Category: Winter 2024

Supported by mindful self-care, that grace—along with other lessons learned at Kalamazoo College—has carried Meier through earning graduate degrees in philosophy, immunology, theology and molecular neuroscience as well as becoming a Jesuit priest, working in biological research, joining the military, and serving as a chaplain in a children’s hospital. He has studied the body and brain and journeyed alongside soldiers traumatized by war and families grieving sickness and death, all without losing his faith or his sense of humor.

Along the way, Meier has sung for a pope, played piano in a neuroscience lab, taught college students and organized weekend retreats for recovering addicts.

In conversation, Meier is dryly humorous and self-deprecating, full of entertaining stories, and matter-of-fact about his complicated history with alcohol and his tendency to distract himself with long tangents.

His email signature offers a glimpse into his many accomplishments: S.J., Ph.D., M.A., M.S., M.Div., Th.M.; Former Chaplain (Major), U.S. Army, California Army National Guard; The Order of California (2018).

Yet when asked how he prefers to be identified, Meier said, “At some point, people started calling me either Doctor Father or Father Doctor Tim. When I joined the military at 51, I decided, I’m Captain Doctor Father Tim. Then when I got promoted to major, I didn’t like the way Major Doctor Father Tim sounded, so I kept the captain. When I was in the army, people would call me Chaplain or Chappie. At the hospital, I’m usually addressed as Father Tim.

“But mostly, I’m just Tim.”

Meier first considered joining the Roman Catholic religious order the Society of Jesus when he was in high school at the University of Detroit Jesuit High School and Academy. A Jesuit teacher there advised him to go to college first—if he had a vocation, it would wait.

So, in summer 1974, Meier headed across the state to Kalamazoo College for a two-week orientation program. He had always loved science, and he planned to major in biology, his favorite subject area. Participants selected three possible areas of study for the orientation, and Meier chose math, history and music.

“It turns out that (Professor of Music) Russ Hammar took anybody who had put music in any spot, and he made a little orchestra and chorus to perform Mozart’s Misericordias Domini,” Meier said. “In two weeks, we were able to put this together and have a little concert, and I found that I really liked doing music. It hit me that if I could also major in music, I didn’t want to look back 40 years down the road and say, ’Oh, I wish I had done that.’ I don’t have the talent to make music my life’s work, but I knew that music was in my soul.”

Meier appreciates that Kalamazoo College was a place where he could double major, study abroad in Spain, perform independent study in biblical Greek, and audit German classes simply because he was interested.

“I am so glad that I was able to major in music and in biology, and I think Kalamazoo College was one of the few places where I could get a really good education in both. I’m grateful that was not just a possibility, but that it became my reality.”

During study abroad, Meier began to get serious about the call he felt to the priesthood. When he returned, he contacted the Jesuits without telling any of his family or friends. Upon graduation, he received offers for a Heyl Graduate Fellowship to Yale (available to K graduates in certain fields) to study pharmacology, a Thomas J. Watson Fellowship to study orchids in Colombia and Venezuela, and an invitation to the Jesuit order.

“I told my parents that I was going to become a Jesuit, and my dad said, ‘Don’t you think you should go to Yale first?’” Meier said. “It was an option, but I opted not to.”

On September 3, 1978, Meier joined the Jesuits. The formation of a Jesuit priest encompasses five stages and can last more than 15 years. For Meier, the process would span almost 30 years.

First, he spent two years in the Novitiate stage, learning about community, ministry, the Society of Jesus and Ignatian spirituality and making a 30-day silent retreat, the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola, before pronouncing vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.

For the second stage, First Studies, Jesuits at that time studied philosophy for two years. Meier enrolled in the Jesuit philosophy program at Loyola University Chicago, taking piano lessons at Mundelein College and singing countertenor each Sunday in the Episcopal Church a few blocks south of campus (the rest of the choristers sang in the Lyric Opera Chorus).

“I had never had philosophy as a course while I was at Kalamazoo College, so here I am doing a master’s degree in something I had never studied before,” Meier said.

The third stage of Jesuit formation, Regency, involves active ministry, often teaching. Meier wanted to teach biology, and in order to do so, his next step was to attend Georgetown University as a student, where he earned a master’s degree in immunology. He then taught biology for three years at John Carroll University in Cleveland.

