But change looms for this storied institution: On March 25, the Board of Trustees of both St. Raphael’s and Yale-New Haven Hospital (YNHH) announced their approval of a letter of intent to explore the possible integration of the two hospitals. According to Vince Petrini, Senior Vice President of Public Affairs at YNHH, both organizations believe the merger will “achieve better benefits for the community by increasing quality care, enhancing access, and doing it all more cost efficiently.”

A smaller hospital with a more local focus, St. Raphael’s mission is different in some ways from that of YNHH. But the hospital has struggled financially in the past few years, and if it were to be absorbed by the much larger YNHH, as proposed, these troubles would hopefully be alleviated. “It is very important for the community to save St. Raphael’s, as YNHH does not have the capacity to absorb all of their patients,” said Robert Alpern, Dean of the Yale School of Medicine.

YNHH is the largest teaching hospital in Connecticut—a 944-bed tertiary referral center employing over 6,000 people and serving more than 447,000 patients. Its mission is to “provide…high-quality, cost-effective health care services to all patients,” and be “the setting for ongoing clinical research.”

As talks are still in their early phases, it is hard to know exactly how the merger will be executed, and in what ways it will impact the community.

Maurice Williams is the Community Outreach Coordinator for the Yale School of Public Health’s Community Alliance for Research and Engagement—an organization that aims to improve health in New Haven by engaging with the community and making medical research accessible to the public. Williams recently attended a Community Management Team meeting in New Haven’s Dwight neighborhood, where representatives from the two hospitals spoke to community members about the potential integration. He said the representatives compared the situation to that of a couple dating. Both teams are “asking a lot of questions and figuring out each person’s needs,” says Williams.

Of the group of about 30 people present at the meeting, Williams said that most seemed excited. But he adds that there will certainly be people who are wary of this merger, and worry about the increasingly centralized power structure: “Would it always benefit community residents, or would Yale just continue to dominate New Haven? There’s always a plus and minus to that. From one side, it creates a lot of resources, but from the other it gives them a lot of domination over the town.”

Yale does not own YNHH; although the two institutions are affiliated through the Medical School, they are separate, non-profit entities. “It is true that Yale University’s relationship to the community, to some extent, permeates Yale-New Haven Hospital’s relationship to the community, but they’re not the same,” said Mark Schlesinger, a Yale Professor of Public Health.

Like the University, the hospital has a complicated relationship to the local community. Because of its role as a large teaching hospital and an important research center, “YNHH will always have these multiple sets of objectives,” Schlesinger said. “It will never be like St. Raphael’s, because St. Raphael’s is only local in focus. Is that good? Is that bad? That’s a harder question to answer.”

Williams noted that the hospitals seemed to be making a clear effort to create stronger ties with the community. By going to community forums such as the Dwight meeting, Williams explained, “YNHH shows that there will be transparency.”

While St. Raphael’s would benefit from the financial bolstering, YNHH could benefit from St. Raphael’s relationship with the community. “It’s possible,” said Schlesinger, “that when the two merge, Yale could get infused with some of that community good will, and actually change to become more community oriented.”

Although one purpose of the merger is to keep St. Raphael’s afloat financially, both hospitals claim that it will benefit both YNHH and the community as well.

“With the prospects of significant healthcare changes on the horizon, hospitals across the nation are exploring innovative ways to enhance access to high quality care while driving down costs,” Marna P. Borgstrom, president and CEO of YNHH, said in a press release. “Integrating services between Yale-New Haven and Saint Raphael’s would provide a unique opportunity to achieve those goals.”

Federal health care reforms passed last March encourage the formation of Accountable Care Organizations (ACOs), which are meant to consolidate delivery systems and decrease costs. Because of the federal incentives to form ACOs, it is apparent that, according to Schlesinger, this consolidation is not necessarily an incontestable boon for both hospitals.

“Whether in fact ACOs are a good idea,” he continued, “whether this particular merger would promote an ACO better than not merging, whether this merger would be good for making the local delivery system more powerful—none of those things are very clear.”

Another reality of health care reform, said St. Raphael’s spokeswoman Geri Johnson-Reis, is the decrease in reimbursement of hospitals for provided services. “For a hospital like St. Raphael’s,” she explained, “where a significant portion of our patients are either Medicaid or Medicare patients, when you start to look at those reimbursement rates dropping, you’ve got to be as efficient as possible—and yet, of course, still aim to provide high quality health care.”

The CEOs of both hospitals have emphasized that the merger would result in growth all around. According to Johnson-Reis, “Right now, YNHH is exceeding their capacity. They need an opportunity to grow their services.” At the community meeting Williams attended, he said they emphasized that St. Raphael’s has extra bed-space YNHH lacks, so if they were to combine forces, they would ultimately be able to serve more patients. “St. Raphael’s has capacity here,” Johnson added, “so what is anticipated is that there will be a significant amount of capital infused into the St. Raphael’s campus, and the services here would actually grow.”

Both hospitals say they anticipate job creation, not loss. Although it is impossible to predict exactly what will happen Alpern is hopeful: “Health care is a growing industry and in general we are continually hiring.”

Under the current proposal, YNHH would invest about 135 million dollars in capital improvements on Saint Raphael’s campus. In the press release, the hospitals stated, “It is expected that the majority of Saint Raphael employees would become part of the newly combined hospital [and] that their pay and benefits would be consistent with those currently provided to YNHH employees in similar roles.” YNHH would recognize the Teamster union that represents St. Raphael’s employees, even though currently YNHH employees do not have a union.

The intent to merge is motivated by a range of factors, but ultimately, it seems, both hospitals believe that a consolidation of delivery systems will benefit both the community and the institutions themselves. An integrated system like the one proposed has the potential to bring the two sides of this equation closer together.

“Where there’s a close one-to-one mapping between the provider system and the community that it’s serving,” Schlesinger explained, “it’s easier for them to provide certain services, because they are the community and the community is them. They’re one and the same, as opposed to being divided among a fragmented set of providers.”

(Anna Wang/YH)

“You’re going to burn in hell,” a woman told Ben Healey, BR ’04, FES/SOM ’12.

It was early May 2003. The woman speaking to Healey was one of many who had come to a New Haven Board of Aldermen meeting in City Hall to protest an amendment that would have acknowledged the legitimacy of domestic partnerships between two gay individuals. Healey, Ward 1 Alderman at the time, was the one who proposed and submitted the amendment.

“One of the most crowded meetings I’ve ever seen,” says Ward 29 Alderman Carl Goldfield, the current president of the board. “People were telling us we were all going to hell.” Goldfield claims there must have been a few hundred people there, nearly all in protest.

In the end, with 15 “yes” votes—one shy of the required 16-person majority of the 30-person board—the amendment was defeated.

