Multimedia Reporting (Adler-Noland-Utsler)

Assistant professor of English Philip Wedge stands in front of his class talking about fan worship as a sports theme in one of the novels he teaches in his Sports and Literature class. Wedge speaks out of experience because, as his wife Linda would say, he is a fanatic.
It is even apparent to his students. “From day to day you can tell that he’s a big sports fan,” said Jose Picazo a junior from Salina, Kan. He noted that Wedge even showed up to class in a soccer jersey while the class was watching a movie on a fan’s obsession with soccer.
One of the works that Wedge teaches is Fever Pitch, a non-fiction piece about author Nick Hornby’s addiction to the Arsenal football team. Wedge has been in that boat since he was a child growing up in Lawrence. Wedge became prone to being a big sports fan even before he had a team to support. He confesses to being a Minnesota Twins fan (he was born in Minnesota), even though the Twins didn’t exist at the time when he was born.
Lawrence, though, gave him the perfect outlet for his fanhood. Wedge said he got his first chance to see the Jayhawks play basketball when he was about 11 years old. Someone had given him and his father tickets to an NCAA tournament game that was hosted in Lawrence. Kansas had already lost, but Wedge said he got to see Houston and Louisville play and his dad noticed how excited he was.
Wedge said his father was not a big sports fan. He was an English professor at KU like his son, but he was more involved with literature rather than sports. Wedge said that getting season tickets to KU basketball was a way that they bonded. “That was his way of sharing my sports enthusiasm with me was through being spectators,” Wedge said.
Wedge was even present at Kemper Arena when the Jayhawks won the NCAA basketball championship in 1988. His wife, Linda, said that he had even made a superfan sign relating to the “Wizard of Oz” and implying through the sign that Oklahoma was the Wicked Witch of the West.
The celebration was a little different this year after the Jayhawks won the national championship since he had kids. Unlike the KU student body, his kids had school the following morning, so they couldn’t celebrate too wildly. He did take his son down to Mass St. following the Final Four victory. “On Saturday, we took George, my younger son, as far as 14th and Mass. We weren’t going to take him closer any closer to downtown. I mean, he would get crushed,” said Wedge
Wedge decided to take a more hands on approach in passing his sports enthusiasm on to his kids, different from his own father. “He wouldn’t let us put any purple on the kids when they were young,” said Linda.
Unlike his father, he got involved in his kids’ own sports accomplishments, acting as a coach and a fan for most of their time in sports. “He taught me how to play baseball and he was my soccer coach for awhile,” said his son, Roy Wedge.
Wedge had to make a choice about his passion for Jayhawk basketball as his sons grew older. Their sporting events conflicted with a lot of home basketball games, so Wedge decided to give up his season tickets to KU basketball.
“The first time I went to a game the year after I gave the season tickets up there was a little part of me that wanted to go up to the person sitting in my seats and say ‘Those are my seats, get the hell out!’” Wedge said.
The passion is still there; Wedge simple channels it in different ways. He is passing on his sports obsession to his kids. Linda said that he plays a special baseball board game, called Strat-O-Matic, with their sons and they even have soccer leagues in PlayStation video games. Wedge is still are very involved sports fan, he has just toned down his fanaticism to support his family and pass on his enthusiasm to his kids.

Betty Nichols sits in a dining room filled with young college girls. She watches as they eat and chat amongst themselves. She sits and listens, only interjecting to help keep the conversations going. Betty has been part of Greek life on college campuses for 20 years, but most of the girls surrounding her now don’t have a clue. They don’t have a clue that their “house mom” is a licensed chiropractor. They don’t know that she has led more than 40 tours of the United States. They don’t know that she has outlived her husband and her oldest son. They don’t even know how old she is.

“Uh, I don’t know, 70?” Megan Nissim, Minnetonka, Minn., sophomore, makes a valiant guess.

She’s not even close.

Having her age unknown doesn’t bother Betty Nichols. She says she doesn’t think the girls she watches over need to know everything about her. Especially her age. In her life’s experiences, of which there have been many, she has found that simply being around people is enough. It wasn’t the first thing she learned, but it was one of the most important.

Betty Nichols didn’t start out the way most people did. Her first home was in a small coal-mining town in Iowa. The miners were always on strikes, and her father was always in and out of work. The community was made up mostly of foreigners from Italy, Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia. Betty was too young to understand the work aspects of her family’s life, so she focused on school. As an only child, she had to be independent.

Life in the 1930s and 1940s was all about changes for Betty. After several moves and the acquisition of a husband on Jan. 1, 1946, she settled in Davenport, Iowa. She and her husband attended Palmer College of Chiropractors and earned their doctorate degrees in just 18 months. At the time it only took two years to get a medical degree; it takes slightly longer now. The couple also had their first child, a boy, while attending the college.

“It wasn’t a hard thing to do back then,” Betty said. “You went to school all day and were home at night. You left the kids at home.”

Life didn’t stop changing. After earning their degrees, the small family headed east and settled in Kentucky to start their first chiropractic practice. They didn’t live there long, as the distance from her family weighed heavily on Betty’s mind. The couple closed the new practice and moved to Illinois to start over, this time closer to home. They opened a new practice and went to work -- illegally. The state didn’t have a license for chiropractors, and there were many risks involved with Betty’s work.

“I suppose you could have gone to jail,” Betty said. “Mostly though you just went to court and paid a fine, then went back to work later that day.”

Another move, another change. This time to Paola, Kan. Two more children had joined the family, one girl and one boy, but a husband had left. Betty’s life partner died after heart complications took him in his sleep. He had hinted to his daughter that he didn’t think he had long to live, but he had never said anything of the sort to Betty. She said it took her and her children a long time to get over the death.

“The loss just seemed so sudden,” Betty said. “I had thought he was getting better.”

Then the family split up, one son heading to California while the other two children finished out college. Betty was “left mostly with nothing” and left the family practice. She used the time to reestablish herself. She studied marketing and business law. She moved to California. She became a tour guide and led 48 tours of different states. She is proud to say that she has been to every single state in the US, although Mexico is her favorite travel destination. After years, the exact number of which has since escaped her, Betty decided she had to leave the west coast and move back home.

“I just found myself thinking,” she said. “When I’m older, I’m not going to want to be around all this traffic.”

Betty tried to return home to Paola, but found that it no longer suited her needs. Her family was still around, but being grown, they weren’t around home the way that they used to be. It was hard trying to adjust to small town life after being in California. It just wasn’t what Betty had envisioned when she left the coast.

“It’s hard to go back to a small town,” she said. “No one waits for you to come home.”

Betty is the one waiting for the girls to come home most nights. It’s her job. She says she likes being around the girls of Sigma Delta Tau because it keeps her young. It also keeps her working, which is something she wants to continue to do. Retiring has never been something Betty has been interested in.

“If I had to retire, well, I don’t want to retire,” she sad. “I would just go nuts.”

Michelle Carlson belongs to the sorority’s national advising board and says “Mom Nichols” is a very supportive person, and in the short time she has been around, Betty has always been available to help. Other members of the sorority say they feel the same way.

“She works really well with other people,” said Stephanie Brooks, Mendota Heights, Minn., sophomore. “I guess she kind of has to do that.”

Betty Nichols is 84 years old. She outlived her parents, her husband and her son. She has done everything in life that she has wanted to do. She sits amidst the college girls with a stoic look on her face, remembering where she’s come from. Even if no one else knows her past, she is content simply being in their company.

Bob Kasper walks slowly, slightly bent over toward a shelf to get his glasses and hearing aids. His hands tremble faintly as he picks his hearing aids up and puts them into each ear. He slides his glasses over the bridge of his nose. His world comes into view. He walks over to the couch and waits while his wife of 58 years, Shirley, slowly lowers herself onto the cushion. He watches her intently making sure she is comfortably seated before he takes his spot next to her.

Life experiences, struggles and signs from God made Kasper, the 89-year-old, grey haired man with a jovial laugh, what he is today. As a minister he has helped grieving families deal with death and couples prepare for the challenges of marriage. And he has helped children deal with real-life problems as a Sunday school teacher.

Currently bullying in schools is a real-life problem children face. Julie Boyle, communications director for Kansas public schools in the northeast region, said Lawrence is taking steps prevent bullying.

Bob Kasper dealt with bullying in his career as a Sunday school teacher, helping youth with problems that were affecting them. But, before he started helping people he was just a little boy who couldn’t see very well, growing up in the picturesque lumber-milling town of McCall, Idaho.

“Someone would say, ‘Do you see that tree over there?’ and I would sit there and think, ‘What tree?’ I couldn’t see it,” Kasper said.

Kasper did not understand why he could not see things that other children could. This caused him to doubt himself.

When he graduated from high school, Kasper went to get his driver’s license. They gave him a vision test and discovered that he had poor eyesight. All of those years growing up he wasn’t stupid--just nearsighted. It was a weight lifted off of his shoulders.
“I put on glasses for the first time and it was marvelous,” Kasper said.

At 18 years old, newly confident with his ability to see, he left his hometown to attend the University of Washington. Kasper planned to study engineering and take over his father’s job working at the lumber mill.

While attending school, Kasper began to doubt himself again. He had always wanted to be like his father and take over the family business.

Kasper wasn’t sure if he could fill the shoes his father would be leaving behind.

“I had constant earaches and working in the mill, which is very loud, I suffered some hearing loss. I felt I couldn’t measure up,” Kasper said. “My dad could hear the slightest tick of a machine and know that something was wrong. They would have to shut the whole mill down before I would notice anything.”

This questioning feeling loomed in the back of Kasper’s mind, but he finished three years of college before deciding to take a break. The mill in Idaho had burned down and World War II had started. Kasper decided that these events were signs showing him he needed to make some changes.

“During my twenties several things happened that seemed to show me that God was closing and opening doors, directing me where to go,” Kasper said.

With World War II causing tensions in the U.S. to rise, Kasper decided to join the Air Force as a flight mechanic.

During the enlistment process Kasper said he received a sign that he was not supposed to take this path. For the first time in his life, Kasper said, he felt he was going to faint and was not aloud to go on with the testing.

“I guess God didn’t want me to do that,” Kasper said. “I waited for the draft to catch me.”

The draft did catch him; he became a wheeled-vehicle mechanic in the U.S. Army.

During his service he carried the Old Testament with him in the bottom of his duffle bag. A colonel whom he befriended told him it was worthless if he didn’t read it, and from then on they read together and discussed the Scriptures.

His faith and friendships helped him through the war, and when he returned to the U.S. he wanted to go back to college. But, the semester had started and he couldn’t enroll in classes.

He returned to his hometown, where he found his calling in life.

“I was sabotaged in a way,” Kasper said with a smile.

He went to a church meeting with his mother where the Sunday school superintendent asked him to teach the first-grade Sunday school class. Kasper did not want to be a teacher and didn’t feel qualified, but the superintendent kept asking. Eventually, Kasper accepted the job and loved it.

“From the beginning I tried to deal with real issues kids had, issues I understood” Kasper said. “I remember a chubby little girl whose brother used to call her a pig and it made her cry. That was rough for her.”

Kasper learned from that little girl and other children how to deal with their problems.

These experiences along with his own faith fueled Kasper’s desire to become a Christian educator.

Kasper returned to college as planned the next semester, but with a different career path in mind. He began taking classes focusing on family, philosophy and education.

While attending school he met the woman of his dreams.
Bob Kasper first saw Shirley, an intelligent, beautiful woman, at a church youth group meeting at the University of Washington. Shirley was visiting the school for a conference.

Bob Kasper said it was love at first sight for him. The two were married and together they had two children: Kathleen and Joe.

Kasper finished college and began seminary school. He became a minister for the United Church of Christ Ministry.

He was always thinking creatively, trying to come up with ways to make things better for members of the churches he was affiliated with.

Kasper tried to turn an old house that had been donated to the church into a youth center. The head pastor turned him down because they had no funding to renovate and run the building, but Kasper was not discouraged.

“He just moved on to something else to try to make things better,” Shirley said. “That is what people like him do. They keep going and they become successful at something else.”

Kasper spent the rest of his career giving advice and using his engineering background to renovate and save congregations that were in need of help. He counseled people in times of need, performed baptisms, worked at youth church camps and preformed nuptials.

“One of the first couples he married invited us to their fiftieth wedding anniversary not too long ago,” Shirley said. “That means he made an impact.”

Kasper and his wife moved to Presbyterian Manor, a retirement home in Lawrence, in 2002 after he could no longer run the Good Shepherd Thrift Shop he had started during his retirement in Tonganoxie. He couldn’t move the larger items around the store anymore.

“It got me down when I couldn’t move those big couches and things around,” Kasper said. “But, I just couldn’t do it.”

Kasper tries not to let his age get the best of him. He has been a humanitarian for his entire life and he doesn’t plan to stop. He attends Plymouth Congregational Church in Lawrence. He takes classes and gives advice about how to run church programs.

Shannon Gorres is a member of the Social Justice Class and Social Action Wing at Plymouth Congregational Church with Kasper. These groups meet regularly to discuss and solve problems in society.

“He is one of, if not the, oldest member there,” Gorres said. “To come to these classes he misses the more traditional 9:30 a.m. service, which I am sure he would rather go to, but that just shows how much he wants to stay involved in the community.”

Bob Kasper sits on his couch in the living room of his apartment at Presbyterian Manor. His hands are folded in his lap. A rocking chair sits across from him. Those who ask Kasper for advice may hear three things that he often leaves people with: learn from example, be kind and fight fair. These are the keys to everything from engaging in relationships to growing up, getting married and being successful in life, all taught from a man who has a kind word for anyone who sits down in that rocking chair and listens to his story.

On Oct. 29, 2005, Emma Willis was marching down Massachusetts Street, playing her mellophone in her first homecoming parade. Out of nowhere, Big Jay came up to the freshman and stole her instrument as part of a prank.
Instead of finding the joke amusing, Willis, Okaloosa junior, was petrified.
“I was ready to just bolt and leave my mellophone with him,” Willis said.
While she’s an active member in both the marching band and men’s basketball pep band, Willis has difficulty adjusting to one aspect of game days: the mascots. She has a self-described mascot phobia, to the point where she’s almost blacked out in the presence of Big Jay.
Before coming to the University of Kansas, Willis had no experience with mascots and, for that matter, no experience with a marching band. Her high school in Oskaloosa was too small to have either. She’d played the trumpet since the fifth grade, and only switched to the French horn in seventh grade after the band’s French horn player quit. Her band teacher encouraged her to take up the French horn.
“He let me take it home one summer and told me to figure it out,” she said.
Willis came to the University on a marching band scholarship, although she said she’d planned to attend Kansas anyway.
“The scholarship was the reason I did marching band, but not the reason I stayed,” she said.
Willis continues to play the French horn in the school’s performance band, while she plays the mellophone, a more mobile version of the French horn, in the marching and pep bands.
Nearly every aspect of Willis’ experience at the University goes back to music in some way. A music education major, Willis has immersed herself in the band experience.
“She's always positive, willing to help, and do whatever it takes to improve the group, without hesitation,” Logan Heer, Olathe sophomore and fellow mellophone player, said.
The grueling requirements for the band, including 12-hour practice sessions, gave her a strong camaraderie with her fellow band members.
“She is someone that you can joke around and have fun with, but also someone who knows when it's time to get down to business and go to work.,” Shelton Heilman, Lawrence freshman, said. Heilman plays the mellophone under Willis, who’s his section leader.
She recalls her first home football game, where the marching band traditionally runs out onto the field from Memorial Stadium’s vomitoriums. Most freshmen, she said, were so nervous for their first run that they didn’t even play on the way out.
The success of the 2007 football team allowed Willis the opportunity to travel with the rest of the marching band to several of the away games, as well as the Orange Bowl in Miami, where the Jayhawks defeated Virginia Tech.
Willis said the band left at 7 a.m. on New Year’s Day, and had grueling rehearsals everyday, in addition to having to learn a different halftime routine.
“It was worth it to see KU in the Orange Bowl,” she said.
This is Willis’ third year in the competitive basketball pep band ensemble. She’s also sang the National Anthem at home games on occasion, having also been in choir in high school.
The basketball team has given its pep band quite a ride in the past three years. Willis’ freshman year highlight was the Big 12 tournament victory over Texas, featuring Julian Wright’s 360-degree dunk. When the Jayhawks played in the Elite Eight in San Jose, Calif., the pep band had a free day to explore San Francisco.
Kansas’ run to the NCAA men’s basketball championship was an especially thrilling experience for the pep band. Willis said that the rock chalk chant could be heard on the River Walk in San Antonio, and the band would spontaneously play outside, drawing crowds.
The North Carolina game stands out in Willis’ mind.
“I didn’t think we were going to win, to be completely honest,” Willis said.
True to form, Willis said she was creeped out by Ramses, the UNC mascot.
Willis’ Facebook profile picture seems to perfectly sum up her experience with this year’s basketball team. Taken at the North Carolina game by a Kansan photographer, the photo shows her jumping in the band section, smiling, her long brown hair tied halfway back, a Jayhawk tattoo on her temple, wearing her Adidas band shirt. Her blue-green eyes are difficult to see, scrunched up in triumph.
“Emma is all about school spirit and enthusiasm,” Erin Bryan, Lenexa junior, said. Bryan has been in both marching band and pep band with Willis.
While she plans on continuing with the marching band next year, this season was Willis’ last in the basketball pep band. Next year, she plans to do student teaching in preparation for teaching music after graduating.
“I’m leaving while I’m on top,” she said.
Willis has come to terms with her fear of mascots, now able to be near them, as long as they don’t touch her. She can even get close to Baby Jay now, but the looming figure of Big Jay still unnerves her.
When speaking of the music lessons she wishes to impart to her future students, the main one is easy to describe.
“I want them to know that music should be fun, and that music should be for life,” Willis said.

