"The Life of a Vietnam Vet Living with PTSD" by Amber Gardner

Arthur Cole passed away on September 17, 2007, almost a year after he was interviewed for profile. A copy of this piece was found on his favorite chair. This story is dedicated to Arthur, a dear friend to everyone that knew and loved him. May he rest in peace.

Arthur Cole was 18 years old and a recent high school graduate when he was drafted to fight in the Vietnam War. He was not afraid. He endured a rough training course in North Carolina where he familiarized himself with bazookas, World War II tanks and other "weapons you wouldn't believe." A challenging mixture of sweltering summer conditions and endless rain made his preparations for Vietnam even more intense. Still Cole remained brave, admittedly finding a sense of adventure and opportunity in the use of weaponry. He left for Vietnam void of expectations and soon arrived at an evacuation hospital called Long Binh, located outside of Saigon. That night, as the nonstop firing of bullets and the lingering smell of gun powder filled the air, Cole fell into a sound sleep. But he was soon awoken by what he describes as a huge explosion -- and the disturbing realization that his good friend, Richard Barron, had been killed by a bomb. That’s when everything changed.

"Nothing was found of him," Cole, now 58, somberly recalls. Cole, who has resided in Brooklyn for 51 years, slouches in his favorite burgundy recliner, one hand lying on his round stomach and the other displaying specific gestures to illustrate selected words. "I didn’t go to sleep for the next day and a half," he says.

His dry feet are bare and he is comfortably clothed in a large shirt from "Big Daddy Clothing Factory", navy sleep shorts and a pair of reading glasses. His apartment appears notably cluttered -- hundreds of books, particularly Louie Lamoure and P.G Woodhouse titles fill the room and at least seven clocks are in sight. At exactly 8:45pm a cat meows, but this noise is not from a pet because Cole does not share his Midwood co-op. The sound actually comes from a clock, which features a different breed of cat for each hour.

On a tabletop beside Cole is a wooden chest and a case containing thirteen bottles of pills. "This trunk is full of diabetes supplies needles and stuff," he explains. Cole, who lives with diabetes type 2, also suffers from posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), a psychiatric disorder that may occur following the experience or witnessing of life-threatening events such as military combat. "I take thirteen pills in the morning and eleven at night -- and insulin too," Cole attributes his experiences as a soldier in Vietnam as the cause for his wide array of health problems.

In 2000 the Air Force released a study that evaluated airmen's exposure to Agent Orange, a defoliant sprayed over crops to deprive enemies of food, in association with increased risk of diabetes. The study found that veterans with higher dioxin levels (a primary ingredient in the powerful herbicide) were 47 percent more likely to develop diabetes. Another study conducted by the "National Vietnam Veterans Readjustment Survey", additionally established that 15 percent of men who served in Vietnam were diagnosed with PTSD. Recent veteran affair statistics also show that 161,000 veterans are still receiving disability compensation for the anxiety disorder. Cole exists in this fraction of soldiers who primarily suffer from nightmares, flashbacks and difficulty sleeping.

Cole was originally drafted as a helicopter gunman, whose key duty was to sit beside the door of a helicopter and shoot its machine gun. Upon arriving in Vietnam, he was informed that there were no gunman positions available and was instead given the task of a stevedore. As a stevedore, Cole delivered ammunition and loaded ships with palates -- portable platforms used for storing or moving cargo. His stint as a stevedore did not last long because of a fluke accident in which his foot became trapped inside a palate and was run over by a truck. While his broken foot healed, Cole was put to work in a nearby hospital, a place where his most traumatic memories of Vietnam originated.

"The job I had in the hospital was to put the body parts, of people that got blown up, in bags," his voice remains steady as he recollects a moment that has etched his ongoing struggle with PTSD. "I had a torso… no head, no nothing. I had to put two arms and two legs into the bag. They didn’t care if it went with the body."

"That was gross. I got to go to the doctor for it now. I still have nightmares," he says. Every Thursday for the past eight years, Cole sits with a support group of ten other Vietnam veterans who also struggle with PTSD. "We get it out of our system by talking. I’m much better now."

According to Frederick Aiese, licensed clinical social worker at the International Center for the Disabled, dreams of being back in battlefield, startle response and intrusion of thought are all common effects of PTSD. "The person thinks repeatedly about the traumatic incident even when they least expect it," says Aiese. Using a method called psychodynamic psychotherapy Aiese helps patients with their drives and experiences, advanced eye movement, desensitization and reprocessing. "Their progress depends on how significant the trauma was, how long they were exposed to it and what their individual constitution is," he explains.

Cole’s exposure to Vietnam has certainly affected all facets of his life. "If I didn’t go into the service, I’d have been married," he says fondly of his high school sweet heart, a thoughtful woman, whom while he was in combat; mailed him packages of liquor flavored lollypops and empty mayonnaise jars filled with melted snow, which he subsequently drank. "She met somebody else while I was in the service," he reminisces, matter-of-factly, a warm smile remaining fixed on his mouth.

Cole has never been married nor does he have or want any children. When asked if he plans to wed someday, he is quick to use his most frequently exclaimed phrase, "Are ya kidding?" a saying that is fittingly articulated in a Brooklyn accent. "Too young," he says of himself. "Maybe when I’m seventy when I need somebody to clean for me," he jokes. "I’m too set in my ways. I’m a slob so nobody could live with me. Let me tell ya!" One glance around Cole’s apartment could easily affirm this admission. Fill-It-In activity books, planners, calendars and tabloids are strewn across messy tabletops and an unused master bedroom carries nothing but storage. A fridge stocked with cases of Poland Spring water, Arizona Iced Tea and a single carton of eggs is adorned with M&M magnets, the kind that are likely to be found in Good Housekeeping ads.

Cole seems to find solace in life’s simplest pleasures, speaking proudly of his collection of oddball gadgets, pocket knives, watches, mugs, baseball cards, paper money and his mother’s prized antique bells. Adopted as an infant, together with his fraternal twin brother, Stephen, Cole considers his late mother, Elsie Cory, the most influential person in his life and lives by her motto to treat people the way you want to be treated. Having received a plaque for saving a four-year-old girl from the confines of a rapist and another woman held at knifepoint, Cole has certainly established himself as an example of this saying.

"Big deal. Anybody would have something like that," he humbly says of his heroism. "Adults don’t bother me because they can defend themselves. Animals and kids -- That bothers me."

"In Vietnam, they used to put spikes in the jungle in holes and when you stepped on it, the spike went through your foot," he vividly describes, referring to sharp bamboo stakes or punji sticks, which were concealed at an angle in high grass, holes, or deep mud. Often coated with excrement, they were deliberately planted to wound and infect the feet of enemy soldiers. But Cole has a different vision of these weapons and he evokes a haunting memory involving innocent Vietnamese children that were wounded instead. "They used to wear those flip flops like the ones we wear to the beach and I’d see these kids come in the hospital with grungy sticks through their feet," he says, with a chill. "They lost their feet."

"You never get over that. You know, I watch the news, Iraq, and it brings it all back." Cole briefly mentions the hundreds of soldiers he encounters at the Brooklyn VA Medical Center who also suffer from PTSD, including many young men who are recently returning from Iraq. "The ones that went into service now joined for college credit. They couldn’t afford to go to college. They didn’t know they were going to Iraq."

It is apparent that Cole is reflecting upon his three harrowing years in the military as he openly sympathizes with the current state of the army. "I wouldn’t want to be there now cause’ half of them don’t know which end the bullet comes out of. They’re all reserves. They’re not trained."

Cole exudes a calm tenderness throughout most of his retelling of war and death, even when speaking of his step-parents passing. Both his step-father, David Cory, who practiced ministry; and step-mother died in their late ninety’s. And though Cole made the attempt to keep in touch with many friends from Vietnam, he sadly admits to having lost a few to suicides. "They couldn’t take it when they got back to the civilian life," he says. "When we got off the plane in Washington, protestors were throwing rocks at us cause they thought the war was so bad."

Most of all, Cole seems to have an understanding and acceptance of the natural process of life and death. His carefree demeanor and appreciation for simple wonders is a quality that is sincerely illustrated in every sense of his environment and being. "Rarely do you meet someone of his character in your lifetime," says Pat Gardner, Cole’s good friend of 12 years. "He is generous, reliable and honest. He never criticizes and offers good heartfelt advice. He genuinely listens and cares." Though Cole has a deeply captivating life story, he does not regularly address his past experiences in combat. In groups of people, he speaks only when he is spoken to. Often the quiet type, Cole selflessly offers his attention to others with genuine interest and concern.

It is almost hard to believe but underneath Cole’s publicly quiet character exists a true tale of wisdom, bravery, brightness and enduring triumph.

