Expressions

South College Literary Magazine / 2011

E x p r e s s i o n s

Message from a Dove 4

John Astillero

A Safe Place 6

Chrissandra Measley

Locked Down 8

Heather Harris

The Taxonomy of Tennessee Tailgaiting 11

William David Coole

That’s the Story of My Life 13

James Crawford

Looking for Love 17

Tamara S. Meyers

Cats 19

Tara Fleury

The World as I Know It is Changing 21

Regina Meyers

That Old Oak Tree 23

Stacy Taylor

A Law in Sheep’s Clothing 25

Staci L. Garner

Review of Waiting for Superman 28

Jennifer Chesney

Lovers (Good-bye Once and for All) 30

Heather Harris

The 21st

Century Renaissance Man 31

Brett Jones

Roles of the United States Army 33

Allan Williams

CONTENTS

South College is a private, co-educational, non-sectarian academic

institution dedicated to identifying and developing quality programs of study

that promote the professional, intellectual, and personal growth of students.

Accordingly, the institution offers diverse and well-balanced programs that

encourage the development of independent learning and thinking at the

master’s, baccalaureate, associate, and certificate levels.

This is not an official publication of South College. Any express or implied

statements, comments, or opinions herein are not those of the college or any of

its personnel unless otherwise stated.

Submissions for future issues should be directed to Professor Julia Watts

([email protected]) or Professor Caroline Malone

([email protected])

Any South College student wishing to work on the staff of Expressions is

encouraged to do so. Please contact Professor Julia Watts or Professor Caroline

Malone for more information.

mailto:[email protected]

mailto:[email protected]

Message from a Dove

John Astillero

The sun set over the city as it had many times before. The matriarch lay in

the bed unresponsive as she had been for days. The room, dimly lit, filled with sounds

found in such an institution. The vacuum from the suction line, the beeps from the

vitals monitor as a reading is taken, the beeps of the morphine pump as it delivers a

comatosing dose during the timed cycle. Conflict took place in the hall from unknown

sources. Slowly the conflict moved further down the hall, eventually beyond the range

of hearing. The maximum number of visitors in the room, we all began the ritualistic

duties of overseeing the care through the night of the matriarch.

We all displayed the type of care one observes as the elephant matriarch

comes to the end of her days. The clan is prepared as they watch over her even in

times of danger. In the wild the matriarch is seen as the elder possessing wisdom,

knowledge, love, but most of all authority. The values she possesses make her the

most valuable in the clan; this honor is then passed to someone who will uphold and

lead in the same manner. Grandma, as she was known to many, was our matriarch.

She had these values and more, but most of all she lived by these values and trained

us that in the end as we leave our earthbound bodies we would all be called to carry

each other through the tough time of letting go.

As everyone began to settle in for the night I spoke to Grandma softly almost

reassuring her as she did for me while I was a child. I felt as though this evening was

unlike any other. I counted her breaths and began to notice they were further apart

and slower to recover. Calls were made to gather family, and I began to monitor her

breathing closely, but I knew the time had come for her to board the

bus to Heaven. I began to prepare myself much like a doctor would when confronting

a family whose member is living on borrowed time.

My job during the time was to console family members, being the strong

member much like the needed crutch holding up those in need to endure the pain. I

was charged to be the Novocain to the pain the death would bring. Once I had

completed my duty and Grandma was on her way, we all dispersed as her earthbound

body would be prepared for her final journey on earth.

The drive from the airport home is a minimal thirty-five to sixty minutes. This day,

time appeared to stand still. No matter what took place I would not be pressed for

time or even care about time. I arrived at home and began to walk to the front door

and noticed on the front stoop waiting for me, a single Mourning Dove. This dove

appeared to feel my pain and sorrow. As I approached she sat almost motioning for

me to open the gates to my dam and allowing the sorrow and pain to flow through

her. Entering the front door, I placed my bag in the foyer and the sudden rush

of emotion resembled a water cannon shot through a riot crowd; the force of

emotion inside rushed out, and my tears began to flow without control.

My grieving moment lasted for hours, comforted by my fiancée. As the

day and phone calls continued, I was still reminded of the Mourning Dove I had

never seen. The single dove on my front stoop was a fearless messenger from

somewhere. As my mind continued to run aimlessly in all directions, my only clear

thoughts were those of that messenger dove. Found primarily on the West Coast

and in Central America, I had one here in Tennessee. Suddenly my fiancée and I

began to see that the dove was fearless, caring, but most of all loving in the way

she would call as we would speak about the memories of Grandma. We then

realized that we were looking at a messenger from Grandma sent to us from

above. The message was not tied to the dove’s leg but through her heart.

As the days passed my sorrow was never gone but replaced with

memories and the knowledge that she was sending messengers to deliver new

hope to move on. Now as the days continue, the messengers never leave. As

Grandma sends a new message, the messenger stays to accompany the previously

sent messengers. We have a little colony of messengers who appear to never

leave. Grandma sends messages frequently, and as I understand her, the beautiful

sounds of the cooing of the doves reassure me that she is happy. The message is

delivered and received.

“Message from a Dove” won third place for creative writing in the 2010 South

College Writing Contest.

4 5

EXPRESSIONS / Summer 2011 EXPRESSIONS / Summer 2011

in answer.

What Anne guessed to be the lifeguard, dressed only in red shorts, a

sleeveless white tank with a white strip of sun block spread thickly across his

nose, appeared and demanded to know what happened.

The distraught mother began all over again as he led her away towards

the raised lookout post several yards away. The crowd followed, and Anne was

left with a small smattering of other observers that sat huddled on their towels.

As she watched search teams were formed, and volunteers fanned out across

the beach and shore. Anne heard them calling the child’s name over and over.

The cries spooked away the sea gulls and stopped the playing of children along

the shore. The whole scene had changed. All the carefree play had dissolved

into subdued panic as the parents gathered up their own broods protectively.

Anne tried to make sense of what was happening. She shook her head

in confused disbelief. Things were going horribly wrong. Events like this

couldn’t happen. They shouldn’t happen. Not here. This was her place of

escape when life bullied and people distressed. How could this happen here in

the sunshine and laughter? The all too familiar spasm in her stomach jerked her

free of her daze, and she winced as if she had been struck.

The disbelief turned into bitterness. No, not here! Anne pounded the

sand beside her in frustration as angry tears slid down her sunburned cheeks. It

was that woman, she said out loud. She ruined everything! She brought it here

where it didn’t belong.

Her bitterness was quickly spent. Panic came. For years this place had

been a refuge from her parents’ divorce, her sister’s death, and Todd’s betrayal.

Whenever things threatened to undo her, she could come here and find peace

and rest. She was so tired. But it was no longer safe for her here. Fear and pain

had invaded and poisoned this place. Fear settled in as another spasm gripped

her. She thought desperately, if she was not safe here…then where?

A cloud moved over the sun and a long dark shadow spread slowly,

blanketing the beach. A sharp breeze blew across her shoulders and she

shivered.

“A Safe Place” won first place in creative writing in the 2010 South College

Writing Contest.

A Safe Place

Chrissandra Measley

A chilled salty breeze blew unexpectedly across Anne’s exposed back as

she lay stretched across the strip of terrycloth under the sun. A shiver started

between her shoulder blades, slid across her back, traveling down her tanned legs to

her toes, which she dug into the smooth sand, inhaling sharply. Then, just as quickly

as it came, it was gone. The sun’s warm rays spread across her body once more, and

she nestled contentedly into the towel beneath her and exhaled slowly.