The P.A. announcer at the Yacht Club held Michael Gillaspie’s fate for his remaining year at the University of Kansas. Around 7 p.m. on Thursday, April 10, one of Gillaspie’s final goals as a Jayhawk came to fruition – to help lead the University as Vice President of Student Senate.
As a vice presidential candidate for the United Students campaign, Michael had put forth many long hours to prepare for this very day. “I knew what nervousness was – I’d been through situations like this a million times before,” he said. “But really nothing can compare to being elected as the vice president of 25,000 students at one of the top universities in the country.”
Gillaspie’s role of vice president is a tall order, but many who know him well know from experience that this hard working 21-year-old can handle the job.
“Nothing stands in the way of Michael accomplishing the task set before him. He will do whatever it takes no matter how early in the morning or late at night to make sure the job is done and done right,” said Hannah Love, current student body president. “I have never met a college student who invests so much into the life of others.”
Adam McGonigle, Michael’s United Students presidential counterpart, has spent many hours with Gillaspie, and he sees him as a student who possesses many qualities that make him successful in his every day life. One quality in particular to McGonigle is Gillaspie’s humility.
“Michael is a balanced individual who knows what is important to him. He maintains his values in everything he does, and works hard to achieve his goals,” said McGonigle.
In addition to working on the United Students campaign, twice a week Gillaspie wakes up at 4 a.m. to help serve breakfast at Jubliee Cafe, and he never seems to lose a step. “He's a very focused and driven person,” McGonigle said. As director of Jubilee Café, Gillaspie, along with a crew of about 15 other volunteers, oversees a twice-weekly breakfast for homeless Lawrence residents.
Amid the smell of pancakes on the griddle and eggs frying on an open flame, Gillaspie realizes it is more than about providing good food to those who need it most.
“I do it because I am able to see the impact I am able to have with members of the community,” he said. “It’s knowing that the meal I helped make and serve could have helped keep someone alive for another day.”
Gillaspie, a junior from Ashland, Kan., grew up realizing the value of community service. “Whether it was on youth group/church mission trips, volunteering at my church, mowing my adopted grandma's lawn, or working on projects with Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, I have been volunteering my whole life,” he said.
In addition to serving as chaplain and an executive officer with his fraternity, Sigma Phi Epsilon, Gillaspie also is involved with the recruitment processes of all fraternities on campus as the vice president of recruitment for the Interfraternity Council.
“I think it is great that Michael likes to get out in the community as well as getting involved with the fraternity,” said Brad Cardonell, a Sigma Phi Epsilon fraternity brother of Gillaspie’s. “I don’t know how he has time to do all of the things he does.”
Including his role at Jubilee Café, Gillaspie has amassed more than 100 hours of community service while at the University of Kansas.“I have been blessed with a lot, and I have much that I can contribute to help others,” said Gillaspie. “I will continue to volunteer my time and money to make the community or area that I live a better place. I enjoy being able to improve the lives of people around me.”
A fitting attribute for someone just elected to lead the student body, said McGonigle. “No matter what he’s doing, he brings out the best in those he works with. I expect this to be a very productive year.”

Andy Henshaw is a marathon runner, but he doesn’t satisfy any stereotypes of a runner, other than being lean and fit. In fact, when it comes to anything in Henshaw’s life, he is far from typical.

Henshaw’s house doesn’t have a bottle of water in sight. Instead, take those bottles of water and replace them with an empty bottle of Absinthe, that all college students would have wished they had had their hands on, and red plastic cups and beer cans strewn about on a plywood table. While Henshaw sipped on a can of Pepsi, and a baseball cap covered his shaggy blonde-brown hair, he said he tried to eat healthy foods like dark vegetables and colorful fruits, because fruits contain antioxidants.

“I do what feels good. I eat what makes me happy,” Henshaw said. “If you’re going to hate what you’re eating then you’re going to be unhappy the whole time.”
Nothing stays very consistent with Henshaw, though, including his diet or marathon training. That didn’t seem to bother him much.

He’s also wasn’t very concerned with his indecisiveness about his future career. Henshaw either wants to be a doctor, a veterinarian or park ranger.

“Honestly, I don’t know if I want to be a doctor yet, so I’m leaving my options open,” Henshaw said.

Henshaw, who’s 22 and a senior Organismal Biology major at KU, isn’t the kind of marathon runner who downs a protein shake every morning or before he works out. He’s actually the type of guy that had a beer after running 43.2 miles in the Brew to Brew Relay in early April, even though he said he felt nauseas for 20 minutes after the race.

Last October, Henshaw ran the Waddell and Reed Kansas City Marathon. Despite running cross country and track throughout high school, the Kansas City race was his first marathon and it qualified him to run in the Boston Marathon on April 21. Henshaw said Lance Armstrong will also be running in the marathon. He seemed to be more enthusiastic about Armstrong than running in the Boston Marathon.

“I want to run next to Lance Armstrong as long as possible during the Boston Marathon and dress exactly like him,” Henshaw said. “I think that would be awesome if I could get on TV, looking and having the same facial expression as him for as long as possible.”

He said he wants to beat Armstrong then rub it in his face.

Even bigger and badder (yes, badder) than the Boston Marathon is the Vermont 100 Endurance Race. Henshaw’s number one reason for wanting to run 100 miles in the middle of July is to out-do his brother Blake Henshaw.

The Vermont race will be Henshaw’s fourth marathon, which really isn’t a marathon, considering he’s running the 26 miles distance almost four times at once. Henshaw said he placed eleventh out of 42 men and 15 women solo racers in the Brew to Brew Relay, and that his final time was seven hours and eight seconds, which qualified him for the 100-miler.

The one thing he said he wants to accomplish from the 100-mile race is to finish under 24 hours simply so he can win a bronze belt buckle.

How does a person even begin training for a 100 mile race? He said he hasn’t even thought about how he’s going to do it, although he has looked at advice on the Internet. Henshaw has a total of three months to figure it out.

“Andy is a freak of nature and can push himself to do whatever he sets his mind to even if those activities are uninteresting to everyone else,” his brother Blake said.

Blake, who’s 24, has an adventurous streak just like his brother. After graduating from KU recently, Blake moved to New Zealand because he said he wasn’t interested in sitting at a desk; he wanted to travel. Blake is also the reason Henshaw became determined to run a 100 mile race. After Blake ran the Rome Marathon, Henshaw said he became jealous of his brother because he had wanted to run a marathon, but Blake beat him to it.

There really isn’t one motivating or driving factor in Henshaw’s life, other than a sibling rivalry. He runs marathons or does whatever he wants to do just because he feels like doing it.

For instance, Henshaw said he had his nipples pierced on a dare, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He did say, however, that he would connect a chain between the piercings, “Janet Jackson” style, if it would raise money for a good cause.

Dallas Henry, a student and runner at MidAmerica Nazarene, has been Henshaw’s running partner and close friend since high school. He went to the Brew to Brew Relay to support Henshaw. At one point during the race, Henshaw said Henry drove alongside of him during the race trying to make him eat a banana with peanut butter on it, even though he didn’t feel like eating. Henry also said he would be at the Vermont race this summer and planned to run the last 30 miles of the race with Henshaw.

“He won’t do things because it’s a popular thing to do,” Henry said. “When he decides he wants to do something…then nothing can stop him.”

Joe Haugh, a senior Business Marketing major at KU, said he was Henshaw’s pledge brother in the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity and now his roommate. He said Henshaw is spontaneous and easy-going.

“He knows he can do it and he does do it,” Haugh said.

Blake might have beat Henshaw to running a marathon first, but Henshaw has already surpassed him in running and he’s about to add more distance between them.

“It makes me a better person to have a brother that pushes himself like Andy does. It’s just too bad he beats me at everything,” Blake said.

Henshaw said he plans on completing all 100 miles in Vermont this summer, but if he’s at the point where he’s crawling on the ground, he’ll stop.

“I just kind of enjoy it. If it ever becomes dull, I’m just going to not do it anymore,” Henshaw said.

One of the work tables in the basement studio is covered with scraps of pink cloth, bits of pink fuzz and an assortment of other pink objects for a princess book he’s working on. Framed paintings lean against the walls—his own work, of course. A few more steps lead to a ‘back room’ of sorts; here, almost the entire length of the room is lined with tables piled with papers and doodles, and three computers. The opposite wall is lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. They’re filled, and not entirely with books.

This is the home studio of illustrator and fine artist Stephen T. Johnson. He has another, larger studio across town, where his bigger pieces (like the 9-by-9-by-12 foot inflatable pink mattress set called “Meditation on the Memory of a Princess”) are kept. The studio is eccentric and eclectic, much like his art.

But he’s not covered in paint, ink or any other medium for that matter. His black hair, turning grey in some places, is short and neat. His home, a picturesque yellow house with green shutters and a white picket fence, is much the same. There’s not a hint of the artist until you reach the basement studio.

Art is, without question, a central part of Stephen’s life. It was pretty much inevitable, he said. His grandfather, J. Theodore Johnson, was a professional artist. His father, Ted Johnson, is also an amateur artist who spent much of his time encouraging his young son to express his creativity.

“[Stephen] sees beauty and interest in places people don’t normally find them,” Ted said.
That ability has led Stephen into a wide variety of fields and mediums.

Ted brought home a set of big blocks when Stephen was just 6 months old. He said Stephen loved them, and by the time he was 3, had already built a rhinoceros out of the blocks. By that time, Stephen was already painting, too.

But Stephen didn’t stop there. He picked up music: piano, French horn and the guitar. In high school he joined a rock band. Their practices, in Stephen’s parents’ basement, often shook the entire house. Ted says he and his wife allowed it, and even encouraged it. Music gave Stephen one very important thing.

“It was important in cultivating a passion and drive to succeed,” Stephen, 43, said. He played in the band even into college. Two of his guitars are still on display in his basement studio. The strings haven’t been changed since college. (He graduated from the University of Kansas in 1987 with a BFA in painting and illustration.)

It was mostly chance that got Stephen into illustrating children’s books. He was working in New York City, illustrating magazines, when a friend encouraged him to submit a portfolio to a publishing company. The company liked it, and handed him first job illustrating children’s books.

“Of course, one thing leads to another, and that’s how it started,” Stephen said. He’s illustrated several books for other authors, and written and illustrated some of his own.

“Alphabet City” is a wordless picture book that captured each letter of the alphabet in very realistic paintings of city life and readers can actually remove pieces from the book and assemble a talking robot in “My Little Blue Robot.”

But now he’s moving away from children’s books. His most recent book is based on kid-friendly ideas—visual and word play—but is meant to be enjoyed by adults as well. “A is for Art” is an alphabetical and alliterative assortment of artwork. The book will be released in September.

As part of a promotion for “A is for Art,” Stephen held an exhibition at the Spencer Museum of Art, displaying many of the works that are going into the book, including “Meditation on the Memory of a Princess.” The description for “Meditation” is as follows: “a motionless, man-made monochromatic magenta mass mimics multiple mattresses and makes a massive mound near a mini mauve marble.”

As a way of attracting visitors to the exhibit, Stephen wanted to put a giant stick of butter on the roof.

Made of vinyl, of course.

“[It would be like] it fell from the sky and just plopped and started to melt. It’d be pretty groovy,” Stephen said. The Spencer Museum turned it down, though not for lack of merit. The cost of making it would have been too great. Stephen said he’d be willing to do it again, at another exhibit—if the venue is interested.

Debbie McCleod is the Youth Collection Librarian for the Johnson County public library system. She met Stephen at a fundraiser in 2006, and said he was “very fun, very outgoing.”

More importantly, she points out the things that make Stephen’s work so unique. He incorporates the real world into his illustrations. His toy books (“My Little Red Toolbox,” “My Little Blue Robot,” and “My Little Yellow Taxi”) are like puzzles.

Stephen works in both 2-D and 3-D art, across several mediums. He paints, but he also builds things. He draws and sculpts and makes collages of fake French fries, too.

“A good illustrator doesn’t necessarily cater to one audience,” McCleod said. “A lot of people try to do what he does, but it just doesn’t come off.”

“Alphabet City” won the 1995 Caldecott Honor. The New York Times named it the Best Illustrated Book of the Year. For all of his success, though, Stephen remains easy going.
“I’m serious about my work, but I’m a laid-back person. Look, I’m laying back,” he said as he leaned back in his chair.

He’s just a man trying to make a living doing creative things—“[I’m] not too different from an author or a playwright,” Stephen said. “I just got my hands in a lot more things.”

Stephen’s home life is pretty normal. “[We have a] house with kids and issues and toys,” Stephen said. Stephen met his wife Debbie, a social worker, while at the University of Kansas. They have two daughters, Emma and Sophie, ages 7 and 9 respectively. Stephen’s mother, Mary Johnson, comes over after school to help the girls with their homework. Mary attributes it to Stephen’s childhood, of which he spent much in Lawrence, the rest traveling with his family and living in France.

“He has a wonderful idea of family, and he wanted that for his daughter,” Mary said.

Stephen and his wife moved back to Lawrence from New York after Sophie was born. Stephen also says that in some ways, it’s benefited his work as well. Many of the pieces he’s made would be too big or expensive to fabricate in New York City, and Lawrence has a great talent pool, he said.

For Stephen, though, it’s the ideas that matter. “Seeing [ideas] through to the end is the hard part. But coming up with [them] is as good as it gets,” he said.

He’s always been creatively driven—his own words—and it’s unlikely that those ideas will ever stop coming. His most current project? Filing his taxes.

When driving down Puppy Love Lane, the sound of barking dogs fills the air. The lane ends at a yellow house with a front porch and a car in the garage with a sticker that reads, “A dog is for life, not just for Christmas.”

There are no dogs in sight, except for a few statues, but that doesn’t stop Nan Phipps from knowing which of her five Dalmatians are contributing to the noise.

“Their voices are all different,” Phipps said.

Phipps is the owner of Puppy Love Dog Training and offers behavior classes for dog owners in the Lawrence area. She also travels around the country to compete with her Dalmatians.

Currently, Phipps is working to help plan the 2009 National Specialty, a competition that will take place in Lawrence for the first time next year. She is also a member of the Heartland Dalmatian Club, the Dalmatian Club of America and a board member of the Lawrence Jayhawk Kennel Club.

Phipps’ passion for working with animals began with her father taking her to a pony ring while she was growing up in Arlington, Va.

In high school, Phipps began working at a riding school. Eventually she earned a scholarship and was able to take lessons herself. She never owned her own horse, but got the opportunity to work with a variety of the ones stabled at the school.

Phipps said her father disapproved of the time she spent at the riding school because he didn’t think it was proper behavior for a lady. Her mother was supportive, but couldn’t help much because she never learned to drive.

“When you look back you can see that was a real formative time,” Phipps said.

After graduating from high school in 1961, Phipps spent one semester at George Mason College. She then decided to return home and teach riding lessons after promising her parents that she would complete her first year of college through night school.

After that first year, Phipps decided to finish her education at Michigan State and earned a degree in secondary education in 1965. She completed some graduate work there and returned to Virginia in 1968.

“That background has served me well as far as organizing my business and relating to people,” Phipps said.

In Virginia, Phipps bought a house with land and began boarding horses and giving lessons. In 1987 she married Ken Phipps and moved to California for his job with the U.S. Navy.

Phipps started a riding center in California and began to build a client base. When her father saw that she was able to create a successful business, his disapproval began to fade.

Soon after the move, Ken Phipps got orders to be stationed in Italy for two years. Phipps decided to stay in California with her business.

The separation created new challenges for Phipps. She had to balance both the business and the household, taking care of many of the maintenance chores Ken Phipps had taken care of in the past.

“Both of us started to appreciate each other more,” Phipps said.

While living in California, Phipps got her first Dalmatian and began looking into working with dogs. When Phipps and Ken Phipps moved to Illinois in 1997 she decided not to bring any horses with her.

