Bethel University - Spire Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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This year, the first year of its varsity standing, the soccer team closed its season with a 5-4-1 record. It was a rough year. There were tough teams and rough teams and a lot of injuries. Three players placed nationally in scoring for the first half of the season. Steve Voth was 3rd. Peter Wilson 14th, and Dan Anderson 28th in NAIA. Coach Juan Salas coached Bethel's team. Coach Salas is from Bolivia and was one of the leading referees in Minnesota before taking over the coaching job. Next year Steve Voth will take over coaching chores as Mr. Salas will return to his referee responsibilities. He hopes injuries will not take as heavy a toll as this year.

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Or. Christian 3IOLOGICAL SCIENCES Christian. Paul J. (Chairman) Prof. Biology Goff. Thomas L. Asst. Prof. Biology Johnson. Russell W. Assoc. Prof. Biology I was in the throes of my annual springslump. It was Friday, theculmination of a perfectly uneventful academic week. My classes for the day were over, begging to be forgotten until Monday. The sun was shining on the sea with all his might. And there I sat. in botany. That’s right, botany. And of my own free will too. No coercion or persuasion. Not even an invitation. I just went. Why? Well, for one thing I thought the change of pace might be refreshing. Very often one gets so bogged down in the familiarity of his own classes that he becomes insensitive, unappreciative, dead. The excitement of learning dwindles, professors’ personalities fade, and the whole educational enterprise wallows in a slough of sameness. Also. I was faintly curious. It hac been four years since my own academic involvement with the Science Department, and the ravages of time had dulled my memory. Just what do botanists do? Mostly though. I went to see Russ Johnson again, to see if he was still the same. I wondered if some of his mystique had been left upstairs in the old College Building where the smell of formaldehyde oczed from the very walls and the blood of a thousand fetal pigs stained the floor, where the odor of death was masked only by Russ’ everlasting plants. I’ve harbored a soft spot in my heart for Russ ever since he gave me a B in General Biology. As is usually the case with required courses (you new curriculum softies don’t know how good you've got it), precious few tidbits of knowledge survive from my Gen. Bio. days. But I do remember Russ Johnson, with his boundless enthusiasm, his incredible spontaneity, and his unashamed love for God’s creation. And so I went back to see if it was still there. The first few minutes of class were given over to reminding students of the greenhouse project, making some preliminary plans for Arbor Day. and returning exams. Then, with characteristic abandon. Russ departed from the syllabus to talk about flowers. As he delved into the mysteries of petal, pistil, polien. and parthenogenesis. I marvelled again at the man’s irrepressible spirit. After decades of teaching and dozens of springs, he still approaches each April with the contagious excitement of youth and manages somehow to produce the same enchantment in even the most unlearned observer. Perhaps no one deserved our move to this campus more than Russ. After laboring for years on a few acres of hard ground with its carefully cultivated flora, at last, in the twilight of his career, he is surrounded by the wild things he loves. Ralph Waldo Emerson is not noted for his poetry: nevertheless, he has his moments. “Woodnotes: I is one of them. and. time lag notwithstanding, it could only have been written about Russ Johnson. I quote the first stanza. In the wood he travels glad. Without better fortune had. Melancholy without bad. Knowledge this man prizes best Seems fantastic to the rest: 30