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The ‘Forgotten War’ asks to be remembered

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 24 Jun 2025 19:25:31 +0000

The ‘Forgotten War’ asks to be remembered Rachel Sauer Tue, 06/24/2025 - 13:25

Cody DeBos

On the 75th anniversary of the United States entering the Korean War, CU Boulder war and morality scholar David Youkey discusses the cost of the ‘forgotten war’

Seventy-five years ago this month, on June 27, 1950, President Harry S. Truman ordered U.S. troops to the Korean Peninsula. North Korea had invaded the South just two days earlier, and with that decision, the United States entered a conflict that would claim millions of lives on its way to fading from the collective memory of the American public.

The Korean War, often called “The Forgotten War,” rarely features in Hollywood productions or history classrooms. But David Youkey, a CU Boulder associate teaching professor of philosophy who teaches the course War and Morality, believes it deserves a closer look.

“Being eclipsed by Vietnam is a major factor (in why the Korean war is often overlooked), but I’m not sure it’s the whole story,” he says.

David Youkey, a CU Boulder associate teaching professor of philosophy, studies applied ethics, including war and morality.

What makes a ‘just’ war?

In Youkey’s class, students examine centuries of moral and philosophical reasoning about when it is permissible to go to war and how wars should be conducted. One key concept, the just war theory, traces back to ancient philosophy, but its definitions were sharpened in the 20th century by the horrors of the world wars and the Geneva Conventions.

“Concerning justice of war, the idea is that only wars of defense are justified,” Youkey says, “and just war theory tends to define ‘defense’ very narrowly.”

This idea looks beyond the events preceding a conflict.

Youkey explains, “Within just war theory there is a basic distinction between justice of war, and justice in war. That is to say, the war itself might be just, but behaviors within the war might be unjust.”

Even a war that begins for morally sound reasons can turn morally questionable when boots—or bombs—hit the ground. Take the decision to drop atomic bombs on Japan at the end of World War II or the firebombing campaigns that killed hundreds of thousands of civilians in the preceding days. These actions may have helped end the war, specifically one the U.S. was “justly” involved in after Japanese attacks on Pearl Harbor, but they raise enduring moral questions.

“The most important idea is that civilians are off limits,” Youkey says. “There will be accidental civilian casualties in any war—that’s acknowledged. But civilians cannot be directly targeted, and the warring parties should do what they can to minimize civilian casualties.”

A morally gray conflict

So, how does the Korean War measure up under the framework of just war theory?

“I’d say, if we narrowly focus on South Korea defending itself from the North, that’s justified by just war theory. But the larger context is this Cold War element,” Youkey says.

North Korea’s invasion was a clear act of aggression, he notes. Therefore, South Korea’s response can be seen as just. But when it comes to U.S. intervention, the lines begin to blur. At the end of WWII, the Korean Peninsula was divided at the 38th parallel not by the Korean people, but by external powers—namely the United States and the Soviet Union.

“Were we in Korea to defend the universal human rights of the Korean people, or were we there because we didn’t like the ideologies of the Soviets and the Chinese?” Youkey asks. “Some of both, probably, but just war theory would only support the first.”

Then there’s the matter of how the Korean war was fought.

Soldiers of the 3rd Battalion, 34th Infantry Regiment, 35th Infantry Division take cover behind rocks to shield themselves from exploding mortar shells, near the Hantan River in central Korea. (Photo: Library of Congress)

“Apparently, McArthur gave the order to burn North Korea to the ground, and the same firebombing tactic used against Japan in World War II was imported to Korea. Again, from the point of view of just war theory, civilians are off limits,” Youkey says.

He adds, “It’s hard to understand how to interpret the scorched earth strategy used against North Korea except as an atrocity.”

What forgetting costs us

Youkey is less interested in labeling wars as “good” or “bad” than he is in encouraging critical moral reflection. Such introspection becomes even more imperative when a war fades from public memory.

“The U.S. military is currently, and has for a long time been, involved in conflicts all over the planet, and few civilians pay attention,” he says.

“How many military conflicts have we been involved with recently in Africa where the average American citizen has no idea? That’s not history. It’s stuff going on right now.”

That same forgetfulness—or perhaps willful ignorance, Youkey says—helps explain why the Korean War receives so little attention in our national memory despite its massive human and political costs. Remembering Korea only as a footnote to Vietnam or the Cold War limits our ability to engage with its moral complexity—and to question the long-term consequences of outside intervention.

“There are plenty of movies out there about the heroic deeds of U.S. troops in World War II. And there certainly were a lot of heroic deeds. But we also intentionally murdered hundreds of thousands of Japanese civilians during the firebombings, a strategy we later exported to Korea and then to Vietnam,” Youkey says.

He argues that when wars are remembered selectively, often highlighting heroism while omitting brutality, our understanding of history becomes distorted.

Memory and maturity

If there is a lesson to draw from the Korean War 75 years later, reflecting on just war theory alone won’t teach it. Rather, Youkey says he hopes to see a collective cultivation of the moral maturity needed to seek peaceful solutions before conflict happens.

“I do believe there is such a thing as just war. And the world would be better off if more of its nations paid attention to just war theory,” he says. “But we really ought to be moving toward a world where diplomatic solutions are the focus.”

Realizing that vision requires a seismic moral shift in how Americans think about global conflict, he adds. Remembering wars like Korea—those living in shadows of more iconic battles—pushes us to look beyond easy right-versus-wrong debates. It reminds us that even wars waged with justification leave behind legacies of destruction.

As Youkey suggests, the burden of memory is not to glorify the past but to help us imagine a better future where we don’t repeat—or forget—our mistakes.

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On the 75th anniversary of the United States entering the Korean War, CU Boulder war and morality scholar David Youkey discusses the cost of the ‘forgotten war.’

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Top image: Father Emil Kapaun (right) and Capt. Jerome A. Dolan (left), a medical officer, help an exhausted GI off a battlefield in Korea. (Photo: Catholic Diocese of Wichita)

Healing Indigenous communities from the ground up

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 23 Jun 2025 23:46:02 +0000

Healing Indigenous communities from the ground up Rachel Sauer Mon, 06/23/2025 - 17:46

Sarah Kuta

Mushroom mycelium can clean up the soil. Can it also help Indigenous people reconnect to the land? CU Boulder researcher Natalie Avalos aims to find out

Fungi are powerful and versatile organisms. They’re being used in a variety of beneficial ways, from degrading hard-to-recycle plastics and purifying contaminated water to developing new medicines and restoring forests after wildfires.

Now an innovative project from the �� will explore fungi’s ability to remediate urban soil and, in the process, reconnect Indigenous families to the land.

The project is being led by Natalie Avalos, a CU Boulder assistant professor of ethnic studies and core faculty member of the Center for Native American and Indigenous Studies (CNAIS). She’s working in partnership with Carissa Garcia, a Denver-based writer, educator and combat veteran with Picuris Pueblo heritage.

CU Boulder researcher Natalie Avalos, an assistant professor of ethnic studies, is leading a project to explore fungi’s ability to remediate urban soil and, in the process, reconnect Indigenous families to the land.

With grant funding from CNAIS, the duo plans to use mushroom mycelium to clean up the soil at various locations in Denver and Commerce City. They hope to inoculate small farm plots and garden beds on properties that are owned or rented by Indigenous people.

Soil remediation will allow Indigenous families to grow their own foods and medicines and may even lead to the revitalization of ancient crops. But, beyond that, Avalos and Garcia hope their land-based healing project will help Indigenous people restore and strengthen their sacred relationship with the land.

“We talk about decolonization as land repatriation, or the return of Indigenous lands to Indigenous people,” says Avalos. “But this is a form of rematriation, thinking about land as mother and returning to this relationship where you are tending to the health and well-being of the mother so that she can better attend to your health and well-being in return. Restoring that symbiotic relationship is profoundly impactful for families.”

The power of fungi

Mycelium is the name for the network of dense, fibrous, root-like threads that make up the body of a fungus. It’s typically hidden underground, often out of sight and out of mind until it produces mushrooms, which grow above the soil and help fungi reproduce.

In the wilderness, mycelium acts as nature’s clean-up crew. It plays a vital role in decomposition, breaking down dead plants and returning essential nutrients to the soil.

But researchers have also come to realize that mycelium can be a powerful ally for combating pollution. The process, known as “mycoremediation,” harnesses fungi’s natural abilities to remove or break down harmful contaminants in the soil. Scientists are using fungi to clean up everything from heavy metals and pesticides to petrochemicals and other hazardous substances.

Avalos and Garcia want to use mycelium to create healthy and resilient soil for Indigenous families, including some that live in heavily polluted areas on Colorado’s Front Range. They plan to take detailed measurements before, during and after inoculation, to see how the mycelium affects the soil, as well as the plants that will eventually grow in it. Based on these initial results, they hope to expand their mycoremediation work to other Indigenous farms and gardens—and, possibly, even to tribal lands.

They also want to use the soil remediation project to create hands-on educational opportunities for Indigenous communities, particularly Indigenous youth.