Today, Ben Healey has returned to New Haven, this time as a dual-degree Forestry and School of Management student. Now mostly removed from local politics—“I did my time,” he tells me—Healey reflects back on the legislation for which his two terms as Ward 1 Alderman are most remembered.

The way Healey tells it, that sixteenth vote—the decisive vote, the one that would have made all the difference—had been there. Or, more accurately, it had not been there: Robin Kroogman, of Ward 26, could not make it to the vote because she was at the funeral of a friend. Healey considered pushing the vote back a month—to make sure he had the votes he needed—but under pressure from constituents who wanted the vote as soon as possible, he decided not to wait.

Or perhaps what ultimately killed the amendment was that several of Healey’s original co-signatories on the amendment ended up flopping when it became clear just how controversial the legislation was. These aldermen voted no when pressure from their constituents became too great. It’s funny—this flip-flopping seems the stuff of national politics, where well-dressed politicians are continually reinventing themselves to appeal to broader and broader constituencies and, perhaps more importantly, everything is on record. But in truth, this kind of coalition politics is just as common in local government; people who know about this stuff call the New Haven city government a machine, and when you hear the stories they tell, it’s easy to see why. And, back in May 2003, Ben Healey was right in the middle of the whole thing. At the time, he was just 21 years old, a junior at Yale and the youngest member of the thirty-alderman board.

In New Haven, the Board of Aldermen is the city’s main legislative body—they introduce and vote on zoning requests, the budget, and so on. They attend full board meetings twice a month (once a month in the summer) and various committee meetings in the off-weeks. They are compensated with a 2,000 dollar salary—before taxes—and a parking spot.

“Phone calls, emails, and meetings,” says Mike Jones, SY ’11, the current Ward 1 Alderman, when describing his job.

Justin Elicker, FES/SOM ’10, Ward 10 Alderman, says that he spends at least half his time on “neighborhood issues”—that is to say, responding to his constituent’s calls about potholes, unpaved sidewalks, fallen trees, expanded police presence, so on and so forth.

Ward 1, which encompasses eight of the residential colleges (all except for Morse, Stiles, Silliman, and Timothy Dwight), is traditionally represented by a student. This is easy to rationalize since the vast majority of the residents of Ward 1 are Yale students, so having a student representative seems to make sense. At the very least, there are not even that many other Ward 1 residents who could be elected, since there are so few non-students. But when you think about it again, the idea is just a tad less logical, maybe even a little bit crazy.

“I was 19 years old—a young, white, Yalie. People were legitimately skeptical,” Healey says. He explains that, as an undergrad, he used to work on various projects connected to his job as alderman until midnight and would only start his homework at that point. “It’s hard to overstate the level to which it consumed my life as an undergrad,” he tells me.

But because so much of Ward 1 is owned by Yale—and, with the help of the University’s vigorous support staff, maintained and policed—the actual duties of the Ward 1 Alderman are less clear.
“That’s the number one thing most Aldermen do—potholes,” jokes Amalia Skilton, CC ’13, one of the co-chairs of the Ward 1 Democratic Committee. This, however, is not the case for the Ward 1 alderman, who rarely has to deal with any of these issues either because Yale takes care of them, or because students do not care.

“The rest of us are concerned with Mrs. Smith calling because she wants a new sidewalk,” says Goldfield.

For some, this changes the responsibilities of the Ward 1 Alderman. “The Ward 1 Alderman has the liberty to focus on larger, city-wide issues,” says Elicker. “They can be someone on the board who can encourage us to focus on these issues.”

“The Yale alder tends to take a more policy-oriented approach,” says board president Goldfield. “They can get a bit out there in terms of ambition and in terms of how progressive they want to be. But all of them have a commitment to progressive social change. They think they can make a difference—and they can, it just might not be as easy as they think.”

Of course—as it always is with politics—everyone does not agree on this point.

“There has been a conception that the Ward 1 Alderman should be a progressive do-gooder at the expensive of his constituents,” says Nathaniel Zelinsky, DC ’13, who wrote an article in the YDN criticizing Mike Jones (“Taking our alderman to task”). Instead of “galavanting around city hall,” as he calls it, Zelinsky argues that the number one priority of the Ward 1 Alderman should be Yale students, and Yale students alone.

When asked about analyzing Jones’s work as alderman so far, Zelinsky was dismissive. “What’s there to analyze?” he said. Regarding Jones’s proposed legislation that would protect transgender individuals from discrimination, Zelinsky asked disparagingly; “Really? You really think that’s absolutely necessary?”
But, if you ask Jones himself, the dichotomy of Yale students and New Haven residents is not such an easy division to make after all.

“It’s a false divide,” he says. “Policy solutions that help New Haven help Yale. We don’t live in a bubble—we like to think we do.”

In the end, the debate is part of a larger fundamental question about the role of Yale in New Haven. Should a Yale student representing other Yale students—who, for the most part, live in an environment vastly different from the residents of the other Wards in New Haven—still feel obligated to the small-scale needs of his constituents in the same way that another alderman? Do Yale students even have neighborhood problems that aren’t solved by the university? Does an initiative like the Living Wage proposal, which was introduced by Jones this year and increases the minimum wage that can be paid to city employees or subcontracted employees, have a positive effect on Yale students even if it doesn’t personally affect many of them?

“What’s good for New Haven is good for Yale,” says Vinay Nayak, DC ’14, who announced his candidacy for the Ward 1 seat this past week (Jones had already announced that he will not run again). “It’s not that the Ward 1 Alder has different responsibilities, but a unique opportunity.”

Regardless of politics, Nayak is right. The Ward 1 alderman seat is a unique position in this city and, likely, in the country. It’s an opportunity to represent your fellow Yale students, but also an opportunity to make a change in the city we live in, however small that change might be.

“It’s what motivates them,” Goldfield says about the Yale alders with whom he has worked. “They want to make the world a better place. We are very limited in terms of the authority we have, but you’ve got to start somewhere.”

Idealistic Yalies, however, might be surprised by just how difficult it is to bring about change. Jones’ living wage proposal took a full calendar year just to move out of individual committee meetings. At a recent meeting, nearly every motion passed with no succession and no votes of dissent or abstention, but a proposal to purchase new parking meters was met with 20 minutes of debate before it ultimately passed with just two “no” votes (in which Darnell Goldson, who represents Ward 30, when asked by the president if he wanted to change his vote, responded, “I want to change my vote from a “no” to a “resounding no”). Near the end of the meeting, aldermen were slipping out of the chambers like students ditching their lecture while the professor is still speaking.

Watching the aldermen fidget and whisper to their colleagues sitting next to them while they went through the procedural motions, it is easy to find yourself wondering just how anything gets done in this city.

Ben Healey felt the same bewilderment when he first became alderman: “Who was I to be on the New Haven Board of Aldermen? I felt especially unqualified. I had values and principles, but I had no sense of how the city worked.”

