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Family shares courtroom and campus legacy

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 01 Aug 2025 20:06:32 +0000

Family shares courtroom and campus legacy Rachel Sauer Fri, 08/01/2025 - 14:06

Cody DeBos

Father and daughter Donald and Maureen McGinnis both pursued �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder educations and then careers in the law

When Judge Maureen McGinnis (PolSci ’00) steps into the courtroom, she carries more than a robe and gavel with her. Several decades of family legacy and lessons in reputation, integrity and the power of doing the right thing have brought Maureen where she is today.

But her journey to the bench didn’t begin in law school. It started at the dinner table during conversations with her father, Donald McGinnis (A&S ’69), a respected Michigan attorney who built his own career on relationships and the strength of his word.

Don and Maureen McGinnis at a legal event, one of many they have attended together.

“I’ve always looked up to my dad,” Maureen says. “Getting an opportunity to grow up in a family where you have a parent that’s a lawyer, you get sort of immersed in that.”

Maureen’s immersion led her to follow in her father’s footsteps to �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder, where Donald first fell in love with the idea of carving his own path in life.

“It’s been a great ride for me from back in Boulder all the way until now,” Donald says.

�鶹��Ѱ��roots of the family tree

For Donald, �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder was a natural fit. His parents were avid skiers, and he’d grown up making trips out west. When it came time to choose a college, there was little question where he would go.

“It was definitely going to be �鶹��Ѱ��without question,” he says. “I think it was the only place I applied.”

His daughter didn’t need much convincing, either. Long before she would set foot on campus, she had already envisioned her future as a �鶹��Ѱ��Buffalo and a lawyer.

“I was the seventh grader wearing the University of Colorado sweatshirt and telling everybody I was going to go to law school. I don’t think I ever wavered from that,” she recalls.

What began with an interest in skiing in the 1960s has since evolved into a lifelong connection to a place that would shape the beginning of both their careers. For Donald, the legacy is deeply personal.

“Obviously, my legacy is my daughter attending CU, which is a very proud one. She also chose to join my profession and then excelled so well at it. I couldn’t be prouder,” he says.

A shared journey in the courtroom

Despite knowing she wanted a career in law, Maureen says she didn’t know what her path would look like. Long before she wore a judge’s robe, she walked into her first job as a lawyer and found herself working alongside her dad.

“I don’t think I had a huge plan for exactly what I was going to do once I became a lawyer,” she says. “But the door was open. As soon as I started working with my dad, there was nothing to figure out. I wasn’t going to leave.”

Donald McGinnis built his family law practice from the ground up, never working for another firm, never having a boss. Running his own practice has helped him understand more than most the value of connection in a field that can be harsh and impersonal.

Don McGinnis (left) moves for Maureen McGinnis' (right, back to camera) admission to the State Bar of Michigan to practice law.

“I would always like to be remembered as the handshake lawyer. If I tell you something and shake hands on it, I don’t need to have 18 emails and five letters,” he says. “That’s the way I would like to be remembered—as a lawyer’s lawyer.”

During her time working at her father’s law practice, Maureen absorbed plenty of legal strategy, but his passion for reputation also bled through.

“People will talk about how you treat them, how you honor your word. … I remember that being really constant in our discussions about the practice of law,” she says.

Working with her dad gave Maureen a head start, but most of all showed her that law could be more than a job. It would soon turn into a lifelong calling shaped by values passed down through the generations.

Carrying the legacy forward

After more than a decade of practicing as a lawyer, Maureen felt pulled toward something more. She wanted a way to serve not just individual clients but her entire community.

“I’ve always had a passion for community service and engagement. So, getting to have the role I have now pretty much marries both of those things,” she says.

The role she speaks humbly of is presiding judge at the 52-4 District Court in Troy, Michigan, where Maureen weighs her opinion on cases that impact everyday lives.

She was elected to the bench in 2014, but the decision to run had been quietly planted years earlier in conversations with her father.

Maureen McGinnis (center) celebrates with her parents after graduating law school and passing the bar exam.

“He sort of has this habit of putting something in your head, and if we talk about it enough, it’s like it helps you visualize it—even when it’s something that isn’t really on the horizon,” she says.

Housing disputes, traffic violations and local criminal offenses are just a few of the cases now crossing Maureen’s desk every day. She says it isn’t glamorous work, but it directly shapes her community, and for Maureen, that is exactly the point.

“She sets an example that other lawyers and I commend her for. It makes it easier for the litigating parties when you have a smart judge and smart lawyers,” Donald says.

Reflections on �鶹��Ѱ��and the legacy they’re still writing

Looking back, both Maureen and Donald agree their time at �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder influenced more than just their resumes. For Donald, college was a time of discovery and independence. After decades of legal work, he looks back on his time in Boulder as uniquely freeing.

“I took it way too serious,” he laughs. “College is probably the only four-year period of time that you have in your life where you don’t really have a lot of responsibility. You should enjoy it with great vigor, in my opinion.”

Maureen, always focused on the next step, says she sometimes wishes she’d taken more of those opportunities—like studying abroad in Australia. But she’s never questioned the choice to attend CU. In fact, she’s already planning to pass that connection on to her kids.

“If you have an ability to start a legacy in that way, it’s amazing. I feel like having those shared memories about places and things that we experienced at �鶹��Ѱ��keeps my dad and I very close. It’s something you can never take away.”

Don McGinnis on the campaign trail when Maureen McGinnis ran for district court judge.

Maureen McGinnis (first row, right) at her investiture when she was seated as a judge.

Don McGinnis when he returned to Boulder to help his daughter, Maureen, move into Farrand Hall.

Maureen McGinnis (center) with friends while she was an undergraduate student at �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder.

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Father and daughter Donald and Maureen McGinnis both pursued �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder educations and then careers in the law.

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All photos courtesy Maureen McGinnis

Cycling tradition meets biomechanics at CU

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 31 Jul 2025 18:47:46 +0000

Cycling tradition meets biomechanics at CU Rachel Sauer Thu, 07/31/2025 - 12:47

Cody DeBos

In time for Buffalo Bicycle Classic, �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder researchers challenge cycling norms that stiff cycling-shoe soles are essential for efficient riding

Years ago, Rodger Kram, a biomechanics researcher and now �鶹��Ѱ�� associate professor emeritus of integrative physiology, offered a student in his lab a challenge.

Asher Straw, a sophomore at the time and an avid cyclist, was convinced that stiff, carbon fiber soles were essential for serious riders because they made for more efficient pedaling. Kram, with a twinkle in his eye, disagreed.

“I provocatively said that I didn’t think they made any difference,” Kram recalls. “I figured even very flexible running shoes would be just as efficient as carbon fiber cycling shoes when riding at a steady pace and moderate intensity.”

Rodger Kram is a biomechanics researcher and �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder associate professor emeritus aof integrative physiology.

Straw was determined to prove his professor wrong. So, the two set out on a small but illuminating study and found that ultra-stiff shoes didn’t offer improved efficiency during moderate cycling.

But that was just the beginning.

Kram and his students have since spent nearly a decade exploring a deceptively simple question: How stiff does a cycling shoe really need to be?

The answer, it turns out, may surprise even the most gear-obsessed riders.

The stiffness myth

Carbon fiber shoes have been marketed as the gold standard for years, and riders have adopted the message. These shoes are sleek and featherlight, and their unyielding soles allegedly transfer more power from leg to pedal.

Kram’s research team, including then-graduate student Tripp Hurt, conducted a study to test the limits of this belief. They equipped trained cyclists with a set of three identical shoes, each fitted with a unique sole material of varying stiffness. The cyclists were then asked to sprint as hard as possible up a 50-meter stretch of road in each pair.