“It was a nice transition at a nice point in my life,” Phipps said.

The couple spent four years in Illinois and moved to Florida once Ken Phipps retired from the U.S. Navy in 2001. In 2003 they moved to Lawrence.

While visiting family in Florida, Phipps decided to attend the first ever Association of Pet Dog Trainers conference and became a certified trainer through the newly established certification council. She has been attending conferences ever since.

With her Puppy Love Dog Training courses, Phipps often spends more time training the owners than the dogs. She said she must help the owners understand that dogs don’t think the same way humans do.

“They have no guilt; they have no hidden agenda,” Phipps said.

Deb Ashlock has worked with Phipps in the past and is also a dog trainer. She said Phipps was unique because she always had a lesson plan for her classes. Ashlock also brought one of her own dogs to work with Phipps.

“She was really good at actually getting me to focus with him a little better,” Ashlock said.

When teaching her dogs something new for a competition, Phipps makes a two-week commitment to work with them for 10 minutes each day, six days a week. Since all of her dogs, Adler, Avita, Rueben, Arietta and Blossom, are at different stages in their training, she works with at least one every day.

Before arriving at a competition Phipps must fill out the paperwork and decide what she is going to wear. She said that in the past she has carried a spotted dress around a clothing store to make sure her outfit won’t clash with the Dalmatians.

Phipps takes her dogs to both performance and confirmation competitions around the country. She said the judging for performance was often more objective because confirmation was based on what a particular judge values in a Dalmatian.

The competitions are not all about winning, however. Phipps said she always wanted to make sure her dogs were having fun.

“I think if they didn’t like it I probably wouldn’t go,” Phipps said.

Mary Klayder greets students as they begin to arrive for her English 205 “Ways of Seeing” class. Klayder, a University of Kansas Honors Lecturer, talks with the students about the recent basketball win and about enrollment for next semester’s classes. At 11 a.m., Klayder delves into Wallace Stevens’ poem, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.”

Stevens loved Asian art, Klayder tells the class. She divides the chalkboard into 13 sections, and tells the class to analyze the 13 sections of the poem as if they were part of a Chinese wall panel.

“We’re going to look at it spatially and not literally,” she says. “Think of this poem as a visual construction.”

It’s Klayder’s own creation; this style of teaching that combines her love of literature and art. She received her two undergraduate degrees in art history and English at the University in 1972. Since 1985 she has taught more than 30 different English, writing and study abroad courses.

“I like the 105 and 205 English classes because I’m fascinated with how literature combines with other disciplines,” Klayder, 57, said. “It is usually in those classes that you have kids from different disciplines and majors.”

Klayder’s style of teaching helped her become an Outstanding Woman Educator at the University on March 27. The Emily Taylor Women’s Resource Center and the Commission on the Status of Women give the award every year to a woman who helps the academic and personal growth of students.

“When we look at the definition of an outstanding woman educator, Mary meets these qualities with flying colors,” said Kathy Rose-Mockry, the program director for the center.

Other faculty and staff at the University have awarded Klayder for her unique teaching style. In 2006, her friend and colleague Bernard Hirsch, an English professor, died and left $100,000 to establish a scholarship in her name. The first five recipients of the scholarship were chosen last month.

As Klayder continues to discuss Stevens’ poem, she uses arrows to show connecting ideas between the 13 sections. She draws snowy mountains and trees with blackbirds to illustrate ideas.

“It’s interesting to watch her hands when she teaches because they sort of flit around,” Nicole McClure, Topeka freshman, said. “I feel like it’s a good metaphor for the classroom because we sort of flit from subject to subject.”

McClure enjoys going to Klayder for enrollment guidance. As an English advisor, Klayder is known for her open office door and her willingness to help students make both academic and career decisions.

“It’ll be fine” is the phrase she often tells students. Students call it the “Mary Klayder motto.”

“I teach so many students who are so frantic that they will make the wrong decisions,” Klayder said. “I try to help them put things in a larger perspective. I encourage them to calm down.”

Although Klayder has a passion for teaching, her husband David Brown, has never been in her classroom or seen her teach. He has only seen her list of awards and accomplishments stack up. Finalist for the student-nominated H.O.P.E. award. Six-time recipient of Mortar Board’s Outstanding Educator Award. 1997 College of Liberal Arts and Sciences Advising Award.

“I hear from students all the time who go on and on about her and how exceptional she is,” Brown said. “I can only conclude that she must be one hell of a teacher.”

Brown and Klayder have been married for 10 years. They met through a mutual friend in 1997, at a time when both were recovering from the death of their spouses. Klayder’s husband, English professor Thomas O’Donnell, died in 1996 after a two-year battle with Pick’s disease, a rare neurological illness. Brown’s wife, Liane Davis, died of colon cancer in 1995.

“We connected because we could bring our past with us,” Klayder said. “We didn’t have to forget about the person who died.”

Brown and Davis adopted two siblings from Costa Rica: Elia, now 19, and Anthony Brown-Davis, now 17. When Brown and Klayder were married, Klayder adopted the two children as her own. It was Elia and Anthony who inspired her to create the University’s Costa Rica study abroad program.

“I wanted to understand their culture,” Klayder said.

Klayder’s involvement with study abroad extends beyond Costa Rica. Several hours after she finishes her English 205 course, Klayder will have a meeting for the London Review, a study abroad program she created 10 years ago. Students in the London Review travel to London during spring break and spend the remainder of the semester creating a book detailing their experiences.

Derby sophomore Margaret Tran went on the London Review last year, and said that her first trip abroad was successful because of Klayder.

“She is very knowledgeable about what places to go to, even the hole-in-the-wall places she has found,” Tran said. “We were able to do our own thing and be safe at the same time.”

Klayder will teach her 20th study abroad program this summer: the British Summer Institute. The BSI is a four-and-a-half week English and history program in England.

David Wilcox, Manhattan sophomore, will attend the BSI with Mary in June. Last month, he was named a recipient of The Mary A. Klayder scholarship, and he will use the $500 scholarship to help pay for his first trip abroad.

Wilcox has taken several courses, including English 105 and 205, with Klayder. He said although she can be a hard teacher and assigns a lot of out-of-class reading, he has also learned a lot from her classes.

“She really encourages class discussion,” Wilcox said. “She wants you to be responsive in the classroom as well as outside.”

Tony Rosenthal, associate professor of history, has known Klayder for 15 years and is teaching a travel course with Klayder this semester. The course is titled “Tripping: The Experience of Travel in the 19th and 20th centuries,” and explores travel from different perspectives. Rosenthal said that he enjoyed teaching the course with Klayder because of her enthusiasm.

“She has a really unique energy,” Rosenthal said. “She has a way of working with people and students that brings out their best.”

As Mary finishes up her English 205 class, she reminds the class of their reading assignment, “The Aguero Sisters.” She tells the class that she is having extra office hours for enrollment advising, and not to stress about their schoolwork.

“It’ll be fine,” she says.

Sandra Ristovska stood in the parking lot of Oldfather Studios, the building north of campus where KU houses its film program. Inside is equipment Ristovska has used to edit a documentary about her home country, Macedonia, and its changing culture.

But Ristovska’s car developed a fidgety, lunging tic a week earlier, and it was time to look under the hood. Showing no hints of worry or frustration, Ristovska, a University Scholar, sized up the problem. She stood straight, as always, with a calm face beneath her dark hair.

When she and cinematographer Nathalie Schulten started filming in Macedonia last summer, Ristovska met challenges with the same resolve. Schulten said the film was more spontaneous than she would have liked, but Ristovska told her something that became a mantra.

“We’ll be fine.”

The working title of Ristovska’s documentary is “Kaleidoscope.” The film combines stories of traditional handcrafters together with modern artists who incorporate folk culture into their work.

Ristovska will give a presentation on Kaleidoscope at the University Honors Program’s Undergraduate Research Symposium. The event is on Saturday, April 12th in the Kansas Union.

Kaleidoscope will screen in Macedonia in late June at the Skopje Summer Festival and in Germany. A Lawrence screening is planned as well.

The scale of Ristovska’s project is grand for a student film. Ristovska, a junior in theater and film, began the project after excelling academically and researching social and political changes in Macedonia. She said producing her own film was harder than she expected, but she always knew dedication would allow it to happen.

Ristovska grew up in Skopje, Macedonia’s capital. A professor in Macedonia who studied at KU suggested to Ristovska that she apply to the university.

While still in high school, she was named Honorary Citizen of Skopje. The prestigious title recognized her social engagement and her achievements in math and science. Film was not an obvious choice for Ristovska. Her mathematical background might have made her a physicist or an astronomer.

“I always loved film, theater, and literature, but I never thought, ‘I am going to study that,’” she said.

She started making films, because the process combined all of her interests. The technical aspects of filmmaking have come easily for her, thanks to the rigorous mathematical training.

“Whatever you do you need to be a good mathematician,” she said.

People around Ristovska are sometimes amazed by what she can do. She speaks six languages. She maintains a long-distance relationship with her boyfriend Alek, who is from Macedonia and going to school in Atlanta.

Ristovska piles on extra coursework, as many as 21 hours a semester. She thinks little of it, explaining that she likes to take electives.

“She can handle more than a regular person,” her roommate Melanie Nyberg said.

Kaleidoscope offered Ristovska a challenge and an opportunity to push her limits. Globalization has changed the social structures that support Macedonia’s cultural identity. Macedonians are finding new ways to preserve their heritage.

Globalization is at the heart of the cultural changes examined in Kaleidoscope, said Catherine Preston, Ristovska’s professor and mentor. She said the socialist government subsidized traditional craft workers, preserving Macedonian folk culture with them. Under capitalism, traditional pottery, weaving, and ceremonial costume are becoming too expensive to produce.

Sensing that her heritage is eroding, Ristovska wants to promote Macedonian culture through her film. She believes time has not run out for Macedonia’s traditions.

“The impulse to document is usually strongest when they are disappearing,” Preston said.

But Preston and Ristovska both think Kaleidoscope goes beyond just documenting Macedonia’s traditional identity. The film features urban artists using traditional patterns and imagery in distinctly modern pieces. Ristovska notices the subtle connections between the artists and the traditional handcrafters.

“If they collaborate, we’re still preserving our cultural identity,” she said.
Ristovska, 21, thinks her generation has a responsibility to those that came before it.

“I want to tell people we need to do something about it, and we all can do something about it,” she said.

Macedonia’s attempts to join NATO have highlighted the country’s fragile identity. Globalization may alter Macedonia down to its official name, if Greece, which disputes the current name, continues to block Macedonia from joining the international organization.

“I don’t like politics, but I was concerned about that,” Ristovska said.

To call Kaleidoscope a political statement, however, is antithetical to the reasons Ristovska is making the film. She wants to draw attention to Macedonian culture is a poetic way, not a political way, she said.

Ristovska is unsure if the political climate in Macedonia makes for good timing or bad timing for Kaleidoscope. She is determined to meet her deadline this June, either way. The complex subject matter of the film has made up half of the challenge for Ristovska. The other half comes from financing and coordinating the film.

An international crew makes constant travel necessary to work on the film. Ristovska has received funding from the University Honors Program, Germany’s Pictocam Production, The University of Applied Sciences in Dortmund, Germany, and others. Still, travel and equipment costs were shocking.

“I wasn’t ready for this,” Ristovska said.

The life of a globetrotting, documentary filmmaker is not as romantic as it sounds, she said, describing “going in airports with a tripod and everyone looking at me like I have a shotgun.”

One of her successes was asking Macedonian composer Goran Trajkovski to do music for the film. Ristovska expected Trajkovski to ignore such a small project after working on the academy award nominated film, “Before the Rain.” When he agreed, she said no one else in the world could be more suited.

The project needs more money for subtitles, promotion, and DVDs. To supplement the DVD, Ristovska is putting together a book, including still photographs.

“We are still fighting for funding,” Ristovska said.

But Ristovska calls herself an optimist. She knows she will find a way to make sure she meets her goals. Already, she is thinking of going to New Zealand for her next project.

Before she goes anywhere, she has a car to fix. Satisfied with a plan, Ristovska walked away from the car and into Oldfather Studios.

Toby Jennings is 21 years old and he is the CEO and Chief Marketing Advisor for his own company. He’s also in charge of distribution, sales and public relations, not to mention his work with website and product development. He is a one-man-band doing what all the major record labels do, but on a much smaller scale. Forget images of designer suits and corner offices in NYC. Instead, picture a one-car garage in the suburbs of Lawrence, Kansas and you’ll find the headquarters for Ownlife Records, an independent record label that Jennings created in the summer of 2005.
“I graduated from high school in 2005 so I got a bunch of graduation money and this is where it all went,” Jennings said, laughing. “After that, I didn’t have any money to go to college, which I didn’t want to at the time.”
Jennings sits in the basement of his rented apartment and sips on a can of Hamm’s beer. The shirt he wears is one he designed and printed himself, as is his hat. A cardboard box full of plastic-wrapped, jewel cased CDs sits at his feet. Those are his creation as well. They are copies of the 23-band compilation album titled “We must all hang together,” which was Jennings’ first release through Ownlife Records.
The idea to put together a record label came when Jennings was in high school and playing bass guitar for the Lawrence band, One Jack Short. At the time, the band was recording its own music, burning its own CDs, printing cover art and selling it all to their fans.
“We did that ourselves for five One Jack Short releases and I was like, why don’t we just do this?” Jennings said. “It’s good to be motivated and to want to be on a label, but it seems it’s always the younger bands that are like, we have to be on a label. And all the while we [One Jack Short] were so blind we didn’t even realize we were already putting out our own CDs and selling them.”
Jennings said the first release through Ownlife Records was a learning process that took more than a year and about $1,000 of his own money to complete. The album features mostly local bands, but also includes international acts from Japan and Argentina.
Local punk rock group K.T.P. was one band who submitted a song to be included in the compilation.
"Toby's is just super reliable and organized," KTP guitarist Andy White said. "He really cares about what he's doing. He does it strictly for the love of the music scene and for the love of punk rock. He's obviously not doing it for the money."
Jennings is constantly struggling to put together the money to print new releases.
“I’m thinking now that I shouldn’t have printed 1,000 copies of that CD,” Jennings said, motioning to the boxes on the ground, which contain about 600 unsold copies of the album. “I still haven’t come out of the hole with this one, but I’m still selling them and I guess I’m just a ridiculous optimist when it comes to putting out music, because the way I see it, I have 600 more CDs that I can sell for five bucks, make some money, and then I can put out more CDs.”
Optimism is the driving force behind Jennings’ work with Ownlife Records.

It was a late Sunday night in the early fall of 2006 when Garrett Beckman finally decided it was time to drop out of the University of Kansas and become a full-time professional poker player.

After a long day of putting off homework, Beckman won $53,000 for a third place finish in an online poker tournament on PartyPoker.com.

“That was really when I knew that I wanted to play poker for a living. I just took a big breath and said ‘I can do this’.”

Only a short week later Beckman found himself celebrating another big Sunday win after he placed in a FullTilt.com tournament for $37,000.

“After those big wins, I knew I was done with KU. In fact, I didn’t go to class a single day after that, at all.”

Beckman, originally of hometown Garnett, came to KU in the fall of 2003. He was a pre-pharmacy major, but one thing in particular seemed to keep distracting Beckman from his studies: poker.

“My freshman year the home games were going crazy with the big boom in television poker. There were games in the dorms almost every night.”

Beckman started off playing home games in his free time, but soon found himself playing more and more online poker and spending less time on homework.

“At the time I began playing online there was some talk about the legality of online poker and whether it would still be around in the future so my mindset was ‘get as much of your money in while you can’. But this definitely affected my schoolwork.”

After winning over $100,000 in a single week of playing online poker, Beckman decided it was finally time to drop out of KU and become a professional poker player.

This decision has turned out to be a great one for Beckman, now 23. After dropping out of his classes and pursuing online poker fulltime, ‘GBECKS’ as he is called online has enjoyed a great run of success in online tournaments and now finds himself near the top of the online poker world.

Beckman earned over $670,000 in online tournaments in 2007 alone, and finds himself as the 13th ranked online poker player in the world, according to pocketfives.com, one of the most respected poker ranking websites. His biggest accomplishments of the year include a $102,000 win in an online tournament and a cash finish at one of the 2007 World Series of Poker events.

“I call it work now, but it’s still poker.”-Garrett Beckman

Beckman plays online poker about 6 days a week, averaging about 20 tournaments per day. He begins playing tournaments around 3 p.m. each day and usually finds himself playing well into the night. Beckman can typically play between 4 and 8 tournaments at any given time, although he has been known to play up to 20 at one time.

Beckman says on average he spends between $2,000 and $4,000 in tournament buy-in fees on any given day, profiting between $2,500 and $5,000. These numbers can be deceiving, however, because there are huge fluctuations on a day-by-day basis and most of Beckman’s profits come from large wins.