"Terrance Brown: Journalism as a Means to an End" by Alex Grunde

For Terrance Brown, journalism is a means to an ends. His ultimate goal is to do something to make a difference. “Being a black male, you feel you need to get involved,” says Terrance about his desire to create change. In fact, he feels like he may end up in a completely different field, if he can’t find this desired change in journalism. “I’m not sure where I would be most effective,” he says, with the beaming smiles he nearly constantly wears, framed by a short goatee, continuing “Do you want to be the news, or write the news?"

He was born and raised in the Bedford-Stuyvesant area of Brooklyn, where the block-style layout created a “tight-knit community.” However, he also lived in the projects near Williamsburg, which he described as a “paranoid” environment. These experiences helped shaped his view on “the importance of being black,” and making something of himself to influence others.

Brown’s experiences at Eastern District High School also exemplified this juxtaposition of the discordant and uplifting. The high school “was known for its violence and spats between the black students and Dominicans,” where the “gym was ground for... thuggery,” with people carrying knives and guns. The spats were never extreme, but the atmosphere was toxic. When it changed to an “alternative school” named Grand Street Campus, the violence was quelled by placing the Dominicans on separate floors, where classes oriented on English as a Second Language courses. This change mellowed out the school, giving Brown an experience as if he “attended two separate high schools.” However, he said that these changes “didn’t make the education improve.”

Seeing the ethnic tension at Eastern influenced his political opinions, saying “I’m a black male in America, so I’m for anything that can further my group’s image in position in this country, because we’re not past race yet.”

When asked what originally got him thinking about making positive changes in society, he says that “early on in my life, really rappers. Jay-Z, Biggie [a.k.a. the Notorious B.I.G.].” However, his brother Travis, whom Terrance credits as being a huge influence on his life, has a different theory. Travis says that it was Terrance’s experience growing up in a single parent household that pushed him to make a difference. “He doesn’t want people to grow up in the same situation as him,” said Travis, who feels that Terrance’s desire to “expose things that are corrupt” will mean he will “ultimately end up in politics, in some shape or form.” Terrance himself says he can see himself going to law school, because he sees it as a path that will allow him to make a difference. He worries that the “traditional” journalist path is too focused on observing.

Terrance also has an artistic vision in his life. His writing ranges from short stories and short films, and he even co-wrote a full length comedy film. He directed a short film named “Don’t Make Me Over,” a view of how a young black girl’s hairstyle changes mark her “passing to womanhood.” In the future he’d like to get into playwriting, and possibly start an indie record label. Musically, his interests run a large gamut, from mainstream rap artists like Kayne West and Jay-Z to R&B musician Keshia Cole, and even rock music like Coldplay and The Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Complimenting his artistic spirit are religious and political views that run in the progressive vein. Of his social views, Brown says “I’m liberal, I’m pro choice, for gay marriage, against the war, and any war unless it’s waged to get oneself out of an oppressive position.” The split in this country between “the haves and the have nots” is what he finds to be the most problematic issue in America. He also reads political columns by Tom Friedman, Foreign Affairs columnist for the New York Times. Spiritually he says doesn’t “have any real religious beliefs,” but seems to have an agnostic viewpoint: “Do I believe [in] god? I would say no, but I haven’t ruled out the possibility of there being one.” He said “the closest I’ve been to church is Easter when I was smaller.” He found it too much “like cattle... I don’t think one way. That’s why I couldn’t never be in the military, because you’re taught to think one way, and not to be an individual, and I’m totally against that.”

"Richard Maher: Future Ump" by Jeff Wilkins

When he’s not playing guitar, watching the New York Giants and Mets, or playing poker with his friends, 20-year old Richard Maher spends his time like other diligent college students. He studies countless hours for exams and works hard to ensure his homework is complete on time. A junior at Brooklyn College majoring in journalism, Richard is less than two years away from earning his diploma. However, unlike most college students, that diploma isn’t his ticket to future employment, it’s his backup plan.

Richard, or Richie as his friends and family call him, has his sights set on becoming a Major League Baseball (MLB) umpire. Donning his usual hooded sweatshirt, blue jeans and sneakers, Maher said he wanted to trade in his casual ensemble for a chest-protector and face mask. “Yeah, I’m trying to finish school as quick as possible,” Maher said in his thick Brooklyn accent. “My parents said I have to get my degree before I can go to umpiring school.” The stocky, Canarsie, Brooklyn native appreciates the education he is getting, but is ready to take the next step towards his dream of one day umpiring baseball in the major leagues.

If everything goes according to plan, Maher will be attending the Harry Wendlestedt Umpiring Academy upon his college graduation. The Kissimmee, Florida institution is home of MLB’s official school for umpires. Every year hundreds of hopeful applicants pay the $2800 enrollment fee for the five-week course in hopes making a career out of umpiring baseball games. Applicants must take a written exam testing their complete knowledge and understanding of all the game’s rules and intricacies. From there, the top ten percent move on to the next step of the program, umpiring simulation games. Applicants’ on-field abilities are closely monitored and a very select few are chosen to become official MLB umpires. The chosen individuals will start in baseball’s minor league system and will hopefully one day make it to the big leagues. The amount of time spent in the minor leagues varies upon each umpire’s track record and competence. “Only one out of a thousand actually make it to the big leagues,” Maher explained with a self-assured smile. “Numerically speaking, you have a better shot of making it to the majors as a player than an umpire."

Is Maher at all discouraged by the daunting task ahead of him and the extremely low rates of success for aspiring umpires? Hardly. “Yeah, I’m confident,” Maher said. And why shouldn’t he be? Maher has proved his abilities in nearly four years of umpiring experience. Recognizing he lacked the skills necessary to become a professional ball player, Maher excelled at umpiring as a way of retaining his ties to the game he loves.

He currently calls games at both the little league and high school levels, and has gained the respect of players, coaches, and his fellow umpires alike. “Richie is about as non-biased as they come. He just has a calm nerve and demeanor when he’s out there,” said lifelong friend Will Centeno. “He’s just a good guy.”

Another person who can attest to Maher’s relaxed behavior and honesty both on and off the field is his girlfriend of over four years Joanne Sangueza. “We’ve actually worked on a couple of umpiring crews together,” said Sangueza. “He’s very helpful on the field; he’s not there just to criticize.” The couple first met when they were in elementary school and Maher’s father was the coach of Sangueza’s softball team. When asked what she thought of Richie’s chances of making it to the big leagues, Sangueza responded without hesitation, “He can definitely make it. He’s confident and he has the dedication it takes to get there.”

Perhaps Maher’s biggest asset in turning his umpiring dream into a reality is the love and support of his family. “My parents have always encouraged me to do what I like. They never hindered me,” Maher said of his father, Richard, and mother, Christine.

Centeno agrees with his assessment. “Richie’s family is awesome. They always support him one hundred percent with whatever he tries to do. I’ve grown up with his family, and Richie is like a brother to me.”

Although his little sister Alyssa accidentally killed his goldfish when she mistook chili pepper for fish food, Maher is always looking out for his two younger siblings. In fact, he not only sees umpiring as a way of making himself happy, but it would also benefit his younger brother Matthew as well. “If I became a professional umpire, my brother would be the happiest kid in the world because I could get him free tickets,” he said jokingly.

Whether or not Maher ultimately reaches his goal of becoming a professional umpire, he can take solace in the fact he has positively impacted the lives of everyone around him. “Richie is the best guy in the world. He always puts other people’s interests in front of his own. He’s there to help everyone,” said Sangueza. If honesty and selflessness were part of the criteria for becoming an umpire, Maher’s friends and family would put him at the major league level.

"Nawn Realizes His True Calling" by Marcus Bethel

Cold calling on Wall Street is hardly what 20-year-old Mushtaq Choudhury of Sunnyside, Queens would refer to as his “true calling” since this aspiring young journalist’s passion for writing outweighs every other interest in his extremely busy life.

Originally from Richmond Hill, Queens, Nawn, as he is otherwise known, “is an outstanding individual, very political and a very good person,” as his life-long friend Owen Awning, describes him. He attended Richmond Hill High School, where he won a partial basketball scholarship to West Virginia University. While away at West Virginia University, he discovered the essence of independence and responsibility, encouraging his breakaway from his parents on his return to Queens.

His tenure at West Virginia University was a short one; Choudhury is currently a junior at Brooklyn College, where his major is journalism, complimented by a minor in film. At West Virginia University, Choudhury originally played as a combo guard – having a point guard body with a shooting guard game. Later, he become a point guard, but encountered problems having to make the adjustment.

Things took an interesting turn for Choudhury when he wrote “Social Segregation in Rural Town of Keyser, WV,” an article which highlighted the issue of segregation in the small town, for the Pasquino, West Virginia University’s school newspaper. The article got major recognition, propelling Choudhury to editor-in-chief, a position he held for two years. His focus shifted from basketball to writing.

Choudhury, to maintain his scholarship, had to juggle five intense hours of basketball practice (three hours team practice, one hour film review and an hour group work with the coach) with his role as editor-in-chief of his paper, combined with his commitment to his regular school work.