After multiple experiments, the researchers had their answer.

“There was a breakpoint,” Kram says. “Below a certain stiffness, sprint performance does trail off.”

But not by much. Going from nylon soles (a very stiff reference) to a medium-stiff TPU (thermoplastic polyurethane) sole caused only a 3.1% drop in maximal one-second power output. The more flexible, soft TPU sole yielded a further power-output decrease of just 2.4%. At those levels, most cyclists wouldn’t notice the difference.

“The $150 shoes were just as good as the $450 shoes,” Kram says.

Comfort over carbon

“For most of us, like riders in the Buffalo Bicycle Classic, there are far more important qualities in a shoe beyond sprint performance. Are they comfortable would be number one. Do they fit your foot?” Kram asks, adding that when picking out new shoes, “sole stiffness should be way down your list.”

“For most of us, like riders in the Buffalo Bicycle Classic, there are far more important qualities in a shoe beyond sprint performance. Are they comfortable would be number one. Do they fit your foot?” asks researcher Rodger Kram. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

It’s a refreshing perspective in a world where the latest (and often most expensive) iterations are always advertised the loudest. Stiff soles may seem impressive in an ad, but they aren’t always practical, Kram says. They can even be a hazard.

“Social riders often stop for a snack or coffee, and it’s easy to fall when trying to walk in carbon fiber soles on the tile floor of a café,” Kram says.

There’s also a growing awareness of carbon fiber’s environmental toll. Making carbon fiber is energy intensive and expensive, and the end product is nearly impossible to recycle. Though the sole of a cycling shoe isn’t world-ending, the cumulative effect of our consumption habits adds up.

If riders are sacrificing comfort, affordability and sustainability for just a few watts of power they may never use, Kram wonders, what’s the point?

Lab to innovation

That question stuck with Tripp Hurt, the aforementioned �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder graduate. Inspired by the science, he found Brevay, a shoe startup based in Seattle.

“I had my ‘lightbulb’ moment after a night out with friends,” Hurt says. “I started to think about my biomechanics research and how it was relevant to the overall cycling market. We see these results, but nothing has changed about the way cycling companies were building their product.”

So, Hurt decided to build a new kind of shoe. Brevay’s first model, the Road One, will be a high-performance road cycling shoe made from sustainable materials.

“Sustainability and performance are the north star for Brevay. We’re the first brand developing a sustainable cycling shoe, so the market is unproven if this is a category that cyclists are interested in. But we’re building it anyway,” Hurt says.

This year, Rodger Kram will work at the Buffalo Bicycle Classic aid station near his home in Ward, handing out water and snacks to the riders. Though he’s retired from teaching, he nevertheless considers it important to help make �鶹��Ѱ��Bulder affordable for the next generation of curious students.

That means sourcing bio-based materials, investing in an alternative supply chain and pricing the shoes competitively with the high-end carbon-fiber models they aim to replace.

Challenging assumptions

For Kram, the research is about more than shoes.

“We love challenging conventional wisdom,” he says, “and cycling is a sport fraught with tradition.”

That spirit of inquiry is part of what makes �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder’s research culture special, he adds. The study, and its illuminating results, started with a student’s curiosity and a professor’s willingness to be proven wrong.

“It represented a major shift in my career trajectory,” Hurt says of his time in Kram’s lab. “I felt more at home working on running and cycling biomechanics.”

As elite athletes continue to chase fractions of a second, Kram and Hurt hope their work encourages others to rethink what performance really means.

For many, like riders tackling Boulder Canyon to fundraise for scholarships in the Buffalo Bicycle Classic, choosing the right shoe shouldn’t be about speed, Kram says, but about enjoying the ride, staying comfortable and being mindful of the environment.

In the end, as Kram puts it, “there are far more important qualities in a cycling shoe than sprint performance.”

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In time for Buffalo Bicycle Classic, �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder researchers challenge cycling norms that stiff cycling-shoe soles are essential for efficient riding.

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Competitive electricity markets help clean up the U.S. energy sector

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 28 Jul 2025 13:30:00 +0000

Competitive electricity markets help clean up the U.S. energy sector Rachel Sauer Mon, 07/28/2025 - 07:30

Sarah Kuta

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder economics researcher Daniel Kaffine finds that whole electricity markets might help reduce carbon emissions

Even though we use it every day, most of us don’t give much thought to the electricity powering our homes, schools and offices. As long as the lights come on when we flip the switch, we don’t stop to consider where our power comes from, who produces it and how.

Yet, in recent decades, electricity markets—the way power gets bought and sold—have changed dramatically in many parts of the United States. These shifts have largely been good for consumers, promoting competition that often leads to lower electricity bills. But Daniel Kaffine, a �鶹��Ѱ�� economics professor, wanted to investigate another, less-obvious ripple effect: How are these shifts affecting the environment?

It’s a commonly held belief that competitive markets tend to be bad for the environment. But Kaffine finds the opposite to be true. His latest research, published in The Energy Journal, suggests that competitive whole electricity markets might help clean up the U.S. energy sector by reducing carbon emissions.

Daniel Kaffine, a �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder professor of economics, finds in recently published research that competitive whole electricity markets might help clean up the U.S. energy sector by reducing carbon emissions.

“The conventional wisdom on a lot of these topics is not always correct, and environmental economics is a very useful structure and framework for developing more nuanced thinking about the relationship between the economy and the environment,” he says.

Understanding U.S. electricity markets

Before the 1990s, electricity in the United States primarily came from vertically integrated utilities—that is, one company that owned and operated the entire electricity supply chain. These one-stop-shop firms handled every phase of the process, from generating electricity at power plants to transmitting it to substations to distributing it to customers. Overseen by public utility commissions, these companies usually had the exclusive rights to serve a particular region.

However, in 1996, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission issued two orders that transformed the nation’s electricity utility industry. The commission sought to break up public utilities and get more players into the mix, in hopes of lowering prices for consumers.

As a result, many states began moving away from the traditional utility model and toward competitive wholesale electricity markets. In regions that have made this shift, there are multiple sellers (companies that produce power) and multiple buyers (local utilities that provide electricity to customers).

For the new paper, Kaffine and co-author Doyoung Park, a former �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder graduate student who is now an assistant professor of agricultural economics at Texas A&M University, turned their attention to one such market.

They looked at the Southwest Power Pool, an independent system operator and regional transmission organization that manages the grid for some or all parts of 14 states. These are Arkansas, Iowa, Kansas, Louisiana, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, New Mexico, North Dakota, Oklahoma, South Dakota, Texas and Wyoming.

The Southwest Power Pool is a bit like an air traffic controller. It doesn’t own any of the region’s electricity infrastructure—things like power lines and poles—but it does operate them. It coordinates the flow of electricity, monitors congestion and prevents outages and emergencies.

Another big role the Southwest Power Pool plays is that of auctioneer, Kaffine says. Each day, it is in charge of sourcing enough power to meet the region’s anticipated demand for the following day. This is what’s known as the “day-ahead energy market,” and it functions like an auction.

“You have buyers and sellers of power,” Kaffine says. “The people who sell power offer up a certain amount of electricity at a certain price. And, basically, the cheapest bids win. Those are the power plants that end up producing power the next day.”

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder researcher Daniel Kaffine and colleague Doyoung Park studied carbon emissions from power plants within the Southwest Power Pool before and after the introduction of day-ahead markets. They compared the emissions intensity, or the amount of carbon dioxide emitted per unit of power generated.

(The Southwest Power Pool also runs real-time markets every five minutes. But, for their study, Kaffine and Park focused only on the day-ahead markets, which were created in 2014.)

