April 2009 Archives

   by Kamaria Cartledge       

         

           With a yellow highlighter in his right hand and a two-pound "Microeconomics

Theory" book in his left hand, his face is twisted with a look of concern. His wide eyes

squint tightly at the 10-point font of jumbled words in front of him, as if everything else around him is invisible.          

            Ifeolluwa Omoniyi, 23, who prefers to be called Ife, grew up in Lagos, Nigeria, where he experienced first-hand the importance of a good education. Even though Nigeria lacks a strong public school system, Ife's parents always provided him with the very best educational values.

            "When I lived in Nigeria, I only attended private schools and studying was a number one priority in my house," Ife said. "I can think back to when I was in secondary school and instead of playing soccer on the weekends with my friends, my dad made me study."

            Biodun Omoniyi, Ife's father, graduated from the University of Nigeria with a degree in electrical engineering. Currently, he is the managing director of VDT Communications in Nigeria. He organizes network engineering solutions and data communication. 

            Faloshade Omoniyi, Ife's mother, also graduated from the University of Nigeria with a degree in electrical engineering. She is currently the business development assistant-manager for Lagos at First Bank of Nigeria.

            Ife is the oldest of four and the only boy.  He has three sisters, Jasola, 17, Yosola, 15 and Desola, 9. As elite class citizens, Ife's parents can afford to send their children to any university in the world.

            "Originally, I wanted to attend a university in Canada with my friends, but my parents pressured me to attend a university in the U.S.," Ife said. "I came to Kansas because my parents said KU embraces international students."

            Ife's parents did not want him to attend a university in Nigeria because the Nigerian university system lacks the funding to hire professors with experience and funding for adequate research and technology.

            "The Nigerian university system is getting better, but an education from the U.S. is more valued in Nigeria," Ife said. "Nigerian universities are preoccupied with political office holders, the private sector and the judiciary.  Basically, the government is more concerned with the military."

            Ife left Nigeria to attend KU when he was 18-years-old. Before coming to KU, Ife had his own preconceptions about America.

            "I liked that the U.S. was more economically developed than Nigeria, but I did not like the fact that they handled everything with violence and war," Ife said.

            After attending KU, Ife had a more positive view of America.

            "I still think the U.S. has its problems, but considering everything that has been going on with the economy, the U.S. has handled everything quite well," Ife said. "I really value the passion for freedom the U.S. has."

            Ife received his undergraduate degree at KU in finance and economics and is currently attending KU graduate school.

            "Even though my dad wanted me to major in computer science because of the money I could make in Nigeria, I chose to double major in finance and economics," Ife said. "I wanted to specialize in something that would help me change the economic foundation in Nigeria."

            During Ife's experience at KU, he met his fiancée, Shanxi Upsdell, 22. Shanxi graduated from KU in May 2008 and is a copy editor at the Lawrence Journal World. She and Ife dated for three years before they became engaged.

 

Ifeolluwa Ominiyi and his fiancee, Shanxi Upsdell

            "The first thing that attracted me to Ife was his smile," Upsdell said. "He's very outgoing, but at the same time, a very private person."

            Shanxi is from New Zealand and is from a very diverse background. Her mother is Asian and her father is Australian.

            "My family is like a mini-United Nations," Upsdell said. "I'm used to growing up with so many different cultures."

            Ife and Shanxi are from very different backgrounds, but they share the experience of being international students.

            "Both of us didn't fit into American culture, and that was something we had in common," Upsdell said. "We also share our faith in God."

            Ife and Shanxi are taking ballroom dancing lessons in preparation for their wedding and after they are married, they plan to work in the U.S. for 12 years before moving to Nigeria. She plans to become an English teacher in Nigeria.

            "It's going to be an adventure moving to Nigeria, but it's something we both can handle," Upsdell said.

            Shanxi and Ife's families both accept their engagement, but Ife's family is still getting used to the idea.

            "My parents love Shanxi and they are happy for me, but I know they wanted me to be with a Nigerian woman," Ife said.

            Ife wants to move back to Nigeria and become a finance minister. He wants to work for a federal reserve, central bank.

            "Nigerian government officials abuse their power and the people in Nigeria do not get to experience true freedom," Ife said. "The problem in Nigeria is that people do not know how to manage their resources, and they need more business resources."

            Seventy-percent of Nigerians live on less than $2 per day. Inflation is over 10 percent on almost all goods in Nigeria.

            "I will do everything I can to change the economic system in Nigeria, and I will never turn my back on my people," Ife said.

           

           

 

 

           

           

           

 

           

           

           

             

           

 

Mandy Shriwise stands at a ballet bar in a dance studio in Robinson Gymnasium, rigid yet graceful while practicing her form and technique.  She moves through the positions of ballet, all based on the same foundations. First, second, third, fourth, fifth, repeat. 

Shriwise continues this routine for the entire class. 

"I have a natural fascination with what the body can do," she says. "And, with dance, you see the capabilities of the body within this structure, this routine; that's really attractive to me."

                For Shriwise, dance always provides a point of stability in her life.  Raised by two teachers in Overland Park, Shriwise, a fifth-year senior, attributes much of her attitude and outlook on life to her parents' balance between providing guidance and not acting controlling.  Yet she never had an extremely close relationship with her parents and her younger brother, a 21-year-old majoring in engineering at K. State.

 "The situation wasn't always good," Shriwise says, of her parents arguing and father's infidelity, which eventually led to divorce when she was 13.  "I was always aware of a conflict, but, at the same time, it wasn't about me.  I was really removed from it in a lot of ways, but since I recognized it, I think that's why I really became so self-reliant."

  Dance provided Shriwise with both the comfort of family and an outlet in which to embrace her independence.  She began dancing at age three and moved into ballet at six, latching onto dance and proving to be what Janet Hamburg, professor of music and dance, called a "technical natural," even though she didn't have the typical ballerina body type.  By age 11, Shriwise apprenticed the senior studio and, at age 12, became a member of the senior company.  Within the company, Shriwise found what she considered a second family among the other dancers and her teachers.

Shriwise enjoys the structure and focus of ballet,

which she calls very cerebral. She considers dance

a perfect complement to pre-med because both

study the possibilities of the human body.

"She was so much younger than all of the other dancers," said KU student Caroline Enders, who grew up dancing with Shriwise at Somerset Ballet in Kansas City. "I think she sort of looked up to the other girls and really knew what to expect from growing up because she had these big sisters. She always felt taken care of."

At age 15, everything in Shriwise's life seemed to be in synch with dance.

 "I'd wake up at 6:30, go to dance, school, volleyball, band, dance again, then homework, eat, sleep and wake up and do it all again," she said.

 Selected to participate in the Boston Ballet's summer workshop, a prestigious program that auditions 5,000 dancers every year and enrolls only 250, she felt elated.   

However, the feeling crumbled when one of Shriwise's dance teachers at Somerset was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died while Shriwise was in Boston.

 "She was like a second mother to me," Shriwise said. Her dance studio also changed ownership, and Shriwise's dedication to the company quickly dwindled. "I had quite a bit of talent, but it was just like, 'What's the point?' I was out of shape and had no idea what I wanted to do with my life."

She came to KU.  Not knowing what to do with her life is something that followed Shriwise to KU.  Because of her fascination with the workings of the body and her intellectual inclinations, she decided early on to follow the pre-med route.  But after taking organic chemistry her sophomore year, Shriwise decided to try some new things.

"I saw all of these students who were so stressed out by these classes, and I didn't want to be stressed out.  The goal was to not have a mid-life crisis," Shriwise said.

So, to avoid a "mid-life crisis," Shriwise began deviating from the structure of her life and her goals, experimenting with new classes. She studied abroad in Tanzania and became co-director of the Center for Community Outreach, which registers student-led volunteer organizations to help them build a foundation in the community.

After spending a summer in Tanzania, Shriwise realized

that she "sees the world through the eyes of a dancer,"

said Professor Janet Hamburg.

"I've been actively figuring out what I want to do," she said. "You know, so many people want you to say, 'I'm going to med school, I'm going to be a doctor.' So many people rule things and experiences out for simplicity's sake, and I don't want to do that."    

Despite becoming somewhat disenchanted with ballet before she began college, Shriwise auditioned for the University Dance Company and made it freshman year. Dance has nonetheless played a unifying role in her college life, but, instead of serving as a physical escape, though, ballet evolved into a mental escape for Shriwise.

 "It's really cerebral, but not so much verbal, which is hard for people to understand," she said. "If you look at the structure of the brain, memory, balance, everything is working. It's all really stimulating, and I don't get bored."

 "She is a very intelligent dancer," Professor Hamburg said. "When she returned from Tanzania after her sophomore year, she said to me, 'I've realized that I see the world through dance.' She may do all of these things, but dance ties it all together."

While she is currently rehearsing for the University Dance Company's "Tree of Life" performance in April, this is the first semester that Shriwise has stepped away from the company. This decision coincides with finally figuring out what she wants to do, choosing her majors--dance and economics, with a minor in African studies--as well as scheduling her medical admissions test for May and applying for public service internships in Washington, D.C., with Former Kansas Gov. Kathleen Sebelius and designated Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services.

 

"There's something about the focus, the synthesis, of dance.  It's learning the motions, almost mechanistically, and then you learn how to convey what you want to the audience," Shriwise said. "But I had to find a new way to live my life.  The routines, the structure, of dance have grounded me, but it's not just about the routine, about being self-reliant. A lot of college has been me learning I can't live life on my own."

 

For a video of Shriwise rehearsing for the Tree of Life performance, click here.

            As the client, she welcomes you into the salon with a warm, gregarious smile, as if she was welcoming you into her home. You receive a refreshment of your choice and proceed to follow her into the room and begin hearing the light resonance of nature in the background as you put a terry cloth robe on.  You lay on the table, under the covers, and a steamer begins to spray moist air onto your face.  The next steps are done with precision and consist of facial cleansing, exfoliation, a light extraction, a massage on your face, neck, shoulders, arms and hands and a finishing touch ending with reflexology, a form of massage in which pressure is applied to certain parts of the feet and hands in order to promote relaxation and healing.

            This is the facial that Karin Kloog, a recent self-made esthetician, specializing in the study of skin care, at Dash Salon and Spa gives on a daily basis.  She genuinely likes what she does and it is apparent in the way she attends to her clients. 

            "I like that I'm providing a service to people," Kloog said.  "It's a good feeling to see my clients relax for an hour and allow me to renew and help their skin."

            Kloog, just 37 years old, has managed to pave her own path to a life she is overjoyed about.  She can't seem to contain her excitement when she talks about her job, family and future.

She grew up in Ottawa, KS. just Southwest of Lawrence and now lives in Lawrence, KS. with her husband of eight years, Mike, and her 6-year-old son, Aiden.

Even as a child she wanted to be in some field of cosmetology as a career.  Janice Craft, Kloog's mom, said that when Karin was just two or three years old she wanted to be a hairstylist.  Always having been drawn to beauty, she later decided that she wanted to be a makeup artist.  Estheticians are trained in makeup and that was when she decided to go to school and went through a six-month long professional training program in the field of skin care in Olathe, KS.

            Kloog's dream has always been to own her own salon, or at least work independently in a salon, but she knew it wasn't going to be a one-step process.

"That is all I was thinking about when I was done with school," Kloog said.  "But I didn't have the means to start anything like that so I kept it on the backburner and continued on, knowing that that was where I had to end up."

