A Silent Night
As a part of The Cavalier Daily’s 130 year anniversary, we are republishing articles from our archives. This article originally ran in The Cavalier Daily September 12, 2001.
Use the fields below to perform an advanced search of The Cavalier Daily's archives. This will return articles, images, and multimedia relevant to your query. You can also try a Basic search
37 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
As a part of The Cavalier Daily’s 130 year anniversary, we are republishing articles from our archives. This article originally ran in The Cavalier Daily September 12, 2001.
By Rachel Alberico, Christa Dierksheide, Catherine Dunn and Julie Hofler Cavalier Daily staff writer Sept. 12, 2001 -- Charlottesville
The pill makes good company on those days or nights when deadlines loom. Drowsiness and distractions evaporate. Focus sharpens. Attention span stretches. A boring text takes on the gleam of a riveting page-turner.
The decision was impetuous, but the choice was clear: an afternoon of seminars vs. a road trip to D.C., political complacency vs. an opportunity to change the world. When Ian stood up at the end of our sociology class one Tuesday morning, exorting our merry band of social critics to drive to D.C. that day and march for affirmative action, I said yes.
The streets were slick with rain and beer sludge and oozing of hedonism. The fires of hell threatened to lick it all up. Every last dirty drop.
I was sitting in the first floor entryway of Bryan Hall, next to the fluores-cent, plastic glow of the vending machines. Every other time I had been here to wait, I had planted myself on the tiled ground. On this Thursday afternoon, though, there was a chair wedged between the machines and the wall. It offered the perfect vantage point to the room across the hall.
Al Cluck loves the story of explorers Meriwether Lewis and William Clark. They are his heroes and like they did, he loves hunting and fishing, hiking and exploring.
The bomb exploded Thursday in Kabul, Marina Omar's home city.
Seven years ago, Jon Gottshall began to document an odyssey, one that brought him to the brink of where intellect meets instinct, where tame meets wild.
The University is waiting.
Disney said it best with its classic "Cinderella." With a fairy godmother, a few animated mice and a Prince Charming, a Technicolor gloss coated the title heroine's tale of triumph. When all was said and done, Cinderella had proved the veracity of the three words that combine to form the holy grail of hopes: Dreams come true.
He stood on the Lawn early one November morning, surveying the University's architectural jewel, wondering how he could transfigure Jefferson's legacy.
After a day of destruction, the healing began with prayer.
There's typical and then there's typical.
"There are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are differences of ministries, but the same Lord. And there are diversities of activities, but it is the same God who works all in all."
10:10. A time. A place. A message.
Rev. Lauren Cogswell, dressed in black pants and a sleeveless cream-colored turtleneck sweater, could almost pass for one of the students in the Westminster Presbyterian campus ministry.
Sarah Jobe learned to read on the Bible. She spent four days a week at her Southern Baptist church during her childhood. By seventh grade she said she felt called to "a life of missions and ministry." And by 11th grade she knew how she was going to answer that call: by becoming a pastor.
Did you hear?"
Many airports across the nation, including the Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, reopened yesterday following an OK from the federal government.