Stanford in transition

 Two days ago, I posted a few comments about Theo Baker's book, How to Rule the World, on my Facebook page.  The interest in it was so minimal, aside from myself, that I thought I'd at least save it for my own future reference here on my moribund blog.  If I'd prepared it originally for either this blog or for Goodreads, I like to think that I would have written an actual review -- it would have been longer and certainly more detailed in my analysis.  But, as they insist on saying, it is what it is.  The odd lack of background color betrays my having cut and pasted it from Facebook.

--------------------------------------------

I just finished Theo Baker's combination documentary/memoir of how he, as a 17-year-old freshman, forced Stanford's president to resign. The book, "How To Rule the World," is well worth reading, and is amazing in two respects.

First, it shows how Stanford has changed since my day -- when the School of Humanities and Sciences dominated. About the time I graduated, computer science was just beginning to attract many of the brightest science and math majors. Stanford graduates ultimately spawned Silicon Valley, adjacent to the campus -- often on land rented from the campus. Baker shows the present symbiotic relationship between the Valley and the University, where incredibly wealthy agents roam the campus virtually at will, discerning the best and the brightest -- whose brilliance is stunning -- and inducing them to quit school and accept venture capitalist money for new start-up enterprises. The amount of money at stake is unbelievable. So is the level of stress among students aspiring to become billionaires. Also incredible (and sad) has been the effect on the campus. The history department -- my own major, and a popular major in my day -- is now miniscule in its enrollment.

Even more interesting is the author himself. As the 17-year-old son of two prominent journalists for the Washington Post, he was determined to avoid journalism and choose computer science as his major. By his account, at least, he was a brilliant coder, but not at the very highest level in his class. He made the mistake during his first weeks as a freshman of dropping by the Stanford Daily offices, and volunteering to write a few innocuous articles on campus activities. Then he ran into rumors of irregularities in the work of the university president, before he became president -- work that had won renown because, based on doctored research, it had suggested a new cure for cancer -- and had prompted his hiring as the university's president.

Baker was fascinated. Baker was hooked.

When I was 17, I was editor of my high school paper, working on stories about the school play and behavior at football games. At 17, Baker was interviewing renowned biological and medical experts across the country, and digging into how scientific journals checked the validity of underlying research before publishing articles. His articles were spread across the front page of the Stanford Daily, week after week, and quoted nationally. From the very first article, he was contacted by scientists across the nation. He developed specific scientific expertise that rivaled or exceeded many of the persons he interviewed.

I'm jealous! An amazing kid! The book ends with his graduation from Stanford, and his follow-up interviews with the new president, who remains president today. The new president

"reflected on the ways Stanford's modern culture puts so much pressure on today's students, pushing them to think about career from the minute they arrive on campus. "I don't think it's particularly healthy, and I think having more space at the university for just calm and fun, for that matter, is a good aspiration""

Lots to think about.

Photo: From the book, the author in his younger years.

Novendecennial

Nineteen years ago, in 2007, I first published this blog.  A post entitled Memo to a Boy on a Haystack.

Each March 20 since then, I have summarized our accomplishments and disappointments during the prior year.  Unfortunately, there has been nothing to brag about this past year.  From 148 posts in calendar year 2020, I've come up with only six posts in the past year.  One of the posts discussed a book; the other five were summaries of travel I had undertaken or planned to take.

Nothing to brag about.  It would be farcical to continue my tradition of naming the "best posts" of the past year.

Instead, I simply remark on the anniversary.  

Each year, on the anniversary date, I have accompanied my celebratory post with the photo that accompanied my very first post -- a "boy" (me) sitting on a haystack.

This year I fly the "flag" upside down.  A traditional signal of distress.

Ritorno a Venezia

So spring is at hand, despite today's light snow in Seattle, and with spring, one's thoughts turn to travel.  And none too soon, as I feel the oppression of a long, dark Seattle winter, cooped up in my house.

(I exaggerate -- there are worse places to spend a winter.)

I'm happy to announce to the remnants of my blog audience that, in two months, I will be returning once more to Italy.

In September of 2024, I did a solo hop, skip and jump around various destinations in northern Italy:  Rome, Florence, Como, Milan, Venice, Riomaggiore, Pisa, and Lucca.  Although I spent five nights in my old favorite, Florence, I planned for my visit to each other city to be merely a sampling -- not an in-depth study.  For a few -- Riomaggiore, in particular -- a sampling was all that was necessary.  It was an enjoyable visit, but it was also a small town.  For at least one of the others -- Venice -- I realized that further investigation would be necessary.

And so, my trip in May will be centered on Venice.  A shorter trip, overall, than my 2024 travels, I'll be gone only 13 days including air time across the Atlantic.  I'll spend four nights in Venice.  