A mix of sand and sound swirled around the single exposed ear. Each grain

carried the noise of the crashing waves, the cry of hovering gulls, and the shrieks of

excited children playing happily in the surf. Barely awake of the surrounding muting

chatter, Anne dreamily considered what she had left behind. She pictured her

cluttered desk on the tenth story of the busy office building where she worked. She

thought of the stress, anxiety, worry, and of all the people nagging her and forcing

her to produce now, now, now! All those irksome demands threatening to suck the

strength and life right out her couldn’t follow her here, she mused contentedly.

Surviving month after month, barely holding on, she marked off the days

on her calendar. But it had come at last. She was finally here and she was happy.

All she wanted was to just lie here on the beach where it was warm, safe, and

relaxing. For the next two weeks she could soak up enough inner peace to last

through six more months of the unfriendly city. For now she was utterly free.

Her daydreaming was interrupted by a female’s anxious voice. Anne lifted

a sleepy head. Irritated by the intrusion upon her rest, she opened an eye and

waited for it to adjust to the brightness. As the figure of a plump middle-aged

woman came into focus, other voices joined into what threatened to become an

incident.

“Where’s my Sophie?” begged the frantic mother. She swung an anxious

glance down the beach and toward the water’s edge. An elderly man asked the

woman to give details.

“I fell asleep,” she explained between ragged breaths. “I can’t find her!”

“Where have you looked?” the older man asked.

“Everywhere.” She sobbed. “She’s gone.”

She began to wail now, and the man patted her soothingly. Curiosity

brought more people. Anne sat up reluctantly, unable to believe there really was

anything to worry about. Parents overreacted, she told herself.

“She’s only five and can’t swim,” the woman pleaded. “Has anyone seen

her? She’s wearing a pink bathing suit and has short blonde hair.”

The bystanders looked at each other hopefully before shaking their heads

in answer.

What Anne guessed to be the lifeguard, dressed only in red shorts,

EXPRESSIONS / Summer 2011

6

EXPRESSIONS / Summer 2011

7

Locked Down

Heather Harris

Imprisonment of both the mind and body is a theme that runs through

Harper Lee’s timeless classic To Kill a Mockingbird. Many characters are locked into

the prisons of their own minds while others are truly locked away from society as a

whole. The development of this theme is one aspect of the novel that has led to its

longstanding popularity as one of the most widely read books in the English language.

Although a theme common to Southern Gothic prose, the manner in which Ms. Lee

writes of the different imprisonments in this novel is most definitely a contributing

factor to the novel’s longevity.

Lee begins To Kill a Mockingbird with the story of Arthur “Boo” Radley’s

imprisonment in his own home; there is also an underlying story of how he seems to

be held captive in his own mind. This exemplifies the duality of this theme from the

very beginning of the novel. The descriptions of Boo, as well as the children’s fears,

speak to the oddity of his character. These misconceptions are central to the idea that

if one stays locked into one’s own inaccurate perceptions of someone or something,

then more likely than not, that individual is incorrect. The tale of the Radley family

and how Boo came to be locked away in his family’s home is a staple of Maycomb’s

folklore. It is told that Boo as a youth apparently fell into running with the wrong

crowd, managing to get himself into a spot of trouble with some other young men

from town. The entire situation culminates with the boys being brought before a

probate judge on charges of disorderly conduct, disturbing the peace, assault and

battery, and using profane and abusive language in the presence of a female. These

particular events result in Boo being released into the custody of his father; Boo “was

not seen again for fifteen years.”

The internment of Boo in his own home is not the only example of how he

embodies imprisonment. The person of Boo Radley is, as is the entire family, horribly

misunderstood in Maycomb. This point is most obviously brought to light through the

children’s perceptions. These ideas stem from the stories and rumors from those

about town and the fact that the Radleys are not a social “clan,” choosing to stay to

themselves. Such isolation is unheard of in a small Southern town such as Maycomb;

Jem, Scout, and Dill view Boo according to the preconceived notions of others and

their own childlike interpretations. “Inside the house lived a malevolent phantom.

People said he existed, but Jem and I had never seen him. People said he went out at

night when the moon was down and peeped in windows.” There is a very sinister

connotation underlying these impressions of Boo Radley. There are even references

to him eating small animals and that he would bring physical harm to the children

should they be caught inside the Radleys’ fence. “Don’t blame me when he

gouges your eyes out. You started it, remember.” This speaks volumes to the

effect the closed-mindedness of the town has on Scout, Jem and Dill, although

they do decide to attempt to make contact with Boo in spite of Atticus’

admonishments. Nobody in town had ever really taken the time to get to know

him, instead staying locked into their shortsightedness and judgmental beliefs of

who he truly is as a person. The inability of the people of Maycomb to dispel

assumptions and prejudices is yet another example of the prison of the mind as

it pertains to To Kill a Mockingbird.

The captivity of one’s prejudices and ignorance is plain to the reader in

regard to the townspeople’s reaction to Atticus’ defense of Tom. Initially the

fact that he even accepts the cause is a bone of contention for some of the

townspeople. This point becomes crystal clear in Chapter 11 through an

exchange between Mrs. Dubose, the hateful, drug-addicted neighbor, and the

Finch children. As Jem and Scout pass by her house one day on their way home,

Scout says, “Hey, Mrs. Dubose” and receives a tirade that stems from Mrs.

Dubose’s ignorance and inability to broaden her perspectives; she appears to be

held captive by her racist beliefs coupled with a horribly judgmental

countenance. In essence, Mrs. Dubose is saying that because Atticus chooses to

defend a black man, whom he believes to be innocent, the entire moral fiber of

the Finch family is ruined; talk about ignorant. “`Yes indeed, what has this world

come to when a Finch goes against his raising? I’ll tell you!’ She put her hand to

her mouth. When she drew it away, it trailed a long silver thread of saliva. ‘Your

father’s no better than the niggers and trash he works for.’” Mrs. Dubose is not

only trapped in the ignorance of her own bias but also physically relegated to her

wheelchair; her imprisonment is twofold.

The main storyline in this novel is the false accusation against Tom

Robinson of raping a young white girl. He stands accused of the rape of Mayella

Ewell, a typical “wrong side of the tracks” gal from this time. Keep in mind that

this novel is set in Alabama during the Great Depression, therefore the ideology

and belief system of the characters are quite different from today. Initially many

residents of Maycomb are less than pleased at the fact that Atticus, without

hesitation, agrees to represent Tom in this case. Atticus believes in the sanctity

of the justice system and the right of all citizens, regardless of color or any other

factor, to receive a fair trial; the right to effective counsel is one of these rights.

As unfortunate as it may be, this is a sentiment that not all of Maycomb’s

residents share. This serves as another example of the unfortunate use of

imprisonment in Lee’s novel. Ms. Ewell also finds herself trapped in the

prejudices of the time. She is basically forced, by the situational pressure, to

make the false claim of rape instead of making an admittance as to the true

nature of the events of that afternoon. Not only is it inappropriate for a woman

in this era to make sexual advances toward a man

9 8


nature of the events of that afternoon. Not only is it inappropriate for a woman in this

era to make sexual advances toward a man, it is an even more egregious crime for that

man to be African American. This fact is apparent to the reader in Chapter 18 when

Ms. Ewell is on the stand and testifying about the events, making false claims that Tom

beat her on the right becomes apparent: “His left arm was fully twelve inches side of

her face. When Atticus has Tom Robinson stand, his infirmity shorter than his right a

small shriveled hand, and from as far away as the balcony I could see that it was no

use to him.” In spite of this evidence, Tom still finds himself convicted of the crime of

rape, just another example of these people’s inability to step outside of the prison of

their own prejudices and stand up for the right thing.

