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Articles by Duncan Stangel
The Observer promotes new managing editor
Grace Tadajweski, The Observer’s longest-serving assistant managing editor, took over Friday as managing editor — the paper’s No. 2 position. “I’m very excited to be stepping into the role of managing editor,” Tadajweski said of the new position.
Artemis II is an inspiration to keep going
Do you know what a Vulcan is? Have you ever heard someone yell “frak”? Have you attempted to grow potatoes in your own poop? These are all famous sci-fi references. I have indulged in all forms of science fiction for most of my life, starting with the post-scarcity world of Star Trek and branching out into complex and deeply human stories. For the past week, I have felt a little closer to every short story, book, movie and TV show.
The Ostermann drum has already been beaten
I wouldn’t blame Professor Ostermann if she more strongly (and publicly) supported the right to an abortion as a result of the media circus surrounding her appointment as Director of the Liu Institute. This administrative position does not have room for input from personal politics, nor does much of the professor’s academic work. Her critics wouldn’t know that, as I doubt that any have spoken to her about her beliefs, work or story. I have.
On sunsets
My wonder at this place has yet to fade. I still see the sun crest over South Quad. I walk in the mornings, though less than I probably should during the busiest weeks of my first spring semester. I am enthralled by the world I witness. It is still new, but never unfamiliar. I wake up many mornings with some semblance of excitement or stress that disguises itself to convince me that my homework is worth doing that day.
On reality television
I have watched more competitive reality television than any human being alive on planet Earth. Like contestants on these shows, I'm prone to exaggeration. I have watched "Survivor," "Big Brother," "Big Brother Canada," "The Amazing Race," "The Traitors" (US, UK and New Zeland), "Australian Survivor," "Koh Lanta," small pieces of "Expedition Robinson," and most recently, "Million Dollar Secret." Shoutout to former Observer Sports Editor Chris Allen for playing a stellar game on that show thus far.
On promotions
As was announced last week, I have been appointed to The Observer's editorial board as the social media editor for the 2025-2026 term. This is a position I hold in high regard, as I aim to promote the other departments of this newspaper and bring multimedia into the traditional news space here on campus.
On keeping the flame
What a week. Seriously. I don’t fully know how to describe what has happened in the past 7-10 days. The unfortunate loss of the national championship was not without great effort. Everyone proved their mettle, even if the score didn’t go our way. It was a game (and a season) worth watching, especially as someone who had never watched Notre Dame football until this year. The other event on Monday was also history. President Trump once again became president of the United States.
On seeking novelty
Christmas break marks a period of unwinding and relaxation before life resumes at breakneck speed. It is also stained by loss. I pray for President Carter and his family, the victims of the New Orleans attack and the victims (both living and dead) of the California wildfires. The start of 2025 is marred by tragedy. In the words of President Josiah Bartlet from “The West Wing,” “The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels.” Every New Year’s Eve, I have two traditions.
On Christmas in the village
I was in the fifth or sixth grade when I heard an old man play “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” on the French horn. Snow was piling up on the old stone walkways through the village. My hands were tucked into my jacket pockets as I stopped to listen for a moment while my family darted between buildings. Dr. Alta Schrock foundedthePenn Alps Restaurant and Craft Shop. She was the first Mennonite woman in America to receive a PhD.
On grandparents
“We’re going to be famous,” my grandmother said as we walked down Library Lawn. It was a few hours before the UVA game. My grandparents were excited to visit me on campus for the first time. As we walked, our conversation turned to this column. I still hadn’t decided what I was writing about for this week. My grandfather pitched the title “On grandparents.” I liked his idea, so this one’s for you Gigi and Papa. Thanks for visiting.
On civil discourse
On this contentious election day, I hope this country can overcome its partisan differences and unite as Americans. It sounds impossible, but the brightest hours are always after the darkest nights. To contribute to civil discourse, the following is a response to the piece “Dear Men: Are You Lonely?” by Connor Marrott. While I respect his work, I disagree with his opinion on this issue. I recommend you read his piece so you can develop your interpretation. Don’t forget to vote if you haven’t already.
12 hours on Amtrak
Three days ago, I contacted my boss, Viewpoint Editor Liam Price, with a pitch. I would write a piece on the Amtrak home, and submit it by the end of my 12-hour journey. He accepted. The following is a reflection on the first half of my first semester of college. … I was sitting on a rusty seat in the mild autumn temperatures on the outskirts (or what I presumed to be the outskirts) of South Bend. I was outside the Amtrak station.
On good company
While this column focuses on new connections, my existing ones with friends, family and teachers back home deserve some attention. I have heard from many of you, and I look forward to seeing you all soon. It is your perspectives that have shaped this piece. Thank you. Small town life in the middle of nowhere is often better than people think. It’s quiet. Nature is present all the time. People walk slower. They greet you in public. You can think in peace.
On sunrises
I have lived my entire life in the greatest town in the world (Cumberland, Maryland), nestled in the heart of the Appalachian (App-a-lach-en) Mountains. After a few years, the natural beauty surrounding my home became an afterthought — except for the sunrise. The pink skies of a Cumberland sunrise were never taken for granted. Watching the sun crest over the oldest mountain range in North America yielded a new day and a mental reset. Sometimes, I slipped outside to take pictures.
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