Now, looking back, he has a few answers. “Relationships are all that matter,” he says. “You can vote your conscience if you have good relationships.”

“Ben Healey was one of the most effective alders in my 20 years on the board,” says Carl Goldfield, who served with Healey. “He knew how to use the relationships that other members of the board had with others to influence the members. It’s what people who are good at politics do.”

What’s clear is that idealism doesn’t last long in a system like the New Haven Board of Aldermen. To get things done, you have to be willing to compromise.

“I’m happy with the bill that passed—but it’s not the same bill I submitted,” says Jones about the Living Wage legislation that recently moved out of the individual committees. “You have to learn to meet people where they are, not where you think they should be,” Jones explains.

“What you’re voting for,” says Brian Bills, ES ’12, the field manager for Mike Jones’s campaign, “is a not a set of policies, but a policy advocate.”

What’s clear is that the sometimes tedious process of the Board of Aldermen is simply the way of the thing—nearly every alderman I spoke with was adamant that understanding the process is key to getting anything accomplished. Asked what advice he would give to a new Ward 1 Alderman, Carl Goldfield responded, “The same advice I give every new person: Sit back and get your bearings for a while. For six to seven months, just watch.”

And even after those first few months, the job is certainly not easy.

Epic observing goes on in here. (Tatiana Schlossberg/YH)

As I slap my way up Prospect St. in a brand new pair of flip flops—the weather application on my new phone has promised the first 60-degree day of the year—my loyal friend and guide, Duckie, points out thrusting towers and identifies them by various acronyms. She regales me with anecdotes (horror stories) of the many classes she’s had on “the Hill.” I am proud of myself for picking such an informed and knowledgeable guide for my jaunt to the Leitner Family Observatory and Planetarium’s (LFOP) free-and-open-to-the-public weekly extravaganza. Later, seems as though that “the neuroscience track of Psychology,” her area of expertise, is about as relevant to studying the stars as “the intellectual history concentration of Humanities” is to repairing a leaky radiator.

Sitting just below the top of Science Hill, the LFOP is a squat, nondescript cube of cinderblocks. The planetarium’s dome emerges from the northern half of the roof in a softly sloping abscess made of what appears to be aluminum. The same casing covers two concrete cylinders that sit directly south of the building that house two high-powered telescopes. Duckie and I have just reached LFOP’s front door when the heavy clouds that followed us all day begin to split at the seams, thick drops splashing onto us as we hurry inside the main building. There, we are greeted by a smiling employee, who is seated in front of a colorful stack of booklets­—“The Planets in our Solar System.” I ignore the sign (“For kids only!”) and request one. “Do you have a young one at home?” “No,” I say, looking out to the nearly-empty lecture hall. She follows my gaze and assents. “Sure, okay,” she says brightly, flashing me a smile.

“Enjoy the show.”

Duckie and I wander around the room for a few minutes, reading the text on the walls—“Astronomy at Yale through the ages,” “Women in Astronomy”—and peering down at the glass case that houses a five-inch Dolland refractor, a product of the 1830s, before making our way into the planetarium itself.
Once inside we are greeted with a cacophony of shouts, laughs and cries—if this week is any indication, the main consumers of the weekly planetarium shows are toddlers and their beleaguered parents. As we squeeze our way past a shifting mass of children and their accessories into our seats, never mind that space is a subject most often reserved, admired, and consumed by two audiences—the very young and the very highly-educated.

I lean over and ask the family seated next to us if they come to the shows often. I have to shout to make myself heard. “Oh, you know we came, when we can,” says the woman I assume is the mother as she grabs her youngest by his purple face and smushes him into a seat. We settle ourselves and peer up at a slowly revolving night sky with every constellation outlined and named. “Ooh, microscopium,” Duckie whispers, looking up and pointing. We slowly begin to drown out the noise of the crowd, letting our gazes wander and wonder at the 200 or so arrays of straight white lines with Latin titles.

She turns to me and asks if I can list the planets in order. To my surprise, I can, even making up a mnemonic device as I go. “My-Velociraptor-Eats-Mangled-Juniper-Sherry-Under-Neighbors’-Porches,” I proudly proclaim. Duckie gives me a meaningful look and I correct myself.

A disembodied voice soon booms around us, as parents shush their children with plaintive handfuls of popcorn and candy. “Welcome to the Leitner Family Observatory and Planetarium,” the voice begins. “What you see above you now is what the night sky would look like tonight, if there weren’t any clouds or rain.” With these words, the voice begins to take us on a tour of the galaxy and into the rest of the universe, using a fancy projector to display the images that surround us.

As we fly through the universe at unimaginable speeds—a starcluster here, supernova there—the crowd gibbers gleefully and mutters disbelievingly. What I don’t understand, however, is why no one is screaming bloody terror.

There’s a certain point during one’s own development when space ceases to be this really cool subject and becomes a source of deep anxiety. Space does not force itself on us, and as a result, becomes easy to either ignore or absorb and sublimate into concepts like infinity, gravity, and speed. Space is large beyond comprehension. But what really unsettles me about the planetarium show is that it forces me to consider something potentially destructive: What I’ve spent most of my life considering in abstract terms is a very real thing. Space is not a tangible experience, but these planetarium shows come much closer than any other recent encounter I’ve had with space.

I leave the room and walk out into the pouring rain with Duckie, demurring the 45-minute wait for a minibus. I feel pretty shaken up by the whole encounter, but the rain, my soaked sweater, and Duckie’s laugh, ground me in a deeply satisfying way. I’ll leave space to the scientists.

We began this semester welcoming you to the future. It was a different time, a simpler time: We were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed; Froyo World was still in the throes of its winter hours. Things are different now: The end of the world is drawing closer (2012, everyone!), Samuel Sullivan, JE ’13, has a veritable tome of sports clippings and Froyo World is once again open until midnight. Within our own little Herald universe, we are terrified. Terrified of the apocalypse and the looming end of our livelihood—print journalism—we have set serious store by the promise of doom, and upped the ante: We tried, and in many ways, succeeded in our promise to make the Herald the best it has ever been, to speak truth to power, but also to lie sometimes if it’s funny. (We’re a college newspaper—shit happens.)

In a surprise move, we were the first publication to bring you news of Title IX. The filing of the complaint and the on-campus response was certainly a watershed moment for how this campus thinks about gender relations within and outside its walls. It was also, of course, a proud achievement for this weekly newspaper… especially for one that still doesn’t know how to properly use the Internet (whatever, fine, we’re slow on the uptake to this whole “cyberspace” thing. So sue us.). In our long and proud history of 25 years, the Herald has rarely had the opportunity to contribute to the breaking-news dialogue on this campus, but, thanks to our all-star reporter Christina Huffington, DC ’12, we were able to contribute substantially and sensitively to the conversation.