“Weekends are the biggest days for online poker because that’s when lots of people are off work. Sunday’s are usually my biggest days by far.”

Beckman says he was drawn to online tournaments because of the games competitive nature and “winner-takes-the-big-prize” mindset, although there are also other reasons he prefers playing poker behind a computer screen.

“Online poker is much more profitable than live games for the simple fact that you can play so many tables at one time.”

Beckman says there are no real advantages to playing live games, and rejects the idea that online poker takes away from the psychological elements of the game.

“I don’t need to be sitting across from a person, I pretty much already know what they got just from playing so many hands. I honestly feel there’s just as many reads online as live.”

TELLING MOM AND DAD

Garrett Beckman still remembers the day he told his parents he was dropping out of college to become a full-time professional poker player.

“There were a lot of tears. I got the disappointed word a lot. I never wanted to upset them, so that was hard. But I knew what I had to do.”

Beckman told his parents about some of the big wins he had playing online poker, and explained that he was confident starting his career in the field.

“I mean it’s not really gambling at all. At first it was a little bit of a gamble, but now I don’t consider what I do gambling at all.”

Since then Beckman’s parents have loosened up to the idea, and are much more comfortable with their son’s career choice.

“We’ve always been really proud of Garrett and we’re really happy that he’s successful in his field” said Lori Beckman, Garrett’s Mother. “You always want your children to do what they want. Nobody’s going to be happy doing something they don’t want to do.”

And although Beckman’s parents are now comfortable with their son’s career choice, at first they had their doubts.

“We knew that Garrett usually made good decisions,” Lori said, “We were just disappointed that he wanted to quit school, it was just a little hard to accept at first.”

Beckman says his self-confidence and success as a poker player helped his parents accept his career choice.

“Month after month after month when you’re still winning, you start to realize you’ll probably keep winning. They now realize it’s somewhat safe for me. My parents are happy for me, no doubt.”

Beckman says his parents support his career by keeping up on all of his tournament results as well as always being there for emotional support.

“They know it can be really stressful sometimes. So whenever I need someone to talk to, they are always there for me.”

“The best thing I took from KU was my friends.”-Garrett Beckman

Garrett contributes much of his success in the poker world to the things he learned while living in Lawrence, and says he will forever be grateful for the time he spent at KU.

“I really learned the game while I was at KU. If I didn’t have those group of guys from the dorms and the home games in Lawrence, my knowledge of the game would be a lot less.”

Beckman still considers himself a jayhawk and even caught an early flight home from a tournament to catch the basketball team’s national championship win.

“I was actually playing in a tournament the day of the national championship. I busted out early so I caught an early flight back to get to Lawrence in time for the game. And am I glad I did, what an amazing game.”

And although Beckman may have perfected his poker game at KU, he still wouldn’t recommend many people follow his footsteps off of campus and into the professional world of poker.

“I wouldn’t recommend playing poker professionally to anyone to tell you the truth, I really wouldn’t. It’ll take a toll on you. It’s definitely not for everyone.”

Beckman says he would recommend that any student considering a career in poker first stay in school and get a degree, playing as much as they can in their free time.

“I wouldn’t recommend jumping in and playing poker for money until you’ve really studied the game and are confident that you are better than all of your opponents.”

However, Beckman does have some tips for improving your poker play.

“You know, self-control is very important. But you also need to have an open mind and always be open to trying to improve your game. Usually anyone with good critical thinking skills will do a good job in poker, you just have to be able to analyze situations and remember them.”

LEARNING FROM POKER

Beckman says despite all the fun he has had in his career, he has still learned much from online poker.

“I’ve definitely learned a lot about human behavior. The worst seems to come out in people when they aren’t doing too well and a lot of people don’t celebrate too great when they win either.”

Beckman says another thing poker has taught him is that in order to be a professional poker player you must have good money management skills.

“I’ve also learned that people don’t manage their money too great in the world. A lot of people will have success but then fade out quickly because they can’t properly manage their money.”

Beckman says he can’t picture himself ever not playing poker, but says he would like to invest his money in some other business venture at some point in his life.

“It’s just like any game, if you love it you will always want to play it. Although I’m hoping to play less in the future. I’d like to get it down to playing like 1 or 2 days a week.”

Beckman says another of his goals includes finally winning a big live tournament, something he has yet to do at this point in his career.

“I would really like to win a million dollar live tournament. I want to get out there and prove I’m not just an online player. It’d just be nice to get a live win and get the monkey off my back.”

And at only 23, there’s plenty of time left to do it.

Beckman has trips in the next 6 months planned for the 2008 World Series of Poker as well as tournaments in Aruba and Australia.

A large group of sorority girls, each accompanied by their mother for the annual “mom’s weekend”, walk into the bar sporting large letters, KKG. A man with a vintage striped sweater and innocent eyes hiding behind a pair of thick black framed glasses sets down a tray of fresh fruit, crackers and cheese to greet the guests. The girls scream, “Knobie!” and are eager for their moms to meet the man who has catered to their every want and need, everything from a good meal on a Monday to a round of drinks on a Friday night.
Rob Farha owner of the Wheel holds almost as much Kansas tradition inside his little home-grown bar as Allen Fieldhouse. Some of the greatest Kansas coaches and athletes in the University’s history have walked through the doors of the popular Lawrence hang out. Farha worked as a Bartender in 1988 while attending school at KU. Up until Apr. 7, 2008 he has witnessed one men’s basketball national title and six final four appearances, but this year he was able to relive the magic he experienced 20 years ago.
“I was apart of it in ’88 as a student, ’91 and ’93 I was just out of college so I went to both of those Final Fours, and in ’02 and ’03 I owned the Wheel so I stayed here,” Farha said. “And I was at the Wheel this year, but things definitely change from year to year.”
In 1988 a man named John Wooden owned the Wheel while Knobie, then a senior in college, kept the drinks coming for skeptical Jayhawk fans.
“Nobody really saw a championship in the cards for Kansas that year.” Farha said. “I don’t even know that the players saw it coming.”
Farha became good friends with the men’s basketball team that year. Wooden was close friends with legendary coach Larry Brown and as a result the Hawks held meetings and team dinners at the Wheel. Farha said he saw the players as pals, not celebrities.
“I still run into Chris Piper all the time.” Farha said. “And when they held the 20-year reunion at the Fieldhouse this year Scooter Barry came into the Wheel afterwards and I was able to catch up with him.”
The front door creaks open and four boys stagger in and take a seat at the bar, one with a backwards cap reading “Kansas Jayhawks 2008 National Men’s Basketball Champions”. Knobie delivers high fives and four Bud lights to the customers before resuming his thoughts.

With a flick of the key, the ignition fires up. The car is headed out of town, going anywhere but here.
The last stop is Lawrence, but there’s a long, hard road to drive first.
The woman driving looks around, not sure where she is but not afraid. Chocolate brown eyes stare straight ahead, framed by long brunette hair and rosy, powdered skin.
“I can tell I'm about to leave when I start telling myself, 'I haven't found home yet. I'm not comfortable here,'” she said.
The first time the car took her elsewhere, it went south on U.S. 69 two hours until it arrived at the college life, Pittsburg State University. The itch to leave didn't take long to develop. Four years of Pitt State education quickly became a few unhappy months.
After half a semester there, she knew she'd have to leave. Homesick and missing her boyfriend, she spent more time driving back and forth between Pittsburg and her parents' home in Olathe than she did in class.
“I was spending more in gas than in tuition,” she said.
Forget Pitt. The car took Lauren 900 miles northwest, this time for the adopted child to meet her biological mother 19 years after her birth.
Rawlins, Wyoming, was where Lauren spent her next months. She didn't live with her biological mom, Shelly Wise, but they saw each other everyday and started becoming close. Lauren also got to know her two half-siblings. Lauren and Shelly had their disagreements and spats, but things seemed to be going well. Until Shelly split.
Apparently, Lauren got her rambling spirit from Shelly, who left for another town in Wyoming in the middle of the night, without ever telling Lauren about it.
Again, Lauren found herself without any reason to stay where she was.
Driving around in the days before Shelly left, Lauren passed through a small town in Nebraska called Chadron. She remembered the town, population 5,208, and its small college, Chadron State.
“I wanted to belong,” she said. “I thought a small town would be the best place to start. So the day after I drove past Chadron, I was a student at the university and a resident in the town. I started out the day living in Wyoming, feeling lonely, and ended up living in Chadron.”
Her move to Chadron also marked the first time Lauren had to pay her own bills. Her parents, wealthy from a surgeon's salary and ventures in real estate, weren't helping her financially anymore. The car that brought her so far had been taken back.
She was welcome home, and her parents, Dan and Nan Schaper, paid for her education, but that was all. Lauren started working at a fast food joint in town, and walked a couple of miles each way to get there.
Her only solace was her boyfriend, who moved up from Olathe to be with her, but their relationship was souring and often he proved to be more of a headache than a man.
It didn't take long then – again one semester – for Lauren to leave once more, both leaving her boyfriend and Chadron behind. This time she was going back to the only true home she knew, back to her parents in Olathe.
“I had to start from square one,” she said. “It wasn't what I wanted to do, but I knew it was what I had to do.”
The car and rambler reunited, but Lauren decided to take a semester or two off of school and work. Her restless feet manifested themselves even in work. Lauren worked five different jobs in a year, usually as a manager, and usually at fast food restaurants.
A curvy woman with a quick wit, Lauren never had a hard time finding a boyfriend. But the men she picked were usually opposite to her in every way.
A white girl from wealthy Johnson County, her boyfriends often came from hoods infested with drugs, theft, and people who abuse welfare. Perhaps attracted to a lifestyle different than her privileged one, it was another way to escape where she was.
Even now, from high school through her move back home, she had dated every type – white guys, black guys, gothic misfits, wannabe rappers. She had years-long, serious relationships, and short relationships that never panned out. Her free spirit led her romantic life, too.
Since she left her parents home after high school, she never enjoyed stability in her personal life, her education, or even her work. She remained the rambling woman she always had been.
Something changed. When she turned 21, Lauren got back in that same car, and traveled another 900 miles.
But this time, it was different.
She came to spend her birthday by meeting her biological father and his family back in Wyoming for the first time. It was a week-long visit, but it ended far better than her experience with her birth mother. She met four more half-siblings, and enjoyed her vacation away from her work.
Laid back, her birth dad, tall and steady Lance Moyer, put Lauren at ease. She plans to return to visit from time to time, and a new relationship with the man who gave her half of her genes.
“I'm proud of the beautiful young woman she's become,” Moyer said. “We had a great time.”
Nervous when she left, calmed when she came back, Lauren experienced a small transformation in that week.
“A sense of ease came over me,” she said.
She had finally put the last piece of her personal puzzle together – she knew her parents, she had gotten to know her biological mother, and now she had met the other side of her genetic heritage.
Slowly, the rambling, the shifting feet, the itch to leave left her.
Perhaps the change came because she had a more complete picture of where she came from and even who she was, or perhaps she had grown weary of growing weary.
No matter, when she returned, she enrolled at the University of Kansas. It was a decision that was supported by family, but everyone was waiting to see if she would quit after a semester again, move on to the next city, and start anew.
She is on pace to finish the semester with a 3.0 GPA at the University, and has enrolled for next semester. She said she has no plans to move, and loves her experience with the school.
“She seems relaxed, at peace finally,” said Dan Schaper, her father.
Her plans of being a lawyer, then being a doctor, then being a lab chemist, have changed like she used to. But now, she knows what she wants to do.
“I want to own my own bed and breakfast, where I can decorate everything,” she said. “I'd make my own schedule, and I'd get to live in a beautiful place. It's everything I want in life.”
These days, the car spends a lot more time in the garage. For Lauren Schaper, staying at the same place is the biggest change in the world.

Gretchen Gier
Jour. 415
4/15/08

Personality Profile – Sheena Shippee, RVSS Advocate

“Sometimes we go out and buy little kids stuff,” Marty Stemmerman, director of prevention education at GaDuGi SafeCenter, said.
She’s referring to underwear and sweatpants, clothing often taken as evidence after a sexual assault. GaDuGi also provide snacks because the hospital process can take hours, she says.
Marty tells me that the GaDuGi SafeCenter is a community program that works to end all types of sexual violence. They provide 24-hour support services for victims and survivors of sexual violence, prevention programs and support groups.
The colorful drawings on the yellow wall behind Marty don’t match the dismal nature of our conversation. I have come to ask her about the RVSS advocates, the Rape Victim-Survivor Service volunteers I have been interviewing. We end our chat with me asking Marty the “how” question. How does she see and hear what she does, and keep going?
The, “how do you do it?” question is what lead me to Sheena Shippee, 26, an RVSS advocate since 2005. Polite and soft-spoken, Sheena manages a restaurant and plans to go to graduate school in the fall. She comes across as a very private person, almost shy, not at all a type to fight on the front-lines of women’s rights.
So again, I ask the question - HOW? How, Sheena, how do you do it? They injustice you see every month, how can you not cry, and continue to volunteer?
First, Sheena clarifies, she does sometimes cry. It’s not always easy to see and hear the things she does.
One hour in the hospital.
Five hours in the hospital.
Days in court.
Nights back managing the restaurant, as if the world remains the same, unchanged.
Sheena tells me about her background as a women’s study major. She details the training process at GaDuGi, and explains what she can about “evidence collection.” And finally she answers the how question. How she keeps advocating despite everything she sees.
“I can help,” she says. A simple statement, but the conviction behind her words is strong. “That may sound cheesy…,” she begins, but, she “has to”. She must continue helping.
She knows that rape turns someone’s life upside down, makes it a mess. She understands that she can’t do it all, or fix it all. But she knows that holding someone’s hand through the process can, “help put things back together.”
I ask Sheena what happens when she returns home after a night in the hospital. She couldn’t possible just go home and sleep, could she?
“Afterwards I'm mad and sometimes cry. Mostly when I cry, I cry a lot. I get pissed off at the world and just need some time be mad. But other times I go back to my world, take a few deep breaths, and get lost in my reality. Both are ways that I cope.” Sheena reminds me that she can call her two supervisors at anytime if things get too stressful. There’s also the advocate’s meeting once a week. Sheena says it’s what helps to keep her going after three years.
“GaDuGi is a nurturing place because we support each other,” Sheena says. “It’s helpful to talk to someone who’s done what I’ve done.”
The support GaDuGi offers its advocates must be profound; Sheena’s voice stays calm and never waivers, even though she tells me that every call is still nerve racking and crushing. Even though it horrifies her to see movies and television shows make light of sexual assault. Even though watching people get drunk can make her feel cynical, knowing how the situation can go awry.
Because ultimately, there’s only one thing Sheena Shippee wants for victims and survivors – greater support in the court systems. She knows that Douglas County does a lot for sexual assault victims, but she hates to see the court process drag on for months. “Over the years I've learned to pick my battles and realized that I can't find fault in everything, and take it so personally,” Sheena says.
And so she does what she can, keeping her cell phone close, waiting for a call, waiting to help again.