            She found a job at Salon Di Marco on Massachusetts Street where she really excelled in her profession and was actually able to build-up her clientele.           

"I had regulars that would call Di Marco and ask specifically for me," Kloog said.  It was great."

            But the sun wasn't shining for Kloog as long as she had hoped.  By this time she had had her son, Aiden, and was given difficult hours to work around and her boss was not pleasant to work with; sometimes even the clients were difficult.  But, in the end, the negative experiences she encountered at Salon Di Marco happened to be a good thing.  It taught her how to conduct herself with her clients and co-workers in those types of circumstances.

Besides her son, Kloog's most proud of her decision to leave Salon Di Marco and work for herself at Dash Salon and Spa.  She found out about Dash from one of her clients at Salon Di Marco who said that they had a new owner that Karin would really get along with.  She knew this was her chance.

Karin Kloog describes her typical day as an independent esthetician

Kloog said that leaving was not a difficult transition but she had her reservations.

"I was nervous about being broke," Kloog said.  "I know it's a slow process though, and I won't be making the same I used to for at least a year but I absolutely don't have any regrets.  Now that I work for myself I'm much happier and more relaxed.  Aside from being your own boss and making your own money, you have so much more control over how you want to handle things."

She managed to take about 50 percent of her clients with her from Salon Di Marco and considers all of her clients to be her friends. 

Jessica Smith, Topeka Senior and one of Kloogs' clients that followed her to Dash, has been seeing Karin for waxes for about two and a half years and she won't go to anyone else.

"When I first went to Karin at Salon Di Marco I made sure to request to have her all the other times I went back," Smith said.  "When she told me she was going to be working for herself I was so excited for her and was glad to go wherever she ended up.  She is so good at what she does."

Kloog focuses her practice on waxing, but she also offers services such as makeup, facials and body wraps.

"My favorite is waxing because with facials and body wraps you want your clients to relax," Kloog said.  "What I enjoy most is talking and laughing and joking around with my clients."

"My favorite part about going to Karin are the great conversations we have," Smith said.  She is such a personable woman, how could you not look forward to seeing her."

Along with her clients, Kloogs' number one fan is her mom, Janice Craft, who is bursting with wonderful things to say about her daughter.

"I'm very proud of her independence," Craft said.  "She is frugal, careful, intelligent and most of all she's a really fantastic mom."

Craft said Karin gives her facials all the time as well as tests new styles of facials she is starting to offer to her clients.

  But Karin makes sure to test all her products on herself first to make sure they work.

Even if she has the life she has always wanted and is content with where she has ended up, she admits that she isn't anywhere near settled.

"I'm in the midst of starting my own skin care line," Kloog said.  "So far I've found a manufacturer that makes organic skin care and I'm picking out five to six different products."

One of the major plans for the future that Kloog is thrilled about is starting her own business with her husband.  Her husband, Mike, is currently in school for massage therapy and they eventually want to combine forces and make something together.

"It's been a dream of ours for sometime," Kloog said.  "When he does get out of school he's going to work at a couple places first to build up his clientele and get used to it." 

After successfully going through the process of marriage, motherhood and family, Karin Kloog has managed to go even farther and work for herself as an independent esthetician and couldn't be happier with her life at the present moment.  With more goals planned for her and her families' future, she looks forward to what lies ahead.

"I'm nowhere near settled down," Kloog said.  "I have so many ideas and aspirations I want to fulfill.  But life's not a race, I want to run with what I'm doing for the time being because I'm happy where I am right now."

Karin Kloog describes her experience as an esthetician

 

            Derek Jones stands on stage, warmly illuminated by the red glow of stage lights, tightly gripping his electric hollow body guitar, strumming furiously on the strings. He is a large, brooding figure, dressed almost entirely in black, his booted foot tapping out the rhythm of the song. His band mate, Dane Talley, stands beside him, playing with equal ferocity. The bar is empty save for a handful of loyal fans and curious bar hoppers. Yet the music- a knee slappin', soul-jerkin' foot stomper from the days of the whiskey houses and wandering cowboys- is pulsating loudly despite the emptiness.

            At this moment, Jones doesn't care that no one has showed up again. He stands before the microphone, black fedora pulled low over his face, eyes shut tight as he belts out the song. 

            His voice is deep and smooth like a well, but when the song calls for it, he reaches down into the darkest crevices of his stomach and yelps like a proud coyote. When he does open his eyes, he stares off into the distance, not looking at anything in particular. When he plays music, he isn't thinking about anything. His mind goes blank, actions driven purely by raw emotion. He simply plays, the guitar another extension of himself.

            In a way, Jones' directionless gaze is another projection of himself, like his music. Music is his life, his only love, and everything else fades away in the face of it. At 22, Derek Jones is a drifter in the classic sense of the word. He cares not so much about where he's at but where he's going. And he will go wherever the music leads him.

            The song ends to a thin round of applause and Jones smiles a pleasant, toothy grin, which makes his round cheeks look almost cherubic.

            "Why thank-you!" he says in his husky, country boy drawl. "We're the Lee Baby Sims Show. Thanks for having us out!"

 

            With a quarter of Cherokee Indian from both sides of the family coursing through his veins, Derek Jones is a broad, almost intimidating, individual. Standing at 6' 4" ("With boots," he adds, because he is never without a pair of bone crunching cowboy boots), with linebacker shoulders, he seems the kind of person who'd kick your ass as soon as look at you.

            "People who don't know me are afraid of me," he says.

            The more the man talks, the more he smokes, which only adds to his image as a hard-living, rough and tumble outlaw musician from ages past. He insists that he's simply misunderstood. He smiles more than you'd imagine, and his humor, though cryptic and dry as tinder, is affable.

           

             Born July 7, 1986, in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains near the town of Chillicothe, Ohio, the country mentality is something that is simply a part of him. His earliest memories revolve around the time spent on his grandfather's tract of land in the hills. Every night after dinner his grandpa, Warren Stevens, would go out to a warehouse on the property to be by himself. The warehouse was off-limits to Derek, but he would nonetheless sneak out and follow his grandpa to his secret hiding place. Jones would sit silently on a bucket in the dark as his grandpa listened to old records of Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, and Woody Guthrie. It was in this dark corner of a dusty warehouse, lit only by the glow of his grandpa's cigarettes, that Jones began his love affair with outlaw country music, an affair that continues on to this day, shaping his way of life.

            The drifting began at an early age, as well. His father, Robert Lee Jones, had what Derek calls, "occupational ADD."

            "He started out painting trucks, worked up to a high position in the company, but then decided to leave Ohio," Jones says.

            The elder Jones' decision to pack up and move an 11-year-old Derek, his older brother Kyle, and their mother, Beth, was a constant theme in his life. Once the Jones clan left Chillicothe, the story continued on this way for the next five years: his father would find a job, move up the ranks and then decide to leave again.

            "He never explained why," Jones says.

            They first moved to Osawatomie, Kan., then on to Hutchinson, Kan., and eventually took root in Springfield, Mo.

Derek hates Springfield, to put it lightly. In fact, he never liked moving around as much as they did. He never felt like he had a home. Wanting out of his life and feeling the call of the unknown, he began train hopping at age 16. No one knew that on the weekends or during long stretches of time, a teenaged Derek would catch a train and ride it for hours on end. His parents didn't, and still don't, know he did this.

            "It gives you a few hours to yourself to watch the country roll by," he says.

            All the while, the music was in his head.

            Originally, Jones considered himself more a writer than a musician. But it was about the same time he started train hopping that he switched his focus to music. He wanted to get out of Springfield for good, though, so he enrolled at Illinois College to play football. Things soured quickly when he blew out his knee. He left Illinois and began darting around the country, living in places such as Philadelphia, Springfield (again) and eventually back to Chillicothe. All the while, he was playing music, trying to establish a career as a solo act.

            He reluctantly moved back to Springfield for a final time, but the move proved serendipitous. It was while he was working in a Starbucks inside a Barnes and Noble that he met Dane Talley, his future band mate. 

            The pair became instant friends and shared a common love of music. Derek, who was always a solo act, found a kindred spirit in Talley, who is also an accomplished guitarist. They formed the Lee Baby Sims Show and with it created their own genre, which is something they like to call, "bastard country cowboy blues." With an audio engineering degree he completed in Chillicothe, Jones was able to record and produce their albums. Soon, Springfield became too trying.

            "Finally, I was like, I gotta get the fuck outta here," Talley says.

            So they packed up and headed out to Lawrence. They both had high hopes for the Lawrence music scene and immediately found a sense of community among the other bands living in Lawrence. Things were good at first. They were playing shows on a regular basis and established a foothold in the music community.

            "For the first time I've felt a sense of home," Derek says.

            Now, a year later, he's stayed in Lawrence longer than he's stayed anywhere else in his life. But he's beginning to have his doubts. With the closing of the Gaslight last year, the boys have seen an alarming decrease in the amount of shows they're playing. They simply can't find any gigs.

            "We've been on the radio in 50 states and 37 different countries," Derek says with frustration. "We just can't get local bars to listen."

            The situation has become so dire that Jones has thoughts of leaving again. He has the opportunity to move to Albuquerque, N.M. with his brother in the summer. If that happens, Dane won't follow and the Lee Baby Sims Show would be no more.

            "All I want to do is play music for as many people who will listen," Derek says.  If packing up again and leaving everything behind, including his best friend and artistic counterpart, is what it takes, he will do it. In the face of his music, all else fades away.

            To Derek Jones, music can be summed up in one word: "Everything." In truth, it's the only thing he can come up with. He gets tongue-tied trying to describe just what his music means to him. It makes sense- music expresses what his words, both written and spoken, cannot. All he knows is that he wants to play it, no matter the cost.

            Steve Ramos, 22, has never celebrated a birthday or any holiday for that matter. He hasn't because he grew-up in a family devoted to Jehovah's Witness beliefs. He looks back on his childhood and sees a happy child growing-up with his family. He doesn't feel deprived, doesn't feel ashamed, but rather indifferent. However, his calm and closed-off demeanor suggests otherwise. He seems withheld, like there is more to say but he doesn't want to or can't because of his religion. He overviewed the religion saying that the name "Jehovah's Witness" comes from the Bible's name for Jesus, Jehovah, and that the followers are witnesses to Him. He said they are expected to share or witness their beliefs to others and to follow the rules of the Bible.

            One thing strikes as odd. Steve shares about his pleasant memories and content with his family and religion, but he has recently given all of that up for a women he met online. Steve met Sarah online six months ago. During that time, they got to know each other through email and video chats. Things were going well for the couple and Steve and Sarah began to discuss moving in together. He knew that moving in with Sarah would require him to break away from his Jehovah's Witness values and would drastically change his life.

            After weighing the consequences for a few weeks, Steve decided to break the news to his family. He told them about his new girlfriend and his decision to move out of state and into a house with her. After hearing his decision his parents were extremely upset. Not only was Steve moving out of the house, but also moving out of state, and into a house with a woman. Something Jehovah's Witnesses believe should only happen in marriage. To make matters worse, Steve went on to tell his family that Sarah is Catholic and not a fellow Jehovah's Witness. His parents had heard enough. They told him to pack his things and leave the family. Steve was cut-off from his family and also kicked out of his religion. For this reason, Steve refused to give out his family's phone number for an interview. Such sensitive subjects were not to be discussed in public. Even he was hesitant to speak throughout the interview.