It hasn’t all been as serious, sexy, and breaking as that—but it has all been good. Here at Starship Herald, we’ve covered every inch of the galaxy with our provocative and well-crafted prose. We’ve taken you from the tumultuous soccer career of Muammar Gaddafi’s son, Omar, to Yale’s campus drug culture, and that, my friends, comrades and aliens, is only scratching the surface.

When you return to school in the fall, tan and enthusiastic about life (both of these things are only temporary, remember), the Herald may look different. You may be unaccustomed to its new flair and sleek design, but the things you love about it will always be here (with or without the apocalypse): nimble prose, thorough coverage, and a refusal to take ourselves too seriously.

And though my time here is drawing to a close (“So soon?!” you ask. I know, I know), I am confident in the lasting power of the Herald: Its ability to make a difference on this campus, and its ability to attract all different kinds of students with all kinds of voices to its pages, giving them the space and the freedom to write what they want the way they want. So while I may be bidding you adieu, know that these principles will always hold true. I hope we haven’t disappointed you.

Love actually,

Tatiana Schlossberg

D: Library Fines
So yesterday I was sitting in Starbucks, sipping an Americano and patting myself on the back for starting my term papers before May this year. Like any good writer, I started off by checking my email, and saw the subject line “Library Notice—Amounts Due.” I chuckled smugly to myself, gazing proudly at my slightly overdue kingdom of research sources. “Look at them, thinking they can stop a scholar like me with a few petty fines.” Then I opened the email, and got hit with the biggest buzzkill of my life. I’ll never forget the way they fined me. They fined me like I’d never been fined before. They fined me like I’d had those books since Elihu was a twinkle in Papa Yale’s eye. But I’ve got just the plan to earn it all back. I’ve acquired inside information that books on Indonesian mushroom farmers are worth three dollars an hour, per copy! Forget Morgan Stanley—book me a plane ticket and get me some Rosetta Stone Javanese.

Fail: Charlie Sheen
Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. You started off with so much promise, and look where you are now: bombing your way across the nation on a failed attempt at a comedy tour. Even worse, you’re calling the tour “The Violent Torpedo of Truth.” Seriously, Chuck, for all your testosterone-fueled blustering and sexual innuendo, your stardom has gone far too limp, far too fast. Forget 15 minutes of fame—you petered out after 30 seconds. The least you could have done would have been to go out with a bang. Remember when Robert Downey Jr. got arrested? A hotel room, three bags of cocaine and a Wonder Woman Costume? Now there’s a man who knew how to go out in style.

Courtesy Elizabeth Alexander

The final three remembrances in this article were  omitted in the print version. They are shown here in their intended form.

Michele was one of the most thoughtful, humble, honest, and intelligent people I knew. She was immovably devoted to her work. She always took on tons of it, but she always found time for her friends. She would frequently call or text me to find out where I was working or see if I wanted to join her in Kroon or Bass.

She loved music. We both obsess over discovering new artists and new sounds. We have probably 5,000 email threads between us tipping the other off about a band one of us had just discovered. At the end of last year, she even offered to teach me to play tenor sax—her instrument in the band—even though both of us were too busy to even think about something like that.

Her chocolate chip cookies were the best on the planet. You can ask anyone. I’ve made them with her. I’ve watched her make them numerous times, but I still can’t quite make them the way she did. She was always like that. There was something—some level of detail in the world that she could see that was somehow lost on everyone else. She would never tell you that. In fact, she may not have been aware of it herself. She never admitted to herself how amazing she was—she always chalked up her successes to those around her or those who taught her. But this subtle grace, this ability to tune in on the indiscernible, showed in everything she did.

What was most amazing to me about Michele is the effect she had on her friends. When I’d walk into Calhoun dining hall at 8:45 A.M. on a Sunday morning, if I saw Michele sitting there, barricaded behind her laptop and notebooks, all the things I was stressing about left my mind for a while. I was that happy to see her. We would talk, commiserate, discuss the most recent ridiculous thing that happened in the band—it didn’t matter. Just seeing her and being with her would make me feel better. That is an irreplaceable trait in a friend, and in a human as a whole. I don’t just mourn my own loss. I mourn what the world lost in Michele Dufault.
—Dan Hausrath

***

Michele.

The hardest working person I knew.

Always willing to throw a Frisbee around, even with a looming deadline for a quantum p-set.

Ran into her this summer in Boston during the World Cup: It was one of the best spontaneous hugs I’ve ever given, and one of the best I have ever received.

Of the memories everyone has of her, these are but an insignificant few,

but I’ll hold onto them forever,

because she was one of the best friends anyone could ever have had.

Michele. Why are you so awesome? I ask myself this question everyday. And I will never stop asking, and I will never stop missing you.
—Patrick Lee

***

Michele Dufault and I were best friends from our first semester at Yale to our last. There is no single word to define who she was. “Awesome” comes close, but she was also diligent, fun, humble, bright, funny, kindhearted, and unselfish. I was fortunate to have my life overlap so much with Michele’s. We were in many of the same classes (physics, astronomy and engineering), participated on the Cycling team for a year, did research on the Yale Drop Team, and played in the Yale Precision Marching Band. Michele was someone with whom I could connect on almost every level. We used to spend hours together—sometimes writing our lab reports or studying for tests, sometimes watching action movies such as Live Free or Die Hard and The Core. At lunches in KBT this year we helped each other figure out our futures in fields different from our current majors. Sadly, Michele will no longer get to pursue her emerging dream of studying Applied Oceanography. I still cannot grasp that Michele is no longer with us—that she will not sit beside me in class tomorrow, that she will not get her veggie sushi and Greek yogurt at KBT for lunch with me tomorrow. It was not Michele’s time; and now my close friend and fellow researcher will live on only in our memories. You were by side when I needed help, Michele, and I wish I could have been there for you. Good-bye, bud.
—AJ Riggs

***

Michele always disdained trumpeting her numerous good works; the current national attention is certainly ironic. Along with being the humblest person I’ve met, Michele was a superlatively brilliant, passionate, and generous friend. She was the first person I remember meeting at Yale, as she gave me an overwhelming welcome to the band and to the undergraduate scientific community.  She had a sincere interest in and love for everything from the smallest ocean critter to the largest galaxy and was excitedly preparing for an obviously stellar future in physical oceanography. Every beautiful thing in the universe will forever remind me of Michele’s boundless intellect, kindness, and enthusiasm.

Especially burritos! All of her friends on the Yale Drop Team were staggered to learn that she had never eaten one on a trip to Houston, TX, during her sophomore year. Our ostensible focus was a complex plasma physics experiment that we were to perform in microgravity during a NASA parabolic flight campaign. Acquainting Michele with Mexican food, however, quickly became a priority. Of course, Michele attacked this new mission with her usual cheerfulness and congeniality.

