I was a greeter for the U’s Veterans Day celebration last week. My charge was to welcome honorees at a luncheon after the ceremony, but I went a little early to get oriented and had time to watch the action from the sidelines of the Union Ballroom.

It was a full house. On hand were friends and relatives of the honorees, professors, military personnel (including the U’s ROTC cadets), students, veterans from past years, and University staff.

Each honoree’s story was read aloud to the audience. In addition, the stories with photos of the men were reproduced in a brochure and on posters that lined the concourse next to the ballroom. Taken when they enlisted, the photos reminded us that the oldsters on stage were once terribly young, with their whole lives ahead of them.

 The stories were sent in by friends or relatives who hoped their loved one would be recognized. Much of what was told defies comprehension. Suffering, loss, courage, death-defying bravery, torture—it was all there on stage, as was the living proof that we can be shattered and still come out to tell stories and have a nice meal.    

 When the last tribute was read, a bugler played taps. The audience rose and, in the wings, we covered our hearts. All American wars, all soldiers are summoned by this music. Here was WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq. And here too was the specter of a young woman dying today in Afghanistan. She was as young as the girl I saw napping, probably between classes, on a sofa across from the ballroom.  

 Then, loaded by young cadets working quickly in a cramped space on the Union lawn the cannons fired again and again, delivering a one syllable punch that shook windows, stopped passersby in their tracks, and sent out billows of smoke that caught in the trees.   

 It was Veterans Day, November 11, 2009.  A coworker turned away with tears in her eyes. A University official bowed to slip a ribbon over the head of an old man in a wheelchair. I went to greet the honorees, some of whom arrived slowly on the arms of cadets, delivered again.

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The University Farmers Market starts Thursday, 9 am-2 pm, on Webster’s Lawn, just east of Pioneer Theatre. Goody. Last Monday I went to Slow Food’s get-together at Late Bloomin’ Heirlooms, a backyard mini-farm in West Jordan. Now I’m a convert to heirloom tomatoes. Well, that and the fact that my garden has produced exactly two tomatoes this year. The first one in early July could have been store bought, it was so tasteless and mushy. The heirlooms were delicious beyond belief. I am hoping someone will show up at the U’s Farmers Market with them. Also, it would be absolutely fantastic if someone would bring farm fresh eggs to the market, as I have never tasted a really fresh egg. I was hoping that my office mate would bring some in, but one of his Bountiful “neighbors” turned him in to the city and he had to relocate his dear hens to a relative’s farm. We’ll see. Last year I saw President Young among the passersby and had to compliment him for signing off on this very civilized endeavor. I saw a lot of other people doing likewise. See you there!

Clever title that, as the gorgeous Cat Deeley, host of  “So You Think You Can Dance,” might say of the U’s modern dance class for nonmajors. A nod to the popularity, even influence, of the show, the class brings hip hop, gangsta, and other edgy, contemporary forms into the academy. Now in its fifth season, “…Dance” offers all of that plus—FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER—last week’s pas de “duh.”

An “American Idol” spinoff, “So You Think You Can Dance” auditions wanna bes from around the country, gives them weekly routines—in wildly divergent genres—to find “America’s best dancer.” Picture a “popper” doing Russian folkdance, and you can imagine how inspired or painful those deep knee bends can be.

Since entertainment is the show’s guiding principle, I wondered what people who teach and study dance think of it. Donna White, U modern dance professor, performer, and choreographer, has seen only two or three episodes but says there’s no doubt of its effect on the department. “We see a lot of influence and many positives—including getting people excited about dance.”

I think it’s particularly exciting that two of the current 12 finalists—“a boy and a girl” hail from Utah. “It speaks to how much dance there is here,” Donna says. No doubt it also speaks to how much quality dance there is here.  The U’s dance department is, in fact, one of the best in the nation. But, as with wine tasting, I’m no expert. In the next couple of weeks, I hope to talk with other members of the department about their perceptions of the show.

I’m curious: Is the choreography as outrageous and provocative as it appears to me? Are these hopefuls really that talented when you put them up against, say, a chorus line on Broadway? What about the judges? Does “you’re one hot tamale TONIGHT, yes you are!” make experts want to hurl or do they laugh along with me? And why, oh why, are there so many English accents involved in America’s best whatever? Stay tuned.