            "I'm going against the religion and living in sin. Living with a woman before marriage, and she is Catholic. It was a big decision but I was ready for it," said Steve.

            His family now refuses to visit him, but has begun to talk with him about important issues via telephone. They do not give him money or support his decisions in any way, but they have come to accept those decisions and want him to know they still love him. While Steve could reprove to get back into his religion, he will not do so. He believes he has done nothing wrong by moving in with his girlfriend and does not want to give up his new life for his religion.
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            His love for Sarah is stronger than any other tie in his life. He sacrificed everything for her, his family, his religion, and his friends. All of that was lost in his move from Fremont, Ohio, to Lawrence, Kansas. His new life can be what he chooses it to be. He doesn't know how long it will last or how well it will go but he hopes it will work out. Love is all he has now, and that is enough for him.

He lives a fairly normal life now. He works 40 hours a week at Batteries Plus in Overland Park, more if the boss lets him have the over time. He plays with his grandkids in Olathe when he can. He keeps his car and his motorcycle in tip-top shape. He has his hobbies too; racing RC cars.

                But Jim Folsom said life wasn't always as normal or as easy as it is now.  At the age of 19, Jim was convicted of felony statutory rape and sent to a state correctional facility. His 16 year old girlfriend's father found out about their intimate relationship and contacted the authorities. "It was a real disaster for me. I felt like I didn't do anything wrong, and now I was going to prison."

                For the next four years Jim lived in Lansing Correctional Facility. His life was turned upside down. "I was surrounded by some real hard dudes, and I had to harden up too," he said.

 He learned to be a real angry person in prison, and that led him to get in fights with other inmates.

                Now 53 years old, Jim has a grizzled look to him. He stands five foot six, but carries a presence that says "don't mess with me." His graying hair is kept short, and he always keeps his beard at a five o'clock shadow. Though you can't tell at first glance, more than half his teeth are false. Remnants of his past, lost in one fight or another. 

                After getting out of prison he bought his first Harley-Davidson. Jim found release in riding his Harley. His love for riding helped him get into groups with other motorcycles riders, the type of people with criminal intent. This also gave him an outlet for the aggression he had developed in prison. The fast paced lifestyle led to more fights and crime. It was also where he met his future wife, Barbara.

                At the age of 26, Jim's father died, and three years later his mother passed away. Jim was left nearly $250,000 in retirement money. He spent all of the money throwing parties and drinking booze, on motorcycles and motorcycle accessories, on cars he couldn't afford. "That money lasted me about four years before I had to file for bankruptcy." After the bankruptcy he was left with nothing.

                Jim and his wife had to start their lives over. After their daughter Crystal was born, the difficulty of raising a family and the financial struggles led to their divorce.

                Jim has since turned his life around. He said he realizes in his old age that he needs a stable setting to grow old in, and he wants to be able to give his grandkids a good household to live in. Though he is now divorced from his wife Barbara, they still live together. He helps support her, his daughter, and his three grandkids.

"He really changed his life from the days where he used to get in fights all the time," Barbara said.

                Jim works a steady job as a manager at Batteries Plus, where he replaces batteries in everything from cars to watches. He still rides motorcycles, but he keeps away from the negative crowd that life can breed. His main hobby now is racing RC cars professionally. "The team I'm on has a really good car. Our last race we finished 15 laps in front of everyone else." Jim said. The course, which was 100 laps, required at least two pit stops, one to change batteries and one to change motors.

                Jim realizes the life he lived was exciting, but he regrets his time spent in prison, and how much time and money he had wasted. His days of fighting people are over.

            For some teenagers, adopting a new pair of siblings can be troubling. But for Kelsey Simpson, Spring Hill sophomore, it signaled something much more significant.

            When she was 12, Kelsey's parents adopted two children from a drug-addicted 14-year-old mother: 2-month-old Emie and 14-month-old Trey.

            "It gave me the opportunity to be really interactive with kids," Kelsey said. "I was more of an adult and there was that age gap, and that love just kind of formed."

            These kids had a huge impact on her teenage years.

            "She was very hands-on when Emie and Trey were young and she did a lot with them when they were very little," said her mother Vicki Simpson.

"Kelsey's always had a very caring nature about herself," said her father Rick Simpson. "She just likes to help other people."

            As a young child, Kelsey wanted to be a veterinarian. But her new younger siblings led her to change her mind and focus on a future involving others.

            "I just thought my skills were better used toward people," she said.

            Kelsey worked in a day care in high school, and it only cemented her desire to help others. She even visited on days she wasn't working.

            "She wanted to change the world in some way," said Vicki.

            Fast-forward six years, and Kelsey came to the University of Kansas to study biochemistry and Spanish with plans to attend medical school.

            "I've always wanted to make a difference in someone else's life, and sciences and math just come naturally," she said. "I thought that it was a good way to put the two together."

            It's a story told countless times before: a student whose love for helping others leads to a career in a medical field. But Kelsey is far from your typical student. Much of her free time is not spent on her studies; instead, it is devoted to honing her skills on the Kansas River as a member of the KU rowing team.

            "Rowing is probably one of the biggest challenges I've ever faced in my life, and the most rewarding," she said. "It finds a way to beat you up and bring you down, but in the end you are at a much better place."

            She heard about rowing from a friend of her mother's whose daughter is on the team. Kelsey saw an advertisement for the team during her freshman year, and two weeks of tryouts later, she was on the team.

            Each week, she has 20 hours of practice in addition to school. Kelsey says the lessons she's learned from rowing apply to other areas of her life.

            "It's just taught me never to give up and keep pushing for what I want," she said. "In the end, all my hard work is going to pay off. With school I've just wanted to throw in the towel and change what I want to do because I don't get enough sleep or I may study and not get a good grade. But with rowing, it's become second nature to see the positive outcomes and know I can push through."

            Being on the rowing team seems like an advantage Kelsey has over other students, but she insists that all of the student-athletes she knows are normal students who strive to perform their best both athletically and academically.

            "That's probably the biggest misconception, especially with athletes who get good grades" she said. "Most people don't see how hard we work, and they think it's just all about free stuff and everything's peachy."

            Kelsey has the scars to prove it. She strained muscles in her lower back last semester, and since January has been struggling with a foot injury, leaving her in a walking boot for two months. On March 31, she was able to take the boot off and work out again after cortisone shots.

            Despite all these issues, Kelsey sees rowing as an integral part of her life at KU.

            "Rowing is very different from anything I've ever done," she said. "It's my stress relief. And school is always something that's come first in my life, and the opportunities KU student athletics gives are so great."

            These opportunities include tutoring services, as well as a total mental and physical support staff to overcome the difficulties that come along with the sport.

            "Having this there makes you want to continue being a student athlete," she said.

            Even with such a heavy load from rowing, Kelsey is not losing sight of her goals.

This summer, she plans to work in Eustis, Fla. at Camp Boggy Creek, a summer camp for terminally ill children. She stumbled upon the camp while looking for internships.

"It just pulled on my heartstrings and made me feel like it was something I should do," she said. "What these kids are going through makes me want to make a difference in their lives."

Making a difference is still a priority for Kelsey, and despite such a demanding schedule, she continues to forge ahead with her dream of working with kids as a doctor.

"I just feel like there's a better purpose in life than just goofing around and wasting time. There's nothing else I could see myself doing."

Kansas freshman Lee Ridenhour stood, all 6-foot-3, 200 pounds of him, on the Hoglund Ballpark mound. His curly brown hair was tucked, as always, beneath his red, white and blue Kansas baseball hat. He looked in to take a sign from senior catcher Buck Afenir, and nodded. Sixty feet away stood burly Texas third baseman Michael Torres, a preseason all-conference selection. Ridenhour cocked back his gifted right arm and fired. Torres looked on as the radar gun flashed 93 and umpire Terry Harrison let loose a shout--"Strike!"

Ahead in the count, Ridenhour wasn't looking to give Torres anything to hit hard. A slider broke just out of the zone and Torres held back a swing to take ball one. The count even, Ridenhour went back to his dependable fastball. Torres unleashed a mighty swing, but the ball glanced off his bat foul--strike two. Again ahead, Ridenhour stuck with the fastball, this time painting the black of the outside corner of the plate. Torres watched silently. The umpire didn't. "Strike three!"

The strikeout was part of a performance that earned Kansas it's first series sweep of a team ranked No. 1 in the school's history--Ridenhour went 6.2 innings and allowed two earned runs.

The potential to silence a potent offense like Texas' that got Ridenhour, who throws three pitches--fastball, slider, changeup--at a high level, drafted by the Minnesota Twins in the 2008 Major League Baseball First-Year Player Draft.

 "I was actually pitching when I got drafted," Ridenhour said. "So I was like, 'Dad, here's my phone in case--you know--if they call.' It was unreal. All my life, growing up, playing baseball, that's what I wanted to do was go play baseball."

It wasn't the last time the Twins dialed that number. From June through August, Minnesota was making a push for Ridenhour to sign with its organization, offering the 18-year-old from Shawnee Mission West a $150,000 signing bonus and a full scholarship.

"Man, it was really tempting," Ridenhour said. "Just the idea of just playing baseball and not school--but then I'd never really been away from home. What would I do? I'd get up and go from eight to two, but then what would I do?"

So he asked around. He talked to Tom Burkhart, his pitching coach since before his high school career who had been drafted several times and told Ridenhour to make the leap, take a shot at the pros. He asked Kevin Seitzer, who spent 12 years in the majors after starring at Eastern Illinois University and now runs a training facility in the Kansas City area. Seitzer advised caution, telling him to take the safe road and head to school.

"I talked to as many people as I could," Ridenhour said. "People that had gone to college, my pitching coach, Kevin Seitzer, who I played with from, like, third grade to eighth grade. It just came down to, we charted out for me, what's going to have more positives. What's going to be better for me in the long run?"

He talked to his parents, too, of course, and they were split on the idea, just like his coaches.

"My mom really wanted me to go to school," Ridenhour said. "Then my dad was more, like, he wanted me to do what I wanted to do. I think right now, talking to them, everyone is really glad that I went to school."

Henry Remple sits at the exercise machine, elbows pressing against the red padding, gripping tightly to the handles as he curls his arms towards his body. 

            Inhumanity is the subject most often occupying the thoughts of the young blond-haired, blue-eyed woman constantly buzzing about the Lawrence Humane Society.

            "In my experience,  'humanity' hasn't really been all that great - to the environment or even to itself," says Veronica Howard, the 25-year old University of Kansas graduate student.  "It's almost an ironic misnomer."

            Her less-than-average experiences growing up in Flint, Michigan an impoverished city and birthplace of filmmaker Michael Moore, have given her a different outlook from  most people. 

            Her father wasn't around.  Her mother did whatever she needed, neglecting needs of the home, to help them get by--no matter the effect it had on her children.

            When she was young, Veronica thought it was "the worst thing ever" to not have her father around, but when she met him, she realized that he wasn't the type of father she wanted around.  "When I met him I thought it was the best thing ever," she said of his being absent.

            His own father was abusive, both emotionally and physically.   And while he was an improvement of his own father, he still didn't offer much. 

            All through childhood, Veronica became very close to her half-brother, Josh, who was born when she 10 years old.  She took care of him, loved him, gave him the support he needed. 

            Her mother's marriage with Josh's father, however, wasn't emotionally stable.

            After years of marriage, Josh's father picked up and left.  Josh was 6.

