 the board of trustees of Notre Dame elected me as a vice president and associate provost, and indicated that I was one of the four Holy Cross candidates who would be considered when choosing a successor to Father Ted Hesburgh, C.S.C., when he stepped down in 1987. During my vice presidential years, I had to adjust to a new set of expectations and responsibilities, while still preserving as much as I could of my life as an academician, pastor, and Holy Cross community member.

In November 1987, when I was formally elected president, I felt honored, excited, committed, and confident all at the same time. I would be taking over for a living legend. Father Ted was universally recognized as one of the great leaders of American higher education in his generation and a real force for good in many other areas of endeavor. Yet the greatest compliment that I could pay to him would be to build on the outstanding legacy that he was leaving behind.

As I contemplated my transition into the presidency, I made a number of fundamental decisions. One of my goals was to maintain a healthy balance in my life—as much as I possibly could—while at the same time giving myself wholeheartedly to the demands and expectations of my new role. I was forty-six years old, in reasonably good health, full of energy and enthusiasm. Nevertheless, I knew that I needed to work out an appropriate structure for my days, weeks, months, and years.

I decided not to teach any classes during my first year as president. Instead, I wanted to observe my new patterns of activity and then decide what was the most viable time and day of the week for me to return to the classroom in my second year. I also decided to maintain my residence on the first floor of Sorin Hall. A number of the trustees were deeply skeptical when they heard about this particular decision; to them, living in an undergraduate dorm was a rather foolish notion. They imagined that I would be constantly overwhelmed with visitors, or never able to get to sleep at a reasonable time, or too accessible to the occasional crackpot or chronic critic of Notre Dame’s leadership. But, based on my prior experience, I expected my fellow Sorinites to be proud of having the president living among them, but also respectful of my need for privacy and relative quiet. And, except for rare episodes, my years in Sorin have gone smoothly and enjoyably.

One constant in my life has been my basic identity as a priest of the Congregation of Holy Cross. I’ll say more about my community later, but at this point I want to emphasize that being a Holy Cross member in any given apostolic setting means, whenever possible, living in common in several basic ways, at least to the extent of sharing prayer, meals, and financial resources. My decision as I took on the role of president was to be as faithful as I could to Holy Cross common life on the Notre Dame campus by giving a high priority to our two big community nights (Wednesdays and Sundays), by concelebrating at community funerals, final vows, and ordination ceremonies, and by making a special effort to be with my C.S.C. brothers whenever legitimate reasons did not take me away. One of the nicest compliments I received when I stepped down as president was that it had been noticed that I was a good community person.

Another decision I had to make was how much to focus on Sorin Hall with regard to my weekly liturgical schedule. As a vice president I had already begun getting out to the other dorms occasionally for Sunday night mass, but as president I chose to attempt to get to every dorm at least once during the academic year, as well as to some of the masses held for graduate students. One of my greatest joys as president was being afforded the opportunity to lead the liturgies at university-wide events.

Right from the first year I moved into Sorin Hall, I had established the tradition of Monk Hoops—playing basketball with the students twice a week, on Monday and Wednesday nights at 10:30 p.m. in the Moreau Seminary gym across the lake. I enjoyed the games, and they became a great way to get to know the students. They also gave me just the excuse I needed to guarantee some amount of exercise in an organized fashion at least twice a week. Once I became president, my travels sometimes prevented my participation, but the students continued on without me. The harder question was what to do for exercise on the other days of the week. Through the years, the answers varied: from running around the lakes, to jogging, to walking (at my usual fast pace). Whenever I traveled to big cities, I always tried to walk to as many events as I could. I always enjoyed sightseeing, so I used that as a way to get up and around.

I competed in Monk Hoops for the first eleven years of my presidency. Then I discovered that I had developed tendinitis in both shoulders and I had lost my ability to be an effective shooter. From that time on, I concentrated on jogging and, later, walking on a daily basis whenever possible.