At five feet nine inches and a bit on the heavy side, Choudhury’s great interest for basketball was driven by his father’s love of the sport. “My father liked basketball so I always wanted to impress him,” he said. He described his father as an accomplished individual, who was responsible for bringing his extended family to New York, migrating from Celep, Bangladesh, a small country which shares its western boundaries with India.

Choudhury’s hectic daily four-train-commute to Brooklyn College, starts with the A to the C to the S and finally to the no. 2 train to Flatbush Avenue, is no deterrent for him. Though he often times dreads the return trip which could take well in excess of an hour and a half, Choudhury claims every minute is well spent as he enjoys his time here. “It was my first choice in New York because Columbia was too expensive,” said Choudhury. “Brooklyn College, challenges the average student to excel, having a great curriculum in comparison with the other CUNY schools, offering a well rounded education.”

Choudhury family has strong religious ethics well rooted into the Islamic religion; having a tradition of arranged marriages, something Choudhury has no real interest in. His lack of interest in his family’s traditional customs and values is attributed to his American upbringing, and lack of exposure to the real customs of his ancestors.

Choudhury does his best trying to confirm with his parents wishes by praying three times daily, also sharing the food and other culturally related aspects of his family’s religious rituals. “Though I don’t really understand what is said or recited during religious ceremonies,” Choudhury admits “I read a bit of Arabic myself.”

As he continues his pursuit of happiness and “The American Dream,” Choudhury hopes to combine his common interests in basketball and business with his passion for journalism in the future, to nurture his dream of having his own magazine; a publication he said, will concentrate on sports and business in the New York area.

"Michael Giardina: Covering Sports for a Living" by Angela Alvarez

In 1986 when the Mets won the World Series, in a home in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, John Giardina lifted his one-year-old brother up and hit the child’s head on the ceiling. This is how Michael Giardina remembers his favorite sports moment.

Sitting comfortably dressed in a light blue football jersey and baggy jeans, Giardina, who is now 21, speaks of his life with almost a hint of boredom in his voice. He does not move, except to shake his right hand a little to signal when he thinks something is important and should be noted. But get him talking about sports, and the man is a fountain of interesting information, funny anecdotes and energetic movement. His love for sports is what is leading him into the field of journalism, and what will ultimately make his dream career of being a sports journalist, a dream come true.

Giardina has lived in Bensonhurst all his life. He lives with his parents, and has three older brothers. Even while talking about his family, he cannot help but include athletic tidbits. When Giardina and his brothers were younger, they showed him how to swing a bat, but Giardina admits that he learned by mostly watching them and playing with them. “I learned a lot about sports from my brothers. But now, I’m better than them in most sports. It’s good to get some revenge.” He grins.

It’s not a surprise that his main hobbies are anything sports related. While watching sports on the television, Giardina gets extremely excited. “He gets really into the game when he is watching. If the team he’s rooting for is doing badly, he gets depressed and mad. If they do well, he’s happy,” said his older brother Phil Giardina. When Phil and Michael were younger, they used to play with other kids out in the streets. Streetlights, which resemble goal posts, made football the game to play. However, these days, they get together at the park and play basketball.

Giardina not only watches sports with his family, he watches with his girlfriend of three years, Taryn Byrnes. “We watch and go to many sporting events together. He will go to almost any game he can get tickets for,” she said. Giardina, who was extremely happy about the recent success of the Mets, hopes to get future tickets for their games.

Talking about sports brings a smile to his face, and writing about them does just the same. Giardina’s dream career is to be a sports journalist covering the most exciting games. “I want to be in the middle of it and know everything first before anybody else does. There is a power in that,” he said. In ten years, he hopes to be working for ESPN magazine, covering the Mets and the Jets, his two favorite New York teams. “This would not just be a job for him. Rather, he’ll be doing something he loves and will be able to put a lot of knowledge and effort into it,” said Byrnes.

Giardina’s family firmly believes that he will be successful combining his favorite activity and his love for writing. “He will be just like Ray Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond,” said Phil Giardina, comparing his brother to the successful sports journalist played by Ray Romano on the hit TV show. But in this case, they all love Michael.

"Marcus Bethel: Ambition Reaches Far Beyond the Horizon" by Mushtaq Choudhury

Marcus Bethel spent many days on the shore of Petite, Martinque Island, where he loaded up his boat with equipment to dive into the dangerous waters to spear fish for a living.

To him, the shore represented more than just a job; it was also where he sat and sometimes wondered, outside the boundaries of the island, in search for more. Equipped with ambition and dreams, his eyes reached far passed the horizon.

When he first arrived in Brooklyn from Petite Martinque, an immigrant new to the surrounding city that contains millions of people, it could have easily scared Bethel away. Not in his case. Bethel says that on the island people dreamed about more and the opportunity was finally here for him.

Petite Martinique is a small island in the tri-state islands of Grenada. Discovered by a French man in the 1700’s, the island has a blend of African and European influences and languages. With a population of only 1,000 people on the island, Bethel felt boundaries suffocating and often felt unfulfilled. The island had only had one primary school which Bethel as well as high school and some college studies.

Bethel describes his life on the island as life experience that built him for the city life. Dressed in a dark shirt with blue jeans and cross-training sneakers, he speaks

about life on Petite Martinque. With his fingers close to his chin, he describes the islands’ characteristics with a deep tone hidden under a thick accent, equipped with stern eyes that could shatter the glasses on his face. He rarely cracks a smile when he speak, but his voice demands attention by ear.

In an island where fishing, boat-building, and sailing where the main jobs and where most the population were struggling to maintain a stable life, Bethel worked hard but always thought about the idea of leaving the island.

“I often thought this man wasn’t paying me enough for dangerous work, when I could save up money and live a different life excluding the blueprint life of the island,” said Bethel.

Bethel and Mathew Joseph were best buddies on the island where they sometimes worked on the same boat together as divers, and always talked about leaving the island for financial satiability.

“As a young man he worked hard at diving and spear fishing and eventually saved up enough money and bought his own boat to raise his earnings,” said Joseph, Bethels’ best friend.

His friends and family called Bethel adventurous but it was his desire that pushed him to want more. He found a passion of literature and writing while he worked for 6 months teaching elementary students.

“I wanted more for myself, I knew if I was able to save enough money to leave the island I would be able to flourish elsewhere,” he said.

For the next couple of years Bethel kept working hard, spear fishing, assembling boats, and playing cricket with friends in the free time to keep his mind busy from thinking about leaving the island.

His older brother and sister both already left the island to New York City; Bethel was often tempted to leave sooner rather than later. Joseph also said many people had come back to the island with stories of the outside world and how financially better things were.

In 2000, Bethel decided the time was right leaving behind his mother and father and a life he lived for many years to take on a new life with higher education and a possible career in writing.

Bethel made way to New York City, where he lived with his sister in Brooklyn for a while until he landed a job with a construction company where he did interior renovation.

Though he was lucky enough to land a good job so soon but adjusting to the actual size of the city was the hardest of all. He often found himself lost while trying to read the street signs for direction.

By working two jobs he was able to enroll in Brooklyn College as a creative writing major. College gave Bethel an opportunity to fulfill an education satisfying enough to feed his ambitions of being a published author.

Living with his girlfriend and a 1-year-old son, Bethel often reminisces about his life at the island and breathes a sign of relief that most of the hard work adjusting to new surroundings has been accomplished.

Bethel has been writing short stories and fiction, hoping for future publication. Bethel hopes one day to be an established author with many publications, some about his adventurous life on the island

“Focus, the ability to be self driven, and devotion were the key ingredients to success so far,” Bethel said, as he looked through his glasses with demanding eyes that could reach for the skies.

"Angela Alvarez: Videogaming Is It" by Michael Giardina

Video gaming is an obsession for many pre-teens and teens. But for Queens native, Angela Alvarez, it is life. Her free hours are dedicated to this infatuation that has become part of her career goals. This journalism hopeful looks forward to reporting on the entire field of gaming. She is truly mixing work with pleasure.

Alvarez, 19, has lived in East Elmhurst, Queens her entire life. The half-Chinese, half-Peruvian Brooklyn college student hopes to use her love of gaming and writing and fuse the two into a focused career path. “When I play video games I get a rush out of it,” Alvarez said “I'd rather be playing a video game than doing what other people my age are doing.” She hopes to write for magazines where she can report on the releases of games and new systems.

Alvarez was raised by her grandmother her entire life. She was the only one of her five brothers and sisters to have this option “My family is kind of crazy and dysfunctional,” Alvarez said “we’ve had a lot of personal family conflicts.” Her father has had trouble with alcoholism and this is the main reason why she was raised by her grandmother. She is very family oriented with her siblings, especially her older sisters.

