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       Ho arrived in Kuwait two years ago to do documentary work for the U.S. Army. However, for safety concerns, she was confined within the three-story camp. It wasn't until meal time that Ho remembered she was actually in Kuwait. The sand in her food, and the mud on her colleagues' boots brought the freshness of the world outside the camp into the room full of electronic devices. She wanted to go across the border to Iraq. She wasn't just curious. She was prepared to fight with the rest of the army.

 

       "Can you take me as a shooter?" Ho asked her commanding officer. The answer was no.

 

No again. Ho couldn't remember how many times people have said "no" to her aspirations in life. However, she has proved them wrong, because she succeeded in one thing that everyone had said "no" to--joining the army.

 

Dawn Ho was born in a small rural village in Liuzhou, China, in 1980. Growing up with her grandma instead of her parents, who had to work in the rice field and construction sites all day, Ho dreamed of a family of her own, whom she could protect. TV babysat her. Ho especially loved TV shows about police solving crimes, and soldiers battling on the fields, because when she fully indulged herself into the TV, she could feel the strength of those soldiers. Ho started looking up to those mighty people as role models, dreaming that one day she would be as strong.

                                                                                                                                  

However, all her passion and preparations were in vain. All five military academies that Ho applied to turned her down. Ho was not even five feet tall, and weighted less than 100 pounds at the time. Ho remembered one recruitment officer told her to give up, unless she grew another five inches in one year.

 

It seemed like this put an end to Ho's dream. Ho's family eventually immigrated to the U.S.; this threw light upon her dream again. Ho spent her 18th birthday on the flight to the U.S., wishing to join the army. This wish took six difficult years to finally come true.

 

When Ho landed, she could only say a few words such as "thank you" and "sorry". As an adult, Ho had to learn everything like a kid -- English, making friends, food, driving and culture. Sitting in a classroom full of 13-year-old students, Ho felt behind and frustrated. Besides school, Ho had to take care of her parents, who barely spoke English.

 

"That time was extremely difficult," Ho said, "But I enjoyed it, because I could finally protect my family. It also helped me to be independent, responsible and trustful, which is what a soldier needs."

 

After four years of high school in Newton, and two years in Hutchinson Community College, Ho thought she was finally prepared. But when a U.S. Army recruitment officer asked her if she was sure she wanted to serve for the U.S. Army, she hesitated.

 

This time it was a choice of her own. Ho just knew she wanted to be a soldier, she never thought that serving the U.S. Army could turn her homeland and people into possible enemies. The identity struggle within her finally exploded.

 

Ho often wondered who she really was for the past six years. Moving to different cities in China, and eventually to the U.S. cut off the consistency in the growth of her identity. Ho only finished junior high in China, and did her senior high and college in the U.S., she wasn't an expert in either language.  She was also not sure what culture to call hers. She was torned between the two, and didn't know what was best for her. She finally came to realize external factors didn't matter, only what she dreamed of defineded who she really was.

 

 

Ho survived the nine-week basic training, where she had to get up in the middle of the night, and run for three miles; or throw up the whole day after training in the gas chamber.

 

"Some people cussed, some people hated it, but I never did. I always knew that I was so close, if I could make it through," Ho said "Then I can be a soldier."

 

        After all those years of constant role changes, from a Chinese native to an American citizen; from a girl who played with Barbie dolls to the girl who took care of the entire family; from the girl who loved fashion to the girl in a plain army uniform, Ho was happy she found the constant in life--being a soldier. 

 

        "I don't see myself as a Chinese or as an American, I am a soldier. That's who I am." Ho said.

 

        Ho's dream didn't stop there; she still wants to go to Iraq as a shooter.

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The hue of the autumn leaves descend to the ground as the approaching winds of the coming season blows them away. Nature is taking its course and Carey Maynard-Moody stands in awe of it.

It's no secret that nature and the environment is a major concern for Carey.

            "She's quite passionate about it [her advocacy for nature]," says Steven Maynard-Moody, her husband of 35 years.

            As a member of Mayor Mike Dever's Climate Protection Task Force and the local chapter of the Sierra Club, Carey is vocal in bringing the concerns of the environment to the forefront. It all boils down to one thing: her love for the wilderness.

Since spending her summers outdoors in Northern Michigan as a child, Carey ventured west to the Sierra Mountains in 1964, and her love for the wilderness grew stronger.

"The more time I spent outdoors, the more wild I became," says Carey.

However, after having children in 1979, her life in the wilderness went dormant because of her role as a mother.

She joined the Sierra Club in 1989 when she saw wilderness was being threatened. Regardless, she didn't become more active until the kids grew older and more time became available to advocate for the environment.

In 1999, Carey volunteered to survey land close to the town of Moab, Utah. She describes the job as being a "sleuth," looking for evidence of misuse to the land. It was this moment that would pave the way for the direction she would embark on.  

After she found evidence of misuse to the land, the Sierra Club was grooming her to lead the charge. Not knowing extensively how the government and election process operates, she began to educate herself with the knowledge. She began to participate in campaigns and take on a more active role. She admits the Sierra Club grooming her only fueled her desire to change the environment.

Whether it's participating in a task force whose goal is to reduce 80 percent in gas emissions by 2050, advocating for mass public transportation for the Northern Flyer Alliance by ultimately connecting passenger rails from Texas to Newton, Kan. or trying to restore the old depot at 7^th and New York streets hoping that one day, the passenger rails will go all the way through Lawrence, Carey has only gotten more active as the years have passed.