Consumers are not involved in this process, which runs seamlessly in the background to produce a continuous stream of on-demand electricity. But, because of the competition between sellers, they do end up paying lower electricity bills every month. And, according to Kaffine’s research, society as a whole gets the benefit of reduced carbon emissions.

Carbon emissions decline in free markets

For the study, Kaffine and Park looked at carbon emissions from power plants within the Southwest Power Pool before and after the introduction of day-ahead markets. They compared the emissions intensity, or the amount of carbon dioxide emitted per unit of power generated.

To isolate the effects of the day-ahead markets and rule out other variables, they also compared the data to a similar power pool in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Maryland, called PJM Interconnection.

When they crunched the numbers, the researchers found that the day-ahead markets caused a 4 percent drop in average carbon emissions intensity in the Southwest Power Pool. That equates to a reduction of roughly 7.66 million tons of carbon dioxide emissions and about $383.4 million in avoided damages per year.

“Shaving off 4 percent from every unit of power that gets generated really adds up,” Kaffine says.

When they drilled down into the data, Kaffine and Park were able to uncover the mechanisms responsible for the decrease in carbon emissions. Some individual power plants got slightly cleaner after the day-ahead markets were introduced. But the primary factor was the retirement of older, dirtier, costlier power plants in the region.

These plants simply couldn’t compete in the new environment, says Kaffine. When they shut down, what remained was a fleet of newer, cleaner and cheaper-to-run facilities—and that resulted in lower carbon emissions overall.

“It’s just like if you have an old air conditioner—it takes more power to run the thing, and that’s expensive,” he says. “In a power plant, if you have an old boiler, it takes more fuel input to produce power and that’s more expensive and dirtier.”

Looking ahead

“You have buyers and sellers of power. The people who sell power offer up a certain amount of electricity at a certain price. And, basically, the cheapest bids win. Those are the power plants that end up producing power the next day.”

Zooming out, the results challenge the long-held assumption that competitive markets are always detrimental to the environment. The findings might be different in other regions but, at least in the case of the Southwest Power Pool, the “market incentives lined up nicely with the environmental incentives,” Kaffine says.

In addition, the findings suggest that other states may want to consider creating or joining competitive electricity markets—for the economic advantages, but also for the potential environmental benefits. Many states in the Southeast and the West (with the exception of California) do not have competitive electricity markets.

Colorado, for example, still operates under the traditional, vertically integrated utility model. But a 2021 state law requires all non-municipal electric utilities that own transmission lines to join a wholesale electric market by 2030.

A study conducted by the Colorado Public Utilities Commission estimates this change could result in savings of up to $230 million each year. And Kaffine’s research suggests it may also lead to a reduction in carbon emissions, too.

“Rather than running an old, dirty plant here in Colorado, having a wholesale market might mean buying cheap wind [power] or cheap natural gas [power] from New Mexico,” says Kaffine. “They do some of that trading already, but having a market in place to facilitate that trade makes it easier to find lower-cost producers. And if the lower-cost producers happen to be cleaner, that’s a win for the environment as well as consumers.”

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�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder economics researcher Daniel Kaffine finds that whole electricity markets might help reduce carbon emissions.

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'Your love will be your legacy'

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 23 Jul 2025 13:30:00 +0000

'Your love will be your legacy' Rachel Sauer Wed, 07/23/2025 - 07:30

Sarah Kuta

Losing her father to pancreatic cancer inspired �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder undergraduate Giovanna Ruffolo to raise money for cancer research and pursue a career in medicine

Giovanna Ruffolo was a senior in high school when her dad died of pancreatic cancer.

While other students were looking forward to prom and graduation, Ruffolo was navigating a web of tangled emotions—shock, disbelief, sadness, anger, uncertainty.

“Losing a parent is probably the most intense pain someone can feel in their entire life,” she says. “It’s a terrible, terrible pain.”

Giovanna Ruffolo (second from right) with her brothers Leo (left, a 2024 �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder graduate) and Joey (second from left, a �鶹��Ѱ��Denver student) and their mom, Rosanna. (Photo: Giovanna Ruffolo)

Mostly, though, she just felt numb. Heading off to college so soon after her father’s death was the last thing she wanted to do. But she knew education was important to her dad, so she pushed through the pain and enrolled at �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder.

Now a senior studying integrative physiology and psychology, Ruffolo is preparing for a career in medicine so that, someday, she can help support families just like hers. She hopes to work in pediatric oncology, providing compassionate care to children who are fighting cancer.

As a Buff, Ruffolo is also honoring her father’s legacy by raising money and awareness for cancer prevention research, an initiative she started just after her father got his diagnosis.

“I just want people to know they have a support system and a network that hates cancer as much as they do—that they’re not alone,” she says.

Helping others

Life was rolling along for the Ruffolo family when they got the news that would change their lives forever. In 2017, their beloved patriarch, John Ruffolo, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, a disease that is often fatal.

“It hit us like a bus,” says Ruffolo.

Pancreatic cancer is the third-leading cause of cancer-related deaths in the United States, according to the National Institutes of Health. Between 2015 and 2021, the five-year survival rate was just 13.3 percent—much lower than other types of cancer. In 2025, the American Cancer Society estimates 67,440 people will be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and 51,980 people will die from the disease.

“It’s the cancer that really gives cancer its bad name,” Ruffolo says.

Prospect Ridge Academy High School Students participate in a cancer fundraiser organized by Giovanna Ruffolo in 2019. (Photo: Giovanna Ruffolo)

Ruffolo was just 14 at the time, but she felt compelled to take action. As a sophomore at Prospect Ridge Academy High School, she created TeamRuffolo, a student-led initiative to raise money and awareness for cancer research.

In November 2018, her school hosted a “Purple Out”—a one-day event in which students were encouraged to wear purple to show their support for the cancer community and donate whatever they could toward prevention research. Students, teachers and administrators raised more than $1,000 for the American Cancer Society that day, and Ruffolo went home feeling inspired and hopeful.

She organized similar fundraisers at her high school in 2019 and 2020 (though the initiative had to go virtual because of the COVID-19 pandemic).

“It was such a wonderful feeling,” she says. “A lot of these people didn’t even know my dad, but they were still so supportive. Seeing people come together not only for him, but just to say, ‘You’re not alone,’ was tremendous for all of us.”

Balancing act

Meanwhile, despite undergoing various treatments and surgeries, her father’s cancer continued to progress. Four years after his diagnosis, he succumbed to the disease in January 2021 at the University of Colorado Anschutz Medical Center.

Ruffolo was utterly devastated, but she knew she had to finish high school and get a college degree for her dad. And, wherever she ended up next, she wanted to continue her awareness-raising and fundraising events to support other cancer patients and their families.

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder participants run in the Stronger Together Annual 5K at �鶹��Ѱ��in 2024, the event's most successful year. (Photo: Giovanna Ruffolo)

At �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder, Ruffolo has thrown herself into her studies, with an ultimate goal of working in the medical field. From her father’s experience, Ruffolo learned first-hand that cancer affects more than just the body—it also influences a patient’s mind, spirit and emotions. With that in mind, she’s majoring in integrative physiology and psychology to create her own pre-health pathway.

“My father had trouble grasping being diagnosed with a terminal disease, as anyone rightfully would,” she says. “I want to understand people’s behaviors and thoughts better, so that when someone is going through a hardship, I can better support them.”

To further build her skill set, Ruffolo also completed CU’s emergency medical technician (EMT) program, an online, non-credit specialization that prepares students for national registry testing. She has also worked as a research assistant at �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder and Children's Hospital Colorado.

In addition, Ruffolo has taken on a leadership role with the �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder chapter of the American Medical Student Association, spending three years on the executive board before being elected president for the 2025-26 school year. Through the student group, Ruffolo has carried on her TeamRuffolo efforts—now called Stronger Together—by organizing 5-kilometer run/walk events to raise money for the American Cancer Society.

