Kweisi Mfume, former president and CEO of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), addressed the College community about civil rights in the United States as part of the College's Multicultural Lecture Series and in conjunction with Black History Month.
The second floor of the Roscoe L. West Library looks nothing like the first. Where the ground level is stocked with copiers and computers, students on cell phones and shelves of bestsellers, the upper level could have been built in the 1930s along with Green Hall.
Barbara Ehrenreich appeals to college students. She opens her Community Learning Day keynote address with remarks about underage drinking.
"Make it legal," she insists in a common-sense tone that is condescending to policy makers.
Students cheer to that.
Amy Benson sits on a plush red chair against the mahogany walls of the Algonquin Hotel in New York City. Her chocolate suit is as rich as the wood behind her, and is offset by tinsel-like threading interwoven throughout the skirt and jacket set. The threading reflects a golden-green color that matches Benson's hazel eyes and blond, tousled hair.
As both an alumnus and member of the math department faculty, William Hausdoerffer participated in the College's 100th birthday celebration.
Fifty years later, the 1936 Trenton State Normal School graduate was back to celebrate the College's 150th birthday, kicking off the Sesquicentennial Celebration with the lighting of the cauldron last Wednesday in Brower Student Center.
"I miss you."
They're all saying it - some fighting tears, their voices cracking, broadcasting the raw emotion that is rarely seen on television news.
Others are more composed. They add "god bless," and "never forget you," with the congeniality of politicians.
Lindsay Nahm turned off the lights in her first-grade classroom and her students immediately stopped chattering. Calmly, quietly, each student sat still in his or her seat - until one child flicked on a flashlight, held up a black colored-paper cutout of a fish, and started casting shadows on the blackboard.
I remember when I was little and used to want to wake up at the crack of dawn on Saturday mornings.
Now, I usually just get into bed at the crack of dawn on Saturdays.
Of course, as we get older, we have different interests (I no longer need to be awake to watch Smurfs), so our schedules are going to be different.
Fliers that advertised a drink off competition between the College and Rider University at the restaurant and night club Sambuca two weeks ago prompted many college officials to discourage students from taking part in the event.
The flier read, "TCNJ vs.
So you want that job at the latest music shop or the big department store. The application is all filled out and you know you can ace the interview. There's only one thing that stands between you and your cash flow.
The drug test.
Not only is the test uncomfortable, but it can also put a major hindrance on your career if the fun you had at last Saturday night's party is detected.
For 11 hours last Friday, a blackout impaired students' ability to do work, go to class and eventually led to the evacuation of some residence halls.
According to Joe Sullivan, director of facilities, a large tree fell across the main electric line that feeds the campus at 9:30 a.
Rain is teeming down in buckets and the wind is blowing leaves and debris all over the place.
My first reaction? I have to get inside - I can't get my hair wet!
While I might be a Bergen County priss who despises the minute that the humidity level rises to over 70 percent, there is something about all the Hurricane Isabel coverage that makes me want to be a storm-chasing reporter.
It's Monday night and the situation is a bit confusing. There's a lot of noise coming from the floor above you, mostly men's voices, screaming "Come on, let's go!" and "Get me more beer."
But isn't that typical of a Tuesday night at the College?
She walked into the classroom, her youthful eyes scanning the roomful of unfamiliar students' faces. To professor and poet Reetika Vazirani, new places and different people were always familiar, a product of her frequent traveling and moving around. Despite her natural poise and grace, no one knew the pain that migration and other tragedies had inflicted on Vazirani's life.