As a member of the mayor's Climate Protection Task Force, Carey is vital to the group's goals.

"Carey brings a perspective that is unique because of her experience with the environment, her solid viewpoints and grassroots," Dever says.

            Carey knows that convincing the downturn of the environment is a battle because people don't want to change their lifestyles. However, she insists that civilization can't exist without natural resources and that those lifestyles must change.

Carey knows this change has to be reflected in her life as well. She only drives the car when absolutely necessary and to reach her destinations locally, she rides her bike.

            Carey's living room doesn't have a television set and holds a total of three lamps. She doesn't even use a dryer; she dries her laundry on a clothesline. Energy efficiency is paramount in her home.

                "To walk the talk is important to me."

By Adam Samson

Frank DeSalvo usually gets up at the same time every morning, does a few exercises or light weights, has breakfast and gets into work. Usually he has an 8 a.m.-5 p.m. workday and he sets aside his lunch break for an hour of swimming at Robinson Pool.

With some structure of a daily schedule, it is surprising at how unanticipated events have affected DeSalvo and his normal routine. If one phrase could sum up DeSalvo, it would be "unexpected change."

"It wasn't like I was directly headed for this position and place," DeSalvo said. "Clearly it was by accident in a lot of ways."

He never thought much about leaving southwestern Pennsylvania, much less living in the middle of America in Kansas.  Four years of high school and DeSalvo didn't have any career direction.  He never had thoughts about his current field and position in the university setting and only stumbled upon his major because it had the most electives available.  It took an injury for him to stumble upon Robinson Pool and take up swimming for his daily exercise.

Growing up Frank DeSalvo hardly ever left his county. The only time he left the county was if he was ill and needed to get health care in the nearest major city.

After 23 years in southwestern Pennsylvania, he left his home state behind to get a masters degree.  Pennsylvania was ancient history. DeSalvo spent two years getting his masters in Knoxville, Tenn., four years in northern Maine, four in Austin, Texas, eight in Fayetteville, Ark., and finally settled in Lawrence nearly 18 years ago.

DeSalvo's parents, and grandparents who were Italian immigrants, always stressed that he had to do well in school.  On top of that, DeSalvo's father was a coal-miner and that meant there was no margin for error.  Education was important to his family and they stressed that education is something no one could take away from him, so he need not screw around.

DeSalvo didn't know what he wanted to do with his life after high school though.

"My dad gave me a choice: I could go to college or I could die," DeSalvo said.  "So I went to college, but my heart wasn't really in it."

While attending St. Francis College (Pa.), DeSalvo chose Sociology for his undergraduate degree.  It was during his senior year that he had a come-to-realization moment.  Out of pure luck, DeSalvo enrolled in a social work class where the teacher made such an impression on him that he decided he wanted to go into the social work and mental health field.

DeSalvo and his wife were ready for change and were both looking for master's degrees in their respective fields.  The choice led them to Tennessee and not too long after they completed their master's degrees, an unexpected life change occurred for DeSalvo.

The death of his father came as he had a sudden heart attack one sudden afternoon.  DeSalvo admired what his father accomplished in life and saw him as a hero.

"He was just a simple coal miner and it wasn't that he made a lot of money or had high status," DeSalvo said.  "But his character, work ethic, and respect for people are standards that I try to aspire to today."

DeSalvo's father never met his two daughters, as his first daughter was born a year after his death.  He always assumed he would have a lot more time with his father.

"His sudden death drove home the idea that every day counts and to treat people well because you never know when you're going to be going out," DeSalvo said.

As soon as he got his Ph.D., from the University of Texas-Austin, he searched for a job on a college campus and landed one at the University of Arkansas.  DeSalvo worked with the Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS) while at Arkansas for eight years and found himself taking an unexpected move west to Kansas.

"The interesting deal is that I wasn't looking to move at all," DeSalvo said.  "I was quite happy in Arkansas and everything was going great there."

However, one of DeSalvo's colleagues in student affairs at Arkansas secured a job at KU and kept in touch.  DeSalvo opened letters reading about how great a place it was at KU and how KU was a good university.

"I said, I'm happy for ya and all that, but I didn't really worry about it," DeSalvo said.

His colleague then informed him of a position with CAPS similar to the position he had at Arkansas.  The position was uniquely structured and DeSalvo thought it sounded like an interesting opportunity to do it all over again in a different college atmosphere.

"It's like when you're the first one to do something and say, boy if I could do this over again, I'd do this or that," DeSalvo said.  "Well, here was my chance."

So DeSalvo applied and KU selected him for the Director of CAPS position.  Once again, unpredictably, a big change came about.  DeSalvo's transition from Director of CAPS to Associate Vice Provost wasn't planned either.

In 2005, the then Dean of Students left his position in the middle of the year and DeSalvo was asked to serve as the interim Dean of Students for the remaining academic year until they could fill the position.  The Dean of Students position then folded into a department with three Associate Vice Provosts.

After being offered one of the Associate Vice Provost slots when it was unfilled, DeSalvo passed on the opportunity and returned as Director of CAPS.  He was so sure that he wanted to serve on the search committee so that he would be out of the running for the Associate Vice Provost position.  After the position was filled, one of the other two vice provosts got their dream job and vacated the position.