Garcia will spearhead the soil remediation work, which is slated to begin later this year. Then, after the mycelium works its magic, Avalos will investigate how the project is affecting Indigenous people.

“I’ll start collecting some oral histories, some ethnographic testaments about what this means to them,” says Avalos. “How is this confirming their relationship to land? How is it speaking to or shaping their religious life, their sense of identity, their Indigeneity? How is it that having restored soil is supporting their health and wellness and contributing to human flourishing?”

“We talk about decolonization as land repatriation, or the return of Indigenous lands to Indigenous people. But this is a form of rematriation, thinking about land as mother and returning to this relationship where you are tending to the health and well-being of the mother so that she can better attend to your health and well-being in return. Restoring that symbiotic relationship is profoundly impactful for families.”

Sovereignty and self-determination

Avalos is also curious to learn how soil remediation might contribute to sovereignty and self-determination for Indigenous people, especially those living in cities. Today, roughly 70% of American Indians and Alaska Natives live in urban areas—but this population is often overlooked.

“How is it that Native people can act as stewards of land, even though they often have less control over that land?” Avalos says. “They may be renters, they may be living in very polluted areas. But just to have that little bit of agency.”

Denver sits on the ancestral homelands of the Arapaho, the Cheyenne, the Ute and other tribes. But, today, the city is home to Indigenous people with a wide array of tribal backgrounds. This diversity largely stems from a federal program that pushed Native Americans away from reservations and into urban areas in the 1950s and ‘60s, as part of the government’s broader attempts to force Indigenous people to assimilate. Denver was one of nine relocation sites located across the country.

“For folks living in cities that have been impacted by displacement and disconnection, I want to document, how are they reconnecting? How are they re-Indigenizing?” Avalos says.

As the world grapples with pressing environmental issues, many Indigenous people are now looking to their sacred ways of life for answers. Long displaced from their lands and separated from their traditional cultural practices, they’re returning to ancestral medicines, deepening their relationships with all living creatures and opening themselves up to the knowledge that’s embedded in the land.

Avalos and Garcia hope their soil remediation project might play a small role in that broader work.

“We can’t count on the treaties, we can’t count on our federal leadership or even our state leadership to really protect us and protect land,” says Garcia. “My generation is looking at a grim future. We’re at a place where many of us are asking, how do we embody the Indigeneity and our sacred ways of knowing and being, and mesh that with an Indigenous futurism that will heal the planet and our people?”

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Mushroom mycelium can clean up the soil. Can it also help Indigenous people reconnect to the land? CU Boulder researcher Natalie Avalos aims to find out.

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Top image: mycelium growing on a log (Photo: iStock)

Artist features the beauty of nature on a 140-foot canvas

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 20 Jun 2025 15:21:21 +0000

Artist features the beauty of nature on a 140-foot canvas Rachel Sauer Fri, 06/20/2025 - 09:21

Rachel Sauer

‘The Tender Hand of the Unseen,’ an immersive video installation by CU Boulder artist Molly Valentine Dierks, is featured through June on D&F Tower in downtown Denver

It happens most often in autumn and winter, when large flocks of starlings roost in protected spots like woodlands, marshes and even buildings. Before settling for the night, often in the gloaming twilight, they sometimes paint the sky in formations called murmurations.

Hundreds—sometimes thousands—of starlings dance in undulating, ever-shifting shapes, a spontaneous choreography that fills the sky like the liquid fall of silk.

One day after class while she was earning her MFA at the University of Michigan, Molly Valentine Dierks saw a murmuration of starlings. She pulled out her phone to capture it—footage that wasn’t as good as she’d like it to be but that nevertheless captured a transcendent moment of ephemeral sculpture in the sky.

Molly Valentine Dierks is an assistant teaching professor in the CU Boulder Department of Art and Art History.

Memories of that murmuration guided her in creating “The Tender Hand of the Unseen,” an immersive video installation that is a featured work through June on D&F Tower in downtown Denver, part of the Night Lights Denver program.

For Dierks, an assistant teaching professor in the �� Department of Art and Art History, her work represents a confluence of many influences, musing on the nature of time and referencing periods of growth and rebirth.

As a sculptor and interdisciplinary artist, “and also a nature geek—I’m really interested in the idea of this physical sculptural performance in the sky,” Dierks explains. “They’re stunning, the patterns are beautiful, the way that they change is really gorgeous, plus there’s something about the idea of moving intuitively as a group that I think as human beings we don’t have or we’re not comfortable with. This society of beings is so in sync with one another that they can move as a fluid unit, and it’s also performance and also art.

If you go

What: "The Tender Hand of the Unseen" immersive video installation

Where: D&F Tower, 1601 Arapahoe Street, downtown Denver

When: Evenings through June

Learn more

“As an artist and educator, particularly in the classroom I really encourage my students to get in touch with their intuition and develop spiritual understanding of who they are. For me, as an artist, there’s something about looking at big flocks of birds that gets me in that state. We’re all so comfortable looking at screens, for example, but as a society we’re not really encouraged to just look at sky. (This piece) is an excuse to encourage people to look at sky, even though it's a screen that is sneakily subverting that tension.”

A 140-foot canvas

Public, site-specific art and installations are defining aspects of Dierks’ practice for their ability to foster healing, stillness and growth, she explains. So, when a friend told her about the Night Lights Denver program, she contacted the curator, David Moke, with her idea for a large-scale installation focused on starling murmurations.

When her proposal was accepted, the work of art began. The murmuration she recorded in Michigan didn’t work—there were a lot of trees in the way—so she worked with footage shot in the Netherlands that would be crisp and clear when projected onto the side of D&F Tower, a 140-foot canvas.

Molly Valentine Dierks' immersive video installation "The Tender Hand of the Unseen" will show on D&F Tower in downtown Denver through June. (Photos: Molly Valentine Dierks)

She manipulated and sculpted the footage on her computer, then did test projections from the parking garage near the tower that houses the Night Lights Denver projection center.

“I would bring a thumb drive with an hour-and-a-half of tests, and I just sat there and took a bunch of notes to figure out the best settings,” Dierks says. “(The footage) was taken at different times of day and in different weather conditions, so I could start to see that if the background was too dark or too blue or too purple, I couldn’t see the starlings as well as I wanted.

“I played with timing as well, slowing the footage down in spots and thinking about grains of sand or sand in a timer. I was looking for crescendos—not just contrast and brightness, but does it feel like a piece of music?”

The tender hand

The name of the work is a line from the poem “On Pain” by Kahlil Gibran, which also says:

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

“We all go through difficult times: we go through grief, we go through breakups, and I found poetry kind of a resting spot for me,” Dierks explains. “I could read a poem and get outside the nuts and bolts and bureaucracy of everyday life and get to the heart of what I feel, after a while I started naming my pieces after lines in poems that spoke to me about certain stages in my life.”

In describing the work, Dierks wrote, “The work is my way of confronting a socially fractured landscape, where screens more frequently mediate our understanding of self … overshadowing more embodied connections to each other and the natural world.”

The piece is Dierks’ first large-scale projection, and although there’s really nowhere to hide with a 140-foot public canvas, Dierks says she wouldn’t want to. “There’s something really nice when you install in public, outside of the art world, (where) people don’t have to go to a gallery … I prefer it in a lot of ways.

“(D&F Tower) is in this beautiful area on 16th Street and there’s a park so people can walk around and look at it. When I did the first test last August, I could see people stopping and looking at it, looking at these beautiful formations, these birds in flight—just taking that moment to stop and look.”

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‘The Tender Hand of the Unseen,’ an immersive video installation by CU Boulder artist Molly Valentine Dierks, is featured through June on D&F Tower in downtown Denver.

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What’s more hardcore than history?

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 18 Jun 2025 22:24:13 +0000

What’s more hardcore than history? Rachel Sauer Wed, 06/18/2025 - 16:24

CU Boulder alumnus Dan Carlin brings a love of history and a punk sensibility to a new season of “The Ampersand” as he discusses his hit podcast, Hardcore History

Listen to The Ampersand

There are a lot of places to experience punk: in the dim, smoky basement of Club 88 in Los Angeles in 1983, listening to a then-little-known band called NOFX, but also on the ancient battlefields of Britannia, where Briton warriors drew their swords against the invading Romans.

In the first scenario, Dan Carlin was actually there wearing his signature black T-shirt and Orioles cap. The battlefield? He visits it in his vivid imagination (still in a black T-shirt and ball cap)—drinking in the details and drawing a sensory-rich narrative from historical texts and records.

CU Boulder history graduate Dan Carlin brings a punk sensibility to his wildly popular podcast, Hardcore History.

Carlin, a �� history graduate, is something of a journalist of the past—a punk rock kid who became a punk rock adult who brings that counterculture ethos to Hardcore History, among the most popular podcasts in the United States with millions of downloads per episode.

He recently joined host Erika Randall, CU Boulder interim dean of undergraduate education and professor of dance, to kick off a new season of "The Ampersand,” the College of Arts and Sciences podcast. Randall joins guests in exploring stories about “ANDing” as a “full sensory verb” that describes experience and possibility.

