My Grandfather, Max Dickson Weaver was a professor of art at CSU (SUU) many years before I was born and right where the South Hall sign stands was where his art studio once was. At the art studio, he threw pots and painted and shared his love of art with many students. The building standing there today is most impressive, but I found myself missing that charming art studio that was "home" to my grandfather. 
The settlers of Cedar City were in the early stages of settlement when they sacrificed all they had to "look forward" and erect the first building, "Old Main" on this campus. In 1897, Neil Bladen and a horse named "Old Sorrel" were joined by Cedar City and went "back up the mountain."
Southern Utah University, Scott L. Wyatt had this to say in his address to the students at SUU, "The men climbed into their bedrolls high up on the mountain, hungry, exhausted, wet, very cold, utterly discouraged and a long way from home. They were in over their heads. And now they had spun out two weeks of their eight months and had nothing to show for it. Most of them wanted to give up. They put off talking about what to do until the next morning.
The next morning came. It was time for
the moment of truth. The town’s branch campus hung on the outcome of what these
15 men would decide. Most of them wanted to quit and head for home. To continue
the endeavor meant they would have to return time and time and time again to
the top of this mountain to bring the lumber down. They had barely survived the
previous day and were not interested in tempting Mother Nature any further. As
the conversation heated up, the men taking sides, Neil Bladen, who had been
pushing the others to continue, jumped up on a wagon and standing above the
rest, full of spit and resolve, cried, “Well go home all you damn tenderfeet;
we’ll get along without you. We'll get the lumber out ourselves!” Most did head
for home, hoping to never see the top of that mountain in winter again.
Bladen and four others stayed on. Over
the next days these five men returned to their wagons, buried deep in snow on
the mountain, and with great difficulty brought down the first load of lumber.
However, it was at the Braithwaite Liberal Arts center that I found my home. One of the great blessings of my life was to study English under the tutelage of David Lee. Moments in his classroom were magical- teaching for him was not something he learned, it was something with which he was born.He was an artist both in the classroom and while writing his own poetry.
I changed my major from Journalism to English while taking his Children's Literature class. I wish I could go back to those days in the Braithwaite and hear the words of Milton's Paradise Lost, Homer's Odyssey, and Dylan Thomas's Fern Hill fall from his tongue. Moments in that class with the trees' leaves brushing against those old windows while Professor Lee taught us, read to us, and inspired us, are some of the most cherished of my life.
I like that the spirit of Nellie Unthank whispers in the shadows, I like the melody the Utah Shakespearean Festival hums across campus, and I like the "learning" intimacy that this institution provides. For me it is home.