Imprisonment is a term that elicits a number of feelings, emotions and

connotations in society today. An individual can be held captive by their own narrow-

mindedness and inability to dispel some of the prejudices he/she possesses. Thoughts

and beliefs such as these exemplify ignorance and an inability to see past what

something is on the surface. Intellectual captivity is but one aspect of confinement

Ms. Lee delves into throughout To Kill a Mockingbird. The novel also speaks to the

actual physical captivity of some of her characters, while speaking of the intellectual

dwarfism of some of the book’s characters. This provocative novel brings to the

surface many ideas and thoughts about what it truly means to be imprisoned, either

physically, emotionally, or quite possibly the most detrimental, intellectually.

“Locked Down” won first place in academic writing in the 2010 South College Writing

Contest.

The Taxonomy of Tennessee Tailgating

William David Coole

Anyone who has ever experienced an autumn Saturday in Knoxville,

Tennessee, would be able to describe the colorful beauty of turning leaves, the

smell of fresh mountain air, and of course…the sound of over a hundred

thousand screaming football fanatics. According to UTsports.com (2010),

Neyland Stadium is the third-largest football stadium in the nation and has a

capacity of 104,079 fans, with a record of 109,061 in 2004. Many would say that

there is hardly an experience like going to a University of Tennessee home

football game, and few would disagree. There’s something about floating in a

sea of orange and singing along to “Rocky Top” that gets not just people from

the Knoxville area excited, but also people around the country. Native East

Tennesseeans believe that tailgating is just about the only way to prepare for

this ritualistic event. Tailgating before a football game is not exclusive to

Knoxville, but Volunteer fans seem to encompass all three species in the

hierarchy of tailgaters: the Aristocrat, the Traditionalist, and the Nomad.

The first of these dedicated football enthusiasts are the Aristocrats.

They are not very difficult to spot since they usually travel in packs and believe

that the larger the vessel, the better. They are often seen scattered up and down

the “Strip” (term given to a part of Cumberland Avenue, between 17th

and 22nd

Streets), in recreational vehicles, or docked at Volunteer Landing on Neyland

Drive. The tailgaters of this nomenclature tend to spend lots of money on their

vehicles of choice. They usually adorn their boats or RVs with large screen

televisions, custom barbecue grills, large blow-up mascot Smoky-dogs, and even

orange and white curtains. However, I suppose that if you are an out-of-towner,

and a UT fan, this might be the way to go since you don’t have to fight for a hotel

room, just a really big parking spot. The second type

of tailgater seen on game day describes the majority.

The traditionalists usually decorate their everyday transporters with as

many orange and white flags, shakers and “Power T’s” as will allow, and gather

with a crowd of their peers. Most often they travel in SUV’s and pick-up trucks,

and similar to the Aristocrats, the more money spent on the ride, the better.

Since these vehicles don’t take up as much space as the RV’s do, they often bring

tents, televisions, tables, and satellite dishes…to watch other games they aren’t

home to watch. They can often be seen spending their time before kickoff

passing a football, or playing games such as “Corn Hole” and “beer pong.”

Interestingly, most of them tend to think that their tailgate “set-up” is better

than everyone else’s, which gives rise to the next type of tailgater.

10 11

1


The third type of tailgater, known as the Nomad, is the bottom feeder of the tailgating

hierarchy. These ramblers wander from tailgate to tailgate to hang out with the

coolest crowd and bring absolutely nothing to the event. They can range anywhere

from fans who rode a shuttle to the average hobo. Nomads will schmooze their way

into a cornhole game, sweet-talk themselves a cheeseburger, and even beg for the last

brew. However, hoboes will often take the trash away if it means they can keep the

empty cans. David Kierski of Tailgater Monthly (2008) says to “bring enough to go

around” and to “have an open door policy. The best tailgates are the ones where the

unexpected happens.” Despite the parasitic nature of some Nomads, they are integral

factors of tailgating and will pay homage to whatever species hosts them.

Despite Tennessee tailgaters’ best efforts at preparation, it is inevitable that

the afternoon will be flawed by an ever-unpopular Gator, Bull Dog, Game Cock, or

Tiger. Peppered across a canvas of orange and white is the minority who also likes to

tailgate…the other team. However, Volunteer fans often show great appreciation and

respect to opposing team tailgaters. They often share in conversation about other

games of the day and previous games each other’s teams have played throughout the

season. They still hassle each other about the upcoming game, but they are often

treated as welcome guests. No matter if a tailgater is fortunate enough to lounge

upon a yacht post up on a toolbox in the bed of a truck, or have the unfortunate luck

to be cheering for the opposing team, all are welcome to come together on this

hallowed day and celebrate their loyalty and the engagement in which their team will

soon endure.

“The Taxonomy of Tennessee Tailgaiting” won second place in creative writing in the

2010 South College Writing Contest.

That’s the Story of My Life

James Crawford

Do you think you’ve ever had a defining moment in your life? One

that left you gobsmacked. An epiphany if you like. I have. Actually, with God’s

grace, I’ve lived to an age that has afforded me a few of them. Here’s the

problem, however, the majority of these revelations have organized

themselves in the attitude of a top 40, tormented anthem composed in ode to

Murphy's law. I’ll give you an example.

Back in the early nineties I was fortunate enough to land a great job

as a manufacturer sales rep. The job required me call on farmers’ Co-Op stores

across the states of Tennessee, Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan. Job

responsibilities also required me to host product knowledge seminars and

attend trade shows throughout the U.S. and Canada.

I grew up in a rural farming community in western North Carolina,

which in my opinion, rendered me as a natural to sell agriculture products to

farmers. This upbringing also left me somewhat less than world savvy. I had

visited few places that were more than a two hour drive away from home, the

only exceptions being a mission trip to Niagara Falls with my church youth

group, a vacation to Myrtle Beach with my parents as a teenager, and my

honeymoon. Sadly, that pretty well covers my travels in the first twenty four

years. Consequently, the prospect of all the travel was as inciting to me as the

paycheck.

As I got into the job I began to settle into an approximated routine

and forge new habits; unfortunately, those practices didn’t necessarily nullify

the old tendencies. I completed the sequence of stops in my territory a couple

of times. I discovered, all in all, it fit me from the ground up. Not to say there

were no draw backs. I was requested by my employer, to maintain a $40.00 per

night hotel bill and given a $20.00 per diem. I took this very seriously in the

beginning and treated it as an ironclad rule written in stone. In retrospect, not

so much. At any rate in 1994, it was a chore to find accommodations that fit

the criteria. My check out was expedited in a lot of places as soon as I saw the

room. Hence, when I found a hotel that fit the bill, it went on my list of places I

would endeavor to arrive for the overnight.

Finally, having said all that, I found an acceptable mom and pop

Super 8 franchise in a suburb of Columbus, Ohio, called Reynoldsburg. The

important part of this story of my life is not about the excitement of a new job,

it’s not about the enjoyment afforded by the travel, nor the constraints of

regulations, and it’s not about the hotel. What is significant is the revelation

13 12


I received while lodging at the Super 8, Reynoldsburg, Ohio January, 1995.

