October 31, 2007 by N.C. Central University Campus Echo

OCTOBER 31, 2007

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VOLUME 99, ISSUE 4 919 530 7116/CAMPUSECHO@NCCU.EDU WWW.CAMPUSECHO.COM

1801 FAYETTEVILLE STREET DURHAM, NC 27707

Campus . . . . . . . . Beyond . . . . . . . . Photo Feature . . A&E . . . . . . . . . . . Classified . . . . . . . Sports. . . . . . . . . . Opinions . . . . . . .

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A&E

Sports

Special Insert

Photo Feature

Reviewed: Denzel Washington portrays NC’s own Frank Lucas in “American Gangster”

Guess who’s doing it big with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers? NCCU’s very own ....

You see them every day, and you think you know them. But do you really?

A record 846,724 attended the State Fair. And one of those was an Echo photographer.

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Campus Echo It’s Obama at NCCU

Death penalty flawed ABA study finds many inequities BY MAURICE POSSLEY CHICAGO TRIBUNE (MCT)

Barack Obama, then a Democratic candidate for the U.S. Senate seat from Illinois, addresses a rally for the League of Conservation Voters at Christopher Columbus Park in Boston in 2004. ELIZABETH FLORES/Milwaukee Journal Sentinel (MCT)

Obama to visit campus Thursday BY JABARI BLACKMON ECHO STAFF REPORTER

Democratic presidential hopeful and Illinois Senator Barack Obama will make his first public appearance at N.C. Central University’s O’Kelly-Riddick Stadium, Thursday at 5 p.m. Obama is in town to host the "North Carolina Countdown to Change" fundraiser at NCCU. Doors will open at 4 p.m. and admission to the event will be $25 for the public and $15 for students. More than 2,000 tickets have already been sold. Obama has held events in North Carolina before, including a private fundraiser in Chapel Hill. His visit is the first small-dollar fundraiser in the state, with cheaper admission prices. Obama’s NCCU appearance is a

part of a series of grass roots public events the senator is hosting in preparation for the South Carolina primaries in January. In a recent polling of North Carolinians released Monday by Public Policy Polling, Obama is trailing the competition. Hillary Clinton has the support of 32 percent of those polled, John Edwards 31 percent and Obama 20 percent. In addition to online purchasing, spectators can buy tickets from the Know Bookstore & Restaurant at 2520 Fayetteville St. in Durham Wednesday, from 12-3 p.m. and 6-9 p.m. Tickets also will be sold at the A.E. Student Union on Wednesday from 3-6 p.m., and on Thursday during the 10:40 break. For more information, call the Know Bookstore at (919) 682-7223 or log on to BarackObama.com.

Sen. Barack Obama, D-IL, talks to reporters on Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C., in January. CHUCK KENNEDY/MCT

Drought haunts Triangle BY SHELBIA BROWN ECHO EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

While the nation is feeling the burn from the long drought, last week’s rain has lightened the North Carolina drought situation, even if minimally. According to Scott Stephens, meteorologist for the National Climatic Data Center, the almost five inches of rain that the Durham/Raleigh area has received in the last week is very beneficial but the results will not be immediate. “This puts a big dent in the drought,” said Stephens. “This is going to take the stress off of water systems.” He said even though substantial rain has been falling for the last few days throughout the Piedmont, the state is still under drought advisory. According to statistics, the average American uses about 70 gallons of water per day just for in-home use. This totals about which is about 25,550 gallons

per year. Once industrial and agricultural uses get added the amount rises to 500,000 gallons of water per year per person.

C H I C A G O — The American Bar Association, concluding a three-year study of capital punishment systems in eight states, found so many inequities and shortfalls that the group is calling for a nationwide moratorium on executions. In a study to be released Monday, the attorney organization, which has more than 400,000 members, said that death penalty systems in Indiana, Georgia, Ohio, Alabama and Tennessee in particular had so many problems that those states should institute a temporary halt to executions immediately. “After carefully studying the way states across the spectrum handle executions, it has become crystal clear that the process is deeply flawed,” Stephen Hanlon, chairman of the ABA's Death Penalty Moratorium Implementation Project, said in a statement. The study found “significant racial disparities” in the imposition of the death penalty, inadequate indigent defense programs, failures in crime laboratories, and a lack of uniformity in implementing nationally recognized best practices in eyewitness identification procedures as well as the recording of interrogations of suspects. “The death penalty system is rife with irregularity,” Hanlon said. According to the study most states “do not require preservation of the evidence — particularly DNA evidence — through the entire legal process…” Further, many states fail to provide a statewide indigent capital defense system and where attorneys are appointed to defend capital cases, the compensation is often “woefully inadequate,” the report found. “When a life is at stake, there is no room for error or injustice,” the report said. “Ultimately, serious problems were found in every state death penalty system.”

This is the equivalent of 12,500 typical 40-gallon bathtubs. Stephens said the state is still in a deficit of 10-15 inches from

WNCU drive off to a good start

the lack of rain and that recharging the water reservoirs will take time. About three weeks ago, North Carolina reached a D4 drought classification, which is the worst category. “It doesn’t mean the drought is over,” Stephens said. In 1925, the state suffered its worst drought, accumulating 37 inches of rain for the entire year. Stephens said crop damage has already happened for the year, but the climate center has estimated that recent rains will bring a few more weeks of stability to the drought crisis. Still, citizens are admonished to stay under the same water restrictions. “We’re hopeful that we get more rain like this through the months,” he said. “There’s 75 days of water remaining assuming that there’s no more rain,” said James Lim, city of Durham water conserva-

Kimberley Pierce Cartwright, news and public affairs director, and Aasim Inshirah, announcer and public affairs producer, sit across from each other laughing and joking between announcing and taking calls. Pierce Cartwright and Inshirah are on air raising funds for the first day of Renaissance XIII, the bi-annual membership drive for N.C. Central University’s public radio station, WNCU 97.5. “The drive is going very well. The atmosphere is relaxed and I feel good about it,” said Inshirah. “We’re getting off to a great start for our first day.” During this on-air stint, the station received donations from callers as far south as Florida and as far north as

n See DROUGHT Page 2

n See WNCU Page 3

BY ARIC JOHNSON ECHO REPORTER

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Campus Echo WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007

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Adding color to NCCU Lyle Burnham Jr. has found his comfort zone BY NATALIA FARRER ECHO STAFF WRITER

Chancellor Charlie Nelms autographs his book “Start Where You Find Yourself” to help fund a Habitat for Humanity home for NCCU student Michelle Nixon. MITCHELL WEBSON/Echo Staff Photographer

Helping an Eagle BY GABI CLAY-WHITE ECHO ASSISTANT EDITOR

About 30 people filed into the A. E. Student Union bookstore on Oct. 22 to get an autographed copy of Chancellor Charlie Nelms book, “Start Where You Find Yourself.” The book was sold for $12 and half of the proceeds went to Habitat for Humanity of Durham to raise $50,000 to build an “Eagle House” for business management senior Michelle Nixon. Nelms says he hopes his contribution will make past and present Eagles want to give back to their university. “I hope people will start thinking seriously about what they can do to

contribute money to those who can’t fully provide for themselves,” he said. Nixon came to NCCU from Philadelphia in 2003 with her daughter, Lyshell Harris. Lyshell is now seven years old. Living in a one bedroom apartment, Nixon turned the living room into her bedroom so that her daughter could have her own room. “This apartment is extremely small. There’s no kitchen space or anything,” said Nixon. Nixon graduates this December. “I never saw myself being in school, having a daughter or graduating. It’s a blessing,” said Nixon. Nixon was beyond grateful when she found

out the money was going to help build her new home. “I’m appreciative that the Chancellor would do that for me,” said Nixon. Nixon’s home is scheduled to begin construction in February 2008 on Simmons Street in Durham and will be the 200th home built by Habitat for Humanity of Durham.. The Habitat for Humanity of Durham was founded on Oct. 24, 1985 and in December of 1987, the first Durham Habitat homeowners moved into their home. To donate, send checks or money order to NCCU FoundationHabitat for Humanity 1801 Fayetteville Street, Durham NC 27707.

