Middlebury Magazine

Old Chapel

A Collective Will

Middlebury launches a bold plan in response to a pressing challenge.

By Laurie L Patton
Illustration by Montse BernalMay 14, 2019

Institutions of higher education are “in the crosshairs and at the crossroads” of polarized public debates.

That’s the phrase that Robert Orr, dean of the University of Maryland School of Public Policy, used in an article I read recently—and it struck a chord with me.

The stories in the crosshairs are easy to relate: student debt, rising tuition, and freedom of expression, to name a few. But the stories in the crosshairs are harder to predict and harder to address. What kinds of changes are possible? Do we at Middlebury—and in higher education in general—have the collective will to make them?

We know of one crossroads that is here: climate change and the opportunity we have to turn the corner in addressing the challenges before us. It’s not only because so many reputable scientific organizations have issued reports that demonstrate the seriousness and economic impact of current climate change trends. It’s also because, as a college, we have two major advantages. First, we have a greater degree of consensus around climate change issues than exists in the wider public. Second, we possess governance structures that can achieve manageable, locally defined environmental goals.

We put those two advantages into practice in January when we launched Energy2028, Middlebury’s new bold energy plan for the next 10 years. It promises we will reach 100 percent renewable energy sources on our core campus, significantly lessen our energy consumption, reduce and eventually eliminate our investment in fossil fuels while protecting our endowment, and mount a large educational initiative addressing climate change.

Here’s how we did it.

First, we used basic consensus to stay at the table, no matter how long it took. Middlebury has the oldest environmental studies program in the nation, and a long-standing “green” ethos. But we were uncertain about our next steps—and that uncertainty created an impasse. While most leaders would have prioritized a “winnable battle” and moved on (and I was tempted), I noticed that our stakeholders—the environmental council of students and faculty members, the student environmental group, and the trustees—kept meeting through the uncertainty.

Why do they keep meeting, I wondered, if they never come to consensus? Because they shared an unspoken bond of pride in our environmental education, and that pride kept them coming together.

Next, we used basic consensus to imagine change. Our students asked us one thing: How were we going to educate them, as Middlebury’s mission statement promises, “to address the world’s most challenging problems”? That simple question focused our work on the educational aspects of these issues, rather than the political ones.

United by our common educational mission, we started to imagine things together. What about an internal carbon tax related to a commitment to reducing energy consumption? What about a gradual divestment model related to our commitment to 100 percent renewables? What about faculty leading an educational program that allowed us to think through the advantages as well as the trade-offs in all of these decisions?

Then we used governance structures to build on local collaborations and successes. Academic governance at Middlebury—and at most colleges and universities—can be time-consuming and unwieldy, but as momentum began to gather in our conversations, small and large forms of governance began to coalesce into something like organizational power.

There was a new openness in conversations with the administration and the trustees. Buildings and grounds personnel identified the need for new infrastructure to measure energy consumption. The students held a referendum. The faculty began to imagine new curricula. The trustees talked to our endowment manager about new tracking technologies.

Finally, we used Middlebury’s governance structures to create interdependent leadership. When we designed the final plan, we focused on interdependence. No single part of the plan was going to work without the other, and no part of the plan could be approved without the other. This insistence on interdependence reduced the potential for direct competition while preserving the collaborative competition that will increase our common purpose.

On the day we announced Energy2028, Chicago was experiencing record low temperatures while Melbourne, Australia, was experiencing record highs. It is a deep 21st-century irony that the experience of weather extremes has become increasingly “normal.”

Higher education has enough local wisdom and local practices to fight the new normal. We have traditions of scientific and humanistic inquiry that can create a baseline for climate change conversations.

In this most crucial of environmental ages, educational institutions have the distinct capacity to persevere in pursuing local change. Middlebury is leading the way—and I invite other campuses to follow our lead.

Good for Middlebury, Good for the World

The work of inclusivity doesn't always move in a straight line.

By Laurie L. Patton
Illustration by Montse BernalFebruary 14, 2019

In this issue, we read a unique story about a chapter in Middlebury’s history—the admission of women and the subsequent life of women students at the College. In 1880, President Cyrus Hamlin arrived at Middlebury to build enrollments, which had dwindled to dangerously low levels. He turned to women, who were eager to join Middlebury to advance their educations.