Do any of us really ever remember the mundane normalcy that is the

preamble to something unexpected? I couldn’t speak for the whole, but I can say, it’s

probably not my particular strong suit.

The day, to the best of my recollection, was as normal as any other cold,

dreary Midwest January day. The only thing I remember unequivocally is snow and

the surrounding buzz. It commenced sometime after lunch and the locals were

discussing the discrepancies between their own predictions, and those of the knuckle

head forecasters on the news for what the storm would accumulate. The general

consensus was leaning towards a minimum, and who wouldn’t side with the archaic

farmers who pass winter days hanging out drinking coffee and one upping each other

at the county Co-Op. After all, their calculations made accommodations for such

factors as the behavior of their cattle in the fields, the color of wooly worms, the acorn

production of their oaks and the authority on such matters, The Farmers Almanac.

Armed with advice good-humoredly aimed at the misplaced Southerner, and

another productive day completed, I headed for Reynoldsburg. Happy to check into

the clean and tolerably comfortable, outside entry room, the next item compelling me

was the use of my per diem. I experimented with a lamb curry at an Indian restaurant

located across from the library. I had passed it on the way to square my room away

and made a quick decision to try something new. You never know what you’re missing

if you never try it; this is true. However, with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, I almost

certainly could have abstained from the deliberate resolution. I did discover that I’d

rather have a piece of chicken fried steak, by far.

So the day is done. All tasks for the day have been accomplished. I have just

started to drift towards sleep when an alarm sounds in my mind. Remember the old

habits I inferred earlier? Number one on that list is procrastination. I did not prepare

my expense report, call register, and mileage statement that absolutely, without fail,

must be faxed in to corporate first thing in the morning before I leave the hotel and

start working. It just happens that I have a set appointment with a new account at

seven a.m. I have to get up and fill out the paperwork now, wonderful. Fine, begins the

dialogue with myself, let’s get it over with, Crawford. The old company van is parked

just outside the door to the room, three feet away. All you have to do is hit the remote

lock release right here, run out and get the clipboard and bring it in here. It can be

knocked in the head in about fifteen minutes. You don’t even have to get dressed, just

hurry so you can get back in the warm bed and sleep.

This is the point where my conversation with myself should have been a bit

more resistant because as soon as I used the remote and stepped outside into the

wind driven snow in my underwear and heard the room door click latched behind me,

I told the moron running his big mouth inside my head, “Here’s yer sign!”

What in the Jiminy Christmas am I going to do now? It must be thirty degrees

out here. I did not keep the keys in my hand so I can get in the vehicle but I

can’t start it to stay warm. I did not pick up the key to the room, so I can’t get

back in there. I am

about six good hours from home. No calling the family to the rescue. It’s

too cold to feign bravery for long. So, as the saying goes, “You might as well

pull up your big boy panties and get on with it.” That quote really helps the

visual, huh?

Beyond three two story buildings from where I shiver, is the free

standing office. There is about two inches of snow on the ground now, but if I

stay on the sidewalk my bare feet can stay out of most of it. The downside is

that puts me right at the windows and doors of a couple of dozen rooms. God

forbid someone spots me and thinks I’m a pervert of some sort. A trip to jail for

literally showing your ass in public would be the cherry. “Just jog like it’s

nothing unusual,” says the moronic head voice. I’ve got nothing better, so why

not? Made it! Now what’s next?

Well for Pete’s sake. Of course the attendant who checked me in

earlier is not there now. He has been replaced by a young girl. She looks like

she must be breaking curfew in order to work this shift. Great, the door to

come into the small vestibule is already locked. When I ring the bell to be

admitted she looks up. Yep, there’s the expression I expected: mortification.

“Start talking fast!” Moron shouts.

“Miss, please listen to me before you call security. I promise I’m not a

creep. I accidentally locked myself out of my room. I’m registered in room 302.

The vehicle tag number linked to that registration is blah, blah, blah.” (It’s been

too long to remember the real number.) “My name is... My home address is…

My mother’s maiden name is… I work for this company… Will you please let me

come in the vestibule out of the wind while you check my story and call

security?” It all dumped out like bullets from a rapid-fire machine gun of some

sort.

She did buzz me through the first door but not the second to the

registration desk. No surprise there, and I don’t blame her. Just as the door is

shutting behind me, security rolls up on his golf cart with clear plastic flaps

hanging down to serve as a shell against the elements. I thought that was as

likely to work versus the wind and snow as Bruiser was to actually secure

anything. He was about five foot three and, I’m going to guess, a hundred and

fifteen pounds. His face was red. I couldn’t decide if the hue was induced by

the weather conditions or his laughter. This just gets better by the second.

“How’s it hanging, Slick?” he said, with barely contained mirth.

14 15

9


“It isn’t,” says I. He can’t hold back the laughter any longer and belts out aloud

combination of honk, snort, hoot. Even with the present situation it is an amusing

sound that even causes me to chuckle.

“Sally Sue (whatever her name was) radioed out to tell me what was going

on. I think I probably got what information she wants about your vehicle and such

written down here. Just stay here and do some jumping jacks or something, I should

be back with a key in just a jiffy.” True to his word, Bruiser was back in just a minute. It

didn’t necessarily seem that fast as I stood there mortified, freezing, questioning how I

had managed to survive into adulthood. How was it I hadn’t succumbed to an untimely

end through some ill-advised stunt long ago? Was this to be an example of my mental

prowess? Surely I wasn’t that big of dingbat; that would make my brother right.

In that moment, as Bruiser handed the duplicate room key to me, as a young

girl snickered behind glass while on the phone, looking evermore Smurf-like, perhaps

permanently, it came to me. Was it serendipity? Not even close, but that’s the story of

my life. It may have been a more drastic situation than most, more inclined to gain my

attention by way of force; however, it was nevertheless in the same vein as the many

other occurrences in my life. Either this would be a verse in my anthem in tribute to

what an obtuse reject I am, or it could be a stanza in the irrefutable ode to Murphy's

Law that apparently I am destined to live. Eureka! I choose to adopt the latter

philosophy. That’s the story of my life.

Looking for Love

Tamara S. Meyers

The world is full of women looking for love; for ages they have been told, in the

words of Pat Benatar that “love is a battlefield,” yet by now they know that this

isn’t really the case. It’s been a very common belief among women that the

dating pool is a scary place. When in all actuality, with the exceptional caliber

of men out there, it is perplexing to see so many single women in society. The

most abundant place to find men with many chivalrous attitudes is in a local

pub; women have been frequenting these fine establishments in search of Mr.

Right for centuries. The most magnificent catch a woman could be privileged

to make would be a Mighty Max, although she would be just as lucky to date

Sleazy Steve or Drunken Dave. Whomever she may choose will be nothing less

than the epitome of an upstanding and model citizen. There will be nothing

standing in the way of her happiness now; she has found her prince to end this

fairy tale, and because of this, she will be a very happy woman.

