Twenty-five Most Happy Fellows
Pardon me if this column sounds a little snappish. It's just that once again, I didn't win a MacArthur Foundation "Genius Grant," 25 of which were awarded last week.
The grants, formally known as MacArthur Fellowships, have been doled out annually for the last 25 years by the Chicago-based John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation.
Each year, the Foundation awards 20 to 30 new Fellowships, mostly to writers, academics, and artists. They're sort of like Grammys for intellectualism. And the honorees receive a glitzy prize package rivaling anything that's ever been distributed to needy celebrities backstage at the Grammys: a mouse pad with that famous photo of Einstein sticking out his tongue; a ride in "Sugar Magnolia," the Grateful Dead tour bus; and 30 free weeks of the Rushville Republican.
Oh, and also $100,000 a year.
For five years.
I'm still working on my calculations, but that appears to total well over $400,000.
These grants get lots of media attention, mainly because the prizes are handed out by Heather Locklear look-alikes in diaphanous gowns.
No, not really. It's because the money comes with no strings attached. The recipients can do whatever they want with it. And they never have to report back — to anyone! — about how it's spent. The MacArthur Foundation calls it "unconditional funding," figuring the Fellows themselves should decide how to use the swag in pursuit of their goals.
If you ask the winners of the Fellowships "Why you?," they'll all say the same thing: "I dunno."
They're telling the truth. There's no way to apply for the awards, and unsolicited nominations aren't accepted. Instead, every year, the Foundation invites a super-secret and anonymous group of people to serve as nominators. They nominate anyone they want, and those names go to a selection committee — also super-secret and anonymous — which reduces the "nominee" list to a roster of "candidates." That's culled down to a slate of "finalists," from which the new crop of MacArthur Fellows is finally chosen.
The criteria for winning are a complete mystery, but there's growing speculation that it helps to have a fast time in the 40-yard dash.
As happens every year, the media spotlight is shining brightly on the winner with the unlikeliest vocation — this year a lobster fisherman from Maine. He joins such past offbeat recipients as a juggler (not just any juggler, but, and I quote, "the most significant juggler of the 20th century"), a puppeteer, and a "conjurer" (someone whose name you may recognize from his frequent guest appearances on Johnny Carson's "Tonight Show" — The Amazing Randi.)
The MacFellows put their money to a variety of uses. For example, The Amazing Randi has been making waves for years in the paranormal world by exposing purported psychics as phonies, and he's said that most of his MacArthur dough was eaten up fighting lawsuits brought by sour seers. (Randi beat them all, which you think they would've seen coming.)
The effect of winning so much money can discombobulate a fellow, even a MacArthur Fellow. They say things like, "It doesn't change anything and yet it changes everything," (2002 winner Liza Lou), and "I don't have to worry about the things that I've always had to worry about, so I can worry about some new stuff" (the late Steve Lacy, class of '95).
Unfortunately, this is about as goofy as the MacArthur Fellows get. While plenty of serious-minded professors, novelists and researchers have won "Big Macs," a review of all 707 winners over the years reveals not one shallow-minded-yet-plainly-deserving dorky newspaper columnist.
I'm not saying the Fellows are humorless. In fact, while searching for Fellows with Indiana connections (there are three, all professors at IU), I learned that one — Loren Rieseberg, '03 MacFellow — wrote an article titled "Chromosomal Rearrangements and Speciation," which I'm pretty sure became the basis for a storyline on "Seinfeld."
As the 2005 Fellows join the MacArthur community, they'll probably be hearing a lot from the "graduating" class — the Fellows whose MacMoney has just dried up, and who could use a quick loan.
I hear one of the grads' favorite ploys is to throw parties where they ply the newbies with inebriating beverages, and then torch them in high-stakes 40-yard dashes.
Hey, fella, grant me your thoughts in an e-mail. TakefiveT5@yahoo.com.
The grants, formally known as MacArthur Fellowships, have been doled out annually for the last 25 years by the Chicago-based John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation.
Each year, the Foundation awards 20 to 30 new Fellowships, mostly to writers, academics, and artists. They're sort of like Grammys for intellectualism. And the honorees receive a glitzy prize package rivaling anything that's ever been distributed to needy celebrities backstage at the Grammys: a mouse pad with that famous photo of Einstein sticking out his tongue; a ride in "Sugar Magnolia," the Grateful Dead tour bus; and 30 free weeks of the Rushville Republican.
Oh, and also $100,000 a year.
For five years.
I'm still working on my calculations, but that appears to total well over $400,000.
These grants get lots of media attention, mainly because the prizes are handed out by Heather Locklear look-alikes in diaphanous gowns.
No, not really. It's because the money comes with no strings attached. The recipients can do whatever they want with it. And they never have to report back — to anyone! — about how it's spent. The MacArthur Foundation calls it "unconditional funding," figuring the Fellows themselves should decide how to use the swag in pursuit of their goals.
If you ask the winners of the Fellowships "Why you?," they'll all say the same thing: "I dunno."
They're telling the truth. There's no way to apply for the awards, and unsolicited nominations aren't accepted. Instead, every year, the Foundation invites a super-secret and anonymous group of people to serve as nominators. They nominate anyone they want, and those names go to a selection committee — also super-secret and anonymous — which reduces the "nominee" list to a roster of "candidates." That's culled down to a slate of "finalists," from which the new crop of MacArthur Fellows is finally chosen.
The criteria for winning are a complete mystery, but there's growing speculation that it helps to have a fast time in the 40-yard dash.
As happens every year, the media spotlight is shining brightly on the winner with the unlikeliest vocation — this year a lobster fisherman from Maine. He joins such past offbeat recipients as a juggler (not just any juggler, but, and I quote, "the most significant juggler of the 20th century"), a puppeteer, and a "conjurer" (someone whose name you may recognize from his frequent guest appearances on Johnny Carson's "Tonight Show" — The Amazing Randi.)
The MacFellows put their money to a variety of uses. For example, The Amazing Randi has been making waves for years in the paranormal world by exposing purported psychics as phonies, and he's said that most of his MacArthur dough was eaten up fighting lawsuits brought by sour seers. (Randi beat them all, which you think they would've seen coming.)
The effect of winning so much money can discombobulate a fellow, even a MacArthur Fellow. They say things like, "It doesn't change anything and yet it changes everything," (2002 winner Liza Lou), and "I don't have to worry about the things that I've always had to worry about, so I can worry about some new stuff" (the late Steve Lacy, class of '95).
Unfortunately, this is about as goofy as the MacArthur Fellows get. While plenty of serious-minded professors, novelists and researchers have won "Big Macs," a review of all 707 winners over the years reveals not one shallow-minded-yet-plainly-deserving dorky newspaper columnist.
I'm not saying the Fellows are humorless. In fact, while searching for Fellows with Indiana connections (there are three, all professors at IU), I learned that one — Loren Rieseberg, '03 MacFellow — wrote an article titled "Chromosomal Rearrangements and Speciation," which I'm pretty sure became the basis for a storyline on "Seinfeld."
As the 2005 Fellows join the MacArthur community, they'll probably be hearing a lot from the "graduating" class — the Fellows whose MacMoney has just dried up, and who could use a quick loan.
I hear one of the grads' favorite ploys is to throw parties where they ply the newbies with inebriating beverages, and then torch them in high-stakes 40-yard dashes.
# # #
Hey, fella, grant me your thoughts in an e-mail. TakefiveT5@yahoo.com.
posted by Don Stuart at 2:38 PM
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