His small but sturdy frame stood resolute in the corner of his third-floor office in Snow Hall.
“Here, sit down,” he said. “OK. First I have to call them to me.”
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, simultaneously pulling his hands to his chest in a prayerful posture. Tipping his head back, he took a deep breath and swept his short arms in a full circle around him, corralling the invisible ‘spirits’ to himself. Pulling his hands again to his chest and exhaling heavily, he bowed his head.
71-year-old Mohamed El Hodiri, tenured KU professor of economics, wants to open a Kansas Center for Social Neuroscience at the University of Kansas within the next few years. The center would study and research neuro-economics, which tests economic theory against the behavior of the market.
“I’m always referring back to actual behavior. I’ll tell you what’s in the book but people don’t really do that. These days I’m not alone,” El Hodiri said.
El Hodiri says many people are beginning to consider neuro-economics a legitimate branch of economics. He is planning a seminar series in which professors and academics in the fields of linguistics, economics, physics, sociology, anthropology, and behavioral finance will host seminars in their area of expertise. Although he said it’s just a glint in his eye, El Hodiri hopes the seminars will convince university administrators that public interest in neuro-economics exists so he can apply for funding.
His thick white beard sat atop his espresso-colored skin like sheep’s wool. His large round stomach protruded over his scuffed, silver belt buckle. He brushed off his light denim jeans with a brisk swipe of his hand and leaned back.
“Ok, now I’m going to sit down,” he said.
El Hodiri was born into a Muslim family in Minufia, Egypt in 1937. One would never suspect he holds a bachelor’s degree in economics, two master’s degrees in math and economics, and a doctorate in economics. He lacks the air of self-importance that often accompanies learned men. El Hodiri doesn’t know what a stranger is. In fact, he says he has no clue.
“I grew up in a village with 200 houses and my mom told me that they were all my relatives. They may not have been but she thought everybody was her aunt or uncle or cousin, so I did too,” El Hodiri said.
Mohamed would look across the Rosetta branch of the Nile River to the great Sahara Desert as a young boy. When he turned 9, he had to attend school at a larger village eight miles away.
“Students complain about going to class—I walked across 8 miles of hot desert every day to go to school,” El Hodiri said. “If I was lucky, my dad would let me ride our donkey to class.”
El Hodiri graduated first of his high school class and first of his 1958 graduating class at the University of Cairo. He and 300 other Egyptian students were sent to Russia on scholarships to earn their doctorates. Eventually, El Hodiri made it to the United States and received two doctorates from the University of Minnesota in 1966. In 1973, El Hodiri joined the faculty of the University of Kansas. He teaches economic, Arabic culture, western civilization, and mathematics courses at KU.
He placed his hands, one over the other, and held them in mid-air in front of himself.
“I’m bringing the spirit to you,” he said. He sat down in a chair and exhaled as he closed his eyes. He put his rough, dry hands on my knees and leaned forward in anticipation.
In 1994, El Hodiri returned to Russia to help the government transition from communism. He said the new government turned out to be a kleptocracy which he described as rule by thieves pretending to be capitalists. During his time in Russia, El Hodiri served as advisor to the federal parliament and the ministry of finance. He trained 1500 midlevel economic managers in nine different Russian cities, in which 80 percent of the population resided.
“During that time I learned more economics than I taught because when you’re practicing economics you only look at behavior, not how economists represent behavior,” El Hodiri said.
Last year, in El Hodiri’s introductory economics course, he made the correct answer to every question on the final exam “undefined” meaning that the answer cannot be known. A smug smile crept over the corners of his mouth as he remembered the looks on the students’ faces when he told them the answers during the exam. Brandy Entsminger, a former student who took this particular final exam, said she knew from the first day of class he would have innovative teaching methods.
“Once you start thinking, you know that it does not have a definite answer. That’s what college education is all about. Start thinking for yourself. Nobody is the authority on anything, and there is nothing wrong with changing your mind,” El Hodiri said.
His hands resting lightly on my knees, he whispered, “Ok, now, whatever is bothering you, whatever is weighing you down, just let it go. And you are going to be ok. You’ll be just fine.” Pressing his forehead to mine, he said with a gasp, “Oh god! I feel it. Oh, wow. Yes, the spirit is coming out.”
In addition to his native language, Arabic, El Hodiri speaks English, French, Russian, Aramaic, and he’s currently learning biblical Hebrew. A poetry fanatic, El Hodiri said when he’s in love with a poem; he tries to learn its language. The Song of Songs was his motivation for learning Hebrew. It has been with him since he was nine years old, and he said he still craves it daily.
“My dark side is that I’m like a kid in a candy store. I start this and start that and if you leave me to my devices, I will never finish anything,” El Hodiri said.
El Hodiri has three children; a son, 47, and two daughters, Sahar, 45, and Nagla’a, 41, and seven grandchildren. Every night, his oldest daughter, Sahar, calls him just to check up on him, which El Hodiri said is probably a good idea.
“I like to create problems; to make trouble. It’s my job,” El Hodiri said with a giggle.
Nagla’a said that although her father has a wonderful sense of humor, his rules were as strict as his jokes are funny. Growing up, the rule for missing school was that you had to be dead. Nagla’a said her father’s favorite saying was, ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions.’
“He would say don’t just intend to do something—do it. He is a mentor to everyone. He loves his grandchildren and they adore him; they can’t get enough of him,” Nagla’a said.
Although he said he would find something to complain about every second if someone would listen to him, El Hodiri said his greatest strength was his adaptability. He said he wished that people could open up to others—just completely trust each other. Unable to go long without discussing economics, he said, “It’s much more efficient to trust everyone than to suspect every body, but I know it’s very hard. My son says, ‘My father has never found anyone to whom he could not say anything’, and it’s true!”
After a few seconds, he sat back, cupped his hands and quickly threw them away from himself, and said, “Pshew! Pshew! Ok, it’s gone. The bad spirit is gone, and now you can share this with other people.”
El Hodiri stood up and chuckled in amazement at the act he had just performed. “That is Reiki,” he said, “It’s a therapeutic massage where one senses bad energy flow in another person and expels it. Isn’t that amazing?”
While he said he considers himself a person of strong convictions, El Hodiri has big dreams for humanity. He said he wished people emphasized the area of agreement between them rather than the disagreement, because disagreements are usually minute. Once he learned that he had incorporated the entire world into his abstract ‘family’, he would find the flimsiest excuse to include people.
“I’m sure people probably have to tell me, ‘I’m not your uncle!’ But I persist; I can’t give up. I keep going. I’m just enlarging my village,” El Hodiri said.
Some may call it naivety, but his daughter Nagla’a said she believes her father embodies the richness of life if you’re willing to open your mind to it. And El Hodiri attempts to befriend anyone and everyone he bumps into in his local village of Lawrence. He walks about campus and on Massachusetts street, a purpose in his stride, with naivety of spirit and the openness of a child. Mohamed El Hodiri is out to meet his family.

Winning a BCS Bowl game and a national title are not the only things that generate revenue for the University. KU sports fan Valentino Stella’s research and patents also generate significant revenue for the University.

Stella, a distinguished professor in the pharmaceutical chemistry department has taught at KU for 35 years. Stella was raised in Melbourne, Australia, and he earned his bachelor's degree in pharmacy in 1967 from Melbourne's Victorian College of Pharmacy. In 1968, Stella came to KU to complete his Ph.D under Takeru Higuchi. To Stella, Higuchi was the first person at KU to look at and mentor entrepreneurship. Stella soon found Higuchi to be not only an instructor but a role model.

“He taught me a nice balance between teaching, research, and developing products if the opportunity presented itself,” Stella said of Higuchi.

Stella had to learn how to balance his research, teaching and family time. He met his wife at a dance in the Kansas Union eight days after arriving in the United States. The couple has three daughters whom Stella describes as hard workers. The rest of Stella’s family still lives in Australia, and he is planning to visit them in May.

Stella holds close to 40 patents and has co-founded three drug companies. The first drug company he co-founded with KU is called CyDex Inc., which is now referred to as CyDex Pharma. The second company was Crititech Inc., which is located in Lawrence and has its first drug going into clinical trials at KU Medical Center. Stella said he has a number of his patents through Crititech Inc. The third company is called ProQuest Pharma, which helps enhance drug delivery.

Stella has been financially rewarded by his patents and start-up companies through royalty money. In his generous nature, Stella has donated a lot of his own money and time back to the University. He gave some of his personal money back to the pharmaceutical chemistry department to help support graduate students. He has also donated a lot of his own money to building a new school of pharmacy. Stella created a scholarship for minority students in the current school as well. Stella is now working directly with the chancellor and provost to create a space for start-up companies that evolve out of KU to increase these new companies' success rates.

Jeff Krise knows just how generous Valentino Stella can be.

When Krise was studying under Stella as a graduate student, he worked on Stella’s concept of enhancing drug delivery through the design of ProDrug. Krise said Stella was generous in including him as a student on a patent for ProDrug.

"Stella had the idea and I just helped work on it," Krise said.

Stella did not have to share his patentable idea with anyone, Krise said, but he wanted to be fair and make his student a co-inventor. In the past five years, Krise has begun receiving benefits from that patent.

Krise chose to work for Stella because Stella was fundamentally driven in chemical science but still did practical work. Krise considered Stella as one of the founders of the pharmaceutical chemistry department. Stella deserved the credit for being so involved, Krise said, because he has donated a lot of his own time and money to the department. Stella visited Krise during his postdoctoral at the University of North Carolina and encouraged him to succeed. Krise said Stella was very instrumental in bringing him back to KU. Krise said Stella has been very supportive of his career and actually paid for his post-doctoral interviews at prestigious schools.

“He is like my academic father,” Krise said of Stella.

Stella remained very active in teaching, Krise said, where as other professors of his stature had gotten away from it.

"Stella was very interested in teaching and cherished his teaching awards that he had received through the years," Krise said.

Stella is very entrepreneurial and not only has patents but has outsourced technologies and formed companies that want to purchase licenses to his research. Krise said Stella also worked quite a bit as an expert witness in court cases for drug companies.

Not only has Stella been involved with numerous patents and start-up companies but also does consulting for the pharmaceutical and biosciences industries. Stella has traveled worldwide to Japan, Australia, Europe and Israel to consult for more than eighty pharmaceutical companies. Stella said he spent about 20 percent of his time consulting for companies outside the University.

Ken Audus, dean of the School of Pharmacy, recognizes that Stella has been a terrific addition to the University of Kansas for 35 years. Audus had Stella as an instructor during his time as a graduate student at KU. He said that Stella deserved the credit he had received for finding solutions to problems within the pharmaceutical industry.

“He is one of the most distinguished scientists and teachers at KU,” Audus said.

Stella said he found teaching and mentoring KU students to be one of his most enjoyable accomplishments. He has trained 33 Ph.D students, 36 master's students and approximately 100 post-doctoral scientists.

“That’s been my biggest joy working with these people,” Stella said.

However, Stella also knows what a rewarding feeling it is to invent a drug that helps save people’s lives. Stella has invented seven to eight drugs that help save lives everyday.

Nancy Helm, program assistant in the Department of Pharmaceutical Chemistry, has known Stella for nearly 32 years. When Helm arrived at KU in October 1976, Stella was already a faculty member. Throughout the years, Helm watched Stella progress from assistant professor to distinguished professor, raise three daughters and receive his U.S. citizenship. Helm recalls sharing stories with Stella about each of their children and their accomplishments.

“If I need a kidney, Val would give it to me,” Helm said when describing Stella as a personable and extremely generous person.

Helm describes Stella as being in touch with his students. She said that he will help mentor students who are struggling.

“He bends over backward to help the students-- both graduate and undergraduate students,” Helm said.

Stella has enjoyed playing a part in the change of attitude in research development at KU. He said in the mid 1970s it was frowned upon to have science researchers work on applied research because at the time it was not what researchers were supposed do. Now scientists have a nice balance of applied and basic research. Stella said he hoped that he had contributed to showing the younger faculty that it was possible to do both applied research and focus on teaching students.

Currently, Stella has no pending patents but tends to focus more on his students. He said he enjoyed helping the younger people in the pharmaceutical chemistry department. In his free time Stella enjoys watching and cheering on KU’s men’s basketball team.

Lindsay Dennison
4/14/08
Journalism 415

Her face is a buff beige tone with freckles peppering the bridge of her nose and cheek bones. Her hair is a natural three-tone; dominate color is chocolate brown with accented red and blonde highlights. Her eyes are brown, but are hiding secrets many people would never imagine. She has the average height and build for the typical female in her twenties. All in all, she is just your average girl next door. She would go out of her way to help others in desperate times, yet is reluctant to share her personal turmoil.

Her name is Jen Cochrane and she is studying Elementary Education with an emphasis in middle school Social Sciences at Emporia State University. When Jen was sixteen, she heard the most shocking news of her life. One day, Cochrane started having weird feelings; she knew something wasn’t right. She went to the doctor and in May 2003, she was diagnosed with Epilepsy. Her Epilepsy doesn’t come in small episodes, though. Jen suffers from the worst type of seizure: Grand mal seizures.

Grand mal seizures generally happen in two stages. The first stage is called the Tonic stage. Loss of consciousness happens and the muscles begin to contract causing the person to fall down. The second stage is known as the Clonic stage. During this stage, contractions in the muscles occur and convulsions begin. This type of seizure is the worst kind anyone can have, and is also known as Tonic Clonic seizures.

“I was in a horrible car accident while going to visit an ex-boyfriend for Christmas. I believe this car accident triggered my Epilepsy,” Jen Cochrane said.

Since being diagnosed with Epilepsy, Cochrane has been taking medicine to help control the seizures to where they only occur roughly once every three months. Her friends know she has Epilepsy, but they say it doesn’t affect her day to day habits.

“I didn’t notice her being Epileptic. If she suffers from this disease she hides it very well,” Sarah Childers said. Childers, a friend of Cochrane, also suffers from Epilepsy and was diagnosed seven years ago. Childers knows the affects of the disorder, and can relate to Cochrane very easily.

Every one of Cochrane’s friends describes her as a ‘loving person’. Melissa Sumpter, Cochrane’s best friend, stated over and over how Cochrane is always there for everyone, and that she is the type of person anyone can go to. Sumpter remembers them going out to a bar one night and having such a great time. They were dancing and visiting with everyone they came in contact with. Sumpter said everything was going well until the music changed, and the strobe lights started going like crazy. Sumpter looked over at Cochrane, who was rubbing her temples and put her head down, and knew that a seizure was about to happen. Without any hesitation, Sumpter ran up to the DJ and explained what was going on and asked him to turn the strobe lights off. Luckily, the DJ complied.

“I was so worried Jen was going to have a seizure there. I did whatever I could to help avoid it. That’s the closest I’ve seen to her actually having a seizure.” Sumpter said.

At the University of Kansas, Associate Professor of Music Theory Deron McGee, Associate Professor of Neurology at KU Medical Center Dr. Ivan Osorio, and Assistant Professor of Music and Dance Kip Haaheim did a research project in 2002 over the correlation of Mozart’s 40th symphony and an EEG of a seizure and how they are similar in time.

Prof. McGee also suffers from Epilepsy caused by a malignant tumor in his brain. The tumor was found in 1997, and he has had two surgeries to try and get rid of the tumor. Prof. McGee and his co-workers were asked to do this because music can convey emotion, isolation and confusion. Creating a piece of music that describes how a seizure works is easier than pure clinicals in the fact that it represents the emotional aspect of what happens.

“We were asked to do this for a documentary, and we noticed that it captured the essence of what I go through during a seizure. When presenting this to people, many of them came out in tears,” Prof. Deron McGee said

Prof. McGee created a power point presentation to depict how bad this disease affects the world. In the presentation, some of the statistics included was that there are sixty million people that suffer from Epilepsy worldwide, and 42,000 of these people die each year due to seizures. The number of people who suffer from AIDS/HIV, Parkinson’s, Muscular Dystrophy, and Multiple Sclerosis all combined equal the number of patients who suffer from Epilepsy.

Dr. Ivan Osorio is working with KU Med Center on a project that includes planting probes into the brain where seizures start. The probes will send out an electrical charge to suppress the seizure when it starts, and will hopefully prevent over half of the seizures before they begin.

After speaking to both friends about using the probes, Sarah Childers said she wouldn’t do it because her seizures are easily controlled by medicine. Jen Cochrane on the other hand suffers from Grand mal seizures and said she would jump at the opportunity and right research if it were to come in her direction. This procedure is still in the research stages. The cost and exact date of when it will be made available to the public is not yet known.

She comes early in the morning so no one really sees her. Quite content by herself she works out on an elliptical, a stationary machine used for running in place, at the Student Recreation and Fitness Center for half an hour to an hour. Looking at her from behind you would suspect that she’s just like any other participant wanting to get their work out in before the day of classes fully sets in. She wears headphones and grabs the towel if she feels sweat start to drip down her face to quickly wipe it away. One might think it’s odd that a facility supervisor has to lead her away from the elliptical and down the stairs, that is, until they really see her scarred face.

Hyun-Jeong Cho originally from Seoul, Korea, is a 34-year-old woman studying special education in hopes of receiving her doctorate in May of 2009.

“I started out here as a foreign exchange student when I was a junior in college in 1999,” began Cho. “After that I returned to Korea in 2000 to finish out my bachelor’s degree in special education and returned to KU in 2002 for my masters. I like KU,” she added with a laugh.

Though, she doesn’t even like ellipticals, really. In fact, she hates them. What she really enjoys is swimming. She really misses the water. And tennis, she misses tennis, too. She was a tomboy before. She was outgoing before. But things change. Accidents happen. Now, she’s introverted. A typical day for Cho goes like this: She gets up, usually before her alarm goes off because she’s learned to listen to her internal clock, heads to her office at 3107 Haworth Hall or to the recreation center, then she either goes to study in Anshutz Library or home to shower, then back to her office to work. Sometimes she eats out with her friends and she attends a Presbyterian church every Sunday. And that’s it.

“My quality of life is very poor I think,” Cho said with a softer voice. Sometimes she attributes the poor quality to the accident, sometimes she attributes it to the dedication of study and research her degree requires, either way, her life is different now than it was before.

Susan Palmer, associate research professor at the Beach Center on Disability in Haworth Hall, is Cho’s advisor and works just down the hall from her.

“I’m really surprised she is talking about this,” Palmer said. “She’s very touchy when it comes to her disability.”