The fourth stage, Theology Studies, is a final step toward priestly ordination. Meier proceeded from John Carroll to the Jesuit School of Theology in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where he earned both a Master of Divinity and a Master of Theology. While earning the second degree, Meier—who has been clean and sober since 1979—began assisting another Jesuit in giving weekend retreats to people in 12-step programs. He wrote a thesis reflecting on that experience, titled “Toward a Theology of Recovery from Addiction.”

Meier still wasn’t finished with his formal education. From Cambridge, he headed to Stanford University in California, where he intended to continue his study of immunology. Once he arrived, however, “There wasn’t anything going on there in immunology that caught my fancy.

“I heard this guy give one of the best lectures I’d ever heard, so I went to visit him, and from down the hall, I could see a studio upright piano in his lab. I decided, upon seeing the piano, I don’t care what this guy does, I need to work with him. And it turned out that he was doing molecular neuroscience, something I had not done. It was a fabulous experience in his lab.”

At the end of his second year at Stanford, Meier also organized a recital of biologists in music at Stanford, which started small, with 30 or so people, but grew quickly, with a crowd of more than 300 by the time of the sixth recital in the fall of Meier’s fifth year.

“We had spectacular music, and it was really, really fun, until the chair of my department, who was also on my doctoral thesis committee, put a kibosh to it,” Meier said. “He said, ‘You’re spending too much time doing that, not enough time doing your degree.’ I don’t know about the too much, but it’s true I was not rushing the degree because I knew I would have to go back to the Midwest, and I was really enjoying living in a place where some flowers bloom outside all year round. It took me seven years to finish my doctorate.”

After a year of post-doctoral work at Stanford, Meier taught biology at Xavier University in Cincinnati, where he was able to take voice lessons and gave his first voice recital since college.

In 2002, Meier returned to Stanford as undergraduate research coordinator and director of the honors program in biological sciences.

“That was my dream job,” Meier said. “I was able to keep doing some research, I did some teaching, and I did administration—which is not my idea of a great thing to be doing, but it enabled me to do the other things. I was back in California, and I got to interact with amazing folks. It was fun that several of the folks in the department were unsettled by the fact that I am professionally religious, except they couldn’t gainsay my credentials to be there, because they had given me those credentials.”

While working at Stanford, Meier started the last phase of Jesuit formation, Tertianship, in 2005. (While Jesuits typically start this year of reflection and discernment about five years after ordination, Meier had been ordained 14 years prior.) A significant piece of Tertianship entails making the Spiritual Exercises again in another 30-day silent retreat.

“Much to my horror, in the midst of that silent retreat, it became clear to me that I was supposed to join the U.S. military,” Meier said. “I’m old enough to have had a draft number for Vietnam, which was really unsettling, despite the fact that by the time I got my draft number, the draft was effectively over. Still, I had wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the military, except that, in the summer of 2005, this comes up.”

The call to service, Meier said, was incontestable.

“January of 2006, I actually wind up meeting with military chaplain recruiters. Then October 2006, all of a sudden, I’m G.I. Tim, and I had been accepted into the U.S. Army as a captain in the Chaplain Corps. No one was more surprised than me to find that going on.”

Meier spent June through August of 2007 in basic training at age 51.

“It was not my idea of a really good time,” Meier said. “Doing pushups on fire ant hills at five in the morning was not how I imagined my golden years were going to begin.”

In June 2008, Meier embarked on the first of four overseas deployments.

“I had a lot of reservations about joining the military; one of them was that I ‘have more degrees than a rectal thermometer,’ according to a friend whom I had trusted (at least up to that point),” Meier said. “I was afraid that would be a bar against junior enlisted personnel in particular being able to derive benefit from my being around. Ironically, junior enlisted got along with me really well. It was the officers who had trouble with the fact that I had so much education. I know a little about a lot of things—and I really am grateful to Kalamazoo College for nurturing that in me.”

In fact, Meier found he could lean on his molecular neurobiology knowledge to help service members understand what happens in the human brain in situations of stress and trauma. It also helped him develop coping strategies for himself, particularly to manage the traumatic stress of deployment and the 189 helicopter missions he went on.