The Mighty Max is a catch indeed, with the physical attributes of

nothing less than a god. Not to mention his perfect spray tan and glorious abs,

any woman would be sure that she had hit the gold mine. The sheer

determination of this man should be enough to woo the smartest of women. A

person may think Max is a cocky, self-centered individual, yet, oh how wrong

he or she would be. In all actuality Max is nothing more than a fun-loving

sports fan who would do anything for his woman. Well, as long as she

remembers her place as his sandwich engineer. A woman may think Max

sounds rude when he is with his friends, making bets on which woman they will

each be bringing home this evening. Yet she should be excited, for knowing

that this fine specimen of man finds her to his liking puts her in quite an

advantageous situation indeed.

On the other hand, if Max is not to a woman’s particular liking, she

should not despair; the second type of man found in the vast recesses of the

dating pool is a catch in his own right. Sleazy Steve is every self-respecting

woman’s dream. With his “Rico Suave’” good looks and the way he leers at her

across the bar, a woman should know that she will be in for quite a treat with

this exciting fellow. If a woman loves a man who smells like fresh Irish Spring,

then Steve is the guy for her. No one should underestimate the power of a

man who smells like he may have missed a step and fallen head first into a vat

full of cologne. She should not quickly dismiss him even if she doesn’t like that

his pickup line of “Don’t be so picky…I wasn’t” is off putting. If she lets that

diamond in the rough get away from her, there will be a slew of other

17 16


women ready to take their place on Steve’s now-free arm.

Last but surely not least, a woman may be introduced to the very best her

local pub has to offer. Drunken Dave is the life of the party, and everyone is his best

friend, whether they know it or not. One should not be alarmed if at one minute she is

dancing with a group of friends and out of nowhere, like a predator stalking his

momentary prey, Dave appears. He is harmless; a woman of the world must

understand that Dave’s breast grabbing is just his way of saying hello. It is also a

ritualistic tendency for Dave to be overly loud and belligerent, so much so that

somehow the frosty beer his new “friend” was enjoying has somehow, during his

introduction, become a new accessory to her little black dress. Just remember that

Dave could not hurt a fly. At this point he is just looking for a sweet girl to spend his

evening with. This very special time will be filled with nothing but intellectually

stimulating conversation about world politics and the slightest amount of vomiting.

What woman in her right mind could honestly pass up this amazing man? Dave is out

looking for the right type of woman to make him feel whole, or possibly someone to

clean last night’s vomit off his kitchen floor.

Women shouldn’t be afraid of the dating pool. With every “great man” out

there, they should be lining up ready to jump head first into the wonderful world of

dating. A woman should never let a little thing like self-respect stand in the way of her

overall happiness. Each and every one of the “53.4% of the single women in America”

should be eager to venture out to a local pub. She should try her hand at picking up her choice of Max, Steve, or Dave, and start the glorious beginning of her fairy tale

with her prince charming. Once she has accomplished this task, she will be thankful

that she didn’t let her prince slip through her fingers because of something so

insignificant as her own self-respect. So by now women everywhere should

understand that the seemingly terrifying world of dating is nothing more than an

exciting roller coaster, built for wonderful long-term commitment. Nothing scary or

mean about it, just a good, old-fashioned fairy tale in the making.

“Looking for Love” won honorable mention for creative writing in the 2010 South

College Writing Contest.

Cats

Tara Fleury

My favorite time of year is spring. Everything turns from the dull brown of

winter to green. Flowers bloom, splashing colors along the countryside. It is an

awakening of Walden proportions. Birds chirp, squirrels scurry up trees, bees

are seen buzzing around the flowering trees. It is a wonderful time of year.

The very best part, at least when I was younger, was experiencing the

renewal of life. At my grandmother’s house, spring meant new kittens being

born. It was always exciting to try to find them in their hiding places from

wood piles to moss by the chimney.

The mother cat always seemed to want to hide her offspring, and it

was my job to find them. I would watch the cat out of the corner of my eye

and try to follow her every move. She was very good at this cat and mouse (or

should I say human?) game and would lead me everywhere but to the prize I

was seeking. Sometimes she would just lie and sleep for what seemed like

hours. It was as if she was saying, “I am more patient than you are.”

It is at this point that I wonder what must go through that cat’s mind.

Does she instinctively know what I am trying to do? Does she think this is some

kind of game she is determined to win? I have often wondered if she says to

herself, “It’s only a stupid human. I’m smarter than she is on a good day.” In

these moments I wish cats could talk.

As the day goes on, that sleepy, sneaky cat will eventually have to go

feed her babies. She will try everything in her power to elude me. She will rise

from her resting place, stretch and yawn, then stretch and yawn again as if

testing me to see if I am paying attention. I most definitely am, but I act

nonchalant, and the cat gives me the pleasure of truly thinking she is taking the

bait. I can almost hear the cat saying with a huge Cheshire cat grin on her face,

“Gotcha!” as she goes out in the yard to chase a multitude of butterflies that

have caught her attention. She will run and jump and look back at me and flick

her tail. I would almost swear that cat was laughing at me.

I would eventually find those kittens, and it would always amaze me

where their hiding places were. Some would be buried deep in a pocket of hay.

One mother cat always liked for my papaw to leave the windows down in his

truck. She thought the truck cab was a wonderful hiding place. He did not, of

course. Another cat thought the bed of a fertilizer truck would make a good

nursery for her babies. Not a good idea!

This particular cat was a young mother and she definitely made a bad

decision with that fertilizer truck bed. The chemicals did not mix well with the

18 19


newborns’ delicate immune systems, and they became very sick much like a human

baby whose mother makes the decision to expose her baby to crack cocaine or meth.

The babies never really get a good start, and some may die. Some of these kittens did

die from the exposure to the chemicals, and it’s always sad to find the ones who didn’t

make it. As I found these and removed them from their polluted home, I was

saddened by death.

Death has always been hard to accept, especially in the very young. It

doesn’t matter if it is human or animal. I reflected on this while carrying this kitten to

its final resting place. It made me realize that life is precious and we should do

everything possible to preserve it. All of a sudden, I felt movement in my hands and

looked down. What I thought was dead had only been sleeping a deep sleep. Life had

been restored to this tiny kitten. I like to think I had a hand in its survival even though

I know it was probably more divine intervention. It gave me a good feeling to know

that sometimes good things in life just happen without any explanation and when we

least expect it.

20

The World As I Know It Is Changing

Regina Collins

The world as I know it is changing. Before me stands a young

woman. No, a child. A beautiful, young lady. Not just beautiful, but strikingly

beautiful. Some people might think I’m biased; well, I am. This is my baby girl,

after all. This young lady, whose dark, brown hair is pulled up in a ponytail with

ringlets of curls and side swept bangs that are pinned to the side, is my little

girl. As my teenage daughter is getting ready for her boyfriend’s senior prom, I

sit staring at her as if for the first time.

As I’m trying to process this transformation, she turns her head to

look at me; I notice that glitter has been sprayed in her hair. In my mind’s eye, I

can still see a little two-year old with pigtails, bouncing through the house. I

feel like crying, but I think better of it. This isn’t about me – it’s her day. I find

myself repeating this throughout the hours that follow.

She asks me if I will button her dress. They’re not really buttons;

they’re hooks. The hooks are located on the side, under her left arm. With

some work and some aggravation I finally get them to stay together. As I back

away from her to look, she spins around to show off her dress. Long and

elegant, the dress has one sequined strap that goes over the right shoulder.

The silver sequins continue around her back, under her left arm, across the top

of her dress and up the strap. The top, in front, has a sideways pleat and then a

band of sequins under her chest. The lower back of the dress is open, but not

so much that I would worry. As for the color, she says it’s orange and I say

coral, so, I guess we’ll call it orange-coral. She is breathtaking. In this instance,

breathtaking is not just a figure of speech, for I feel like I quit breathing for a

split second.