She feels her parents cut ties a long time ago. “I never saw my mother as a mother figure,” Alvarez said “and my dad, I am not close to him at all.” Her family is well known in their neighborhood due to her father’s troubles; she was picked on as a child because of her family’s problems. Her rough childhood has given her a tough and strong personality. She has pushed herself to graduate from Hillcrest High School in Queens, to play on their soccer team and was a vital part of the high school newspaper.

She is the first one of her family to attend college, and will most likely be the first to graduate. “I'm happy that I'm the first,” Alvarez said “It makes you feel important, and special.”

Her older sister Janet Baceols is optimistic for her sister’s future. “I try to encourage her to finish school because she would be the first in our family,” Baceols said “I want her to have to have better and more than we had as kids.”

Her sister Cynthia Alvarez who is also older than Angela feels the same way. “In a way I’m partially responsible for her being in college, because I’ve always encouraged her to reach for her dreams,” Cynthia Alvarez said “but it is her drive that got her there.”

Alvarez sits in the news lab tapping her pen on the desk, but she is very calm. She is dressed in a white sweatshirt with blue jeans on and white sneakers. She constantly smiles with each answer exposing her confidence, and jokes constantly revealing her composure.

Alvarez has a clear notion of what she wants to do. “I want to write for Electronic Gaming Monthly or Game Informer,” Alvarez said, smiling. These two magazines are the leading video game publication in the country. Her dream beat would be to cover important gaming show expos such as E3 that is hosted by Japan annually. She also hopes to cover new system launchings such as Playstation 3’s unveiling upcoming in November.

Her family sees her success in her future career path with mixed emotions. Her grandma who raised her entire life feels it’s not a good choice. “My grandmother is traditional, and we clash with ideas,” Alvarez said “she wants me to be a nurse or a teacher.” Her grandmother’s wishes for her a different career path is because of money problems she feels Angela will have in her chosen career path. “I'm upset that what I want to do in life is not what my grandmother is expecting,” Alvarez said “but I'm trying to live my life the way I want.”

Her sister Janet on the other hand has nothing but support for her choice, “I think she will [succeed] because she seems to have a passion for it and that’s important when having a career vs. just a job.”

Alvarez’s inspirations in her career choice would be primarily her high school journalism teacher Robin Lauzon. “She pushed me every year,” Alvarez said. Angela worked hard on the high school publication, and in her senior year her hard work paid off. She became editor-in-chief of the newspaper. “I never imagined in my life that I would be editor-in-chief of my high school paper,” Alvarez said “I was excited and felt important, I learned so much that year.”

While there are mixed feelings about her career choice, Alvarez feels that her family supports her in achieving her college degree. “I try to encourage her to finish school,” Baceols said “I want for her what I want for my own children.”

Many people today choose what will bring them the most money. “I know the most will be making is around 40 to 50 thousand a year,” Alvarez said. She says even if video gaming reporting falls through, she would even work with any woman’s magazine. She is attracted to what she loves, and her career choice is nothing different. She should be admired because she is chasing her dream, and not settling for the money.

"Claudio Cabrera: The Weight of Time and Place" by Amber Gardner

The experiences we face in life shape us into the people we turn out to be. Within two brief years, a young man can develop into a full fledged adult; as is the case of Claudio Cabrera, a college student with a richly cultured background and an inspirational success story.

When Cabrera was a young boy his everyday surroundings lept out of the pages of a European picture book. Buildings adorned with mosaic-covered sculptures and rich brass statues were his usual scenery. Gothic mansions, outdoor cafés, and cathedrals marked elegant narrow streets and winding paths.

"Everything isn't as big as in Manhattan," says Cabrera, who describes his childhood homeland close to Madrid, Spain as slow paced and architecturally very old -- a vast contrast from his current living situation in Washington Heights. "You don't feel like a midget walking around,” he jokes.

Cabrera, who for three years lived with his mother, father and younger sister, moved back to the United States when he was eight years old. Now 22, he reflects upon his experience in Spain as a notable piece of his youth and a place he hopes to return to in the future.

"When you're younger, you don't really know the semantics of everything like government, policies and things like that," Cabrera contemplates, addressing his plans to visit and possibly relocate to Spain. "I figure Spain has its good and its bad just like over here." Cabrera seems somewhat hesitant to settle on where he will ultimately live until he has a more mature and modernized view of everyday life in Spain.

Dressed in a neutral vertically striped shirt, loose fitting blue jeans and black leather loafers; Cabrera appears well groomed, and at ease. His voice is subdued, and he rarely shows excitement or any animated gestures, aside from frequent clasping and unclasping of his hands. Cabrera, who is studying for a B.A in journalism at Brooklyn College, was exposed to a first-rate education system in Spain – one which his mother, Maritza Cabrera, considers a significant factor in his overall scholastic development. “I feel Claudio’s first few years of school really molded him,” she says.

Maritza also attributes her son’s schooling in Spain as a strengthening test of character. “It was kind of hard for Claudio because at the time Spain didn't have a lot of, if any, African American children in school -- so he was treated stereotypically by many teachers,” Maritza Cabrera acknowledges that Cabrera was never aware of the reason for why he was treated unfairly nor did he allow teachers prejudice to hinder his studies or his state of mind. Her son’s pure and tranquil composure as an outsider both impressed and awed her. Claudio, himself, claims that he had no knowledge of being taught differently, only that he was given extra attention to by teachers. He wasn’t certain whether this recognition was positive or negative or if it was distinctively because of his skin color.

Much of Cabrera’s time in Spain was devoted to exploring soccer stadiums, museums, and ancient castles in different cities like Barcelona. He found the most joy though, participating in various soccer teams. “[Soccer] was his favorite sport at the time,” his mother reveals. “Till he moved to America and fell in love with basketball.”

Cabrera had visions in his youth of one day becoming a professional basketball player. These childhood aspirations derailed when he injured his knee during a game and was required to undergo two bouts of surgery.

“Claudio always had dreams of becoming an athlete and when that looked more and more unattainable, I did wonder what was next,” his mother says. Shattered dreams of once being an athlete led to a lack of focus in Cabrera's high school studies and he, regrettably, “fooled around” in his most crucial junior year at the Bronx Mount Saint Michael Academy. When asked to name the biggest obstacle in his life, Cabrera pauses before calmly uttering, "myself."

Cabrera speaks candidly about his past mistakes, and regards his regrets as a symbol of growth – and a lifelong learning process. "I had to put an extra year into school when I should be graduating this year," he admits. "Throughout life, I've been my biggest setback. I've been my own worst enemy," Cabrera then quickly adds, "But during the last couple years, I've been correcting that." In time, Cabrera has discovered that stress is merely apart of life and that challenging situations are to be taken in stride. "I know everything happens for a reason," he optimistically declares.

This statement is a fitting motto for Cabrera's forced shift in career planning. In 2002, he enrolled in classes at Westchester Community College -- a school that stimulated his concentration in schoolwork and the concept of a new profession. "A lot of teachers told me that my writing ability was impressive," he says, referring to his stumble upon an unexpected talent. "I wasn't really into it but I just ran with what they were saying."

Cabrera wholeheartedly dedicated himself to writing as he began to explore the fast paced world of journalism, a form of writing that he admittedly learned to love. His high energy in athletics served as an advantage in reporting. "I like to take on a lot of assignments. I'm always keeping myself busy," he says, remaining composedly arched forward in his seat. "Sometimes I may overdo it, but I think overdoing it is good in a sense," he elaborates, "because when you're a journalist dealing with deadlines, it helps to be able to do as much assignments as you can."

To pay for daily living expenses, Cabrera works at a law-firm. His long-term career goal, however, has little to do with clerical work. Cabrera is currently crafting his journalistic potential and gaining experience in the field by writing for Harlem based newspaper, The New York Amsterdam News and HipHopSite.com, whose slogan is, "It Aint Where Ya From, Its Where Ya @" He hopes to one day write for a mainstream entertainment-oriented magazine such as Rolling Stone or Sports Illustrated.

He also looks forward to an upcoming trip to his father’s homeland, the Dominican Republic, and a hopeful return to the culture-rich streets of Madrid. Accepting of life’s pace, Cabrera does not let himself become discouraged when faced with uncertainties. “Everybody grows at different rates,” he says. “And I’m here now so this is what I’m meant to do. I’m kind of happy where I’m at.” The weight of time and place has certainly played a major role in Cabrera’s life. His ever-changing surroundings have provided much preparation, hurdles and opportunities, all which have shaped him into the motivated and driven person that he is today.

“Claudio has changed a lot in the two years we have been together,” Jeannine Brisard, Cabrera’s girlfriend, says of him. Brisard deems Cabrera's most important traits as humor, pride, stubbornness and a family oriented outlook on life. But it is her admiration for Cabrera’s increasing diligence and hard work, which really stands out. “He has matured. He takes life more serious, knows that you need to work to achieve things and can't just depend on faith or simply luck.”

