Monday, November 24, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
"Wet..."
By Jacqueline SandersPants dripping with water
Umbrella drenched from the rain.
Umbrella drenched from the rain.
Jacket soaked, the weather is insane.
Dark sky filled with rain clouds, moisture hitting my car window, hood, trunk and everywhere.
Wishing for a hint of sunlight on the dreary night.
Watching people put up fights with their jackets to stay closed and their umbrellas to stay open.
Dampened hair, flying everywhere, especially in your face. Cars splashing water.
* * * *
By Keri Bugenhagen
Heavy water droplets drip down the windowpane.
The sidewalk gleams with dampness. Children’s galosh-covered feet hop through mirrored puddles, splashing a dazzling array of showering fireworks everywhere; their noses drip with raindrops.
Parents grumble as they sop up their soggy children with saturated towels.
Read more!
"Hot..."
By Keri Bugenhagen
A fresh pot of sweltering coffee, with its slightly bitter, robust-scented steam wafting heavily into the kitchen air as it brews. Standing near the steam is enough to make your face sweat and your sweater come off. It’s easy to take a sip of the roasted-bean beverage before it cools down, scorching your tongue and making the drink tasteless. In torrid weather, throw some ice cubes in your mug to bring the boiling temperature down.
* * * *
By Jacqueline Sanders
Sizzling and sweating,
Relaxing on the beach and forgetting,
Sun shining, blinding kids on the playground.
Relaxing on the beach and forgetting,
Sun shining, blinding kids on the playground.
Read more!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Obama Election Night: Reflections on History in the Making
Democratic presidential hopeful Barack Obama held an election rally in Chicago’s Grant Park Tuesday on what promised to be an historical night with the eyes of the nation and beyond focused on the potential election of America’s first black president.
Armed with cameras and their pens and with the aim of recording a slice of history, Roosevelt literary journalism students filtered out onto Michigan Avenue with tens of thousands who swarmed the downtown park on a night when the skyline glistened and the electricity was as palpable as untold vendors hawking their wares and the sense that the making of history was in the making. As night fell and the streets flowed with a sea of humanity—Obama T-shirts, buttons and hats and all things Obama—Chicago’s adopted son was candidate. Before midnight, he would be President-elect. Thus, a snapshot of our journaling of the sights, sounds and reflections of that historic moment:
REFLECTIONS...
By Keri Bugenhagen
Tonight the crowd is full of optimistic eyes and excited faces, people who know they are in a city and in a time where history is about to be made. The Great American sentiment—lately lost in the sinking economy and furrows of war—seems to be alive again among these faces in the Windy City. Looks of desperation, of enthusiasm, and hope all point toward the question: Who will be the next president?
The roaring swarm of men, of women, and of children march along both sides of Michigan Avenue. Most head tow
ard the south end of Grant Park where, win or lose, Obama will address the masses. Some stop to buy Obama memorabilia from street-vendors selling T-shirts, buttons, hats, and inspirational pencil sketches of his face. One vendor even sells ping-pong paddles bearing Obama’s face. Others in the crowd wear clothing articles with messages of “HOPE” and “CHANGE” and “YES WE CAN.” One man holds a hefty “OBAMA” sign high above his head, while another waves a lengthy silver pole with a large American flag.
In this city, John McCain, tonight, seems lost. A lonely McCain flyer lay in the street, next to an empty cup and a blue police barricade.
The evening wears on, the crowd becomes thicker, and there is no break in the swarm heading toward Grant Park, hoping to catch a glimpse of Obama. Television crews, who normally stick out like sore thumbs, seem commonplace tonight, though lost in the sea of people.
Suddenly, the energized emotion flowing up and down Michigan Avenue ignites as Obama is unofficially announced winner.
“Obama! Obama! Obama!” screams the crowd like the beat of a drum. The chant spreads like a wave of wildfire from south to north Michigan Avenue. Strangers hug and high-five other passing strangers.
"We’re gonna make our money tonight!” says a T-shirt vendor on the corner of Michigan Avenue and Madison Street. “He did it!”
“He won! He won!” says a woman speaking into her cell phone. People race wildly down the sidewalks, hurling their arms and bodies into the air, celebrating Obama’s win. Beyond the clamor of the delighted crowd, the abrupt echo of police sirens drown out their cheer, but only for the moment.
