Posts tagged CU
My landlord, the rabbit and the rattler By Ron Baird
Aug 1st
My landlord, Jack, comes by from time to time and more often than not we sit and talk. He’s in his early 80s and looks like the farm kid he once was, with thick arms, big hands and a chest that hasn’t fallen much to the ravages of time.
His shock of gray hair has usually been wet-combed across his head, kind of like Opie of Mayberry at 75 if he hadn’t gone bald. He favors flannel shirts, jeans and workboots and often has a pipe clamped in his teeth, puffing away without inhaling.
He talks about climbing Colorado’s mountains back in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s, when trips were made in old jalopies, the roads were narrow and winding and gear was primitive and heavy. He was at the University of Colorado then and he and a bunch of his climbing buddies scaled most of the 14ers in the state.
He graduated with a degree in some kind of engineering and has gone on to a full life of work and family here in Boulder. His wife is healthy, his kids are healthy and happy and have families of their own.
He’s building a steel-hulled boat in his back yard, has been for years, and fully expects to launch it into the ocean at some point in the future.
Jack is also a native of Boulder, grew up on a farm/ranch a ways north of town. He calls it a farm but I know that ground and there isn’t much that can be grown on it except cactus and wild grass and as it turns out subdivisions and mountain mansions. He was relating how lonely it was living out there as a kid.
I don’t know how we got around to it, but we were discussing rattlers, which were common back then. And he told me a story.
“One day when I was about 10, we heard the damnedest ruckus coming from the field behind the house and we went out to see what the hell was going on. When we got out there, there was a mother rabbit standing between a rattler and her babies, which were in a nest in the grass. I guess the rattler wanted to make a meal out of them babies and the mother was having none of it. When the snake started forward, she’d move towards it. The snake would coil and she would lunge, drawing a strike. At the last second, she would spin away and kick the snake in the head with both hind feet, knocking it away. The snake would gather itself and start forward and she’d do the same thing again. It was the damnedest thing I ever saw.
“Now, you have to understand that we weren’t very sentimental about such things back in those days. So we just watched. And besides, we’d never seen anything like that. Who could have imagined a momma rabbit would, or could, do something like that to protect her babies? But this went on for, I would guess, 20 minutes. Every time that snake started forward, she would kick it again. You could tell they were both getting pretty tired but the snake wasn’t giving up and neither was she. But the snake was bleeding from the eyes and mouth, and the bleeding was getting worse and worse. And it seemed to be disoriented and would lay there longer and longer before trying again. The rabbit would lay down, and its sides were fluttering she was breathing so hard. But when the snake got up so would the rabbit.
“Finally, the snake didn’t move anymore. I don’t think it was dead exactly, but it was dying. It’s head looked like somebody had hit it with a baseball bat. I wasn’t sure the mother rabbit was going to make it, either, but I’ll be damned if she didn’t finally she get up and hop to the nest where she had her babies.
“As I said, we weren’t too sentimental back then. We knew nature was hard. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how brave that momma rabbit was, so I went back to the barn and got a shovel and went out and cut that rattler’s head off, just to be safe. I think she earned that⎯not having to worry about that snake any more.”
Jack, even 65 years later, still shakes his head in admiration, as he finishes the story. “I’ve never stopped thinking about it.”
And now that I’ve heard the story, I can’t get the death duel of the momma rabbit and the rattler out of my head, either.
His shock of gray hair has usually been wet-combed across his head, kind of like Opie of Mayberry at 75 if he hadn’t gone bald. He favors flannel shirts, jeans and workboots and often has a pipe clamped in his teeth, puffing away without inhaling.
He talks about climbing Colorado’s mountains back in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s, when trips were made in old jalopies, the roads were narrow and winding and gear was primitive and heavy. He was at the University of Colorado then and he and a bunch of his climbing buddies scaled most of the 14ers in the state.
He graduated with a degree in some kind of engineering and has gone on to a full life of work and family here in Boulder. His wife is healthy, his kids are healthy and happy and have families of their own.
He’s building a steel-hulled boat in his back yard, has been for years, and fully expects to launch it into the ocean at some point in the future.
Jack is also a native of Boulder, grew up on a farm/ranch a ways north of town. He calls it a farm but I know that ground and there isn’t much that can be grown on it except cactus and wild grass and as it turns out subdivisions and mountain mansions. He was relating how lonely it was living out there as a kid.
I don’t know how we got around to it, but we were discussing rattlers, which were common back then. And he told me a story.
“One day when I was about 10, we heard the damnedest ruckus coming from the field behind the house and we went out to see what the hell was going on. When we got out there, there was a mother rabbit standing between a rattler and her babies, which were in a nest in the grass. I guess the rattler wanted to make a meal out of them babies and the mother was having none of it. When the snake started forward, she’d move towards it. The snake would coil and she would lunge, drawing a strike. At the last second, she would spin away and kick the snake in the head with both hind feet, knocking it away. The snake would gather itself and start forward and she’d do the same thing again. It was the damnedest thing I ever saw.
“Now, you have to understand that we weren’t very sentimental about such things back in those days. So we just watched. And besides, we’d never seen anything like that. Who could have imagined a momma rabbit would, or could, do something like that to protect her babies? But this went on for, I would guess, 20 minutes. Every time that snake started forward, she would kick it again. You could tell they were both getting pretty tired but the snake wasn’t giving up and neither was she. But the snake was bleeding from the eyes and mouth, and the bleeding was getting worse and worse. And it seemed to be disoriented and would lay there longer and longer before trying again. The rabbit would lay down, and its sides were fluttering she was breathing so hard. But when the snake got up so would the rabbit.