            "My brother was a wreck after he left, but I didn't have time to worry about it," she said.  "At the time I thought it was hilarious--my mother made us go see a therapist and they thought we were hiding our feelings, but really we just didn't want to talk to anyone else about it."

            After her step-dad left, Veronica's  "multi-jobness" began, prompting her to become a workaholic, attaining one job after another to provide some financial stability, but also to help her keep her mind off things.

            After graduating high school, her aunt told her to get as far from Flint as she possibly could and, as much as her moving away upset her brother, she knew she had to if she wanted to be happy.

            The overwhelming desire of the 5-foot 8ish workaholic to help people, as she had helped her brother, continued to grow.  She decided to pursue a degree in criminal justice and behavior analysis at Northern Michigan University to become a profiler. 

            "I've always held a certain fascination with aberrant behavior," she says.  Aberrant behavior as in serial murder, self-mutilation.

            "My family is overall pretty supportive of my choice of vocation," she says, "but most of them haven't the slightest idea of what behavior analysis is and they don't really understand it when I try to explain it to them."

            The self-proclaimed stubborn young woman has spent her years since high school trying to come up with ways to create better homes for everyone and everything around her.   Her future in profiling was supposed to be a way to help her achieve that, but when her professors told her that wasn't a reliable option, she came to Kansas.

            Now, she is a graduate student at the University of Kansas.  Her field of study:  Applied Behavioral Analysis.  She studies people and their environments to understand how to help them change their habits and make them better.  Then she actually helps them.

            She says the field has helped her to "give up on people less" and try to improve conditions for people who might otherwise have been written off by society. 

            "I don't think there are a lot of people like her," Midge Grinstead, director of the Lawrence Humane Society, said of Veronica.  Veornica has been working as Volunteer Coordinator for eight months.

 "She has great attention to detail and can do the job without me having to hold her hand," Grinstead said. "Most people aren't like that."

            She has been volunteering at the Humane Society for a couple of years now, mostly working with aggressive dogs, applying her graduate work to helping them mellow out and find better homes.  Oddly, though, she also has a soft spot for rodents.  Her rodents.  Small, litter-trained balls of fluff.

            "I have rats," she says, quickly turning to her computer and clicking on a photo of one of her "ornery," black rodents and gushes, "Isn't he sweet?"

            Throughout grade school, Veronica had a friend who she was constantly competing with to be smarter.  Her friend was better in spelling.  She was better on standardized tests.

            When the girls reached fifth grade, Veronica moved to a smaller community while her friend lived in inner-city Flint.

            "She had a very loving and supportive family,  but I did not," Veronica said.  "By the time we graduated, I was at the top of my class and she had graduated in the lowest 30 percent.  It was interesting to see the impact that the environment had upon the trajectory of our lives."

            She says that small changes, like her and her friend, Angela, not going to high school in the same area and the environment and people they ultimately grew up with had a big impact on the differences they encountered later in life.

            Another reason is Chris, her deaf boyfriend.  They met on a chat web site a little over four years ago.  He lived in Nebraska, she in Kansas.  It was her sarcasm and his sincerity that initially attracted them to one another.

            He moved to Kansas in 2005 to live with her.

            "He's wicked smart, but he doesn't know it," she says.  Then quickly adds, with a delightfully wicked grin, "He always tells me that if he leaves me he's dating a deaf girl and I just tell him he doesn't know enough sign language for that."

            Their codependence has helped them get through their respective obstacles.  His family still doesn't understand that he can't talk on the phone (he didn't begin to lose hearing until 12 years old) and hers still can't provide the home she wants to be able to return to.

            "I really admire her," Grinstead said.  "I don't know what I'm going to do when she leaves.  We have gotten as much from her as she has given us."

            Through everything that Veronica has experienced, learned and done over the past few years is preparing her to teach what she has learned to students at a mid-sized University when she graduates.

            "I'm stubborn and I hate being wrong," she says.  "But since I'm wrong often, it gives me a lot to improve on."  

  She paints her nails in a swift back and forth motion, her hand resting on the kitchen table.  She looks up as a door slams open, followed by the sound of little feet and the thud of backpacks. "Kaysia, Kaysia!"  Her little brother Martin runs over to the table and hands her a blade of green grass he picked on the way home. "See Kaysia, I tolllldddd you!  Spring is almost here!" Martin said as he shoved the blade of grass in her face. Kaysia puts her polish down, bright purple today, and looks up at her younger sibling.  She laughs, shrugs and begins to blow on her nails. Her other siblings begin to walk over to the table curious to see what is going on. Kaysia smiles lovingly, and kisses her sister Jessica on the forehead.   Everything seems as it should be; the normal life of an 18-year-old big sister.  But just 9 months ago Kaysia Gerardy was unknown to her siblings.  

Kaysia's mother gave birth to her when she was only 17.  She was in highschool, both parents young and immature.  Her father refused to pay child support and never showed up when it was his time for custody.  He even went so far as to say the child was not his.  Kaysia's mother took it upon herself to gain full custody, and swore to it that she would never know about her father.  Three years later, her mother became pregnant again this time giving Kaysia a younger sister named Hannah.  The couple did not stay together and Kaysia continued living her life without a father figure.

"When I was growing up, I just thought you had a mom.  That's it.  I mean I grew up not having a dad so just a mom was natural to me," Kaysia said.

When she was seven, her mom was finally married.  Kaysia then had a father figure and changed her last name to his- Gerardy.  Still, that did not stop her from being curious about her biological father.

In fourth grade, she came across an old scrap book with a man she did not know.  He had dark hair and blue eyes, and portrayed an eerie resemblance.  Under the picture there was a single name, Shannon Merritt.  

 "He looked a lot like me, and I was like who is this man? 
My mom quickly told me that it was my father, and did not allow me to ask anything else."

Still, Kaysia curiousity of her father still loomed in the presence of her childhood friend Logann.  Logann's mother and Kaysia's mother had been best friends since high school.  They spent a lot of time together, and the time spent allowed Kaysia and Logann to create a natural friendship.  

"We were attached at the hip, it was strange we had this natural bond," Kaysia said, "little did I know how close this bond actually was."

As Kaysia approached middle school, she developed serious questions about the bond they shared.  She had never met Logann's dad, but understood that his last name was Merritt.  It was interesting in the fact that their biological fathers shared last names.  She never approached Logann on the subject, but decided to go straight to her mom to figure everything out.   Her mom explained that yes, Logann was her brother.  In fact, Kaysia's mother and Logann's mother did not talk for a few years because of the situation.  It just all made sense.  Logann's mom, Kaysia's mom, and their father went to high school together.  The reason why her mom and dad did not work out was because he cheated on her with Logann's mom.  A year later they were married, Logann was born, and then they got divorced soon after.

"Yeah, my mom said that she tried to warn Logann's mom about marrying him, but he was just a smooth talker.  At the time it was bad, but now they laugh about the situation, considering that they were divorced about a year after Logann was born," Kaysia said.

However, the discovery of her best friend/ brother did not make a difference on their friendship.  Logann was not allowed to speak about Kaysia's dad, and she never really asked.

"I mean of course I was curious.  But my mother made his mother swear he would never mention my dad.  So we just never spoke of it."

She continued living her life, moving constantly and being placed in and out of schools.  She was constantly pulled out of school and homeschooled because her mom thought she had a short attention span.  By the time she was in 9th grade she had three younger siblings, her parents struggling to support all of them.

"Do you know what food I absolutely hate?  Roman noodles.  I remember when my parents were out of jobs for awhile that is all I ate.  Literally, breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Roman noodles.  It was a hard time," Kaysia said.


Around this time her mother began to show signs of a mental illness.  Her mom and Logann's mom had a falling out, and her sister decided to move in with her biological father after a physically abusive fight broke out between her mom and step-dad.  Her mom began believing that women should not be in schools, and should never work.  So she pulled Kaysia out of public schools and forced her to be homeschooled until her senior year.  

"I was a sophomore in high school, and finally making friends and finding stability.  Then out of nowhere my mom snapped and pulled me out of school.  I always thought it was from a learning disability."

Finally, when she reached the adult age of 18, she knew it was time to gain independence.  The first thing to do was to get in touch with her biological father.  She was getting ready to graduate from her home school program, and wanted her father to be there.  Knowing that she could not ask her mom for her father's number, she took it upon herself to get in contact with Logann's mom.  

"I remember the first time I heard his voice.  He sounded so young.  I wanted to talk more, but he was so scared that he actually told me to just email him.  So I did, and we set up a time and place to meet."

Recently, she had gotten into the art of photography.  She loved it, and knew that it was her passion in life.  Before meeting her father, she decided that she would google his name and see what she could find.  There it was, right in front of her, a website dedicated to him and his photography business. Shannon Merritt's photography website

"It was so strange.  How two people could be completely connected and never even have met," Kaysia said.

Finally, in February of 2008, Kaysia met her father.  They had lunch, went and saw a movie and then got coffee together.  She remembers her father choking up during lunch, apologizing for never being around.  Still, the conversation flowed naturally, making up for lost time and conversing about their passion for photography.  Shannon Merritt, Kaysia's father, remembers this day well.

"I saw her for the first time, and I was like she is my daughter.  We clicked right away.  Not gonna lie though, it was tough.  I almost lost my composure during lunch," Shannon Merritt, Kaysia's father, said.

Still, the outing went so well that they hung out two or three times after that, and he even attended her graduation with his new wife Jeanie and their two children Martin and Jessica.

At home, however, tensions began to rise between Kaysia's mother and her.

"She did not like that I was in close contact with my dad.  She tried to keep me away, but I was an adult.  We just kept fighting, it was getting really bad."

At the end of March, Kaysia made a life-altering decision to move in with her father.  They began to secretely converse back and forth about how she was to move out of her house.  It was a tense time for her and her father, and it affected everyone.  Andrew Merritt, Shannon's son from his third marriage, remembers this time well.

"I was only 12, but I remember there was a lot of tension in the house between Jeannie and my dad.  I was concerned, so my dad took me on a walk to explain everything.  It all made sense to me then," Andrew said.

The planning she thought was going well, until about three weeks before the move out her mother discovered her backpack of clothes.

"I had to play it off like it was a dumb irrational decision, and pretended like it was never going to happen," Kaysia said.

However, on a warm May night, Shannon Merritt drove up to Kaysia's home.  Kaysia jumped in the car and they sped off, not bringing a single thing with her.  She left all of her possessions behind: clothes, pictures, everything to start a new life with her father.

When she arrived at her father's home, she was welcomed with open arms from her siblings.  The best surprise was being reunited with Logann, her childhood best friend that she had not seen in years.

"He just stared at me in shock.  He could not believe it. And then he said, now we can be brother and sister for real, I then started crying," Kaysia said.

She did not hear from her mother until a day and a half later, and was surprised to find her extremely calm.  They are still on rough grounds, but it is continuously getting better.

As far as her new life goes, things could not get any better.

"She just fits into our family great, I feel like she has been a part of it forever," said Jeannie Merritt, Kaysia's step-mother, "I know she has been through a lot, but we are just so fortunate she is here."

*****

Kaysia looks around at her family and smiles.  Everyday is a new day.  She gets out of her chair and goes to her room to get dressed for work.  She just completed her GED, and hopes one day to attend a college.  She leaves her room, waves goodbye to her siblings, slaps her dad a high five, and walks out the door.