Read more!
Reflections...
Between a Rally and a Religious Experience
By Jessica Titlebaum
The beat is so strong it could bring you to tears.
A vibration in the Windy City.
Crowds shuffle down Michigan Avenue,
Police in blue uniforms stand in front of the Art Institute,
The one with the lions, I always say,
the museum lit in Red, White and Blue.
“5-dollar T-shirts…5-dollar T-shirts...,” says a man walking by.
T-shirts, stickers, hats and buttons…
A man in a white, long-sleeve shirt and vest plays the Saxophone.
He stands on the corner of Monroe and Michigan.
Another man shakes a rattle,
playing to the emotions of passersby.
Two men with press passes around their neck.
Where are you from?
“Lithuania,” one of them says as he moves along.
A man with angel wings in white,
his face painted. He stands on roller skates.
A woman in an Obamapalooza shirt asks to take a picture with him.
A hippie with long hair and glasses stands alone
He holds a cardboard sign:
“Deadheads Unite for Obama.”
The Parking garage on Michigan and Jackson has been converted:
“Obama Presidential Rally Parking.”
Congress Hotel and Roosevelt University shine in the dark.
“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” says a blonde man.
He puts his arm around the woman next to him.
In the air, there is an electricity.
It waves the American flags that decorate the night sky.
Two small children in oversized Obama shirts throw a Frisbee.
They are accompanied by their father who sits next to them,
watching the crowd gather in the field.
An older man with grey hair on his cell phone, walks, talks:
“I was here in Grant Park when Obama was elected…
I am here as history is being made.”
Read more!
By Jessica Titlebaum
The beat is so strong it could bring you to tears.
A vibration in the Windy City.
Crowds shuffle down Michigan Avenue,
Police in blue uniforms stand in front of the Art Institute,
The one with the lions, I always say,
the museum lit in Red, White and Blue.
“5-dollar T-shirts…5-dollar T-shirts...,” says a man walking by.
T-shirts, stickers, hats and buttons…
A man in a white, long-sleeve shirt and vest plays the Saxophone.
He stands on the corner of Monroe and Michigan.
Another man shakes a rattle,
playing to the emotions of passersby.
Two men with press passes around their neck.
Where are you from?
“Lithuania,” one of them says as he moves along.
A man with angel wings in white,
his face painted. He stands on roller skates.
A woman in an Obamapalooza shirt asks to take a picture with him.
A hippie with long hair and glasses stands alone
He holds a cardboard sign:
“Deadheads Unite for Obama.”
The Parking garage on Michigan and Jackson has been converted:
“Obama Presidential Rally Parking.”
Congress Hotel and Roosevelt University shine in the dark.
“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” says a blonde man.
He puts his arm around the woman next to him.
In the air, there is an electricity.
It waves the American flags that decorate the night sky.
Two small children in oversized Obama shirts throw a Frisbee.
They are accompanied by their father who sits next to them,
watching the crowd gather in the field.
An older man with grey hair on his cell phone, walks, talks:
“I was here in Grant Park when Obama was elected…
I am here as history is being made.”
Read more!
Reflections...
Election Night
By 
Ashley Mouldon
Ashley MouldonIt was a clear evening with speckles of stars across a blackened sky. The wind blew quietly as it swirled through the massive swarms of people on downtown sidewalks and streets. Newly turned leaves rustled over shoelaces, danced among the crowds and covered the once vacant areas of Grant Park and beyond. The smell of autumn, of cigarettes and alcohol tickled the noses of people who bustled around the steel buildings and concrete pathways. Tonight was the night.
Vendors dotted street corners, holding up their prized possessions, including everything from T-shirts and buttons to baseball caps and glow-in-the-dark necklaces. Across the way, young children grasped tightly to their parents’ hands as they slid in between the herds of people. Their eyes were huge and glistening, as if they knew too that tonight would be something momentous.
Vendors dotted street corners, holding up their prized possessions, including everything from T-shirts and buttons to baseball caps and glow-in-the-dark necklaces. Across the way, young children grasped tightly to their parents’ hands as they slid in between the herds of people. Their eyes were huge and glistening, as if they knew too that tonight would be something momentous.