He attends N.C. Central University, the first statesupported liberal arts college for African-American students. He’s also a member of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc., the first fraternity established by African Americans on a college campus. He’s even one of the first faces that visitors see on the NCCU website. These accomplishments could surprise some, given that Lyle Burnham is white. A military brat, Burnham has lived in North Carolina, Texas, Arkansas and Maryland. He graduated from the majority-white Leesville Road High School in Raleigh, but the schools he attended before were not always predominately white. So when NCCU awarded him a Chancellor’s Cycle of Success Scholarship, Burnham took the offer. “To me it was more important to get a free education than to worry about where I’m going to school,” said Burnham, a criminal justice senior. His father, Lyle Burnham Sr., grew up in a poor, racially diverse neighborhood. “We all went to school together; we all played ball together, so it didn’t bother me,” said Burnham Sr. “I didn’t have any qualms about Lyle going to Central.” Burnham’s parents also encouraged him to live on campus and take advantage of the opportunities undergraduate life affords. “Before, the only people I really got to know were my brother and sister because

Criminal justice senior Lyle Burnham Jr. in the Farrison-Newton Communications Building, Oct. 29. SEBASTIAN FRANCES/Echo Staff Photographer

of all the moving,” he said. “I had to make new friends, so I decided to be active on the campus.” This decision led him to start a lacrosse team his freshman year, get involved with SGA as a sophomore and join Alpha Phi Alpha. “It really surprised us, but what impressed me was that when he told us about it, he had really thought it out,” said Burnham Sr. “He thought that the Alphas were the best. He told me about the history, about the social programs. He wasn’t doing it just to join a frat; he wanted to be with the best.” Biology senior Kevin Allen has been Burnham’s friend and roommate since their freshman year and is also an Alpha. Allen said he has never heard any negative comments about Burnham being white in a predominately

black fraternity at an historically black school. “I’ve heard a lot of people say they’re glad he’s so involved, being that males on this campus aren’t usually that involved, and people say he embodies the characteristics of an Alpha,” he said. Lyle said he gets a mixed reaction from other students. “Some people are positive; some people are surprised by what I do,” said Burnham. “But when I make a decision, I don’t base it off what people are going to think. I base it off what I like.” This mentality also helps him disregard negative perceptions of HBCUs and black Greek-letter organizations. “People make assumptions, but what they say isn’t going to affect me,” he said. “It’s all about you and what you do to set yourself apart.”

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Get full funding for a master’s degree in special education.

Are you interested in a career teaching students with special needs? If so, the Dept. of Special Education has two new federal grants that provide full funding for a master’s degree in special education and licensure in teaching students with visual impairment, learning disabilities, intellectual disabilities, or emotional disabilities. Anyone with an undergraduate degree can apply for the graduate program and the scholarship/loan program. Participants are reimbursed for their tuition and fees and are provided with money for books for each class. The grants must be repaid by teaching two years in special education for every year funded. More information can be obtained from the NCCU Special Education web site or by calling Dr. Ellen Bacon in the Special Education Department at 530-7291.

tion coordinator. Lim said mandatory water restrictions went into effect on Sept. 21, but a voluntary stage was initiated at the beginning of the month. He said citywide, water use has decreased by 30 percent, but city officials would like it to decline even more. L i m also said that if the worst happens and the water supply completely runs out, water will have to be drawn from Lake Michie and Little River. “We can access if we need to,” Lim said. But Lim agrees the drought has affected Durham economically. “It decreases our revenue.” He said more money is being put toward chemical and treatment costs. “There is definitely an economic impact to reduce the use of water,” Lim said. N.C. Central University also is implementing restrictions around campus to cut back on unnecessary water use.

“We’re just making sacrifices and a lot of these sacrifices are mandated,” said Larry Alston, plumbing and maintenance supervisor. “We’ve adhered to the mandate from (UNC System President) Erskine Bowles and the city of Durham.” According to Alston, the campus consumes about two million gallons of water per day. He said the campus spent almost $100,000 installing sensor-operated toilets and sinks in academic buildings to help preserve water. Before, toilets were flushed using 3 gallons of water. But now the gallons have been cut in half to 1.8 gallons to conserve water. The department has also installed flow-restrictors in sinks that are not sensoroperated across the campus and will do the same to residence hall showers. And now the campus has to adhere to restrictions that only allow personnel to use water for sanitary and culi-

nary purposes. “We are trying to bring consumption down to about a quarter of the use,” Alston said. Though Alston said the physical plant doesn’t have an exact number, he knows that the restrictions have saved the campus substantial money. He said the drought, combined with the increasing water restrictions, has affected vegetation and plant life around the campus. “They’re not getting any irrigation … some of the plants will die,” Alston said. “You have to make that sacrifice; it’s either the plants or us.” Alston said water is used most in the residence halls. “The drought to me is like a sense of the earth’s cry for help and I think that water is a hot commodity,” said graduate student Clayton Barrier. “I, myself, am a conservationist already. I take shorter showers and do things to conserve water.”

Campus

Campus Echo WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007

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Spanking kids: OK or not OK? Experts say no, others say yes

Illustration by Guru

BY YAVIANCE WASHINGTON ECHO STAFF WRITER

Ask an N.C. Central University student about spanking as a form of discipline and you’re likely to hear either, “It’s OK” or “It’s not OK.” Ask a child development expert and you’re likely to only hear, “It’s not OK.” Experts say spanking is not a good disciplinary method because children will focus on the beating itself and not on the reasons behind it. Either way, spanking is on the decline. According to a survey at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine in New York, 94 percent of adults in 1968 believed it was sometimes necessary to spank. That dropped to 87 percent in 1994. But many students say “It’s OK.” “I never got beatings, and I wish I had because I probably wouldn’t be so hardheaded now,” said child development freshman Kimberly Tate. “When I have children I believe that I will discipline my kids out of love and guidance, because I want them to understand that for every action there is a consequence,” she said. Patrick Giddy, history junior, said children must pay a price for misconduct. “I believe discipline has become too taboo. If you choose to spank your kids, then do so. “Some kids need that extra physical guidance; you have to set some type of barriers,” Giddy said. He said when he has kids, he will spank them when they cross the line. Parents who support spanking say that: 1) Spanking is an effective way to manage behavior; 2) I was hit as a kid and I turned out OK; or 3) If we do not spank children, they will grow up rotten. The Bible says, “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” and many Americans still agree. ChildParenting.com cites several studies on spanking. Among the findings: • 94 percent of 3- and 4-

year-olds have been spanked at least once in the past year. • 74 percent of mothers say spanking is acceptable for kids ages 1 to 3. • 61 percent of parents condone spanking as a “regular form of punishment” for young children. According to ChildParenting.com, factors that increase the likelihood of spanking include, geographic location (children in the South are spanked the most); family income (less money means more spanking); race (AfricanAmerican mothers spank more than other ethnic groups do); and religion (parents more fundamentalist in their religious beliefs spank more). But some N.C. Central University students say that spanking your child is not OK. Mass communication sophomore Janera Fedrick, mother of a 1-year-old, said, “I do not believe in spanking because my mother spanked me and it just made me afraid of her. “Spanking only works for the short-term aspect. “Children should not be afraid of their parents.” Bridget Kemp, director of NCCU’s Child Development Center, said other discipline strategies can work effectively. She recommends a process of “redirection.” “First I have the child tell me what they have done wrong,” Kemp said. “Second, how could it have been done differently, and lastly, what they should do now to correct the problem.” For years, experts have denounced spanking as ineffective and dangerous. They say it teaches a child to fear his parents, not to respect them, and that using force can injure a child and warp his or her understanding of how to interact with others. Jake Laws, author of the book “Positive Discipline,” said, “people are not for hitting, and children are people too.” In the end experts say that is better to teach your child than to beat your child.