Humorous anecdotes aside, I (along with, I’m sure, many others) would give anything to share more adventures with Michele. This horrible accident took someone that can never be replaced. I feel incredibly lucky for having known her at all, and I’m extremely jealous of those who knew her better. I know that her unquenchable spirit will live with us forever.
—Joe O’Rourke

***

Over the past few days, people have drawn attention to the qualities by which we know Michele best—her drive, generosity, humility, and kindness, her overwhelming passion for everything she did, her scientific nature, her love of the sea, and her beauty. But I want to introduce you to something you may not know about Michele: She was artistic.

At the beginning of each year, I forced my suitemates to participate in the decoration of our common room. I brought paint and brushes and plenty of newspaper, and then I handed them each a small canvas. In our junior year, when we had no unifying theme, Michele painted (what else?) a stormy ocean against a rock cliff and the splash of a fish just gone under. Though I don’t think she ever professed to being an artist, her painting is beautiful—its strokes are pure motion and its colors are deep. Her steadfastness as a friend is reflected in the solidity of the rocks, and her vivacity as a person in the movement of the waves.

This year, our last at Yale, our theme was the letter ‘F’, to signify our entryway. Michele painted an anatomically correct picture of a whale. The painting is simple—just a whale surrounded by a radially gradient blue ocean—but in it is her humor and her insistence on doing things her own way. While painting, one of us chastised her: “Michele, whale starts with a ‘w.’” She replied with her wily smile and laughter in her eyes: “Guys, it’s a finback whale.” Her painting has caused us endless—and hilarious—struggle when asking people to guess the theme.

Though “artist” is not among the words we have been using, Michele’s creativity, vibrancy, and joie de vivre made her as much an artist as a scientist. It helps me to know that she will go on living through these pieces and in my memories of their creation.
—Erica Cooper

***

I have known Michelle since freshmen year, and even though I didn’t tell her, I have always loved and respected her. She was a great person and a wonderful friend. To be frank, she is one of the few people I am sure to make up with after a fight; one of a few who is always there despite anything. We spent quite some time in the Astronomy computer cluster working on our senior projects or just listening to music. For instance, she is the one who showed me “Friday” video, and she loved it!
Memories come in pieces, but all in all, Michelle was a huge part of my life and I am going to miss her.
—Victor Mutai

***

Michele and I bonded over so many things: science, French literature, G-Heav egg sandwiches with cheese and avocado, cappuccinos, Fringe, and many more. It has been a privilege to spend the last three years living less than 15 feet apart, wall or not.

I always tell the story of your boom clock experiment. You spent months finding the optimal placement for that noisy, wall-shaking, vibrating piece of plastic and metal, until you discovered that placing the alarm underneath your mattress would do the trick. Few people had the dubious pleasure of waking up every morning to your experiment—for that, I am eternally grateful.

I need to talk about how you took care of me, too. When you struggled to wake up, it was my job to get out of bed and poke you awake, but soon enough, the tables turned. You took care of me in ways that no one ever has. You woke me up in the morning after you mastered the boom clock. You made me tea even though I never remembered to wash your mugs afterward. But most importantly, you shared with me your philosophy to work hard, live genuinely, and put your money where your mouth is.

With you, I was at home. You understood where I was coming from and readily accepted my quirks and bad taste. And to know that you lived doing only what you loved compels me to do the same. So I quote from one of our favorite books:

“Et moi aussi, je me suis senti prêt à tout revivre. Comme si cette grande colère m’avait purgé du mal, vidé d’espoir, devant cette nuit chargée de signes et d’étoiles, je m’ouvrais pour la première fois à la tendre indifférence du monde. De l’éprouver si pareil à moi, si fraternel enfin, j’ai senti que j’avais été heureux, et que je l’étais encore.”

I love you Michele.
—Merlyn Deng

***

I want to tell you all the things I love about Michele, to tell you why I admire her, to describe her frequent acts of generosity, to explain why people instantly felt comfortable around her. My attempts to do any of these things wouldn’t give anyone a real sense of what she was like, so instead, I am just going to tell you some of the things I like to remember about her. Michele got excited about everything, including seemingly mundane things like slicing a grapefruit. She would get a grapefruit at breakfast every time the dining hall had them and methodically slice out each portion, claiming that it was the “Dufault way,” while I mangled mine and tried to salvage some of the good pieces. She loved being able to wear her sandals when the weather was good enough—which, for her, meant anything above 30 degrees. I don’t think she even owned rain boots, and her idea of a sufficient winter coat was a Saybrook fleece. She loved walking up Science Hill for class each day: Even when it was cold and rainy outside and she had to be up the Hill within ten minutes, she would refuse to take the bus. When I complained that my bookshelves were falling apart, Michele actually welded new pegs for me herself. Her absence from things we used to do together will be difficult to accept, but remembering these things about her comforts me.
—Meena Shivaram

***

No matter how late Michele went to sleep the night before, she would get up early every morning.
Her presence was always such a comfort to me when I too had to pull myself out of bed after only a few hours of sleep. She always sat toward the back of the Saybrook dining hall at breakfast, where she wouldn’t be distracted by the conversations of others, working away determinedly on her laptop. But when I sat with her, no matter how much work she had, she never failed to ask me how I was and to express her genuine interest in my plans for the day.

Michele was always willing to give to others but refused to take anything in return. She once g-chatted me from the top of Science Hill to ask if the fire inspector had come by our suite yet for re-inspection. There was a candle in her room that she had forgotten to put away and wanted to know if it wasn’t too late for her to come down the Hill and hide it. When I told her that I was in our suite and offered to hide it for her, she refused, insisting that it was no trouble for her to quickly come down, take care of the candle and then go back up, not wanting to inconvenience me for even the five steps between my room and hers.

I can’t picture Michele without a smile on her face, and it was that infectious enthusiasm for everything she did that got me excited about things to which I otherwise never would have given a second thought: hockey games, days when the dining hall had especially delicious coffee, and new theories about the route of human migration. Michele, you will always be an inspiration to me, and I will forever miss your beautiful spirit and smile.
—Lana Verkuil

***

In the moment, Michele inspired with quiet gusto. Michele tore apart the last excuse I had for not being a runner with one gentle suggestion. The way she looked through a telescope taught you the difference between studying science and being a scientist. She delivered to many the message that even granola should be consumed in moderation. I still find myself turning to her to understand what it means to fill a moment with passion.

But the Michele I think of most often was born of years, a layering of experience, sound and gesture. She is a series of smiles, furrowed problem set brows, gentle sips of coffee, a brisk pace, a fine Frisbee arm.