"During that time where I was so forcefully uninterested in the position, my wife died and I needed a big change, an so when I was asked again for kicks, I said actually I would like to talk about it and now I'm here in my position," DeSalvo said.  "Not really planned at all."

In 2005, DeSalvo became one of three Associate Vice Provosts.  That year also marked the death of his wife.  This was another unexpected change for DeSalvo.  Seven years before that, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  She had it licked for three and a half years, but it came back.

"Something I never envisioned a position I would be in would be widower and having to deal with the changes that take place when a person fights cancer," DeSalvo said.  "Also to be in a position being the only parent for my two girls is another accident that I never imagined.

In 1991, when DeSalvo arrived on the KU campus, he was physically active and played racquetball often.  One afternoon a group of handball players recruited him to play because they were lacking in numbers.  DeSalvo started playing with these handball players in February and at the end of May, he had blew out hit Achilles Tendon.

That summer DeSalvo was in a cast for 11 weeks and recovered quickly, but the words from the orthopedist were disheartening and relieving in both aspects.

"The orthopedist said 'you're done as far as court sports go' and 'by the way, swimming would be nice rehab for you,'" DeSalvo said.

DeSalvo knew how to swim, but it had been 15-20 years since he had been in the water.  Seventeen years later and DeSalvo is still paddling through the water at Robinson Pool.

Even with DeSalvo's busy schedule, he sees swimming as a priority in his daily routine and has been able to fit in an hour each weekday to exercise.

"The better shape I'm in, the more I can go and the nature of my job, is that there are a lot of days where it requires a lot of activity for a long period of time and I haven't run out of gas," DeSalvo said. "I contribute that to my physical fitness."

Swimming is just one part of DeSalvo's daily routine that remains static and doesn't seem to be taking any unexpected twists in the near future.

Video games are not given the prestige of sports, or the intellectual respect of games like chess.

But professional gamers make thousands of dollars when they win.

"If anyone thinks gaming doesn't do anything for people I guess they're wrong. It's done a lot for me. I've talked to a lot of little kids who look up to me and ask me how to get past that parent barrier. A lot of parents are like why are you playing games so much?" Leland Jones III, captain of team mobdeep, said.

Jones plays video games professionally. He's one of the top players in the country of Halo 3, a first person-shooter on Microsoft's Xbox 360. His team consists of four players he has selected himself. In tournaments teams battle 15 minutes for the highest kill count.

Jones's team, mobdeep, won the right to represent U.S.A. in Halo 3 at the 2008 World Cyber Games, which meant a free trip in Cologne, Germany. Mobdeep came in third at the tournament after Canada, first place, and France, second.

All four members of mobdeep received $2500, free video games, a medal and a certificate for coming in third. Even with the possibility of winning a huge cash prize the life of a professional gamer is not as simple as one would imagine. Jones quit his job at Pepsi when it would not allow him to take leave in order to compete in Germany.

"I was pretty upset with him because he let the job go to game. But also last year when he quit gaming I was giving him a hard time about that because so many more sponsors had come on this year. So it's kind of a back and forth. We're back and forth with it," said Angela Meyer, Jones's mother.

Being dedicated to your game at the WCG is necessary when there are 80 countries competing in 14 different games. A friendly and open upbringing in Johnson County could have something to do with Jones's success.

"I know his family used to give us a hard time, give me a hard time, about letting him play so much. I didn't have a problem with it because he always did his homework and he was always good in school," Meyer said. "He was pretty spoiled. We weren't rich by any means but he got to play a lot of video games and spend a lot of time doing that."

Professional gaming was exactly what Jones wanted to do. His brother was a star athlete when he was younger, and though Jones played sports he was never on the winning team. He wanted to find something that he could excel at as well.

"I was like you know what I've never been on that stage where everyone is looking up to you. I thought maybe gaming would bring me that enjoyment that I didn't have as a kid." Jones said.

Jones found after his first professional match playing Halo 2 that he could handle the competition. Then he made the choice to game professionally.

"Everyone in life wants to be on a pedestal and me going to my first event and playing against the best players in the world I saw how I stacked up against them and I was like man I can do this. I can be as good as these guys. That's the reason I started. I wanted to be the best. That was my chance," Jones said.

A bigger difference exists between playing video games as a hobby and playing them professionally than just cash prizes. Jones's family did not think that his choice to play games was the best after it went from a hobby to a profession.

"Everyone used to despise me for it. But my immediate family, my mom and my dad, used to think it was stupid, but then when I started making thousands of dollars and traveling for free they were like 'yeah I guess this is kind of cool,'" Jones said.

Even after a loss mobdeep is still confident in their abilities as a team. One would not think it, but communication is a big factor in how well professional gaming teams rank.

"That's what separates the really good teams from the mediocre teams. The really good teams can communicate with each other so that they're all on the same page," Jones said. "If you get that down there's really no stopping you."

Ian Schult, a mobdeep teammate, credits Jones on the team's communication skills. He credits Jones for pushing that sort of focus on the team. The way that Jones approaches playing is far from lackadaisical. He's studied how teams play.

"It's kind of like chess. You really have to know what the other team is thinking," Jones said.