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Gigi’s back, smiling at 97 1932 graduate among oldest living alumni BY GEOFFREY COOPER ECHO STAFF WRITER

The year is 1932. Franklin D. Roosevelt beats Herbert Hoover for the U.S. presidential election. The Great Depression leaves 13 million Americans unemployed. Tuition, room and board at the North Carolina College for Negroes is a total of $310.75. Fast forward to 2007, and “Gigi” is still able to reminisce over her schoolyard days as an Eagle. For 75 years, Beulah Luvenia Kearney-Williams has shared her personal memories of her college years with friends, family and other curious minds. Williams, 97, is one of N.C. Central University’s oldest living alumni. She was one of the first in her family to attend NCCU, which carried on for two more generations through her daughters and her granddaughter. “There was never a discussion about were we going to college; it was more of which one were we going to,” said Kaye Rogers, the youngest daughter of Williams. But much of Williams’ success came about through her humble beginnings. Born in 1910, Williams was the third oldest of 10 children and shared the majority of the responsibility in the household. While growing up in the rural town of Franklinton, NC, Williams spent most of her childhood helping her father in the fields with sharecropping. Her parents, Stella Pender, was a cook for white plantation owners, and Joshua Kearney, was a sharecropper and caretaker for a Christian college in Franklinton. Although Williams’ parents did not have an education, they still had dreams for all of their children to attend college and receive a

Beulah Williams, 97, returned to NCCU during Homecoming. She is the first of three generations to graduate from NCCU. KAI CHRISTOPHER/Echo Staff Photographer

higher education. Rogers said she recalls her mother using her math and reading skills to show her father how to count money and read important land documents that were exchanged between him and white landowners. This later helped her father pinpoint whether or not he was getting cheated out of land by other white landowners. Williams’ academic abilities helped her get through Albion Academy, a co-educational school for African Americans located in Franklinton. At the age of 18, she decided to attend the North Carolina College for Negroes in Durham, NC and enrolled in school in 1928. Through her granddaughter, Jean Rogers, Williams explains that as she departed for school, her mother was pregnant but still pressed her to go college. Because of her mother’s pregnancy and family’s income, she was given a small portion of funds to help her on her way. “I had no money,” Williams said. “Mama didn’t

have but $25 to send me to school with.” Williams recalled the exact words her mother preached to her the day she left: “Let me tell you now. This is all I have. You talk real nice and say ‘yes sir,‘ ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘thank you.’” When Williams and her father arrived to campus, she was immediately greeted by James E. Shepard, president of the North Carolina College for Negroes. Williams said she could remember Shepard’s approach as “kind and heart-warming.” “He was a nice looking man,” Williams said. “He was a good man in many ways to me, the students and his faculty.” Upon meeting Shepard, Williams said that he and her father began to share a brief dialogue. “He told papa: ‘I think we got a good one here,’” Williams said. “Papa said, ‘I sure hope so. She’s kind of spoiled, but I want you to make her smarter.’” Once Williams told Shepard of her family’s financial situation,

Shepard was able to provide her with jobs on campus to pay for her tuition, room and board. Some of those jobs consisted of washing dishes in the dining hall, ironing, cleaning residence halls and cleaning and catering for the Shepard home. In addition to this, Frances Eagleson, the registrar, offered her help to Williams. “She would say: ‘Beulah let me help you with anything you need,’” Williams said. Jean Williams, her oldest daughter, said that while her mother was away at school, her mother (Stella) always fed her daily reminders about having a desire to be better than her and not settling for less. That desire and ambition allowed Williams to graduate in 1932 with a bachelor of science in commerce with her other 22 classmates. To this day, Rogers still recalls her mother’s words of wisdom. “She would tell us nothing is impossible; we just had to work hard and smart.”

WNCU CONTINUED FROM PAGE 1

Charity Jones, left, mass communication sophomore, and Edith Thorpe take calls during the WNCU membership drive. SAVIN JOSEPH/Echo Staff Photographer

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Accepting new patients. Evening hours. 6216 Fayetteville Road, Suite 105 Durham, N.C. 27713 919.405.7000

New York. Renaissance XIII began Monday and runs through Dec. 15. The on-air portion will end Nov. 7. WNCU’s goal for Renaissance XII is to raise $75,000 — not much when their annual budget exceeds $1 million. The station also hopes to gain 500 new listeners by Dec. 15. To become a basic member of WNCU costs $60. Students who give a donation of $30 will become student members and will

receive a WNCU T-shirt. During Renaissance XII in April, the station quickly reached its $100,000 goal. They expect similar success during this campaign. WNCU General Manager, Edith Thorpe, is enthusiastic about the drive, but says it takes a lot of hard work for the station’s small staff. “My wish is that we as a staff are able to sustain ourselves physically, because the member drives are fun but they can be grueling,” said Thorpe.

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Campus Echo WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007

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Hurston, back after 68 years BY LARISHA J. STONE ECHO STAFF WRITER

The life and work of writer, novelist and folklorist Zora Neale Hurston will be examined at N.C. Central University’s Fourth African-American Literature Symposium, Nov. 8 from 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. Talks will be given by scholars from around the country. All sessions will be held in the University Theatre in the FarrisonNewton Communications Building. The symposium, “Celebrating the Life and Legacy of Zora Neale Hurston in the Twenty-First Century,” is sponsored by the Department of English, the Department of Mass Communication and the NCCU Lyceum Series.

The keynote address, by English professor Mary Helen Washington, will be “I am not my hair’’: Janie Crawford, Halle Berry, and Zora Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God.” Washington teaches at the University of Maryland, College Park. “Mary Helen Washington is a major scholar of AfricanAmerican literature and culture,” said Wendy Rountree, English assistant professor. “She is the best scholar to address Hurston’s place and significance in history in the 21st century,” said Rountree, who co-chairs the symposium with English professor Kuldip Kuwahara. According to Rountree, Hurston was a nonconformist with a powerful, idiosyncratic personality. “She had the courage to write what she saw in a

provocative way,” said Kuwahara. Hurston was at NCCU in 1939 to help establish the University’s drama program, but her personality clashed with that of NCCU founder James E. Shepherd. “Hurston and Dr. Shepherd didn’t get along very well,” said NCCU archivist Andre Vann. “She was young. She drove a sports car and spent most of her time at UNC with playwright Paul Green.” In the last two decades, Hurston has been acknowledged in ways she never was while living. Her contemporaries criticized her for not addressing the race question. “She was more concerned with the human question,” said Kuwahara.