“Finally, the snake didn’t move anymore. I don’t think it was dead exactly, but it was dying. It’s head looked like somebody had hit it with a baseball bat. I wasn’t sure the mother rabbit was going to make it, either, but I’ll be damned if she didn’t finally she get up and hop to the nest where she had her babies.
“As I said, we weren’t too sentimental back then. We knew nature was hard. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how brave that momma rabbit was, so I went back to the barn and got a shovel and went out and cut that rattler’s head off, just to be safe. I think she earned that⎯not having to worry about that snake any more.”
Jack, even 65 years later, still shakes his head in admiration, as he finishes the story. “I’ve never stopped thinking about it.”
And now that I’ve heard the story, I can’t get the death duel of the momma rabbit and the rattler out of my head, either.
GIFT ESTABLISHES ENDOWED CHAIR IN FINANCE AT CU’S LEEDS SCHOOL OF BUSINESS
Jul 7th
The Leeds School of Business at the University of Colorado Boulder announced today that alumnus Richard “Dick” M. Burridge Sr. (’51 finance) has made a $2.5 million gift that, combined with other commitments, will establish a new chair, the Burridge Chair in Finance, the first to be established within the school.
“This endowed chair is one major step in my drive to advance not only the finance division, but the entire Leeds School to the forefront of business education,” said Dean David Ikenberry. “Given the remarkable Colorado-based investment community, it is fitting and appropriate that this gift be named for one of the pre-eminent experts in investment finance and that, in turn, it will help Leeds educate future leaders in key areas of finance. Gifts such as this are indeed vital for the Leeds School to compete at the highest level.”
Through this gift, Burridge, whose early philanthropic efforts in 1997 also helped establish the Burridge Center for Securities Analysis and Valuation at Leeds, is extending his ongoing support for the school and the center through volunteering and philanthropy. “My gift enhances the efforts of new dean David Ikenberry to expand the depth and quality of the school’s finance faculty,” said Burridge. “It will also help the dean realize the goal of being one of the top business schools in the country.”
The center creates and shares knowledge relating to financial markets, principally the U.S. financial markets. The center also encourages professional investment managers, finance scholars, policymakers and the investing public to exchange ideas, and ultimately helps stimulate relevant financial research to help both markets and investors.
“Dick Burridge Sr. is a longtime supporter of the Leeds School as well as the University of Colorado Boulder campus,” said Phil DiStefano, chancellor of CU-Boulder. “His investment in the endowed chair will enhance the visibility and reputation of the school and further elevate an already very strong finance faculty.”
“Over the past three decades, no one has had a greater commitment to the success of the university, and the Leeds School in particular, than Dick Burridge,” said Michael Leeds, co-chair of the Creating Futures campaign for the Leeds School of Business.
“He has been a true partner to the school and the CU Foundation as the Investment Policy committee chair. It is no surprise that Dick is spearheading the recent public announcement of the Creating Futures campaign with this wonderful gift,” said Leeds.
The Burridge gift is one of the first major gifts announced during the public phase of the Creating Futures fundraising campaign launched in April 2011. Since inception in 2006, the campaign has raised over 200,000 gifts toward a goal of $1.5 billion to support teaching, research, outreach and health programs on the University of Colorado’s four campuses.
CU-BOULDER MOURNS LOSS OF DAVID GETCHES, FORMER CU LAW DEAN
Jul 5th
Longtime University of Colorado Law School Dean David Getches, who had stepped down on June 30 in order to return to the school’s faculty, died today. He was 68.
Getches joined the faculty of Colorado Law in 1979 as a nationally renowned expert in natural resources and Indian law issues. He wrote several books on water law, natural resources law and Indian rights issues and his work has appeared in numerous publications.
“On behalf of the entire University of Colorado community, I wish to express my deepest and heartfelt condolences to the family and friends of David Getches,” said Chancellor Phil DiStefano. “David provided exceptional leadership as dean of the Law School for close to a decade and had an outstanding career as a scholar and teacher. He will be greatly missed as a friend, colleague and member of the CU community, as well as by members of the legal profession throughout the United States.”
Getches served as dean of Colorado Law from 2003 to 2011. Under his leadership the university financed and constructed the $46 million Wolf Law Building and expanded the academic offerings at the law school, which include an endowed Experiential Learning Program, three Master of Laws degrees, three legal clinics, three certificates and eight dual-degrees.
“David Getches came along at exactly the right time for the American West, which has undergone such sweeping changes over the past half century,” said Charles Wilkinson, Moses Lasky Professor of Law and longtime friend. “As a wise advocate and leading public intellectual, David brought vision, common sense and passion to pressing issues of water, land and Indian rights. Now Indian tribes, universities, government offices, conservationists and the rivers themselves will grieve aloud. We will not see his kind again.”
Phil Weiser, who took over as dean of Colorado Law on July 1, said, “David leaves a remarkable legacy of integrity and commitment to excellence. All of us in the Colorado Law community will miss him greatly and I will miss him dearly as a mentor and a friend. His memory and spirit will remain a blessing to us all.”
From 1983 to 1987, Getches was executive director of the Colorado Department of Natural Resources under Gov. Richard D. Lamm. Getches earned his undergraduate degree from Occidental College in California and his law degree from the University of Southern California School of Law. He began his legal career in 1967 with the law firm of Luce, Forward, Hamilton and Scripps in San Diego. In 1968, he was co-directing attorney for California Indian Legal Services and in 1970, he moved to Colorado to become the founding executive director for the Boulder-based Native American Rights Fund, a national, nonprofit Indian-interest law firm.
A memorial service for Getches is being planned and will be announced at a later date.
Contributions may be sent to the David H. Getches Scholarship Fund. Additional information is available at http://www.cufund.org/GetchesScholarship.