“Not only do I not like war movies, I really don’t like roller coasters,” Meier said. “Too often, the aircraft would start doing—let’s say acrobatics. A couple of times, I learned after the fact that the acrobatics were the crew trying to get Chappie to barf. Other times they weren’t. And I found that, as this thing is doing its bucking bronco imitation, if I could force myself to take just three mindful breaths in a row, I could feel a teeny tiny bit less stress. The more I forced myself to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth slowly, it felt better for me.”

As everyone in the helicopters wore ear protection, and Meier was not usually connected to the intercom system, he found that he could sing without anyone hearing him, and that also helped him get through difficult flights.

“I made up a little ditty that I would sing based on the words from one of the songs that I sang at my senior recital at Kalamazoo College, Green Pastures. It’s kind of a riff on the 23rd Psalm, the Lord is my shepherd sort of thing. That helped a lot, too.”

On one mission in Iraq, Meier noticed a helicopter pilot “in the Darth Vader helmet” had a purple stuffed Beanie Baby attached to his uniform. “I just thought that was the best thing; it was so incongruous. I did not think I could get away with a purple Beanie Baby, but I wondered if I could find one that would be less immediately discernible.”

At the time, the Army was regularly confiscating stuffed animals because they were being used to disguise improvised explosive devices, so bags of them sat in the chaplain’s office.

“I went and emptied this box out on to a big table—there had to be 100 of them there,” Meier said. “I saw Mr. Bear, who was sort of brownish tan. I began putting him in one of the pockets on the body armor that I was wearing. Several noncommissioned officers would get a little aggravated, like, ‘I’m sure that’s not authorized.’ My response would be ‘Oh, thank you, sergeant,’ and I would just keep doing it. A lot of the junior enlisted soldiers thought that my having Mr. Bear was really funny. On my next three deployments, I decided to take him with me. I was never ordered not to have him with me, and I liked having him around.”

Meier turned 60 on his fourth and final deployment, which ended in 2016. He worked for the State Military Department, overseeing chaplains from the Army National Guard, Air National Guard and California state militia, until April 2018. As Meier accompanied service members and veterans on their journeys from trauma toward healing, while simultaneously working to process his own experiences, he began to see how gracious living could mean offering grace to yourself and others.

From there, Meier moved to Los Angeles, where he helped at a Jesuit parish on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood for a few months before being assigned to Children’s Hospital Los Angeles as a chaplain in June 2019.

As the only Roman Catholic priest at one of the top pediatric facilities in the country, Meier was called on frequently to minister to families with extremely sick children.

“I meet families at some of the most difficult times they might ever have,” Meier said. “I’m really aware that Messiah is not part of my job. I physically cannot effect positive change in this situation. I cannot heal the child. I can’t take on or take away anybody’s pain. But what I’ve learned is, I’m good at accompanying people through at least part of this journey. I’m grateful that I have had the opportunity to journey with these folks.”

Sometimes an old friend did the journeying with Meier.

“I’ll bring Mr. Bear around, and I’ll show the child pictures from deployment and mention that Mr. Bear didn’t really like flying on aircraft, but I liked having him with me,” Meier said. “I tell them that if Mr. Bear got scared, he would pull the cover of the pouch he was riding in over his head so he could hide, and he’d feel safer, and he’d still be with me, so I’d feel safe, too. The kids and even their parents seem to think that’s funny.”

At the hospital, Meier leaned on his K experiences in a way he never saw coming. His year in Spain, which had no direct connection to what he was studying, brought him to a point of fluency in Spanish that—with some work to re-establish proficiency—has helped him communicate with families whose primary language is Spanish.

“I’m really grateful that Kalamazoo College set me up—in a good way— for something I never would have imagined I would be drawing on 45 years later.”

There are good days and bad days at Children’s Hospital, times of grief and loss that brought Meier back to the trauma and powerlessness of deployment as well as “some spectacular, indescribably wonderful, joyful outcomes.