How to find joy

What School Should Be

Harvard prof, NCCU students spill secrets for happiness BY SADÉ THOMPSON ECHO STAFF REPORTER

Prospective Parent Open House November 11 2-4pm

www.TriangleDaySchool.org (919) 383-8800 4911 Neal Road, Durham

United Christian Campus Ministry 525 Nelson Street, NCCU Campus 8th Annual See and Taste Gala

N.C. Central University – LeRoy T. Walker Complex, 600 Nelson St., Durham, NC

Application Deadlines

Want to attend health career seminars and workshops?

(for more information and to apply visit www.monstertrak.com)

Want to meet students pursuing health professions?

Musical Guest: Ad Lib

If so, find out about the N.C. Health Careers Access Program at NCCU.

Proceeds benefit ministries of United Christian Campus Ministry

Michael D. Page Campus Minister

January 19, 2008

For more information or to get involved in Campus Ministries contact us at 530-5263 or e-mail us at mpage@nccu.edu

Upcoming Events

Want to become a health professional? Want to meet recruiters from health professions schools?

Donations: $15 (Individual Tickets) $150 (Table of Ten)

than dumb people and dumb stuff,” said Gilliard. “Now, it’s the little things, like seeing those who are less fortunate, that help me to appreciate life.” Gilliard has recently rededicated her life to Christ, which allows her to stay focused. Corderro Jenkins, business and marketing junior, said, “Happiness is a mental state that we try to reach because from generation to generation we are taught that it is right to be and feel happy.” Jenkins said that upbringing plays a large role. “My paternal grandparents and maternal grandmother always taught me to learn all I can and be better because they never got the chance.” Psychology freshman Charlisa Collins has a different view of happiness. “It is not possible to find 100 percent pure happiness,” said Collins. “Some things are meant to be good and some things are meant to be bad.” In high school, Collins’ goal was just to graduate. As a college student, her plan is to reach happiness by achieving a 3.5 GPA. Collins avoids situations that will cause problems in order to stay happy and reach her goals. The lesson for everyone, said Ben-Shahar, is that “keen self-awareness and purposeful action” are key steps in achieving happiness and avoiding depression. It’s a question of living for today and living for tomorrow. This, said Ben-Shahar, will help you obtain “immediate personal needs with long-term goals.”

Access Your Health Career Undecided about your major?

Saturday, Dec. 1, 2007 5:30 pm – 7:30 pm

Save this date: MAN UP Conference “Building the Inner Man”

In childhood, everything seems possible. Taxes, car notes and tuition aren’t a main concern. Playing in the mud is the ultimate paradise, and a favorite bedtime story or lullaby is the cure to a tummy-ache. Then, suddenly you are a college student cramming last-minute notes for the big exam;now you’re rushing off to work to try and make ends meet for gas money and groceries because flex-dollars are low. College students are faced with hard tasks and realities each day, and anger and depression are common. But experts say that there is an art to achieving happiness. Psychologists Ed Diener and Martin Seligman say happiness can be found through spirituality, a positive workplace and healthy relationships. According to Tal BenShahar, Harvard professor and author of the self-help book “Happier,” you can learn to be happier “just as you learn a foreign language or to be proficient at golf.” Shahar writes that “happiness is the ultimate currency” for which all other assets and experiences are traded. He said that getting happy requires carefully combining pleasure, meaning and purpose. His class on happiness attracts 1,400 students a semester, or 20 percent of all Harvard graduates. In the class, he examines current research on happiness. Ben-Shahar divides

people into three archetypes. The “rat-racer,” the “hedonist” and the “nihilist.” “Rat racers” postpone their happiness to the future. They think they’ll be happy someday after a goal is achieved. However, this type is unable to enjoy the present. “Hedonists” seek immediate pleasure, but are unable to enjoy lasting fulfillment or purpose in life. “Nihilists” have given up on the search for happiness. But what makes N.C. Central University students happy? Arthur Jennings, physical education junior, said some personal behaviors hinder his happiness. Jennings believes that partying is a hindering behavior because he often engages in it when he should be studying. He said he knows that he often has to avoid partying and focus on studying harder. This approach he said “relieves stress.” Jennings said he finds happiness through his personal outlook and spirituality. “Being able to sit down and pray about what I’m going through helps, along with knowing everything happens for a reason,” he said. For Ebony Gilliard, theater education junior, three factors that will bring her happiness are “money, achieving general goals and eventually having a husband that is worth something.” Gilliard’s perception of happiness has developed over time. “In high school, I didn’t care, but then I started to break down and wanted something more in my life

Health Careers Center 521 Nelson Street Durham, NC 27707 919 530-7128 Barbara S. Moore, Director Alfreda D. Evans, Program Assistant

U S Representative David Price Semester Internship Program Friday, November 16 Wake County Public Safety Paid Internship Wednesday, November 21

The Washington Center Washington, DC-London Internship Program 2008 Friday, February 29

Interviews EPA Mock Interviews Thursday, November 15 9:00 am– 4:00 pm

Career Fairs Institute for Humane Studies Paid internship and scholarships Journalism/Public Administration Thursday, January 31

NCCU Spring Career Fair Thursday, March 27 10:00 am-1:00 pm

For More Information, Contact Career Services William Jones Building, Lower Level Hours of Operation Mon. - Fri. 8:00 am - 5:00 pm

Phone: 919-530-6337 Email: nccucareerservices@nccu.edu

Beyond NCCU

Campus Echo WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007

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Edwards campaign tries to quash YouTube video UNC student news report scrutinizes campaigh upscale campaign headquarters location

BY RYAN TEAGUE BECKWITH MCCLATCHY NEWSPAPERS (MCT)

RALEIGH — As a student journalist, Carla Babb hopes to work on national news – not be the subject of it. But the tables were turned Friday for the UNCChapel Hill graduate student when word got out that John Edwards’ presidential campaign tried to squelch her story for a campus news program. Babb, 23, interviewed an Edwards volunteer and a campus columnist about the campaign’s headquarters in the upscale Southern Village shopping center in Chapel Hill. She posted it on YouTube Tuesday night. The next morning, Colleen Murray, a spokeswoman for the Edwards campaign, called her. “She said this sounds like it came straight from the Republican Party,” Babb said. “She was like, ‘This has to come down.’” Babb referred Murray to her faculty adviser, C.A. Tuggle. Murray and Edwards’ communications director, Chris Kofinis, then called Tuggle. He said they asked him not to air the story and to pull it from YouTube. Tuggle said they threatened to cut off access to Edwards for UNC reporters and other student groups if he did not pull the piece. He declined to do so. After another UNC professor blogged about the tussle, news spread across the Internet. The video was linked to by the popular online news site The Drudge Report and reporters for The New York Times called Babb’s home. Tuggle said the Edwards’ campaign’s actions backfired. “My gosh, what are they thinking?” he said. “They’re spending this much time and effort on a student newscast that has about 2,000 viewers? They’re turning a molehill into a mountain.” The Edwards campaign would not answer questions about the tussle, but it released a statement saying it had no problem with student reporters in general. “This is silly,” Murray said in the statement. “We love all reporters, the problem is the feeling isn’t always mutual.” The two-and-a-half minute segment includes an interview with James Edward Dillard, a columnist for The Daily Tar Heel, saying that the location of the campaign headquarters conflicts with Edwards’ goal of