She is also a journey leader with New Student & Family Programs, where she helps incoming freshmen navigate the �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder experience. Balancing her studies with her extracurricular activities—while also supporting her family and honoring her father’s legacy—has been challenging. But, for Ruffolo, it all comes back to staying true to herself.

“Pretty much my tippy-top value is helping others,” she says.

In class, Ruffolo has never been afraid to ask questions and speak up—even when that means talking about her father’s death in a large lecture hall full of hundreds of students. Jennifer Stratford, a �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder teaching associate professor of psychology and neuroscience, says Ruffolo’s willingness to be vulnerable has opened the door for other students to share their experiences.

John Ruffolo died from pancreatic cancer in 2021. (Photo: Giovanna Ruffolo)

“She just kind of became an ambassador and a face for students who have lost parents,” says Stratford. “I’ve had a lot of feedback from students about how much they appreciated her bravery and how much they identified with some of the struggles she’d been through. It’s a once-in-a-decade or once-in-a-lifetime experience to see a single student have an impact on so many of her classmates.”

‘Your love will be your legacy’

Since high school, Ruffolo estimates she’s helped raise more than $20,000 for the American Cancer Society. And she’s not done yet. She hopes the �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder AMSA chapter will continue organizing the 5K run/walk fundraisers, and that she’ll be able to host similar events during the next phase of her educational journey.

For now, Ruffolo is focused on finishing up her studies so she can graduate in the spring of 2026. From there, she hopes to continue her education in the medical field, likely as a doctor or physician assistant specializing in pediatric oncology.

“I really want to serve that specific community,” she says. “You’re treating little people who have lots of emotions and a little body. They get very scared easily. You really have to be empathetic and treat them and their families with kindness. I love the idea of sitting down with people, holding their hands, talking to them—not just giving them a death sentence, walking out the door and saying, ‘Best of luck.’”

That approach stems directly from her father’s experiences. As he neared the end of his life, Ruffolo remembers him breaking down and talking about how scared he was. She hopes to be the kind of practitioner who will help people like her dad move forward through their pain and fear, while also treating their underlying illness.

“Your love will be your legacy,” she says. “In a world where there’s no cure for cancer, investing your time in others is the only way you can live forever. And loving other people—giving them kindness and empathy—is one of the best ways to help fight any disease.”

Losing her father to pancreatic cancer inspired �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder undergraduate Giovanna Ruffolo to raise money for cancer research and pursue a career in medicine.

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Top image: Giovanna Ruffolo (right) and her late father, John, representing Colorado cancer patients and survivors at Mile High Stadium at an event sponsored by the American Cancer Society in 2019. (Photo: Giovanna Ruffolo)

Who is afraid of the big, bad (dire) wolf?

Kylie Clarke — Tue, 22 Jul 2025 15:28:17 +0000

Who is afraid of the big, bad (dire) wolf? Kylie Clarke Tue, 07/22/2025 - 09:28

Bradley Worrell

Advancing science may make it possible to bring back extinct species like the dire wolf—but should it? �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder environmental studies and philosophy Professor Ben Hale says the answer is complicated

Earlier this year, Colossal Laboratories & Biosciences made headlines when it announced that—through the science of genetic manipulation—it had successfully re-created three dire wolves, a large wolf species that ranged across North America and South America some 10,000 years ago before going extinct. Some news outlets, including Time magazine, called the development species “de-extinction” while others touted it as “scientifically seismic.”

Subsequently, other scientists challenged Colossal’s assertions of having de-extincted the species, arguing that these wolves—Romulus, Remus and Khaleesi—did not meet the technical definition of dire wolves. That’s because Colossal did not create the animals from a fully reconstructed dire wolf genome but instead relied on a gray wolf’s genetic material and made changes to it with ancient DNA recovered from dire wolf specimens.

Meanwhile, Colossal has announced plans to bring back a variety of other extinct species, including the wooly mammoth, the Tasmanian tiger (or Thylacine) and most recently the Moa, a giant flightless bird that stood about 12 feet tall and weighed about 500 pounds.

However, seemingly lost amid the claims and counterclaims of whether scientists can bring back dire wolves—or any other extinct animals—from extinction is the deeper philosophical and ethical issue: should they?

As a �鶹��Ѱ�� philosophy professor in the Department of Environmental Studies, Ben Hale’s primary research focus is on environmental ethics and policy. He has followed the news reports about bringing back dire wolves and other long-gone animals through the lens of ethical issues associated with the extinction and de-extinction of species.

For his part, Ben Hale has no easy answers. A �鶹��Ѱ�� philosophy professor in the Department of Environmental Studies, Hale’s primary research focus is on environmental ethics and policy. He has followed the news reports about bringing back dire wolves and other long-gone animals through the lens of ethical issues associated with the extinction and de-extinction of species.

Recently, Hale spoke with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine regarding his thoughts on when it makes sense to attempt to de-extinct a species (and when it doesn’t); what it means to de-extinct a species, ethically speaking; how ethicists in the larger scientific community are responding to the latest scientific breakthroughs; and his thoughts on the ethical implications of de-extincting a T-Rex. His responses have been lightly edited for grammar and clarity and condensed for space.

Question: Setting aside the issue of whether Colossal actually created dire wolves, or just something similar, why would we want to bring back an extinct species of wolf?

Hale: That’s the question, right? For some (scientists and entrepreneurs), I think there’s the relatively straightforward scientific challenge of seeing if it can be done—to de-extinct a species. The dire wolf happens to be a particularly charismatic species in no small part because it’s a large mammal that has some resemblance to a dog. Popular fantasy shows like Game of Thrones elevated the ecologically real dire wolf species even further, to a kind of magical status, so there’s an element of fantasy and science fiction that makes the dire wolf intriguing.

Still, that doesn’t speak to the kind of public-facing rationale offered by Colossal Biosciences or other folks who are engaged in de-extinction efforts. Let’s call them ‘de-extinction optimists.’ It’s not enough, generally speaking, just to say, ‘We wanted to see if we could do it,’ or ‘We did it because we think the species is beautiful or cool.’ Using that as a justification starts to look a lot like Jurassic Park, right? And Michael Crichton and Stephen Spielberg and numerous others have warned us about technology unchained with these cautionary tales.

Hale says he believes part of the appeal of de-extincting dire wolves is because they resemble a dog and that popular TV shows such as Game of Thrones have elevated the status of real dire wolves to an almost magical level.

So, the public-facing justification that de-extinction optimists will offer is that we ‘owe it to the species,’ possibly because we’ve made that species extinct by something we’ve done—say, human-caused extinction—or because extinct animals can serve as important elements or components of the ecological system, given that some ecosystems are not healthy. You can make the case that we can revive those ecosystems by reintroducing apex predators that were playing a valuable regulatory function.

Question: If you bring back a creature from extinction, but the natural habitat for it no longer exists, how much have you accomplished?

Hale: I think this a question that looms large over the matter of de-extinction, particularly in an era of accelerated climate change. It may be the case that we can bring back a species that is genetically similar to a past species, but we may not have done anything to make that species function within the ecosystem. Is it in that case true that we’ve brought back the species? Does it even make sense to speak of a species outside of its ecological context?

One of the stated reasons for de-extincting a species is to revive or rejuvenate deteriorating or degraded ecosystems. If you think the environment has been degraded to such an extent that it needs to have some kind of apex predator that was roaming the earth 10,000 years ago, like the dire wolf, reintroduced into the ecosystem, then it’s not clear what it means even to say that the species has been brought back. It’s not back at all. It’s just isolated somewhere. Keeping it as a specimen in Colossal Biosciences laboratories (as the company has done) doesn’t actually de-extinct the species, in my opinion.

