The Boston Globe Magazine features a story by journalist Jon Marcus ’82 about his uncle, Arthur Marcus, who from the 1950s to the 1970s was one of the best at his job: providing timely sports results, especially results from Suffolk Downs, to various illegal gambling operations in the Boston area, all the while eluding authorities determined to catch him in the act.

Bookies and other gamblers used to depend on skilled “line men,” like Uncle Arthur, for timely sports results, including race results from Suffolk Downs in East Boston, shown here in the 1930s. Photograph courtesy of the Boston Public Library, Leslie Jones Collection.

“Uncle Arthur ‘dry-cleaned’ himself every day,” . “He moved his operations around the city, right under the noses of the people watching him…. He took bets on water soluble paper that could be dissolved instantly. He led buzz-cut Joe Fridays the right way down one-way streets in his midnight-blue 1967 Lincoln Continental, then spun around to the wrong way, knowing that the G-men wouldn’t follow.”

Lindholm, who was recalled as a dean who could see students’ potential even before they could themselves, died on Feb. 27 at the age of 98; his . Readers can view the program for the memorial service here.

Four videos:

Karl Lindholm remembers his father, Milt Lindholm ’35

Karl Lindholm is Milt Lindholm’s son. He is assistant professor of American studies and dean of Cook Commons at Middlebury College.

Edmund Wilson ’62 remembers Milt Lindholm ’35

Ed Wilson ’62 served as Lindholm’s assistant in the 1960s. He is the associate dean emeritus of the Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern University, and a 乐播传媒 Trustee.

William Hiss ’66 remembers Milt Lindholm ’35

Bill Hiss ’66 is the executive director for international advancement and a lecturer in Asian studies at 乐播传媒. He led the 乐播传媒 admissions office for 22 years.

Peter Gomes ’65 remembers Milt Lindholm ’35

Peter Gomes 鈥�65 is Plummer Professor of Christian Morals and Pusey Minister in The Memorial Church, Harvard University.

Bob Hatch, who became director of athletics in 1974, speaks with Bryant Gumbel 鈥�70, then an LA-based NBC sports reporter, for a 1977 乐播传媒 Magazine story on Bobcat athletics. Talking about the need for excellent facilities, Hatch said, 鈥淟ooking down the road, I think people are going to be as fussy picking a college as they are picking a new suit or automobile. They are going to shop 鈥�

At a 2005 football game at Garcelon Field, Bob Hatch (right) enjoys the company of, from left, Dean Emeritus of Admissions Milt Lindholm 鈥�35, Brian Flynn 鈥�57, Paul Planchon 鈥�66 and Chick Leahey 鈥�52, former longtime baseball coach.

Bob Hatch and Jim Murphy 鈥�69, who played quarterback, show off Murphy鈥檚 football jersey, retired on Nov. 20, 1968. Murphy is the current women鈥檚 soccer and basketball coach. Photo courtesy 乐播传媒 College Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library.

Bob Hatch coaches the Bobcat football team, circa 1967. Hatch served as head football coach from 1952 to 1972 before becoming athletics director.

Bob Hatch in 1977.

Professor Emeritus of Physical Education Robert W. Hatch, an icon of 乐播传媒 athletics whose contributions聽 encompassed innovation and opportunity, died Feb. 13, 2010. He was 85.

• View reporter Dan Hartill’s story about Hatch in the
• View 乐播传媒 story about Hatch and the 1956 Maine State Series football champions
• View published after his retirement in 1991
• View 乐播传媒 tribute to Hatch on his induction to the Scholar-Athlete Society in 2005
• Visiting hours: Feb. 19, 4-8 p.m., Fortin Funeral Home, Auburn; memorial service: Fortin Funeral Home,聽 Feb. 20, 11 a.m., with a reception in New Commons afterward.
• Friends are sharing their memories

Appointed instructor in physical education and freshman football coach in 1949, Hatch’s head coaching assignments included varsity baseball (1951-53) and football (1952-72) as well as golf. He became assistant director of athletics in 1959 and succeeded Lloyd Lux as director in 1974, serving until 1991.