There was ambiguity in the conversation of Middlebury leaders as to what exactly was being granted—full enrollment? Only certain rights and privileges?

Then May Belle Chellis graduated at the top of her class. The matter seemed settled.

The work of inclusivity doesn’t always move in a straight line, however, and the entry of women into the College did not mean that all was well. In the early 1900s, Middlebury was almost denied Carnegie funding for being “in danger” of becoming a college for women. One president cited the presence of women as the reason for the smaller growth in the endowment compared to some New England all-male schools.

Should the College then build a separate campus for women? Leaders pondered that question through the 1910s, ’20s, and ’30s. The debate ended with a whimper; because of the Second World War, a separate college campus could not be funded, and the issue was not raised again. Middlebury became fully coeducational almost without thinking about it.

This Middlebury chapter should be more well known, because it teaches us something about the nature of institutional change. In my own area of research in India, I see similar themes. I have conducted over 90 life histories of women who have taken up the teaching of Sanskrit—a sacred language in India that had been prohibited to women in ritual situations for several millennia. Yet because such a large number of men have entered the global workforce in science, technology, and engineering in recent decades, the study of Sanskrit has become open to women, particularly in urban universities. This is a sea change in the Indian educational landscape.

This change has occurred for two reasons that, combined, make a powerful force indeed: a perceived need and an openness to change.

Let’s begin with perceived need. In Maharashtra, one of the Indian states where I do my research, the saying goes, “If it’s good for business, it’s good for Maharashtra.” It’s meant partly humorously, but there’s a wisdom there. In American education, the business of the open exchange of ideas depends upon more and more people entering the circle of exchange. There is now a solid body of evidence showing that the more diverse a society is, the more excellent it becomes—in its cultural and intellectual life, in its social life, and in its economy. As America’s demographic changes, we know that our democracy will thrive as more people are included and welcomed as contributing citizens. (That is true for Middlebury’s demographic, too.)

Then let’s consider openness to change. Two of the states where women began to teach Sanskrit openly in the early years after Indian independence were Bengal and Maharashtra, states that had the longest and richest histories of women’s reform movements. That’s also instructive for us today. Sometimes that openness takes decades to build. But as educators, the more we can call on our local and national histories of reform and examples of inclusiveness, flawed as they might have been, the more we can gain the energy and insight into an inclusive educational practice today.

We also need to remember and document the patterns of exclusion; that will keep us honest and aware of the pitfalls of how we are thinking today.

The history of women’s inclusion at Middlebury is one of painful as well as exciting moments. But in the end, women’s contributions were simply good for Middlebury. And for a variety of reasons, Middlebury was open to change. We just got on with the business of becoming more inclusive because it was the right thing for Middlebury and the right thing to do.

That’s a lesson I’m reminded of every day.

An Unexpected Path

In preparing our students broadly, we prepare them for the twists and turns that define most every life.

By Laurie L. Patton
Illustration by Montse BernalNovember 1, 2018

There is no script.

That may be exactly how one Middlebury student found himself writing one.

“My majoring in film at Middlebury wasn’t what my parents expected,” he told me. “When I came to Middlebury, I planned to major in computer science. It’s what I thought I wanted. It’s what I told them I was interested in. But then I took a course on film history because it seemed interesting. I never looked back. Here I am, a senior, a film and media studies major. I’ve found my calling.”

I believe he’s right. I’ve seen his work—it’s beautiful and inspired—and I’ve seen his passion for his field of study. I see how happy and rewarded he is as he satisfies the requirements of his major—all because he chose to take a chance and explore a subject away from his planned focus.

This student’s story is one of dozens I’ve heard from current students. I’ve heard often about how before Middlebury, they believed their lives were on certain paths—a major, a career, a destination—and how a deviation from those paths took them into lives more surprising and more rewarding than they’d expected.

It’s also a story I hear again and again from the Middlebury alumni I meet, and the lives I read about in these pages and so many others. Many of these lives bear little resemblance to the plans that existed at the start of college, or its end. A lawyer becomes an artist. An artist becomes a lawyer. An academic becomes an administrator. An apolitical person becomes an activist. A guidance counselor becomes a financial planner. A teacher becomes a novelist. A musician takes a chance to go live abroad, and a new career as a translator emerges.