Maritza Cabrera is also enthused in Cabrera’s development and success, especially upon his forthcoming graduation and recent job offers in journalism. “Claudio grew up in a middle class household,” she says. “Despite it being situated in not the greatest of neighborhoods, he managed to stay away from all the ills and make it this far and close to graduating,” With motherly charm, she adds, “I'm very proud of him,”

Claudio Cabrera remains humble about his achievements and defeated demons. The greatest advice given to him: “that anything is possible”, could be a cliché but the idea bears a sense of reason in a life strained with challenges. “No matter what environment you come from, there will be a lot of obstacles – setbacks, so to say,” Cabrera brightly simplifies this assertion, “With determination, you can overcome anything.”

"Brooklyn Baseball Star" by Alex Grunde

Tom Carson was a celebrity. Tom Carson never got farther than the A level of the minor league system, three levels below the majors. How could a man who never played for a professional sports team, whose name turns up a blank in that great bastion of collective knowledge, Google, be a celebrity? If you were around in the post-war Midwest though, this question is an easy one to answer. For Carson played in an era without television, without Sportscenter, when the minor leagues were a major entertainment for millions of people outside of the cities.

Born in Brooklyn the same year that the great Depression hit America, Carson’s early life was marked by losses. His dad, who owned the first car on 72nd street, died when he was young, and his mother was stricken with polio. “I had no dad, mother in a wheelchair,” said Carson, who had to work as a teenager to support his family. When the Brooklyn Dodgers Association contacted him about playing in the minor leagues, Carson didn’t think twice about taking the $3,000 dollar signing bonus, which he gave to his mom, along with every paycheck he earned. His mother was the one to sign for him, because at the time he was still a minor, 17 years old.

He first played in 1949 for the Wisconsin State League’s Appleton Papermakers, who were immortalized in Max Blue’s book God is Alive and Playing Third Base for the Appleton Papermakers. The team was a D level team, the lowest minor league class, but that didn’t diminish the following the team had in the city. Located 30 miles southwest of Green Bay, the Papermakers were the major sporting attraction in an era without television beaming professional sports games into everyone’s living room. Carson remembers visiting the local hospital and churches for the team, where fans would ask for his autograph.

The game at the time lacked many of the comforts afforded today’s players. Carson got paid around $400 dollars a month, plus a $10 a day food allowance when the team was on the road. The team would pay for hotels, although some towns lacked hotels, and alternative sleeping arrangements were made, such as at local YMCA’s.

When asked what has improved in the game since he played, he said “Better gloves, better fields, better equipment.” Many of the minor league fields lacked lights. The gloves required all catches to be done with both hands, which led to Carson breaking his right thumb seven times, and had a fingernail torn off by a foul ball. They also didn’t have catcher’s helmets, which led to Carson taking a beaning to the head once that sent him to the hospital.

Traveling was not easy either. Many teams used school buses to cart players around. The team would only stay at a hotel if they were traveling 100 miles or more, so some nights the team would come home at late hours.

Even though it was the minors, Carson competed against and with some big names. He played against Mickey Mantle, who was the shortstop for an Oklahoma minor league team at the time. He served as catcher for Ryne Duren, who went on to win two World Series with the New York Yankees. He also played with Frank Torre, brother of current Yankees’ manager Joe Torre.

Another highlight of his career was practicing with the New York Yankees in 1952. They gave him an honorary uniform, with a number on it not used by the major league teams of the time, and he worked out with Joe DiMaggio. Of the Yankees, he said that “they created you very nice.”

Of his own game play, Carson said that he “was a very good defensive catcher,” but lacked hitting skills. Although the catcher position was his best, he played a multitude of positions based on what the team needed at the time. He noted of the sluggers that “if you can hit a baseball, they’ll put you in any position.”

Carson went on to play for several more cities, including Three Rivers, Quebec, and Elmira, NY, where he reached his highest minor league level, the A class, However, by 1952, Carson had realized that his “bread and butter wasn’t in baseball,” and that there were too many players better than him, not to mention the lack of a paycheck during the winter months. Part of what prompted this change was a job offer from Bell, which he took and worked there until he retired at the age of 58. At Bell, he played on their industry league baseball team, and they put him through college studying at nights at Brooklyn College, graduating in 1956.

Carson’s exodus from baseball coincided with the general decline of the minor leagues. As Neil Sullivan pointed out in his book, The Minors, “In 1949, nearly 42 million people paid to watch teams compete in fifty-nine minor leagues. Ten years later, attendance barely surpassed 12 million, and only twenty-one leagues operated.” Sullivan believes that the greed of the major leagues, who invaded many markets formerly dominated by minor league teams, led to the downfall of the minors. Television, which eroded both minor and major league attendance, also contributed. Carson believes that now college baseball has occupied the role the minors once held.

Today, Carson lives with his wife, Joan, the kids and grandkids long out of the house. The tradition of baseball still runs through the family, with the grandkids playing the sport. One of them was even named Shea, after the Mets’ stadium. Carson himself lacks the energy to play, due to a fluid build-up in his brain preventing him from more than shuffling when he walks. He dresses in leather loafers with white socks, corduroy pants and a red sweater with the name of his hometown borough on it. He touches his lips when he thinks, otherwise they’re occupied by a cigar, which he does not smoke, just sucks on.

He believes that baseball, and “all sports is getting to be a rough game,” these days. He thinks that in the days he played, “it was fun, it was a game. Now it’s business.” He thinks that the ballparks, such as the new Yankees and Mets stadiums planned, distract people from the actual game. He also believes that the players were more dignified in his day; players dressed sloppily or using foul language were harshly reprimanded. “It was like the military,” he said.

Although he never made it to the majors, Carson still got valuable experience from baseball. From it, he learned to “respect people, socialize.” It also exposed him to a lot of poor people across the country, looking to the game as a distraction from life’s woes. “You become a human being, you try to help people,” said Carson.

"Rey Navedo" by Cherie Max

Rey Navedo is the last person most people expected to devote his life to serving the people of New York City.

"No, he definitely was not the one I imagined to become a cop," his mother says in a high pitch meant to convey surprise and a bit of cynicism. "He was my baby, but he sure did get into his share of trouble," she continues almost in a nostalgic tone.

If you ask Navedo, he will tell you the same thing.

"No way! If someone told me that I would grow up to become a police officer, I would have laughed in their face," he says appearing amused. "I thought I was tough growing up. I gave the cops a run for their money!"

But he is a cop. Everyday, Officer Rey Navedo of the 67th precinct, gets up at 5 a.m. to "serve and protect" the residents of East Flatbush, Brooklyn.

"Yeah, let me tell you. It ain’t no easy job," he says in what some would describe to be the official NYPD accent. (It sounds like a mix of the characters from "NYPD Blue" and "Goodfellas.") "People don’t respect us."

Navedo begins speaking as though he can read minds. "I know, I know. You want to know why [I] do it?" he mockingly asks. "Because it’s good work. Better than any other job I had. At them other jobs I felt low, like I had no dignity."

Before Navedo became "Officer Rey Navedo," he was just a "regular" kid growing up on the tough streets of Rockaway, Queens. The youngest of six kids, he always wanted to carve out an identity for himself. He endured a stay in foster care while his parents tried to get on their feet. Navedo moved out of his parents’ house the year he turned legal. He tried odd job after odd job to make ends meet.

"I just needed something to pay the bills, you know?"

He eventually got a two-year degree in Liberal Arts from Borough of Manhattan Community College in 1998. It was then that he decided to become a police officer.

"Hey, I decided to try. I was 25. I needed to do something," he said.

About eight years later, here he sits. Boots shining. Badge proudly displayed. Gun secured in holster. "NYPD" written on his collar.

However Navedo might have started out, he is clearly a man now. Or at least, that is the message that his uniform sends. There must be something outstanding about him, if he is entrusted to wear the honorable blue everyday.

"It is not like what you see on T.V. Huh, please," Navedo says in a manner that lets you know he is fed up.

"I get tired of people thinking that it is 100% action, 100% glamour, 100% glory. Some days, you are just sitting around doin’ paperwork," he says. "Most of the time, I just ride around in an unmarked car or chill in the van with a bunch of other cops…we just add our ‘police presence.’"

He quickly adds, "Then there are the days you do give it your all. But there ain’t no person following with a camera."

Navedo is most likely referring to a few months ago when he dislocated his shoulder while running after a group of "thugs." He took a fall after climbing over a gate, and has been on desk-duty since returning to work.

"It is just like any other job. You have ups. You have downs," he says as he strokes his neatly cropped, dark hair. "I quickly learned that when I got on the force."

One of those "downs" was when two officers from his precinct got killed a couple of years ago. A mentally ill man grabbed one of the officers’ guns while he was being arrested.

"Yeah, that was rough," he says looking away. "I knew those guys. They were good guys. I feel for their families."