Considered an innovator as a coach, Hatch once deployed an unusual spread formation in football versus the much larger University of Maine team in 1961, stunning the undefeated Black Bears with a 15-15 tie.

In 1955, he wrote a suggesting that traditional RBI statistics could be misleading and urging greater use of on-base percentage, twin notions that are central to the modern “sabermetric” approach to evaluating baseball talent developed by Bill James and others in the 1980s.

“There was no bravado. He thought of it as just the right thing to do.”

As director of athletics, he oversaw the creation of a women’s varsity athletic program in the 1970s. “At a time when few schools were doing anything, he created opportunities for women athletes,” sad his immediate 乐播传媒 successor, Suzanne Coffey, to the Sun Journal. “There was no bravado. He thought of it as just the right thing to do.” Coffey is now AD at Amherst.

Kevin McHugh, Coffey’s successor as director of athletics at 乐播传媒, says that Hatch’s “right thing” ethos endures at 乐播传媒 today. “The current 乐播传媒 athletics program reflects Bob’s idea of quality: good people who care about the institution and its student-athletes. Aside from wins and losses, there’s a social conscience and education-centered philosophy here. To me, that came down from Bob.”

In four decades at 乐播传媒, Director of Athletics Robert Hatch, who retired in June, has seen many changes. But he considers the gains made by women to be the most gratifying. When he came to 乐播传媒 in 1949, Chase Hall was considered an all-male building and female students had to eat in Rand. Women could not use Alumni Gymnasium, and their athletic facilities were separate and frequently inferior to those for men.

Since then, restrictive rules and regulations have been lifted, and the athletic programs for men and women have been fully integrated. 鈥淭he women鈥檚 progress has been astounding,鈥� Hatch said. 鈥淚t was very smooth, and I think it was handled with even-handedness.鈥�

In 1949, men鈥檚 sports and women鈥檚 sports 鈥� the programs, faculty and staff 鈥� were entirely separate. So separate were the sexes that staff from one athletic department often did not know many of the staff from the other, he said.

鈥淭here were eight male sports and about seven or eight women sports, totally separated,鈥� Hatch said, 鈥渁nd now there are 27 sports and they are totally integrated.鈥�

The separation came to an end when, in 1974, President Thomas Hedley Reynolds, under the impetus of Title IX, merged the women鈥檚 and men鈥檚 athletics programs into one department.

鈥淭here were eight male sports and about seven or eight women sports, totally separated,鈥� Hatch said, 鈥渁nd now there are 27 sports and they are totally integrated.鈥�

Hatch has seen many other changes during his years at 乐播传媒 as the College has grown. He has watched as new buildings and staff have been added, as well as new departments. But he stresses that although there have been many physical changes, the College鈥檚 philosophy has not changed. 乐播传媒, he said, has always been ahead of its time in many areas.

鈥淣o fraternities 鈥� that was unique back in those days, 鈥�49 and the early 鈥�50s.鈥� He added that only now are many colleges grabbing hold of this idea as they see the problems caused by fraternities on campuses. 鈥淔inally most of them are catching on that that鈥檚 the route to go.鈥�

After the women鈥檚 progress, the biggest achievement Hatch has had a part of at 乐播传媒 has been the construction of Merrill Gymnasium. For years, the athletics facilities at the College were inadequate, so Hatch and other members of the department pushed for a new building.

鈥淚t was really in the works the year I was appointed [athletic director in 1974],鈥澛� Hatch said. 鈥淚t was finally completed in 1980, but we were working on it even before 1974. We had a committee that studied the building, which I was a part of in 1970-71.鈥�

Hatch came to 乐播传媒 in 1949, giving up a potential professional football career. The 乐播传媒 job was more secure, he says, and he was looking for security for himself and his young family.

He and his family moved into the Sampsonville apartments聽 鈥� they were former army barracks 鈥� with other young faculty members. It was a bit of a shock at first, he said, since they had left a new house they had just built in Massachusetts, but they got used to it.