I quickly discovered that most of the relatively sane leaders whom I got to know had created some form of personal escape from the pressures of their jobs. Some liked to golf or garden, others collected things like fine art, coins, or ceremonial medallions. For me, reading, movies, and theater have been my prime focus of creative interest. I normally limit my TV watching to sports, weather, and a few minutes of evening news while channel surfing. With regard to sports on television, I have the greatest interest in college and professional football and basketball, and the summer and winter Olympic Games. Perhaps my most characteristic form of personal escape was—and still is—doing crossword puzzles, especially the more challenging ones like those in the New York Times. It is, for me, a way to zone out and to relax at the same time.

By the time I began my presidency in 1987, I had become comfortable taking a one- to two-week vacation in the summer with my family and otherwise deriving breaks from usual routines through the variations in the academic calendar. I always thought it was crazy when a type-A corporate leader would claim that he or she never felt the need to get away from the job. I considered that to be the best path to an ulcer, a mental or emotional breakdown, or a short life. During my years as president, I was faithful to an annual vacation and always returned refreshed and ready for action.

The Transition

Technically my first term as president of Notre Dame began July 1, 1987, but in the first week of June I already had a full agenda laid out for me, even as I adjusted from jet lag after a trip to China and Tibet. (Later I will describe in more detail my exploration of higher education opportunities in Asia.) The gala inauguration ceremonies were planned for September, and they would bring a festive note to the transition. But in the beginning it seemed more like business as usual in my new position: I was simply moving from vice president to president. To be honest, I had no game plan as such for my first hundred days—an artificial time measurement that some of the media have used to assess such things. I simply moved into my renovated office on the third floor of the Main Building and got down to work.

I was joined in the president’s office by Carl Ebey, C.S.C., who had the title executive assistant to the president, and Annette Ortenstein, my secretary. We were a compatible team right from the start. For the most part, the university’s Officers Group (who held monthly meetings) remained the same: Tim O’Meara (provost), Bill Beauchamp, C.S.C. (executive vice president), Roger Schmitz (vice president and associate provost), David Tyson, C.S.C. (vice president for student affairs), Tom Mason (vice president for business affairs), Bill Sexton (vice president for university relations), and Robert Gordon (vice president for advanced studies). By tradition, additional participants in the Officers Group included Isabel Charles (associate provost), Sister John Miriam Jones, S.C. (associate provost), Ollie Williams, C.S.C. (associate provost), Phil Faccenda (general counsel), and Dan Jenky, C.S.C. (religious superior). The changes in the Officers Group that year involved Bill Beauchamp (new responsibility), Roger Schmitz (he replaced me), and Ollie Williams (he was added to preserve a Holy Cross presence in the provost’s office). During my presidency the Holy Cross local superior, who was ex-officio a member of the Board of Fellows and the Board of Trustees, was a valued member of the Officers Group; these included Dan Jenky, C.S.C., Paul Doyle, C.S.C., John Jenkins, C.S.C., and William Seetch, C.S.C.

Noteworthy in the composition of my first administration was the absence of any women at the vice presidential level or under-represented minorities at the officer or dean levels. With the passage of time, I would give a high priority to correcting that imbalance.

As president, I was given an automobile, membership in the Chicago Club (on Michigan Avenue in the Chicago Loop), membership in the Summit Club (in downtown South Bend), a travel budget, and a discretionary account. I also became the first president in Notre Dame history to have regular access to an airplane. I had never thought about how challenging it had been for Ted Hesburgh simply to get from place to place on the numerous trips he took during his years as president. Fortunately, right from the start I could turn potentially two-day trips on commercial airlines into half-day excursions. While I did not require speechwriters for my public talks, under the University Relations operation there were several talented individuals who helped to produce materials for wide distribution on behalf of the university (and me), so I never had to worry about procedures for the preparation of special events or keeping in touch with benefactors or spreading the word to the broader Notre Dame community.