What allows for this kind of flexibility, resilience, openness to opportunity? In large part, I believe, it is the kind of liberal arts education offered at Middlebury. As our understanding of the world expands, that education expands, too. With participation from our students, as well as our faculty, we continue to examine and update our liberal arts curriculum to ensure that it is best preparing our students for the world that they’re living in. This includes broadening the curriculum to encourage and prompt students to diversify their interests and deepen their understanding of the world.

In preparing our students broadly, we prepare them for the unexpected paths, the twists and turns (both sharp and gentle) that define most every life. Our response to those unexpected opportunities depends on what we know about ourselves and the world around us. A Middlebury education does not make the path easy—it’s preparation for the tough path ahead.

Sometimes it’s a matter of choice. You choose a major after finding a course, or a professor, that delights you, and you find you keep going back for more. You choose to study abroad in another language, not your first, and in an unexpected region—Yaoundé, Cameroon, rather than Poitiers, France; or Montevideo, Uruguay, rather than Madrid, Spain.

Other times, it’s a lack of choice—a class you have to take because the course you want is closed. The room, or roommate, you have to choose because your plans fell apart. The job you accept after you’re turned down for the one you want.

Often, it’s about the work you think and feel you are ready for, rather than the position or title or even identity that you might be taking on. When people ask me, “How did a scholar of early Indian history and culture become an educational leader?” I respond that, at every moment of decision in my career, I asked myself what kind of work I could do that would be the most service to the world. Then I knew I was authentically responding to the opportunities the world was offering, rather than simply fulfilling a role or holding a title.

I’ve turned down leadership roles because, even though the role might have been attractive, I knew someone else would be better for the job, and I wouldn’t be authentically responding to an opportunity for service. Viewed in that light, the script and the journey both unfold in unexpected ways.

I make it a point to emphasize to all students—new and returning—how important it is to be willing to go down the unexpected path when opportunities arise—even if it leads to what one might perceive as failure.

It’s important—necessary—to move toward the uncertainty, rather than demand what we expected, to follow the script that we believe was written for us—even if, in truth, that’s not how the script goes.

Because there is no script.

What Makes a Hero?

Discovering lives of courage and meaning at Reunion Weekend

By Laurie L. Patton
August 3, 2018

A hero, to me, is someone who faces tough challenges with both courage and joy, and refuses to look away. Over Reunion Weekend earlier this summer, I met my newest hero.

This new hero is Corey Reich, and he graduated in 2008. There were times that Corey wasn’t so sure that he would be back to Middlebury to celebrate his 10th Reunion with his friends. That’s because during his junior year in college, he was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS)—the progressive neurodegenerative disease also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.

ALS has a life expectancy after diagnosis of two to five years, and Corey’s doctors advised him against returning to school. But with true Middlebury spirit, Corey came back, finished his senior year, and graduated with his class. He then returned to his hometown of Piedmont, California, and became a passionate fundraiser for ALS research and a spokesperson for the Young Faces of ALS.

Corey and his family have so far raised both awareness and more than $8 million for the ALS Therapy Development Institute. He’s channeled his passion for baseball and beer by raising money through related events, and he’s spearheaded the Young Faces of ALS National Corntoss Challenge. Corey has also been the assistant coach of the boys’ and girls’ tennis teams at Piedmont, his former high school, for the past 10 years.

I got to spend some time with Corey at Reunion when we honored him with an Alumni Achievement Award, and I quickly understood the depths of courage and joy that he possesses. The thunderous applause by which his classmates, family, and friends celebrated this honor indicated that Corey is not my hero alone.

My time with Corey was one of many extraordinary moments at Reunion over that gorgeous early June weekend. It was the kind of blue-sky, green-grass, fresh-breezes weekend that makes Vermont in the summer so utterly pleasurable, and being part of the Middlebury community all the more rewarding. On Saturday evening, in the white tents behind the Mahaney Center for the Arts filled with returning alumni, I met more than 75 years’ worth of courageous, joyful Middlebury graduates. To the Class of 2013: I think that my two Great Pyrenees, Padma and Suka, were ready to stay with you the rest of the night.