Now, you could say that genetic replication is just the first step in a proof-of-concept de-extinction effort, and the next step is to create enough of the species that scientists can develop a viable population and then release them into the wild. Then perhaps that’s the ultimate step to de-extinction.

But if your criterion is that whatever species is brought back derives its status from its function in the system, then it’s a mistake for them to suggest that they have de-extincted the species—because they haven’t yet done that.

Question: Generally speaking, how do ethicists within the scientific community think about the idea of de-extincting species? And what is your position on this subject?

Hale: I would argue that most environmental ethicists, as well as most animal ethicists—these are two different communities of ethicists who agree on some things but disagree on many others—are extremely skeptical of these efforts to de-extinct species. I think you’re going to be hard pressed among the ethics community to find people who are excited about the potential of these de-extinction technologies.

Personally, I tend to be more of a moderate regarding technologies such as these. My view—unlike some of my other colleagues at other universities—is that developing technologies like this can help us to address ecological issues in the near term, but that this gets much more complicated as we reach back in history.

With extinction, an animal can either go functionally extinct or ontologically extinct, which are two different things. For instance, the oysters in the Chesapeake Bay are often said to be functionally extinct. There are still oysters living in the Chesapeake Bay, but they’re not serving the function that they were once serving, which was the cleaning and purification of the bay.

In that context, it would be a much more meaningful outcome for us to revive or to de-extinct oysters in the Chesapeake Bay, say, than to de-extinct the dire wolf. Oysters are important for us, and they were vitally important to many communities in the Chesapeake Bay watershed. I think we should use technologies to de-extinct functionally extinctorganisms and species.

So, it’s a balance. We don’t want to drop the ball on the de-extinction discussion inasmuch as its an important tool for ecologists, but we also don’t want to introduce Jurassic Park-style scenarios where we fetishize a charismatic species simply because it is genetically related to something that we like. Also, as we get deeper into time and deeper into history, I think it becomes more ridiculous and more problematic, ethically speaking, for us to try to de-extinct a species.

Question: So, bringing back oysters to Chesapeake Bay could fulfill a useful ecological role, but ethically it’s harder to make the case for bringing back a Tyrannosaurus Rex?

Hale: Is the de-extinction of a T-Rex the best use of our resources? My answer to that question is probably not.

Again, I’m generally supportive of research into a variety of different technologies that help us better understand how nature works and what we can do to address concerns in our natural environment. And it may well be that some of these gene-splicing technologies do precisely that.

Dire wolves Romulus and Remus, along with their sister, Khaleesi, will spend their entire lives in an animal refuge. Hale says there are ethical questions as to whether a species is really made de-extinct if it’s natural habitat no longer exists.

I believe it’s important for us as a society to have robust technologies, maybe even de-extinction ones in cases ofcatastrophe or calamity—much like seed banks or insurance policies—but we certainly should have security in place in case things go sideways.

Question: Are there any governmental regulations at the international level, or at the national level, governing this kind of scientific work? If not, do you think there should be?

Hale: This is not an area that I tend to work in, but I’m not aware of any regulations. Personally, I do think that this kind of private sector, entrepreneurial research should be regulated.

What would it mean to regulate more pure scientific research is an interesting question. I think it would mean that you would have some kind of external scrutiny of scientific operations in an open framework that would prevent opportunists from developing a technology that could be either weaponized, which would be unusual in this context, or that would prevent ecological recklessness, as in the case of an accidental or intentional release. Given the potential ecological, environmental, and economic impacts of release, we should be very careful about allowing self-replicating but misfit entities, like a de-extincted species, into the wild. The potential for misuse here is tremendous.

I think there probably are other reasons to regulate it as well. You might be concerned about the harm or suffering that you might cause to any given specimen of that species. For example, if you’re creating a huge laboratory of failed experiments with de-extinct species—say, a bunch of failed versions that die prematurely or live out their short lives in pain—I think that should also have some oversight.

Question: So, potentially in the pursuit of a scientific good, scientists could, possibly inadvertently, cause harm to the animals?

Hale: This was an issue with the cloning controversy, when Dolly the sheep was cloned. Anytime you’re experimenting with technologies of this sort, you’re going to create some mutants or some mistakes during trial runs—and there were quite a few of those when Dolly was cloned. Some of the animals had short lives or they were born with mutations and whatnot.

This is one of the key worries for animal ethicists: that the animal will be born with defects that will cause it to suffer, or maybe that it’s destined to spend its entire life in captivity being poked and prodded. …

There are a range of different reasons why animal ethicists think that we should be concerned about the well-being of animals. Some of them include their capacity to experience pain and suffering, and some of them are more abstract, likethat they have rights. So, depending upon which sort of camp you fall in in the animal ethics literature, you may object to de-extincting individual entities for different reasons than environmental ethicists, but two sets of concerns—about the ecology and about the individuals themselves—sort of work in tandem with one another.

Question: Do you think there is a risk that, if scientists show they can successfully bring back extinct species, some people will come to believe that conservation efforts are no longer necessary?

Hale: I think we should be thinking hard about the problem of extinction. The reason I’m interested in de-extinction is not just because I think it’s cool, but because I think it provides a good reason for us to try to prevent extinction in the first place. That’s my real objective in exploring the question of de-extinction.

“It’s not enough, generally speaking, just to say, ‘We wanted to see if we could do it,’ or ‘We did it (de-extincted a species) because we think the species is beautiful or cool.’ Using that as a justification starts to look a lot like Jurassic Park, right?”
Ben Hale, �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder philosophy professor in the Department of Environmental Studies

I think we have good reasons to try to prevent extinction and that de-extinction alone is not going to be a solution to the problem of extinction. Potentially, it just introduces more problems. So, we should try where we can to prevent the extinction of animals or the extinction of a species.

In fact, in a lot of my work I discuss different kinds of reversal scenarios, from air pollution to geoengineering to remediation. Thinking about repair and restoration helps us see better that many of our most basic intuitions regarding environmental wrongdoing aren’t, strictly speaking, about the harm that we’re doing to the environment. For instance, those who think that a company can pollute a river, say, and then right their wrong by cleaning up the pollution using remediation technologies, have a pretty limited sense of what an environmental wrong is. Environmental wrongs also happen in part because people are trespassed upon, their rights are violated, or there are other offenses to them and the world. Those kinds of cases are not properly related to de-extinction, but all of them are an effort to try to repair past harms or restore lost value, just as de-extinction is an effort to return something that is lost.

In many cases—maybe even in most cases—I think we should essentially operate under the assumption that interventions like de-extinctions are cases of last resort. And this goes for many different kinds of environmental interventions like the ones I mention above: We need to try to avoid circumstances in which we need to take drastic action to repair things that we’ve done that are damaging or wrong.

Question: Do you expect that, moving forward, companies like Colossal Biosciences will continue to pursue efforts to bring back extinct species?

Hale: I do. Again, I’d like to see scientists and governments deal with this globally, to set up some kind of commission to create some kind of oversight or monitoring that nudges private companies away from technologies that could be used recklessly, such that they threaten existing ecosystems. This is part of the reason that I think we should be cautious about de-extinction intervention overall. We just don’t know what the downstream impacts of our actions are going to be.

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Photos courtesy of Colossal Biosciences

From war zones to new worldviews

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 17 Jul 2025 13:30:00 +0000

From war zones to new worldviews Rachel Sauer Thu, 07/17/2025 - 07:30

Cody DeBos

After two combat deployments in Afghanistan, undergraduate Benjamin Blume is eager to share is unconventional educational path with fellow veterans

When Benjamin Blume talks about hiking through the Swiss Alps or photographing the stars above the Australian Outback, he does so with the same clarity he once brought to combat patrols in Afghanistan.