reducing poverty in America. “To pick that place as your campaign center, when you’re going to be the man who advocates on behalf of the poor, I just think, why not turn the media’s attention to somewhere where there are huge, huge problems,” he said. Nation Hahn, an Edwards campaign volunteer and UNC student, is quoted saying that the choice of Chapel Hill over Washington, D.C., for the campaign headquarters shows that Edwards is a candidate for the average person, though the choice of Southern Village isn’t relevant to the campaign. “Frankly, Chapel Hill is a relatively affluent area, period, so I don’t know where they would rather him place his headquarters,” he said. Babb said she came up with the idea for the story after hearing other students talk about it in the newsroom of Carolina Week, a student-run program where she works. She decided to film it for a regular broadcast and an MTV “Choose or Lose” contest in which she is a semifinalist. She posted it on YouTube Tuesday to meet a contest deadline, though the piece isn’t slated to air until Monday. Online, the segment drew a split reaction. Some commenters said the Edwards campaign overreacted to an innocuous story, while others attacked Babb for being a registered Republican. Babb said she was surprised, pointing out that she interned for Rep. Bob Etheridge, a Democrat from her hometown of Lillington, while an undergraduate at N.C. State University. "My political affiliation isn’t in any of my stories," she said. Tuggle, who has overseen the Carolina Week news program for eight years and previously worked as a television reporter in Florida, said that pieces are normally posted on YouTube after they’ve aired. Though the program is shown on cable television in 16 counties, he estimates it has about 2,000 viewers. He said a really interesting piece — such as Babb’s earlier segment on state trooper misconduct – might get as many as 1,000 hits on YouTube as well. As of 7 p.m. last night, Babb’s report on the campaign headquarters was already at 27,000. Watch the video at http://www.youtube.com/wa tch?v=lb8r0XIZs7Y.

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Iran seeks Arab help to blunt U.S. hostility BY HANNAH ALLAM MCCLATCHY NEWSPAPERS (MCT)

CAIRO — Iran is intensifying its efforts win over its Arab neighbors with a campaign of high-level diplomatic visits, lucrative investment deals and a series of public statements that call for Muslim unity in the face of U.S. and Israeli “aggression” in the Middle East. The goal, experts say, is to reassure Sunni Muslim leaders that they have nothing to fear from their Shiite Muslim neighbor’s ascension as a regional power _ and to make sure no Arab state backs a U.S. strike on Iranian nuclear facilities. So far, the campaign has achieved mixed results: While Arab rulers publicly support stronger ArabPersian ties, they still harbor deep-seated fears about Iran’s long-term ambitions. They also face strong U.S. pressure to keep Tehran isolated. “If the U.S. struck Iran, the Arab world would take a position of `positive neutrality’ — they would observe, but they wouldn’t join because the Arabs know Iran’s reaction could harm them in their own countries,” said Mohamed el Said Abdel Mo’men, a professor of Iranian studies at Ain Shams University in Cairo. “They believe the Iranian threat, in its current size, is more manageable than it would be after a strike.” In the past week, when U.S. officials announced new economic sanctions against Tehran, Iranian officials made several trips to woo Arab governments and private investors. They stood alongside Arab colleagues at a conference in Kuwait on Iraqi security. At a conference in Dubai, they hailed the United Arab Emirates as Iran’s No. 1 trade partner and called for more foreign investment in Iran. In Cairo, they signed an agreement with Egypt to open a center to exchange medical expertise. On Friday, the Iranian ambassador in Beirut met with Christian leader Amin Gemayel, a longtime rival of Iran’s ally, Hezbollah. In Tehran, Iranian officials welcomed prominent Shiite and Sunni clerics from throughout the Islamic world for a meeting on how to reduce sectarian tensions. The Iranian Foreign Ministry trumpeted an Arab League statement that supported Iranian-Arab dialogue and stressed that the showdown over Iran’s nuclear program must be handled within the United Nations. Iranian officials also pledged to finance a housing program in Syria, which has been inundated with refugees from Iraq. Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad extended his support to another regional player, Turkey, by cutting short an official visit to Armenia. The move was interpreted as support for Turkey’s Muslim government as U.S. lawmakers pushed for a bill to recognize the Armenian genocide. The Turkish foreign minister is due in Tehran on Saturday — another coup for Iran as the Bush administration seeks to dissuade Turkey from sending troops into northern Iraq to battle Kurdish militants. In August, Iran began firing artillery into Iraq to counteract what it said were Kurdish rebel groups that had launched attacks in Iran.

SOURCE NASA EARTH OBSERVATORY/2007 MCT

“Iran wants a Middle East that’s Islamist, resisting the United States and is part-authoritarian and part-democratic. Now it’s deciding what keys it needs to unlock the doors in the region,” said Nevine Mossaad, an Iran specialist for the Arab League. Iran appears to be focusing its diplomacy on a handful of states with strategic value: Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Lebanon and smaller, oil-rich Gulf Arab nations with significant Shiite Muslim communities. All those nations are allies of the United States, which has stepped up its campaign to ensure that Arab states don’t get too close to Iran. The United States has an edge: Arab leaders are wary of the regional sway Iran has gained from having a friendly Shiite Islamist government in Iraq and electoral victories by groups it supports in the Palestinian territories and Lebanon. Still, confidence in the United States’ ability to contain Iran is waning, and Arab leaders are concerned that if they wait too long to count Iran as any ally, they’ll find themselves on the bad side of a burgeoning nuclear power whose leaders’ Islamist rhetoric finds support among ordinary Arabs. Arab fears “have been capitalized on by the United States and Israel, and, in a way, the Iranians are playing catch-up,” said Trita Parsi, author of “Treacherous Alliance: The Secret Dealings of Iran, Israel and the United States” and the president of the National IranianAmerican Council, a Washington-based organization that advocates better Iranian-U.S. relations. “The Iranians have to soften their edges and not project a threat to their Arab neighbors.” Winning better relations with Egypt, the only Arab state without full diplomatic relations with Iran, would be an especially sweet prize for Iran, though disputes over Egypt’s peace agreement with Israel and Iran’s public admiration for the assassins of Egyptian President Anwar Sadat remain stumbling blocks. “Egypt represents history and civilization. The Iranians speak about the Arabs and tribal leaders, but they consider Egypt a real state,” said Mohamed el Said Idris, an Egyptian expert on Iran who publishes a monthly journal on Iranian issues. “They know Egypt is a central leader of

the umma, the Muslim nation. They know that strong ties to Egypt means strong ties to the entire Arab world.” Elsewhere, Iran is working hard to turn enemies into allies. The meeting between the Iranian ambassador and Gemayel on Friday was a rare reaching-out to a group that’s been a bitter opponent of Iran’s traditional friend Hezbollah. The ambassador stressed that Iran had no interest in taking sides in Lebanon’s presidential election, which pit the proU.S. Sunni Muslim government, which Gemayel supports, against a pro-Syrian coalition led by Hezbollah. Despite tensions over disputed islands in the Persian Gulf, Iran also has made inroads with several smaller Gulf nations. In Bahrain, where a Sunni emir leads a majorityShiite population, an Iranian expatriate community with deep pockets plays a critical role in the economy. The UAE has

become an important conduit for Iranian imports in spite of U.S.-backed economic sanctions. Ahmadinejad also has spoken of hopes to improve relations with Saudi Arabia, long Iran’s rival, though talks have led to only limited cooperation on easing violence in Iraq, Lebanon and the Palestinian territories. Political observers caution, however, that trade and security pacts don’t necessarily add up to Iran’s success in courting Arab nations. “There are still a lot of shadowy aspects of the Iranian policy in the region,” said Abdel Mo’men. “The Iranians have a dream to return to their golden age, when they controlled half the world, and they believe they can repeat the experience. ...Many Arab states believe that by allowing economic ties with Iran, they can limit its political ambitions.”