Navedo recently attended the ceremony in which a street was dedicated to the slain officers.

"You always think that there is a possibility of that happening, but…" he says as his voice trails off. It is stories like these that make Navedo think about a change of pace.

"I actually might want to settle down someday," he says. "No guy just wants to eat Chinese food alone in front of the T.V. every night. A family of my own would be nice."

But it does not appear that Navedo will be settling down anytime soon. He is already rejoicing that his desk-duty will be ending soon.

"I can’t wait to get back out there. I am so bored," he moans.

Navedo’s friends describe him as fearless.

"He may be a little guy, but don’t be fooled," says his best friend and one-time partner, Joseph. "He can hang with the best of ‘em." (Navedo is "little" by our society’s standards. He stands a little over 5 feet 6 inches tall.)

"Don’t underestimate me because of that," he warns. "Many people have been wrong." He laughs, waving his index finger.

In an odd way, he summed up his life in those two sentences. Navedo grew up in the "ghetto" as he calls it. He saw many friends either die in the street, or go to jail. Yet, he never underestimated himself. Navedo created the identity that he longed for as a kid.

When brought to his attention, he laughs."Yeah, I guess I have proved people wrong…the cops that used to bother me when I was comin’ up." He pauses for a second, "Hell, I guess I even proved myself wrong. Huh, who knew I‘d end up on this side of the law."

"Getting Off the Streets" by Angela Alvarez

On a quiet fall day, a young child and her father lie together on a bed and make silly jokes with each other. As the girl proudly proclaims to her father, Jason King, that she has watched Blue’s Clues 3,000 times, he smiles with content and gets up to prepare a snack for her. It is a simple moment like this that King treasures because it is far different from a life he used to live.

When Jason King was 11 years old, he got involved with drug dealing in Brooklyn. “At first I did it because I was hungry. Then I kept doing it because I was making a lot of money,” he said. As a 26 year old man today, King has a different state of mind compared to a decade ago. Now making an honest living far from Brooklyn in upstate New York, he has changed his ways and lives to enjoy the trouble-free things in life.

King grew up in Fort Green and was the youngest boy in a group that worked together. “It was a neighborhood thing,” he said. At 11, he was a lookout kid and made deliveries. At such a young age, King was making roughly $400 dollars a week. One man who knew King during these years and only goes by “Sean,” remembers him as being shy. “But once we started hustlin’ he got less shy,” said Sean. “I would walk around with four packages in one pocket, and a Gameboy in the other,” King said. By supplying people with drugs for their habits, King was able to make money to support his passion for video games. His father bought him a Sega Genesis which was later stolen by his own mother. “My mother stole it to buy crack,” he said, “I sold drugs to buy it back.”

As the money kept coming in, King continued to sell and began to make more. “I’d spend the money on clothes, video games, trips down south, and gambling,” he said. When he was 16 and left his home, he would stay with friends and pay rent to their mothers. These mothers were among the drug addicts and would gladly accept the money.

King and his friends have had run-ins with the police, but the most comical one involved King and his nonchalant attitude. “One time we were blazing trees in Prospect Park and [Jason] ain’t even throw the blunt away, he just put it in his pocket,” said Sean. “We started walking and the cops said ‘what are you guys doing?’ [Jason] said, ‘nothing, just minding our business’ and kept it movin’. It was mad funny.”

The typical morning began at 9 a.m with King sitting on a bench, waiting to be paged. “I got a pager so people could beep me. I would go up to the building and give people what they asked me for,” he said. When he grouped up with his friends, they would sell to people on the street and answer their pages. But it ended in the summer of 1997 when King and others were caught by surprise by the police.

King and his friends were in the lobby of a building when the cops sprung upon them. “It’s not like in the movies,” he said, “there’s no warning.” The police caught King with seven crack vials on him. He wanted to get out of the situation so he lied and told them that he was smoking it and not selling it. They did not believe him. In 1997, according to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, 213,200 juveniles were arrested for drug abuse violations.

One month before his 17^th birthday, King was sent to Spofford Juvenile Center, a juvenile detention facility. He remembers it as being fun and like a camp for bad kids. They would play card games, chess, shoot dice and fight. It wasn’t all fun as they also had to take classes and a practice G.E.D exam. Out of a group of 40 boys, King and two others passed the exam with him getting the highest score. Later on, he took the real G.E.D exam and passed. After spending six months at Spofford, King was sent to Rikers Island where he was sentenced to stay for another six months.

Rikers Island is New York City’s largest jail and its 10 facilities house the majority of inmates incarcerated by the Department of Correction. King remembers it being “dirty, disgusting, stinky and the shower smelled like mildew.” The date of his arraignment kept getting delayed and this worried him. While awaiting arraignment, King often thought about what would happen to him if he ended up in the general population of Rikers, also known as genpop. “Sometimes I had thoughts of dying there,” he said. When King was finally able to approach a judge, he was given a choice. He could either spend two years at Rikers or two years in the military. King chose the military.

After leaving Rikers, he stayed at home until the following January when he was shipped off to Fort Jackson in South Carolina. King got into a little trouble during these two years by being caught drunk while on duty and smoking marijuana. But these troubles are nothing compared to what he might have gone through if he had been sentenced to stay in Rikers. “If I had done two years in Rikers, I might have linked up with someone and got into more trouble, and had to stay longer in Rikers,” he said. “I feel being shipped off to the military saved my life.”

King’s life was also saved by a small bundle of joy delivered to him in September of 2002. His daughter was born and this forced him to realize that he needed to make a change. “I just woke up one day. I didn’t have anything and my daughter was about four months old. I just thought to myself, ‘I got to take care of this girl,’” he said. After a long relationship with his child’s mother, King decided to end it and go his own way. In 2003, King began pursuing a degree in engineering. Today he does works as an engineer for IBM.

When he sits, he slouches forward and gradually sips his beer as he speaks about his life. As he talks about what he feels is important to him, he looks at you with such seriousness in his eyes that the subject almost becomes important to you too. All the hardships King has been through can be seen through his eyes when he frowns. He has two dragon tattoos, one on each arm. Above one of the tattoos is a faint letter “J” that was burned into him during his stay at Rikers.

To see King smile, simply ask him about his daughter. All he wants is to protect her and give her the childhood he feels ended for him at such an early age. “I’ll steer her away from people that are how I used to be. I want her to have a normal childhood, and a chance to do things that I couldn’t do,” he said. Leaving his old life behind, King intends to raise his daughter in a safe and pleasant environment, far from violence and drug related activities. They live together upstate in Plattekill, a quiet town where there’s no trouble and the people are friendly. He focuses on the simples pleasures in life that make him happy today: video games, music, and movies. King proudly proclaims, “I own in Killer Instinct, among other games. Give me three months and I’ll be a killer in Gears of War.”

As far as the drug business he was involved in, “I’m done with it,” he said, “I’m a grown man. That’s for kids. It’s whack.” King takes great pride in buying things with the honest money that he now makes. There’s comfort in knowing that a police officer, lawyer or judge cannot take away what he rightfully owns and has worked hard for. After all he has been through, King can look back and say that “Crime pays, but not for a long time. You always reach a downfall.”

"6” 7’ and Still Standing Tall" by Marcus Bethel

23 June 2001: Coca-Cola Cup 2001, 1st Match, Zimbabwe v West Indies, Harare Sports Club, Zimbabwe.

Ever wonder what happens to professional athletes once that final game is over? For some athletes, the road down the hill can be even rockier than the ascent to the top. For a chosen few, the thrill never seems to end as they assume prominent roles in society and even in Hollywood, but for many it can be a steady demise highlighted by crime and addiction as that transition is made back into real life.

In the Caribbean, where most of athletes hold jobs to supplement their moderate earnings, it is never as dramatic as it is here in the United States, where there is so much more of everything. This however, doesn’t change the equation much, but mainly the variables as athletes in the smaller islands never really get further than those big games. It is always the caliber of the player and the level of his intellect that determines what’s next on the limited menu.

In the case of Cameron Cuffy – an outstanding star West Indian cricketer playing with the world-famous West Indies Cricket Team – there was always a backup plan.

Born Cameron Eustace Cuffy in South Rivers, St. Vincent, a small Caribbean island with a great legacy of fast bowlers, the 6 foot 7 inches, 36-year-old Cuffy realized his second lifelong dream when he began his college education at New York City Technical College in the fall of 2005.

“Attending college was my second dream,” Cuffy said, his first already accomplished in playing cricket at the highest level with the West Indies Cricket Team. He has been able to utilize the vast wealth of experience and discipline acquired playing the second most popular sport in the world, to make the effective transition, adjusting to his new life as a New York City resident and returning to school after a 16-year absence.