It wasn’t long ago that Blume, now a double major in astronomy and photography at �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder, was in a very different place.

While studying abroad may not seem like an obvious next step for military veterans, Benjamin Blume (here at Stonehenge in England) is adamant that it should be. (Photo: Benjamin Blume)

“I had two combat deployments to Afghanistan that were long and stressful,” says Blume, who served in the U.S. Army from 2010 to 2016. “But the friends and (almost all) the experiences I got out of it, I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

Blume grew up in West Houston before being stationed at Fort Carson upon joining the Army. After leaving the service, he came to �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder in 2022 seeking both a new academic challenge and a return to the Rockies.

Inspired by Star Trek: The New Generation and Neil deGrasse Tyson’s StarTalk podcast, Blume found himself drawn to astronomy.

But photography, an integral part of his journey while participating in seven study-abroad programs and getting passport stamps from 30 countries, led him to add a second major in art.

Blume’s path is unconventional, but he’s eager to share it with fellow veterans.

A shift in perspective

Blume’s first study-abroad experience came in 2016 while studying international business. When given an opportunity to join a month-long, intensive German language course in Leipzig, he jumped at the chance.

“I had only been out of the Army less than a year before my first two trips abroad, and wow did my view of the world change,” Blume says.

After years in the military, Blume says his worldview had narrowed. Deployments and Army training had conditioned him to be guarded and wary in unfamiliar environments. While these traits served him in uniform, they became barriers as he transitioned back into civilian life.

After years in the military, Benjamin Blume says his worldview had narrowed. Deployments and Army training had conditioned him to be guarded and wary in unfamiliar environments. (Photo: Benjamin Blume)

“It took me a few weeks being in another country to truly start breaking out of this thick shell I had been in for so long,” Blume says. “But once I started getting out of this mindset, I was able to truly see the world in a different light.”

From that moment on, Blume didn’t look back.

He enrolled in study-abroad programs in Australia, Switzerland, Japan, Germany, the UAE and New Zealand. Some opportunities came through his university, others entirely from his own initiative.

Blume immersed himself in local cultures, connected with fellow students from around the world, and found solace in outdoor adventure.

“I try to do things that (my younger brother and the friends I’ve lost) would have enjoyed,” he says. “Doing this helps keep me connected to their memory and also process the losses.”

Hiking the Swiss Alps, photographing historical landmarks, eating camel burgers and even tubing down an underground river lined with glowworms in New Zealand became part of Blume’s new chapter.

A message to other veterans: Just go

While studying abroad may not seem like an obvious next step for military veterans, Blume is adamant that it should be.

He says, “Many veterans have a hard time breaking out of a certain military mindset or lifestyle where that is their sole identity. This makes it really hard to open up to new things, people and cultures.”

Blume credits his upbringing for his own open-mindedness but says many veterans could benefit from the opportunity to step outside their comfort zone.

Benjamin Blume's many study abroad experiences have included New Zealand and a visit to the Shire. (Photo: Benjamin Blume)

“When we go abroad in any capacity, we should go with an open mind and try to learn, connect and understand other people without judgment or feeling like we are better than them just because of military service,” he says.

One of his favorite talking points when speaking to other veterans? The GI Bill.

“There are currently 83 countries that have schools that take the GI Bill,” Blume says. “Almost all schools have a study abroad office that is a wealth of knowledge and support.”

“Filling out a few applications, renewing your passport and buying a flight are well worth the fully funded education and adventure of studying abroad,” he says. “It’s one heck of an opportunity for veterans to explore the world after serving their country.”

‘You never know until you try’

At �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder, Blume is one of just a few veterans in his science and art classes. Though the coursework is rigorous, he says he’s found his passion and a sense of belonging.

He also uses his rich life experiences to empower those around him.

“I feel like having the life/world experiences I’ve had and being older gives me an opportunity to mentor others. I try to be one of the hardest workers and set an example for younger students,” Blume says.

He’s also grateful for �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder’s Veterans Bridge Program and the campus Study Abroad Office, both of which he credits with making his latest academic journey possible. “The �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder Study Abroad Office is the perfect place to start and get the ball rolling,” he says.

When he’s not focused on combining his love for science and art into a future that includes astrophotography and even more travel, Blume continues to be a passionate advocate for study abroad—particularly for his fellow veterans.

“Joining the military isn’t for everyone, but after getting out as a veteran, why not continue seeing the world? Even if you aren’t going to school, travel is its own adventure and has opened my mind to everything there is to see and do,” Blume says.

“Oh, and it’s even better when it’s pretty much all paid for,” he adds with a smile.

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After two combat deployments in Afghanistan, undergraduate Benjamin Blume is eager to share is unconventional educational path with fellow veterans.

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�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder instructor named a 2025-2026 Fulbright Scholar

Kylie Clarke — Wed, 16 Jul 2025 23:45:20 +0000

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder instructor named a 2025-2026 Fulbright Scholar Kylie Clarke Wed, 07/16/2025 - 17:45

Award will allow Associate Professor Katherine Lininger to teach at the University of Trento and conduct research on the Tagliamento River floodplain in Italy

Katherine Lininger, a �鶹��Ѱ�� Department of Geography associate professor, has received a U.S. Fulbright Scholar award starting in fall 2025 to study and teach in Italy. The award is provided by the U.S. Department of State and the Fulbright Scholarship Board.

The Fulbright award will allow Lininger to investigate interactions among floodplain vegetation, downed wood, water flows and sediment fluxes to better understand and predict changes in floodplains over time. With collaborators at the University of Trento, she will conduct fieldwork, geospatial analyses and numerical modeling to understand ecogeomorphic processes in the Tagliamento River floodplain in northeastern Italy.

Additionally, Lininger will lecture in courses at the University of Trento, lead field trips, give research seminars and mentor graduate students. She said her project will advance ecogeomorphic understanding of floodplains, which provide important ecosystem services, and will support her career trajectory and goals.

Katherine Lininger is an associate professor of geography whose research has mainly focused on large floodplain rivers. Her research methods include fieldwork, statistical modeling and remote sensing.

“I’m honored to take part in the Fulbright program and look forward to building internation connections and collaborations,” Lininger said. “With this award, I will work with researchers at the University of Trento in Italy, investigating interactions between river flows, sediment fluxes and plants to better understand and predict physical and ecological changes in floodplains over time. Our work will inform management and restoration of river floodplains.”

Each year, more than 800 individuals teach or conduct research abroad through the Fulbright U.S. Scholar Program. Since 1946, the Fulbright Program has provided more than 400,000 talented and accomplished students, artists and professionals with the opportunity to study, teach and conduct research abroad. Notable awards received by alumni include 63 Nobel Prizes, 98 Pulitzer Prizes and 82 McArthur Fellowships.

“The benefits extend beyond the individual recipient, raising the profile of their home institutions. We hope �鶹��Ѱ�� can leverage Katherine Lininger’s engagement abroad to establish research and exchange relationships, connect with potential applicants and engage with your alumni in the host country,” the Fulbright Program said in its award announcement.

Fulbright is a program of the U.S. Department of State, with funding provided by the U.S. government. Participating governments and host institutions, corporations and foundations around the world also provide direct and indirect support to the program, which operates in more than 160 countries worldwide.

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Award will allow Associate Professor Katherine Lininger to teach at the University of Trento and conduct research on the Tagliamento River floodplain in Italy.