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Campus Echo WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007

Revisiting the State Fair NO

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From the top clockwise: The fairgrounds at sunset; potter works on a moonshine jar; vendor discusses business with a potential customer; girl and sheep wait for judges’ decision; fairgoer at the pumpkin exhibition; father and daughter enjoy a candy apple.

Photo Essay by Sebastian Frances

he N.C. State Fair welcomed visitors this year from Oct. 12-21. A record 846,724 people congregated at the fairgrounds in Raleigh during the ten-day run, beating last year’s attendance by 11,887. Carolinians look forward to the fair for a variety of reasons. Some invest a full year of preparation in an attempt to win a blue ribbon for their cattle; others are there to make some extra money on their crafts. Others enjoy the fair for the sheer joy of eating,

soaking in the charged atmosphere and participating in events specific to the fair. The N.C. State Fair was first held in 1858 at a site east of Raleigh. The Carolina Agricultural Society was responsible for the event from its inception until 1925; in 1928, the N.C. Department of Agriculture took over operations. The fair is an annual event, with some exceptions. Between 1861 and 1869, the Civil War and Reconstruction put the state’s traditional event on

hold. The event also was on hiatus in 1926 and 1927, and between 1942 and 1945, during World War II. History aside, the Fair is a reminder of core cultures in our state. It’s a tradition close to the hearts (and pocketbooks) of many North Carolinians. Carrying a camera around this year gave me the opportunity to enjoy things I had taken for granted during previous visits; this time, I felt more like a participant than a mere spectator.

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Campus Echo WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007

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Let’s party like it’s 1980... BY JIMMY VINCENT ECHO STAFF WRITER

As you walk through the campus of N.C. Central University, you may feel as if you are going back into time. The 1980’s to be exact. Political science sophomore, Kenneth Watson believes this trend separates him from others. “I think the 80’s fashion is popular because it stands out from the norm. “Taking a retro approach causes you to be noticed and that’s what everyone wants,” said Watson. Sha’Niece Simmons, a textile and apparel senior, agrees this trend helps students stand out. “The explosion of 80’s fashion on this campus has caught on because of the vibrant colors and obnoxious jewelry,” Simmons said. “Students are sick of the convention and are ready to step outside the box with their wardrobe.” The combination of hiphop and sweet valley girl is what everyone is trying to imitate. Multiple finger rings, sneakers with large laces, leggings, headbands and tracksuits are common styles on campus. “I see the oversized chains, large bamboo earrings, knit tights, and the

fitted t-shirts and denim pants,” said Simmons. Watson said he sees a lot of leather hats, cardigans and skinny jeans. Though some students may have been born in the 1980’s, they grew up during the 1990’s, but feel they get an accurate picture of the vintage attire from television. “Rappers and singers are the ones who set the clothing trends,” said Gray. “We wear what they wear.” Television shows such as Chris Rock’s “Everyone Hates Chris” which is set in the 1980’s, gives an insight on this growing fad. While this trend is huge, Simmons says the look is too flashy to wear every day. Watson wears it for that exact reason. “I don’t want to look like your average Joe,” he said. Clothing brands such as Nike have re-released vintage sneakers they were made famous almost two decades ago. This brings an authentic feel to the look. “I think this trend is just now being appreciated,” said Watson. Simmons predicts the fad over oversized accessories will pass. “The clean-cut look from the 50’s and 60’s is coming back strong,” he said.

Lupe’s socalled fiasco The day before Lupe came to the Hip Hop in Context class, I read several hip hop blogs on “FiascoLarisha J. gate,” in Stone which he forgot the lyrics to A Tribe Called Quest’s “Electric Relaxation.” After watching the performance on Youtube, I sat in front of the computer with one eyebrow raised. “What’s the big deal?” Lupe’s reputation has been under review since the incident. But people forget lyrics all the time. I think people’s judgments have been clouded by their unrealistic expectations of music artists. Lupe Fiasco operates within an industry, just like Common, Mos Def, Talib Kweli, and Black Thought. And just like the aforementioned artists, he believes in the lyrics he writes, asserts that they are good for hip hop, and they truly are. But if revolution was

not marketable or profitable for industry gatekeepers, there would be no place for some of the most “conscious” people’s favorite artists. Revolutions are not the result of music, but “conscious” music should be the result of revolutions started by organizers who are in the trenches, not by artists who operate under the rules of an industry owned and operated by those who profit from its rhetoric. James Brown didn’t write “I’m Black and I’m Proud” to incite black people to enter a state of awareness. They were already there, in large part, because of the Black Power movement. The Black Panthers, the Nation of Islam, N COBRA and other black nationalist groups made up of community activists created the climate that influenced James Brown to write that song. The larger issue here is not that some lyrics were forgotten. We just forgot who the true leaders of the new school are.

Roc-A-Fella Records

3out of 5 on the black hand side

Inspired by the film “American Gangster,” Jay-Z lyrically tells his story from the Marcy Projects to Madison Square and everything in between. E. Jones, music producer extraordinaire, reviews the album. “Intro” is a li’l long-winded and the back drop behind it wasn’t cinematic. “No Hook,” I'm lovin this one! The beat regained my attention after four duds. This joint fits his flow pattern and helps paint the picture. It’s not his best work, but I will play this one again. Regarding the jab at Luda in this song: Anytime you diss someone and cover it up with a "no disrespect" line in the same breath, it’s a shot. “Roc Boys”— nah, man. NAAAAAH! He can’t win with this one. The hook is garbage! Did he prepare for this

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“Rewind” panel participants discusses issues surrounding the play. KENICE MOBLEY/ ECHO STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER

BY KENICE MOBLEY ECHO STAFF WRITER

Sex, drugs, murder and prison often combine to create an interesting story. In the new play “Rewind,” these elements combine to make a compelling story of a lifetime of abuse, struggle, and eventual redemption. While this may sound like the latest tabloid sensationalism, these events are taken directly from the life of Regina Walters, a local woman who spent thirteen years in prison. “Rewind,” performed Friday, Oct. 26 in the

Farrison-Newton Communications Theater, invited the audience to examine the effects of violence on men, women, and children. Before the show, area organizations distributed ribbons and pamphlets, and took donations to help area women and children overcoming abuse, rape and domestic violence. The show begins as Regina, played by Hope Hynes Love, describes happy childhood memories of her father. Regina compares the way her father acted toward her with how he treated her mother. The

actress’s emotionless voice intensified the horror of a childhood marked by alcoholism and violence. Regina describes the effects of abuse on three generations: a drug-addicted grandmother, an abusive mother and a daughter looking for unconditional love. Love’s performance reaches a climax as she describes the night that would result in Regina Walter’s imprisonment. She hauntingly recreates the shock of realizing that an acquaintance was dead, and that she is being held partially responsible for his murder, despite her

innocence. Even when discussing serving 13 years in prison, Walter’s story still has light moments. Regina points out the importance of the most mundane events of her life, and the prevalence of gossip in her discussion of inmate behavior, saying, “If you liked middle school, you’ll love prison.” The play concludes with a panel discussion and a question and answer session. “Rewind” is part of the Hidden Voices series, which aims to connect diverse groups through individual, true stories.