“Recently, there was a patient on the palliative care list and everybody was convinced this patient was at death’s door. Now it looks like the patient may go home this week. And everybody’s baffled except for the patient’s mom, who really believes that this was a miracle. There are wonderful outcomes and there are some that are really, really sad. I find it fraught because it takes a lot of psychic and spiritual energy for me to be able to detach with love and recognize that I can’t make things better. Working at the hospital takes a lot of emotional intentionality and a lot of self-care on my part.”

The mindful breathing he practiced on Black Hawk helicopters is an essential part of Meier’s self-care.

“When I was in grad school, if the concept of mindfulness came up, the received wisdom among neuroscientists was that these people are claiming really spectacular benefits, and they must have a screw loose,” Meier said. “But since I left Stanford, there’s been a lot of research published in really excellent peer-reviewed journals indicating the benefits of simply breathing mindfully. It doesn’t need any sort of meditation component or religious or spiritual context; just the breathing itself leads to statistically significant drops in the levels of circulating glucocorticoids, which was, ironically, what most of the people in my lab at Stanford were looking at.

“Mindfulness has been a really important component of my program of self-care and of spiritual exercise, if you will. And that helps me to be able to go to work and be present to folks who need someone maybe just to be there in silence.”

In silence—and in grace. Always, for Meier, from the Kalamazoo campus, through classrooms and research labs, on the battlefield, to hospital rooms echoing with grief or joy, he finds and shares that grace with others.

And as for his own next chapter? The future is somewhat uncertain. During a recent medical evaluation of his traumatic stress injuries, Meier was surprised to receive a diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease. Additionally, he was encouraged to leave employment at Children’s Hospital since the many stressors there were aggravating prior traumatic stress injuries. Whatever lies ahead for Meier, however, he is sure to lean on grace. As he has journeyed alongside so many others through difficulty and struggle, he now embarks on his own next journey with a lifetime of truly gracious living to accompany him.

“I am grateful beyond words for my time at Kalamazoo College, for the rich educational challenges and opportunities, and for lifelong friendships and satisfying memories. I continue to pray in thanksgiving, daily, for everyone associated with Kalamazoo College.”

An outdoor orientation tradition at Kalamazoo College is marking 50 years of giving incoming students the opportunity to gain self-confidence, build friendships, and develop collaboration and problem-solving skills before they even start class.

Founded in 1973, LandSea was born when then-Kalamazoo College President George Rainsford introduced his idea to create a pre-orientation program for first-year students focused on an Outward Bound-style, wilderness-education experience.

That summer, 10 faculty and staff members, including President Rainsford, participated in Outward Bound wilderness programs to explore the possibilities of wilderness experiences and their future inclusion in the curriculum. Rainsford was a trustee for the Colorado Outward Bound School and a member of the Great Lakes College Association (GLCA) Steering Committee for Wilderness Programs. Funding for the development of the wilderness program was provided by grants from the DeWitt Wallace Foundation and the Lily Foundation.

The initiative proved promising, and before the start of fall quarter, 16 first-year students registered for the first wilderness experience with Coordinator of Campus Activities Robert Doud serving as an administrator and leader. The students spent six days backpacking in the Porcupine Mountains in northern Michigan.

In 1974, 60 first-year students registered for Michigan by Land and Sea with two-week rotations on land at Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore and one week at sea with the 38-ton brigantine vessel Playfair. Hiking and canoeing were added at Killarney Provincial Park in Ontario, Canada, a year later.

Those foundational experiences were the start of a cherished tradition at K as the program continued growing, allowing subsequent classes of first-year students to explore new landscapes, network, and set up their support systems.

LandSea co-founder, wilderness enthusiast and Outward Bound school attendee David Winch—at the time an associate professor of physics at K—took LandSea’s helm from 1976–1991.

In a 1980 LandSea brochure, Winch said, “Students go into LandSea anticipating the exciting individual experiences—the hiking, climbing and sailing. But most students come out with a sense that the biggest benefit is the people. There is an intensity to this experience that helps to develop bonds between us all.”

Thomas Breznau took LandSea’s reins in 1992 as he set goals of increasing enrollment, securing self-funding, adopting detailed risk-management plans, creating in-depth training for student leaders, and establishing ongoing supportive relationships with staff. In 1995, the program evolved its emphasis further to include rigorous leader training, adding more coordinators and certifying all student leaders as wilderness-first responders.