"Hi, can I get a venti double shot on ice with vanilla syrup and breve?"

This is the usual drink of choice for Miranda Mentzer as she does her routine of getting ready for another day at school. Although she starts her classes at 1:00 p.m., she likes to start her day with a coffee at Starbucks, 647 Massachusetts Avenue, at around 12:30 p.m.

"Today, I had to wake up, get Heather ready for school, get Nicole dressed, pay for gymnastics, drop Nicole off at my brother's, and get to school all before class at 1. After school, I have to go get the girls, take them to gymnastics, come home, make sure Heather gets her homework done, get dinner ready, and put the girls to bed. Typical day," Mentzer said.

However, 30-year-old Mentzer, who drives into Lawrence from Kansas City, Kansas every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, has recently had to change her routine, since she dropped two of the four classes she has been taking this semester. She said that the money problems that her family has been having as forced her to take only a half load of classes instead of a full load.

"The other day, I didn't come to class because I didn't have enough money for gas. It's OK, because I don't usually come to class anyway though. I got a B on my art midterm, and I think I've only been to that class twice," Mentzer said.

Her daughters, Heather, 8, and Nicole, 4, have seen how much there mother has been doing for them lately. Heather says that her mom works so hard that by the end of the day, she's still doing work.

"She doesn't go to sleep at all. She's always awake," Heather said.

With all the cuts Mentzer has been making with her spending, there are a few things that she doesn't give up, such as the three dollar coffee at Starbucks before school. She also refuses to give up her daughters' gymnastics classes. Mentzer knows how important it is to keep children involved in activities. That is why both of her daughters are enrolled in gymnastics. Freda Burress, Mentzer's sister-in-law, said that despite the legal woes, Mentzer tries to do what she can for her children's happiness.

"She's devoted to her kids. She keeps them in things they like to do no matter what. I don't know how she does it," Burress said.

Miranda's husband, Ryan, recently lost his job after a messy battle with his boss and former best friend. Miranda has had to get a job working at McDonald's and is now the only source of income for the family. She makes 10 dollars an hour, and spent her first paycheck on the girls.

"I got my paycheck and used it to pay for gymnastics. Since Ryan's not working, I have to pay for it somehow. I'm not going to take them out of gymnastics," Mentzer said.

Mentzer also refuses to let her one passion go away: art. She has been painting ever since she was young and has a gallery of paintings displayed in her garage. Mentzer has taken that love of painting and used it to full her college career by double majoring in classical antiquity and art history, both of which she hopes to get a doctorate degree in.

"My goal in life is that I graduate. I have a lot to do in class still, but I want a good life for my kids," Mentzer said.

When she finishes her coffee, it is almost 1:30 p.m., 30 minutes after her first class of the day. Mentzer, once again, misses her first class of the day.

"That's OK. If I leave now, I'll be on time for my next class," she says as she picks up her purse and walks towards the door.

When Angela Gonzales found out she was pregnant at age 16, her mother and step-father forced her to marry the father of her child and then sent her to live with her grandparents in Burlington, Colorado. While still pregnant, she became captain of the cheerleading squad and divorced her husband. Jessica Lauren Gonzales was born on April 11, 1986. With the help of her grandparents, Angela finished high school and took 3-year-old Jessica with her to Lawrence, to be the first in her family to graduate college. For five years, she put herself through college with loans, scholarships and a full time job as a waitress while she raised her daughter.  

"It was hard, but I was determined to provide a better life for my daughter," said Angela. "Seeing her now, all grown up, I can say it was all worth it." 

Jessica moved around a lot in her adolescence with her mother. Three years in Colorado, five years in Lawrence, three years in Salina and Denver, three years in Chicago and for the last eight years she has called Lawrence her home again. Jessica started her 9th grade year at Central Junior High in September of 2001. She was at home sick on 9/11 and her great-grandparents were taking care of her because her mother was on a business trip. Jessica was taking a bath when her great-grandmother came in and told her what happened in New York. At that moment, Jessica knew her godmother, who worked in tower two, was dead. She didn't have a clue where her mother was. Several hours later, Angela called home to say she was safe in Dallas. All Jessica could think about was how much she wanted her mom home with her.

 "I remember it being one of the worst days of my life," said Jessica. "My mom meant the world to me and when we were attacked, she was flying to Pennsylvania, so I thought the worst." 

This wasn't the only time, 9/11 affected Jessica's life. Two years later in March, Jessica met Eli Fell, a Lawrence High classmate. The first day she saw him, Eli was sitting in his German class and Jessica leaned over to her friend Emily and said, "I'm going to date that boy." Three weeks later, Jessica and Eli started dating and have been together ever since.

When the two of them met, Eli had already enlisted in the army in response to the attacks on 9/11. One night, while the couple was watching a movie the phone rang and Jessica answered. Jessica asked the man if she could take a message for Eli and he said, "On behalf of our president and this grateful nation, he has been put on alert for 20 days. He's being activated in the War on Terror." Jessica froze and felt the blood rush to her head. She said she will never forget that day and those words she heard. Eli was deployed to Iraq for 15 months in June of 2005, two weeks after his high school graduation. 

"I wasn't sure how to deal with it all," said Jessica. "I lived in the dorms my first year at KU experiencing things without him and I resented him for that." 

Eli and Jessica both came from military families and grew up understanding the values of the country, unity and family theory. They both also came from conservative families and supported President Bush throughout his presidency. For most of their relationship, Bush was Eli's boss, and they believed in their country and the decisions Bush made to justify the potential loss of life. 

"It's hard to consider family last in your life," Eli said. "But Jess and I both understood what was at stake at the time for our country." 

After staying together for six months, Jessica decided it was time to take a break. She wanted to figure out what she wanted in life and she wasn't sure whether or not she loved Eli or the romantic idea of them being high school sweethearts.

"It was hard and I really hurt him while he was over there," Jessica said. "But I had to do it for myself and no one else." 

They got back together five months later after Jessica decided she couldn't live without him. When Eli returned in November 2005, Jessica soon discovered he was suffering from PTSD. She found him some nights in the closet crying, but she couldn't get him to open up to her about what happened at war. Eli became very protective of Jessica and had an uncontrollable anger inside of him. 

Jessica and Eli decided to buy a house together in 2007 in North Lawrence. Eli proposed on February 14, 2008 and was deployed back to Iraq in May of 2008. The military made for a different way of life for this Lawrence couple. Jessica describes the army being like a secret society and that only the few and the brave are allowed in. 

"The military has been the other woman in their relationship," said Jenna Deines, Jessica's maid of honor. "Eli has a special bond with his battle buddies that Jessica will never come close to having with him." 

Eli will officially be out of the army as of October 2009. Jessica says the military has made Eli into the man he is today, a respectful will powered man. Eli is scheduled to return at the end of May, just in time to marry Jessica on July 4, 2009. "It's very bittersweet," said Jessica.

 "The army has been our identity for the greater part of our relationship and it's sad to see it go." said Gonzales. "I am honored to call myself an army girlfriend and future army wife."

 Row by row and stitch by stitch Marie Carter, 55, sews another prayer quilt sitting in the calmness of her home while reflecting upon her tiresome day.  It is close to bedtime so she will put it away and begin again tomorrow.  

"Sewing quilts is one my favorite activities.  I take my time to finish them because I want them to come from the heart," Carter said. 

Carter has enjoyed this hobby for three years.  After sewing the quilt, it is taken to a Priest at her church where they are prayed over.  Carter then takes the quilts to hospitals and gives them away to patients as a sign of hope and faith.

Prayer quilt making is just one of many different activities in which Carter participates. She is an active member of Teachers of Tomorrow, Girls in Charge and the Vice President of SERTOMA (Service to Man) which, are three organizations that focus on providing constructive activities and helping to build positive imaging of self to low-income students.  The one thing that they all have in common is giving back to the community.

Carter lives by the motto, "What is given to you is not given to you to keep but to share with others." 

"I was taught by my parents that you don't judge people by wealth or color of skin.  My home is open to anyone who needs it," Carter said.

In July of 2008 while working attentively at her desk at the Topeka Board of Education, Carter was approached by a man who seemed stressed.  Merle Young Jr., 60, is a single father and a new teacher to the district who had trouble finding a place to live because of his credit score. 

"I was out of choices and was afraid I would not be able to take the position in Topeka after I lost everything back home in Kansas City," Young said.

After repeatedly being denied, Young went to the Board of Education and told the Human Resource Assistant, Carter, that he needed help.  Carter then personally took Young to look for houses and apartments but there was still no luck.

"It was a blessing when Marie told me that I, my son and my dog could stay at her house until I got on my feet.  I don't know where we would be if it weren't for Marie.  Marie is my guardian angel," Young said.

Carter stayed with one of her three children, Nikki Ramirez-Jennings, 31, and her family for one month until Young found a home.

In 1884, Carter divorced her husband after seven years of marriage.  She continued to raise her children alone as a single-mother.

"Our mom still volunteered herself and made sure we gave back to the community regardless if we had a father or not," Ramirez-Jennings said. 

Being a single mother brought many financial struggles to Carter and her family.

"So many things were given to us when we struggled.  There were times when our power went out.  My mom had to swallow her pride and except the hand-outs," Ramirez-Jennings said.

"If you decide to bless me, instead of denying it, I will pass that blessing to someone else.  Anything I have, if it's something you can use, it's yours," Carter said.

Years later Carter is now in the position to help others.

Carter is an active member and a coordinator for many functions at her church, St. Matthews Catholic Church of Topeka, KS.  She has a bible study group and taught Sunday school for 11 years.

"My bible is always opened, never closed and at my right at all times," Carter said.

For the past nine years, Carter has been a hostess for foreign exchange students.  As of February 2009, she has hosted 16 exchange students.

"I try to show the students a great time while they are here.  They always leave calling me mom," Carter said.

When Carter is not helping someone in need or getting a workout during Jazzercise, she and her sorority sisters of Sigma Gamma Rho take the time out to help the undergraduate chapter at her alma mater, the University of Kansas.

Her name on the school roster is Chi Cheng Ho, but the girl with the long dark hair, brown glasses, and shy smile has chosen a different identity. Josie is the English name the sophomore from China gave herself, and Josie is what she wants to be in the United States.

 

"I got the name Josie from a TV show, a Hong Kong drama," Josie said. "Her character is a lawyer and she was very powerful and cool. I thought Josie is not a very common name."

 

Josie is a journalism major with an enthusiasm for learning new languages. She has been studying English since she was 5 years old and is currently enrolled in Spanish classes at the University of Kansas.

 

"I like to learn new words from my friends and from newspapers," Josie said.

 

Josie's persistence to learn new languages extends into all of her academic work and other areas of her life.

 

"I am hard working and I don't want to see low grades," Josie said. "I want to be above average."

 

Her determination to succeed, she says, stems from her background, growing up in Macau, China.

 

"I think it is because of my family," Josie said. "They are my motivation."

 

Josie lived with her parents, grandparents and younger sister in the industrialized city of Macau, outside of Hong Kong.  The city has a population of about 450,000 and is considered small compared to Hong Kong with a population of 6 million. Macau's main source of income comes from the city's gambling industry and Josie calls the city the "Oriental Las Vegas."

 

"Many people in Macau are either bankers or work for the gambling industry," Josie said. "Many go to the gambling industry right after high school graduation because they get really good pay."