The life of a gamer does not always mean playing video games all day long. Mobdeep practiced nightly for two to three hours via X-box's Internet based program called Live. The rest of the day for a professional gamer leaves itself to hobbies or free time.

"Most competitive players don't just sit at home and play, play, play, play, most of them actually go out and play sports," Schult said.

After returning from Germany Jones has had several calls about potential jobs spanning from running a gaming competition to training gamers on a new Sci-fi channel reality show. Jones's family is happy for him and his opportunities.

"I didn't tell my kids what to be. I wanted them to do what they wanted to do," said Meyer. "And I'm very proud of him."

            "I'm moving," Ashley Hoyle says. She throws her eyes to the ground. Her boyfriend stares in disbelief. It is only a moment of quiet before anger twists across his face. Ignoring the group of high school students pacing the halls, his voice escalates to a scream and he roughly grabs her arms.

            "April Fools!" Hoyle says, hoping her small prank will be forgiven. His grip tightens. "I'm sorry," she whispers frantically. It is not enough. His screams cease abruptly as he thrusts her into a locker. The thud quiets the students in the hall, but no one comes to her rescue.

            This is only one of many examples Hoyle, a freshman at the University of Kansas, uses when she speaks to crowds about her abusive relationship. On numerous occasions, he threw her to the ground and often told her she wasn't good enough. It wasn't until after her relationship ended that she recognized it as abusive and decided to offer her voice in the fight against teen dating abuse. As national spokesperson for teen dating abuse, Hoyle gives a voice to those who don't have the power to speak for themselves.

            "Three months into the relationship he told me he loved me and that's when it started," Hoyle said. "First it was verbal abuse. He would threaten to break up with me if I did something he didn't like. His mom would tell me I was the reason for his bad grades. About five months in, he started the physical forcefulness. He was controlling," she said. "I didn't have any friends, but it was okay because we 'loved' each other."

            Hoyle was very involved in theater. She was friendly and outgoing. But behind her assertive, seemingly self-assured veneer, Hoyle had low self-esteem and craved attention from her boyfriend, despite its negativity.

            Hoyle decided she wasn't happy and broke up with him. It wasn't an easy split and Hoyle confided in her teachers and depended on her mother to help guide her.

Two years after the break-up, Hoyle was given an assignment in her digital production class to make a public service announcement for a competition hosted by loveisrespect.com, a Web site focused on raising teen dating abuse awareness. While many of her fellow students used statistics to relay information, Hoyle drew on her own experience. Her video hit home and she won the national competition.

"When my teacher called me I thought he was kidding," Hoyle said. "I was jumping up and down I was so excited."

Along with winning first place in the competition, Hoyle was given an all-expense paid trip to New York City to attend a luncheon with top advocates for teen dating abuse awareness, including Tim Gunn and Jaslene Gonzales. She told her story on the Morning Show and made countless appearances at rallies and conventions to raise awareness. But what really matters to her is giving a voice to the voiceless.

"What is really rewarding is when people come up to me and say thank you," Hoyle said. "It's hard to see the difference I make until girls come up to me crying and say I've really impacted them."

            Despite the empowerment of speaking out against abuse and knowing that she is making a difference, Hoyle is still haunted by the ghost of her former relationship.

            "They think when you're out of the relationship, you're through," she said. "That's not true."

            Hoyle went to two psychiatrists to help heal her wounds. She still didn't trust anyone and dated a different boy each month.

            "From August to June I would have a different boyfriend," she said. "I didn't trust them; I didn't trust myself. I thought I'd be in my mid-20s before I could trust anyone."

            Self-esteem oozes from Hoyle now--so much that it is almost contagious. She flips her hair and laughs as she recounts her stories, as though she was never that girl who depended on her abusive boyfriend's approval. Hoyle said it was important to learn to love herself before she could let someone else love her. Cory Crain helped her understand this.

            Crain had been an acquaintance for several years before Hoyle realized she had romantic feelings for him.

            "In a way, I think he was sent to me. It shouldn't have worked, but it does perfectly," Hoyle said.

            Even though they've been together for a year--longer than Hoyle had been with her abusive boyfriend--Hoyle is still fearful that Crain will turn into her ex-beau.

            "It's daily; it's hard," Hoyle said. "It was really trying for our relationship."

            Speaking at various events required Hoyle to relive the hardest moments of her abusive relationship, but Crain stuck by her side.

            Hoyle said she would read old notes to channel the person she used to be and how her ex-boyfriend made her feel. Despite this emotional turmoil, it was Crain's support and understanding-- along with the self-empowerment Hoyle found through therapy-- that gave her the strength to speak to others about her experiences.

            "I didn't believe it was real," Hoyle said. "I doubted myself every time I spoke. I didn't believe it had actually happened to me. I hadn't spoken to my ex in years and he made me doubt myself."

            Once, in the middle of a tickle fight, Hoyle was reminded of a similar situation with her ex-boyfriend and left the room crying. Crain sat her down and calmly discussed the situation with her. It is this acceptance and calm that keeps their relationship afloat in the midst of Hoyle's dark past.

            "He is my best friend," Hoyle said, smiling. "He makes me so happy."

            Hoyle wants to maintain her advocacy for dating abuse awareness. She considered entering the loveisrespect.com contest again this year, but feels that giving another person the opportunity to speak out will have a greater impact.