The day after flying back from Asia, I found myself quickly immersed in the events of Alumni Reunion Weekend. It was a good first event. I knew that Notre Dame alumni of all ages would relish their opportunity to return to campus to be reunited with old friends and at the same time have the opportunity to meet me in person. In my presentation I reminded them of the passage of time and evoked their feelings of nostalgia and thanksgiving for all that they had done in their lives and for the people who were special along the way.

After those couple of days interacting with Notre Dame grads, I spent a full five days in my second week participating in the annual assembly of members of the Indiana Province of the Congregation of Holy Cross from around the world. I also managed to squeeze in meetings with our local bishop, John D’Arcy, and with one of Indiana’s U.S. senators, Dan Quayle (later vice president under President George H. W. Bush).

Land O’Lakes (July 12–16, 1987)

The Officers Group retreats at Land O’Lakes, Wisconsin, started in the summer of 1987 and became an annual event during my years as president. These were designed to be a period away from campus in a relaxed setting when we could collectively spend time together in prayer, meals, relaxation, and work sessions. Land O’Lakes is a recreational and scientific research facility on the border between Wisconsin and the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. It’s owned by Notre Dame and stretches out over 1,700 acres with about twenty lakes.

In our first sustained time together as a group, I felt that there was some good bonding and that a real learning curve had begun. A few appeared to have some hesitation about expressing themselves too candidly in front of the president, despite my desire that the Officers Group be a major decision-making body in the life of the university. By the end of my term of service I had come to appreciate the limitations of such a group, which became progressively larger with the passage of time. There was always some unavoidable tension between the decisions I would make in collaboration with the provost, executive vice president, vice president of student affairs, and other officers, who oversaw large administrative areas, and the decisions that were referred to the Officers Group as a whole for final determination.

International Special Olympics (August 1–8, 1987)

The Joseph P. Kennedy Jr. Foundation had sponsored a number of initiatives in the 1960s for the benefit of citizens with intellectual disabilities. In line with these efforts, Eunice Kennedy Shriver founded the International Special Olympics, and the first competitions had been held in Chicago in 1968 at Soldier Field. Ted Hesburgh agreed to Notre Dame’s involvement in the 1987 summer Special Olympics before he stepped down as president, and they were certainly a perfect fit for the university and its values. Because Ted had been a friend of the Kennedys and knew Eunice Kennedy Shriver well, he agreed to return with Ned Joyce from one of their post-retirement trips so that they could participate in the opening ceremonies and be present for the full week of events. I was happy to play a subordinate and supportive role.

At the Notre Dame games, 5,000 athletes competed, with 1,500 coaches present and 15,000 volunteers. The Notre Dame football stadium was full for the opening ceremony, which was covered by ABC with a two-hour taped special. Among the guest stars in attendance were Barbara Mandrell, Whitney Houston, Arnold Schwarzenegger, John Denver, and Oprah Winfrey. Whitney Houston sang Love Will Save the Day. The parade of athletes from seventy-two countries and all fifty states was led by representatives from Greece, the site of the first Olympic Games, and Frank Gifford served as master of ceremonies. There was also a Navy plane flyover and fireworks. During the ceremony Susan St. James narrated the history of the Special Olympics, and there were taped talks by President Ronald Reagan, Jane Fonda, O. J. Simpson, John Ritter, and Clint Eastwood.

The Kennedy family, as might be expected, were present in large numbers at the opening ceremony, and some of them stayed for the whole week. This was my first exposure to the Kennedy family mystique. Insofar as family participation was concerned, there was no doubt that Eunice was in charge.

I had agreed to host a campus tour for the first ladies who were in attendance from their various countries, and we met for breakfast at Century Center in downtown South Bend. I happened to notice that Queen Noor Al-Hussein from Jordan (who was American by birth) was eliciting a fair amount of negative vibes among the other first ladies. Her security detail was larger and her sense of presence was more pronounced. In any case, I was driving around the campus in a large van with her and other first ladies from Bolivia, Colombia, Ireland, El Salvador, Portugal, Greece, and Guatemala when I decided on the spur of the moment to invite them up to the fourteenth floor of the Hesburgh Library so we could all take in the grand view overlooking the entire campus. It’s my favorite place on campus.