Their conversation covered everything from creativity to punk rock to a dog named Mrs. Brown.

DAN CARLIN: So, what makes the past interesting is not so much that it's just, oh, here's a wild story from the past. It's that even though—what did Shakespeare say? Right, "All the world's a stage, and all the people merely players"—the people in the story are people just like we are.

And so, the ability to touch base with something that is otherwise impossible for us to relate to, right, the past is a foreign country, as the saying goes. They do things differently there. Trying to imagine living in a society where they perform human sacrifice, for example, is not possible for us. But you can start to realize that the people in the story are the same as we were.

And if you took a human infant out of the incubator at your local hospital, put them in a time machine, sent them back in the past to a time where people enjoyed visiting public executions, and that child was raised in that culture, they, too, would enjoy going to public executions. So, genetically speaking, we're the same people. And I think that's the end toward understanding the past. I mean, if people ever end up on Mars someday, we might not be able to imagine what it's like to be on Mars. But we can imagine what it's like to be people, even on Mars.

ERIKA RANDALL: I teach dance history, and it really, to me, is about the people and then the context, right, and the people who are next to the people, and how going to see a World's Fair was akin to having access to the world wide web because you suddenly got to be in a moment in time. In the 1900s, all these people came together, and then the forum changed.

So, to say that with just dates and facts but not to go, “Imagine that in this moment Loie Fuller is there with Marie Curie at the same event, running into each other. And look at what that did to dance. Look how technology and art, creativity and science came together because of that confluence of human people at an event.”

And that helps to get students excited versus, “This is the kind of piece that was made at this time on this date,” but to really get into the storytelling. And then the letters, the archives, the archival material that actually brings those humans to life, I find, oh, I want students to get as excited about that as I do. What do you think we do in this generation of people who are learning with so much information that they maybe don't read the bylines perhaps the way you and I did or dive into the works cited to get into the detail of, like, what can make me feel here?

CARLIN: There's a lot to unpack in that question because I think it touches upon a lot of things that I think about but don't have any answers for. I think this is self-evident and obvious, but we're involved in a mass giant human experiment right now. And anybody who's raising kids, even my kids are late teens, early 20s, so, I mean, but they're not really kids anymore.

Dan Carlin's "The End Is Always Near" explores some of the apocalyptic moments from the past as a way to frame the challenges of the future.

But this is all part of this generation, as I tell my oldest, that cropped up literally right after she was born. I mean, once the iPhone comes around, and we're walking around with—what did Elon Musk say? We're all cyborgs now, right? Once we enter that world, we firmly leave the analog world behind.

And what I mean by that is I try to explain to people that the entire history of humanity up until about the 21st century, maybe the very, very end of the 20th, that's an analog world, right? So, if you grew up, as I did, in a pre-computer world, you lived in the same world that the people in ancient Assyria lived in, right? I mean, they came home when the metaphorical streetlights went on, just like we did, right? No way to call mom, no tracking.

But the point is so, all of a sudden, now we enter into a world where we don't know how this plays out because there hasn't been enough time. What's more, unlike ancient times, where the pace of change was slow, so that even if there was some revolutionary new discovery, right, a brand new plow is invented that's going to change the entire world, you would probably have several hundred years to incorporate that new technology and see what that was going to do to society. Even movable print, which shook up the whole world, is nothing compared to what we have now because what we have now, if you said nothing's really going to change for another 50 years, then we could sit there and try to incorporate what's happened, right?

So, there's the ability to absorb and sort of make it a part of. In other words, society redirects around the inventions so that it then becomes the society plus those inventions. But what I think we're all aware of now is that the pace of change is so quick that by the time we would incorporate, oh, my gosh, what is the world plus Facebook like…

RANDALL: It's already moved on.

CARLIN: We're off of Facebook. Yes! And so, the ability to ever get to the absorption phase is gone. What that does for society is a big unknown.

So, the question is often brought up about things like the ability to think deeply or to contemplate. Or, I mean, do people get bored without their cell phone for two minutes? Does that rob us of the ability that ancient thinkers used to have to just sit out in the open air amongst the trees and think? Or as one person pointed out—and I think there's real benefit to this, too—the counterreaction to boredom, right, what boredom makes us do.

RANDALL: Yes.

CARLIN: To not be bored ends up being…

RANDALL: It sparks creativity. It actually lights us up.

CARLIN: Yes. The games you have to invent as a kid because there is no easy access to something else, right?

RANDALL: Yeah.

CARLIN: I don't know what that means for society. I tell my kids all the time that if you happen to be somebody who bucks that trend, it reminds you of the line, "In the world of the blind, the one-eyed man is king," right? I mean, if you can do math and nobody can do math anymore, that's an advantage, right? So, I always try to turn it into, well, if you're one of the few who reads, that's going to help you.

I think doing the show when you're doing five hours of history podcasting sometimes, and that there's an audience for that, helps you go, oh, well, good. There's still that out there. But when you have more than a billion people as your potential audience, getting a few million here or there that are interested in your little niche thing is not necessarily reflective of broad societal trends.

So, I don't know that our audience is representative, and I'm not sure I can draw many conclusions from that.

RANDALL: But it doesn't make you want to go get those other billion. It makes you—like, you don't want to have to necessarily adapt your path towards those folks who want the quick flip and quick hit.

Dan Carlin has hosted Hardcore History since 2006.

CARLIN: I wouldn't do that. No, I wouldn't do that for several reasons. One, there's people who have that lane—lots of people who have that. It’s an easier lane, to be honest. But also, because it's the same thing with why I'm following the Baltimore Orioles when I live in Los Angeles, and I've never been to Baltimore. I mean, this is—I was a punk rock person. I'm a Generation X person.

There's a whole bunch of things in my biography where you just go, oh, this guy is going to do it differently. My wife would say, you just have to be different, don't you? And, yeah, I think that's what it is. So, I don't want those other people. I kind of take pride that the audience invented a name for themselves. They call themselves the "hardcorps," C-O-R-P-S.

RANDALL: Oh, I love that.

CARLIN: This is how I always was as a kid, too. It's not that I'm different and bad. I'm different, and I'm going to take pride in that. And I want my several million, instead of the billions, because it's us, right? It's our own private "hardcorps" club.

RANDALL: In the basement.

CARLIN: We're doing our own thing. You can go enjoy your 30-second TikTok pieces of entertainment.

RANDALL: I can't imagine you in that ball cap and black T-shirt as a punk rock guy. Like, who were you listening to? Were you pierced? What are we talking about? Did the visual change, or were you a contrarian there, too, when you rolled up with your Orioles cap into the basement with people with mohawks?

CARLIN: Well—and I'm speaking to people who were there now in your audience who remember—punk is a caricature of what it was then. It's hard to describe what it was like in '79 or '80 or '81.

RANDALL: In L.A., right?

CARLIN: Yeah. I mean, listen, I remember John Doe, who was the lead singer of X. He had a great line. He said punk was wearing black jeans and having a normal haircut—what we would call a normal haircut today.

If you had short hair in 1978, people would yell out the car. You know, he said people would yell out the car and yell Devo at you because that was contrary. He said, “All I had was a normal American haircut, but that was a statement in 1978.”

So, we looked more normal. A lot of times, we had a lot of hair colors. But with me, if you saw me at CU, I didn't look… I had long hair at CU.

RANDALL: Were you punk? Were you punk at CU?

CARLIN: I was always punk.

Click the button below to hear the rest of the conversation.

Listen to The Ampersand

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CU Boulder alumnus Dan Carlin brings a love of history and a punk sensibility to a new season of “The Ampersand” as he discusses his hit podcast, Hardcore History.

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We still need a bigger boat

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 17 Jun 2025 17:02:38 +0000

We still need a bigger boat Rachel Sauer Tue, 06/17/2025 - 11:02

Rachel Sauer

Fifty years after ‘Jaws’ made swimmers flee the ocean, CU Boulder cinema scholar Ernesto Acevedo-Muñoz explains how the 1975 summer hit endures as a classic

On June 19, 1975, it wasn’t such a terrible thing to feel something brush your leg while frolicking in the ocean. It was startling, sure—humans’ relationship with the ocean has long harbored a certain element of fear, says �� Professor Andrew Martin—but the rational mind could more quickly acknowledge that it was probably seaweed.

That changed the following day, when a film by a young director named Steven Spielberg opened on screens across the United States. On June 20, 1975, to feel something brush your leg in the ocean was to immediately think, “SHARK!”

Ernesto Acevedo-Muñoz, a CU Boulder professor of cinema studies and moving image arts, regularly teaches "Jaws" in Introduction to Cinema Studies.

Are sharks really as scary as their reputation?

In the 50 years since “Jaws” made people flee the water for fear of sharks, the film has become widely recognized as a cinematic landmark.

“’Jaws’ is a movie I teach regularly in Introduction to Cinema Studies—yes, it’s that important,” says Ernesto Acevedo-Muñoz, a CU Boulder professor of cinema studies and moving image arts, adding that “Jaws” also is an important case study for misconceptions, including the evolution and de-evolution, of the term “blockbuster.”