I trace these layers back four years, to a Thanksgiving spent at Michele’s home on the Massachusetts coast. She always had a Frisbee, and her readiness to throw was unhindered by a strong wind that day. On the first downwind throw, the Frisbee touched ground and began rolling upright along the beach. For a quarter mile, it traced a path parallel to the ocean. Michele was the one to start chasing it. I followed, and together, we didn’t stop running until we all—Michele, me, and the Frisbee—hit the levee at the end of the beach.

To my friend, who always followed the things she held dear, ceaselessly, with warm determination and good humor: We carry you always. My deepest sympathies to her family and friends, who opened their hearts in sharing Michele with the world.
—Sarah Mich

***

If I had to choose only one person to graduate with, I would have chosen Michele. I count myself lucky to be able to say that she was one of my best friends at Yale, because I could not have asked for a better friend.

I was always amazed at how she dared to devote herself fully to the things she loved. Last year, she was arguably one of the most devoted members of the Yale Drop team. I remember how she bashfully admitted that she had been working almost non-stop on the project, even sleeping and showering on Science Hill during the last weeks of junior year. Yet even during these busiest moments, she always made time to visit me in a neighboring science building whenever I was having trouble, and to giggle over the awkward moments in our respective days.

While she was sincerely enthusiastic about her work, she was able to drop everything to support her friends when they needed her the most. Our coffee dates never had a time limit. Even when I would insist that she get back to her work, she would refuse:

“Rachel, please. You can go mope, or stay with me and stare into my beautiful face,” she would counter, batting her eyelashes and smiling at me jokingly.

Of course, I would always stay—I never could resist her charm and sincerity.

Michele, you were one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met. I wonder how I’ll make it through the rest of life without you.
­—Rachel Lee

***

Freshman year, Michele was one of many to me. One of many girls in L-dub Entryway B. One of many Saybrugians in Perspectives on Science. One of many people I knew by name but not by personality. But I could see she was beautiful, I could tell she was kind, and I knew she was smart. It was this third quality that allowed me to finally get to know her. Struggling to do a Perspectives p-set on the physics of heat transfer that was so far over my head I couldn’t even figure out anything to Google, my Entryway A friends and I had all but given up when one said he’d heard Michele was a physics whiz. We called her and she graciously offered to come over and help us—an act that I thought at the time was extremely generous, but one I’d come to learn was simply Michele. We sat on the floor, me copying down her calculations as she explained them, carrying on an easy conversation even though we’d never really spoken before. As we complained about Perspectives and discussed college life, I began to attach something deeper to the face that I already knew was beautiful, kind, and smart. It was also down-to-earth, passionate, and funny. It was a face I wouldn’t mind getting to know. I asked if she wanted to live with us the following year, and she said yes. Had I been better at heat transfer, would I ever have met Michele? Would I ever have learned that the beautiful face with the stunning long brown hair was home to an even more beautiful person? I’m so happy that my ineptitude led me to see that Michele wasn’t one of many: She was many wonderful things rolled into one.

—Beanie Meadow

***

When I first saw Michele, I was blown away by her beauty. It wasn’t until later, when we were suitemates and then friends, that I discovered the personality and quirks behind those eyes and that smile. When a priest asked us to think of the best adjective to describe her, my immediate thought was “genuine.” Michele was her own woman, one of those rare people who isn’t fazed by what others think. I also appreciated her open-mindedness. She wouldn’t tolerate bigotry of any kind, and around her I could always be myself.

Looking back on my time with Michele, I realize that my memories of her aren’t isolated events—as my suitemate, she was always there. Between her classes, lab, and other activities, she shared with us her massive collection of YouTube videos, got me hooked on both Firefly and Doctor Who, spent hours discussing and sharing music, comforted us through break-ups and other hard times, and talked about her hopes and goals.

Michele, thank you for being so awesome. I will never forget what you said to me, and how you comforted me, that morning at 4:00 a.m. when I came to you, crying and shattered. You always made me laugh over how conflicted you were about whether to go out or finish your work—that night when Sarah and I were already down the stairs heading out to BAR before you changed your mind and joined us particularly sticks out. I will miss our Summer Heights High jokes (who else will say “PUCK YOU” with the same vigor and levity?). I miss your presence, your smell, your laugh, and your smile. But to paraphrase from your favorite poem, you always strove, sought, and found, but never, ever yielded. You inspire me continuously. I love you, and I miss you.

—Alice Song

***

At the end of one hot evening in fall semester, Michele and I lay in the grass on Old Campus, where our suite had been annexed junior year. Security guards leaned on their bicycles by Phelps Gate, while freshmen tripped home holding hands or cell phones. A giant elm tree, its branches tipped with leaves still clinging to green, stood silhouetted against the apricot glow of our fourth-story window. Stretched on our backs in the cool bristles of grass, we stared up at the sky, free for once of its purple haze.

“Look at all the stars,” I murmured, gazing half-lidded at the speckles of light.

“Whoaaa! Is that Perseus?” Michele sat up, eyes wide with excitement, shaking her head so her silver earrings danced. She pointed somewhere in the blanket of blue, her fingers tracing the constellation as her voice wove a tale of oracles and adventures and hidden beauty. She untangled the sky with her trademark mixture of assurance and enthusiasm. I squinted at the blur of white dots, wishing—as I have so many times since—that I could have her depth of knowledge and still maintain such a sense of wonder.

I will miss our rainy day runs to East Rock, talking about our fears and crushes and dreams for the future, trading electropop and Bob Dylan bootlegs, and sharing cups of coffee at midnight. But most of all, I will miss her voice, brimming with that endless awe.

—Sarah Yager

D: Stop & Shop
Lend me your ears, Young Yalies: There was once a time when upperclassmen threw dinner parties on the regular, when we didn’t have to stuff our tupperware with precious lettuces to carry back from the dining halls like prized pomegranates. To put it briefly: There was a time when this oft-maligned city of 130,000 people had a full-service grocery store.
This weekend, life in New Haven will get a little bit sweeter when Stop & Shop opens up on the old Shaw’s lot on Whalley Ave. Why no Credit, you say? Because it’s been too damn long. I’m tired of eating frozen peas and refried beans, and so are the rest of the people who live here without a car. Access to fresh food should be a right, not a privilege.

Fail: Spring, etc.
Dear Spring,
Why did you wait so long to arrive? I wanted to play catch on Old Campus and drink day beers but now I must hide in the library to stare at the blank white page of PirateWord. There are a few ways to go from here. Freshmen will no doubt head to the library—still working on that 4.0, huh? I recommend the seventh floor of the stacks, which has a great view but is nowhere near the door to freedom. Seniors will be drunk before you’re awake, even on Sunday. Bulldog Margaritas, anyone? I recommend the “middle road.” Day drinking, followed by nap, followed by homework. A solid recipe for an A-.

