Rankings, rankings, rankings. We love to hate them — especially when they call us a party school — but there is a certain satisfaction to seeing how we stack up.

Counteracting all those party rankings today comes an unusual list: schools that serve the public good.

And UT scored beautifully on it, coming in fifth nationally. The top four were all California schools: UC San Diego, Berkeley, UCLA, and Stanford, respectively.

Washington Monthly magazine did the ranking, basing it on three criteria: social mobility, research, and service. Social mobility includes recruitment and graduation rates for low-income students. Research considers annual expenditures and doctoral degree production. And service takes into account community volunteering and Peace Corps participation rates.

The idea behind this ranking, which was first done in 2005, is not to ask what your college can do for you, but what your college can do for the country.

After all, the magazine says, "colleges and universities do as much to shape the future as any institutions you can think of. They conduct cutting-edge research that drives economic growth, provide upward mobility to people of humble birth, and mold the characters of tomorrow's leaders."

Sounds like public funding well invested, doesn't it?

Regardless of how scientific this survey is, it's refreshing to see universities judged on something besides money, test scores, and "prestige." Let's get out the good news.

Photo: These two students were among the 1,000 who volunteered for Project 2010, a March community service day during which they spruced up the St. John neighborhood on Austin's east side. Photo by Rebecca Fontenot/The Alcalde.

For 40 blazing Texas summers, they've laughed, fought, acted, and sweated together in this barn. University of Texas students have been coming to an old farm outside Winedale (population 40) for Shakespeare summer camp since 1970.

This month, as the legendary Shakespeare at Winedale program celebrated four decades since its founding, alumni of the program reunited to perform scenes from favorite plays.

It was a lovely scene as the August sun set: alumni sat down to barbecue together at picnic tables under live oak trees. Musicians in period costume strolled around. Student actors from this year's program got ready to put on Twelfth Night. And the program's founder, English professor James B. "Doc" Ayres, greeted many of the hundreds whose education he enriched over the years.

The scene was so nice that the Texas Exes' alumni magazine, The Alcalde, sent a videographer to film what could best be shown through spoken words and moving images. 

That videographer, San Antonio native Erika Brekke, used to see plays at Winedale every summer. Her mother, Idalia Clark, BA '72,was in the very first group of Winedalers in 1970.

Clark's background in performing and storytelling were still apparent as she stepped onto the stage after a show, gesturing grandly as she told how it all began.

There was no Elizabethan stage as now, she said — the actors would throw open the loft doors and see the stars. Curious locals would come watch, laughing or staying silent (if the acting went well) at all the right parts.

"Things happened in this barn that didn't happen anywhere else," she said. "It was almost like a temple." 

For two weeks that first summer, the students ate, fought, exercised, and played together. They stayed in the old farmhouse, now torn down — girls upstairs, guys downstairs. They had a fire, and some guys played guitars. None of them wanted to go to sleep until they absolutely had to.

"Camaraderie doesn't begin to encompass what it was," Clark said.

Brekke didn't interview her mom in the video — too contrived for a mother and daughter — but their family's love for a special UT institution shows through. Watch and see. 

At Longhorn Village, an anniversary is celebrated in style: with cheerleaders, a champagne toast, a jazz trio, and a sparkler-topped, Texas-shaped cake.

And so it was Tuesday as the Steiner Ranch retirement community involved with UT and affiliated with the Texas Exes celebrated its first year of existence.

Many of the 160-plus residents wore burnt orange to the party; other fitting University touches included appearances by the cheerleaders; Texas Pom squad; Hook 'em, the mascot; and musicians from the Butler School of Music.  

John Henderson, the second-oldest living former Longhorn football player, spoke about why he and his wife, Charlotte, were among the first to move into the community last year. After meeting at UT in 1939, the couple moved to Baytown, but they resolved to retire to Austin someday.  

Since moving into the community, the Hendersons celebrated their 70th anniversary, and John celebrated his 97th birthday. "We look back every day," he said, "and thank our lucky stars we selected Longhorn Village as a place to come."