When Cho was 18 years old and still living in Korea she was heading home with her mother’s uncle from her grandpa’s house. It was misty that January day in Korea, she can remember it like yesterday. It was gloomy, almost a predictor of what was to happen. Sitting in the passenger seat, she watched as a car from the opposite lane began to make its way into their lane.

“The car was making a mistake,” Cho repeated again and again. “They should have stepped on the brake, but instead they accelerated the car.”

She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. She went through the windshield. As she went through, the glass tearing at her face, the windshield wiper penetrated the left side of her forehead. One-third of her forehead was smashed. Her mother’s uncle broke a few ribs and is doing well today. Cho was hospitalized for 10 months. She received numerous surgeries on her face and eyes for five years in a row. An artificial bone now rests in her forehead. For the last 16 years Cho has been completely and totally blind.

“I still see my parents as they were when I was 18,” Cho said. “But I still carry their picture around with me everywhere.” Cho’s parents by no means still look the same as they did 16 years ago. Her father actually just retired from his business last April and currently he and her mother are visiting Spain.

According to the Beach Center on Disability Web site, nationwide more than 10,000 children and youth, ages birth to 21 years, experience deaf or blindness. Of that number, 90 percent experience other disabilities in addition to vision and hearing losses. In the state of Kansas alone, 750 children and youth are reported as having significant support needs or severe disabilities. Approximately 125 are included on the state’s deaf and blind census.

Palmer, who has worked with the Beach Center since October of 1999, works with Cho in the self-determination department.

“The self-determination department is basically working with students that have disabilities to give them empowerment,” Palmer said.

Palmer also specified that not only will Cho work with children once she acquires her degree, but also parents, because many of the children will be below the age of 18. The Beach Center on Disability doesn’t just focus on the state of Kansas either, but seven surrounding states within the Midwest and nationwide when they can.

“Kids with disabilities for many years haven’t been given high enough expectations from teachers,” Palmer said, “and parents.”

Currently the Beach Center is conducting a longitudinal study on students who have more self-determination even if they don’t have a high I.Q. They will analyze their results this summer.

Cho herself is very excited about her work in self-determination. She plans to work with preschool aged children to six-year-olds. Her hypothesis deals with self-determination and social confidence in children and how both are related to school readiness. Specifically, Cho’s interests are with children who have delayed development or a physiological dysfunction due to poverty.

“These children have less advantages from parents and social workers when it comes to their education,” Cho said.

Many may assume that Cho began her work in special education because of her own disability, but that’s not the case. Although before her accident she was very interested in art, she learned about special education through one of her first advisors at KU. From there she became interested in self-determination and how important it is when having a disability.

“She’s an incredible woman with an incredible drive and a lot of determination,” Palmer said of Cho. “She also writes incredibly well, but goes through great lengths to conceal her disability.”

As Cho steps outside of the recreation center she tenses as she holds the arm of the supervisor who’s leading her to the disability van parked in front.

“It’s cold out today,” Cho says, almost directly to the supervisor’s face. “I’m so sorry,” she adds, because the supervisor is wearing a short sleeve shirt and Cho can feel the goose bumps begin to rise. Usually Cho will pat the supervisor’s arm once arriving at the stairs and make her way down them and to the van by herself, her jet-black hair going wild in the wind.

Despite her struggle with the supervisor’s at the recreation center and their timeliness, as time is everything when you depend on a bus, Cho still comes to the recreation center because she wants to be like her dad.

“My dad is my biggest influence,” Cho said, her head rising thoughtfully. Cho recalls her workout ethic being a lot more intense before her accident; she loves the feeling of a good workout.

“I don’t workout because of appearance,” Cho said, “I workout because of my feelings. It sometimes helps with my headaches, too.” But the main reason is for her father, Hun-Jae. She laughs and says, “He always asks me, ‘Hyun-Jeong, did you workout today?’”

In May of next year Cho doesn’t know where she’ll end up going, she enjoys the Midwest and hates big cities like Seoul, but is open-minded about it.

“It depends on my job,” Cho says. “Most times they have jobs in big cities for areas like mine, but if I could find something in the Midwest…” Cho trails off thinking. “That’d be nice,” she concludes. When Cho does go off to find that specific job and reaches out to help that specific child somewhere she may realize that her quality of life isn’t that poor after all.

Green shirts are abound, the trees are green with life, students are gathered with new and old friends, there is a warm Texas breeze. This is home for 14,000 students. One student walks with her head hung, wearing her favorite pair of flip flops, she can not wait to get back into her dorm room. This is not her home.

Baylor University is where she wanted to be, but now realizes, she does not belong. The private Baptist university in Waco, Texas is two hours away from where things are familiar, where true friendships were made, where Louis Vuitton the cat sits asleep.

The people here are too judgmental she thinks as she gets into bed. She feels like a bad person because she is not the type of Christian she feels most people at Baylor are. She falls asleep.

February 18, 2006, Mallory Ritchie packs up her belongings and heads back home to Plano, Texas.

Maritza Machado-Williams stood nervously in front of five committee members, including her advisor. In a few minutes, she would give the most important presentation in her life.

As she stood there preparing for the presentation, she reminded herself that in 50 minutes it would all be over soon.

For two years, Maritza’s life surrounded the preparation of her dissertation.

For two years, Maritza’s life included late nights, research and writing. And in two minutes, she’ll if whether her hard work paid off.

Eight years has passed in order for Maritza to reach her ultimate goal, a Doctorate degree.

One hour and 30 minutes later, Maritza exhaled and let the feeling of contentment flow through her body. She completed her power point presentation, answered the committee members’ question and now she was finished.

“I felt,” she paused, “relieved."

Through the years, she balanced family obligations as mother and wife. She works as Director of the University of Kansas Student Educational Services, (SES), and director of Kansas City, Kan., high school program, Gaining Early Awareness Readiness for Undergraduate Programs (Gear Up).

To add the icing on the cake, Maritza is the president of Missouri-Kansas-Nebraska Chapter of Association of Educational Opportunity Programs.

Machado-Williams is no stranger to long hours and research. As director of two programs, she spends a lot of hours doing research and writing grants for federal funding.

“I think it’s ironic that I came to this country without knowing the language, but I make a living writing grants to the Federal Government,” Machado-Williams said with a chuckle.

One wonders where she finds the time.

“I’m impressed that she worked and still has the time to do her Ph.D work,” said Jose Espinosa-Machado, her eldest son.

Jose recalled often going home to find his mom doing several projects at once.

“I would come home and there would be work on the computer, papers, book and projects everywhere,” Jose said.

Determined, Maritza managed to balance her duties, striving to get her Doctorate degree.

Her fascination with higher education started at the age of nine. She walked down the streets of her native home, Panama with her father, and saw adults carrying books into the big building. She learned from her father that it was the University of Panama.

“I couldn’t believe adults went to school,” Maritza said in a panama-accented voice.

Her father casually brushed off her curiosity when he said not to think about it.

“My dad said ‘that’s not for us. It’s for the rich people,’” she said. “From then on, I was curious as to why I couldn’t do that.”

Maritza, who is the second oldest of four daughters, attended the University of Panama. Her family, which was part of the poverty culture in Panama and shared one bathroom with seven other families, couldn’t afford the University’s tuition of $29 per semester. So, Maritza worked her way through school.

She received a degree in Education, and soon began working as a teacher. She worked as a Special Education teacher for 15 years, also teaching Education at the University of Panama for five years—that wasn’t enough.

Maritza ventured over to the United States on a Fulbright Scholarship with her husband and three young children, seeking a Masters degree in Education. A turn of events changed that for her. After coming to America in 1989, the U.S. invaded Panama and Machado-Williams lost the scholarship.

Machado-Williams struggled to raise her children alone after her husband returned to Panama. She worked different jobs ranging from domestic work to manual labor in a factory. She said it was very tough.

“She donated blood just to feed me, my brother and my sister,” Jose said.

He said his mother did whatever she could to provide for their family. He said she managed to do it all and still smile.

In 1991, Maritza came to KU to finish her degree of Masters. One year later, she worked as a counselor in the SES office. Living by her own experience, Machado-Williams counseled student, offering the support they needed to get through school.

“What I see in every student, I saw in myself,” she said.

After four years of helping first generation college students of low income, she was named director. At that point Maritza realized she wanted more. With the support of her family, friends and co-workers, Machado-Williams pursued a Ph.D in Education.

Gretchen Heasty, Program Coordinator of SES, said she’s admires her ambition.

“She not afraid to try something new,” Gretchen said.

Eight years later, Machado-Williams will walk down the Hill, with other fellow graduates in May. Only this time, she will wear a hooding, presented by the School of Education.

“I don’t think it has sunk in yet. It’s still hard to introduce myself as Dr. So-and-so.”

Jose said he was proud and she deserved the honor. He said she was very excited when she came into the office, where he works as an office aide.

“She came into work and said ‘you have to call me Dr. Mom,” Jose said with a laugh.

He plans to join his mother on May to walk down the Hill.

Now that there are no more Saturday nights at the library, what could possibly in store for Machado-Williams?

Law school, perhaps? Maybe.

“Or maybe cooking classes—more for the knowledge,” she said with a smile.

“Don Doko, Do-Don-Do-Don!”

The students’ heads bob in rhythm to the words as one of them waves the fat drum stick in the air. As she repeats the phrase again, the rest of the students join in and together their voices recreate the drum pattern for the opening to this week’s new song. Their yells and loud drumming echoes along their practice area on campus.

In a few minutes, a small, yellow car arrives to their practice. A beefy Japanese grad student exits the car and he hears his name, “Waki!” shouted by the students as they run to his car. He pops open the trunk to let them help in carrying the heavy, weathered drums. Practice is officially in session.

Masashi Wakitani, known to friends simply as “Waki”, is spending his Saturday afternoon on Wescoe Beach, instructing the members of the KU Taiko group. The Kansas State University Japan Festival is coming up soon, but that’s not on Waki’s mind.

What he’s concentrating on is more paramount than a performance, it’s a decision. One which will decide the rest of his life.

Waki, 28, from Osaka, Japan, has been teaching a special education class for Lake Mary Center in Paola since August 2006. He’s currently on an H-1B work visa that ends in 2013.

According to the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS), they have received 1.4 million applications for naturalization which is double what they received last year. Uncertain about the wait time in the near future, Waki is currently trying to decide where he wants to work in the next phase of his life.

Being a special educator, Waki sees many different aspects of life, especially working with kids with disabilities. He teaches life-skills to high school students with developmental disabilities to help them lead independent lives.

“Some people even think that special educator is depressive, not really any hope but it’s really fun and I think that’s the origin of education,” Waki said.

But things aren’t always so simple for his job.

The kids are super sensitive. They see a slight change in him like when he raises his voice level at any point above a conversational tone. To adjust to this, Waki has to remain cool and calm, remembering to focusing on the positive and not the negative.

“He always treats students with courtesy and respect,” Principal Pauline Finch said. “He keeps them interested.”

Landing this job wasn’t so easy for Waki however. After graduating from KU in January 2005 with a Master’s degree in secondary Special Education, he received many offers from special education schools in the area. However, none of them would go the extra mile to honor his work visa.

“I can’t think of a single school that would go to the trouble of supporting a teacher’s visa when they can just hire someone who was born here,” Finch said.

Why then, did her school went ahead and supported his work visa?

“We saw in him a good teacher and figured that he was worth it to grant him the job,” Finch said.

Maybe this decision won’t be that hard for him to make then. Maybe this will end up being actually the easiest decision he’s ever had to make since arriving in this country in 2003. Maybe Kansas City, Kan., where he currently resides, has everything he would ever need.

Thousands of miles away his sister is sitting inside the family house while their parents watch over her. Sitting in her chair, she signals to her mom which TV show she wants to watch next.

Born with a severe form of Cerebral Palsy, she is the main motivation for why five years ago Waki, clueless upon which path in teaching to pursue, would make special education his “life-time” project.

“She taught me that any human being can have a life, and many times she surprised me by showing me that she developed skills,” Waki said.

If he moved back, he would be closer to his family and be able to check in on his sister. He would also be able to pursue an education job that would allow him to give something back to his home country.

“I feel like there’s something that I can contribute to Japanese education, but I don’t know what that is yet,” Waki said.

The students continue to pound on the drums in sync, waving their arms back and forth in a fluid motion. Hours earlier Waki was stepping inside a small building in Overland Park, while these students were still asleep in bed.

While he figures out how exactly he wants to help the education system should he return to Japan, Waki has been putting the B.A. in Education he received back home at Kyushu University to use.

Every Saturday morning for the past three years Waki to the Kansas City College & Bible School where he teaches Japanese and math to Japanese students. This old, cramped building is home to the Kansas City Japanese School program.

According to Principal Hiroko Koniya, the purpose of the school is to teach Japanese students who are here temporarily with their family and planning to go back to Japan. Waki teaches students from both 7th and 9th grade in the same classroom, which means he has to divide his time between each student during class.

“I think he’s very flexible, easy to get along, and he has a good report with students,” Koniya said.

Yuka Naito-Billen, KU Japanese TA, has been working at the Japanese school for the past 3 ½ years, teaching first thru fifth grades. She said the first impression everybody gets from him is polite in a sense and yet kind of intimidating.

“He’s humble and at the same time very confident,” Naito said.

Naito explains that in Japanese culture, they don’t say things directly but try to imply things and wait for the person to get what they are talking about. With Waki, he doesn’t mind saying things directly. He says it’s not very Japanese, but it’s easier to communicate directly.

“He kind of has his own way of doing things,” Naito said.

While he took Taiko lessons at the age of 3 back home in Osaka, Waki returned to this first love during his first year at KU. After telling some of his friends that he knew Taiko, he was asked to do a small performance at that year’s Japan Festival.

Five years have passed since that performance, which Waki looks back on with a laugh, calling it “very, very basic.” He went on to teach himself how to play Taiko with help from friends already in national taiko groups, and established the KU Taiko club.

“Waki is dedicated, he’s a natural leader,” former Taiko member Sam Billen said. “At times when our taiko members are getting worn out, he’s really good at pumping them back up.”

This dedication to the taiko drums is the same manner in how Waki leads his life. As long as he has a job and a responsibility, he feels like he has a mission or path to follow, no matter which country he ends up choosing.

“My ultimate goal is being an educator, change myself and keep encourage myself which will encourage others,” Waki said.

As Kate Pickert walks into her Lawrence home she expects to be greeted by her golden retriever Scout. With 18-month-old daughter Rebecca on her hip she makes her way towards the kitchen. As she steps through the entry way she looks left to her mantel to see what sits there.

Pickert has something that few people in Kansas do. Pickert has a gold Emmy perched atop her mantel.

A KU girl at heart, Pickert went to the University of Kansas for her undergraduate degree in English and then her graduate degree in Broadcast Journalism. Pickert got her first job at the KTKA station in Topeka. She started off producing the five o’clock and 10’clock newscasts. She went on to anchor the weekday morning newscasts and then became the weekend news reporter and anchor. After three years in Topeka, Pickert wanted more.

KMBC in Kansas City offered Pickert a job as the new health watch producer. After a short stint covering health Pickert went on to be a field producer.

Pickert started writing and producing all the pieces that Kelly Eckerman reported. “I was doing everything I wanted and all the sudden there were cutbacks,” Pickert said.

The cutbacks at KMBC left Pickert as the nighttime news assignment editor. Pickert’s husband, Allen, supported and encouraged Pickert through the change. Allen was a photographer when Kate was cut backed.

“We were both frustrated because we were on two completely different schedules, but I knew it would get better and that she would get another chance to produce,” Allen Pickert said.

Pickert’s chance came a year after working the assignment desk. Pickert started producing the five o’clock newscast. After producing for sometime she started submitting pieces to be nominated for an Emmy.

In 2005, the piece Pickert submitted was nominated, but did not win. The next year a piece she submitted was nominated again, and this time she was off to the Emmy ceremony. The ceremony was held in St. Louis, Missouri where Pickert got to meet local celebrities like Dick Ford.

“The ceremony was obviously a little toned down from the other Emmy ceremony that you see on television, but I got to see so many friends that I have in the industry and meet the people I was competing against,” Pickert said.

At the ceremony Pickert received an Emmy for Best Evening Newscast for the Top 49 Markets. Other states included in the market were Missouri, Arkansas and Iowa. Pickert got to give an acceptance speech and once home placed the Emmy on the mantel.

Pickert stayed at KMBC until 2007 when her daughter Rebecca was born. Pickert now spends her time freelance writing for such magazines as Lawrence Magazine. She also donates a lot of her time as the chairman of the Alumni Advisory Committee for the sorority she belonged to when she was at KU, Pi Beta Phi.

“Although she wasn’t working full time, she still had so much going on, but she was always willing to help us in anyway,” said former Pi Beta Phi president Meg Stewart.

While Pickert ponders the possibility of going back to producing, she is content writing in the meantime. Pickert is expecting another girl in August.