 The individuals who write for the street paper are all homeless, but have had a variety of life experiences. Through original essays and poetry, they voice their struggles. For the first edition of the Elm City Echo, launched this past weekend, each contributor worked with a member of the Yale Hunger and Homelessness Action Project (YHHAP) to write his or her unique story. Some homeless writers dictated their stories to the student volunteers, others wrote their pieces themselves, with minimal edits. Katie Aragon, TD ’14, a member of the editorial board, describes the stories as “moving and eye-opening. They reflect the humanity, the resilience, the struggles, and the creativity of a segment of our population that is chronically mis[represented] or underrepresented in the media.”

 With a minimalist layout, the Elm City Echo presents accounts that range from grim to inspirational. Charles ends his piece with bleak honesty, “I go around telling everybody I’m a lawyer or doctor even though I’m not, because it makes me feel good. It helps me to live out a fantasy, and it keeps me going. But I live in a piss apartment, with housemates. When I sell papers, people don’t have time to talk to me. That’s my life.” Others, like Carlton, a former drug addict, offer a message of hope: “I promise anyone can be helped…I’m living, breathing, writing proof of that.” Eliza Dryer, TC ’14, sums up this diversity of motives: “Many contributors find it therapeutic to share their stories, while others hope that their work will inspire and uplift readers, especially other homeless folks.”

 Still, the team has had to approach the project sensitively. Akbar Ahmed, DC ’14, is the Public Relations Director for YHHAP. He says that some contributors took issue with the marketing of the Elm City Echo as a street paper “by the homeless, for the homeless.” They did not want their names and pictures to be associated with a group that is often stigmatized in society. The back cover now refers to “marginalized members of the New Haven community.” Aragon further emphasizes that the paper should not be seen as a ‘Yale’ project: “It’s a project that involves all of New Haven.”

A mottled green braid of a scarf snakes around Melissa Goodall’s neck. A folded scooter, the birthday wish of every seven-year-old, gleams in her arms. Despite the scooter, Goodall, the Associate Director of the Yale Office of Sustainability, seems pretty serious dressed in her business casual.

Goodall is an organizer of Yale’s annual “State of Sustainability” ceremony in Kroon Hall, which takes place during the weeklong Sustainability Summit the Office of Sustainability hosts each year. She scurries around the technician puzzling over the projector, playing diplomat to the guests crowding over the assembly line of cinnamon-dusted baked goods. They number approximately 60, milling in towards the back of Kroon Hall’s Burke Auditorium. Some enter wearing pantsuits paired with running shoes—athletic socks beginning just below the lines of their pantyhosed ankles.

The Sustainability Summit, spilling over with everything from organic lunches to lectures by School of Forestry and Environmental Studies (FES) professors to recycling games, has been in progress since this past Monday and runs until this coming Sunday. This year’s summit is themed on community-building, and is just one of many of Yale’s efforts to becoming more eco-friendly. Most notable is the Yale Strategic Plan for 2010-2013, which set ambitious goals in areas including construction, waste management, transportation, food, environmental health, earth systems, and administrative systems. The most publicized goal is the reduction of greenhouse gas emissions by 43 percent from 2005 levels by 2013.

Though the plan barely affects the day-to-day lives of most Yale students, careers, offices, and entire departments are built around it. Yale has devoted much pomp and fanfare towards its intention to become sustainable by 2013. But it’s been a year since Levin announced the initiative’s lofty goals, and Yale is racing to make enough progress to meet its benchmarks.

The environment of the “State of Sustainability” ceremony is fitting—the wood-paneled cavern that is Burke Auditorium lets what little sunlight there is in this New Haven fog seep through slats of what looks like a giant window blind, built for efficient heating and shading. It’s built out of more organic materials than almost any other room in the world. It makes one think of Jonah trapped inside the sonorous stomach of a whale.

Kroon Hall is perhaps the most visible symbol of eco-friendliness on campus. But it’s hardly the only building that will going to be eco-friendly. The Strategic Plan has set forth a goal to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, while increasing campus space. According to Virginia Chapman, Director of Sustainable Initiatives for Facilities campus square footage increased by 12 percent while emissions decreased by 16 percent from 2005 to 2010. Emissions reductions are caused largely from building design, the installation of occupancy sensors, and the installation of set points on thermostats. Ultimately, Yale’s sustainable initiatives in construction are modeled after Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED), the internationally recognized certification system for green construction. However, Yale’s own system is more stringent—it mandates credits in areas that LEED certification does not require, such as water conservation and energy conservation. In addition, new Yale buildings must use 24 percent less energy, and new Yale labs must use 34 percent less energy than the minimal requirement of a LEED building.

Other universities, like Stanford and Princeton, do not base their sustainable construction initiatives off LEED certification; rather, they use their own systems. Chapman says that this may cause them to be more lax in meeting their standards: “If you don’t have the U.S. Green Building Council checking off all those requirements, sometimes you don’t do it.”

Chapman says these tougher standards are difficult to attain. In the end, although the eco-friendly materials and design make such buildings one to two percent more expensive than regular ones, the new buildings save more in reduced utilities costs. Kroon Hall and the School of Art’s new Sculpture Building are platinum LEED certified—the highest level of certification. Rosenkranz Hall, the Malone Center, and the Loria Center on York are all gold LEED certified.

When one thinks of the stereotypical sustainable building, a mass of sharp angles and entire sides made of sheets of windows—questionably derived from an abstract art exhibit—comes to mind. Icons like Ingalls Rink (also gold LEED certified) and Yale Health are campus architecture’s “modern jewels—the exceptions,” according to Alice Raucher, the major project planner for Yale’s two new residential colleges. The new colleges have been designed to be gold LEED certified. Interestingly, though they will sport eco-friendly designs, they will have “the collegiate gothic look of Silliman or Timothy Dwight—it will be a continuation of the fabric of Yale,” says Chapman. Older-style buildings can be built sustainably, asserts Raucher. The colleges will use a hybrid system involving geothermal wells for heating and cooling to minimize reliance on the central plant. Really, though, “the dumb stuff is the brilliant stuff,” says Raucher. Taller buildings will be oriented to the north and west to increase solar gains in courtyards and student rooms. Inside, daylight dimming and occupancy sensors will be installed, as well as ceiling-based radiators called valence units.

At the “State of Sustainability” ceremony, listening to the second speaker’s soft Indian accent thrum about the value of the pollination of bees (200 billion dollars a year, he says), one wonders whether the coffee inside the flashily compostable “ecotainers” is organic.

After all, the Strategic Plan dictates that, by 2013, 40 percent of Yale Dining’s food purchases must be local, eco-sensitive, humane, or fair-trade. According to Keri Enright-Kato, project manager at Yale’s Office of Sustainability, 35 percent of food purchased now meets that requirement. Says Austin Shiner, ES ’11, the office’s researcher for sustainable dining, all meat served by Yale Dining is now hormone-free, and all the chicken it serves is locally raised. Yale Dining is attempting to decrease students’ meat consumption by purchasing more alternatives like chickpeas, barley, and other whole grains with high protein content.