Before the class receptions, I took a walk down the aisle of Mead Chapel with my two new friends, Dumont Rush and Stu Walker, both Class of 1943 and back on campus for their 75th Reunion. Ninety-six-year-old Dumont is a Navy veteran who graduated from both MIT and Middlebury and had an extraordinary career as a nuclear scientist. Now, with his wife Peggy, he’s an active member of the greater Middlebury community. Stu Walker, 95, is also a veteran; a former professor of pediatrics and chief of pediatrics at Mercy Hospital in Baltimore; an Olympic yachtsman who competed in the 1968 games; and a competitive sailor who only retired from the sport two years ago (yes, you read that right). When I asked him when his last sail was, he told me it was only last month. He came with his wife Patricia, whom he married just five years ago.

As I walked arm-in-arm with Stu and Dumont, I thought about the nearly 100 years of life fully lived each of these remarkable men represented. Both worked courageously to improve the lives of others in their careers and have joyfully pursued their passions for decades. I can’t think of two better examples of Middlebury energy and creativity.

Such lives are an essential part of what it means to be Middlebury. Reunion comes just two weeks after Commencement, where we celebrated the achievements of the Class of 2018, including six Fulbright Scholarship recipients, three Watson Fellows, and a Charles B. Rangel International Affairs Fellow.

Toni Cross ’18, the Rangel Fellow, has had a passion for languages since she was a child and currently speaks Modern Standard Arabic, Moroccan Arabic, French, Russian, and Spanish. This fellowship will prepare her for a career in the Foreign Service—her intended path since she was 11 years old.

Toni and her 2018 classmates joined the ranks of Middlebury alumni on May 27. I did two weeks later. Dan Elish and Maria Padian closed their class history by officially adopting me into the Middlebury Class of 1983—a great surprise and honor!

I encourage you to find a hero to honor, a role model or two to emulate, and an opportunity to invite a new friend into your circle this summer. Carry forward this spirit of Reunion, where Middlebury’s values of rigor, resilience, openness, connectedness, and caring were on full display.

Be Middlebury.

 

Our Moral Directive

A Middlebury education should be accessible to all, regardless of financial means.

By Laurie L. Patton
Illustrations by Montse BernalMay 4, 2018

My father is a retired cardiovascular thoracic surgeon. My childhood memories are punctuated with instances of him being called away from home for emergency surgeries. On those days, and many others over his long career, he never questioned whether the patients whose lives he was trying to save were able to pay for his services. He had taken the oath to heal to the best of his ability all those who presented themselves—and he spent his career doing so. 

My father is long retired, and I chose to pursue academia, not medicine. But I believe that the duties of those in healing and medicine are much the same: to serve those who present themselves—regardless of their ability to pay.

In higher education, we don’t—yet—have our own official version of the Hippocratic oath. But at Middlebury, we do have a mission that serves as our moral directive. In part, our mission declares that “through a commitment to immersive learning, we prepare students to lead engaged, consequential, and creative lives, contribute to their communities, and address the world’s most challenging problems.” 

These students—our students—are increasingly coming to us requiring financial aid to make the full Middlebury experience accessible. In fact, this year 42 percent of our students received some kind of financial assistance to attend. This percentage is similar to, although on the low end, of what our peer colleges provide.

As a need-blind institution, Middlebury admits the most qualified students among our applicants. We also meet every enrolled student’s full demonstrated financial need—the cost of attending less the family’s estimated financial contribution. We are committed to each of these policies and to maintaining and strengthening our financial sustainability. 

But rising inequality means that Middlebury needs to increase its ability to provide financially for our students. 

As we educate young people across our schools to address the world’s most challenging problems, we must acknowledge that inequality is one of those problems. In the United States, income disparity is increasing. If current trends continue, soon top students will come mostly from places and families for whom a Middlebury education is beyond reach. But we must still continue to be able to reach them—and keep them. We must increase our efforts to make Middlebury a place of welcome, supporting all students so that they know that they belong. 

