In 1990 I was asked by the 1975 alumni planning committee to speak at our class reunion. I reflected on Lessons Learned at St. Olaf 1971-1975 vs. Lessons Learned 1975-1990. My remarks were included in the 1990 St. Olaf Magazine, which I edited to include below. To these, I’ve added a poem titled A letter to my 21-year-old self.
The things I loved while a student at St. Olaf …
There were many things that I loved while at St. Olaf, including following my father’s sage advice — “For at least one hour every day, do something you totally enjoy” — and hearing President Rand speak openly during freshman orientation about the importance of value-based learning and a Christian education. I appreciated that during my calculus class, Paul Campbell entreated, “Do not take knowledge for granted and be a responsible citizen of the world.” I was humbled by the advice of my freshman JC: “The answer you seek lies buried somewhere in the midst of all the books you are reading. The problem is, you don’t know which book to open first, and which to read cover-to-cover. You must read them all.” I loved meeting my freshman roommate, and hearing English Professor Jonathan Hill demand excellence in our critical thinking and writing.
I loved my off-campus experiences, first studying invertebrate zoology at the Associated College of the Midwest (ACM) Field Station in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, and, later, marine biology in the Florida Keys with Biology Professor Jim Zischke. English Professor Lowell Johnson instilled in me a passion for Shakespeare and a need to understand whether King Lear’s suffering was deserved. I was immensely reassured when Religion Professor Vern Faillettaz said, “There’s no such thing as a stupid question.”
For four years I loved being a non-traditional student. I was one of only three Bakers at St. Olaf. I was from Missouri, and I was raised Methodist. I loved eating banana bread in the cafeteria on Sunday nights, and I was grateful to have so many dear St. Olaf friends. My junior semester in Oxford, England with classmates Inga Velde ’75, Margaret Hammer ’75, Kent Kildahl ’75, and Craig Spiegel ’75 provided us with wonderful opportunities for afternoon tea, or cider, at the pub.
There were things I hated at St. Olaf: memorization and competition, failing my physics final exam, and trying to decide whether to major in English or biology. Thankfully, David Wee challenged me to integrate my love for English and biology into my chosen field of medicine.
Finally, I loved smoking cigars at the Lowell Inn with a handful of friends on the eve of our graduation, followed by singing, “Now thank we all our God,” during our commencement.
The things I loved in 1990 …
I loved knowing that I was a responsible lifelong learner and making banana bread. I loved meeting other St. Olaf grads who were critical thinkers, socially conscious, and altruistic. I loved having tea whenever, and wherever, with Jill Tammen ’75, Inga Velde ’75, Margaret Hammer ’75, and whoever else was interested.
I hated traditional medical education, where I was told on my first day of medical school, “One half of what you learn the next four years will be obsolete by the time you finish. Regretfully, we don’t know which half, so you must learn it all.” I hated to admit I couldn’t learn it all.
I hated memorization and competition. I loved moving to Minnesota, marrying someone named Olson, and becoming Lutheran. I loved hearing my husband say, “Nancy, you can’t be expected to know something you haven’t learned.”
I loved working with medical students and family medicine residents and saying, “There is no such thing as a stupid question.” I loved creating a Literature and Medicine curriculum. I loved being a mentor for St. Olaf students and graduates that were interested in medical careers.
I hated discovering that parenting was just one long canoe trip and the campers never go home. Finally, I hated hearing my father say, “Sometimes you won’t be able to find an hour a day to do something you totally enjoy.”
Now, 50 years since my graduation from St. Olaf, and reflecting on what I’ve learned as a partner, parent and physician, I’d send …
A letter to my 21-year-old self
after Edward Hirsch
Books contain everything worth knowing except what ultimately matters. Tookie
From The Sentence by Louise Erdrich
While classmates gather
in dorm rooms to party,
you spend Friday nights
studying Concepts of Comedy
and calculus, searching
for an original thought,
searching for truth
within the texts.
Do not despair
when Vladimir & Estragon
debate meaninglessness,
and do not abandon
your effort to understand
Lear. Know you can
compute the half-life
of a therapeutic drug,
but never know
how long it takes
to heal a broken heart;
you can calculate the rate
of radioactive decay,
but not how long
it takes to forgive.
Though your pursuit
will be lifelong,
it will not be academic.
The time will come, when,
caring for your dying friend,
you will begin to doubt all
you have ever learned.
—Nancy J. Baker ’75, a biology and English major