Sreet musicians boomed familiar tunes of Americana, the National Anthem… Some in the crowd shook small, white maracas in unison. Some young men found a perch on a street corner perfect for making use of old buckets as drums. Into the night, hoards of people flocked to already congested areas where cheers of support and amazement rang:
"I can’t believe this is actually happening.”
“Yes we can! Yes we can! Yes we can!”
“I was here when history happened in Grant Park.”
“Obama, Obama, Obama.”
“We finally did it.”
Then the voice of the new Commander-in- Chief-elect boomed over the loud speakers as his image beamed from large screens. The crowd grew quiet as their eyes fixed upon him. It was as if they no longer could speak.
Instead they stood in silence, one collective a sea, despite their differences—come together, huddled, hoping that this election night might be the start of a new way of life for them, perhaps the spark for change and prosperity in this a time of desperation.
And it was this man, just elected the 44th president of the United States of America who was going to make it happen.
Read more!
Reflections...
An Idea Whose Time Has ComeBy Peggy M. Porter
Walking into the crowd tonight, I was enveloped by people of all colors, all ages, all styles––united for one purpose: To move forward, south to Grant Park. But what they were really doing was, ‘believing forward.’ The crowd was energized and anticipatory, but seemed to also embrace a restraint born from the urge to be considerate of others.
Again and again, pieces of conversations drifted my way—always with the theme, “you can’t believe this.” But, of course, you do believe “this.”
This moment could not have been denied.
Historians will analyze how Barack Obama won with facts about the use of the media, the use of the Internet and the genius of campaign strategist David Axelrod. All are parts to this wonder. But what really gave birth to this moment? It was “an idea whose time had come.” Author Victor Hugo wrote those six words more than 150 years ago. And the kernel of meaning in those words, tonight bounced off this polite crowd.
The night’s magic was sprinkled even over the men in blue—Chicago’s finest, the police. Two female tactical officers leaned against a fence, their arms stretched across its top.
A tall gentlemanly dad, leaned forward toward his four children. The eldest boy is in fourth grade, his sister is in third grade, and the father’s two smallest children, a boy and a girl, are in kindergarten. Even if it was late to be out on a school night, they said would not miss school in the morning. Their father added, “My people must not miss the point of all this.”
All of this, on a night when the often moody November Chicago weather overachieved, the lighted buildings flashed and sparkled, and for at least this once for a sea of humanity, people experienced the words: “Everything is perfect.”
Read more!
Reflections...
Impressions
By David Field
Two African-American girls shout toward the overwhelming crowd as they lift Obama T-shirts, high and proud. With every intersection crossed, the crowd grows larger, louder, prouder.
Vendors are busy at work, selling pieces of history. An elderly couple takes a picture with a tall, gentlemen wearing a painted white face and dressed in a white robe with conspicuous white wings.
The approach toward Grant Park. The enormous crowd pouring over every nook and cranny. Like ants marching their way to build a new colony, a new life.
Reporters from all over the world gather amongst them. Excited supporters jump in front of the camera and shout, “Obama!”
Police officers patrol. On foot. On horseback. With their eyes.
A young woman stands proudly as she holds a microphone, speaking clearly and proudly, of the need for Obama to run our country out of the deep hole.
Close by, someone hoists a large banner high. It touches everyone. It speaks: “No More War For Empire.”
Read more!
By David Field
Two African-American girls shout toward the overwhelming crowd as they lift Obama T-shirts, high and proud. With every intersection crossed, the crowd grows larger, louder, prouder.Vendors are busy at work, selling pieces of history. An elderly couple takes a picture with a tall, gentlemen wearing a painted white face and dressed in a white robe with conspicuous white wings.
The approach toward Grant Park. The enormous crowd pouring over every nook and cranny. Like ants marching their way to build a new colony, a new life.
Reporters from all over the world gather amongst them. Excited supporters jump in front of the camera and shout, “Obama!”
Police officers patrol. On foot. On horseback. With their eyes.
A young woman stands proudly as she holds a microphone, speaking clearly and proudly, of the need for Obama to run our country out of the deep hole.
Close by, someone hoists a large banner high. It touches everyone. It speaks: “No More War For Empire.”
Read more!
Reflections...
ImpressionsBy Stephanie Johnson
It was a moment in time, one with the magic and electricity of a starlit Fourth of July. Except, the night wasn’t lit with the sparks of fireworks, but with the pride, admiration and the esteem of a nation.