A disaster-horror movie

The cinematic landscape in which “Jaws” arrived was one of greater daring and a transition away from the focus on producers in the classical Hollywood era to a focus on a new cohort of directors—“mostly men, mostly white,” Acevedo-Muñoz acknowledges—who studied cinema in college and were greatly influenced by the French New Wave.

“With the collapse of the Hollywood studio system, suddenly there’s more opportunity for creativity, for edgy content,” he says. “In the late ‘60s, early ‘70s, you have some movies that really were trailblazers in what’s unofficially called the American New Wave. ‘Bonnie and Clyde,’ 1967, comes to mind—nobody had seen that kind of romanticization of violence and graphic violence before.”

Young directors like Spielberg, Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese were more in touch with the counterculture of the time, and old-guard producers, recognizing these young mavericks might be lucrative, green-lit projects like “The Godfather,” “Mean Streets” and “Jaws,” Acevedo-Muñoz says.

“There’s incentive to be risky in that juncture of the ‘60s to the ‘70s,” he notes. “Then to that context you add the economic crisis of the early 1970s, the recession and unemployment, plus the end of the Vietnam War, heads are getting hot and people are angry.

Creating doom in two simple notes

It’s possible for a universe of dread to exist between two notes: duu-DU … duu-DU

Just two notes, played with increasing urgency and speed, let moviegoers know that a shark is coming, and fast.

An element of the genius of John Williams’ Oscar-winning score for the film “Jaws,” released 50 years ago Friday, is how much it conveys in just those iconic two notes.

“Williams layers melodic tension in these notes with an increasing rhythmic motion—he accelerates the speed in which we hear the notes, and he accelerates their frequency,” says Michael Sy Uy, a CU Boulder associate professor of musicology and director of the American Music Research Center. “When you combine that with the emotions attached to the fear, anxiety and dread of being attacked by a shark, then we start to feel how this music is living with and entering our ears, and it makes us feel actual anxiety or dread.”

The two notes of duu-DU are separated by the closest interval in Western musical notation that our ears are trained and socialized to hear, he adds—a half step—that, when played in succession, can help listeners feel a sense of melodic tension.

In the case of the “Jaws” soundtrack, it can help listeners feel a deep dread. In fact, some scholars argue that “Jaws” would not be the cinematic landmark it is without John Williams’ score.

“It’s hard to imagine movies today and over the past five decades without their soundtracks,” Uy says. “We make music a part of the storytelling because music can add an extra layer of meaning. It can contradict what is happening in a scene between actors, or it can validate what they’re saying. Music can tell the story even when words don’t.”

Learn more about CU Boulder's film and television soundtrack connections in the American Music Research Center's Dave Grusin collection. Grusin is a Grammy-winning composer, contemporary of John Williams and CU Boulder alumnus.

“The crises of the 1970s are one of the reasons why we have the flourishing of the disaster film at that time. I would point first to ‘The Poseidon Adventure,’ which is the best of them all, and ‘The Towering Inferno,’ ‘Earthquake.’ And to a certain extent, ‘Jaws’ is a hybrid of the classic horror monster movie and the 1970s disaster movie.”

The dire economic background of the early 1970s was important to “Jaws” and other disaster films, Acevedo-Muñoz says, because “a disaster movie, like a horror movie, tells us we are going through a really rough time, but if we all work together and we make a few sacrifices, we’re going to get out of this OK. If we follow the lead of Paul Newman or Steve McQueen or Gene Hackman, we’ll eventually get out of this all right.”

Driving the buzz

“Jaws” is often called the original summer blockbuster, but relentless repetition of this idea does not make it true, Acevedo-Muñoz says: “There’s no one movie we can point to as the original summer blockbuster.”

In fact, he adds, the term “blockbuster” really refers to the end of a classic Hollywood distribution and exhibition practice called block booking: If theaters wanted to show big-draw feature films, they also had to book smaller, cheaper, shorter films that came to be known as “B movies," which "were made quickly by 'B units' that often reused sets or even costumes from the big movies to cut costs. But scholarship on B movies has argued that because the studios weren’t paying too much attention to those units, some of the B movies were rather edgy and interesting."

Block booking meant that the producers and distributors controlled a lot of what was in exhibition venues, "but there were occasionally movies that may have broken that pattern, and those were in some ways the original blockbusters—as in busting the block of block booking practice," he says.

While “Jaws” did break box-office records of the time, it’s also noteworthy in cinema history as one of the first miracles of marketing, he says. It was based on a mega-bestselling book by Peter Benchley, one that was optioned for film while still in galleys, and the film marketing piggy-backed on the name recognition of the book.

Further, “Jaws” was one of the first films to intentionally create buzz as part of the overall publicity and marketing plan, including strategically leaked tidbits from the film’s set on Martha’s Vineyard.

On its June 20, 1975, opening day, “Jaws” was one of the most prominent films to benefit from a practice called “front loading,” which meant making more prints of the film and showing it in as many theaters as possible, rather than the previous practice of rolling openings from largest to smallest markets.

“The marketing and distribution team of Universal Pictures also decided to take a front-loading approach with ‘Jaws,’ so that it was playing everywhere,” Acevedo-Muñoz says. “Or almost everywhere. It still took months to get to my hometown, but we knew it was coming, and that anticipation was building.

“So, ‘Jaws’ is important because it was this consolidation of these different practices of marketing, creating buzz, creating anticipation, creating tie-ins—it put all these things in one place that were practices that had been around before the summer of ’75 but afterwards became the model.”

As for the film’s effect on moviegoers and their summer vacation plans? “I know a lot of people,” Acevedo-Muñoz says, “who refused to go swimming after they saw ‘Jaws.’”

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Fifty years after ‘Jaws’ made swimmers flee the ocean, CU Boulder cinema scholar Ernesto Acevedo-Muñoz explains how the 1975 summer hit endures as a classic.

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Protesters taking freedom of assembly to the streets

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 12 Jun 2025 22:15:23 +0000

Protesters taking freedom of assembly to the streets Rachel Sauer Thu, 06/12/2025 - 16:15

Rachel Sauer

CU Boulder conflict scholar Michael English explains why public protests matter and what they can mean in the current political and social moment

One of the most storied protests in U.S. history happened Dec. 16, 1773, when a group of Massachusetts colonists, angry with British tax policy, dressed in Indigenous garb, boarded British East India Company ships anchored in Boston Harbor and dumped 342 chests of tea into the water—the infamous Boston Tea Party.

In response, however, British authorities did not amend tax policies but instead closed the harbor.

“If you look at the way we talk about the Boston Tea Party, here’s this event that we don’t generally describe as starting a revolution from violence,” says Michael English, director of the �� Peace, Conflict and Security Program. “We start with people dressing up and doing this mass protest where they destroy some business owner’s property, which is something we’ve historically tended not to support.

CU Boulder scholar Michael English, director of the Peace, Conflict and Security Program, is a specialist in conflict analysis and resolution.

“Then, in the 1780s, we get Shay’s Rebellion, where poor debtor farmers come into Boston to try to preserve what’s left of their farms, and the state raises a militia to put down this protest. Throughout our history, things bubble up and then there’s this backlash. It’s just an interesting quirk of this country that we embrace protest and hate protest.”

That central tension of public protest has been above the fold this week as federal troops have been called in to respond to Los Angeles protests over ICE raids and as No Kings protests are planned in cities across the country Saturday.

What does it mean when people gather to protest—a right enshrined in the First Amendment? English recently considered this and other questions in a conversation with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine.

Question: Do public protests matter or make a difference?

English: A protest is something that, at least from a scholarly perspective, is there to send a message to people in power. As someone sympathetic to protest as a great American tradition, I have to say yes, protest matters. What does it do? That’s a more open question. In some sense, it can start us thinking about whether protest itself is the goal, or whether we want it to lead to something more.

Take the No Kings protests—is the goal to get President Trump to change a specific policy? It doesn’t appear to be so, and that’s not how protest organizers are framing it. Instead, it seems to be, ‘We want to bring a whole lot of people out to express that we are very unhappy about the direction of our country and what appears, to people sympathetic to the protests, as this power consolidation within the executive (branch).’ If millions and millions participate Saturday and we have protests on the scale of Black Lives Matter or Occupy Wall Street or protests against the war in Iraq—if they are able to bring those people out—did this protest do what it set out to do?

If that happens, I think we could answer yes. If they bring a lot of people out and the protests stay nonviolent and not a whole lot of negative things are associated with them, then we can begin to explore whether this is part of something larger, or whether it is this just a one-off thing that sent a message?

Question: Has what’s happening in Los Angeles, with federal troops called in to respond to public protest over ICE raids, brought a new layer to current protest?

