It’s A Gneiss Life For Loren Raymond

By Frank Ruggiero

An old geology pun beckons geologists to have a gneiss day.

A type of metamorphic rock, “gneiss” is pronounced “nice.” Groans and chuckles usually follow.

Loren Raymond plans to continue working in the field following his retirement. Photo by Mark Mitchell

Whether or not Loren Raymond will employ the classic joke upon his retirement is yet to be determined, but the geology professor can still reflect and smile back on a 34-year tenure in Appalachian State University’s geology department.

Raymond, who also served as department chairman, will officially retire from the university on June 30. However, Raymond is only a retiree in that particular aspect.

His retirement schedule, so far, consists of working for the state of Virginia to map 80 square miles of terrain; writing a third edition of his already-published textbook; co-authoring another geology book; managing his consulting company, Geosi; serving as president for a nonprofit organization, Ecumenical Project for International Cooperation; and writing poetry, some of which has already been published.

“You wouldn’t know I’m retired right now,” Raymond said.

Raymond was with ASU’s geology department since its inception. When he arrived in 1972, the department had been repeatedly lumped into different science departments. Part of the department of natural sciences in the 1960s, geology was then attached to biology and later geography. It didn’t become an independent department until 1974, when Raymond’s colleague, Fred Webb, served as its first chairman.

“At the beginning, there were just four of us (professors), and we were actually teaching over 600 students in our intro to geology courses,” said Raymond, who also taught geology labs and upper level courses. “So, teaching loads were pretty heavy up to that time.”

He did, however, take a 10-month hiatus in 1976, due to a variety of reasons, including the lack of pay raises for a couple of years and inadequate equipment. As he was conducting research in the Oregon-California area, Raymond accepted an offer from Oregon State College (now University) in Ashland.

That stint, though, proved disastrous on numerous counts, such as students filing grievances against the university, irritated faculty unions and a battle of lawyers, including an attorney called Harry Scary.

“After all that happening in a year, I decided I didn’t want to be there,” Raymond said, adding his successor at Appalachian didn’t quite work out, allowing Raymond to reapply for his former position. He was rehired in 1977.

From 1977 to 1989, the department grew from four faculty members to six. From 1995 to 2000, the number increased to eight, and contracted teachers helped boost the number to a present day 12.

“But I’ve seen a lot of changes in the university,” said Raymond, who assisted in the revision of the revision of graduate faculty regulations and the reevaluation of core curriculum requirements, which resulted in designators that help identify course content required for certain concentrations.

When Raymond first joined the faculty, the university had an enrollment of 8,000 students, which has nearly doubled since that time.

Throughout his tenure, Raymond has seen interest in geology wax and wane. In 1980, when the petroleum industry was a major employer, the department’s number of majors skyrocketed from 25 to 80. He recalled a similar effect in the anthropology department after “Raiders of the Lost Ark” was released on the silver screen.

A similar spike in geology major declaration occurred whenever a major volcano would erupt or an earthquake would ravage a country. “We’d get spikes in enrollment that were totally unrelated to recruitment or anything – just to world events,” Raymond said.

Unlike such fair-weather students, Raymond’s interest in the subject has always been steadfast – at least since college. While attending Santa Rosa Junior College in Santa Rosa, Calif., Raymond said he was floundering around for a major, partly because his mother insisted the Raymond family had always done exceptionally well in arts and humanities.

“I guess she ignored the fact that, in junior high, I studied astronomy, bought telescopes with the money I’d saved, and studied birds,” he said.

From music to history to English to philosophy, the young Raymond finally decided to enroll in several science courses. His first geology course was only to fill a time requirement.

“But I liked it, so I added on these other geology courses in the spring,” he said. “And lo and behold, I got all As and Bs and thought, ‘Isn’t this a good thing?’”

His wife, Margaret, whom he met in high school, was attending the same college, and her academic advisor was a geology professor. On the other hand, Raymond’s advisor was a professor of psychology, who offered to administer an ability test and preference test to help Raymond decide on a major.

“So, I took those tests at the end of my first semester of my sophomore year, and the results showed abilities in science and math,” Raymond said. “The two subjects that came out on top were analytical chemistry and geology. I had to decide whether or not to stay outdoors or work in a lab. I decided I liked being outdoors.”

And that was that. Raymond had found his calling.

“I never thought of being a scientist, let alone a geologist, and then I became one,” he said. “After all, isn’t that how universities are supposed to work?”

The notion of science that appeals most to Raymond is problem-solving.

“If you like to play chess, work out some kind of problem where there are multiple variables, then you probably like science,” he said, and referred to his contract with the state of Virginia, in which he’s working alongside long-time colleague Webb.

The state requested they compile geographic information on the location of boundaries between red and white sandstone, which means searching for samples by trudging through briar patches, crawling under rhododendron and braving other elements that can easily result in an unpleasant outdoors experience.

“But I like being outdoors,” he said. “My field assistant and I went out there and, in a square mile, found maybe six rocks sticking out of the ground that may have slid down the hill. We walked and walked and looked at chips by groundhog holes, by the trunks of trees, looking for where these boundaries are.

“It became a puzzle. One of the challenges of geology is how to solve a puzzle. You can solve a chemistry puzzle in the lab, but geology’s in the field.”

And the field is where Raymond will remain. After all, to him, it’s a gneiss place to be.