Eating sustainably comes with a price: Eating a local, fresh plant-based diet is three or four times as costly as eating processed foods grown in bulk. The country’s agricultural system makes beef and pork as cheap as possible, which is “elitist and disenchanting,” says Shiner. He adds that, however, there is never any pressure for the administration to cut costs by buying less sustainable produce. In addition, any money saved from greater efficiencies in purchasing, food preparation, and serving food is reinvested in better quality food.

Sustainable and organic vegetables and fruits are grown at Yale itself, as part of the Yale Sustainable Food Project. However, Yale Dining does not serve food grown by the YSFP because, says Shiner, “Their five acres are like a drop in the bucket. The amount of food they produce would be like a tomato salad served once a month in one residential college.” Furthermore, said Shiner, relying on the Farm for produce would create uncertainty in planning the menu: “There could be bugs, the crop could fail, and the yield varies.”

But the YSFP, which is staffed mostly by student volunteers and seven student interns, does more than produce food. From 2003 to 2008, the YSFP worked with Yale Dining to bring sustainable food and principles to Yale’s kitchens and dining halls. Though Yale Dining has since transitioned to managing its sustainability initiatives independently, Program Coordinator Zan Romanoff says that larger mission of the YSFP is to serve as a tool for education and community outreach. The YSFP sells most of its produce at its own booth at the Wooster Square farmer’s market. The rest is donated to the Downtown Evening Soup Kitchen in New Haven or sold to Miya’s Sushi and Blue State Coffee. The purpose of this, says Romanoff, is to “get our name on their menus” and spread awareness about YSFP. To further spread their message in New Haven, the YSFP teaches a “seed-to-salad” curriculum for K-6 public school students. In the future, says Romanoff, YSFP plans to move into Yale classrooms to teach cooking, eating, and buying food sustainably to students.”

Yale Dining has also set waste reduction goals—all uneaten food is composted or donated. Leaders of the Student Taskforce for Environmental Partnership (STEP), have taken this to heart by advocating its trayless initiative in all residential college dining halls. Victoria Charette, TD ‘11, a STEP coordinator, says that dining hall audits run by STEP show that diners with trays waste twice as much food as diners who don’t use trays. Yale is one of the only Ivy Leagues left that still provides trays in its dining halls. Charette talks of trays made available by special request only at peer universities, and says that asking meal swipe staff to encourage students not to use trays has been successful. But when she experimented with getting rid of trays in Commons, “It was a disaster.” Charette says that Commons’ high volume, long lines, and need for quick movement fueled a student rebellion when traffic grew even worse when students, without trays, were forced to return to wait in serving lines a second time. Next year, some residential dining halls, explains Shiner, will get rid of all its trays.

Yale is pursuing sustainability in the most unlikely places of campus. In the staff lounge of the Yale Center for British Art, a snowflake made from spiraling recycled paper dangles on the wall, light flitting through its tapered edges that make a web-like matrix. From it cascades a row of like-minded pieces—staff-created, sustainability-themed artwork is the sole décor of the off-white walls. There is a collage assembled from items salvaged from that day’s trash and metal cutouts from old 3-D glasses. In the midst hangs an ice cream cone made of salvaged mat board to be thrown out—cutout dots for embedded in a dollop of vanilla-tinted mat board over a darker patterned mat board with waffle-cone-like striations. Indeed, Yale’s sweet tooth for adopting the sustainability initiatives of the Strategic Plan has been well satiated this year. As it launches into its next two years, we will see whether these cravings will be enough to meet its goals.

Pooja Yerramilli, ES ’12, one of Relay’s main organizers, began her involvement with the event in high school and has continued her work at Yale. Yerramilli embodies the purpose of Relay. “Relay for Life is about more than the money,” she said. “It’s about bringing everyone who has some connection to cancer together and supporting one another in the fight against this terrible disease.” This spirit of collaboration and friendship permeates every aspect of this distinctive fundraiser. Relay has become a common event at colleges and high schools across the country due to both its contributions in the fight against cancer, and its ability to bring communities together.

The history of Relay for Life reflects the foundational belief that “one person can make a difference.” Relay’s roots lie in the humble town of Tacoma, Wash., May 1985. With the support of his local community, Dr. Gordy Klatt ran individual marathons to raise money for his patients who were diagnosed with cancer. Broadening the effort, Dr. Klatt eventually expanded the marathon to include 19 distinct teams, all of which donated in order to participate. After the first true Relay for Life event, Dr. Klatt had already accumulated 33,000 dollars in the American Cancer Society’s name. Since its beginnings in the Northwest, Relay has quickly developed an international following. Relay counts the National Cancer Society of Malaysia and La Asociación Hondureña de la Lucha Contra el Cancer among its many international partners. Thus, Relay has created not only a means of connecting neighbors and friends, but of establishing a global team to stand together against cancer.

Yet what is perhaps most touching about the Relay experience are the stories its participants share. Cancer has touched the lives of millions, and the event provides an outlet for a dialogue on common and unique experiences. Yerramilli, for example, first felt the presence of cancer in her life when a close friend was diagnosed in the seventh grade. Yerramilli notes, “Despite undergoing so many treatments, from chemotherapy to surgeries to experimental protocols, and despite experiencing physical exhaustion and dangerous infections, my friend remains the most optimistic and inspiring person I know.”

Further, in light of the recent passing of Mandi Schwartz, CC ’11, the Yale community’s ties to Relay remain stronger than ever. Abigail Droge, CC ’12 is a captain for the Yale Glee Club’s team and believes Mandi’s legacy will only help to make this event all the more powerful. Droge said, “I think that this year’s Relay will be much more emotional and inspiring because of Mandi. I hope that her story will encourage a lot of Yalies to come out, since I think it would be a really good way for the campus to honor her.” While Relay helps millions each year, its significance and relevance specifically on Yale’s campus cannot be underestimated.

As Relay for Life approached this year, some were concerned about its proximity to the AIDS Walk New Haven on Sunday. There were fears of limited participation on both ends due to the possibility that students would choose to attend only one of the two fundraisers. However, many note that participation appears to have surpassed that of previous years, abating initial concerns. With eight days to go until Relay, there are already 70 teams registered, and over 48,361 dollars raised. Hudak’s Healers, a contingent of Saybrook students, are currently in the lead having raised 10,512 dollars.

If anything, Relay has approached the close timing of several fundraisers in the area as a means to collaborate, not compete. The Relay team has even joined with the YHHAP fast to encourage students to register for both events while dining at Zaroka, this Friday between 5 and 10 p.m. Anyone may register a new team or join a pre-existing one online at www.relayforlife.org/yale.