In 2011, Jory Horner succeeded Breznau as the director of LandSea and Outdoor Programs, a position he still relishes today.

“Not that many programs can celebrate a 50th anniversary, so it’s exciting,” Horner said. “I think we were one of the first 10 outdoor orientation trips in the country, and it’s encouraging to look back and see how long it’s been around and how many different people have been involved with it.”

LandSea has received local appreciation and national applause as a standard-bearer for pre-orientation programs in higher education. The Outdoor Orientation Benchmarking Survey (TOOBS), a national report released last April, ranked K’s program first, second or third among similar programs in eight of the 16 categories that measure various areas of student development and a student’s identity related to the institution.

In general, participants of outdoor orientation trips such as LandSea are more likely to develop social connectedness, feelings of belonging, campus involvement and independence with increased retention rates and higher grade-point averages. At K specifically, College records show that students who have participated in the trip have maintained higher GPAs than their peers in nine of the last 11 academic years, and first-year students from 2012–19 were consistently more likely to graduate.

The COVID-19 pandemic forced Outdoor Programs to pause LandSea for a year in 2020 and stay closer to home—in Traverse City, Michigan—in 2021. However, 2022 marked a return to form, as well as introduced new options for incoming students. Participants can currently select between one of two programs in the mountains of Adirondack State Park in upstate New York—where LandSea generally has been since 2012—and one at Pretty Lake Camp near Kalamazoo.

Adirondack State Park features the largest system of hiking trails in the country, along with 3,000 lakes and ponds, 1,200 miles of rivers and its state’s highest mountains. There, LandSea Basecamp-option participants explore Massawepie Lake by hiking, canoeing, climbing, implementing service projects and rafting on the Hudson River during an 18-day program. Expedition-option participants primarily go backpacking and canoeing, also over 18 days. Each small group of participants travels and sets up new campsites each night with a climb-and-rappel day, a service-and-reflection component and finishing with a day of rafting on the Hudson River.

The shorter, less rustic program at Pretty Lake features day hikes, bike trail explorations, paddling on the water, team-building activities and a high-ropes course.

Participants cook their own meals and take on a service project. Small-group activities gather six to eight incoming first-year students and two or three continuing-student leaders over six days in a program warmly welcomed since its inception.

“There’s been a lot of great feedback with some students saying, ’I did the Kalamazoo program, but I would not have done the Adirondack programs,’” Assistant Director of Outdoor Programs Jessica Port said. “It highlighted the need we had for a third program. We heard, ‘This was a great experience and exactly what I needed to build some friendships and find some mentors in older students. It helped me try something new and out of my comfort zone, and it was safe and an achievable step before coming to college.’”

Student leaders are the backbone of the LandSea program, as they facilitate the participants’ experience, offer support, teach skills and serve as role models. They encourage the incoming first-year students to challenge themselves, reflect on passing from high school to college, open themselves to others, build effective relationships and take responsibility for themselves.

“I’m proud of the staff, but also of the fact that so many students have poured time and energy into the program and gotten so much impact out of it as well in their own lives,” Port said. “I don’t know if excitement is the right word, but I feel joy when I think of all the leaders and those participants who have gotten so much out of the program, and what they’ve poured into it, too.”

“I think it’s humbling to know that until the past two years, the trip leader position has always been a volunteer position,” Horner added. “It has required at least 30 days of somebody’s summer. To ask that much of people and to have so many people willing to do that every year, for 50 years, is incredible. I think there are programs out there that have struggled to find trip leaders, and yet this program has had many people lead as a way to give back after the experience they had as incoming students.”

Regardless of which program students choose, they have no access to electronic devices such as cellphones during the trip, further enabling opportunities to create relationships that last long beyond LandSea.

“It’s so rare nowadays that someone might get a chance to be away from their phone for a week to two and a half weeks, letting you kind of see what bubbles up in your psyche when electronics aren’t a barrier between you and the people with you,” Horner said. “The relationships that current students and trip leaders develop allow students to get to know somebody over a longer term and tap into each other when they need their friends. The first-year students get a better chance to ask, ‘What is K really like?’ They get connected, establish their social networks, and talk about activities at K, whether they’re into the outdoors or not.”