Unfortunately, since I hadn’t planned this side trip ahead of time, the guard wasn’t expecting us. He used his key to signal the elevators to take us to the fourteenth floor, but he had to stay behind and remain on duty in the first floor lobby. Once we walked out into the elevator foyer on the fourteenth floor (with the accompanying security personnel), I didn’t have a key to open the doors into the rest of the floor. Furthermore, I didn’t have a key to call the elevators to come back up to the fourteenth floor, so I had to take the stairs down to the thirteenth floor to seek help. The delay seemed upsetting only to Queen Noor and to her security guards. I was only a month into my presidency and, of course, duly embarrassed. In the end, everyone was impressed with the beautiful view overlooking the campus in summertime glory and life went on.

The opening ceremony for the Special Olympics was deeply moving, with the display of flags and colors, the high-profile guests, the spirit of encouragement and support from family and volunteers, and the sheer joy of the participants eager for a day on the international stage. Each day of competition was full of gritty effort, frequent hugs, and general congratulations. Whether an athlete finished first or last made no difference. The important thing was that all had done their best.

Present for the dinner and closing ceremony were Vice President George H. W. Bush and his wife, Barbara, and some of their family. This was my first opportunity for personal interaction with the Bushes. In subsequent years, I would be with them on campus, at the White House, at Camp David, and elsewhere.

I also would have periodic interactions over the years with Eunice Shriver (and, to a lesser extent, her husband Sarge). She would call me up out of the blue to promote some exciting new idea or to seek Notre Dame’s assistance on some projects. She was a strong, self-confident woman who was not accustomed to accepting no for an answer. I quickly learned how to negotiate my interactions with her so that I didn’t prematurely agree to something that we would later regret. She should forever be honored for what she achieved through the Special Olympics movement (as Notre Dame did when we awarded her the Laetare Medal).

Presidential Inauguration

My official inauguration on September 22–23, 1987, was the first such event in the school’s history. When Ted Hesburgh had taken over as president in 1952, it was treated rather perfunctorily as an obedience (that is, a new assignment) decided upon by the provincial of the Indiana Province and his council. The tradition in those days was for all the priests and brothers in the local community to gather in the pews of the parish church in the basement of Sacred Heart to hear the new assignments (or reassignments) read out. After the 1952 ceremony, outgoing President John Cavanaugh simply handed Ted the set of keys to the president’s office in the Main Building. That was it! It was like the change from one pastor to another in a parish. No one ever thought about an inauguration ceremony. There was no precedent for it then, and in the spirit of the time it seemed both unnecessarily expensive and superfluous.

By the time I was elected, however, American higher education had become accustomed to the multiple purposes served by a well-done inaugural celebration. For one thing, it was an opportunity to provide a bully pulpit for the new president. It was also a chance to celebrate the university institution itself and its progress under its previous president. In 1987 this was clearly appropriate. Ted Hesburgh’s thirty-five-year term of service had been a time of extraordinary development for Notre Dame in every way. An inaugural celebration would be a festive occasion, one in which we could welcome visitors from other colleges and universities to a firsthand exposure to the spirit of Notre Dame. It would also be a moment for the board of trustees and the university’s fellows to reaffirm their confidence in the distinctive Catholic identity and mission of the university.

My extended family turned out en masse, and seeing such a wide assortment of friends from all the different stages of my life was a great joy. It was as if I could relive my whole life from boyhood on, simply by looking around at the smiling faces of those who had gathered. Pride of place belonged of course to my mother, who was clearly thrilled to be part of the festivities and enjoyed every minute in the limelight. My two sisters, Joanne and Mary, their husbands, Bob and John, and their four children came next. Then there was a great array of uncles, aunts, cousins, their spouses and children, and family members farther removed geographically but equally welcome. Sister Elizabeth Malloy, I.H.M., my father’s sister and the only other member of a religious community in our family, was another guest who particularly relished being there. Beyond the family, I was joined by friends from grade school, high school, and college, by some of my former students from Notre Dame and Sorin Hall, and by an array of Holy Cross priests and brothers.

