Comments on: From the Editor: Age of Consent http://www.vanderbilt.edu/magazines/vanderbilt-magazine/2008/03/age_of_consent/ the alumni magazine of Vanderbilt University Sun, 29 Apr 2012 22:07:19 -0500 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.8.6 hourly 1 By: Taber hamilton http://www.vanderbilt.edu/magazines/vanderbilt-magazine/2008/03/age_of_consent/comment-page-1/#comment-1507 Taber hamilton Wed, 09 Feb 2011 20:06:14 +0000 http://www.vanderbilt.edu/magazines/vanderbilt-magazine/2008/03/age-of-consent/#comment-1507 Are there any Zibarts left in Nashville I have forgotten the name of their childern. I lived at 3311 love circle in the 50's and 40' s Are there any Zibarts left in Nashville I have forgotten the name of their childern. I lived at 3311 love circle in the 50’s and 40′ s

]]> By: Eve Zibart, ‘74 (Washington Grove, Md.) http://www.vanderbilt.edu/magazines/vanderbilt-magazine/2008/03/age_of_consent/comment-page-1/#comment-73 Eve Zibart, ‘74 (Washington Grove, Md.) Thu, 19 Mar 2009 15:38:27 +0000 http://www.vanderbilt.edu/magazines/vanderbilt-magazine/2008/03/age-of-consent/#comment-73 A belated note (I am nearly as behind on magazines as books) to say what a chuckle I got from the Carl Zibart anecdote. Daddy [Carl's brother, Alan], unfortunately, was either more dogged or had a higher guilt level–he nearly always finished [reading] everything. But I too am beginning to think along the Sherlock Holmes lines: My brain has only so much space, and whatever in the attic doesn’t need to be there is going out. A belated note (I am nearly as behind on magazines as books) to say what a chuckle I got from the Carl Zibart anecdote. Daddy [Carl's brother, Alan], unfortunately, was either more dogged or had a higher guilt level–he nearly always finished [reading] everything. But I too am beginning to think along the Sherlock Holmes lines: My brain has only so much space, and whatever in the attic doesn’t need to be there is going out.

]]> By: Dr. Bill Doak, ‘53 (Nashville) http://www.vanderbilt.edu/magazines/vanderbilt-magazine/2008/03/age_of_consent/comment-page-1/#comment-72 Dr. Bill Doak, ‘53 (Nashville) Thu, 19 Mar 2009 15:38:06 +0000 http://www.vanderbilt.edu/magazines/vanderbilt-magazine/2008/03/age-of-consent/#comment-72 I was interested in reading, in your piece about when to give up on [reading] a book, that you also were obliged to set aside Edith Grossman’s translation of Don Quixote. This makes me feel better somehow. I also remember fondly the Zibarts. I did not know them intimately but thought they were wonderful. I was interested in reading, in your piece about when to give up on [reading] a book, that you also were obliged to set aside Edith Grossman’s translation of Don Quixote. This makes me feel better somehow. I also remember fondly the Zibarts. I did not know them intimately but thought they were wonderful.

]]> By: Sen. Roy B. Herron, MDiv’80, JD’80 (Dresden, Tenn.) http://www.vanderbilt.edu/magazines/vanderbilt-magazine/2008/03/age_of_consent/comment-page-1/#comment-71 Sen. Roy B. Herron, MDiv’80, JD’80 (Dresden, Tenn.) Thu, 19 Mar 2009 15:37:39 +0000 http://www.vanderbilt.edu/magazines/vanderbilt-magazine/2008/03/age-of-consent/#comment-71 I am just short of tears as I have read and re-read and even marked up your editor’s column. Grace Zibart touched me and changed my life. When I was a law and divinity student at Vanderbilt in about 1978, somehow I wound up catching a ride with Grace from the airport to the Vanderbilt area. I don’t recall how we wound up with her kindly letting me hitchhike into town. But in some grace-filled (and Grace-filled) way, we came together. As we rode we talked about what I’d been doing. If I recall correctly, I was returning from a summer of doing ministry in the Hell’s Kitchen (now gentrified and called “Clinton,” but not after the president) neighborhood of New York City. It had been an extraordinary experience for a youngster from a rural West Tennessee town whose population did not reach 2,500. I’d gone there to work with brothers from a French religious community called Taizé and lived in a Catholic church and then a Presbyterian church. I’d worked with street people and children, and I doubt I accomplished much in terms of helping others, but those people sure blessed me. And it was clear to me even then that the experience had changed my life–though I did not yet know how or how much. Grace told me I ought to write about the experience for your magazine’s predecessor, The Vanderbilt Alumnus. And with her help and editing, I did. (Actually, it wound up being an article not only about that summer, but also the one before when I’d been a law clerk on a case trying to keep five innocent African American teenagers from being executed.) That article was the first time I’d ever published anything outside of my native Weakley County. And it led directly to me wanting to do a Divinity School field placement on writing. That led to an unpublished book, and eventually the path twisted and turned until three other book manuscripts were published. All because of Grace Zibart. I truly doubt that any of those books would have been written, and I know for a fact that the article would not have been written, if not for Grace. So when you wrote about Grace and Carl, you touched me. And I thank you. I am just short of tears as I have read and re-read and even marked up your editor’s column. Grace Zibart touched me and changed my life.
When I was a law and divinity student at Vanderbilt in about 1978, somehow I wound up catching a ride with Grace from the airport to the Vanderbilt area. I don’t recall how we wound up with her kindly letting me hitchhike into town. But in some grace-filled (and Grace-filled) way, we came together. As we rode we talked about what I’d been doing. If I recall correctly, I was returning from a summer of doing ministry in the Hell’s Kitchen (now gentrified and called “Clinton,” but not after the president) neighborhood of New York City. It had been an extraordinary experience for a youngster from a rural West Tennessee town whose population did not reach 2,500. I’d gone there to work with brothers from a French religious community called Taizé and lived in a Catholic church and then a Presbyterian church. I’d worked with street people and children, and I doubt I accomplished much in terms of helping others, but those people sure blessed me. And it was clear to me even then that the experience had changed my life–though I did not yet know how or how much.

Grace told me I ought to write about the experience for your magazine’s predecessor, The Vanderbilt Alumnus. And with her help and editing, I did. (Actually, it wound up being an article not only about that summer, but also the one before when I’d been a law clerk on a case trying to keep five innocent African American teenagers from being executed.)
That article was the first time I’d ever published anything outside of my native Weakley County. And it led directly to me wanting to do a Divinity School field placement on writing. That led to an unpublished book, and eventually the path twisted and turned until three other book manuscripts were published.

All because of Grace Zibart. I truly doubt that any of those books would have been written, and I know for a fact that the article would not have been written, if not for Grace. So when you wrote about Grace and Carl, you touched me. And I thank you.

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