One nation, united for one cause, for one man. A unity this nation has lacked in recent years, but one that was apparent as the crowds drew from near and far to witness “a change come to America.”
Flags waved. Children, clad in T-shirts, buttons and hats—bearing “GOBAMA” and “Yes We Can”—skipped down Michigan Avenue, excited about the part they would play in this historic event.
Flags waved. Children, clad in T-shirts, buttons and hats—bearing “GOBAMA” and “Yes We Can”—skipped down Michigan Avenue, excited about the part they would play in this historic event.
Maracas and bells added to the whoops and joyous shouts of many as they strode along, some arm in arm.
And a sea of smiles flooded Michigan Avenue on a warm November night, when the first African American man was elected the 44th President of the United States.
Read more!
Friday, October 10, 2008
Coping with Tragedy
Biography & Photo
A week shy of her first birthday, Jessica Salvador played near her uncle Hernando’s third floor, U-shaped balcony in Bolivia, while he watched. He turned away briefly, just as she crawled to the edge. From the far side of the balcony, her two-year-old sister Natalia pierced the air with her screams as she witnessed her baby sister slip through the wide, white balcony bars, then dangle dangerously from her right arm.
Her mother found her broken body bleeding from a gash in her head and lying nearly face down, but still peering at the world around her. Strangely, the baby did not cry.
Read more!
By Keri Bugenhagen
A week shy of her first birthday, Jessica Salvador played near her uncle Hernando’s third floor, U-shaped balcony in Bolivia, while he watched. He turned away briefly, just as she crawled to the edge. From the far side of the balcony, her two-year-old sister Natalia pierced the air with her screams as she witnessed her baby sister slip through the wide, white balcony bars, then dangle dangerously from her right arm.The screams alerted Salvador’s mother, and she dashed down the winding stairs, frantically trying to reach the ground before her innocent baby fell.
But she was too late.
Salvador’s little body struck the tin roof beneath the balcony, then bounced head-first into the gravel-laden pavement.
“I was still awake, but I should’ve been unconscious,” Salvador recalled many years later.
Her mother found her broken body bleeding from a gash in her head and lying nearly face down, but still peering at the world around her. Strangely, the baby did not cry.
That moment would define the rest of Salvador’s life. As a child, she needed constant physical therapy to keep her left arm working as well as possible, and she needed clumsy metal braces to keep her legs growing straight. The impact of Salvador’s fall caused her brain to collide with her skull, leaving a gaping hole in the left frontal lobe of her brain, affecting motor skills, speech, emotion, and causing seizure-like episodes throughout her life.
Countless doctor visits were in store as well as prescriptions. Doctors said she would be a vegetable. But through her difficult and sometimes painful life, Salvador, now 26, perseveres. She is a Counterterrorism major at Roosevelt University in Chicago, expecting her bachelor’s in December.
Still, Salvador’s mother and uncle find it difficult to cope with the resounding guilt of her tragic fall every day...
Read more!
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Rains came down and floods came up
Scene and Photo by Peggy Porter
Hours earlier, it had been just an ordinary Friday evening and the planned neighborhood block party for Saturday seemed on schedule. But a brief glimpse of the front yard Saturday morning while getting the newspaper showed there had been some rain overnight. Standing water quietly rippled as cars drove past.
The rains continued, changing from a sprinkling to a downpour, eventually swallowing up the grass, except for some green along the edge of the street and yard. The rain pounded and poured steadily for four more hours, then intermittently for 12 more.
No grass was visible anywhere in the neighborhood as water splashed menacingly onto the front steps of homes. Abruptly, the area was on a high alert for possible flooding. A call to the village to verify that the pumps in the lagoons were working received only a meaningless machine saying to leave your number.
Residents soon stashed the appetizers and desserts meant for the block party and instead anxiously called home supply stores for sandbags, and searched for trucks to rent in case their furniture had to be rescued from the flood. Nervously, they also checked the sky, hoping to see signs of clearing.
There was only more rain.
Read more!
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Meet The Class
Jacqueline Sanders
David Field
Jessica Titlebaum
Susan Carlson
Antony Caldaroni
Ashley Mouldon
Monique Burgos
Dawanyia Slayton
Peggy Porter
Stephanie Johnson
Keri Bugenhagen
Read more!
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