My family had never had such an opportunity before. I was part of the first generation to attend college and to rise into a position of relative power and influence. To be there for my inauguration was, at least indirectly, a time to be proud of our roots as a family and also proud of the opportunities that America presented for upward mobility. One special touch was to remember our family members who had died, especially my father, who, I was confident, was present with us in spirit.

The first event on the day of the inauguration was the celebration of mass in the Joyce Athletic and Convocation Center. I was the main celebrant, with my ordination classmate and good friend, the president of the University of Portland, Father Tom Oddo, C.S.C., serving as homilist. Tom invoked the image of Mary, the mother of Jesus, as she responded generously to God’s special call. At the end, he turned to me and said, May your leadership, Monk, and your ministry bear great fruit as you help the Notre Dame community to continue its faithful service to Church and society.

After mass we continued the celebration with a luncheon in the concourse of the Joyce ACC. The main talk was given by Don Keough, chair of the board of trustees. Because it was a sunny, warm day, we were able to begin the academic procession from the Hesburgh Library mall. There were 132 representatives of American colleges and universities present, including fifty-eight presidents. There were also twenty-one delegates representing learned and professional societies. Members of Notre Dame’s board of trustees were also present in large number.

To begin the formal investiture, Ted Hesburgh briefly explained the symbolic importance of the Presidential Medal (a sign of the office). Then he took the medal from Associate Provost Isabel Charles and gave it to Don, who placed the chain around my neck. I was officially the president. Ted went on to describe the significance of the newly created University Mace (to be carried at the head of the academic procession). Don took the mace from Tom Blantz, C.S.C., the faculty marshall, and gave it to me, at which point I held it up and commented on its weight, to the amusement of the crowd.

My inaugural address was an important moment in many ways. It provided an opportunity for me to cover thematically some of my main goals and priorities as I began my term of service. It also put me in the presence of the multiple constituencies of the university in an upbeat and festive setting. In addition, it allowed me to welcome to the campus many distinguished visitors from higher education and to assure them that we were a serious university with high aspirations, but also one that intended to be faithful to its mission as a Catholic institution. The speech was a concrete reminder that, as president, one of my main roles would be to articulate—to both internal and external audiences—what my dreams were and what style of administration I wanted to put into place.

I ended my address with these words: I believe that Notre Dame has a providential mission to play as a Catholic university. I am deeply honored to be its president. In God’s good time, under the patronage of Our Lady, Notre Dame, may our collective efforts bear fruit. Watching a videotape of it many years later, I felt that I set the right tone and conveyed my personality reasonably well.

One factor that distinguished this address from my later presentations was that I read it from the lectern. As time went on, I almost never used a text or written notes or even an outline for my talks or homilies. I felt more comfortable preparing the talk in my head beforehand and then trusting my facility with words and my internal sense of structure to allow me to speak with a more conversational and personal style of delivery. One disadvantage of this method is that now I don’t have any extant copies of speeches or homilies that I gave through the years.

After the platform party recessed to a reception on the Hesburgh Library mall, the undergraduate student body enjoyed a massive picnic on the South Quad. I eventually made it over to the picnic with Bill Beauchamp, my new executive vice president, and we received several gifts from the student body. The celebration ended with the singing of the Alma Mater, led by the Glee Club, and a spectacular fireworks display.

