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    Chronology for the Life and Work of Nicholas Lindsay

    by Lindsay Family

    The chronology below was constructed at the request of Ervin Beck for this issue. No chronology of Papa’s life existed prior to this. The nine remaining Lindsay siblings searched for press and correspondence relating to Papa’s work as an artist and historian. His careers in building and the trades were included because his work there was central to his personae as an artist. We used documents to create a factual framework for this chronology We believe this chronology to be largely accurate. Our parents were grateful for the community they found through Goshen College. In the year or two prior ...

  • 0 read more Introduction to "Tribute to Nick Lindsay"

    Introduction to "Tribute to Nick Lindsay"

    by Ervin Beck

    Nick Lindsay arrived at Goshen College in an almost accidental way. In the spring of 1969 the Lecture-Music program found itself with a small surplus and, as was sometimes the custom, decided to sponsor a bonus program late in the spring. Nick Lindsay was the choice. He had been recommended by Helen Clay, a Goshen friend of the college whose son was studying at Indiana University Bloomington, had attended a performance by Nick and thought he would be a good “fit” for Goshen College.

    Nick was the son of Vachel Lindsay (1879-1931), prominent American performance poet, and was a performance ...

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    Letter from DuBose Lindsay (1997) to Ann Hostetler

    by DuBose Lindsay

    DuBose’s letter came out of a lively correspondence with Nick that began back in August 1997. I was still living in Wisconsin and in the early stages of researching poetry by Mennonite writers. In preparation for the upcoming Mennonite/s Writing Conference to be held at Goshen College that October, I had asked Nick whether, in addition to sending me some samples of his poetry, he might consider submitting an essay on the topic of what it was like to teach poetry at a Mennonite institution of higher learning. He responded positively to the challenge, but the generous packet of ...

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    Letter from Nick Lindsay (2018) to Ervin Beck

    by Nick Lindsay

    Following the death of Nick’s wife DuBose in 2018, he and I exchanged a series of about six letters. I had suggested that he write his autobiography, or at least prepare a chronology of his life and work. I expected something linear, but he included in his letters bits and bobs of his life experience, usually in anecdotes with clear moral or spiritual meanings. The letters were always written in his non-cursive handwriting and were sprinkled with drawings, quotations from songs and, always, with upbeat comments.—Ervin Beck

    3 Slash Court
    Statesboro, GA
    Wed., Aug. 1, 2018

    Dear Ervin ...

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    Meditation for Memorial Service

    by Nick Lindsay, Jr.

    The time my father liked to talk about most in recent years has been the time he worked building commercial fishing boats on Edisto Island in the 1970s and 80's. I was a teenager then and I believed I knew him best at that time. He taught me to sail. Working or playing, our lives usually related to the ocean. On the water things are simpler than on land. He was joyful on the water.

    As he died, my sister Nancy was reading to him from The Odyssey. On the water he would use the words of Homer to ...

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    Tributes by Students and Colleagues

    by Multiple Authors

    By Skip Barnett (Faculty 1988-2018)

    Emeritus Professor of English and ESL, Goshen College
    Goshen, Indiana

    A Visit from Saint Nick

    Quiet snows flutter
    Mercury crouches
    A slanting sun spares us no hours
    The last tinseled trees lie low on the curb . . .
    But then comes Saint Nick!
    Not the red-suited fat one, in magical sleigh
    But the gravel-voiced, calloused-hand, lanky ship-builder
    Making his journey no glorious way.

    Elves he has, clustered round him
    Crafting their gifts, gifting their craft
    And then, a late Christmas!
    A word-feast for all!
    With strumming, deep chanting
    And images swirling, hearts and minds leaping
    Art is ...

  • 0 read more Introduction to "Student Writing"

    Introduction to "Student Writing"

    by Elizabeth Reimer

    Adults often ask me how college is going. As an introvert and awkward conversationalist, my answers are usually rather short. I mention a class I enjoy, say that I get along with my roommate, and remind them of my majors. I nod politely and smile. In most cases, we switch to another topic quickly. Winter break, which recently ended, is a prime time for such conversations.

    Of course, my simple, routine responses do not come close to describing what college is like. College is a mess of stories and experiences. I’ve only been here for three semesters, and already I ...

  • 0 read more Home


    by Anali Martin

    I wanna go home. I wanna go home. I wanna go home.

    A mantra I say to myself when I feel past the point of dejection. We’ve reached full “hell no” territory. Weight hunches my shoulders and slows my feet down to a plodding walk and keeps my body anchored to my bed. When tears constantly threaten to fall, when even a good hug doesn’t feel like it could fix my frustration, when I can’t hold my head up in class, when I feel empty and cold.

    Home for me isn’t necessarily one place. When I say, “I just ...

  • 0 read more Eclipsed


    by Anali Martin

    Baptism was an inevitable part of my walk of faith: to be deliberately contemplated, but ultimately sought after. It was the same way with Christianity and being Anabaptist. I was allowed and encouraged to question and think for myself (an Anabaptist founding belief), but there was this assumption that all my questions would lead back to God and the church. It wasn’t ever explicitly stated, and I never felt hemmed in or stifled by that fact, but in the end, the “right” answer was always going to be Jesus.

    Baptism was the next step in that questioning process, though it ...

  • 0 read more The Forest of Ambiguity

    The Forest of Ambiguity

    by Emie Peterson

    But I looked out the window. The sky was white but the glow from it dark. The trees were caught in between. Some bare and free of everything they carried through last season. Some, still hanging on, holding the weight of what is to pass. In a sense I felt like those trees. But there was more uncertainty in my own eyes. Not terrified or fearful, but uncertain and confused. Yes, I like the mess, and not knowing a kind of high. But movement is to be made and decisions forced upon me. I laugh to myself though. Because really ...

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