That goes beyond support for the cost of attendance, and into support for the cost of experience. Being a Middlebury student means receiving an extraordinary, rewarding, and affirming education in and out of the classroom, with equal opportunities to participate in clubs and sports, internships and experience abroad, spiritual and religious life, and cultural and artistic expression. In doing so, we are changing and broadening the Middlebury experience to be more appealing to, and reflective and inclusive of, today’s and tomorrow’s student body.

Being a need-blind institution can help increase educational access for top students. But we are competing with our peer institutions to enroll these same students, and we are falling behind in our ability to do so. Currently, we rank 11th out of 16 in relation to our peers in the percentage of undergraduate students to whom we give financial aid. 

It’s true that Middlebury is a college in demand. We received a record number of applications again this year. We could certainly fill each new incoming class with bright and motivated students whose families can afford to pay, and allow our peer colleges to enroll exceptional students with more limited financial means. 

That is not an option, of course. We not only are a private institution of higher education, but we also represent a public good, something that is recognized explicitly by our not-for-profit status. A public good should be accessible to all, regardless of financial means. The need to increase our ability to provide financial aid is not exclusive to Middlebury, of course. However, how we respond to this need can be. We can draw on our history: from our beginnings, Middlebury has been about access—and the need to fund it. Middlebury was founded by teachers and preachers who were focused on making education available to those who were not afforded the federal funds given to UVM to found that university in the late 18th century. 

Then, as now, Middlebury relied upon those who believed in the importance of education access to fund and maintain our mission. We are fortunate to have a high level of alumni and parent engagement, generous support from many sources, and to be guided by trustees and overseers whose foundational priorities are the twin goals of financial sustainability and financial aid. 

Expect to hear more from me about what I believe is Middlebury’s duty to our current and future students and their families. As always, I welcome your thoughts.

Our Future, Envisioned

With the adoption of a new strategic framework, Middlebury plans for the future

By Laurie L. Patton
Illustration by Montse BernalJanuary 26, 2018

At a crossroads.

That was where I saw Middlebury when I arrived as its new president in 2015. More precisely, I saw it at an exciting crossroads, with Middlebury as a newly complex institution, with the liberal arts college as our oldest and largest unit, and with the Language Schools, Schools Abroad, Bread Loaf (both the School of English and the Writers’ Conferences), and the Middlebury Institute of International Studies at Monterey all playing increasingly important roles. We were at a point, I decided, where we needed to take a new look at ourselves and learn (and relearn, in some cases) who and what Middlebury is at present—and what it might become.

We called that learning process Envisioning Middlebury, and through that process we set out to discern what our vision should be for the Middlebury of today, and tomorrow. Envisioning Middlebury began in early 2016, expertly led by Provost Susan Baldridge and supported by our Steering and Advisory Committees. We took a ground-up approach, gathering as much data as we could about Middlebury. We created dozens of ad hoc groups and conducted surveys and focused conversations, all of which zeroed in on three important questions about Middlebury: Who are we and what are our deepest values? What is the future? And where do we want to go?

Those explorations were fruitful, and they gave us great insights and rich material that grew into the strategic framework that we introduced in the fall and that the trustees approved on October 21. It is explored in much detail here.

It’s important for me to emphasize that what we’ve created is not, strictly speaking, a strategic plan, but rather a strategic framework—an outline, with lots of room to build, define, and refine. The framework represents a powerful vision for the future, a guide rather than a dictate. It is not a checklist of things to do over the next decade—it is a challenge to us to act strategically every day.

Envisioning Middlebury delivers a new way to define Middlebury: a mission statement, a vision statement, four areas of distinction, six strategic directions, and four principles.

Our mission statement is the first that encompasses the entirety of the Middlebury enterprise: “Through a commitment to immersive learning, we prepare students to lead engaged, consequential, and creative lives, contribute to their communities, and address the world’s most challenging problems.”

Our vision statement, a first for Middlebury, calls us to be aspirational and clear about the world that we are trying to create: “A world with a robust and inclusive public sphere where ethical citizens work across intellectual, geographical, and cultural borders.”

Our four areas of distinction are our areas of strength, which we don’t just celebrate, but also recommit to and ask how to better leverage. For example, we distinguish ourselves in our global network of educational programs and opportunities. But if we excel in intercultural communication as we travel to different countries, how can we communicate even better across the cultures of our own academic units?

