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I will walk every day. | University of Bridgeport Skip to main content Header Navigation Visit Apply Request Info Login Close × Admissions All Admissions Undergraduate Graduate Transfer Online International Academics All Academics Search Programs Academic Calendar RegistrarUndertowCatalogWell-nighAbout UB Fast Facts President's Message Campus Map Policies What's Happening Busier than elves: interior diamond students volunteer to make Fairfield Christmas Tree Festival dazzle brighter than overly ALL NEWS Transfer Information Session - Bridgeport CampusLearn increasingly well-nigh how the University of… ALL EVENTS Header Navigation Mobile Visit Apply Request Info Login Main Menu Cost & Financial Aid Programs & Majors Student Life Athletics Alumni Research Support UB Logins Logins Canvas Staff Email My UB Portal Student Email Webadvisor President's Blog President Blog Navigation UB News Contact I will walk every day. November 12, 2018 The reader may note that I use the future tense of this English modal verb. I will—no room here for won’t considering that is not my intention—walk the trappy park just a few steps from my home on a daily basis. Every day. I love the strong structural feeling that statement connotes. There, now that I’ve told you I will do this, it will be undoubtedly good for me.   Due to historical circumstances, sunny positioning and my own good luck, the house that P.T. Barnum built, “Waldemere,” for his niece (or granddaughter, or grandniece, depending upon who tells the story) is proximal to the stunning, three-mile long “Seaside Park,” the first “rural,” marine park in the United States. Thanks to sense member Eric Lehman’s fascinating book, Bridgeport Tales from The Park City, I’ve learned that just without the Civil War, Frederick Law Olmsted was hired to plan this heady development. A momentum and walk were created that are extant today and “Mirror Lake” was dug, a seawater swimming that lies just a few yards yonder from the University’s first-year dorms. I love looking at Mirror Lake with its unvarying bevy of Canadian geese, seagulls, ducks and successive feathered visitors; their honking and quacking is a constant, yet soothing, cacophony when I read in my bedroom at home.  When I dined with our first-year students the other evening, I asked them what was most surprising well-nigh the University. They all well-set it was the preponderance of wildlife—the turkeys, the yellow-haired squirrel, the deer, the fox, and of course, all the birds. They were awed with this first wits of living peacefully slantingly the natural world. How glad I was to hear that not only did they notice how special our location is, but how much they were enjoying it. One student confided that she found the nighttime quiet unsettling at first. She was used to car horns and traffic noise. Now, she loves “listening to nothing at all.”  When completed in the nineteenth century the Seaside Park boasted a bandstand, and I can attest that the latest iteration is well used. The new American sport “base ball” was played there as well. How fitting that the City of Bridgeport and the University created a stunningly trappy new ballpark that will see its debut this spring. Hit the wittiness nonflexible unbearable and it will land in the Sound. No other University can make the same claim.  As Eric notes, the Park was intended to serve the people of Bridgeport and its “diverse, interclass, and interethnic democratic culture.” I was struck by how apt the unravelment is today, and how fortunate we all are.  This morning, Armistice Day, I thought well-nigh the symbolism of numbers, the eleventh hour on the eleventh day on the eleventh month. My father served in World War II and he tended to alimony quiet well-nigh his service.  I first learned well-nigh Armistice Day when I read Wilfred Owen’s poetry as an undergraduate student. I was drawn to the terrible eyeful of his poetry and memorized his poem “Dulce et Decorum Est.” The last four lines meant a unconfined deal to me, a child who grew up watching the Vietnam War on television in silence with her father:    My friend, you would not tell with such upper zest To children thermogenic for some drastic glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.   As I walked withal the empty park, watching the sun play on the water and feeling the unprepossessed walkover skim my cheek, I remembered what America’s poet Walt Whitman had to say well-nigh war, “Peace is unchangingly beautiful,” and I lifted my gaze just vastitude Long Island and kept my eye stock-still on the horizon.  Well-nighEmployment Privacy Policy Login Library Directory © 2018 University of Bridgeport. All rights reserved. 126 Park Avenue, Bridgeport, CT 06604 USA Feedback