In my mind I go back to my little two-year old. She’s wearing a pink

costume dress with a bejeweled tiara. “Look, Mommy, I’m a princess!” she says

as she comes into the room. She is my beautiful little princess. I hear her asking

me to check her hair and makeup, so I force myself back into the present. I look

at her and for the first time I notice that she has on makeup. Her beautiful,

brown eyes are made even more so with black eyeliner and mascara. Very little

eye shadow and blush give her a natural, radiant glow. The clear lip-gloss pulls

the look together. Before me stands my princess. I tell my woman-child she is

absolutely beautiful and leave the room to see if her date has arrived.

I hear the dogs barking as he comes up the sidewalk to the porch and

then on to the door. I let him in and tell him to have a seat. He looks

handsome, but for some reason I don’t know if I like him. About that time

21


my little girl walks in the room. Since I’m still looking at him I notice the look on his

face. He looks like a kid in a candy store, grinning from ear to ear. I smile and wish that

I had caught his expression on video. We go outside to take some pictures. My sister-

in-law has them pose for various shots, one of which causes a brief moment of panic

to start inside of me. She looks at him. Not just at him, but she looks deep into his

eyes. I know that look and I feel sick. As my sis-in-law continues to snap, snap, snap

away with her camera, I want to rewind time. I want to go back to my little baby

waking me up on Saturday morning with an angelic voice saying, “Good morning

Mommy, it’s bright and shiny!” but I can’t. I can’t go back, because the image of her

looking into his eyes keeps playing over and over in my mind like a broken record.

My mother-in-law says that it’s time to go, because she has offered to drive

them. Everyone starts walking towards the car; everyone except me. I seem to be

frozen. I stand as still as a statue, watching, but not moving. I mentally force myself to

move. They are getting in the car so I say, “Bye! I love you! Have fun!” Have fun? A

part of me doesn’t mean this. She says, “Bye Mom!” She said Mom, not Mommy? I

can’t breathe. As they drive away, I fight the urge to chase them, to make her stay. I

take a deep breath, as if for the first time, then turn around and start towards the

house. A tear escapes my eye. Life as I know it has changed, and there’s nothing I can

do.

That Old Oak Tree

Stacy Taylor

I love that big old oak tree. It sits on the front right property corner towering

over the fence. Sometimes it looks as though the fence is trying to contain the

giant brown trunk that the limbs and leaves sit upon. The treetop gives the

impression of an enormous broccoli floret in the summer when it’s full of life. I

estimate the old oak to be between forty and fifty years old; therefore, the

trunk does have some wear on it. It has some bark missing; a couple of

knotholes and evidence of woodpeckers making themselves comfortable.

There is moss growing around the bottom and in some places, particularly

where the large roots are exposed, the grass is scarce, almost patchy to the

naked eye.

In the hot months of the year, my tree provides a generous amount

of shade to relax and seek shelter from the sun. It is most beautiful to me

when it’s full, providing the shade, and there are birds atop it chirping their

hearts out. The aroma of warm bark and the leafy smell it sends out is

refreshing. It’s as if the tree is looking down on me telling me it’s all right to

approach and sit beneath it. It is these times that I spread the blanket, prop my

head on the trunk, and look up, admiring the oak’s beauty.

Sometimes I look out at night and recognize a raccoon scurrying

around the bottom of the trunk. From time to time that raccoon will be

climbing up the tree; I’m sure there appears to be no end to this massive log.

My tree seems to be a haven for several species: birds, cats, and raccoons.

They take stock in its safety and comfort, being shielded from the elements and

stalkers.

On a windy day my tree is truly unimaginable. The limbs will move up

and down, from side to side with leaves rustling about, such a wonderful sight

and sound. When it has rained or maybe a heavy dew has set, I can see the

shiny drops of water puddling up on the leaves. This display makes me want to

go over and run my hands across the leaves. The water resting on the green

resembles shiny velvet. When the raindrops fall on the ground I can hear the

“plup” of the water hitting the patchy spots under the tree around the roots.

Along comes fall, and my tree starts to change its colors. There are

yellow, gold, red, and brown that make it so appealing and lively. As the

weather turns colder, the leaves will begin to loosely sway to the ground. They

form a circle around the trunk as if they are trying not to crowd the body of the

tree. Eventually the big old oak tree will lose all its leaves and glory; it will be

there through the cold as naked as a tree can get. Its body, the trunk, will still

be there, as strong and tall as ever, but the limbs will be empty and waiting

22 23


for spring to come back around.

I peer out the window and see inches of snow clinging to the oak. It’s a most

beautiful sight, yet also sad. It appears cold, lonely, and in need of those many species

to come lurking around it again. While the tree provides comfort and safety to so

many things, there is nothing that can do that for my tree in the winter. These are

cycles the old oak must go through, taking it from glorious and full to lonely and bare.

Everything has to go through various cycles in life. Some are glorious and some are

barren. But all are necessary for growth and endurance.

A Law in Sheep’s Clothing

Staci L. Garner

In a crowded classroom, a single child sits alone, confused by the material that

is being taught before them. A teacher, overwhelmed by the impossible goal

she must achieve, proceeds to the next lesson, leaving the confused child alone

in the dark. This is a sad reality that happens every day in America’s public

schools. Teachers are forced to fly quickly through lessons, leaving those

children who don’t understand behind. Many people blame America’s

teachers, saying that it’s the teacher who is responsible for delivering a

sufficient education to students in public schools. But the disturbing truth is

that a wolf hides in the flock of sheep, appearing to be a savior in the world of

education. The No Child Left Behind Act was supposed to reform America’s

schools but in turn could be a cause to the rising number of failing schools

across the nation.

The No Child Left Behind Act, a revision of the Elementary and

Secondary Education Act of 1965, was born into law on January 8, 2002.

President George W. Bush made the 670-page dream into a reality, proposing

that public schools would suffer no more. The No Child Left Behind Act

promised a better, brighter future for children in grades 3-8 who attend public

schools. The law implemented that reading and math scores would be of vital

importance. It also mandated requirements that schools had to improve

teachers, classrooms, and programs for parent involvement. State

accountability measurements were set in place for annual test reviews for the

benefit of positive educational growth. Teachers’ degree requirements were

set at an all-time high, some schools requiring two degrees to be able to teach

elementary school children. A focus was turned on underprivileged

demographics, such as indigent families, non-English speaking students, and

children with disabilities. More beneficial options were laid out for parents,

allowing them to place children in more capable schools as long as the school

was in the same district. The No Child Left Behind Act laid forth the stepping

stones that America felt would create a fountain of youth in public school

education.