Our six strategic directions are a guiding compass that points us toward where we need to focus our attention. One of these directions is a globally networked curriculum, so that our students can take advantage of all we have to offer, in all of the locations where they can be educated.

Rather than building new campuses all over the globe, we intend to be more effective leaders by building and maintaining the exciting global partnerships that we’ve already begun (some of which we’ve maintained for decades).

As we move forward, we must always keep in mind that we have created this strategic framework not just to add to Middlebury’s scope but to think differently about Middlebury’s scope. We will steward our resources wisely, with the intention that some of the major strategic initiatives that are built around this framework may come without a financial cost, but will instead involve reorganization and rethinking.

In 2015, I considered Middlebury to be at a crossroads. At the beginning of 2018, I ask this: if we succeed in implementing the ideas that will come from defining our mission, vision, areas of distinction, directions, and principles, then where will Middlebury be in 2028?

Here is what I envision: that Middlebury will have leveraged its strengths differently. That we will offer a curriculum that takes students around the globe and gives them a better sense of place, and commitment to place, with each educational endeavor. That we are shaping leaders who know what it means to lead because they have embraced the experiential component of learning that will be part of all their classroom environments. And that Middlebury will be a place where students participate in public discourse with both intellectual rigor and generosity of spirit.

This vision comes from what all of us—faculty, staff, trustees, alumni, students—envisioned for Middlebury. I invite you to engage with us and to share your own visions with me at president@middlebury.edu.

Remembering David Mittelman ’76

Middlebury lost a good friend recently, though his memory will live on.

By Laurie L. Patton
Illustration by Montse BernalOctober 26, 2017

I like to talk about “Middlebury Moments”—those moments I’ve experienced in my time as president that best exemplify Middlebury’s values and character.

There are also “Middlebury People”—men and women who live what it means to be Middlebury, and who help us be even better at who we are.

Dave Mittelman ’76 was one of those Middlebury People, and his memorial service in Boston on September 28 was one of those Middlebury Moments. The room, set for 350, was packed, with several people standing outside listening. Speaker after speaker spoke to his extraordinary qualities—of curiosity, caring, and inspiring positivity even in the face of a difficult diagnosis.

Dave embodied so much of what makes Middlebury such a uniquely enduring and meaningful institution. He was an alumnus who delighted in sharing his story of how he got kicked off the soccer team rather than cut his long hair to conform to the coach’s early 1970s sartorial standards. He was a parent of three Middlebury graduates, Andrew ’08, Jamie ’10, and Melissa ’13. He was a passionate lifelong learner, a devoted husband to his wife, Michelle, and a dedicated and highly engaged trustee. He was curious, intelligent, ambitious, grounded, competitive, compassionate, mindful, and deliberate.

His deep curiosity and intellect meant that he was always hungry for more knowledge—about situations, problems to be solved, ideas to be considered, facts to be learned. One of the great scientists he admired, the astronomer Johannes Kepler, wrote, “The diversity of the phenomena of nature is so great, and the treasures hidden in the heavens so rich, precisely in order that the human mind shall never be lacking in fresh nourishment.” That idea that the human mind shall never be lacking in fresh nourishment is such a Dave Mittelman idea—and such a Middlebury idea too.

Dave’s mind was never lacking in fresh nourishment, and he made sure Middlebury was not either. An amateur astronomer, he brought his love of the study of the universe to Middlebury, and opened the heavens up to our students, faculty, and the greater Middlebury community. He endowed the P. Frank Winkler Professorship in Physics, honoring the professor emeritus who joined the faculty in 1969, and he helped fund significant upgrades to the College’s observatory, including renovating the telescope in 2015.

Galileo said, “All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered. The point is to discover them.” What Dave discovered was considerable, both in the stars and in his career. For 22 years, he was a brilliant partner, director, and senior vice president of Harvard Management Company, the firm that manages Harvard University’s endowment. Dave brought his considerable financial acuity to the Middlebury Board of Trustees, on which he served from 2008 to 2017. He also served on the board of the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute and was an advisor to the Federal Reserve Bank of Boston.

