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            KU could be joining the technological tanks of Yale, MIT, Notre Dame and USC Berkeley if Brylie Oxley has his way.

For the past six months, Oxley, Overland Park junior, has been researching the use of OpenCourseWare, a program that allows universities to post their courses- lectures, syllabi and, in some cases, textbooks- online for free to the public, and hopes to bring it to KU.

            "We need a universally educated society," Oxley said. "We can't do that with what we have now."

            Over 200 universities have adopted programs like OpenCourseWare and are now making their curriculums available to all people for free.           

            Open educational resources like OpenCourseWare allow universities to publish course materials online with no cost to the user, which could be anyone and not just students who go to that university. This material would include syllabi, notes, lectures and even textbooks in cases where there are no copyright infringements. Professors are also able to publish their own textbooks.

MIT was one of the first universities in the nation to latch onto the idea of free online course materials. As the new millennium dawned, MIT wanted to explore the connection between its education programs and the Internet. In 2000, the faculty recommended OpenCourseWare to MIT and since then has published 1890 courses online that are free and open to the public.

Those who use these free online courses from a university do not earn a degree. However, studies at MIT have shown that people are more likely to attend the Institution after looking at its curriculum first. Thirty-two percent of freshmen surveyed at MIT in 2005 said they were influenced by OCW to attend MIT. In addition, 92 percent of undergraduate students and 82 percent of graduate students at the college use OCW to enhance their learning experience. 

 
Yale's Website offers easy access to multiple courses in a variety of subjects

"By all measures we think OCW has been a tremendous success," said Cecelia d'Oliveira, Executive Director of OCW at MIT. "OCW showcases MIT's curriculum, strengthens the Institute's reputation, and promotes international engagement."

            Though professors are not required to use this program if a university were to adopt it, Oxley pointed out the benefits for professors. First of all, it would increase the knowledge and evolution of the curriculum, he said, thus giving the professor more recognition for his or her work across the globe.

            According to the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization Website, "The institutions and individuals creating and publishing these resources are also rewarded through increased status and visibility, and the inevitable increase in demand for their services and products."

The main objection to the program is its cost, which varies from university to university. MIT runs its OCW program at $3.5 million a year, though d'Oliveira said that other schools can operate at a lower cost depending on what the school wants to incorporate into its program. Oxley also said that it can be run by anyone- students, TAs and professors.

            "It's a very flexible initiative," Oxley said. "It's showing positive proof of our communications technology."

More important to Oxley, however, having these courses available embraces the idea that all knowledge is universal and all people have a right to an education despite their financial or economic situation.

            "I believe that education is essential for a free society and a participatory democracy," Oxley said. "It's very important that as many people have that access to education as possible. It presents to me a fundamental aspect of the democracy we strive for in this society."

            Oxley said his goal right now is to research the program more before trying to get it started on a larger scale. He is even starting his own student group to continue raising awareness for the program.

            "It's already kind of happening at KU," he said. "I am also encouraged that on campus there is already awareness of, and momentum toward, liberated educational assets."

            Oxley, who is a Spanish major, approached several Student Senate groups during this semester's student elections to raise awareness for his cause and found a friend in the Libertarian group Students of Liberty, which was running for Senate at the time.

            "It's right up our alley," Peter Northcott, a member of Students of Liberty, said.

            Though the group was defeated on election day, Students of Liberty is still interested in the cause.

            "It's the evolution of technology," Northcott said. "KU might as well get on it."

            On an administrative level, adopting free online course at KU has been tough.

            "I am familiar with OpenCourseWare as an online storage system for class materials, but am not aware of any plans to adopt it for widespread use here at KU," said Susan Zvacek. Director of Instructional Development and Support at KU. "Although many systems like OpenCourseWare are presented as a way to offer 'courses' to the public, they are predominantly collections of materials; if this is what constitutes a course, the library has many of them already available for those who are motivated to learn on their own."

            Despite the struggle, Oxley is pushing forward with his cause.

            "It's a pretty uphill process," he said. "But it at least plants a seed."             

            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.

Derek Jones performing with his band, the Lee Baby Sims show, at the Bottleneck.

            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.

Jones and his band mate, Dane Talley, rocking out. "I will never play with another person," Jones says of Talley.

             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.

           When Colleen Schmidt, Chicago junior, takes a stroll down Massachusetts Street, the first thing she notices is the blooming plots of flowers that adorn the corners of the streets.

 Mass Street business like Third Planet Imports object to the budget cuts

          Due to possible budget cuts to the Parks and Recreation Department, however, projects like the seasonal flower plantings might be limited this year.

          "It's definitely not business as usual," said Crystal Miles, Parks and Recreation Landscape Supervisor. "We're going to tackle the problem the best way we know how."