Greta Farley ’22, who now works as a coordinator for Outdoor Programs and LandSea, provides testimony about LandSea as a first-year student.

“LandSea wasn’t the reason I applied to or came to K, but it was a definitely a factor in deciding where I saw myself and how I wanted to introduce myself to a new part of my life,” Farley said. “I had never been backpacking before. I had never done any serious camping before. But I signed on for one of the Expedition routes and I had a great time. I met some of my best friends in my patrol, one of whom I ended up living with for three years in college. There was an automatic trust and camaraderie among people in my group and it socially made the transition to K more comfortable. Physically, it was challenging, and we were tired by the end of the day, but it was a really cool way to enter college, having two and a half weeks where I was proud of myself at the end of every night.”

Maggie Zorn ’24 coordinated the development of a 50th-anniversary commemorative book for LandSea as their Senior Integrated Project (SIP). Yet Zorn says they never had a chance to participate as a first-year student due to the pandemic, and they probably wouldn’t have participated anyway based on past limited experiences in the outdoors. Regardless, they recognized what LandSea did for their peers.

“I didn’t come from a family that did a lot of camping, and we never went backpacking,” Zorn said. “We would do day-hike trips, but nothing to the extent of LandSea. Then, we got to campus, and I started meeting some of the people who did go on LandSea. One of my best friends and I then talked about applying to be leaders for the 2021 program. I went through the application process and decided I could get a lot more interested in outdoor activities and maybe outdoor education in general. I led Traverse City on different patrols for the abbreviated program there, and it was an incredibly life-changing experience. It made me rethink a lot of the way that I am with my identity and my relationships.”

As someone who might have passed on the LandSea experience as an incoming first-year yet found the program transformative later in their college career, Zorn is uniquely positioned to explain why they think 17- and 18-year-old high school students committed to coming to K should attend LandSea as first-year students.

“LandSea is not a program designed to make you love backpacking or being outside,” they said. “It’s a program designed to help introduce you to other people, and it allows you to build some of your first connections for college. Even if you have hesitations, it’s designed to be a program that allows somebody who’s never done anything of this type to participate, learn things and struggle, but feel good about themselves at the end of the day while making connections with others who they might never otherwise have gotten a chance to meet.”

Yet none of those moments would be possible without support for LandSea from the entire K community.

“I hear from colleagues at other institutions where their orientation trip is not as well-known,” Horner said. “It may be well-regarded by other outdoor orientation programs, but not well-regarded by their own institution. The amount of support that we get from faculty and staff, including the Admission Office, is pretty incredible. The amount that it gets plugged, talked about and elevated, both informally and formally, is appreciated. I don’t take that for granted.”

That K community also includes alumni.

“K would love for LandSea to be possible for every interested student, regardless of their ability to pay, and alumni want students to have the possibility of a life-changing experience the same way that they did,” Associate Vice President for Development Andy Miller ’99 said. “We want students to have that support system and the transferable skills, so we can introduce people to something that they never knew they could love. LandSea has set K apart for the past 50 years, and alumni want to give this experience to students who wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.”

Miller himself benefited from LandSea as a first-year student and for three years as a leader. It’s where he met his wife and two people who are among his best friends to this day.

“I had never done much in the way of outdoors activities, backpacking, camping, etc., and this was an 18-day experience in the Canadian wilderness,” Miller said. “We were out there carrying everything we needed on our backs, working as a little team of five incoming students and one upper-class student leader. It was an incredible introduction to the College, but the microcosm was with these six K students together. Then we also interfaced with a couple of other groups with similar sized patrols. We sailed on a 75-foot brigantine in the Georgian Bay of Lake Huron. There was a professional crew, but we sailed the ship. We were the ones pulling the lines. It opened a sense of what was possible. It widened my idea of what I could do. Then, of course, the camaraderie that comes when you’ve been hiking all day for miles in the rain is special, and LandSea is unique among college-orientation programs in how long it is and the variety of activities. You find out what you’re made of, and you realize at the end that you’ve got this incredible support system. That happens every year and it builds on a feeling of what’s possible.”