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Life is what's a-changin’

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 16 Jul 2025 13:31:00 +0000

Life is what's a-changin’ Rachel Sauer Wed, 07/16/2025 - 07:31

Monica LaBonte, a �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder alumnus and prominent Colorado musician, visits The Ampersand to discuss ski bumming, teaching, gigging to sometimes-small audiences and always finding joy in the music

Listen to The Ampersand

There are certain people who pick up a guitar or sit at a piano or stand at a microphone and you think, “Yes. That’s right. That’s where they belong.”

That’s Monica LaBonte. Her path has been winding, but the road has always been music—writing it, performing it, hearing it in the rhythms of words and speech and the cadences of life. She is at home behind a microphone in a way that lets you know she doesn't just love to sing, isn't just good at it, but was born to breathe deep and bring audiences to tears.

A 2011 �鶹��Ѱ�� graduate in speech, language and hearing sciences and a well-known Colorado musician and performer, LaBonte recently joined host Erika Randall, �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder interim dean of undergraduate education and professor of dance, on "The Ampersand,” the College of Arts and Sciences podcast. Randall and guests explore stories about “ANDing” as a “full sensory verb” that describes experience and possibility.

Monica LaBonte, a 2011 �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder graduate in speech, language and hearing sciences, is a well-known Colorado musician and performer.

For the record, no banjo-playing children were harmed during this conversation.

MONICA LABONTE: Before my son was born, I was a full-time working musician. I was still playing five gigs a week, and I think by the time my son came, I was ready for a break. Then the pandemic just changed the industry so much, so I think there was this natural pause in music for me at that time anyway.

It was kind of already happening, or it was about to happen. And then motherhood is just—I mean, it really turns your world upside down. So, I was ready to put my focus and energy into my son, because I discovered quickly that it was just too hard to put all the love and the time and the energy into both. I couldn't do both for some time.

ERIKA RANDALL: What did your schedule look like as a professional musician? What was touring like? What was the gigging like? What was the writing and recording like?

LABONTE: It was just all over the place. I was just a yes person for 10, 15 years, just saying yes to every gig, to every recording. I didn't do a whole lot of touring but I was part of a band for 10 years, and we did multiple recordings, and we played festivals all over the state. We did just a little bit of touring up to Oregon. We went to Wyoming one time.

RANDALL: But there was enough of a scene here in Colorado.

LABONTE: Oh, for sure. And then I've been teaching music along the way, so that's kind of—

RANDALL: Painful.

LABONTE: Kept me afloat.

RANDALL: Is it torture to teach little people how to play the banjo? I mean, that sounds like the worst job ever.

LABONTE: Well, I will say this: I really appreciate people who can teach children and do it for their whole lives. I discovered over many years of different kinds of teaching—and teaching mostly kids, I've worked with kids in lots of different ways—but I've really come to realize that I love teaching adults. And I do not teach banjo.

RANDALL: OK. Because that just isn't going to go well.

LABONTE: Yeah, I do not teach banjo. I mostly teach voice.

RANDALL: And do you ever audition them and then say no? Like if I auditioned, you wouldn't—

LABONTE: No.

RANDALL: But there's no guarantee, right? You wouldn't be like, ‘Yes, Randall, I got you. You're going to come out of here doing all the musical theater or all the gentle, angry folk that you want.’

LABONTE: I really just meet people where they are, and I don't make any promises, because it's not my work, it's their work. So, I can show them the tools, but I can't promise that anything is going to happen.

RANDALL: And we all have the tools in our bodies to do this?

Monica LaBonte (right) performs with former bandmate Bill Huston at a Mixtape event. (Photo: Monica LaBonte)

LABONTE: For sure, yeah. It's just like Ratatouille:. Anyone can cook. Anyone can sing, but it's hard work. And singing is so intertwined with the heart and the soul and past experiences. This choir teacher told me, ‘Everyone got into the choir except for me, always.’ Or, ‘My mother told me I couldn't sing.’ A lot of people have these stories. So, it's interesting because I almost have to feel—I almost have to hold a space of a caretaker or—

RANDALL: Therapist.

LABONTE: A bit of a therapist.

RANDALL: I would cry in a lesson with you.

LABONTE: I've cried so many times. It's very vulnerable. So, I will say, I have, over the years of teaching, the people who come and are willing to at least let go a little bit of their story or those walls—have their walls come down—and let go of excuses and are just willing to try, those are the most successful people.

LABONTE: Yeah. It's cool. It's such fun work. And then I have a background in speech therapy, so I have this knowledge of the actual system.

RANDALL: Is that how your degree from �鶹��Ѱ��serves you, do you think?

LABONTE: Oh, yeah.

RANDALL: The systems learning, the anatomical, the somatic. Tell me about that, because that's something that's so interesting to me. And also because I wrote about a character who was a folk singer who then becomes a speech therapist, so the character of my novel is the opposite of you.

LABONTE: Interesting

RANDALL: And the book is called Music for Leaving, and I was like, ‘Oh my gosh. I cannot wait to give it to Monica.’

LABONTE: Cool.

RANDALL: Because it's like you, but Benjamin Buttoned. And so often when we get a major, we don't know where it's going to land us. For you, did you think that these worlds were connected, that you always wanted to be a singer and a singer-songwriter, and you were studying this in college? Or how did that work for you? Tell me about that path.

LABONTE: The path was just so messy. I took seven years to graduate college with my bachelor's because I couldn't land on one thing. And I did some world traveling in there, and I was a ski bum one winter up in Beaver Creek, and I met one of my dear friends, her name is Abby.

She brought me to a camp called Camp ASCCA in Alabama, and I became the music and arts and crafts director for this camp. It's for children and adults with disabilities, and from that job I just really fostered a love of taking care of people and being in a therapeutic role.

So, from there—and I had never had an opportunity to work with people with disabilities, so that was my first—that experience just changed my course.

RANDALL: And there were generations at this camp, they were all ages.

LABONTE: Yeah, all ages. I think it's 6 to, I don't know, 70-something. And every week is like a different age group and a different—

RANDALL: That's huge to just walk into—

LABONTE: It was wild.

RANDALL: —without prep.

LABONTE: Yeah. Oh, it was wild. And going from a ski bum to—

RANDALL: Hyper able community to a different community that has different requirements. What was the biggest thing that that job, that position, asked of you that you had to find or tap into that you didn't maybe necessarily resource yourself with before?

LABONTE: I would say it was the first time that I couldn't be selfish. And I was young.

RANDALL: Which is the perfect time to be selfish.

LABONTE: Exactly. So, I had to learn to not be selfish, and it required me to be very humble and just be so present because this population is so vulnerable, but they're so loving and so kind, and so there's a lot of magic. And it really, truly changed the course of my life.

RANDALL: So, from there you went back to school with a new focus?

LABONTE: Yeah. I declared music therapy, actually. I went to CSU, which is where I reconnected with my husband, and music therapy just didn't feel—I was like, I don't know if I want to marry these two worlds in such a direct way.

RANDALL: It's really specific.

LABONTE: It just felt too direct. I love music so much, and I loved working with people with disabilities, but I didn't want to marry the two. It didn't feel like the right fit. So, then I found the speech therapy program at CU.

RANDALL: I love that you had to go further outside. It was too close here when they were nesting organically. You're like, ‘No, no, no. I got to mix it up with my own and put a little tension between the two.’

LABONTE: Yes, add some space. A lot of people ask me, not knowing my past, ‘Why don't you do music therapy? It just seems like the obvious choice.’

RANDALL: You're like, I don't want to do the obvious choice.

LABONTE: Yeah, totally. So, I went to �鶹��Ѱ��for speech therapy, and I loved studying all the things speech. But at the same time, I was also cutting my teeth as a songwriter in Boulder. All that to say, I wasn't maybe the best student, because my passions were so divided at that point. And I was having so much fun playing music.