鈥淎s it turned out,鈥� he said, 鈥渢he living quarters were not luxurious by a long shot, but it was a nice community. 乐播传媒 students mixed with 乐播传媒 faculty, and most of the faculty were young and just out of the service like I was.鈥�

But he鈥檚 not heading into retirement entirely without regret. He will miss the job he鈥檚 worked at for four decades, and the people he鈥檚 worked with.

鈥淚鈥檓 going to miss the personal associations with my colleagues, both on-campus and off-campus, but mostly the association of the twenty-five to thirty people I work with right in my department. It鈥檚 a close-knit group.鈥�

On May 5, 1970, 乐播传媒 students gathered in the Chapel and after much debate approved, 220 to 140, a resolution to hold a three-day strike to protest the U.S. invasion of Cambodia and the killings of four Kent State students on May 4.

Millions of their peers voted the same way across the country, closing hundreds of U.S. colleges.

Three days later, on May 8, 乐播传媒 president Thomas Hedley Reynolds surprised everyone by climbing into the cab of a donated U-Haul truck to lead 乐播传媒 students on one of their strike projects: a downtown Lewiston trash cleanup. With that act, Reynolds, who , defined his 乐播传媒 presidency and the unusual character of the 乐播传媒 strike.

In May 1970, 乐播传媒 President Thomas Hedley Reynolds climbs into the cab of a donated U-Haul truck to lead 乐播传媒 students on a strike project: a downtown Lewiston trash cleanup. (Muskie Archives and Special Collections Library)

As president, Reynolds always had 鈥渉is hand very much on the tiller,鈥� said John Cole, the Reynolds Professor of History and one of the first faculty members hired under Reynolds, in 1967.

Yet Reynolds was also the president who widened the circles of authority at 乐播传媒, acknowledging the voice of students and faculty. Before and during the strike, Reynolds participated in strike discussions and championed the students鈥� course of action to the media.

On some campuses, the 1970 strike was violent. Clashes between students and police and the burning of ROTC buildings were not uncommon. 乐播传媒 was perhaps at the other end of the spectrum: Uneasy with what The 乐播传媒 Student described as 鈥渢he factionalization caused by the word 鈥榮trike,鈥欌�� students instead vowed to engage in constructive, nonviolent, community-building actions.

鈥淲e are not out to destroy this nation 鈥� it could do that quite well without us,鈥� wrote 乐播传媒 Student editor-in-chief Allen Bourque 鈥�71 in an open letter published in the paper鈥檚 special May 12 issue. 鈥淲e are asking you to join us in attempting to save this nation and perhaps to alter the course of history.鈥�

John Shea 鈥�70 told the Bowdies that the strike鈥檚 duration was less important than the quality of student action during the strike.

The tempered 乐播传媒 response 鈥� 鈥淲ork with Us鈥� was the motto 鈥� was not without its detractors. On the strike鈥檚 second day, Bowdoin students visited campus and, according to the Student, 鈥渉arangued鈥� the 乐播传媒ies for not approving an indefinite strike. John Shea 鈥�70 successfully argued the 乐播传媒 position, telling the Bowdies that the strike鈥檚 duration was less important than the quality of student action during the strike.

The trash cleanup 鈥� a project chosen after the city canceled its annual cleanup for budget reasons 鈥� took place on the third day. Reynolds led the way in the U-Haul truck, which had a handmade banner reading 鈥淎merica First鈥� draped on the side. The truck was donated by a local service station.

Downtown, the 乐播传媒 crew, which also included some faculty and a smattering of Lewiston High School students, gathered at Kennedy Park on the corner of Park and Spruce streets. There, it is believed, Reynolds explained why he joined the students.

鈥淸The students] are trying desperately to show the rest of the community their real concern,鈥� he said. 鈥淚 came down this morning driving the first truck because I share that concern.鈥�

By President Elaine Tuttle Hansen

Like other members of the post鈥揥orld War II baby boom who went into academe, I emerged from graduate school in the mid-1970s. Here at 乐播传媒, a new generation of professors like Martin Andrucki, Mark Semon, Steve Kemper, and Carole Taylor 鈥� plus many others, boomers all 鈥� arrived in response to what was promised them: the opportunity to be vigorous scholars and great teachers.