English: These are new times, yes, but in some ways, there are parallels in the past. The National Guard has been called out at different points—in fact, Gavin Newsom did invoke the National Guard during Black Lives Matter protests, which is not even that far in the past. What’s happening now in Los Angeles does raise really interesting questions. When you look at movements in the past and look at the military being deployed, it’s usually been in service of the movement—school desegregation or Johnson enforcing the Voting Rights Act. These were actions in favor of the movement. Then there’s everything after, which has been the National Guard being sent out to quell unrest.

California National Guard members and protesters in Los Angeles in June 2025. (Photo: U.S. Northern Command)

In Los Angeles, there wasn’t actually a lot of unrest until you started bringing more and more force in, whether that’s more police, then the National Guard, then threat of the Marines. That’s a real thing we should worry about, because it does create a mirroring tension where people may escalate because they feel that those on the other side of them are prepared for confrontation.

Question: Is nonviolence still central to public protest in the United States?

English: I would say yes, there still seems to be a fairly significant commitment to nonviolence. But the further we get away from the civil rights framing of nonviolent protest, the harder it is for people to understand what that means and what goes into it. We’ve seen that the discipline between people participating in these events now seems to break down a little quicker, and there isn’t the same build-up over time of participants receiving training to participate (in nonviolent protest). There are some really interesting videos of James Lawson getting civil rights protestors ready for the freedom rides, and the training was they basically beat you up to make sure you wouldn’t respond. If you couldn’t do that, you weren’t going to get sent into that situation.

I think for the most part people are still committed to nonviolence as a strategy to bring social change, but in the same breath I can say that there’s always been a kind of violent contingent associated with protests in the past.

It’s easy to assume, when we look backwards, that we can tell a rosy story of civil rights movement, but we would be missing episodes that weren’t so friendly. If you look at Black Lives Matter protests, 95% of those protests were nonviolent, but the ones that get our attention are always the ones where violence occurs, and that’s just how movements work. Organizers of movements can certainly intervene, and you see that in the No Kings messaging, this attempt to say, ‘We need to police this; these are strategies for helping people who seem disruptive or are not at the same level of discipline.’ It gets back to the question of whether everyone who’s participating in a protest is on the same page and, if not, is public protest the best strategic choice for the movement?

Question: How have social media affected or changed how public protest happens?

English: It’s a real mixed bag at the moment. On the one hand, I watched the Arab Spring protests on my computer at work—I watched the protests in Tahrir Square and watched these folks engage across Facebook at the time—and that was super powerful, I’ll never forget that. And social media played an important role in the movement because young people knew how to use it and it gave them an advantage against regimes that, at the time, did not understand and just wanted to dismiss it outright. I would say the same thing about Occupy Wall Street and the first generation of Black Lives Matter when we were protesting the deaths of Trayvon Martin and Mike Brown. Social media was really powerful there.

"A protest is something that, at least from a scholarly perspective, is there to send a message to people in power," says CU Boulder conflict researcher Michael English. (Photo: Pexels)

But then we see this shift past 2016, where social media starts to feel super performative to people. I have students tell me that in one sense it’s great because they learn about things they didn’t know were going on, but on the other hand, yeah, you could post a picture or a video but didn’t really have to do anything about it. So that’s one critique, that it makes movements seem performative and like something people are just doing for an afternoon for social clout.

Now that we know so much of social media is being scraped by authorities to identify who people are and all of this kind of network tracing, it puts people who participate in movements in real danger if they’re careless with their social media. You’re making a record of something that who knows how it’s going to be used in future. It's certainly going to change how movements go forward, so it’s good that we’re having these conversations now when there’s real concern among people over whether they can participate—whether they feel they can participate—knowing somebody could scan your movements and identify you as having been there.

Question: How do you respond to the argument that protest doesn’t accomplish anything and change only happens by running for public office and creating policy?

English: I would say it depends on what the point of the movement is. With some movements or protests, depending on how the message is being put out there, the end goal may be that we’re showing our discontent now, with the idea that we’re going to support certain people running for political office or pressure legislators on a particular policy. But this can get complicated when the routine methods of forcing political change don’t seem like they’re working or seem really far off. I mean, the mid-terms are more than a year and a half away; how much impact does protest this weekend have for political office in a year and a half?

So, I come back to the idea of protest as building that collective solidarity, letting people know there are others who are upset and there is strength in numbers. Then I wonder what happens when we do find that redline issue that really upsets people. I think right now we’re still waiting for a redline issue—the thing this or any president wants to do that a majority of American people don’t support and don’t want.

The amazing thing about studying social movements is the speed at which they can escalate is really unpredictable and can be really intense. If you look at Black Lives Matter, for instance, that pushed a ton of young people to become interested and run for office. So, it could be the case that people leave this protest (Saturday) and they’re like, ‘I really want to make a difference and really want to ensure there’s a different kind of political majority in office come the next election cycle.’

Where it gets tricky is if nobody is pushing that message, or if the message is that there’s no way change can happen through the existing political system, then people might dig into cynicism and say it all just needs to collapse. We do need that central conflict because conflict is good, conflict is normal; we just don’t want the violence. Violence is where we have something that’s clearly gone wrong. But people coming out and expressing that they’re angry and upset? That’s what we want in a democratic society.

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CU Boulder conflict scholar Michael English explains why public protests matter and what they can mean in the current political and social moment.

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Alum’s resumé: veterinarian, reality TV star, stand-up comic

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 09 Jun 2025 17:15:10 +0000

Alum’s resumé: veterinarian, reality TV star, stand-up comic Rachel Sauer Mon, 06/09/2025 - 11:15

Bradley Worrell

As he muses about conservation, 1970s Boulder and how Keith Richards prompted him to finish his college career, Kevin Fitzgerald still has his sights on crafting the perfect joke

Did you hear the one about the veterinarian who is also a stand-up comedian?

It’s no joke.

It’s the very real-life story of �� alum Kevin Fitzgerald, who is a staple of the Denver comedy scene and who has opened for such nationally recognized acts as Joan Rivers, George Lopez, Jeff Foxworthy and Saturday Night Live alums Kevin Nealon and Norm Macdonald.

CU Boulder alumnus Kevin Fitzgerald (right) with the late Norm Macdonald (left), for whom Fitzgerald opened. (Photo: Kevin Fitzgerald)

Meanwhile, Fitzgerald has spent the past four decades working as a Denver veterinarian who specializes in treating exotic animals and has become something of a celebrity as one of the featured vets on Animal Planet’s popular TV series “Emergency Vets.”

Fitzgerald is also a wildlife conservationist—and with the recent publication of his autobiography It Started with a Turtle—he adds “published author” to his growing list of job titles.

The Denver native enjoys talking about his experiences as a comedian and a veterinarian, but most of all he enjoys reminiscing about his time at CU Boulder, where he earned his undergraduate, master’s and PhD degrees. He says the lessons he learned in the classrooms—and in the local music venues where he worked security—shaped him into the man he is today.

“Boulder is a magical place,” he says. “Boulder has a different feel than other college towns—and the campus is absolutely beautiful. I first visited when I was in high school and I decided then and there that it was the place for me.”

Raised in a working class home, Fitzgerald says receiving a scholarship for being on the swim team made it possible for him to be able to attend college starting in 1969.

For his undergraduate degree, Fitzgerald majored in biology, and he credits biology Professor Dick Jones; Professor Hobart Smith, then chairman of the Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology; Professor David Chiszar, who was an internationally renowned herpetologist known for his work with rattlesnakes; and history Professor Charles “Chuck” Middleton, whom Fitzgerald says made history come alive, with being mentors.

“Even back then, CU Boulder was known as a party school, but if you wanted to, you could get a great education there,” he says. “They didn’t so much teach you as inspire you. I had wonderful mentors who wanted me to succeed.”

Fitzgerald says his initial plan upon entering college was to get his bachelor’s degree from CU Boulder and then attend Colorado State University to receive a veterinary degree. However, there was a waiting list to get into the CSU veterinarian program at the time, so Fitzgerald says Jones convinced him to continue pursuing his education at CU Boulder by obtaining his master’s and PhD degrees, which he did.

“I’m still reaping the benefits of that wonderful education every day,” he says.

Working security for a hamburger and $1.35 an hour

To earn extra money for school, not long after arriving on the Boulder campus Fitzgerald took a job working for Chuck Morris (the future CEO/president of national concert promoter AEG Live), who hosted concerts at local music venues including Tulagi and The Sink.

“There were so many great venues in Boulder at the time,” Fitzgerald recalls. “There was Tulagi, the Blue Note, The Olympic, Shannon’s, the Good Earth and J.J. McCabes. The music venues were legendary—and they hosted a lot of great bands before they became famous. Not just rock bands, but soul bands and country bands, so there was something for everyone. There was just so much great music.”

Kevin Fitzgerald has been a staple of the Denver comedy scene for many years. (Photo: Kevin Fitzgerald)

Fitzgerald’s job working as a bouncer for local music venues led to jobs working security for concert promoters Bill Graham and Barry Fey, who produced nationwide shows featuring musical acts including The Grateful Dead, Willie Nelson, The Eagles, The Who, Jethro Tull and The Rolling Stones.