The No Child Left Behind Act was positioned to restore the

educational world back to health, but instead it created some barriers that

could be contributing to the continued downfall of testing scores. Gone are the

days of an education rich in all subjects, feeding the mind in wide varieties of

science and history with added physical development. Audrey Amrein-

Beardsley, a school administrator (2008), compares the role that the

24 25


students play to a game of “Jeopardy” by stating, “Students in America’s public schools

are contestants trapped in jeopardy as they try to answer questions properly to avoid

even more jeopardy. And the viewers are, too often, naïve members of the American

public.” The No Child Left Behind Act could be a cause of the deteriorating focus from

those areas of study. With the main focus being on reading and math scores, teachers

are forced to spend most of lecture time deliberating on the material covered for good

test scores. Another problem is states are now being underfunded but are forced to

comply with the guidelines of the No Child Left Behind Act, or they could be at risk for

a loss in federal funding. This has created major budget cuts in books, field trips, and

school supplies. Teachers have been converted into unhappy employees trapped in a

prison of regulations. The teacher qualification ladder has been set too high to obtain

a fair number of teachers. This has created problems with employing quality teachers,

causing schools to be short staffed. Some qualified teachers are forced into

transferring to failing schools to help reconstruct exceptional progress. Students are

being left behind, now more than ever, in certain areas of study due to teachers

having to progress at a faster rate to meet the measured time frame to learn the

material presented.

Government officials are beginning to see the downfall of the Act as well.

During the conference, Duncan states, “But the biggest problem with the No Child Left

Behind is that it doesn’t encourage high learning standards…In fact it inadvertently

encourages states to lower them. The effect is that we are lying to children and

parents by telling kids they are succeeding when they are not” (2009). With only four

years left to reach the goal set by this law, America’s public schools are having a hard

time reaching nationwide academic achievement.

The future of the No Child Left Behind Act should be revision. This law needs

to be reevaluated and changed. President Barack Obama has created a blueprint to

help make some much-needed adjustments to the No Child Left Behind Act. Sam

Dillon, in The New York Times, explains a brief overview of the main focus of Obama’s

Reform on Education: “The administration would replace the law’s pass-fail school

grading system with one that would measure individual students’ academic growth

and judge schools based not on test scores alone but also on indicators like pupil

attendance, graduation rates, and learning climate” (2010). This plan would have a

college readiness goal that would need to be reached by the year 2020. This reform

could be positive foundation for the world of academics. Anne C. Lewis, a national

policy education writer, gives her views on policy making in education by stating,

“The corruption of learning in this country could be stopped if policy makers halt the

irrational accountability requirements…Policy makers need to work along with

researchers and the public in fashioning testing and accountability systems that reflect

agreed upon values about what students should know and be able to do and

encourage excellent teaching.”

Other areas need to be reviewed as well. While learning plays a big role in

academic success, there are other factors that could indicate why a child is “left

behind” such as nutrition, lack of health care, and inadequate housing. A

problem at role same, and each child is different. Instead of focusing on

nationwide achievement, maybe individual programs should be considered

also. Individualized learning plans should be created and periodically

evaluated. There are many areas that need to be examined, and only then will

the public school system get the needed relief it longs for.

The No Child Left Behind Act says that no child shall be left behind.

The horrible truth that lies in the matter is that there are children left behind

every day. To leave one child behind is to say that the No Child Left Behind law

has failed its sole purpose. These are the children of tomorrow, the future

educators and doctors. To fail these precious children is to fail America’s

literacy as a whole. In a country of freedom and wealth, the education

standard here is suffering and a change must take place. The No Child Left

Behind Act is a law focused on evaluation and achievement, and now is the

time for that law to be evaluated itself. No longer can this law hide behind a

mountain of failing test scores. The solution is clear as sunlight: reform the No

Child Left Behind Act now.

“A Law in Sheep’s Clothing” won second place in academic writing in the 2010

South College Writing Contest.

26

27


Review of Waiting for Superman

Jennifer Chesney

Waiting for Superman, written by Davis Guggenheim and Bill Kimball, is a

documentary about the failing public school system in America today, and how

millions of children are not being offered the best education due to a broken system

and lack of funding for thousands of school systems across the nation. According to

Mr. Guggenheim, our public schools are failing our children today and the number of

high school dropouts is drastically increasing, due to the broken system that allows

teachers to continue teaching even when their superiors know they are not effective

teachers. This is allowed due to something called tenure, which means once a teacher

has achieved it they have jobs for life regardless of whether they are effective teachers

or poor teachers. He begins narrating the film about how bad this problem is as he

drives past three public schools to take his children to a private school.

As Mr. Guggenheim states, America once had the best education system in

the world, but now we have fallen far behind many other countries, and our children

are the ones suffering the consequences. Guggenheim shadows five children the film

whose dreams and hopes of getting a great education, something that was once taken

for granted, is now nearly impossible for them to achieve as well as thousands of

others just like them. Guggenheim not only shadows these children, he also interviews

several education reformers and other people who want to save education system and

make sure all children are given every opportunity to get the education they deserve.

As we see in the film the only chance for some of these children to achieve that

education is “play the lottery.” There have been many charter schools that have

opened in many areas where the worst failing schools are. These schools are not part

of the public school system, and they have their own education reform in order to get

these children where they need to be in education. But space is limited in these

schools and to apply to get in the parents of these children enter their names in a

drawing. There may be five hundred applicants trying to get in a charter school that

will only be accepting twenty-five children. Most of these children have only one

chance at getting into a charter school.

Guggenheim interviews several prominent people in the film such as Bill

Gates, who is funding a foundation to improve how schools select, train, and reward

teachers. Geoffrey Canada, who leads the Harlem Children’s Gates, is funding a

foundation to improve how schools select, train, and reward teachers. Geoffrey

Canada who leads the Harlem Children’s Zone, which is proving that children who may

be from some of the most challenging backgrounds can learn just as well as children

from suburban areas. Michelle Rhee, Chancellor for the Washington, D.C., school

system, is one of the most controversial educators in the film. She challenges

the tradition of how the system has worked and sets out to reform how the system

is

is working. She also does what many said she could not: She fires over one

hundred and fifty teachers in her district because of ineffective teaching and

even fires the principal at her own children’s school. Guggenheim also

interviews Randi Weingarten, who heads the American Federation of Teachers.

Also interviewed are Eric Schartz who is the creator of Citizen Schools

movement and Eric Haunushek, an education reporter who has followed and

documented the impact that good teachers have on children and how when

they have good support they will achieve more.

“Review of Waiting for Superman” won third place in academic writing in the

2010 South College Writing Contest.

28 29


Lovers (Good-bye Once and For All)

Heather Harris

I will always remember the day we first met

A life changing moment I shall never forget.

I had searched for love for years on end

When I finally found you, you became my family, lover and friend.

You rushed through my veins with each beat of my heart;

From that moment, I knew we would never be apart.

First you were fun, just setting the trap,

Never knew where the road would lead, for you held the map.

I’d see you occasionally; we were just having fun

Starting a new relationship, from you I never thought I’d run.

Then you became an obsession, poisoning my mind and soul,

Making me crave and need you; giving you total control.

The years passed by and it became worse,

Many times my ride should have ended in a long black hearse.

But you were too wise, keeping me under your thumb.

That was your plan; it’s in your nature to make me succumb.

It started out from emptiness for I felt so sad,

Growing into a necessity as you were driving me mad.

Never did I imagine, as a youth, bright as the sun

That I’d end up like this, from my own life trying to run.

I struggled for years to rid my life of you

But it never failed that it was you I’d run to.

I hated you with a passion as strong as the love I first felt.

I honestly believed this was the “hand I was dealt”.

Until I hit bottom, lower than any before;

Realizing I was knocking on death’s front door.

The game was now over, lies replaced by the old, hard fact

That everyone already knew I was slowly dying and I should give up the act.

So now you are gone and finally I am glad;

Over the mourning period and no longer sad.

My days are now sunny and my family now proud

And no longer do I feel covered by death’s heavy shroud.