“I grew up and developed the love for the game because that was all you really knew,” Cuffy said, speaking of his childhood in the undeveloped rural district of agrarian St. Vincent. Not having the many distractions and technological gadgets youngsters have at their disposal today, he grew up playing cricket and soccer with the other boys in his village, using bats made out of coconut branches to hit the small breadfruits and other round fruits that were used to substitute for the unavailable ball.

It was not until at age 15, when Bradley Booker invited Cuffy to tryout for the St. Martin Secondary School Cricket Team in Kingstown that his potential was realized, leading to his selection into the St. Vincent under-19 Team.

“I started to make leaps and bounds in 1987, but I really came on when I played for the under-19 St. Vincent Team,” Cuffy said. He immediately placed his stake, taking five wickets for 15 runs in his first game against St. Lucia. Playing under-19 cricket in the tournament, Cuffy was spotted by the legendary West Indian and Barbadian fast bowler, Malcolm Marshall, who had some encouraging words for him.

“‘Don’t worry, keep working, I think you will make it,’” Cuffy reported Marshall of saying that day. Having heard these words from one of the better fast bowlers this fine game has seen, Cuffy saw no other way but forward as he aspired to follow in the great man’s footsteps, earning selection for the West Indies Under-19 Team for the 1989 tour of Canada.

It was that very year, at the age of 19 that Cuffy played his first game for the St. Vincent senior team, called to replace the injured Casper Davis. Having taken 11 wickets in the game, Cuffy had to make way for the returning Davis the following game. His absence wasn’t for long as he again replaced Davis in the next game.

Coming from a poor family, Cuffy had nothing but praise for Carlos Viera, and Brian “Paper” Alexander of the Rivals Cricket Club of Kingstown for the moral and financial support they provided throughout his developmental years. Having three brothers and four sisters on his mother’s side, and six brothers and two sisters on his father’s side, Cuffy’s family was unable to purchase the expensive equipment required to play the game.

Cuffy’s first class career began in the season of 1990 when he was selected to play for the Windward Islands Team. Having to contend with Casper Davis, Ian Allen, Wesley Thomas, and a returning Winston Davis, it was harder for him to make the team. It wasn’t until Winston Davis’ retirement in 1992 that Cuffy became a permanent fixture in the Windwards Team.

In 1994, Cuffy got his break when he was selected to represent the President’s Eleven Team against the touring English Team. Cuffy’s outstanding performance impressed England’s Captain Alex Stuart, landing him a contract with Surrey, Stuart’s English County Team.

“That really set the tone for my selection, because there wasn’t anything else needed for me to get into the West Indies Team,” Cuffy said. Having an abundance of fast bowlers in the West Indies at the time, Cuffy’s problem was being born at the wrong time. Having to contend with a number of outstanding competitors, Cuffy just had to keep working and hoping for his turn to break into the ranks of the great players. His big break finally came in 1994 when he was selected in the West Indies Team to tour India, where he shared the new ball with the legendary Courtney Walsh, on his debut in Mumbai.

“It was a very difficult tour. With temperatures in the high 90’s, you could hardly breathe,” Cuffy said. “Even though the return wasn’t great, I think I held my own taking two wickets for 19 runs in the first one day.”

Cuffy was recalled for the 1996 Cricket World Cup, then again for the 1996 – 1997 tour and finally in 2001 after a long absence due to surgery, It was then his Captain Carl Hooper told him, “the selectors no longer have their eyes on you,” preferring to go for the younger prospects.

“I was very disappointed and lost all confidence then,” Cuffy said, suddenly realizing that the time had come for him to move on. Abruptly severed from an umbilical cord that had fed him moderate fortune and fame, Cuffy was left yearning for a bigger piece of the pie that had left the sweet taste of success on his shriveled lips.

The final straw came in 2004 when Cuffy returned from England to join the St. Vincent team in preparation for the Windward Islands Tournament. He was again disappointed by his controversial omission from his home team, making him ineligible for selection to the Windward Islands Team.

Cuffy had one thing in mind coming back to the Caribbean; Norbert Phillip’s record of being the Windards player with the most wickets. Having 161 wickets, just seven wickets shy of Phillip’s record, for him, it was the simplest task of his career. With his hopes dashed and nothing really left to play for, there was one more dream to pursue; a university degree.

Having worked 11 years with Cable and Wireless, St. Vincent ltd., he knew just what he wanted to pursue. In the fall of 2005, Cuffy entered The New York City Technical College where he is currently pursuing an Associates degree in telecommunications. With a G.P.A. of 3.8, his focus is no longer on maintaining line and length, but maintaining his academic standings as he concentrates on a new beginning in a new city away from home.

After a season with Atlantis Cricket Club in the Eastern American League, Cuffy now spends his Brooklyn summers playing cricket with the Cavaliers Sports Club in the Brooklyn Cricket League. He has proven to be a great asset, being quite instrumental in the club’s winning of their first championship in eight years.

Looking back over the years, Cuffy says, “I don’t have any regrets, because that would be making excuse for failures, something I didn’t really have.” Having taken 252 wickets from 86 first class matches, returning best figures of 7 for 80 against Jamaica, Cuffy continues to make great strides up the eventful wicket of life.

"Keeping Norway Alive, one Kjottkaker at a Time" by Alex Grunde

While there are many foods and products that may seem odd in Nordic Delicacies to those unfamiliar with Norway, one of the first is not any product name on the shelves and walls. Rather, it is the walls and shelves themselves. While most stores in Brooklyn are covered in tiles, linoleum, and metal shelves, here the architecture is wood. The floors have been stained a deep, dark brown, while the walls have a reddish tone to them. It’s just one of the many features of Nordic Delicacies that evokes Norway, where most houses are entirely wood, both for those who’ve never been, and those who once called it home.

The owner of this is Helene Bakke, who opened the store to fill a gap in Bay Ridge. “There wasn’t any more left. They all left, more or less, the Norwegian stores,” she says. Opening Nordic Delicacies was her way of trying “to keep the tradition alive,” of homemade foods and authentic Norwegian products. The tradition has a strong defender in Bakke, an immigrant in Norway who came over in 1958. She said immigrating was a pleasant experience, due in part to her family already lived in Bay Ridge. “My brothers were here, they were born here,” she says, “My parents used to be here years ago.”

In appearance, she has many common traits of Norwegian women: short blonde hair, a rounded, warm face with blue eyes. While the signs of middle age have come to her, they do nothing to diminish her Nordic heartiness. Her speech is infused with the Norwegian accent, but not overpowered with it. She speaks in a paced tempo, letting thoughts come before speech.

Most mornings, one can find her in the back of the store, with her daughter Arleen and the store’s handful of employees preparing homemade dishes that are one of the specialties of the store. Here, one can choose from a cornucopia of dishes from her homeland: Norwegian meatballs (“Kjottkaker” in Norwegian), fish pudding, fish cakes, Komper potato dumplings, all dishes that Bakke consider important parts of Norwegian cuisine. This feature is one of the essentials of Nordic Delicacies’ success. It’s not always the cheapest place to get things; Tine’s Ekte Gjetost, a brand of goat cheese, goes for $10.95 at Nordic Delicacies; on 5^th avenue, a store named Mejlander & Mulgannon sells it for $8.99. But the second name in the store betrays the disadvantage; it’s a combination Irish/Nordic deli, and most of what they sell is standard deli fare. Nordic Delicacies is uncompromisingly Nordic.

Their shelves are filled with a wide of array of goods with names that may sound intimidating to the uninitiated: Gjetost, Fiskekaker, Lingonberries, Freia. Of course, many of these are common items; Freia is just a brand of chocolate. Bakke says that the pre-packaged goods are quite popular, especially the ones from across the pond.

“People come in from out of town to buy all the jams and stuff like that, and syrups, sardines, all those things,” said Bakke. She takes an annual trip to Norway, where she researches new products.

Another important part of Nordic Delicacies is the mail-order business. Having shipped to as far away as Hawaii and Alaska, the mail-order becomes especially busy around Christmas. “During the holiday, it’s more than half,” Bakke notes about the mail-order side of the business. “We have some meats, that is a very big [holiday] seller. Lamb that’s been dried and salted, that’s a very big item.” A classic Christmas-time sweet also does well in the winter months: “The homemade cookies are really a really big seller.”

Along with the assortment of food, Norwegian pride is also on full display in the store. A large Norwegian flag stands outside next to an American one. Hanging inside is a sign that reads “Parking for Norwegians only, all others will be towed.” A framed Hagar comic sits next to the cash register. In it, Hagar’s son asks if he should tell people he’s Norwegian; Hagar responds “No, that would be bragging.” The store once had a T-shirt hanging in the window proclaiming that Leif Ericson, not Columbus, discovered America. “The Vikings?” Bakke says when asked what Norwegian culture’s biggest contribution is to America, followed by a good laugh. Politics is what she sees as the biggest Norwegian influence on America. “There’s a lot of Norwegians in the government, if you look at the names. President Washington was half-Norwegian.”