 

But Josie says that overall, the gambling atmosphere is bad for the city. Her parents make their living as bankers, and although they are busy with their careers, the family always finds time for each other.

 

"The important thing in a family is communication," Josie said. "We talk to each other. We sit down after dinner and we share our experiences."

 

The support and communication from her family gave Josie the courage to defy what was expected of her. In China, Josie says, people are expected to have certain careers and study certain subjects.

"In the school system in China when you reach the 9^th grade you decide to take either art or science classes," Josie said. "Finally, I chose art because I am not good at math or science. They [my parents] thought I would have more choice in the future if I chose science. But I just told them I could never do that."

 

Similar to the United States, high school graduation is a milestone for students in China.  Upon graduation, Josie already knew she wanted to come to the United States for college. She also knew she wanted to study journalism, despite her parent's disapproval.

 

"Before I officially chose my major they [my parents] wanted me to major in accounting because they thought I would make money easily and find a job in the future, but I refused," Josie said. "It was hard to decide between pleasing my parents and pleasing myself. I tried to talk to them and convince them. I told them I would not be happy to do something I do not like."

 

So, Josie packed her bags and took the 20-hour trip across the world to pursue her dreams.

 

"It's a new world, a completely new place so I can start over," Josie said. "I am an adaptive person, so I didn't have too many difficulties when I came here."

 

Josie says her life in Lawrence is very different from her life in Macau.

 

"Macau is always crowded and busy, but in Kansas people will say hi to you or smile at you, even if they don't know you," Josie said.

 

Josie's goals for the future include earning her Master's degree and working in T.V. advertising as the manager of an advertising firm. She said she has also thought about the possibility of working in public relations. Despite what career she chooses she said she is always thinking of her parents.

 

"They have high expectations for me, so I don't want to disappoint them," Josie said. "I try to do my best."

 

For Josie, succeeding in the classroom remains a priority.

 

"I think she will succeed because she is a workaholic. She has to get her stuff done right," said Ryan Chen, a friend of Josie's for two years. "I would call her to go have coffee or something and she wouldn't come because she says she has to stay in and do homework."

 

Josie's laid-back personality and communication skills have allowed her to make many new friends in the United States.

 

"Josie is a nice girl and a good roommate. She is easy going and fun to talk to," said Vivan Lok, Josie's roommate at The Legends apartment complex. "Maybe she is sometimes careless, but she doesn't cause much trouble."

 

Despite Josie's weaknesses she says she always means well.

 

"I always try to avoid arguments and unhappy experiences with people," Josie said. "So I will try to be good to everyone."

 

Once she obtains her Master's degree from the University of Kansas, Josie said she would like to live and work in Macau. After her next milestone, college graduation, she will abandon her life in the United State and will once again answer to the name Chi Cheng.

It was no ordinary game. It was the big one, the last one--the volleyball state championship.
Coach Wells was calm. No hint of emotion in her face. Blue eyes like ice. Her players ran the mantra through their heads. Stick to what works. 4-2 offense. Attention to detail. Be confident.
 
It was another victory for the Lawrence Lions, another trophy for the shelf. But abundance didn't lessen the glory of it. It intensified it. For Coach Joan Lundstrom Wells, this was the Golden Age of Lawrence High athletics, and whether she admits it or not, she was a major reason for it.
 
From 1971 to 1997, Wells shaped one dream team after another. In 27 years of coaching volleyball at Lawrence High School, her teams won the state championship 15 times. They made it to the finals 22 times. Indeed, her "infamous" composure served a greater purpose. It calmed her players when the games got stressful--especially games with a lot at stake.
 
"Even when you're really nervous on the inside, your team follows your demeanor," she said. "You have to have confidence in them so they can have confidence in themselves."
 
It was a tactic that served her well.
 
In February, the University of Kansas celebrated 40 Years of Women's Athletics, and honored pioneering greats like Marlene Mawson, who was inducted into the KU Athletics Hall of Fame. Joan Wells was present for the occasion, and it was one of the few award ceremonies that Wells attended without being the recipient. Her achievements are echoed in the halls of a different school, Lawrence High--the one just down the hill from KU.


 
Born December 21, 1948 in Atchison, Kan., Wells showed signs of competitiveness early on. Her parents were convinced of it when a neighborhood bully started beating up on her big brother, and so she beat him up in return. Mostly, though, her competitive drive came out through sports. At a time when organized women's sports were infantile, Wells had to be scrappy to get playing time.
 
 "You did a lot of things just so you could compete," she said. "If you loved sports, you'd find a way to play."

Only by the hands of determined teachers and willing students did Wells get to play sports competitively before college. The Girls Athletic Association created "Play Days," which brought 10 kids to a central location where they would play four to five sports during the day.  Wells said the quality of these events often came down to the teachers who led them. If they were competitive, it was a good day.

By the time Wells went to college at KU, women's athletics were still in the primitive stages of development--no scholarships and little funding. Nevertheless, she played volleyball, field hockey, tennis, softball and basketball. In 1971, she graduated with a bachelor's degree in physical education.
 
Wells was 22 years old when she was hired as a teacher and coach for Lawrence High School. Her face darkens when she recalls this year. She remembers the game in Holton, Kan., a game they should've won, but didn't. Afterward, on the bus, her players told her about a group of boys in the stands that were yelling at the two black girls on the Lawrence High team--the only black kids in the entire gym.
 
"I hadn't heard them during the game, but I could tell we weren't playing the way we normally did," she said. "And, in fact, as we were leaving, people were giving us the finger."

It was the only year that her team didn't make it to the state tournament. Dodi Jordan, who played for Wells from 1971-1974, said that the team never would've taken the heat from Wells for a loss like that.
 
"I cannot recall Joannie ever getting mad at me--or any body," she said. "She'd tell us in a nice way what we needed to work on. She never made us feel like a failure."

Jordan called Wells a "miraculous coach." She had a quality that no other coach--college or otherwise--was able to project.

"She knew how to motivate us," she said. "She made us...I don't want to say 'kill,' but yeah, she definitely gave us that drive."



Wells never left her first job, and she never wanted to. Lawrence High School was her second home and her passion. Even when she fell in love with Terry Wells, the umpire "giving us all kinds of trouble" during a softball game, she didn't marry him until 1979, over a decade after they started dating. They never had children; though, as educators, it would've been redundant.

"We were both very career-oriented, getting our masters in education at that time," she said. "It just wasn't something we needed to do. I know Terry's mother always felt she was cheated with no grandchildren."

After sporting red polo shirts with black shorts for 27 years, Wells retired from coaching in 1997. She had accumulated an 865-89 record--90.67% wins. Wells said that she had a motto that she internalized throughout her career: Be the best that you can be, on and off the court, and winning will take care of itself.

Unfortunately, not everything can end so sweetly. The same year of her retirement, the Lawrence School District divided the city into two high schools, Lawrence High and Lawrence Free State High. Wells said the division was a painful turning point for the Lawrence Lions.
 
"That was really hard. My seniors were allowed to stay for their last year, but I had some juniors that had to go to Free State," she said. "Before, there really wasn't any other school in Kansas better than Lawrence, but that all changed with the split."

The loss expanded beyond sports, too. Academics at Lawrence High suffered greatly from teachers and students leaving.
 
"Before the split, we were like a small college. I know everyone did an outstanding job of teaching their subjects. The physical education department once offered 17 courses," she said. "I can only think of a couple courses that are offered now. It's a big disappointment and very hard to accept."

She found solace from this scene when she retired from teaching in 2003. Wells said the change in routine was welcome.  It allowed her to pursue new ambitions, like perfecting golf and becoming more active at Trinity Lutheran Church.
 
"You grow to like every age that you are," she said. "Being newly retired, I wouldn't want to go back to coaching right now, but not because I didn't love it."
 
Wells said she's pleased with the way women's sports have developed, and she shows no bitterness over its slow start.
 
"That's just the way it was," she said. "You were grateful for any chance you had to play."

Although Wells's direct efforts were dedicated to the public schools, her influence extended to the college level. She coached 29 athletes that went on to play Division I Intercollegiate Volleyball. Wells kept track of many of them, like Claire Masinton, a 1983 Lawrence High graduate who went to Yale and started a club volleyball team--the first volleyball team at Yale.
 
It's peculiar to see what makes her smile. There's no giddiness when she talks about the eight national awards she has received for her coaching achievements; no exuberance for the 15 state championships. These things reveal pride, sure, but Wells is seasoned in temperance.  Her excitement is reserved only for the most precious.
 
Instead, talk about bombardment, the game she used in tryouts to see who had guts and who "just tried to survive." Talk about Butch and Lucy, the middle-aged shitzus that stole her heart and now bask in her daily attention. Talk about Terry, to whom she affectionately calls "such a ham." These are the things that make her eyes shine; that make her quiet, even voice turn bubbly.


 
Most of all, talk about her life as a whole. Wells trained herself to be sensitive to her surroundings. She worked to be non-impulsive, to assess every circumstance with a cool head. For her happiness, it's made all of the difference.
 
"It's just like my 4-2 offense," she said. "You don't make a change unless you make it for the better, and I'd go back and do it all again exactly the same way."

 

     

 Jerry Nyhoff's hands are worn and tired. There is dirt underneath his fingernails. His face

and arms are pink from the newly emerged spring sun. His sandy blond hair is messy on top

 of his head and his face is decorated with a salt and pepper beard. He won't reveal his real 

age, "I tell everyone I'm 25," he said. Jerry has been planting in his garden in North Lawrence

since Spring weather began, he has been planting for the last 14 years since he lost his job

and was evicted in 1995. He hasn't had a place to call home since.

      Jerry had dreams of being engineer. He wanted to design things and use his hands. After two years at Kansas State University he decided that engineering was not for him. "I couldn't handle the math," he said. He continued school at Johnson County Community College and graduated with an associates degree in electronics. But all of this was put behind him when he was dismissed from his job at the Lawrence Paper Company when he was injured by a lift when it came down on his back. After healing he was unable to get his job back so he worked various jobs to make ends meet but he had grown wary of the politics of the workforce. "Working for anyone else forces you to take on their problems," he said. He received workman's compensation and unemployment but when that money ran out he was evicted from his home.

     

Jerry showing off his rhubarb which is identified with limestone
that he uses to label his plants. Photo: Valerie Skubal

Today Jerry uses fruits and vegetables as currency to obtain the things he needs and wants. "I'm trying to take money out of the equation, I like to barter and trade," he said, "I have stuff people can use, they have stuff that I can use." Now that spring is here he can focus on working his land and getting his plants to grow. He has an 1/8 of an acre to himself to plant on his friend Danny's land growing garlic, "Which is like printing your own money, really," he added, basil, cabbages, collard greens, spearmint, peppermint, sage, tomatoes, rhubarb, horseradish, white onions, black raspberries and strawberries. Jerry grew up in Downs, Kansas on a small farm with a five siblings and his parents, though he doesn't talk about his family much he appreciates what they taught him. "My parents don't relate to the outside world well, but they did teach me how to grow plants on my own," he said.

      Right now Jerry is focusing on seed-saving, a process that keeps the genetics of a crop pure and organic unlike the crops in mass production. He brings these vegetables to businesses downtown where they could use them in exchange for breads and other goods. He also attempts to maintain the traditional plants and methods of Native Americans. Though he is not a Native American himself he thinks it's important to keep the culture alive. Along with his fruits and vegetables he grows traditional plants like tobacco, yucca root and comfrey, which is a traditional healing plant for deep cuts. Though these plants aren't in high demand he likes to keep them available for people and himself.