            "Those who abuse others are never healed," she said. "I think the educational approach is all wrong. We need to have a national program that requires students to learn about domestic violence."

            To learn more about teen dating abuse, visit the following websites:

• www.loveisrespect.org
• www.chooserespect.org
• Hawk Health
  
• Contact the Wellness Resource Center (785) 864-9570
  

 

Cages line the room full of cats.  Some purr lightly as they take their afternoon nap.  Others scamper around in their makeshift homes, playing with toys and their fellow bunk mates.  Midge Grinstead bends down very gingerly to change out the litter box of a motionless and observant white cat.
   
Two years ago Grinstead broke her back working at the Ise Memorial Animal Shelter trying to carry a 70-pound box of files up a ladder.  She lost all function in her right side from the waist down after the fall.  She isn't even supposed to be walking but now she works six days a week at several positions to keep the shelter running.

"If I'm cleaning an area and I'm working the front desk then I'm not paying someone," Grinstead said.  "I'm salaried so it's a freebie."

Grinstead, the executive director of the Lawrence Humane Society, in the past eleven years helped turned the society into a well respected non profit organization because of her love of animals, her business background and her impeccable work ethic.

Grinstead, who is allergic to cats and dogs, said that as a kid she always wanted to be a veterinarian.  After her father retired from the military her family settled on a farm in the Washburn rural area.  There Grinstead hid injured animals in her bedroom and cared for them.  
Keeping her big walk-in closet tidy and clean, Grinstead nursed a chicken with a broken leg, a duck, a rabbit and a couple of wild mice.  One day her father found the hideout.  After his initial upset reaction, he built her a shed outside to house her animals.  Grinstead then added pet cows and pet sheep to her safe haven.

"I would save my money and go to sale barns and buy the blind ones that they were going to butcher so that I could keep them," Grinstead said.

Grinstead put aside school after marring and having a son.   Grinstead then worked in the corporate world for eleven years as the franchise coordinator for a multi-million dollar company.

She traveled, opened new stores, trained franchises, sold products on QVC and coordinated marketing studies.  When the owner sold the company, Grinstead was let go along with all the other employees as part of the new corporate buyout.

Before being hired as the director, Grinstead had volunteered for the society by serving on the advisory board to the board of directors.  Working on the nominations for the election of officers Grinstead found that the board had falsified an election.
 
In the United States all non profit organizations must have members who vote on the board.  Anyone who makes a donation to the organization is a member.

Grinstead found that only 20 members were voting on the board despite the fact that hundreds had donated.  The board had sent nominations to only those 20 people and the friends and relatives of people who worked at the shelter.

"For a non profit that's highly illegal to do and it could have ruined this whole facility," Grinstead said.

Grinstead presented this evidence to the board and the director.  They would all step down and Grinstead was hired to her current position in 1997.

"I'm a very by-the-book, not-cheating, follow-the-rules kind of person," said Grinstead.  "So when they weren't I got upset."


When Grinstead was hired the society was $80,000 in debt and was euthanizing up to 80 to 90 percent of the animals.  According to Grinstead, the community had forgotten about the society.  In 1996, the county commissioner said the county wouldn't reward mismanagement by giving the shelter any money for what they were doing.

Grinstead then utilized her business background to benefit the society and the shelter.

"Everything is business whether it's a nonprofit or not," Grinstead said.  "Everything comes down to what do you know about running a business.  This is a business.  We're in the business of animal welfare."

Grinstead fired most of the staff and observed the shelter for two weeks.  She then wrote a staff handbook and a staff operation book with various procedures.  All the animals in the shelter were ill so Grinstead changed the shelter's cleaning procedures and switched to a more expensive vaccine.  Within six months all the animals were healthy.  Grinstead then tried to change the reputation of the shelter.

"Because we had been a pariah in the community and had adopted out sick animals all the time we had to figure out how to get people to trust us again," she said.

Grinstead had representatives going to every event that she could think of, ranging from sidewalk sales and the St. Patrick's Day Parade to art festivals.  Grinstead said that the society was present at everything going on in Lawrence.  The public then started to see that the shelter had improved and that all the animals coming of the shelter were healthy.

"It just wasn't that hard, that's the sad part," Grinstead said.  "They could have been doing a better job all along with a little bit of effort."

Grinstead said that at first she wasn't respected by veterinarians because she lacked an animal background.  According to Grinstead, several vets actually laughed at her and said she didn't know anything when she attended a vet board meeting.  Grinstead then got an online degree in animal science from the University of Georgia.  Testing out with a vet, Grinstead gained credibility and improved relations with the vet community.

Robin Haller-Evans, the office manager for the shelter, said that the shelter is now highly thought of by other animal shelters in the state.

Haller-Evans was hired by Grinstead three years ago and works the front desk at the shelter.  She is also in charge of the restaurant fundraiser and coordinates all the other fundraisers for the society with Grinstead.

"She's done amazing things for the shelter," Haller-Evans said.  "She came into the shelter with a lot of problems but she has turned things around a thousand percent."

In 2000 the shelter added a stray-intake center, separating stray animals from adoptable animals.  Since then the shelter has not had to euthanize animals for space.  Last year the main building to the shelter was renovated, adding 1,500 square feet.  This past May the shelter housed about 900 animals and Grinstead had to cut down on staff to make payroll.  In June she borrowed money to get the shelter back on track.

