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Retired executive and philanthropist R. Kirk Landon's record $5 million gift-to be doubled by a state grant-assures the College of Business Administration 's ever-increasing influence and creates the R. Kirk Landon Undergraduate School of Business.

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With flowers and shrubs, hard work and plenty of care, Psychology Chairperson Marvin Dunn and his students are reviving Miami's Overtown neighborhood.

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A retooled defense, greater overall speed and increased intensity are just a few of the changes you'll notice as the football team enters it's third season.

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An Education

Lehane chose noir because he had always written about violence and because it spoke for the underclass. He grew up in blue-collar Dorchester, Mass. Noir also gave him a structure. (He claims to be terrible at plot.)

He came to FIU and the Creative Writing program from Eckerd College, already having written a draft of "A Drink Before the War."

"You could tell from the beginning that Dennis had a plan," says Les Standiford, who directs the Creative Writing program. "He was quite talented. What you do with somebody who is obviously self-directed is stay out of the way and provide them with an arena where they can do their best work."

"FIU gave me two years to hide from the world," Lehane says. "And I had astonishing teachers."

While hiding from the world, he began " Mystic River ." It was a novella and part of his master's thesis. The weakest part, according to his thesis committee. They asked for revisions, and he remembers feeling like he'd bitten off too much.

"I [still] had to teach myself things," he says. "Each of my series books was very much a case of me building the muscles necessary to write a ' Mystic River.'"

During his last semester at FIU, his first book ("A Drink Before the War") sold. He moved to Boston and began work on the second. As his career took off, revising his thesis fell down the list of priorities. Keep moving.

In the Fast Lane

There's an odd thing Lehane does when he reads to an audience. Every so often, he looks up-not at the crowd, but above it and to the side. It's the way a driver glances in the rearview mirror.

At the Seaside Writers Conference two years ago, he read "Until Gwen," a short story that will appear in The Atlantic in June 2004. He took the audience on a break-neck ride, sneaking quick looks in the rearview.

Afterwards, he stepped outside for a breather, leaned against a railing and said, "I don't think I'll ever try to read a 20-page story again."

The people beside him expressed amazement that the story had been long. Lehane looked amazed, too, and exhausted, like he'd outrun something wild.

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