Longhorn Village was 10 years in the making. "At that time, a lot of people thought it was a really far-fetched idea," said Bill McCausland, Texas Exes chief operating officer. "We knew there was a need for this community, and we put our resolve behind it."

McCausland recalled how the very first depositor came up several years ago, shook his hand, and said, "My name is George, my apartment is on the third floor, and you tell everybody that's where the party will be."

Today the party continues, with 36 resident committees and more than 270 activities offered every month, from exercise classes to museum outings.

Henderson's favorites are no surprise: chartered buses to Longhorn football games.

The cuts facing The University of Texas could slice it to the bone, says President Bill Powers, endangering its national research stature and individual student experience.

UT already had been asked to cut 5 percent of its biennial budget appropriation from the Legislature, or $29.2 million. In May, Gov. Rick Perry asked the University to propose ways to chop another 10 percent, bringing the two-year total budget reduction to $86.7 million. 

Powers used the UT System Board of Regents meeting last week to warn those entrusted with the University's well-being that all is far from well.

"We are already behind our competitors by very large amounts," he said. To underscore that, he pointed to California, which is facing a budget emergency but is still better funding higher education, an economic engine for any state. UCLA, he said, devotes at least $6,000 more to educating each student than UT does. 

"This will have an impact on the quality of educational offerings," Powers said. "It will affect time to graduation."

And there were still more worrisome words: "We will not be able to be a major research university in anything like the same way."

All in all, it makes the heart sink. But the Texas Exes hope to better the prognosis.

By law, UT and other state entities cannot advocate for their needs. As a separate nonprofit organization, the Texas Exes can.

As another state legislative session nears, the UT Advocates for Higher Education, led by public policy director Leticia Acosta, will be trained to make persuasive phone calls and write effective letters to lawmakers.

On Feb. 15, they'll participate in Orange and Maroon Legislative Day, which will mark the fifth time UT and A&M representatives have come together to advocate for their schools.

Get involved here. Like helping a sick friend, it's the best way we can ease the pain of the University we love. 

Recycled plastic sounds great and all. But would you trust your life to a boat made of the stuff?

An amazing UT architecture grad has proven you should.

Nathaniel Corum, MAr '01, is doing noteworthy work in humanitarian design. A new and growing field, it serves people who have been marginalized or are in great need all over the world. Corum has worked with everyone from the Navajo in Arizona to the earthquake survivors of Haiti. 

Among his latest and most attention-getting projects was designing the cabin of the Plastiki. The boat, made of 12,500 recycled plastic bottles, finished sailing safely across the Pacific in July. Its 130-day journey was planned to raise awareness about the earth's veritable ocean of garbage.

Corum's home base is San Francisco, where he works with the nonprofit Architecture for Humanity. But he describes himself as nomadic, moving among the people for whom he is designing. 

"The richer the dialogue you have with the people you're working with, the better," he told the New York Times in a recent profile. "I spend lots of time with them and learn so much, especially from people living close to the land. Humanitarian design isn't the new imperialism, it's the new compassion."

Faculty and staff at UT's School of Architecture have kept tabs on a student they remember as dynamic. Corum was drawn to the school for the work it has been doing in sustainability, professor Michael Garrison says, and he advanced that work while on the Forty Acres. He went on to win both a Rose fellowship and a Fulbright scholarship.

Many architects are most interested in artful design, Garrison says. Corum was different. "He was looking at the aesthetics of architecture being more than skin deep — he was interested in how buildings perform," says Garrison, who advised Corum on his thesis. "He believed a building couldn't look good if it harmed the earth. But a building wouldn't perform unless it looked good."

It is Corum's dedication, work ethic, and above all, formidable networking skills that have made him such a mover and shaker so early in his career, the professor believes.

"He was always the leader. Whether it was learning about straw bales or adobe, he found out who was working in that area and made a connection with them," Garrison says. "He's put groups together before that didn't know where to go or who to talk to. He makes things happen."

Photo courtesy of the Plastiki crew