Years later, Fitzgerald still recalls Fey’s simple job pitch: “I’m going to pay you a buck-thirty-five an hour and give you a hamburger every shift and you’re going to meet more girls than Frank Sinatra.”

Fitzgerald says he has many fond memories of those times and particularly of the bands who performed—especially The Rolling Stones, who he says never forgot their roots and gave selflessly for some special fans.

“Back in the day, before handicapped seating was widely made available, people in wheelchairs didn’t get good seats at concerts and they were stigmatized by making them all sit together. It was awful,” he recalls. “So, before every show The Rolling Stones did, Mick Jagger would ask me: ‘How many (handicapped) chairs are there, and in which section, Kevin?’

“‘I’d say, ‘23 chairs and they’re in section three.’

“Jagger would grab 23 cassette tapes and 23 concert T-shirts. He’d put a towel over his head or put a hoodie up and he’d personally go to the wheelchair section and hand out a cassette tape and a T-shirt to each person. He’d say, ‘Thanks a million for coming; we couldn’t do it without you,’” Fitzgerald recalls. “He didn’t do it as a photo op; he specifically kept himself covered up so the rest of the concertgoers wouldn’t know what he was up to.

“People can say whatever they want about The Rolling Stones, about Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, but they didn’t forget where they came from,” he adds. “And Mick would always say, ‘We’re blessed. You know, Kevin, we can’t forget how lucky we are.’ That really made an impression on me.”

What’s more, Fitzgerald credits Richards with prompting him to go back to college to get his veterinary degree.

“I remember we were in Philadelphia for a show, with more tour dates coming up, and I was unsure what I should be doing with my life. I was talking about it with my boss, Jimmy Callahan, who was the head bouncer, and he said, ‘Why don’t you ask Keith?’

“I knew Keith, so I asked him: ‘Should I stick with you guys, or should I go back to school?’

“And Keith said, ‘Oh, no, go back to school. Do you really want to be a bouncer at (age) 50?’

“When Keith Richards says something, he’s the coolest cat in the world. So, I got on a plane and I came back to Denver,” Fitzgerald says. “My brother picked me up at the airport, and I said, ‘Keith told me to get a grip on my life and go back to school.’ And my brother said, ‘Well, when Keith says something, you better do it.’ So, I applied to veterinarian school again and I got in.”

Becoming a vet … and a reality TV star

Kevin Fitzgerald has been a veterinarian in Denver for the past four decades and is one of the featured vets on Animal Planet’s popular TV series “Emergency Vets.” (Photo: Kevin Fitzgerald)

Fitzgerald obtained his degree in veterinarian medicine from CSU in 1983. He later took a job with the Alameda East Veterinary Hospital in Denver, where he has been working for the past 40 years.

“Veterinary medicine is a harsh mistress. It asks a lot of us (vets), but it’s very rewarding,” he says. “It’s been a wonderful career for me. To be successful, you have to love animals, but you also have to love people.

“Sometimes people would tell me, ‘My daughter would be a great veterinarian. She hates people but she’s great with animals.’ And I would always say, ‘No, no, no. People have to trust you when they bring their animal to you, so it’s important that you are able to connect with them.’”

Fitzgerald’s role at the Denver animal hospital became much more widely recognized starting in 1998, with the launch of the Animal Planet’s TV show Emergency Vets. At the time, the TV series ER was hugely popular, and the producer believed a reality show about veterinarians treating all types of animals would appeal to Animal Planet viewers, Fitzgerald says. That proved to be the case, as the show and its successor, E-Vet Interns, ran for a combined 11 seasons, and were two of the network’s top-rated shows.

“For me, it was just too weird to watch myself on TV, but it was quite an experience,” Fitzgerald says. “People started recognizing me from the show. Once, I was at the Denver airport and this young kid was staring at me. Finally, he said, ‘You look like that guy from the TV show on Animal Planet.’

“I said, ‘I am that guy,’ and the kid says, ‘Yeah, you wish,’” Fitzgerald says with a laugh.

He says his work as a veterinarian led naturally to his conservancy work. He has served on the Denver Zoo’s board of directors since 2009 and has been involved in several projects, including the creation of a huge nature conservancy in Mongolia.

“There’s 10 million other forms of life on this planet besides us, and we were given this wonderful biodiversity. Those animals are waiting for us to use our intellect to save this place,” he says. “We’re borrowing this planet from our grandchildren, so we have to win this one, because we’re given just this one planet. Realizing that, that’s how I went from veterinary medicine to conservation.”

‘Like being shot out of canon’

While being a veterinarian, an Animal Planet reality TV star and conservationist might seem to all naturally fit together, Fitzgerald acknowledges becoming a stand-up comedian is a less obvious choice to add to the mix. He says he was inspired to do so in part by watching comedians perform as the opening act for bands where he provided security and by seeing one of his friends perform.

“I started doing stand-up in 1986. At the time, a friend of mine was doing comedy, and he didn’t seem that funny to me, but he was getting paid to do it. I told myself, ‘I can at least be as bad as that guy,’” he says with a laugh.

The appeal for doing stand-up comes partly from the enjoyment of making people laugh and partly from the exhilaration of being on a stage, Fitzgerald says, explaining, “The feeling is like being shot out of a cannon.”

It took some trial and error in the beginning, Fitzgerald admits, before he developed his own comedic timing. The strategy he settled on involved trying to tell as many jokes as he could in rapid-fire succession at the start and telling jokes that would appeal to the broadest audience demographic.

“My job is to tell jokes that make everyone laugh—the old guy and the young guy, the black guy and the white guy, the man and the woman sitting next to him,” he says. “I don’t think it works to say, ‘This is a young person’s joke; you wouldn’t understand.’ The best jokes touch everyone.”

Fitzgerald’s brand of comedy was on full display during a recent Sunday evening show at a south Denver comedy club, where he was zinging his audience with one-liners about being an old guy:

“Our lives are short, but they are beautiful. My whole life, whatever I’ve done, has been small and beautiful. The fate of the Western world doesn’t hang on the balance of what I do in the exam rooms with people and their animals, but I try to make my little side of the street better as a veterinarian and also with my conservation efforts.”

“I’m so old my kindergarten had a smoking section.”
“I’m so old I can remember Preparation A.”
“I’m so old that I can run for president in a few years.”

Bathed under white stage lights, Fitzgerald’s flowing white hair gave credence to his position as a veteran of standup comedy, but those jokes about his age (he’s 73) were just a warm-up to a set that ran more than an hour long, and which also included several humorous stories about being a veterinarian and a reality TV star and concluded with a reading from his new book talking about the importance of being kind to animals and people.

Sharing life lessons in print

Fitzgerald says he’s accumulated so many stories and bits of wisdom over the years that he wanted to share with people in a book, but he says that his active veterinary practice and many civic and social commitments made that difficult to do. That changed, however, once COVID-19 pandemic brought much of the world to a yearlong standstill.

“It seemed like the perfect time to get my thoughts down on paper,” he says, adding, “We only have so many days, so we have to make them count.

“Our lives are short, but they are beautiful. My whole life, whatever I’ve done, has been small and beautiful. The fate of the Western world doesn’t hang on the balance of what I do in the exam rooms with people and their animals, but I try to make my little side of the street better as a veterinarian and also with my conservation efforts.

“And I’m not done yet,” he adds. “I still think I’m going to write the perfect joke. I’m 73 and I’m still going to see my pet patients every workday. I can’t bounce anymore, but I still love listening to music.”

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As he muses about conservation, 1970s Boulder and how Keith Richards prompted him to finish his college career, Kevin Fitzgerald still has his sights on crafting the perfect joke.

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How a California dude became CU Boulder’s provost

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 06 Jun 2025 19:23:49 +0000

How a California dude became CU Boulder’s provost Rachel Sauer Fri, 06/06/2025 - 13:23

Clint Talbott

Before finding the joy of exploration as a university professor and chief academic officer, Russell Moore found it traveling the world

When Russell Moore went to college, the Vietnam War, Kent State killings, Watergate and an energy crisis dominated the nightly news.

Moore was studying biochemistry at the University of California, Davis, and those tumultuous days made academics less than entrancing. “There was so much going on in the world, and as for college, well, I just didn’t see the point,” Moore recalled recently.

Biochemistry seemed “maybe interesting,” but it also seemed mostly focused on process, and the purpose wasn’t clear, Moore said.

Russell Moore (right) talks with Reiland Rabaka (left), director of the Center for African and African American Studies, before the State of the Campus address. (Photo: Glenn Asakawa/CU Boulder)

So after two and a half years of college, he dropped out to travel the world. At the time, his sister was a flight attendant for Pan Am Airways, and he got long-haul tickets “virtually free.” He went to the South Pacific, Southeast Asia, New Zealand and Australia.

Once back in the United States, he got a job but soon realized that “this job thing” also wasn’t compelling. So, he returned to college and began working in a research lab.

“That’s when things changed,” he said. “Then I saw the point.”

He was working in the lab of Irwin Segel, then a professor of biochemistry, who framed the scientific enterprise this way: “When you make a scientific discovery, you know something no one else on the planet knows, even if it’s minuscule and for only a few minutes or hours.”