“We don’t know how she does it all the time, but however she does it, she does it well,” said friend Joanna Glaze.

Glaze and Pickert have worked on the alumni committee for two years together. Glaze said Pickert might slow down once the new baby comes.

“Right now my first priority is to be a mom, but if I did go back I would only want to field produce again, if that’s not available then I’m fine where I’m at now,” Pickert said.

His feet tap steadily in his worn brown work boots. From the ground up his tall frame and unshaven face look well worked. His blue jeans and dusty coat show as much. The unfinished office he sits in looks like the basement of many old houses, before carpeting and wet bars came standard. The toilet in the corner of the room sits exposed, with only the wooden studs of an uncompleted wall surrounding it. On all sides are undecorated cement walls and dust from construction.

This is where Steve Bradt, head brewer for Free State Brewery, spends most of his time these days. The new packaging and production facility, which isn’t yet finished, is a perfect representation of the man who oversees its completion.

He started working for Lawrence’s most famous brewpub soon after he completed his undergraduate in history from the University of Kansas. His need of a second job, and appreciation for good beer led him to Free State’s doorstep. There he applied and was hired as one of the brewery’s original group of employees. He started as a bartender and soon became interested in the process of brewing beer. Although he had no former knowledge or training in brewing, when business became steady for Free State, the owner offered him an assistant brewers job.

“You know I think mostly I pestered the owner with enough questions that he knew I was interested,” Bradt said.

Outside his involvement with Free State Brewery, he likes to spend time with his two sons, and enjoys the outdoors and carpentry. According to Magerl, Steve is also heavily involved in music with Plymouth Congregational Church.

“Steve is a great guy, he’s so well rounded, and he’s a fabulous singer,” Magerl said.

According to Kim Manz, the church’s director of music ministry, Bradt serves on the church’s board of chairs as the chairman of music and fine arts. He also sings bass in the choir.
Susie McKinney, who also attends Plymouth Congregational Church, has known Steve since they went to preschool together.

“Steve has always been a genuine, caring man who’s spearheaded the most difficult things in his life and achieved marvelous results,” McKinney said.

Bradt has also served as a board member for the Brewers Association, a national association for brewers, which focuses on protecting and preserving craft beers and their brewers. Magerl said that Steve was highly regarded in the craft brewing industry, and is a highly skilled and accomplished brewer.

Mention this to Bradt and you’ll get a modest response. Despite creating some of Lawrence’s favorite beers, and being a respected brewer in the national brewing community, he remains as humble as when he first entered the brewing industry. He even pointed to the difference between being called brew master and master brewer.

“Even after 20 years I don’t know if I want to be called master brewer,” Bradt said. “You know that really implies that you’ve spent a life studying mastery of this whole thing, and I’m one of those people that’s sure I’ve never quite gotten that far yet.”

With the completion of the new facility and plans to expand into bottling beer, Bradt and Free State hope to take some of their local success further out into Kansas and eventually the Midwest region. Much of the toil and responsibility will be resting on Bradt’s shoulders. If all goes well, the hard work could be as rewarding as a tall cold one after a long day on the job. Something Bradt knows a lot about.

Henry Smith’s career in music started when he was only a small child. His brother was going to audition to be in a professional men and boys choir. The two boys’ mother took her son, who was going to be eight soon, to the audition, and as the younger brother, Henry, who was six and a half at the time, got to go along. His brother did his audition, and after the audition, Henry decided he wanted a turn, too. So the little boy went up to the director and tugged on his sleeve.

“Now do you want to hear me?” Henry asked the director upon getting his attention.

The director chuckled and let the little boy audition. Usually, the choir only accepted boys of age eight or older. However, little Henry was to be an exception. Upon auditioning him, the director could see that Henry could keep pitch well, that he had some talent, and so he allowed Henry into the choir, thus laying the foundation for Henry’s life’s aspiration and dream to be a choral director.

Now, years later, Henry has become the interim music director at Trinity Episcopal Church. The road to get there was not easy. More than once Henry had to make decisions about what he wanted to do with his life.

The first of these decisions was the decision to go into economics. Henry’s family members were in the fields of education and business, and the Chairperson of the Department of Economics at Bucknell University was a member of the same church as Henry. The Chairperson was approachable for that reason, and so Henry talked to him. The Chairperson was agreeable to having Henry in the department. Henry, just finishing his sophomore year as a music major, joined the economics department as a double major in economics and music.

“I really enjoyed the courses,” Smith said. He finished all of his music and economics courses by the end of the first semester of his senior year. As a result, Henry had a very open second semester for his senior year with time to enjoy college life before graduating.

Upon graduating, Henry went to work on Wall Street. He held jobs there with E.F. Hutton and later with Banker’s Trust Co. in which he managed million dollar accounts. However, working on Wall Street was not fulfilling to Henry. He wanted to do more, and so came another big decision. It had been his goal to return to the field of music since he started working on Wall Street. However, it was still not easy.

“ The conflict was one that a lot of people encounter in some form. It was actually doing what you say you want to do versus what you end up really doing in your life’s journey,” Smith said, reflecting on the decision.

Although it was not the most profitable decision since he was making good money on Wall Street, he decided to go to graduate school. A few years later he finished his masters in Sacred Music with choral conducting as the emphasis. He then sang in the Princeton Singers and was the associate music director at Trinity Cathedral, both in Princeton, N.J., for several years.

In 2003, after spending a few years at home taking care of family business, Henry decided to go back to school for his doctorate degree. He came to the University of Kansas.

“I loved the school, it had a great reputation. Lawrence is an outstanding safe town overall, and the environment is very good. It was just what I was looking for,” Smith said.

Since coming to Lawrence, Henry started attending church at Trinity Epsicopal Church. It was there that he met Father Jonathon Jensen, whom hired Henry to be the assistant music director at the church.

“Henry is one of those people it seems that I’ve known a while,” said Jensen. As the assistant music director, Henry was put in charge of the choir for a new service that takes place on Sunday evenings at six. He has been directing that choir, called the Trinity Consort, for two years now.

“He has performed flawlessly the whole time. Unlike most choir directors, Henry is stable, level-headed, and extremely talented and devoted,” said Jensen.

Henry basically made the Trinity Consort, along with the help of assistant organist Mark Stotler. Together, they recruit, train, and teach the choir members, and they choose all of the music that the choir will perform. The Trinity Consort has impressed Father Jensen.

“It is a superb choir. Trinity Consort sounds like a professional choir that has been together several years when really they are mostly college students that come and go with each year. If you think about it, that is really amazing,” said Jensen.

Only two years after becoming the assistant music director at Trinity Episcopal Church, Henry was promoted to interim music director after the previous music director retired.

“He proved himself solidly over two years and so I appointed him to interim music director. I trust him,” said Jensen.

After having worked with Trinity Consort for two years, Henry is glad for the promotion and the opportunity to work with not only the Trinity Consort but also the Trinity Adult Choir, which performs the morning service on Sunday.

“I enjoy working with people and working toward a common goal,” said Smith. Working with choirs previously and now with the Trinity Consort, he has found it very rewarding to see choir members grow from their experiences in music. He is living his dream.

Three women shuffle slowly down the hallways of Fraser Hall, swathed from head to toe in folds of cloth that depict traditional Islamic dress; the only body parts not covered are the hands and smiling faces, and chattering quietly to one another in Arabic they glide by, seeming to not notice the hoards of rowdy students, fresh off a national championship rush, pushing past them. One girl looks up and grins at an approaching friend, also veiled, and as she passes her perfume lingers in the air and a ripple of fabric catches the light, flashing the embroidered initials CD lining the long folds of her hijaab, the traditional Islamic headscarf.

Her hijaab is Christian Dior, a top-dollar brand in the high-fashion industry.

This case of designer Islamic-wear isn’t unusual, in fact luxury designers like Louis Vuitton, Prada, and Gucci all have specialized stores in Egypt, Lebanon and Saudi Arabia that cater specifically to the modern Muslim woman, crafting elegant head scarves and gowns out of light silks and rare cottons. The idea of designer clothing for Muslim women is a difficult one to grasp for fashion-forward Americans, who commonly associate high-fashion with mile-high legs and patches of exposed skin, but it isn’t the only concept foreign to American understanding. This week is Islamic Awareness week at KU, sponsoring lectures and group meetings, trying to give campus a taste of Islam. Out of the 1,663 international students at KU, 163 are from the regional Middle East, according to the International Studies and Student Scholars office. A problem with Islamic Awareness Week is that most of the demonstrations on campus focus on the religious aspects and politics of Islam; few KU students really understand the culture of the women beneath the veil.
“People think that just because we cover [ourselves] it means we don’t have fashion,” says Dalal Albuhayri, an international graduate student from Saudi Arabia, “Fashion is huge back home.”
At first glance, Dalal looks as if she was plucked out of an old Hollywood movie with Arabian princes and belly dancers. Her voice is low and harmonious, and she accentuates her near-perfect English with graceful hand motions. She is cheerful and hospitable, and projects an air of dignity and self-assurance. Her full, wavy locks of shiny, jet-black hair almost touch her elbows, and her deep, dark eyes are rimmed with long lashes and black eyeliner. Her face is flawless and her brows are plucked, and her meticulousness about looking beautiful is obvious. After she laughs and shows off a perfect smile, the Hollywood depiction of an Arabian princess is complete.
Dalal is used to propriety, expensive jewelry and dressing to the nines, and although at home she enjoys the busy, cosmopolitan lifestyle of Riyadh, the Saudi Arabian capital and hub for Islamic fashion, her life was not always full of hustle and bustle. For the first ten years of her life Dalal lived in a traditional-style house in Kuwait made of cement and mud, which her father had to re-plaster every few years. Her favorite memory of her childhood in Kuwait is her mother’s cooking, specifically kapsa, a traditional Arabic dish made with chicken and rice.
“It is a traditional dish, but my mom always makes it best, because she adds this secret spice,” she says with a smile, and closes her eyes to better remember the smell. Every time Dalal mentions her family she gets a sad look, barely visible under her composed expression. Coming to Lawrence, Kansas for graduate school was the first time she traveled away from home alone.
On August 2, 1990, a month and six days after Dalal’s tenth birthday, Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait, and three days later her family fled their home, her mother fearing for her older daughters’ safety and virginity around the new Iraqi police forces.
“We didn’t take anything with us except for food, because my mom said we would come back in, like, two days. No clothes, no nothing,” she recalls, “Everywhere we went trying to get out of the country we were stopped by Iraqi police, the streets were all blocked. We avoided them by going around and into the desert into Saudi Arabia.”
Dalal’s usually confident and cheer-filled voice quiets and dulls a little when she talks about leaving her home. She says that while she was scared, but that the move must have been more painful for her older siblings and her parents, especially her father, who knew no other home than Kuwait. She says if she’d had the chance to go back and get one thing, it would have been her brand new Barbie doll.
“I had just bought her, and I was upset I never got to play with her,” she says, laughing.
After the oil fields began to burn, her family knew they would never again return home.
She, her parents, and her eight brothers and sister settled in Riyadh and began to build a normal life. After completing a degree in Nursing and working at King Faisal Hospital, Dalal desired to further her education and study respiratory therapy, a program only offered in the U.S. and Canada. She says she’s wanted to be a doctor as long as she can remember.
When Dalal first moved from the cosmopolitan capital city Riyadh to the college town of Lawrence, she suffered quite a bit of culture shock.
“My thought of America was like in the movies, with the killing, and the raping, and the violence, but here in Lawrence there is none of that…I thought I was coming to like, a big city where I would see Britney Spears, or something.”
The typical college life at KU took some getting used to, especially the night life.
“I never saw drunk people before, because drinking isn’t allowed in Saudi Arabia. So when I first saw drunk people I was scared, but after I got used to it was okay,” she says. Dining habits also took some getting used to.
“The plates are really big here,” she says, “At home we have smaller plates, and we don’t have refills. In the restaurant we don’t take leftovers in the box. At home we don’t leave a tip because it’s insulting, but here I always leave a tip,” she adds.
Back home in Saudi Arabia, college-age students always look their best, in and out of the house, and Dalal was surprised to see students in classes wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts. “When I saw here that the girls looked natural, I started wearing less [makeup] than before.”
Her favorite designer is Elie Saab, a name synonymous with luxury and modernism in the fashion industry. She loves perfume; her collection includes both American and foreign scents, her favorite is a Saudi Arabian scent called Aood, which smells seductively of burnt sandalwood and spice, and conjures up lingering images of luxurious fabrics and rich desert hues. Anything to make a woman feel or look presentable, she says, is worthy of obsession.
“I’m the kind of person, I like to dress up, and in Saudi Arabia, girls are crazy about fashion,” she says, “we wear beautiful clothes under our abayyas (long garments worn like capes and dresses), and when it’s just us girls, we wear our beautiful clothes.”
Dalal’s roommate, fellow Saudi exchange student Areej Al Somali, interjects,
“Dalal is always loving fashion. She is always into the magazines.” When Areej first came to Lawrence at the beginning of this semester, she says Dalal reached out to her.
“[It was strange] how much Dalal changed. At home she was bossy, and would never do that for someone she didn’t know [very well],” Areej says. While the two were acquaintances back home, their paths rarely crossed. Dalal agrees that being in the United States has changed her outward acceptance towards people.
“When I came I didn’t know anyone,” she says, “and now after living by myself I’m a lot less selfish than I was back home.”
She says a common misperception she encountered is that wearing a hijaab is a strictly religious act, but in fact, it is more cultural tradition than religious zeal that makes women cover. Dalal chooses not to wear her headscarf on campus because it isn’t the culture here.
“I grew up…with ‘women are supposed to dress modestly’, like traditional. It is more cultural and… it is a personal choice. Most Saudi girls, when they travel outside the country they don’t wear one. The ones that do feel comfortable, like it’s safe…like they should cover in public and in front of men.”
It is the culture that begins riots and protests in countries like France and Turkey, both of which have had bans on wearing head scarves inside government buildings. The main two sides of the argument are that all religion should be separated from the state, including evidence supporting a religion, such as a headscarf. On the other side is the claim that the headscarf is traditional, and that freedom of religion should be promoted, especially in government buildings.
Dalal only has a few headscarves with her in the United States; she says she doesn’t use them except for traveling home. After she gets her master’s degree she hopes to stay in America, the only one in her family to do so, and she wants to eventually marry an American.
“Life here is very different than back home,” she says, “but as long as I can go shopping I’m okay.”
Of all the cultural barriers of dining, mannerisms and customs, fashion is definitely one that crosses them, and, as Dalal says, is something women everywhere can relate to. The culture and lifestyle of these exchange students is something Islamic Week could ever really portray, and the only way to overcome this social construct is to simply say, “hello.”

Lisa Roberts wears nothing to work but a white robe. The young, petite girl starts off each work day the same way. Roberts struts to the center of a classroom where art students sit behind their canvases with pencils and brushes in hand waiting for their subject to reveal herself. Roberts tugs on the strings of her robe and pulls it off her shoulders before dropping it to the floor. The minute the only piece of clothing covering her body hits the ground she begins to the strike her first pose.

“The first few minutes of each class can be kind of weird, the ‘de-robbing’ as I call it, but all in all it is really easy to get over because the students are looking at me as a pure form, not a girl,” Roberts said.

Roberts works as a nude model for the School of Fine Arts and does not fit the description of a typical model. She stands at about 5’3 and her pale white skin is covered with tattoos. For many years, Roberts modeled for different independent designers, but always wanted to find a way to make it her full-time job. At the beginning of the spring semester, she called the art department looking to model for the figure drawing classes and received a position immediately. She views the nude modeling as a way to make herself more aware of her body, but it also adds to her resume.

“Working for the art department as a model gives me credentials when working with fashion designers and other artists,” Roberts said. “When they ask me what I do for a job I tell them I am a full time model, which isn't a lie.”

Roberts continues to stand in the front of the room challenging the students work with the different twists and turns of her body. As Roberts holds each little pose for about a minute before switching to the next one it is hard not to notice her unyielding confidence. Posing naked in front of students who she might run into on campus may seem intimidating to some people. Roberts says it doesn’t bother her and it is nothing to feel ashamed about.

“I go to St. Lawrence on Sunday mornings with my boyfriend and I saw one of the students there,” Roberts said. “We talked like we were peers or colleagues; there was no awkward underlying forbidden secret.”

Now that the short small poses are over, Roberts switches to longer poses which can last up to ten minutes. Her platinum blonde hair falls in her face and almost reaches the top of her two lip rings. Holding the pose for a longer period of time is no problem for Roberts who always knew she wanted to work as a model.

“When I was a kid I dressed up all the time and I spent many hours in front of the mirror smearing make-up all over my face,” Roberts said. “I still do the same thing.”

Roberts’s friends and family are not surprised by her love of the job. Carly Halvorson, Overland Park junior, said Lisa’s confidence is what makes her perfect for the modeling.