Like Galileo, Dave believed in discovering truths for the purpose of understanding them. Whether those truths were in finances, or in his observations of the heavens, or in how he lived his daily life, or his relationship to Middlebury, he committed himself to fully, and mindfully, cultivating understanding, and also wonder.

While Dave was not someone who used the word “god” very often, he had a deep sense of the sacred, and a profound sense of wonderment. I could sense that the sacred light of the stars was always teaching him, that it was just underneath the surface, and in the pauses we sometimes experienced when we talked together.

Losing a friend is never easy. Losing a friend like Dave, which we did on May 23 of this year, less than nine months after he was diagnosed with a brain tumor, has been profoundly difficult. Middlebury lost a great friend, and the Mittelman family lost the husband, father, and guiding star they shared with us.

Dave gave back to Middlebury in ways that allow us to give forward to students, present and future. He was a model of what it means to be a Middlebury Person, one of the innumerable and invaluable people who have helped bring us to where we are today.

To honor him, this past spring the College named the observatory, which hosts more than 1,000 visitors each year to open house stargazing and other events, for him. We will remember him, in large and small ways, especially when we ascend to the top of Bicentennial Hall, enter the Mittelman Observatory, and ask new questions of the stars.

Three Taps for the Cane

By Laurie L. Patton
July 20, 2017

This year is the 100th anniversary of the song “Gamaliel Painter’s Cane.” If you graduated from Middlebury in the last 100 years, you’ve sung it at least once. College songs are common. They’re often about the college’s location, its mission, its history, or its student body characteristics. And while Gamaliel Painter, as many of you may know, was one of the founders of Middlebury’s town and college, the song isn’t about him, really. It’s about his cane.

That’s a bit unusual. Why is a cane such a persistent symbol of Middlebury, worthy of a song (where rapping canes often provide a percussive accompaniment) that’s been sung at graduations and reunions for decades? The lyrics of the song give a bit of a history lesson.

The first verse presents the facts: “When Gamaliel Painter died, he was Middlebury’s pride, a sturdy pioneer without a stain; and he left his all by will to the college on the hill, and included in the codicil his cane.”

Gamaliel Painter was, indeed, a sturdy pioneer. He was born in Connecticut in 1742 and migrated to Vermont, where he became a highly influential member of society. He helped found both the town and the college of Middlebury; was a member of the Constitutional Convention, a county court judge, and an Addison County sheriff; and represented Middlebury in the state legislature. He deeded land to the town of Middlebury for a common and a courthouse, and he oversaw the construction of the Congregational Church and Painter Hall.

When he died he left the vast majority of his estate, including his cane, to the College.

Over time, that cane became a symbol of the College. We give replica canes to newly minted alumni—a tradition that’s come and gone over the years but has been current since 1995. The original cane is well traveled: it’s gone out to Monterey for the Middlebury Institute of International Studies Commencement, and it’s passed among new students at the first-year convocations in September and February. When I think about the number of hands that have touched Painter’s cane over the centuries, and particularly over the last two decades, I don’t think about the 217 years’ worth of germs (although it’s been pointed out to me). Rather, I think about the physical connection among so many Midd students with this piece of College history.

In later verses of “Gamaliel Painter’s Cane,” we’re told that while “his blessed bones are hid ’neath a marble pyramid” in the Middlebury cemetery next to campus, “he left to us his courage in his cane.”

I keep Painter’s original cane in a place of honor in my office where I often look at it, appreciating all it symbolizes—its history and its present relevance. I like to think that “his courage in his cane” that we sing about is the courage that Gamaliel Painter exhibited in moving from sophisticated New Haven, Connecticut, to the frontier land that was Vermont, creating connections between land and people, and generously providing for the future of Middlebury. It was also his courage to commit to an evolving community that could be challenging but that inspired enough pride of ownership that it was ultimately worthy of his estate.

Middlebury is continuing to evolve. I believe that the institution is now uniquely positioned to deliver an immersive education that will prepare all of our students to lead engaged, consequential, and creative lives and address the world’s most challenging problems in an environment that fosters work across intellectual, cultural, and geographic borders. Middlebury can and will be more flexible and more collaborative, and will be the leader in place-based experiential learning. We will deliver more opportunities for lifelong engagement with our alumni. And we must continue to be intentional in how we choose to pursue our vision and allocate our resources.