Segel also told his students that science rarely progresses in large leaps; most of the time, it takes small steps. “I thought that was cool, like I could be part of something that was significant,” Moore said.

“I could see myself in that process, even though I wasn’t the quarterback. I was just a small contributor,” but playing that role got him “very, very interested in the research enterprise.”

After earning his BS in biochemistry from UC Davis, Moore studied physiology and earned a PhD from Washington State University.

Leaving college and returning was not so much a detour in his academic journey as a necessary part of the path. As he puts it, the experience widened his aperture, which helped him realize his eventual role as a university professor and chief academic officer for the ��.

Initially, academic life seemed not to offer a foray into the unknown. “What I love about traveling is just a sense of exploration. And part of what I learned about myself is, particularly being in very foreign environments, you don’t have to fear the unknown. You can view it also as an exciting thing.”

Now, he eyes another journey into the unknown. He is about to retire.

From professor to administrator

Today, he is the university’s provost and executive vice chancellor for academic affairs. He has served as provost since 2010 and is a professor of integrative physiology and an adjunct professor in the Department of Medicine at the University of Colorado Anschutz Medical Campus.

Moore was appointed associate vice chancellor for research in 2006 and was named interim vice chancellor for research in 2009. He has taught at CU Boulder since 1993 and served as chair of the Department of Integrative Physiology from 1994 to 2001.

Russell Moore (front center, wearing blue shirt) and CU Boulder deans at a "The Big Lebowski"-themed tribute to Moore at the UMC Connection.

Before the department became dedicated to integrative physiology, it was the department of kinesiology, which had grown out of the university’s physical-education program.

A core group of faculty members launched the move to transform the kinesiology department into a department of physiology. By the early 2000s, CU Boulder’s Department of Integrative Physiology’s graduate program was ranked among the nation’s top 10.

Moore’s lab contributed to that reputation, focusing on the cellular basis for exercise-induced protection of the heart against ischemia-reperfusion injury and on the influences of diet and exercise on cardiac energy metabolism.

Moore said he appreciates the physical-education roots of his department. Paraphrasing an early 20th century physiologist, Moore said you can study a locomotive at rest, disassembling its engine and examining its parts, but that won’t really tell you how it works.

“You need to be able to study the locomotive while it’s moving,” Moore said. “And you can study physiology while I’m sitting in this chair, but I have arms and legs, and they’re not designed for me sitting in the chair. They’re designed for me to run and pick fruit and whatever.”

Studying organisms under stress, as they’re designed to function, is more revealing. Another thing that drew him to physiology is that much scientific research focuses on pathology rather than physiology. “And they’re not necessarily just reverses of each other. They’re two different paths. That just gets back to the exploring part, and that’s what’s fun.”

Similarly, conducting research is a different enterprise than becoming an academic administrator. Moore came to that when he “drew the short straw” and was named chair of his department.

“It was hard, really hard. I think department-chair jobs are the hardest jobs on campus, because if you’re making hard decisions, you’re making them with people whom you know really well,” he said.

“It’s easier to make hard decisions when you’re further removed interpersonally. I always know when I make a tough decision is impacting people. But it’s different when you’re working with peers-slash-friends.”

Moore volunteered for a campus-wide committee with a light workload, the research-misconduct committee, which hadn’t heard a case in years. Within months, allegations arose against Ward Churchill, a former ethnic-studies professor whom the university later fired for plagiarism and academic misconduct. Moore co-chaired the inquiry committee that initially investigated the charges against Churchill.

Churchill was also a controversial figure, calling victims of 9-11 terrorist attacks “little Eichmanns,” a reference to Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann.

Responding to a question about why such an initiation into academic administration was compelling, Moore said the experience taught him about research administration and research compliance.

“I didn’t know all of that stuff existed,” he said, adding, “Because I have such an affinity for research and discovery, I got really interested in that.” So he applied to be associate vice chancellor for research.

"You need to be able to study the locomotive while it’s moving. And you can study physiology while I’m sitting in this chair, but I have arms and legs, and they’re not designed for me sitting in the chair. They’re designed for me to run and pick fruit."

This, too, was a natural fit, he said, noting that he’s always loved research and scholarly endeavors on campus, whether they’re in science, arts and humanities, music; “it’s all incredibly interesting to me,” because all these disciplines involve the discovery or creation of things that are novel.

The regular-person leader

Bronson Hilliard, CU Boulder senior director of academic communications, has worked with six university presidents, five campus chancellors and a host of mid- and upper-level administrators in three decades of university service.

“Russ Moore is a complete human being,” Hilliard said. “He’s not only a good administrator; he’s a good human being. He’s brought into the role of being provost an abundant life experience … of erudition and education and training. But Russ adds to all of that a kind of regular-person quality that I’ve not seen in any administrator I’ve ever worked with.”

“He’s very much in touch with the impact of education on real people’s lives,” Hillard said, adding, as an example, that Moore worked to ensure a smooth path for students transferring from community colleges to CU Boulder.

Student success is one of Moore’s passions. As he tells it, in regular meetings with new employees, he’d ask every person a question for which there was, he emphasized, one right answer.

The question: “What’s your job?”

Employees might reply with, “groundskeeper” or “advisor,” for instance.

“The right answer is, ‘I’m here to make students successful,’” Moore observed, adding that Nobel laureates, groundbreaking spinoff companies, startling discoveries about the solar system, soaring musical scores—“we can’t do it without everybody’s contribution.”

Student success, along with knowledge discovery and dissemination, is “why we’re all here.”

Moore, Hillard said, has never lost touch with his roots; he grew up in Northern California, worked as a river-raft guide, enjoys fly fishing, loves to camp and hike and “knows his way around a backyard barbecue grill.”

“Every day I came to work with Russ, I knew I had a real human being at the center of the work,” Hilliard said.

“There’s the stereotype of an ivory tower, and Russ Moore is the antithesis of an ivory tower. If there is a Russ Moore tower, it’s made of very earthy substances, not ivory.”

That relatively unflappable, regular-person quality figures prominently in Moore’s favorite movie, The Big Lebowski. “He appreciates the character of the dude, who stays true to himself from the beginning of the movie to the end, even though all these things around him get completely unhinged,” Hilliard said.

“The dude abides,” a line from the film, suggests equanimity in the eye of a storm.

“So, Russ abides," Hilliard opined, "just like the dude.”

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Before finding the joy of exploration as a university professor and chief academic officer, Russell Moore found it traveling the world.

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Tree rings offer clues to small-population growth

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 05 Jun 2025 15:54:21 +0000

Tree rings offer clues to small-population growth Rachel Sauer Thu, 06/05/2025 - 09:54

Daniel Long

In a recently published paper, PhD student Ellen Waddle and her coauthors provide some clarity on a decades-old problem

When researching what drives the growth of small populations, ecologists consider several factors, says Ellen Waddle, a PhD student in the ��’s Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology.

“There’s climate. There’s density, which can be thought of as both the total number of individuals in a population or how crowded or spread out individuals are. And then there’s stochasticity, which is this big word that just means variance” or random chance.

CU Boulder scientists Ellen Waddle (left), a PhD student in ecology and evolutionary biology, and Dan Doak (right), a professor of environmental studies, and their research colleagues found "that climate data alone did a pretty poor job of predicting population growth (in small tree populations)."

But whether any of these drivers matters more than the others is a question that has challenged researchers since at least the 1950s, and one that Waddle and her coauthors Mark R. Lesser, Christopher Steenbock and Dan Doak take up in a paper recently published in Ecology and Evolution.

Time and perspective

Researchers have tended to fall into opposing camps with this question, Waddle explains.

“There’s a lot of people that think if we can perfectly predict what the climate’s going to be in an area, we’re going to be able to perfectly predict how that population is going to grow through time. And then you have another set of ecologists that argue, well, it also really matters how many individuals you have in the population.”

Yet in their paper, Waddle and her coauthors come to a less divisive conclusion. By analyzing the rings of two long-lived tree species, Ponderosa pine and limber pine, “we found that climate data alone did a pretty poor job of predicting population growth. We needed to include other drivers (in our predictive models), like competitive density effects and stochasticity, to accurately reconstruct population dynamics over time.”

This means that no individual driver proved more influential than the others. They all mattered.

Which was somewhat surprising, Waddle says, considering the long timescale she and her colleagues were dealing with—many hundreds of years. (The oldest tree they sampled dates back to 1470, half a century before Queen Elizabeth I was born.)

“We're averaging over such a long timeframe that you might be tempted to think that random fluctuations and stochasticity are less important, but this sort of study highlights that that's not always true. There's a lot of uncertainty in how long it's going to take small populations to grow.”

“The most important aspect of our work, to my mind,” adds Doak, professor of environmental studies at CU Boulder and head of the Doak Lab, “is showing that simplifying assumptions we often make about population growth don’t seem to hold up.”

‘The entire history of a tree’s life’

Tree rings, says Waddle, are a gold standard for measuring a tree’s history, one with which most people are familiar. The center, or pith, signifies when the tree established, or secured its roots and became capable of growing on its own, and each concentric ring around it represents a year of growth.