Grinstead said the problem is the economy.  Breeders can't afford to keep 50 animals and pet stores aren't buying their animals.  Breeders then dump their unwanted animals at shelters.  Given the extra animals and the smaller staff, Grinstead has had to work extra hours in the past months.  Grinstead said that she has been lucky and that the extra hours haven't affected her personal life too much.  Grinstead said this is because her second husband, Mark, is retired and he often helps out at the shelter, walking dogs and repairing equipment.

Grinstead wants to retire and has told the board that she would step down in two years.  Grinstead said that she is worried about leaving because she is afraid that the shelter will go back to the way it was before she took over.  If the board wants, Grinstead said, she would be a consultant for the board and the society.

Grinstead said that working with animals and children is fantastic and that if she had been a vet then she might have been too worried about making money and paying her employees.  

"You're not working to make somebody money," Grinstead said.  "You're working every day to make a difference in the community.  I'll never work for anything but a non profit again."  

Francesca Vance is sitting poised in her chair, she grabs her chin stroking it as if in deep thought. As she wrinkles her forehead it seems as if remembering that time was almost a lifetime ago. Her long, curled, jet-black hair that she normally wears free and wild is pulled back into a more sophisticated look. Her skin is a beautiful bronze, which is overlaid with tattoos and piercings.

Vance reminisces the times of growing up in Florence, Italy and her transition into moving to the United States. She was looking for a way out. She was broken, lost and in love.

The Italian culture can be quite suffocating at times, she said. "I never really felt at ease with a lot of people around me, and there was so much co-dependence on your family, it just wasn't for me," Francesca said.

In America teachers try to make the process of learning fun and pleasing. Francesca thinks this helps make the children interested in learning, rather than forcing them, much like the system in Italy. She remembers going to museums when she was young and not being able to appreciate the art. "Because you're so small you don't really appreciate the art in the museums. The art can be overwhelming for a child to wander around museums," Francesca said.  Some people even get Stendoll syndrome, which is were one gets physically get sick from being exposed to too much art. Now that Francesca is an adult, she can appreciate the art around her and understand it. 

Because co-dependence is so apparent in Italy, couples usually date for around five to 10 years before getting married. Children usually live with their parents until they are around 30-years-old trying to save up money to buy a house, said Vance. But the story is different for Francesca. After knowing her husband-to-be for six days, they decided to get married.

Vance describes how she met her ex-husband at a Medieval horse-race. "It was a Saturday and we didn't have much time to talk because of the race, but I decided to call him on Sunday to tell him if he was ever in Florence again that I would give him a tour," said Vance. Sure enough, David, who was studying architecture an hour away in Siena, called her the next day and they planned to meet. Francesca thought she had perhaps given David the wrong idea, so she dressed in her fathers suit and was nearly an hour late picking him up from the train station. After 45 minutes of waiting for Francesca and a romantic chinese dinner, the two hit it off.

"On Friday he called me at one in the morning asking me to meet him in Siena and when I got there he proposed." I left for the United States on August 15th and we got married October 30, Vance said. "But of course we followed the great American tradition and got a divorce. It wasn't like BAM we were head over heals in love, but more of a leap of faith," she said.

This was indeed a big shock for her family. Francesca said she didn't cry when she left. "I think it was my mind trying to preserve its sanity," she said. Francesca was so focused on getting out she didn't allow herself or family members to grieve. 

Francesca thinks that since she has left Italy her relationship with her family has grown stronger. Her family has become accustomed to the internet and they keep in touch daily through emails and chatrooms. 

After arriving in the United States Francesca experienced no culture shock. "It was as if my mind shut off and went on auto pilot. I didn't even get upset over the snow," she said. Right after stepping foot in Lawrence she began teaching an independent class at KU in the school of architecture for students planning to go to Italy. Finally, in 2002 she joined the French and Italian department and now teaches Italian.

"I always wanted to teach. I remember being in third grade correcting grammar mistakes for my relatives," Francesca said. Teaching is the legacy she wishes to leave behind. She wants to teach her students more than just grammar but to stop and smell the flowers and enjoy the moment.

Vance likes to refer to her students as "rosebushes" because it's her idea of a little bud that blooms over the semester into a beautiful rosebush. "I guess it's just my romantic idea of students being more than just an ID number," Vance said.

One of Francesca's co-workers, Anna Talleur, thinks Francesca is a great addition to the French and Italian program. She recounts when Francesca first came to the department and they were both pregnant. "She had this big Grecian belly and I admired it so much, it was beautiful," Talleur said. Francesca is so much fun to be around and her kids are wonderful, Anna said. 

When Francesca isn't grading papers and tests she enjoys reading, writing and drawing. She  has an art show coming up in January at La Prima Tazza, an Italian coffee shop located on 7th and Massachusetts streets. 

by Adam Schoof

White Owl was chewing on the rattlesnake's tail and his cat, Buddy, was chewing on the rattlesnake's head when his mother found them in the backyard.

His mother, Elizabeth Tucker, sank to her knees and praised God for having saved her child. She had originally thought White Owl was having his first fight with the cat when in fact Buddy was saving her son's life. By the time she stood up, Buddy had eaten so much of the rattlesnake that he and White Owl were almost kissing.

The believability of this story does not concern White Owl because he is used to strange things happening to him. The manner in which the experiences affect him are more important than the truth, he said.