“She doesn't care at all about what people think of her,” Halvorson said. “That's the thing that I love most about her, and that quality seems to be contagious - hanging out with her has made me more confident in myself.”

Roberts closes her eyes as she continues to hold her pose and stretch her body to the limits without moving an inch. She takes deep breathes and gets lost in meditation while the students work on finishing their drawings. Bailey Hoffman, Spring Hill sophomore, is a student in the School of Fine Arts and knows the creativity and determination models need.

“I think what makes a good model is someone who’s not scared to get into interesting positions and experiment with the angles of their bodies instead of just sitting there,” Hoffman said. “I don’t think how long you can hold a position makes you a good model but holding it still does.”

After a three hour class, Roberts is free to put her robe back on and leave. As she stands up and ties her robe strings, she smiles. Roberts says she never feels ashamed or embarrassed of her job.

“The fact that it is nude is only important to people who are not involved in it,” Roberts said. “No one else notices.”

Al Moews, Roberts boyfriend, says it doesn’t bother him that other people get to see her naked.
“I would feel no different about the modeling than if she were selling shoes,” Moews said. “As long as what she does is satisfying to her and she feels she is doing what she wants, then I am happy.”

Roberts gathers up her things and puts her street clothes back on before leaving her job. The care-free mood she started her day with remains intact as she walks out the door. For some people, standing in front of a classroom naked is a reoccurring nightmare that happens in their dreams. For Lisa Roberts, it is her job.

“Oh, you can’t go pro. It’s not worth it.” The voices of so-called friends echoed in Justin’s head as he stood amongst teammates, their hands raised in alliance. Bright red sweatbands having been cut to fit his hands stood out amid the other black-gloved hands against the muted blue sky. As Justin’s teammates spoke of the game about to begin, a sharp whistle broke above the roar of thousands of fans shouting near by. Nobody seemed to notice the shriek except Justin, his head rising to attention as he searched the sidelines for where the sound came. His father stood in blue jeans, flannel shirt and cowboy boots, he was pointing to his head. Justin nodded in acknowledgement, a communication between father and son no one else could understand, developed over the eight years of Justin’s paintball obsession.

Moments before the first game, Justin runs over to his bag and pulls out a black sharpie, one last thing needs to be done before he can play. Writing “913” across his knuckles, he grabs his yellow-tipped gun looking more like the sprayer used to rinse the soap off a car at the carwash than a paintball gun. “Use your head,” he repeats what his father’s gesture meant in his head. The first game of the World Cup begins.

Justin Vandewynkle, Lenexa, KS, junior, caught a severe case of the paintball bug when he was 13, after playing it at a birthday party. “I thought it was going to be like G.I. Joes hiding out in the woods,” Justin laughs and rubs his neck with embarrassment. “It’s not like that at all.”

With more participants than BMX and skateboarding, paintball is the #1 Extreme Sport in the United States having about nine million participants, according to National Sporting Goods Association data. From 2001 to 2006, it was the fastest growing Extreme Sport, increasing 44%. Paintball is the only Extreme Sport involving a team.

Justin, along with his brother, Jason, bought their own equipment for the party, before they had even played the game. “I just knew I was going to like it,” Justin shrugs. “We fell in love with it. Let’s see, the birthday party was in May, and we bought our dad his own equipment for Father’s Day that June.”

The three boys all share one extremely similar characteristic, an intense competitive nature. “My brother stopped playing because he has a really bad temper,” Justin chuckles. His father, on the other hand, stuck with the sport and tags along with Justin to every tournament he can.

“My dad… oh, wow,” Justin says as he shifts in his seat, his eyes widening as he carefully considers each memory. He takes off his University of Kansas hat with a shadow of where a prominent Jayhawk used to be. It bears several tears and dirt marks, giving the idea that it’s his favorite hat. It reflects the wear of several beatings, the reflection of Justin’s career as a paintball player. “He supports everything we do. He’s the greatest dad, he helps me out so much.”

Jeff Vandewynkle, bearing the nickname “The Hillbilly”, reveals just that. “I’m old country; you could say a redneck. I don’t worry about anyone else, I like it (his nickname),” Jeff jokes. “I’ve missed a couple tournaments, but I have just as much fun as he does. You know, before too long, he’s gonna be too old to do this.”

A chill goes through Jeff as he talks about his son, taking his time to ponder what to say about the man his son has become, the man he has come to admire. “He’s a fantastic kid. I got goosebumps,” Jeff responds, taking a deep breath. “We’re probably best friends, it’s like there’s no age difference between us; we do so much stuff together.”

The friendship and connection is obvious between the father and son. The admiration hangs on each word as they talk about each other. Jeff’s respect for his son is evident in every selfless, backwoods filled response. Justin will have continuous support and praise at home while he decides his future, whether or not it includes paintball.

“I know he loves it (paintball) so much,” Jeff’s voice is filled with an airy emotion, staggering between tears and absolute delight. “I’m so proud of him. Sometimes I have to keep quite at the games, I can’t holler too much, people start looking.”

After buying the gear for their father, Justin, Jason and Jeff decided to enter an “amateur” three-man paintball tournament. “Apparently, amateur doesn’t mean beginner in paintball, but we didn’t know that,” Justin says with amusement, recalling the first tournament he played with his brother and dad. “We got destroyed, we had no idea what we were doing. We looked like morons.”

“We were in over our head,” Jeff says with a deep chuckle, his voice fills with excitement as he recalls the experience. “My two boys were shot out, but I had no idea. So it’s three on me, and I’m shooting at this one guy and he’s shooting back, and some guy comes up behind me and shoots me in the back of the neck. A lot of people booed him because everyone else knew we had no idea what we were doing, but it was fun.”

Since that first tournament that made Justin look like a moron, he’s played in hundreds of other tournaments. In October of 2005, his team went undefeated to win the World Championship Cup. “Playing in front of stands packed with people is the reason I do what I do,” Justin explains with a surprising calm. “The rush is unexplainable, it’s crazy.”

Even with years of experience, a professional team offer and an impressive list of scouts’ praise, Justin describes himself and paintball with a humble composure.

“Some of my friends made it big and I didn’t,” he sighs as he examines his disappointment. “They gave me the cold shoulder and got big-headed, they started making fun of me. They had groupies and were making $2,000 an event. I’m not in it for fame; I’m in it for the fun. I promised myself I would never be like that.”

He reveals a boyish modesty after offering a website featuring different players and comments left by the scouts that studied them like insects, examining their every quality during a clinic. Under his misspelled name, Justin Van DeWynkle, the Midwestern Paintball Combine website bears insight into every possible statistic about the player. Next to Justin’s picture, wearing the same scruffy KU hat and a simple smile, positive remarks pour off the page. The end remarks read, “Every team needs a kid like this, plays hard every point. Very positive person makes teammates better.”

A shocking embarrassment makes Justin shift as he smiles and laughs uncomfortably. “I guess I got lucky,” his modesty comforting while he tries to explain he’s not as cool as it seems.

An injury left him unable to participate in the other sports he played at Olathe North High School. During the first football game of his senior year, he blew out all the ligaments and tendons in his shoulder while making a tackle, and broke his collarbone soon after. “I was embarrassed because I was a senior and I didn’t play,” a deeper pain seeping into his words. “I can’t throw a baseball or a football. Even when I have kids, I can’t play catch. How bad does that suck?”

Bearing this disappointment, Justin is still a recognizably positive teammate and friend. Chris Carden, a 17-year-old Lawrence High School junior, is a “little brother” to Justin. “I guess you could say we’re pretty good friends,” Chris says, pausing to contemplate what to say. “You know what, actually, he’s one of my best friends. He’s such a good role model. Justin has helped me a lot, helped me learn. Paintball is kinda what we do.”

Justin’s mother, Shelli Vandewynkle, exudes admiration and awe for her son. His positivity a quality enforced by his mom. “I don’t want any pitty-parties,” a stern tone underlying Shelli’s words as she explains her reasoning. “I don’t like the words ‘I can’t’ because you can. As long as you try hard, this world is filled with so many opportunities. All you have to do is grab a hold and take a ride, and this world will take you on an astonishing ride.”

Justin’s paintball dreams carry tough sacrifices. Travel and equipment reach well into the thousands. Paintball guns alone cost between $900 and $1,500, along with weekly trips all over the country to places like Chicago, Los Angeles, Buffalo, N.Y. and Disney World, what he has to give up weighs on him. “I’m always gone, there’s never enough money, sometimes I wish I was home more,” a look of regret and apology cross Justin’s face before displaying a mischievous smile. “But sometimes I like being gone, it’s like being on vacation.”

His lifestyle has a dedicated support group, vowing to be there for Justin as long as he follows his dream. “I know that he loves to play paintball and the events so I would never be upset about him leaving,” Amanda George, Lenexa sophomore, says about her boyfriend of three years. She reasons that Justin is equally supportive of her dreams.

Even though Justin is an incredible paintball player with the goal of becoming a professional at his fingertips, he has a few peculiar traits. Not only does he like to cook, he will sleep in the bathtub of a friend’s hotel room to save money. “I’ve had them turn on the ice cold water at 2 a.m.,” Justin laughs with amusement. “Great friends, huh?”

Explaining his favorite movie, The Godfather, innocent delight fills his gestures while he stumbles over the difference between not actually breaking the law, but the aspect of it, and how cool it would be to be in the mafia.

He tries to watch a new movie every other day and has a life-sized cardboard cutout of Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean in his apartment. “Pirates are sweet,” pure amusement covers his embarrassment and satisfaction. “What’s a sweeter job than being a pirate?” This obsession explains the blow-up parrot hanging from his ceiling.

A genuinely nice guy with some odd characteristics, Justin becomes a completely different person when he steps onto the paintball field. Knowing what’s at stake, he becomes mean, determined to make the other guy look stupid. “I say ‘I hate you, you don’t deserve it’ to myself,” Justin explains without reserve. “Losing is the worst thing ever, it’s unacceptable.”

Justin embodies a noticeable love for his family, friends and where he comes from. “One of my superstitions is to write ‘913’ on my knuckles before every game,” a smile crosses his face, daring an objection. “It’s my area code. I love being from Kansas City and want to represent it as best I can.”

Justin will continue playing a level below professional until he graduates from college. The support from his friends and family will continue, no matter what he decides to do. “I don’t want him following my footsteps,” his father, Jeff, says without shame. “There’s something big out there for him.”

Shelli agrees with a comprehension and love only a mother could understand and be capable of, “I don’t think he knows how much he warms our hearts. I just hope he follows his dreams.”

Fans dream about having the job he does. He never did, but he admits his past experiences made him for this.
“I just kind of got into the whole thing early on and never looked back,” he said.
Sports fans everywhere watch the shows closely, but not in the literal sense that he got to in Bristol, Connecticut.
Steve Zawalinski geared himself for a bright future this past summer by interning at ESPN studios. He spent most of his time working as the associate director for the popular shows, The Best of Mike and Mike in the Morning, ESPNEWS’ The Hotlist, and Sportscenter.
The job seems a desirable one and it is one that Steve earned. While he doesn’t remember wanting to be in the media as a child, his opportunities prepared him for his current job, the internship and his future job at ESPN.
Growing up in Connecticut it was a move to Allen, Texas that started the broadcast career.
“I landed in a school with a great broadcast program and I was able to start directing newscasts,” he said.
After gaining a lot of experience in high school, Steve chose KU and started working on his journalism degree in August 2004. He quickly got into the TV room again and started directing at KUJH-TV.
From there his experiences piled up with opportunities at KSNT in Topeka, TBS football, SkyCam, WOI in Des Moines, Iowa, and his current job working the camera for the video boards at KU basketball, baseball, and football games.
While working his job at Rock Chalk Video, the thin senior with brown hair is either filming breathtaking highlights or looking for the perfect face in the crowd. The cameras are big but Steve carries the load and does his best to catch all of the action.
He recalls memorable experiences of his job like fist pounding Jeremy Case before every game and being run over by the likes of 6’8” players Darnell Jackson and Julian Wright.
“This job is probably the most fun because I am right in the action of every game right on the sidelines,” he said. “I get the best seat in the house.”
Steve found himself literally in the middle of the action last year when basketball player Darrell Arthur attempted a no-look pass.
“It found my head instead of the player,” Steve said. “It was replayed on ESPN with the commentator saying that I ‘would have a black eye the next morning’”
Steve will be on the other side of the camera at ESPN this June either as an associate director or floor director. His full-time position duties will include working with graphics, video and live shots for ESPN’s most popular shows.
“All of the graphics that appear on screen are called for by the AD,” he said. “So as the director is calling for camera shots and directing anchors, the AD is telling the Technical Director to put name graphics, topic bars, and sidebars on the screen.”
It sounds like a lot of yelling and a stressful environment. But he insists that it isn’t and everyone seems to get along.
“One of the other things that I found to be surprising about ESPN was the lack of egos there,” he said. “For a place where there is a lot of money thrown around you would think you would get some pretty big egos. For the most part everyone acted like they were on par with each other whether they were an anchor, a producer or a camera guy.”
This is comforting news as he has been accustomed to a relaxed atmosphere in his long list of broadcasting experiences. He started out as laid back sports fan in Connecticut. He can’t wait to get back there in mid-June where he will find himself n at the Mecca of American sports better known as the worldwide leader.

Every weekday morning Robin Halbert drives 45 minutes from his home in Ozawkie to Hashinger Hall to do the same job he’s done for the past 18 years: cleaning. After finishing high school Halbert said the last thing he wanted to do was more school, so he started working. Since that time he has put his hands to use in a variety of jobs at a printing company, a fast food restaurant and a grocery store, but now he wants to use his hands in a different – and more relaxing – way.

In 2006 Halbert took an interest in massage therapy and enrolled at the Pinnacle Career Institute. During the program he developed a passion for massage and a desire to make it his career. Despite doing well in school and pursuing jobs when they arise, Halbert has had difficulty finding employment as a massage therapist.

Halbert came to the University of Kansas in 1990 and has worked as a custodian for the department of student housing ever since. Except for GSP and Corbin, he has worked in every residence halls and a few scholarship halls. Halbert said his favorite part of the job is interacting with the students.

“That’s what keeps me coming back, is the students,” Halbert said. “Cleaning gets kind of boring after a while. When you’ve been doing it for almost 18 years, there’s not really all that many surprises.”

Although he said his current job doesn’t vary much, it was Halbert’s love for his wife and not boredom that inspired him to start a new career. Halbert met Kathy while they both worked at Hardee’s. One day he asked if he could walk her home.

“How many guys ask if they can walk you home and then hold your hand the whole way?” Kathy said. “Hell, that’s the most romantic thing I can think of.”
On the way to her house Kathy said Halbert pulled out his horoscope card and said, “I’m a Scorpio, and Scorpios always get what they want. And I want you.”

Halbert described his 21-year marriage as one of his passions. He said he works on it whenever he can, so when Kathy fell and broke her leg in 2006 Halbert naturally did as much as he could for her. He stayed home from work, fixed meals, and barely left her side for fear that she might need him. But he still wanted to do more.

“I wanted to do something to help her and her recovery, and massaged helped me do that,” Halbert said.

He enrolled in the Pinnacle Career Institute’s massage therapy program, and what began as a way to ease his wife’s pain resulted in the discovery of a new passion. It fit his personality and his desire to interact with people.

“I am kind of a not so normal guy in the fact that I like to hug and touch people,” Halbert said. “This gives me a chance to do that. It gives me a chance to help people in the healing process from an injury or if they’re stressed too much.”

Halbert graduated from the program in August 2007 as a Kansas-certified massage therapist, but switching his career has been difficult. Halbert said he has applied at five or six different places, but he has yet to get a job. Sometimes he doesn’t even get phone calls back.

“With the school being here in Lawrence, I have a lot of competition for jobs. You just have to be able to find the right place and tweak your resume just right, and I haven’t found the right place or my resume’s not tweaked quite enough for an employer to say, ‘Hey, we need to talk to him.’”

Halbert’s gender might also be working against him. Both he and Kathy said they think that employers prefer female massage therapists. Kathy said all the females he graduated with have been able to find jobs.

Kathy said she is encouraging Halbert to get his national certification. She said if she’s going to put the family into debt by going back to school, he might as well, too.

Money concerns both Halbert and Kathy. Lasting injuries from her accident left Kathy unable to perform her work duties, and consequently she was let go on April 4. She said not working is a nice break, but she does worry about finding a job soon and brining money back into the house.

Halbert said he hopes to move into massage therapy full time soon. He said he plans on getting his national certification and learning several other types of massage, including infant massage, to make himself more marketable. He continues to apply for the few positions that do turn up in Lawrence. He is working on his resume to give to a new massage clinic opening in June. Until he gets a different job, however, Halbert will remain a custodian at the university.