CU Boulder researchers studied small populations of Ponderosa pine (seen here) and limber pine to better understand how drivers such as climate data and competitive density affect growth. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

But for their study, Waddle and her coauthors used tree rings—in the form of tree cores, or centimeter-wide rods extracted from living tree trunks—a little differently.

“What we did, which has not been done often, was to core every single tree in the population,” says Waddle, which enabled her and her coauthors to get a clearer picture of how tree populations changed over time than they would have gotten coring only a handful of trees.

“Another way to put it: The tree core data basically allows us to reconstruct annual censuses of population from start (1400s-1500s) through present day because we can know exactly how many individuals were alive in each year and when each individual first established.”

The tree-core samples themselves came from Bighorn Basin, a mountain-encircled plateau region in north-central Wyoming about 500 miles from Boulder. Waddle collected some of the tree cores herself in 2017, while an undergrad at CU, for what turned out to be her first camping experience.

Yet the bulk of the core samples owe their existence to Lesser and Steenbock. Lesser alone cored around 1,100 Ponderosa pines between 2007 and 2008, in hot, sometimes tense conditions.

“We (Lesser and an undergraduate field technician) would start hiking to the first trees of the day typically around 5 a.m. to avoid the worst of the heat,” Lesser recalls. “Trekking up dry streambeds to reach the trees we would encounter multiple rattlesnakes each morning and on one occasion a mountain lion that set us on edge for the rest of the day! Many days we would core fewer than 20 trees due to the low density of the population and the ruggedness of the terrain—getting from one tree to the next often took an hour or more negotiating cliff faces, ravines and steep slopes.”

But the effort, he says, was worth it.

“Coring the trees itself was an incredibly rewarding experience—sizing up the tree to get a sense of its shape and where the pith was and then extracting the entire history of its life!”

Pick a species, any species

This research on small-population growth is no small matter, says Doak, “because all populations start small,” and “understanding what controls the growth of new populations has a new urgency as we try to predict whether wild species can shift their ranges to keep up with climate change.”

“Pick some species you care about,” says Waddle, who is currently writing her dissertation on how mountain terrain affects plant species’ ability to follow their preferred climate. “What I care about might be different than what someone else cares about, but there’s probably a species that matters to you, whether it’s a food species or your favorite animal.

“If we want to help keep those populations on the landscape, we need to know how small populations grow and how they persist.”

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In a recently published paper, PhD student Ellen Waddle and her coauthors provide some clarity on a decades-old problem.

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But how’s the atmosphere there?

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 04 Jun 2025 18:10:46 +0000

But how’s the atmosphere there? Rachel Sauer Wed, 06/04/2025 - 12:10

Rachel Sauer

In newly published research, CU Boulder scientists study a rocky exoplanet outside our solar system, learning more about whether and how planets maintain atmospheres

In June 2019, Harvard astrophysicists discovered a rocky exoplanet 22 light years from Earth. Analyzing data from the Transiting Exoplanets Survey Satellite (TESS), they and other scientists around the world learned key details about the rocky exoplanet named LTT 1445 A b: It is almost 1.3 times the radius of Earth and 2.7 times Earth’s mass and orbits its M-dwarf star every 5.4 days.

What they couldn’t ascertain from those data, however, was whether LTT 1445 A b has an atmosphere, “and that’s a big general question even in our own solar system: What sets how much atmosphere a planet has?” says Zach Berta-Thompson, a �� assistant professor of astrophysical and planetary sciences. “Atmospheres matter for life, so before we go searching for life on other planets, we need to understand a very basic question—why does a planet have atmosphere or not have atmosphere?”

Pat Wachiraphan (left), a PhD student in the CU Boulder Department of Astrophysical and Planetary Sciences, and Zach Berta-Thompson (right), an assistant professor in the department, collaborated with colleagues around the country to study JWST data about rocky exoplanet LTT 1445 A b.

Now, after detailed analysis of data from the James Webb Space Telescope (JWST), a lot more is known—and was recently published—about LTT 1445 A b, whether it has an atmosphere and what its atmosphere might be if it has one. CU Boulder researchers partnered with astrophysicists around the country to build on previous research that ruled out a light hydrogen/helium-dominated atmosphere but could not distinguish between a cloudy atmosphere, an atmosphere composed of heavier molecules like carbon dioxide or a bare rock.

The paper’s first author, Pat Wachiraphan, a PhD student studying astrophysical and planetary sciences, Berta-Thompson and their colleagues analyzed three eclipses of LTT 1445 A b from the JWST, watching the planet disappear behind its star and measuring how much infrared light the planet emits. From this, they were able to rule out the presence of a thick carbon dioxide atmosphere like the one on Venus, which has about 100 times more atmosphere than Earth. This highlights an important aspect of science: Sometimes just as much is learned from understanding what something isn’t as from defining what it is.

“What I think should be the next step, naturally, is to ask whether we might detect an Earth-like atmosphere?” Wachiraphan says.

Not like Venus

LTT 1445 A b is one of the closest-to-Earth rocky exoplanets transiting a small star, Wachiraphan notes, and thus one of the easiest to target when studying whether and how it and similar rocky exoplanets hold atmospheres.

The JWST is more sensitive to atmospheres of transiting exoplanets around smaller stars, and LTT 1445 A b transits one of the smallest known type stars—about 20 to 30% the radius of Earth’s sun.

In November 2020, Berta-Thompson and several colleagues submitted a proposal to the Space Telescope Science Institute, the international consortium that decides where JWST is pointed and for how long, “before the telescope had even launched,” he says. “Scientists from all over the world send in anonymized proposals where we make our case for why (JWST) should spend hours looking at this particular patch of the sky and what we would be able to learn from that.

“A panel reads through the proposals, ranks them, from which a lucky 5% to 10% will be selected as the best possible scientific use of the telescope. It is such a precious resource that we care really deeply that the choices about who gets to use the telescope are made fairly; every minute of its time is accounted for.”

Rocky exoplanet LTT 1445 A b is in a three-star system; the star it orbits is an M-type star, also known as a red dwarf. (Artists' illustration: Luis L. Calçada and Martin Kornmesser/European Southern Observatory)

Studying data from three eclipses sent back by JWST, Wachiraphan, Berta-Thompson and their colleagues were able to chart thermal emission consistent with instant reradiation of incoming stellar energy from a hot planet dayside. “This bright dayside emission is consistent with emission from a dark rocky surface, and it disfavors a thick, 100-bar, Venus-like CO2 atmosphere,” the researchers noted.

“So, you can imagine that if you have a planet that is just a rock, with no atmosphere, it would be hot on day side and cold on the night side, but if it has atmosphere, then the atmosphere could redistribute heat from day to night,” Wachiraphan says.

In the case of LTT 1445 A b, “we were basically putting an infrared thermometer up to the planet’s forehead and learned its average temperature is around 500 Kelvin,” Berta-Thompson says. “The whole planet is like the inside of a hot oven, basically.

Based on the data sent back by JWST, there could be several ways to detect atmosphere on LTT 1445 A b. “We came up with an observation with this planet passing behind its star. When the planet is behind its star, we’d just get light from the star itself, but before and after the eclipse we’d get a little contribution from the planet itself, too.” Wachiraphan explains. “But you can also detect an atmosphere when a planet passes in front of its star. “The starlight coming out could pass through the atmosphere of the planet and get absorbed, and we could observe that absorption.”

More observations are currently planned for LTT 1445 A b, led by other scientists and using this complementary method of observation, Berta-Thompson says—of collecting data as the planet transits in front of its star. “There’s a lot more we can learn using different wavelengths of light and different methods that allow us to more sensitively probe these thinner atmospheres.”

Like the inside of a hot oven

One of the most fascinating questions for researchers studying exoplanets, Berta-Thopson says, is “what does it take for a planet to retain or maintain atmosphere? Learning more about that is an important step in the process toward finding a planet maybe like this one—that has a surface, has an atmosphere, is a little farther away from its star, where you can imagine it has liquid water at the surface. Then you’re asking, ‘Is this a place where life could potentially thrive? Is there a place where life is thriving?”

These questions are so interesting, in fact, that they’ve prompted the formation of the Rocky Worlds Program, with which Wachiraphan and Berta-Thompson will work closely, to support international collaboration on the next phases of exploration of rocky exoplanets using satellite data.

“Using this really magnificent telescope that is the collective effort of thousands of people over decades, let alone the broader community that found this planet, is the kind of thing that is under threat right now,” Berta-Thompson says. “All of this science and this discovery requires a really long, big, sustained investment in telescopes, in scientists, in education.”

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In newly published research, CU Boulder scientists study a rocky exoplanet outside our solar system, learning more about whether and how planets maintain atmospheres.

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Rocky exoplanet LTT 1445 A b tightly orbits its parent star, which in turn orbits two other stars in a three-star system. (Artist's rendering of LTT 1445 A b: Martin Kornmesser/European Southern Observatory)

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