For I’ve begun to recover from my love affair with you,

All of those years wasted on a love so untrue.

You broke my spirit, my mind and my heart

Now I’m rebuilding them all, one at a time, shown where to start.

So I bid you farewell, good riddance and no love.

For now my life is run, not by you, but with guidance from above.

The 21st

Century Renaissance Man

Brett Jones

Bartenders have always been a social icon. From Tom Cruise in

“Cocktail” to Ted Danson in “Cheers,” a bartender has always been a glorious

job for people to want to have. It seems like it is nothing but good times and

good fun. In fact, Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary simply defines a

bartender as “a person who serves drinks at a bar.” However, the job of a

bartender is so much more than good times; it is a profession that takes a

multitude of talents and years to perfect. A good bartender can be defined as

a good friend, a matchmaker, a social icon, and even a psychologist.

Having been a bartender for nearly twenty one years, I know the

bartending profession inside and out, and it is not a job for just anyone. A

bartender is always on stage when at work, and is constantly performing for

the public. Like any popular actor, a bartender cannot have an off night

because he is always in the eye of the public, and it is that public opinion that

keeps him employed. As stated in a recent case study, “The bar has six work

stations and the expected revenue of each of the club’s eight bartenders

generates varies from work station to work station and they will take care of

950 customers a night.” A good bartender will encounter countless people in

his career and can influence people in various ways such a renaissance man of

the 17th

century.

Bartenders need to be good friends to their customers and regulars.

After all, people usually don’t go to a bar because of the drinks and

atmosphere, they go because there is a good barkeep there. As Sonya

Moore(2011) states, “And while not all bars can employ bartenders who can

whip up off-menu drinks, it’s also important to remember that, in a ‘service’

industry, how a drink is served often can be as important as what goes in it.”

Bartenders make their living off regulars by becoming their friends. They get

to know their regulars and what is going on in their lives. So when a regular

goes to see his favorite bartender it is like he is just stopping by at his house

for some companionship. Many bartenders will be invited to their regulars’

houses for picnics or for holiday gatherings must as any family member.

Regulars will also bring their favorite bartender gifts around the holidays or on

their birthdays.

Additionally, a good bartender can make a great matchmaker.

Local hangouts may not be the best place to meet a mate, but people still do it

anyway. And what better way for a shy bachelor to hit on the pretty girl he’s

been ogling for the last three months than to send her a drink, through the

bartender of course. They can break the ice, introduce people, or even

30 31


build someone up. An egotistical business man could bring a woman to his local

watering hole and his bartender can treat him like someone really important,

therefore making him look even better than he is. Then the business man has to leave

a generous tip to show his kind nature to his date. More so, a bartender can help keep

some couples apart that would not get along, saving those prospective couples the

trouble of a bad relationship because they know all about the people sitting at their

bar and have seen their true colors. As Rebecca Milzoff (2011) states, “Not

surprisingly, the guys who pour you shots of truth serum hear a lot.”

Furthermore, bartenders are local and social icons. The better a bartender

is, the more popular they are, the more business they get, and the more money they

make. Some bartenders can even be social elitists where they feel that only some

people even deserve their attention at a bar. As one bartender said in a local survey,

“The person who thinks he’s the only guy at the bar who needs a drink or people who

snap their fingers” (“What the Bartender Knows,” 2009) may not get much notice from

the bartender.

Lastly, a bartender is the great American psychologist and only at the

expense of a bar tab and a person’s liver; he is not nearly as expensive as a real

psychologist. People have always gone to a bartender for their troubles. Bartenders

live in peoples troubles whether they like it or not. Just as a psychologist, they listen to

people’s mundane problems on a daily basis and try to offer up friendly advice.

However, a bartender’s advice will be a little more street savvy. They will also be a

little more up front and blunt about the situation, which is probably what most people

don’t want to hear, but need to hear. A lot of times people need a drink to calm down

from a stressful situation, or may feel like doing something stupid and it is the job of

a bartender to talk them out of making a mistake. Sonya Moore also states that “They

observed that today the shift was to teaching bartenders how to be bartenders, as

opposed to making intricate drinks” (Moore, 2011).

Many people who go out to eat will order dinner and they may not even

order an alcoholic drink. They know that the bar is where they are going to get the

best service. Most men like to sit at the bar with their wives because they have

someone else to talk to, or they can just stare at the 64 inch plasma television and act

as though they are listening. This can also be an advantage to the female because she

has someone else to talk to who is actually going to listen as opposed to the wall of a

husband that she is used to. Leonardo da Vinci is recognized as the world’s original

renaissance man. He was into everything from astronomy, medicine, inventions,

music, math, and the arts just to name a few, and if he were alive today he would

make a great bartender. He could connect with anyone at his bar in an instant about

anything, and that is ultimately what bartending is all about, making connections.

Modern barkeeps are anything but simple drink pourers. If that is all it took to keep

people happy, they would have been replaced by robots or machines by now.

Roles of the United States Army

Allan Williams

According to the 2010 census, there are over three hundred eight

million people who call the United States home. Protection of these citizens

and their property are the primary goal of the United States military. With

over one million service members and civilian employees spread over three

major branches, the Department of Defense (DoD) is the nation’s largest

single employer. Individually, each military branch is incapable of fulfilling the

nation’s commitment to citizens; however, it is important to understand how

each branch’s unique qualities solidify the military as a whole.

The United States Army was founded on June 14, 1775 in order to

secure the nation’s independence from England during the Revolutionary

War. With five hundred one thousand personnel, the Army is the nation’s

largest military branch, and is primarily responsible for securing land-based

objectives. To complete its mission, the Army utilizes highly-trained ground

forces supplemented with various heavy armored equipment and close-in air

support. The men and women of the National Guard, a state organized

reserve unit, supplement the U.S. Army during times of war or crisis.

The United States Navy was founded on October 13, 1775, in hopes

of deterring the superior English naval forces during the Revolutionary War.

According to Michael A. Palmer, “the Continental navy's ships were to raid

commerce and attack the transports that supplied British forces in North

America.” Today, the Navy employs 202,000 sailors to maintain and secure

maritime traffic lanes on the high seas. Their mission also includes conducting

amphibious landings under hostile fire by using the United States Marine

Corp, a subsidy force within the Navy. In order to sustain the largest fleet in

the world, the Navy maintains the largest operating budget of all the armed

forces. During times of war or disaster, the Navy can utilize its reserve

component and the Coast Guard.

Although they are not a formal branch of the military, The United

States Marine Corp is considered the premier amphibious assault unit in the

world. The Marine Corps falls under the operating umbrella of the U.S. Navy.

According to Allan Millet, “the Marines were formed by a resolution of the

continental congress on November 10, 1775 and were modeled from the

British Royal Marines.” Originally the corps was founded to protect naval

vessels and their crew during close-in ship-to-ship warfare and boarding

parties. Today, the Marine Corps works closely with the Navy in providing

assaults on beach heads and maintaining supply lines originating from the

ocean.

32

33


4

military provides an unparalleled level of mobility and precision not found anywhere

else on earth; however, no branch can function solely by itself. It requires the talents

of each branch to effectively protect this country’s interests and uphold the rights

granted to us by the Constitution. As the social climate around the world changes, the

talents of our armed forces will continue to be tested. Only together can they protect

our beloved nation.

34

0

35

7


Expressions

Documents