The man who welcomed them into the academy was the fifth president of 乐播传媒 College. Reynolds, who served from 1967 to 1989, died on Sept. 22 at age 88.

Perhaps Reynolds鈥� single greatest contribution to 乐播传媒, the achievement that accounts for the extraordinary academic quality of this College, was building a faculty that was bigger, better, and prouder.

Reynolds championed the kind of restorative and transformative teaching that needs to occur at a great liberal arts college.

In quantitative terms, adding more professors effectively decreased each professor鈥檚 teaching load, giving them more time for scholarship. John Cole, the Reynolds Professor of History, also arrived at 乐播传媒 in 1967, and he recalls the 鈥渆rosion of morale and even of self-confidence鈥� among an overworked faculty. Without time to pursue scholarly work, young professors could neither get a firmer grasp on their teaching fields nor strengthen their hold on one specialty.

Under Reynolds, 乐播传媒 went from 1,004 students and 65 faculty members in 1967 to 1,506 students and 125 faculty members in 1989. The student-to-faculty ratio improved from 15鈥�1 to 12鈥�1, and today stands at 10鈥�1, with 1,776 students in residence this fall.

Yet Reynolds did more than just hire bodies and give them more time to teach and do research. He fostered a distinctive integration of the two endeavors by improving the entire intellectual climate at 乐播传媒; most importantly, Reynolds championed the kind of restorative and transformative teaching that needs to occur at a great liberal arts college. And here I鈥檓 not talking about the transformation of students, the 鈥渟low process by which the crude boy develops into the scholar,鈥� in the words of George Colby Chase. Rather, I鈥檓 talking about the interplay of teaching, scholarship, and service that enables the young professor to change, grow, and mature.

For example, my own Ph.D. graduate work focused on Old English 鈥� a subfield rarely taught at an undergraduate college 鈥� so my destiny seemed to be a research university. But during a post-doctoral stint as a lexicographer at the Middle English Dictionary at the University of Michigan, I learned enough about later Middle English to land my first faculty job, at Hamilton College, where I taught Chaucer and other subjects.

I also had to teach a short winter term, so I turned to a pile of books on my night stand (ostensibly there for pleasure reading) and created a course on contemporary women writers. Fresh thinking in that area dovetailed neatly with what was going on at Hamilton at the time, as the formerly all-male school absorbed all-female Kirkland College. Amid intense curricular, pedagogical, and governance debates, I joined an organized group of professors who contributed to the discussions. It was my first stab at thinking institutionally, and I liked it.

Reynolds expanded the intellectual space, making 乐播传媒 more open to the world.

At Haverford in the 1980s and 1990s, my Chaucer research and my work around contemporary women writers initially continued on parallel tracks. Any sense of academic schizophrenia was ameliorated, however, as conversations with students and colleagues obliged me to ask pressing contemporary questions about Chaucer, which in turn led to my second book, Chaucer and the Fictions of Gender.

For me, these kinds of classroom experiences, combined with collegial interactions on and off campus, continued to sow seeds for innovative academic and programmatic work. I was given the freedom to experiment, think tangentially, and wander off-topic from my immediate research projects. This freedom was productive, professionally therapeutic, and a virtue of the liberal arts tradition.

At 乐播传媒, Hedley Reynolds created similar opportunities for his young faculty, expanding the intellectual space so faculty could flourish and evolve. In this sense, he made 乐播传媒 more open to the world, such as during the national Vietnam War protests (). Reynolds was attentive to student and faculty voices 鈥� also helping to amplify their voices from the presidential bully pulpit 鈥� without being directive.

New freedom and openness meant that young 乐播传媒 professors could begin to claim membership in their far-flung disciplinary communities while staying productively engaged with the campus community. And they seized this opportunity, becoming great teacher-scholars.

In the end, the presidency of Thomas Hedley Reynolds is a gift from his generation, the Greatest Generation, to my own generation. In an even more lasting and vital sense, it is a gift to 乐播传媒 College.