"[My mother] swore it was real," White Owl said. "How did [the snake] get there that fast? I don't know."

White Owl, 61, has become a celebrity at the University of Kansas. He is known for his dancing, his eccentric clothing, his attendance at sporting events and his preaching outside Wescoe Hall. Because he is over 60, he can attend classes for free. While at KU, he has garnered a reputation for ever-happy and boisterous attitude towards life.

"He's a freer person than the average person," Darrell Edwards, who worked with White Owl said. "He's not confined by the standards by everyday people."

White Owl can often be seen outside Wescoe hall fraternizing with college students.

"He annoys the hell out of me," freshman Young Han Lester said. "White Owl seems like [a hippie] who has never grown up."

White Owl disagrees.

"I'm not a hippie, I take a shower every day," White Owl said. "I take care of myself. I eat well." However, White Owl recognizes that he can be seen as an oddity.

Besides his eccentricity, White Owl is also known for his immense kindness and he said that his bizarre experiences have influenced his life.

"He can tell when something is bothering you," Nikki Hill, Johnson County Community College junior, said. "He always makes me feel better when I'm in a negative
mood."

"He would give you the shirt off his back," Edwards said.

"Whenever he does something for himself, it's only because he is doing something for someone else," Jacob Bigus, a close friend of White Owl, said.

White Owl's journey through life has given him many unique experiences, he said, and they have influenced his manner of kindness. He met the Grateful Dead before they were called the Grateful Dead. He had a hand in starting Garth Brooks' and Dwight Yoakam's careers. He claimed to have pulled a man's throat out during his tour of duty in Vietnam. He has taught courses at the University of Kansas and the University of Kansas at Berkeley and he does not have a degree.

Bigus said to take White Owl's stories with a grain of salt and open them to interpretation. Even White Owl himself said he sometimes doubts if what he has experienced is real or in his head. However, he said the experiences have inspired his faith in God and other people.

White Owl's life story began in Globe, Ariz. where he was born Jimmy Neil Tucker. He was the middle child after two boys and before two girls. His father was a minister in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). White Owl was also involved with his church and preached from a young age.

His family moved a lot because of his father's work, and White Owl enlisted in the Air Force and went to Vietnam, making his way up to Sergeant. During his tour, White Owl was exposed to Agent Orange, a powerful herbicide used to kill jungle. He has had many bouts with cancer because of his exposure, and he has begun working on a book about the dangers of Agent Orange. White Owl said he also suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

"Everybody who went, even if they didn't fight, they still got the horror of war because you know what's going on. I still live with a lot of that. It's a service-related injury."

White Owl said that the dangers he faced in Vietnam showed him how lucky he was to be alive, and he said he has never taken life for granted since. White Owl said he is happy to help people, and anything else is "peaches and cream."

When White Owl returned from Vietnam, he immersed himself in the 1960s music scene. He said he hung out with Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead in the Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco.

White Owl then moved to Kansas City and worked at a record store called Penny Lane. He said he broke out many artists, such as Garth Brooks, Dwight Yoakam, the Cocteau Twins and many other music groups.

After his house in Kansas City burned, White Owl moved to Lawrence to work on his book about Agent Orange. He brought with him his enthusiasm and fell in love with the University's culture. He quickly became popular for his vivacity, but he did not expect the massive celebrity he would receive for his passion about the University's sports games. He was featured on many television networks as the University's most fanatic fan.

It would culminate at a football game when the Jayhawk mascot came out dressed in White Owl's torn up Army Pants and tie-dye shirt and 51,000 people cheered for him.

"I got KU everywhere, even on my house slippers."

However, his fame has declined this year. White Owl said he does not want to control his fame, and knew from the beginning it would probably not last forever.
"Sometimes people expect more from me than what I am. I don't want fame. I don't want notoriety. I just want to help people."

Julia Lee, a close friend, said White Owl's fame often gets in the way of their close relationship.

"Julia says, 'It's almost like White Owl is better than what he is,'" White Owl said.

However, White Owl said he believes that he will live on through his tales even after he dies so he does not view his fame as all bad.

"Just like game time. Let's go. Pump it up!"

Jarvis Stirn shouts words of encouragement to his teammates across the basketball court during a scrimmage. As a physical and verbal leader Stirn likes to get the players around him excited.

"I always try to be positive and be verbal with my team so they know what's going on," Stirn said. "I think it comes pretty much natural to me now."

Being a leader is a responsibility Stirn enjoys putting upon himself. It's a responsibility he can manage as well. Stirn juggles a handful of duties in his everyday life. He is a 34-year-old father, husband, athlete and engineer. It's hard to imagine how he fits his busy schedule into a 24-hour time frame.

On a typical Wednesday Jarvis wakes up at 4:30 a.m. and arrives for work at Husqvarna Construction Products in Olathe by 6:30 a.m. He works until 3 p.m. or 4 p.m. then stops home for an hour or so before driving to the Garfield Community Center in Topeka for basketball practice. He shoots hoops from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. He gets home around 9:45 p.m. and catches a few hours of sleep before waking up at 4:30 a.m. the next day for work. This would be a busy day for most individuals, but it's more extraordinary for Stirn.

Fourteen years ago Stirn experienced something that would change his life forever. Stirn was working at the XI Battery Company and had just finished his shift at 11 p.m. He met up with his friends Mike and Gary to party at a bar. Around 2 a.m. or 2:30 a.m. Gary got involved in an altercation so the three headed out. 