At this time of year, I hold Gamaliel Painter’s cane quite a bit—and when I hold it, I am connected to the thousands of hands that have held it before me, and that will hold it after me. With the gift of this cane in 1819 came a gift that provided stability to the College, and eventually led to a song, and a shared tradition. Equally as important came “his courage in his cane,” which will guide all of us as we move together into the future with Middlebury.

 

Laurie Patton can be reached at president@middlebury.edu.

A Robust Public Sphere

By Laurie L. Patton
March 24, 2017

In early April, I spoke to the Middlebury faculty about free speech and the public sphere. My remarks were prompted by the events of March 2, in which a scheduled talk by political scientist Charles Murray was disrupted by demonstrations. The events of that day and the ensuing debate about the value of public discourse made national news. And while I told the faculty that I would not have asked for a national platform to discuss in an urgent fashion the paramount importance of creating a robust public sphere at Middlebury, I am proud that we are having this discussion. I see it as a sign of our vitality, and I would like to share with you what I said to our faculty.

I believe that a true commitment to education must embrace an uncompromising commitment to free and open dialogue that expands understanding, challenges our assumptions, and ultimately creates a more inclusive public sphere.

Controversial speech, or speech by a controversial speaker, can be challenging in a time when the very idea of a public sphere seems fragile. Controversial speech is also more difficult in a time when issues that should be contested and addressed become exclusively owned by “the left” or “the right.” In our current state, deep educational commitments, such as exploring the history of oppression and freedom, may be difficult to share as common public goods. But they should be understood as such, and it is our responsibility to teach them and to discuss them with candor. That is the only way we can reach the truth.

There are many struggles playing themselves out on our college campuses: how does one acknowledge the discomfort that a true liberal education must entail, while at the same time recognizing and respecting the often difficult and unfair experiences of our students who have walked in the American margins? Acknowledging and honoring those margins as real spaces is essential. Honoring the study and articulation of those experiences is crucial to our well-being as a society. And in honoring those margins, we must pay attention to hurt, to offense, to accumulated injury. So, how do we relate these two fundamental values—the necessary discomfort of a liberal education, and an honoring of the difficult experiences of our students who have walked in the margins? And how do we do so in the context of free speech debates?

Geoffrey Stone, a University of Chicago Law School professor and First Amendment scholar, has cautioned that if we are permitted to silence distasteful views, we risk becoming silenced ourselves. And once censorship becomes acceptable, those most likely to be silenced are our citizens who find themselves in the minority—be they religious, racial, or political minorities.

With this in mind, I believe that if there ever was a time for Americans to take on arguments that offend us, it is now. If there ever was a time for us to challenge influential public views with better reason, better research, better logic, and better data, it is now. If there ever was a time when we needed to risk being offended, to argue back even while we are feeling afraid, to declare ourselves committed to arguing for a better society, it is now.

The questions that we encounter strike at the very heart of who we are as an institution, and we should take our time to learn, to debate, to understand, and to reflect.

In its tradition as an institution of excellence and of courageous engagement, Middlebury must find a way to connect the principles of free speech and the creation of a robust public sphere. I believe we all can agree that education is about exposing students to different ideas and giving them the skills and courage to choose between them. And I believe we all can agree that education should give students the skills and courage to make this a better world. These values are usually not in conflict. However, in our most painful moments, such as the one we experienced in early March, they were indeed conflicting.

In my view, the first of these commitments is a necessary precondition of the second. Education must be free enough to expose students to a wide range of conflicting and even disturbing ideas, for only then will we be able to give our students the wisdom, the resilience, and the courage to make this a better world.

I will work tirelessly for both inclusivity and freedom of speech. There are no more important projects than these. But this is possible only if academic freedom and freedom of speech are defended on all sides. It is only through this principle that we will enable our students to discover truth and achieve the work of making society more just, and it is only in this way that we will in the long run ensure a public sphere that is more inclusive, more vibrant, and more engaging. That is, after all, what we are most fundamentally about.