     

Jerry looks for useful things in the dumpsters behind the
shops between 8th and 9th Street. Photo: Valerie Skubal

Even though he isn't working a traditional job, Jerry still keeps himself busy. Most days he has a routine: in the mornings he will do odd jobs for cash where he is asked like landscaping, remodeling and painting, around noon he will go to places like the Salvation Army and Link where they offer free meals for the homeless and often goes dumpster diving to find food or items for his garden that would be useful, "I found a shop-vac that was used just once, people throw away a lot of things that are still good to use, they just don't care," he said. After he makes his dumpster rounds he usually stops at the Round Corner Cheese Shoppe where the employees all know him well and let him grab some soda for the rest of his day but after that he is quick to go go work on his garden.

In the dumpster at Kennedy Glass, 8th and New Jersey Street,
Jerry finds screens he will use to protect his plants and
keep mosquitoes out of his rain water collector.
Photo: Valerie Skubal

      Jerry has become friendly with employees at many local shops like the Cheese Shoppe, Rudy's Pizza, where they give him free pizza that they would otherwise throw out, and the Mirth. Sometimes he will barter with his fresh vegetables in exchange for a sandwich or coffee. Leslie Hardin, Lawrence senior and Cheese Shoppe employee has known Jerry for over two years. He has given her vegetables in exchange for soda and sometimes cheese. Hardin admires his lifestyle. "Jerry is really smart and decided to be on the fringes of society, he contributes to society and the well-being of Lawrence unlike a lot of people here," she said. Though the employees may enjoy Jerry some local owners don't feel the same. "Tom [Round Corner Owner] doesn't like Jerry, he thinks he is a freeloader on society," Hardin said.

When Jerry has free time he is able to do the things he enjoys. He goes to the Kansas River and watches for bald eagles and other animals, hunts for mushrooms, hikes, plays harmonica, "I'm not that good, I just do it for myself because I really enjoy music," he said, and he also likes to keep a journal and write.

      Without any money Jerry has to find a way to survive with what he has. He camps in milder weather outside of Lawrence city limits, "I camp once there is foliage and growth because it's easier to hide my campsite from people who want to bother it," he said. But winters are hard for him because of the bad weather and lack of growth, "I know how to survive in the winters and stay warm, but it's not easy. There's no cover for my site and my vegetables aren't growing," he said. This past winter he was able to stay with a friend in exchange for doing work around their house.

      "I wouldn't say I was happy with my life, but I'm learning how to take money out of living because it's not necessary," he said. He knows what it takes to survive beyond the boundaries of society. "If the economy really does go the way everyone fears I'll be ahead of everyone because I already know how to survive without money and material things," he said.

By: Kristen Liszewski

Climbing up the narrow spiral staircase, Elizabeth speeds ahead without losing a single breath. She tediously climbs the 120-foot Campanile tower, not quite reaching the top before unlocking a small door. Stepping into the room, space is cramped and she immediately slides onto a wooden bench facing an enormous organ-like structure.

As her fists bounce atop odd-looking pegs, the sound of bells echoes throughout the room. The ambiance immediately changes from the sense of confinement to one of liberation. "Hearing the bells gives me a feeling of nostalgia," Elizabeth says.

Elizabeth Berghout has been the University Carillonneur at the University of Kansas since 2000. The instrument she performs on almost every week is called the carillon, which rings the bells with every tap of a peg. The carillon sits high up in the KU World War II Memorial Tower on campus; a climb that has become second-nature in Elizabeth's profession. Not only does Elizabeth ascend the tower each day to play the carillon, but as an associate professor of both the carillon and organ, she teaches classes to KU students in the memorial tower as well.

Growing up, Elizabeth never dreamed of becoming a carillonneur or even practicing music professionally. However, since she was three-years-old, she could play the piano, learning from her parents, as both of them were musically talented in piano and voice.

Music became a lifestyle. Some of her childhood memories paint a picture of piano music continuously filling the air of her childhood home. Her mother was a music education teacher and also taught private lessons in their home. "Someone was always playing music. I grew up around the sound of a piano," Elizabeth recalls.

Elizabeth was raised in the city of Orem, Utah, about 45 miles south of Salt Lake City. Nearby to Orem is Brigham Young University, where Elizabeth's mother had a close friend who was the university carillonneur. "When I was about 8-years-old my mom took me to see her friend play the bells. I remember I got to play 'Mary had a little Lamb', which was my first time playing the carillon," Elizabeth said.

Elizabeth went on to enroll at Brigham Young University, initially wanting to major in math or education. She soon realized though that her life-long experience with music and continual education in music seemed a more logical degree to pursue. In 1994 Elizabeth graduated Brigham Young University with a Bachelor of Music degree in organ performance and pedagogy.

Brigham Young University is owned by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and is America's largest religious university with 98 percent of the student body who are Latter-day Saint members. Naturally this is no coincidence to Elizabeth's attendance. "Religion is an extremely important part of my life," Elizabeth said.

After graduating Elizabeth's desire for music education did not stop at BYU. Along with husband Dan, Elizabeth moved to Lawrence in order to obtain further degrees at the University of Kansas. In 1997 Elizabeth received the Master of Music degree in church music from the University of Kansas and then in 2000 graduated with a Doctor of Musical Arts degree in organ performance also from KU.

In 2000 Elizabeth was invited to replace then carillonneur Albert Gerken, who had been university carillonneur since 1963. Although having no intentions to stay in Lawrence on her first arrival, Elizabeth decided to stay and become university carillonneur. "I remember the first time I heard Bert play. It was so fascinating. I just loved the sound of the bells and in a way I felt like they spoke to my heart," Elizabeth said.

And in a way the English bells sitting atop the memorial tower did speak to Elizabeth's heart, because soon after achieving her degrees at KU she began teaching classes for the carillon as well.

"I really like taking Elizabeth's class. It's fun playing the carillon, and you don't even have to major in music in order to take the class," Lauren Cunningham said. Lauren is a student of Elizabeth's who is in her second semester of learning how to play the carillon but is majoring in art education.

Although Elizabeth is kept busy with teaching at KU, being a member of the Guild of Carillonneurs of North America and keeping a dual career as a concert organist, she still makes time for her most proud accomplishment in life; her family.

Elizabeth is mother to two daughters, Frances and Lauren, and although living fairly far from where Elizabeth grew up, she tries to give them a similar childhood as hers. "Growing up, a majority of vacations were spent camping in the Utah mountains. Now that we live in the middle of the US, our vacations are road trips. My kids have been in about half of the states in the country - we like to drive," Elizabeth said.

Music has and always will be one word that comes to mind when thinking of Elizabeth Berghout. Her success and accomplishments in the past have led her to the Campanile Tower at KU, and with her commitment and love of the carillon and university, her music of the bells will continue to resonate in Lawrence.

"I am happy I play a part in KU. The bells have such a big presence of campus".

Tim Flattery runs down the court on defense. He is tired. He has started the game and played most of it. The player on the opposing team scores. Again. He is tired of the game and tired of losing. But one thought glimmers in his mind. He looks at the clock. Two minutes until halftime. In 30 short seconds he will be taken out of the game. He will sprint through the double doors and into the locker room. There he will exchange his sweaty basketball uniform for slick black pants and a flashy top.

He will get to dance.

But for now he is stuck in the game, waiting out the 30 monotonous seconds left until he reaches his full potential. He never really wanted to play basketball, but his Dad was the coach in junior high. Then high school rolled around and he was bribed with the promise of getting a cell phone.

Tweet! His sub enters the game. He doesn't even stop to check with his coach, he is out the door.

Minutes later, he emerges from the men's locker room to join a very different group; the Onaga dance team, composed of high school girls, and Tim.

He leaves it all out on the line. That's how he has danced his entire life. From the first time he entered a dance studio in second grade until now. He remembers every dance. He will show you the very first dance that he learned. As he dances, he thanks his parents for their openness.  The only thing that mattered to them was that he was happy. And that he played basketball.

He finishes his dance and sashays off the court. His parents beam. The tiny stadium applauds wildly. Although the people sitting in the stands think it is odd for a boy to be on the dance team, they realize his talent is real. Even the most hard nosed, redneck men in the rural community would come to the basketball games to watch the dance team, his mother, Vicki said.

I think they almost admired him because he could move in a way most of us can't. I think everyone pretty much knew that the kid was gay, but I think that when he moved they didn't look at him like that. He wasn't the gay kid, he was the male dancer." Vicki says with conviction. "And that speaks volumes."

He leaves the gym smiling. Several people stop him to compliment him on his performance. He flashes a smile, says thanks, and then shrugs them off. Not because he is humble, but because he has to get back to the basketball game.  He throws off his stretchy outfit and once again suits up in the black and orange mesh uniform. Back to work.

Several years later, Tim bounces around his dining room. The chairs and table are pushed into a corner. His hair is cropped short to his head and his shirt clings tightly to his petite body. As he spans the great expanse of carpet he counts aloud... 1, 2, 3, 4. Fouetté, Fouetté, Fouetté

He is practicing for an upcoming performance. He is receiving an award.

Tim almost didn't make it to this point in his life. In high school he contemplated quitting dance. He thought he should be practical. He was the best in his hometown and studio, but what about the real world? He tried to think of other careers, but they just didn't pan out.

Dance kept coming back to him. It was integrated into his life. He danced everywhere; at home, at parties, school, and in the studio. So he did what felt natural to him and decided on a dance major. He was offered a hefty scholarship from the University of Kansas, and coming from a middle class family, decided to grab it immediately, embarking on an incredibly journey.

He pops an ibuprofen. It prevents his body from aching. He is worried. Lately his body has been hurting more than usual. Maybe it is his age. Then he realizes he is only 21. Dance is tough on the body.

"My knees are really iffy and shaky right now, and I'm kind of like, well crap, am I going to tear an ACL or MCL?"

He is still majoring in dance, but his days of fame are over. He recalls being the only male dancer first at Onaga High, and then at the University of Kansas, as a Rock Chalk Dancer. He was the first male dancer to join the Rock Chalk squad. But it isn't a big deal to him. He doesn't understand the hype.

"It didn't occur to me that it was a big deal to try out for Rock Chalk," Tim says.

He just wanted to be back on a dance team.

"They said this is a team. You are one. I agreed. I just wanted to be a team player."

Some days Tim wonders what he will do after he graduates from the University of Kansas. He would like to work on a cruise line. Or maybe even possibly audition for Broadway. That is, if his body holds up.

He doesn't want people to know, but if he lost a limb, he says that he would probably kill himself.

"I've never been in love with anything or anyone as much as I am with dance," Tim says with conviction and pure honesty. "It's an everyday thing with me. It doesn't matter how tired I am, dancing puts me in a good mood. It gets me away. It's like air I breathe. I absolutely need it."

His passion shows. He will receive the Elizabeth Sherbon award at his next performance, occurring in less than a month. The award is prestigious, and is only given to one student a year. This is his year.

Many people who know him as a dancer believe that he deserves the award.

"Tim takes pride in his dancing and it truly shows his dedication to dance," said Gina Gerstner, who used to dance with Tim.

Tim will continue to work hard at dance. Not just this year, but for years to come.

"By now, I should be totally burnt out, but I'm not because I'm doing something I love to do," he says with a smile.