Stirn said they had two cars there and didn't really think much about who would drive as they had all been drinking. Stirn got in a car with Mike and the two followed Gary. After driving for a while Gary stopped and asked Stirn to switch cars so they could talk about what took place at the bar.

Although intoxicated Gary managed himself fine behind the wheel according to Stirn. After talking about the fight for a bit, Stirn dozed off in the passenger seat. A little further down the road Gary would fall asleep as well. The car went down into the ditch and hit an embankment. Stirn was sent flying out of the car and broke his back. When he came to about a week later he was paralyzed from the waist down. Gary broke some bones but had no injuries that didn't heal.

Even though Stirn lost the use of his legs, being inactive isn't an option in his mind.

"I want to be a participant," Stirn said. "I could look at all the negatives and focus on that and not get anything done in my life, but that's not what I want to do."

Athletics are nothing new to Stirn. In high school he excelled in football, basketball and track at Tescott High School. Although he went on to play some junior college football at Highland Community College after high school, he never favored any sport more than another.

"I was always kind of a sports kind of guy and I really love doing them," Stirn said.

Being in a chair definitely hasn't prevented him from doing what he loves. His list of sporting endeavors is longer than ever. Since the accident, Stirn has participated in soccer, tennis, basketball, softball and downhill skiing. Just recently he had the opportunity to try handcycling. (Check out this Handcycling YouTube Video)

"It's not the same as driving in a car," Stirn said. "It's amazing if you haven't done it in quite a while and you get back into. You're kind of like, 'wow this is something I really missed out on and I didn't realize it'."

                                                      

As the team representative for the Kansas Wheelhawks, a Division-II National Wheelchair Basketball team based out of Topeka, Stirn preaches the importance of athletics for disabled individuals. The Wheelhawks are a part of a wheelchair athletics organization called Kansas Accessible Sports. KAS tries to make it easier for handicapped individuals to get involved with sports, but because it draws players from all over Kansas, it's sometimes difficult to find willing individuals.

"It can be harder in a wheelchair to travel and those that are used to doing it will continue doing it, but those that aren't sure about it and are kind of nervous, they'll kind of hold back on doing it," Stirn said. "We just try to talk them into it and say practices are paid for so you don't have to worry about that. All you have to do is make it to your practice and we'll take care of everything there."

The team recently placed an emphasis on involving youth in basketball. The Wheelhawks are looking to create a youth league and have already planned a youth tournament in Topeka for this upcoming January. Stirn said being active in sports benefited younger individuals in many ways.

Logan McCroy, a young Wheelhawk shoots hoops on a lowered hoop during practice.

Photo Credit: Alex Dufek

"They give scholarships to wheelchair basketball players. They can go to college and play for a while and when they get done there, they can come back and play for us," Stirn said "Once they go off somewhere else, you know maybe they will go to a different place, but hopefully we have benefited them in their lives so they can go off and be active in sports."

Stirn is a big factor in getting younger players involved. Josh Ruoff, a 14-year-old Wheelhawk, said Jarvis had an impact on his life.

"They went and scrimmaged in Lawrence and I went to go watch them. I talked to Jarvis and he got me involved," Ruoff said. "He's helped me a lot. He's helped me mentally, he's helped me physically and he's helped me become a better person."

Both Stirn and his wife agreed that Craig Hospital in Denver, the location of Stirn's rehabilitation, did a great job encouraging him to be an active member of society after he recovered. Sarah said some rehabilitation facilities don't emphasize athletics enough.

"Their (other centers') idea is just to get you on with life and that's a great thing and you want to do that, but there's also lots beyond that," Sarah Stirn said. "You can do sports and stay active and do those things. A lot of places don't put very much emphasis on that."

Joe Gomez, director of Therapeutic Recreation at Craig Hospital, said basketball helps people in numerous ways off the court. Balance and handling learned on the court might cross over to everyday life by helping an individual deal with getting a chair over a poorly accessible area. The confidence that comes from competing at a high level usually makes people who use wheelchairs more likely to approach members of the opposite sex. 

Gomez said playing a sport and staying active would tremendously improve the health and lifestyle of a handicapped individual.

"It's been proven that the more active you are, the better lifestyle your going to lead," Gomez said. "Say I'm injured and I don't do a thing. I just sit in my chair and move around a little bit. I'm going to develop the skin sores. I'm going to develop the weight problems. I'm going to develop the medical conditions that are going to catch up to me, but the more active I am I can put those things off."

Gomez said he felt it was important to get kids involved because it boosted their self-esteem. If kids aren't active in athletics, depression is more likely to set in.

 "A lot of young kids out there are very sports oriented. If you aren't out there doing it, you feel left out, quite frankly," Gomez said. "They go out there and watch. They sit down and keep the score. They're the team managers. They're the team cheerleaders and everyone else goes out there and they're doing it."

Stirn wouldn't have it that way for any kid in a chair. He encourages everyone to take advantage of the opportunities that life does offer. Stirn would much rather focus on the positive aspects of a situation than the negative ones. It's this outlook that helps him succeed both on the court and in life.

Jarvis and Sarah discuss what life is like in a chair.


Jarvis and Sarah say why Jarvis is a leader.