An empty plot on the corner of Ninth and Massachusetts streets awaits the spring landscaping. If the proposed budget cuts go into effect, plots like these will be barren more often during the year.
Source: Kiernan Markey

          Mark Hecker, Parks and Recreation Superintendent, said that the flower plots align the whole of Massachusetts Street and are changed out four times a year, one for each, depending on the season. If the proposed budget cuts go into effect, the department would cut the four plantings down to two. On top of that, Hecker estimates that a total of $70,000 would be cut from the department's $4 million budget. 

         So far, the cuts are all speculation. Parks and Recreation won't know anything concrete until the next month or so, Hecker said. 

        Until the budget cuts are announced, Hecker said the department will continue with the year's planned projects, although certain other programs may also be affected, including cutting hours at the community pool. Volunteers are being recruited to help plant the spring flowers. Hecker estimates nearly 20,000 seeds and bulbs are planted each season.

       According to the City of Lawrence Web site, Parks and Recreation "maintains 3500 acres of parks and six recreation centers." Two and a half percent of the $146 million city budget spent on the department. 

Parks and Recreation represents two and a half percent of the City's $146,339,949 expenditure budget

     "Mass. Street is the heart of Lawrence," said Megan McHenry, manager of Third Plant Imports, a shop that sells hippie clothing and goods, 846 Massachusetts St. "Anything we can do to draw people to downtown is good. If they cut the budget, that would make us very sad."

According to the City of Lawrence, Parks and Rec represents nearly five percent of the total operating budget by department

     Casey Millstein, manager of the Casbah Market, 803 Massachusetts Street, agrees.

     "The atmosphere of downtown Lawrence really affects the people and (cutting the landscaping) could have an adverse effect on our business, as well," she said. "Having more vegetation provides more of an attraction and an atmosphere."

     Hecker's not worried, though.

     "We just don't know what's going to happen," he said. 

Lawrence flower shops had a sweeter Valentine's Day than expected this year.

"We thought it would be a lot worse because of the economic downturn," said Heidi Yoder, an employee of Bittersweet Floral, 514 E. Ninth St.

John McCaffery, owner of Bittersweet, said the store actually saw a 10-to-15 percent increase in Valentine's Day profits, selling almost everything it had in stock.

"That's why it was good, "McCaffery said. "There were no leftovers."

Flower bouquets from Owens Flower Shop wait to be delivered.

Credit: Kiernan MarkeySource: Owens Flower Shop

Sales for two local flower shops over Valentine's Day surpassed expectations.

Credit: Kiernan Markey

Local flower shops showed no signs of suffering from the National Retail Federation's predicted 15 percent decline in Valentine's Day spending, with sales being the same or better than last year. The NRF estimated that consumers would be spending an average of $100 on Valentine's gifts, about $20 less than the previous year.

Heather McKeel, head designer and manager of Englewood Florist, 1101 Massachusetts St., noticed that people were spending more money than usual in the store.

"It was kind of a strange Valentine's Day," she said.

Jonathan Shoulta, Lenexa freshman, was one of those customers. He found himself the day before Valentine's, frantically trying to find a gift for his sweetheart. Shoulta opted for the traditional Valentine's Day fare: dinner, chocolates, a teddy bear, and, of course, a dozen red roses.

"Fifty dollars was worth it," he said.

Valentine's Day is the biggest holiday for florists, accounting for 25 percent of holiday sales for the year, according to the Society of American Florists.

"It's a big, dang deal," said Sharon Reynolds, president and owner of Owen's Flower Shop, 846 Indiana St. "Imagine doing two months of work in three days: it's just hundreds and hundreds of flowers a day."

Angela Longhurst, Owens employee, prepares flower bouquets.

Credit: Kiernan MarkeySource: Owens Flower Shop

Cut flowers are the most popular Valentine's Day gift, consisting of 80 percent of the holiday's sales.

Credit: Kiernan Markey

"It's a florist's worst nightmare," McKeel said.

Most flower shops hire extra help the week leading up to Valentine's Day. Both Owens and Englewood hired additional workers this year, nearly tripling their staff for the holiday.

Reynolds estimated that cut flowers consisted of 80% of sales. Gifts such as candy, balloons and stuffed animals accounted for 8% of revenue.

Reynolds expected sales to be down 15% this year. To her surprise, sales actually increased 28%. Though the average order was down, Reynolds thinks the increase is a result of the advertising Owens did this year. Part of Owens success was due to the store's Jan. 1 merger with University Floral. Many of University Floral's customers took their business to Owens. If anything was going to cause lost revenue, she said, it would be the influence of Internet sales.

"Internet has changed everything," Reynolds said. "It's hard to establish that report when you don't come into the store."

In the face of a recession and advertising difficulties, Reynolds has no doubt Owens will stay afloat, citing that its foothold in the community and strong clientele base keep the business alive and well.

"It's a challenge, but it's a case of the strong survive," she said. "We're going to weather the storm."