            Two cats look out the window of a quaint two-story, pastel trimmed house in East Lawrence. Inside, the high ceilings and neutral grey walls direct attention to the colorful vintage furniture adorned with floral fabrics of sunshine gold and chartreuse. Basildon Beauregarde, a fluffy orange cat, stretches out his arms to scratch one of the floral chairs and is promptly squirted with water by his owner.

            Sara Thompson, 22, lives in this house, with her cat and two roommates. Wearing a familiar crimson and blue T-shirt, Thompson sports a lip ring and hair cropped short. Originally from Salina, Thompson moved to Lawrence to go to the University of Kansas. Double majoring in environmental studies and civil engineering, she is also involved in Queers and Allies, Environs, KJHK and the Potter's Lake Project.

            Until she was 16, Thompson had an ordinary childhood in the middle-class suburbs of Salina. She was involved at school, made good grades and got along with her family: her parents, Bob and Sue and her brother, Drew. During her sophomore year in high school, her parents, on their way to see her play in a JV basketball game in Manhattan, collided with a grain truck on a two-lane highway outside of Salina. Rescue workers had to use the 'jaws of life' to get her parents out of the car. They were then airlifted to a hospital in Wichita. "They were really lucky to be alive," Thompson said. "Four days after the accident my parents came home and hospital beds were set up for them in the living room. I remember people constantly being around. Relatives, friends and people from the church brought food and helped change bandages. I tried to help out, but I couldn't help feeling overwhelmed."

            Thompson no longer talks to her parents. Her freshman year at the University, Thompson realized that she was attracted to girls when she fell for one of her suitemates in Templin Hall. In the summer of 2007, Thompson called her parents and came out with her sexual orientation, which she describes as "queer." She returned to Salina to find her mother gone on vacation and an aloof father. She was informed at that point that she would "no longer receive any financial or emotional support from her parents."

            That fall, Thompson met Ryan Campbell, 22, at a Queers and Allies meeting on campus. "I remember seeing her and thinking she was really cute. I always find people who are sort of androgynous to be very naturally beautiful," Campbell said. He and Thompson became close friends and, to his surprise, she asked him to marry her the following spring. Campbell, who is also queer, never had any expectations to get married. "If I did get married, I thought it would be to a man," he said. Because of their close friendship and the conventional benefits of marriage, Thompson and Campbell were married on March 29th 2008, by Potter's Lake. In doing so, they redefined marriage to fit their individual lifestyles. "Sara is such a wonderful person and I am truly humbled to be her husband," Campbell said. "Because of her difficult family situation, my family has taken her in like a daughter. Spending holidays and birthdays with us, she is definitely part of the Campbell clan." 

            Anna Hoard, 22, a friend of both Thompson and Campbell, said that their marriage is not conventional yet they love each other and get along better than many straight couples do. "They play in a grey area around the definition of marriage between a man and a women," she said. "Technically, this is the only gay marriage that is legal in Kansas." 

            Thompson and Campbell frequently share lively conversations about sexuality and attraction. One particular night, over a bottle of wine at Henry's on Eighth, the two came to a joint realization that their conversations were entertaining and that others might also be interested in what they had to say. "We discussed the fact that KJHK had no queer-related content," Thompson said. "So we applied and made a demo for our own show." The producers at KJHK were impressed and offered the show a spot on air. Their program, the Dick an' Dyke show, airs on Saturdays from 6 to 8pm. "The time we go on is prime real estate for a radio show," Campbell said. "We cover a lot of ground. It's a social commentary. We talk about queer-related news and lots of sex." The show also has regular segments like homo history, the Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson relationship update and queer-related news briefs.

            

            Anna Hoard said she listens to the show whenever she can. "Sara and Ryan are so caddy and have such robust conversations. It's like tuning into a great conversation with friends." Dick an' Dyke, like a queer version of the Howard Stern show, pushes the boundaries of accepted conversations and topics discussed on air.  "It is racy," Campbell said. "But people like it and its good to have a queer program aired at such a good time." 

            Thompson, the coordinator for this year's Queers and Allies pride parade on April 27th, likes discussing sexuality and attraction with other people. "I call myself queer because I don't like to be put into a box," she said. "I prefer women but I'm also attracted to men. I view sexuality as a continuum of sorts. It's not defined as just straight and gay. It's fluid and that's what makes it interesting."

            

19-year-old Jodie Schutt waits behind the red velvet curtain, holding her breath. She has a few moments of darkness before the bright Las Vegas stage lights shine upon her, revealing every blemish, flaw and imperfection. She brushes back blonde crispy curls with a French-manicured set of nails. Her glossy lips part wide with a Vaseline-induced smile, gleaming white and contrasting with her bronze tan. "Smile, Smile, Smile," she chants in her head.

The music cues, blaring a synthesized pop princess mix entitled "Strut." Even rows of girls in candy-colored dresses parade forward. Jodie tilts her head back and paces confidently to her mark. She instinctually begins the synchronized moves categorized by eight-counts. The crisp choreography is the result of onstage rehearsals the past few days, and is now executed beneath a blinding spotlight casting judgment on the dozens of young women competing for the title of Miss Teen United States.

Jodie's first pageant entry came at the tender age of three, where qualification was as easy as a photo submission. Jodie's mother, Maggie Schutt, was skeptical of the "pageant people" at those kinds of competitions.
"There were all these little girls and mothers pushing them to compete," she says. "But that's not me."

Jodie walked away with a trophy, her vibrant personality catching the attention of the fashion, philanthropy and media judges. Although victorious, Jodie would neglect pageants for years, instead assuming normal childhood duties of sports and school.

Without child makeup and frilly dresses, Jodie returned to her tomboyish nature. One cold, snowy day in eighth grade Jodie went out to play at recess. While other students sledded peacefully down the slick hill, ending the ride with excitement, Jodie's finality was tragic. The sled's lack of control plunged her into a creek, where she laid unconscious in freezing water for 20 minutes.

The accident resulted in a serious brain injury, as well as months in a wheelchair. Jodie remembers the rehabilitation process as grueling.

"I had to re-teach my body how to respond to my brain," she says.

Jodie's reading comprehension was drastically altered. She had difficulty keeping up in class, and used books on tape all the way into high school. Her battle with education continues to this day.

Back in Las Vegas the swimsuit competition is set to begin. Adolescent girls race around small dressing rooms, stripping sequined gowns off of their thin bodies. They tighten the straps and elastic of spandex and nylon attire, squeezing into the miniscule vanity space required for touch-ups of foundation and mascara.

Jodie enters from stage right, clacking her clear heels on the hard floor. She plasters a smile on her face, hoping that her trusted hairspray will keep the purple and black-trimmed bikini in place. Bypassing beach chairs and popsicle-colored umbrellas, Jodie shows off her lean, 95-pound toned body. She hopes the judges don't notice her thighs, or her arms that just can't seem to sculpt right.

"There's parts of you you hate forever," she says. Those are hers. Removing the sheer, pink wrap from her waist she takes one final walk past the judges and exits into the darkness of backstage. Only one more walk to go.

Although the vigorous workouts and personal trainings of pageant preparation took a toll on her body, nothing could have prepared Jodie for the frailty that accompanied repeated rations of rice during her missionary trip to Pemba, Mozambique.

"Jodie knew no one on that entire continent when she went," says her mother, Maggie.

 Unfazed by the isolation, Jodie relished an experience unlike those of her high school friends. Her feet were stained with the red earth of the ground and her face remained plain without makeup. In the poverty-stricken country of Mozambique no gleaming sashes or tiaras were worn, only looks of desperation and hunger shone through.

Jodie took disgusting bucket showers, piled mosquito netting in layers before bed, and wore garments below her knees out of respect for the African culture. During her three-week stay she painted rooms, helped in the clinic and administered antiseptic to patients.

Although her medical aspirations have been present since the age of 10, Jodie says the trip solidified her future goal of becoming a pediatrician.

"I just want to help people and make them happy," she says.

In the dimly-lit auditorium Jodie's mother Maggie is wracked with nerves. She knows that Jodie's evening gown is a bit too long, and is terrified she'll fall.

"I was almost sick to my stomach," she recalls.

But Jodie doesn't trip, and she doesn't stumble. She floats through the man-made mist, her embroidered blue dress boldly contrasting against the starry-night stage decorations. She glides across the stage, listening for the vivacious cheers and claps from her biggest fan in the audience: her 10-year-old brother Jacob.

Unlike most brother and sister rivalries, the age difference brings Jodie and Jacob together.

"He's honestly my best friend," she says.

Next to her mother and brother sits Jodie's father Joel, a fishing, country-type man. He's the kind of guy "who would be on his deathbed and be active," Jodie says.

Jodie's pageants are "a family affair," says Maggie. Whether it's mother-daughter bonding over practiced interview answers, a father's commentary on his little girl's evening gown, or even the pride felt by a little brother looking up to his sister, Jodie's strength derives from her family's unity. But just like Jodie's on-stage persona, the harsh reality of life is often less glamorous than the crown that represents it.

As a senior at Webster Groves High School in St. Louis, Mo., Jodie's father was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a rare type of cancer. According to the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation, the cancer represents only one percent of all cancers in white, American men, yet it is the second-most prevalent blood cancer. Joel's diagnosis shook the Schutt family, and threw Jodie into a new adult role. She found herself getting her brother ready for school and picking him up at the end of the day. She says that the grueling process drew her and her father closer together.

After intense treatment, remission, and many rounds of family prayer, Joel is "doing phenomenal," says Maggie. Jodie says that the uncertainty of the cancer's return is scary, but she tries not to think about it.

"Fate has to do its work," she says.

Outside on the Vegas strip life is in overdrive, but inside the auditorium that holds 63 beautiful women, time stops. The waiting is the hardest part. There was the waiting before the swimsuit competition, the waiting after the parade of evening gowns, and now there is the waiting for the results. Jodie's mind goes blank.

"Did I mess up?"

"Was I pretty enough?"

"Why did I say that?"

While regrets and doubts race through her mind, the girls gather in suspense, gripping hands in gestures of commitment and competition. Silence. More Silence.

Finally Jay Joseph, pageant host and Las Vegas entertainer, begins to speak. He slides his thumb beneath the seal of the heavy envelope, ripping open the results while ripping apart hopes and dreams.

"Our second runner-up is Miss Jodie Schutt." There's applause. Encouraging shouts of approval from her proud family. Smiling graciously, she accepts her baby-breathed bouquet of roses. Jodie admits that sometimes, even the winning sash of second runner-up still feels "just not good enough."

She could've fallen apart. She could've lifted more weights to sculpt her arms, lain in the tanning bed longer for a deeper, darker color, or spent an extra $1000 on her evening gown. Winning pageants requires excess, but amid berating critiques and insecurity-provoking ratings, Jodie keeps perspective.

"I'm okay with who I am," she says.

Jodie's neatness and perfection onstage do not translate into her life as a normal college freshman at the University of Kansas. In her dorm room clothes are fighting for limited closet space, sorority-sister composites are shoved onto a bulletin board, and a wooden desk perched beneath a lofted mess of bedding reveals a laptop with unfinished homework.

There are no jewel-laden tiaras or elegantly embroidered sashes in sight.

For Jodie, being Miss Teen Missouri is an honor, but not a definition. With pageant judgment, personal struggle and family support, Jodie peels off the layers of beauty queen stereotypes as easily as she removes her sash.

"I'm just starting to find out who I am," she says.