The Indiana Provincial Council (August 21–22, 1987)

One group that I participated in on a regular basis was the Provincial Council of the Indiana Province of the Congregation of Holy Cross (which is a smaller body than the Provincial Assembly I mentioned earlier). Dick Warner, C.S.C., was serving in his last year as provincial, so I agreed to remain on the council while he finished his term. The council met about once a month and represented a big investment of time, yet I enjoyed keeping up on events in the province. It also provided me the opportunity to keep Notre Dame’s personnel needs in the forefront of the awareness of the province’s leadership group. (It’s important to remember that, for most of Notre Dame’s history, it was the Provincial Council that exercised the top decision-making authority at the university.)

Football Weekends

At Notre Dame we always take full advantage of the enthusiasm and attractiveness of home football weekends to host meetings of the university’s various advisory councils (which grew in number and size through the years), the trustees, and defined groups of university benefactors (such as the Sorin Society and the Badin Guild). In addition to addressing each group, I hosted them for Friday night dinners and the Saturday pregame buffet. During the game, a chosen group would also join me or other major administrators up in the press box or down in the stands at the fifty yard line. (After the stadium was expanded, all of this hosting would take place on the fifth level of the press box.)

The Campbell Property

No consideration of life at Notre Dame can proceed very far without some discussion of physical growth or new/expanded facilities. In the fall of 1987, Carl Ebey and Jim Lyphout, associate vice president of business affairs, began negotiations for the possible purchase of the large Campbell property on Douglas Road, just northeast of campus. In particular, the interest at that time was in the house, which could be used by the administration for various types of meetings and to host small groups of guests (for example, on home football weekends). Eventually, we chose to purchase the property and renovate the house, and it served for many years as a convenient, peaceful place for meetings and hospitality. When the new Warren Golf Course was constructed on the rest of the former Campbell property, the house was torn down and replaced by Cedar House.

The Murder of Bill Beauchamp’s Parents

On September 8, 1987, one hundred days after Bill Beauchamp and I began our new responsibilities, we heard the tragic news that Bill’s parents had been found murdered in their home in Ferndale, Michigan. Bill was away from campus at the time, so all we could do in the Main Building was to prepare to support him and his sister, Beverly, and her husband, Al, and their two children (the youngest was on campus, residing in Alumni Hall) as compassionately as we could. As the story began to unfold, it seemed that someone had broken into their home in the middle of the night and strangled them both.

The context of the wake service was especially unusual because the killer (or killers) had not been captured, and the police were videotaping everyone who attended, under the presumption that killers sometimes like to appear at such functions. Inside we found the grieving family next to the two closed coffins. The atmosphere was somber and particularly sad. None of us knew what to say. We knew, however, that our presence was important.

The funeral was noteworthy in that Bill himself celebrated and preached—a tough task under any circumstance. The rest of us fellow priests concelebrated, including the parish priests and some other C.S.C.s who had driven up from South Bend. The two coffins, draped in white, stood in the middle of the main aisle during the course of the funeral rite. (The police videotaped everyone at the funeral as well.)

From the church we drove in procession to the cemetery for the committal ceremony. The beauty of the day belied the feelings of all of us present. I knew that Bill would need time and emotional space to come to grips with this tragedy, but, as I suspected, he did it in his own way by plunging back into his work.

It eventually turned out that a carnival worker who had been laid off after the nearby state fair closed for the season was responsible for the murders. The man was also a drug user, and it appeared that the drive for money to buy drugs motivated the break-in. The Beauchamp residence was apparently chosen at random. The police were able to catch the killer by squeezing the local drug dealers and because of the stupidity of the killer, who had stolen the Beauchamps’ car and had also begun to cash checks he took from the house.

After the arrest and while the trial was underway, Bill followed everything at a distance, receiving regular reports from his brother-in-law, Al. At a crucial point, Bill indicated to the judge and jury that the family did not want capital punishment to be considered. Instead, as it turned out, the man was sentenced to life imprisonment. Having taught about emotional ethical issues like capital punishment for most of my life as a professor, I consider the example that Bill and his sister provided to be a courageous and profound one indeed.

Pope John Paul II’s Visit to New Orleans

On September 11, I joined other Catholic higher-education leaders in New Orleans for the visit to the United