An O.G. who out-foxed the Mafia (“Amistad”). Rappers RZA of the Wu-Tang Clan, Common, and T.I. also appear. T.I. (who was recently released from jail on a $3 million bond for a weapons charge) stars as Frank Lucas’ nephew. This knock-out film is based on historical events. In the early 1970’s, police corruption was out of control in New York City. The Vietnam War brought its problems back to the U.S. too – dead soldiers or soldiers addicted to heroin. The Mafia, who controlled the smack market, led a non-competitive market selling thousands of kilos to addicts hungry for their product. That was until a black entrepreneur named Frank Lucas changed the game. The real Frank Lucas currently resides in New Jersey with his “American Gangster,” starring Denzel Washington, opens in theatres Nov. 2. wife Eva after having served five PHOTO COURTESY OF UNIVERSAL STUDIOS years of a 70-year sentence. Lucas, who single-handedly took over BY THERESA GARRETT His daughter Francine has startthe Harlem heroin game in the 60’s and ed a non-profit organization called ECHO STAFF WRITER 70’s. Yellow Brick Road that helps chilIf you walked into any salon or barRussell Crowe (“Gladiator,” “The dren cope with parents in jail. bershop this weekend, “American Insider”) plays Richie Roberts, the byFrom the opening scene to the Gangster” was probably playing. the-books cop who takes Lucas down. ending credits, this movie will Scheduled to come out Friday, this But Washington and Crowe aren’t the leave you on the edge of your seat most anticipated movie of the year is only heavy-hitters “American Gangster” wanting more. already in heavy rotation. brings to the screen. Acting legend Ruby This Friday, do “American With all the hype and bootlegging, is Dee appears along with 1996 Academy Gangster” justice and go to the “American Gangster” going to claims the Award winner Cuba Gooding, Jr., who movies, pay your 7 dollars (the No. 1 box office spot it deserves? plays Nicky Barnes, Lucas’ flashy comprice with student ID) and see the Academy Award winners Denzel petition. movie. You will not be disappointWashington, who starred in “Training Also in the film is Chiwetel Ejiofor ed. Day” and “The Hurricane,” plays Frank

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Remy Ma, Attempted Murder T.I., Weapons of Mass Destruction Kid Rock, Brawl @ the VMA Mike Vick, Casino of Pit Bulls O.J. Simpson, Attempted Robbery

album? Jay is like the smart kid in the class that ain’t studied for the S.A.T, thought he’d score a 1600 and forgot to write his name. Hmmmm, ponder on that one for a minute. “Blue Magic”— I like this joint but I hate the hook. Using the Rakim flow worked! I applaud him for rockin the joint like that. Overall, this rushed album sucks in my book. It’s worse than “Kingdom Come.” This album has 13 tracks with three good ones in question. Kanye “ethered” Jay on making an album. It’s been weeks since ‘Ye dropped “Graduation” and I’m still rockin’ it hard. My beef is the quality of the album. I used to play Jay-Z albums until Hov called me and told me to put the album away. Therefore, I’m puttin’ this joint away faster than KRS-One's role in "Who's the Man?" My man, Fattz, says this is Jay-Z’s “Electric Circus” and I agree. I don’t have a problem with the homie's lyrics but dammit man, you can’t survive with just lyrics alone, ask Canibus.

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Campus Echo WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007

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Sports

Campus Echo WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007

Soaring Eagle lands in Tampa

Top: Defensive tackle Greg Peterson (96) of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers tackles running back Steven Jackson (39) of the St. Louis Rams Sept. 23 in Tampa. KIM KLEMENT/TAMPA BAY BUCCANEERS

BY JARELL DAWSON ECHO STAFF REPORTER

Last April, an Eagle soared his way into the National Football League when Greg Peterson was the 141st overall selection to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. The last Eagle to be drafted into the NFL was New Orleans Saints defensive back Robert Massey in 1989. Peterson’s first love in high school was basketball, but in his sophomore year he was introduced to the game that would change his life — football. After high school, Peterson played two years at Hines Community College in Raymond, MS. From there, N.C. Central University coaches were happy to snatch him up. Wearing his trademark number 39, a number he has worn since high school, Peterson quickly became one of the best players in NCCU history. “He’s the best defensive player I’ve seen since I’ve been here,” says Sports Information Director Kyle Serba. “He was double and triple teamed on so many plays, yet he still found a way to get into the backfield,” said Serba. “His size, strength, quickness and athletic ability is incredible. He helped take this program to another level.” Few were surprised when the Buccaneers drafted

Bottom: Greg Peterson screams after an impressive defensive play. J. MERIC/TAMPA BAY BUCCANEERS

Peterson. “It was just a matter of time before his name was called,” said NCCU defensive tackle Courtney Coard, who is also Peterson’s former roommate. “Pro-scouts were always at our games looking at him.” “I knew he was the real deal and that he was going to help us out a lot,” said Coard. Peterson led the Eagles to the top-rated defense in the CIAA last season. While most draft hopefuls tend to throw parties on draft night, Peterson took a modest approach. “I was at my grandma’s house just chilling with my family,” says Peterson. “I was trying not to think about it too much.” Peterson’s family went crazy when his name was announced on ESPN, but he

maintained his usual calm demeanor. “I was excited but I knew it was time to get to work,” said Peterson. “I knew I had things to work on so I just stayed humble.” Peterson never was one to celebrate after making a big play. “I just act like I’ve done it before. I was just out there to do my job,” said Peterson. After training camp Peterson won a back-up defensive tackle position. He knew he had to put in extra work to earn the respect of his coaches and teammates. “They looked at me as an ordinary Joe,” said Peterson. “Some thought that because I came from an HBCU, I wasn’t that good. But what I gave them wasn’t what they expected.” In seven games with the Buccaneers, Peterson recorded 12 tackles and 1.5 sacks. Peterson will return to NCCU to complete his criminal justice degree in the offseason. With his first paycheck, Peterson purchased a Dodge Charger and gave money to his mother. “I grew up watching my mom work two and three jobs to take care of me and my brother. “That really kept my drive alive,” said Peterson. “So when I sit on my couch and realize how far I’ve come, I still can’t believe that I really made it to the NFL.”

Kentucky fried prey BY QUENTIN GARDNER ECHO SPORTS EDITOR

Last Saturday, N.C. Central University suffered its largest defeat since 2003 at the hands of Western Kentucky University, 50-14 at L.T. Smith Stadium. Freshman tailback Tim Shankle rushed for a season-high 127 yards. NCCU quarterback

Stadford Brown completed 16 of 27 passes for 171 yards and a touchdown. Brown also threw three costly interceptions. NCCU head coach Mose Rison commented on the Eagles’ offensive production. “We did some things offensively that were very good tonight,” NCCU coach Mose Rison said. “We just

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faced a very good offensive team tonight. We knew we would have to play our best defensive game to compete, and we weren’t able to do that.” WKU had 538 yards of total offense and no turnovers. The Hilltoppers scored on every possession. NCCU ends its season on the road against WinstonSalem State on Nov. 10.