Click the button below to hear the rest of the conversation.

Listen to The Ampersand

Did you enjoy this article? Subscribe to our newsletter. Passionate about speech, language and hearing sciences? Show your support.

Monica LaBonte, a �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder alumnus and prominent Colorado musician, visits The Ampersand to discuss ski bumming, teaching, gigging to sometimes-small audiences and always finding joy in the music.

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Science inherits the wind of century-old verdict

Clint Talbott — Wed, 16 Jul 2025 04:28:59 +0000

Science inherits the wind of century-old verdict Clint Talbott Tue, 07/15/2025 - 22:28

Clint Talbott

On the 100-year anniversary of the Scopes Evolution Trial, �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder scientist reflects on science education and on ‘same issues, different players’

Andrew Martin first became interested in biology as a child growing up in the Sonoran Desert, which is in southern California and western Arizona. He was captivated by living things like butterflies: “They don’t weigh anything. They have these beautiful wings, and they fly off and visit flowers, and it’s just amazing.”

Professor Andrew Martin

Martin was about 6 or 7 years old then, and he collected every live thing he could find and took it home. “I turned my room into a museum of living organisms, and half the time the things would escape somewhere in the house.”

For a long time, Martin notes, he was “totally hooked on biology” and was “always asking the question of ultimate causation without really realizing it.” It wasn’t until college that he realized the scientific answer to that question was evolution.

“Evolution as a coherent explanation of the diversity of biology structure and function was not on the syllabus until I got to college,” Martin says.

Today, Martin is a professor of ecology and evolutionary biology at the �鶹��Ѱ��. Recently, he discussed the teaching of evolution on the occasion of the 100-year anniversary of the Scopes trial, a landmark case in 1925 in which a substitute high school biology teacher was found guilty of teaching evolution, then a crime under Tennessee law.

That trial, which was immortalized in Inherit the Wind, a play (and, later, movie), is a parable about the conflict between religion and science, social conformity and intellectual freedom, intuition and reason.

Teaching evolution was legal when Martin went to school, but state legislatures could criminalize the teaching of evolution until 1968, when the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that an Arkansas law banning the teaching of evolution violated the First Amendment’s establishment clause, which established a separation of church and state.

For Martin, learning evolution for the first time in college was not only exciting, but it also helped him understand how life came to exist. “I had been looking for those answers for a long time. I didn’t really understand the process of mutation and sexual recombination during reproduction,” he says.

His reaction was, “This is amazing.”

The Scopes trial is an indication that evolution was not an acceptable topic for education. My grandparents likely did not learn about it, and their children, my parents, who were born in the decade after the Scopes trial, also likely did not learn about it except in very general ways.

Then, all the biological diversity he’d seen as a child made sense. “And the common-ancestry piece blew my mind. We [all life on Earth] were all basically different combinations of the same set of parts.”

Martin didn’t begin college focused on a particular career. “I was just following my passion for knowledge, and I ended up here,” he says. “If anything, I was much more a product of evolution of my own self than a plan, a directed deterministic plan to arrive at a place. I’m not sure every evolutionary biologist has that trajectory, but I certainly did.”

Martin seldom thinks about the Scopes trial, but he believes something like it could play out today in a similar way. As was the case a century ago, there is conflict between belief systems and scientific knowledge.

When he does reflect on the Scopes trial, he says, “It’s the same issues, different players, still playing out today.”

First, he notes, when the issue of ultimate causation comes up in biology courses, students are sometimes unprepared to explore and understand it. Evolution is “a result of a really large and complex emergent process that leads to different outcomes in different places, and if we ran the tape again it would be a completely different show. So, there’s the inability to grapple with emergent processes, for everyday thinking about what evolution is.”

Second, a lot of people believe in various forms of the supernatural, a world beyond the ability of science to detect, Martin says, noting that only about a third of Americans think about biology as scientists do—namely that evolution is a natural, emergent process and not a direct process.

“Every time I go into class, I know that there’s a whole bunch of people in there who will have difficulty trying to get their head around how evolution happens and what it really means.”

Scientific education, particularly at the K-12 level, bears some responsibility for this, Martin suggests. “Science curriculum, especially in biology, is consumed with content, when it should be focused on process.”

Martin also notes that popular conceptions of evolutionary biology are lacking. Specifically, that many people think of evolution as a good process that inevitably leads to the improvement of species, “that mutation is always advantageous, that things get better and that that’s the reason everything is here.”

When he asks students to draw a picture of evolution, Martin notes, most will draw a picture of a single cell transitioning into a more complex organism and portray the ultimate result as a human.

“Everybody sees the world through their own perspective, and it’s hard for them to escape it. They have a coherent narrative that allows them to explain their own existence as an individual that is often unconnected to other organisms and histories.”

Additionally, Martin says, there could be lingering effects of scientific illiteracy resulting from the Scopes verdict, which effectively allowed states to ban the teaching of evolution.

“The Scopes trial is an indication that evolution was not an acceptable topic for education. My grandparents likely did not learn about it, and their children, my parents, who were born in the decade after the Scopes trial, also likely did not learn about it except in very general ways: like there were adaptations and a fossil record showing life on Earth has been in place for millions of years. I don’t remember ever talking about evolution in my house when I was growing up,” he says.

Also, to the extent that evolution and religious belief might compete for space in people’s minds, religious traditions have an advantage: “If there’s a conflict between those two with how people see themselves in the world, then it’s usually the case that religion wins.”

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On the 100-year anniversary of the Scopes evolution trial, �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder scientist reflects on science education and on ‘same issues, different players.’

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The anti-evolution league at the Scopes trial in 1925.

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The anti-evolution league at the Scopes trial in 1925.

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder instructor named a 2025-2026 Fulbright Scholar

Kylie Clarke — Tue, 15 Jul 2025 17:26:19 +0000

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder instructor named a 2025-2026 Fulbright Scholar Kylie Clarke Tue, 07/15/2025 - 11:26

Award will allow Teaching Professor Caroline Conzelman to teach and conduct research on sustainability in Murcia, Spain

Caroline Conzelman, a teaching professor in the College of Arts and Sciences Residential �鶹��Ѱ�� Program (RAP) at the �鶹��Ѱ��, has received a Fulbright Senior U.S. Scholar Program award in international affairs and environmental studies for fall 2025 in Spain. The award is provided by the U.S. Department of State and the Fulbright Scholarship Board.

Conzelman’s Fulbright project is titled “Participatory Action Research on Urban-Rural Sustainability Challenges in Murcia, Spain.” Partnering with the Universidad de Murcia, Conzelman will work with undergraduate students to examine sustainability challenges in urban and rural areas of the valley of Murcia.

Trained as a cultural anthropologist, Conzelman’s objectives are to provide students with mentorship and training in applied ethnographic research methods to study how civil society, business and government leaders define and promote sustainable business goals. Additionally, she will give a series of workshops and organize a symposium on campus to present her findings and highlight innovative local solutions as well as meaningful career paths.

“I am honored to have this opportunity and am excited to work with and learn from the faculty and students at MU, and to help facilitate relationships between our universities in support of sustainability through social innovation, entrepreneurship and community engagement,” Conzelman said. “I appreciate the many and varied experiences I have had at �鶹��Ѱ��over the last 28 years that allowed me to be a successful candidate.”

“The benefits extend beyond the individual recipient, raising the profile of their home institutions. We hope �鶹��Ѱ�� can leverage Caroline Conzelman’s engagement abroad to establish research and exchange relationships, connect with potential applicants and engage with your alumni in the host country,” the Fulbright Program said in its award announcement.

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Award will allow Teaching Professor Caroline Conzelman to teach and conduct research on sustainability in Murcia, Spain.

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