The environmental legacy of the late U.S. Sen.聽Edmund Muskie ’36,聽who was dubbed “Mr. Clean” for spearheading clean water and air laws in the 1960s and 1970s,聽found its way into a Supreme Court ruling May 15.

The聽ruling, affirming the states’ right聽to regulate river water quality, was handed down in a聽Maine case. At issue was whether a Westbrook paper company needed state licensing to operate five company-owned hydroelectric dams on the Presumpscot River. The state,聽wishing to use the licensing procedure聽to force the company to make dam improvements, argued for the power to license under the Clean聽Water Act of 1970. The company argued that dams weren’t covered聽under the law.

Writing a unanimous opinion, Justice David Souter championed the Clean Water Act and Muskie’s vision of states having ultimate control of their rivers, not the federal government.聽He quoted from Muskie’s 1970 floor speech in the U.S. Senate as the Rumford native introduced the legislation:

“No polluter will be able to hide behind a federal license or permit as an excuse for a violation of water quality standards,” said Muskie. “No polluter will be able to make major investments in facilities under a federal license or permit without providing assurance that the facility will comply with water quality standards. No state water pollution control agency will be confronted with a /fait accompli/ by an industry that has built a plant without consideration of water quality requirements.”

And after 30 years, the Class of 1975 takes its place in a 乐播传媒 tradition dating back to the 1800s.

The mason removes the protective masking tape and smooths the mortar.

Chouinard checks the alignment. "I'm very particular," he says.

The stone is on Dana Chemistry Hall, facing Hathorn Hall.

The fingers of a working man.

Better late than never.

Thirty-one years ago, the Class of 1975 graduated from 乐播传媒 without giving an ivy stone to the College. The聽Class of ’74, too,聽had left 乐播传媒 without partaking of a tradition going back聽a century.

Why?聽By聽the late 1960s, Ivy Day聽had devolved (or evolved,聽from a student perspective) into a raucous student-only gathering in the Chapel featuring savage wit and satire.聽Call it a compressed version of Mayoralty, the ’50s student megablast, or a 乐播传媒 version of the Dean Martin roast of a few years hence.

And the tone was, given the era, anti-establishment.

In this new ivy iteration, the junior class presented the show. In April 1969, future film and stage star John Shea ’70 orated a wicked three-part ode, delivering a pointed three-pronged jab at 乐播传媒 social rules that had greeted the sexual revolution with neither a wink or a nudge.

Here’s a sample: “These wonderful guardians of virtue reach atop the hill of Muse, to do their deed, kill the seed, to quell our need…. Parentis personifae…give us rest from thy thorny oppression!”

Subsequent聽editions upped the聽ribald quotient,聽and,聽not surprisingly,聽Ivy Day eventually went on hiatus. The linked tradition of聽installing a class ivy stone limped along聽with little fanfare, and even that tradition skipped two years, 1974 and 1975.

The ivy聽concept聽was later resurrected聽and thrives today in the form of聽a conclusion to a聽sober and spiritual聽Baccalaureate ceremony, in which the class plants聽an聽ivy and聽unveils its stone.

But ’75 never forgot, and in 2005 the class celebrated its 30th Reunion by giving an ivy stone to the College. Designed by Diane Kounkoulas Peterson ’75, the stone arrived over the winter and聽on May 4, 2006, 乐播传媒 head mason Wilfred Chouinard installed the plaque.

Chouinard, a third-generation mason聽of French Canadian heritage,聽has installed ivy stones since arriving at 乐播传媒 in the 1986. “I’m very particular,” he said,聽shimming the stone and checking it with a level before applying more mortar.

Besides the annual stone installation, Chouinard’s favorite projects聽include the聽elegant brickwork in聽front of Lane Hall, plus projects for聽Lindholm House and, for his first 乐播传媒 job, the entryways to Smith Hall. Like any skilled tradesman, his eye catches campus details that elude others. “Ever notice that the mortar on Coram used to be black and red?” he asked me.聽“Now it’s all gray.”