Two years ago, I spent the short time I had in Venice mainly just walking the amazing, narrow streets of the city, crossing the web of canals  on small pedestrian bridges.  I made advance reservations to enter the amazingly eclectic San Marco Basilica and marvel at the combinations of various architectural and decorative styles -- including much that was Byzantine.  Also, on the spur of the moment, I jumped on a vaporetto and made the short crossing to the Lido -- a long island that is essentially a string of beaches.  I had read Thomas Mann's 1912 novel, Death in Venice, which took place primarily on the Lido.  I somehow was expecting the island to have remained frozen in time in Edwardian splendor.  Instead, its atmosphere reminded me of Southern California -- in a good sense, but as something of a surprise.

What I did not do in 2024 was visit Venice's numerous and impressive art museums.  Back in 1961, as part of my university's overseas study program, we had been taken through several of the art museums on a field trip.  I had learned to distinguish a Tintoretto from a Titian, favoring the former and learning, to my embarrassment, that "everybody" agreed that the latter was the more profound artist.  I also remember my feet aching so badly from standing in front of paintings listening to lectures that I almost sat on the floor for relief.

Older, and even less tolerant of prolonged standing, I intend now to visit museums at my own pace, appreciating the art more profoundly, hopefully, and caffeinating whenever I feel like it in museum cafes.  I also have a ticket for a performance of Bizet's Carmen at the famed La Felice opera house.  It was also in Venice, two years ago, that I discovered the value of the Aperol Spritz; I plan to further pursue that study this year.

I plan to visit just two other cities -- Trieste for two nights, and Bergamo for three nights.  Trieste has always fascinated me, ever since I was a young teenager, and read daily in the newspaper about the territory of Trieste -- governed by America and Britain after World War II -- which both Yugoslavia and Italy claimed. The territory was ultimately divided, with Italy receiving the city of Trieste and Yugoslavia getting the larger portion of territory.  That was long ago, and the city is now treasured by tourists for its Austro-Hungarian heritage combined with its Italian nationality.  My student group spent a day in Trieste, on our way to Yugoslavia, but I honestly don't remember much about the city.  I'm looking forward to exploring it.

My other stop will be in Bergamo, thirty minutes by train northeast of Milan.  I've never been to Bergamo, but, when preparing for this trip, read so much about the attractions of the city that I've decided to spend three nights there.  

While still in Venice, I may also make a short day trip to Padua, a city with a famous university and a number of other attractions.

I'll fly home from Milan on June 1.  If this blog still exists -- I've been very unfaithful in its maintenance -- I'll let you know what I liked and what, if anything, I would have skipped on this year's travels.

Landmark birthday

It's just past 7 p.m.

My packing is mostly completed, the cats have reconciled themselves to a week of incarceration (with twice daily visits from a cat-sitter who brings them edible surprises), and really all I have left to do is take a shower and go to bed.  The time does drag when you have nothing much left to do.

I leave Seattle on Amtrak's 9:55 a.m. Coast Starlight tomorow morning, and will arrive the next morning at Martinez, in the Bay Area.  My sister promises to be on hand for my arrival, and we'll drive back to Sonoma -- the town she lived in for many years and where family members and friends still live.  As I've mentioned before, I've visited Sonoma so many times over the years that it almost feels like my second home town.

The reason for the visit -- and for the visit by many relatives who will be converging on Sonoma -- is a celebration of my eldest nephew Doug's sixtieth birthday.  60!  It seems impossible!  Doug could easily pass for 40, both in looks and in personality.  And it seems like just yesterday, while on a ski trip at Lake Tahoe, that I was informed returning to our motel that my sister had given birth, and that the kid was a boy.  "Outstanding!" my brother exclaimed, and it was.  The first of the next generation.

I was still living in my parents' house during summer vacations and, for a period, I was around during Doug's first six years. As a result, he seemed more like a baby brother than a nephew.  As he grew into  his teens, we did several mountain treks together -- to Southern Africa, to the Alps, and a climb of Kilimanjaro -- lengthy hikes together that strengthened our bond.  And having him for company certainly made each of those trips more fun for me.

After college, he became immersed in the hospitality business -- hard to avoid in a town like Sonoma -- and later partnered with a local chef to own a well-known restaurant near Healdsburg -- a restaurant that was a culinary success, but less of a business success.  Since then, he's worked primarily in San Francisco, managing some very high level restaurants -- eating joints with both menus and clientele a step or two above my comfort level.

And yet, with family, Doug is still Doug -- funny, good-natured, and unpretentious.  He is always a pleasure to be around.

So I look forward to hanging out with him, his wife, and our extended families.  Too bad that excuses for such multi-day celebrations in our family don't come along more frequently.  I hope to be around for his 70th birthday, as well, but who knows?

----------------------

Photo was taken in 1982, when Doug and I backpacked across Olympic National Park, from the Quinault river to the Dosewallips.  This shot was taken at Andersen Pass, the division point between the two watersheds.  Doug was 16.