Plus, students will continue benefiting from those feelings for years to come.

“I love the moments when you see LandSea click for a leader or participant,” Port said. “They might be struck by wonder and awe with a view from a mountain we hike, or a concept might click for a leader, and they realize they can use their strengths to lead in a different way. Those moments catch me by surprise and they’re always refreshing to see.”

The Light Scholarship for Study Abroad, started in the 1950s, was one of the earliest programs in the nation providing funding for study abroad and one of the main reasons I chose to attend Kalamazoo College (other than the fact my parents met there in the library while my future dad strummed the rubber band on a book).

Along with 25 or so other German language students, I received a Light Scholarship to attend the University of Bonn in 1961 as a 19-year-old sophomore. We left by ship from New York, arrived in France and took a train to Bonn. The city had been selected as the capital of West Germany, as it had relatively little war damage. The campus was beautiful, mostly undamaged, and overlooked the lovely Rhine River.

I lived with a German family who was warm and inviting. One day, I noticed some medals on a cabinet, and I asked (carefully) what they were for. My German father hesitated and then said it was from the war. The next day they were gone from the shelves. It was just 16 years after the end of World War II, and he had obviously been a part of the Nazi army. I didn’t ask him any more about that.

One of the highlights of the trip was a week in Berlin. In early July, we boarded a bus and went to the border leading into East Germany, controlled, obviously, by the Russians. The checkpoint was armed on both sides by Western and Eastern military. They boarded our bus and loud German language was exchanged. Suddenly, they pointed at me! I was a bit scared. But they needed to stamp one passport, and since my last name began with an A, they selected me. I still have that passport for entering East Germany, and by chance it was July Fourth!

Our time in West Berlin was very interesting. It was controlled by WWII Allies America, England and France, while East Berlin was controlled by the Russians. West Berlin was considered an island of freedom, as it was surrounded by Russian-controlled land.

We took classes in German and also witnessed a lot of damage from the war, whole blocks destroyed and rubble everywhere. One notable thing was that the trees in parks had just begun to recover. During the winters after the war, there was little fuel for heating homes, so trees were cut down for fuel. But we enjoyed the city, the beer, the food and a stuffed doughnut called a Berliner. We were easily able to go under the Brandenburg Gate to the more damaged East Berlin, and to stand on the remnants of Hitler’s Bunker, where he died by suicide 16 years earlier. There was some barbed wire in places, but no wall!

In an attempt to encourage more tourism to West Berlin, we met for a few minutes with the mayor. He welcomed us, shook our hands, and asked a bit about us. This was Willy Brandt, who would become the chancellor of West Germany in 1969.

After returning to Bonn and our host families, we saw greater tension emerge between East and West Berlin and then the start of the Berlin Wall. History states the date as August 13, 1961, a month after we left. But sitting with our families in Bonn, watching on their small black and white TVs, the barriers were started well before that, with barbed wire, fences, etc. to prevent East Germans from reaching freedom in the west. Nightly, we watched things get worse, shootings of people trying to get to the west. As the wall lengthened and grew, it became harder to cross, and more vivid scenes were seen. One night, my German father said, auf Deutsch (in German), “Why doesn’t America do something?” I had no answer for him.

In September, we returned to Kalamazoo, wiser, more knowledgeable about other cultures and their trials. We were better for it, thanks to Kalamazoo College and the Light Scholarship. This experience is valued by me even now, over 60 years later.

Two years later, on June 26, 1963, John F. Kennedy stood at the Berlin Wall, with my friend Willy Brandt next to him, and said the famous words: “Ich bin eine Berliner,” basically saying “I am a doughnut.” That’s the way I heard it. It was like saying “I am a Danish” rather than “I am Danish.” But the German citizens loved it!

David Anderson graduated from Kalamazoo College with a bachelor’s in biology and went on to earn his M.D. at Wayne State University. After serving in Bangkok during the Vietnam War, he returned to the University of Michigan for his residency in internal medicine. He served the community of Healdsburg, California, for more than 38 years, earning several awards of distinction before retiring in 2011. David and his wife, Catherine, are happy to live in “wine country,” Healdsburg.