It’s a culture that’s rapidly shrinking in Bay Ridge. In the early part of the 20th century, the area was packed full of Norwegians. Bakke isn’t sure why they swarmed to Bay Ridge, but her own reason for moving there seems rather typical of immigrants in general. “When I came, all the Norwegians lived here, so I guess that’s why they settled here,” she says. Now though, the presence seems more like a lingering trace. Bakke attributes this to Norway’s natural resources: “They have so much money in Norway, they don’t need to come here. They went back, with the oil, they’ve got a lot of [oil] riches over there. They’re an oil country now.”

Norwegians have been immigrating to New York City since 1825, but the earliest significant Norwegian presences in New York City were U.S. offices of Norwegian organizations that aided Norwegian sailors. From there, the first big Norwegian icon of Bay Ridge was the Lutheran Medical Center on 55^th street, which opened in 1885. Another big development came in 1889, when the Norwegian Lutheran Trinity Church opened on 46th street, marking the first Norwegian church that catered to immigrants, not sailor. Norwegian pride and visibility in Brooklyn peaked in the 1920’s, in what Norwegian historian David C. Mauk describes as the “first golden age” of the Norwegian-American Community. But by the 1970’s, a general loss of connection to European heritage in America, and the blossoming Norwegian oil industry, had eaten away at the Norwegian community.

As to why Bay Ridge was so attractive to Norwegians in the first place, Bakke says she doesn’t know, although her own reasons for moving here says something to the reason: “When I came, all the Norwegians lived here, so I guess that’s why they settled here.” She didn’t experience much trouble adjusting to her new country, saying “It’s fairly the same [Norway and Brooklyn], nothing much different from Norway, only it’s the language that’s different. Here, you can blend in, whoever you are.”

While the Norwegian presence in Bay Ridge may have shrunk, the presence of Nordic Delicacies is expanding. Recently, the Food Network show “Road Tasted” shot a segment in the store. “They had found us on the internet. I think they were going around and doing different ethnic groups,” says Bakke of how they found out about her store. The show has done many spots on New York City eateries, including an italian grocery store in Little Italy and a Greek dessert maker in Queens. The show’s producers decided to have Bakke make potato dumplings, although that was not her first choice: “I would not have taken what they wanted to have.” Filming took about 4 to 5 hours, and Bakke has nothing but good words for the hosts. “They were very, very nice. Very nice boys. They couldn’t have been nicer,” she says of Bobby and Jamie Deen, the show’s hosts and the sons of Paula Deen, famous southern-style chef and longtime Food Network personality.

If you’re feeling brave enough to try out some Norwegian food, Bakke has some suggestions, although the Wal-mart of Scandinavian shopping, Ikea, is not one of them. She dismisses them because “they don’t have any homemade stuff.” Rather, she recommends the Norwegian meatballs, because “that would be something that would be a little familiar to people.” She also recommends the large selection of Norwegian cheeses and cakes. Her personal favorite, she says, is “My homemade whole wheat rolls. I have to say that’s my favorite, with a norwegian cheese on.”

In April, Nordic Delicacies will celebrate its 20^th anniversary. When asked why her store has lasted so long, she says “We’re stubborn, we don’t give up,” followed by laughter, although stubbornness is an quality commonly attributed to Norwegian women. She thinks the universal appeal helps the store. “We have a lot of Americans walk in,” she says, many for home-cooked meals: “We sell dinners here. It’s not typical Norwegian, we sell dinners every day.”

Along with the Norwegian population in Brooklyn, Bakke sees another Norwegian quality declining in recent years. “Honesty; it used to be honesty,” she says of the best thing about Norwegians, “I don’t know anymore. I think they’ve become like the rest of the world. You could always trust them years ago. I’m not so sure anymore.” But there is at least one Norwegian left, keeping an honest taste of Norway fresh in Brooklyn.

"Midwood High School Aims for a Win in Social Science in the Intel Science Talent Search" by Odelia Bitton

While young science pioneers erect ambitious models and formulate complex mathematical equations each year for the famed Intel Science Talent Search, a determined class at Midwood High School attempts to break down and comprehend the inner workings of society.

When asked to point out the resources for the Intel Social Science Research program, its director, Dr. George Hero, had only to stretch out his arms, look to his sides and call the space he symbolically contained, “the living laboratory.” He points to Midwood High School’s access to its neighbors, Brooklyn College and the elementary school P.S. 152 across the street. Both are what Hero calls his precocious students’ “playgrounds.” His students can visit the school across the street or stride the aisles of books at Brooklyn College’s library.

Back in 1987, when Hero attempted to get the program off the ground, the director of the Intel Science Research program at the school scoffed and offered a sardonic “Good luck.” There was no model upon which to create the new program. Hero says he simply applied the same methodology of the natural sciences to a different subject, which was certainly not as easy as it sounds. When one of his students won a full scholarship to a prestigious university in England, however, the program was at once off the ground and up for praise.

Today, an unassuming, but ambitious 17-year-old girl lingering in the media room has the impressive title of Intel Semifinalist under her belt, and currently stands as testament to that luck and to the talent Hero aims to have recognized.

Amanda Fried is jovial and reserved, and she was chosen this year with several hundred others from a pool of 1,705 competitors who were in the race for what is known as the “junior Nobel prize.”

Over more than 60 years, the renowned science competition has propelled thousands of high school seniors to create original research projects to be recognized by a national jury of highly regarded professional scientists, according to Science Service, the non-profit Washington D.C.-based organization who runs it. The competition is sponsored by Intel Corporation, a computer chips company based in California.

Amanda is currently in the running for the top prize, a $100,000 four year scholarship; meanwhile, she gratefully accepted $1,000 for herself and her school. She was also offered a full scholarship to Stonybrook University and $20,000 scholarship to MIT. There were sparkles in her eyes when she uttered “MIT.” With casual confidence she stated her grand aspiration: a career in chemical engineering.

The winning paper did not, however, relate to her future aspiration. Instead it illuminated a topic that Amanda was interested in: Analysis of Locus of Control of High School Students Based on Academic Performance. She was looking into the question of where students assign the responsibility for events in their lives. To produce her thorough analysis, she conducted extensive research and surveys at several schools.

Amanda, while thoroughly concentrated on her academics, does limit herself to only her school work at Midwood. She’s also the editor-in-chief of her school newspaper, The Argus, and a student in the College Now program through which she takes courses at Kingsborough Community College.

But the Intel prize provides something else.

“There’s respect that people know you did something,” Amanda, who is tall of stature and profoundly grounded, said.

***

A precocious teenager and future Intel competitor was hard at work in the media room at Inte, along with 20 or so of her peers

Nathalie, who immigrated from Belarus, Russia at the age of ten and learned English in no more than two years, is unpredictable in the same way Amanda Fried is. Nathalie is part of the Medical Science Institute branch at Midwood High School, and like Amanda Fried who will also not pursue a career in social science, Nathalie wants to be a cardiothoracic surgeon.

But for right now, Nathalie is concentrated on one thing: nabbing the prize—the top one.
“I definitely want to win, and I think if I work very hard, I will,” she said.

Nathalie, like other Intel hopefuls at Midwood, underwent a year of studying research methodology in her sophomore year before plunging into the research she is conducting now: research that is to support her topic on birth order and self-esteem, essentially how siblings affect one another in academic performance in urban high schools.

For Hero, with the influx of students and their ideas and innovations, comes an expansion of his own knowledge. “My field of specialty has opened up enormously,” the Fordham and CUNY-educated teacher said. Hero is pushed to learn more and more about his field, while pushed to explore other domains.

But while Hero welcomes mounds of responsibilities on his plate, it is clear that he cannot do it alone. Besides the tight budget from the school, finding mentors for students can sometimes be difficult. Even with easy access to Brooklyn College and its warehouse of experts in almost any field, volunteer mentors from among those who can barely find the time for their own students are hard to find.

Generally, these mentors are paired with students who often help mentors in their own undertakings, be it in a hospital, laboratory or university. For Midwood students, however, it seems that their innovations are to be built from the ground up, as had their program years ago

“It’s a sacrifice to be able to work with a student,” Hero admitted. Hero, who lives around the corner from school, has made it his commitments for over 23 years to do just that. But Hero, whose specialty is in history, although well-versed in research methodology and its applications to other disciplines, cannot provide each student with all the resources their respective projects require.

Sharyn Mondschein, a librarian at Midwood, sits at a desk that is essentially at the crossroads of students and a world of knowledge. She is witness to the amount of hard work these “gifted students” put into their projects.

“The students were amazed to see the resources that were available to them,” she said in reference to the research tools she helps them employ in their studies.

These students that spring about Mondschein’s book-filled quarters in thirst for more and more information are very likely the individuals whose ideas and advances, “will help shape the world we live in for the generations to come,” as Intel Chairman Craig Barret has characterized them.