Blind, but accurate Bowler Keith Edgerton strikes a mighty blow BY QUENTIN GARDNER ECHO SPORTS EDITOR

Keith Edgerton holds his 16-pound bowling ball in an upward motion, similar to a waiter carrying a tray. He brings the ball to his chest, steps toward the lane and releases the ball with his right knee touching the floor while the ball glides down the lane like a plane landing. The ball hovers near the gutter and then curves into the head pin, sending all ten scattering for the strike. A strike makes for an impressive feat — but what’s more remarkable is that Edgerton never saw the pins, ball or lane. Blind since birth, Edgerton opened his eyes to life as a 16-year member of the Durham Pin Devils League. Edgerton is an accounting and computer information systems senior at N.C. Central University. Keith’s wife, Susan Edgerton, founded this bowling league for blind and visually impaired adults in 1989. The Durham Pin Devils League hosts its tournaments at the AMF Lanes on Chapel Hill Blvd. in Durham. Susan, a computer consultant for Information Technology Services, met her husband when she established the league. Keith and Susan have been married for 13 years. “Keith is a wonderful person. He can do anything he wants to do,” said Susan. “He thrives on challenges.” Keith Edgerton is the vice-president of the American Blind Bowling Association (ABBA). The organization enables blind and visually impaired youth and adults to bowl alongside sighted friends and family. Currently listing more than 1,500 bowlers across the country, ABBA is divided into “area-associations” that sponsor tournaments in their geographical regions. Recently, ABBA paired with the United States Association of Blind Athletes to send bowlers from North America to participate in events hosted by other countries. North Carolina has approximately 300 active visually impaired bowlers, according to Susan Edgerton. Keith Edgerton made the 2007 USA ten-pin blind bowling national team. He will travel to Campbelltown, New South Wales and Australia today to compete in the Blind Bowling national championship. Three other North Carolina bowlers will join him. The USA national team is comprised of 10 active bowlers and five demonstrative bowlers. Only

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Representing the United States, Keith Edgerton prepares for the 2007 ten-pin blind bowling national championship. JACQUELYN HALL/Echo Photographer

active bowlers can compete for medals, whereas the demonstrative bowlers participate in exhibition rounds. Edgerton participated in the 2002 national championships in Finland, but in a demonstrative role. “I’m excited to meet new friends, as well as catch-up with old friends I met in Finland,” said Edgerton. “These tournaments are very competitive and provide a very fun environment.” Think of the Olympics. The blind bowling national championship is set up in essentially the same way. Lasting for two weeks, the

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tournament features opening and closing ceremonies and awards gold, silver and bronze medals every day of the tournament. Innovations helpful to blind bowlers, such as the use of wooden planks or guide rails to assist players, gives Susan something to look forward to. Meanwhile, Edgerton is focusing on the honor of wearing the USA uniform. “There are not many athletes that can say ‘I participated in a sport representing my country,’” he said. The tournament starts Nov. 2 and continues through Nov. 15.

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Opinions

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Campus Echo WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007

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Don’t be sorry, be careful hile studying criminal justice at N.C. Central University, I have studied theories about why crimes are committed. One popular theory states that crimes are committed because victims present the opportunity for a crime to be committed; the criminals simply take advantage of the opportunities victims Lyle hand them. Burnham I am writing this article as a service to the students of NCCU. This semester, I am participating in an internship with NCCU’s Campus Police. While working with them, I have noticed that a lot of incidents handled by campus police could have been prevented by students ahead of time.

There are many simple things that students can do to cut down on the number of theft on campus, but they refuse to do them because it requires them to go out of their way for someone else. Recently, students might have noticed that several thefts hav been committed in campus dorms. There are many simple things that students can do to cut down on the number of theft on campus, but they refuse to do them because it requires them to go out of their way for someone else. First, students can make sure that no doors to their dorm are propped open. This serves two purposes: first, it helps to prevent people who don’t have access to the building from entering; second, it limits the number of suspects. If only students who live in the building have access to the building, campus police can assume that any theft is the result of an inside job. Also, students should carry

their access cards with them at all times. Students who work as community assistants in dorms on campus are not trying to be rude when they do not open the door for students without access cards to their building. In fact, they are trying to protect these same students from those who do not have access cards for their building. Students can also protect themselves and their belongings by making sure that their doors are locked anytime they leave their dorm room. While working with campus police, I was shocked to hear that some students who reported having their belongings stolen from their rooms had left their rooms unlocked. I have personally witnessed students leaving their rooms unlocked not only when they

are not there, but also when they are changing, in the shower, or asleep in their bedrooms. As I stated earlier, people who do not live in dorms are able to gain access to the buildings because of other students who prop doors open. Because of this, you never know who could be walking down the halls of your dorm to see if your door is unlocked. Campus police very hard to make sure that students are able to gain an education in a secure environment. On the other hand, the student body must also work to protect themselves from creating the opportunity for a crime to be committed. By taking these simple precautions, students can help to protect themselves as well as others.

We are still hung over ... I saw a commercial promoting the fast-food restaurant Jack-inthe-Box, which is set in an exec’s office. The exec is irate with the company’s “mascot,” a clown. He pulls out a noose, stands the doll on something, kicks its feet and hangs the doll. It swings a few times. I blanked. n recent history, we have seen the ugliest side of America re-emerge. I remember when every American –– black or white, could eloquently speak against racism and hatred. I think Kai it was Christopher Kramer who was first to shake the boat. Now when a black woman accuses a man of rape, she deserved it, and when nooses

Respect is not given, it is owned. So the moment you have to ask a man for it, it is lost.

are hung across the country, nobody has anything to say. No passionate declarations from white America, nothing on the news –– maybe for a day, but nothing too serious. I grew up thinking nooses were a thing of the past; it is becoming more evident that one day I’ll have to explain what they are to my son. And I doubt our discussion will only be a history lesson. Nooses are popping up across America, from Jena, LA, to Columbia University, and even on TV! I refuse to take a noose lightly; we are only a few generations removed from the times when a black man was hung in the South every day. To be clear, a noose is a death threat. There is no other way to interpret this image. One who would hang a noose, then, must be a killer.

N ORTH C AROLINA C ENTRAL U NIVERSITY

Campus Echo “It’s your newspaper” Shelbia Brown - Editor-in-Chief Gabi Clay-White - Assistant Editor A & E Editor Assistant A&E Opinions Editor Online Editor Assistant Online Editor Sports Editor Photo Editor Staff Photographer Staff Photographer Staff Photographer Staff Photographer Staff Photographer Copy Editor Copy Editor Production/Design Staff Reporter Staff Reporter Staff Reporter Staff Reporter Staff Reporter Staff Reporter Staff Reporter Staff Reporter Cartoonist Cartoonist Sound Off

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Letters & Editorials The Echo welcomes letters and editorials. Letters to the editor should be less than 350 words. Editorials should be about 575 words. Include contact information. The Echo reserves the right to edit contributions for clarity, vulgarity, typos and miscellaneous grammatical gaffs. Opinions published in the Echo do not necessarily reflect those of the Echo editorial staff. E-mail: CampusEcho@nccu.edu Web address: www.campusecho.com Phone: 919 530 7116 Fax: 919 530 7991 Fall 2007 Publication dates: 9/5, 9/26, 10/10, 10/31, 11/14, 12/5 © NCCU Campus Echo/All rights reserved The Denita Monique Smith Newsroom Room 348, Farrison-Newton Communications Bldg. NCCU, Durham, NC 27707

I can understand if you believe that the shades of scattered racism have nothing to do with you, but also remember the cross burnings in Durham a few years ago. So what does all of that have to do with the Jack-in-the-Box ad? We feed the beast that bites us. A noose in a commercial may not directly affect someone’s life, but the fact that it is a business we invest in matters. We work hard for our money, so when we spend it, wherever that is, like it or not, that business has the fruit of our labor. Why do we continue to give our hard-earned money to people who don’t care about us? Friday has been pronounced National Black Out Day. Black America will not purchase commercial products

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to illustrate our understanding of our economic strength in America. On Friday, Nov. 2, do not spend a dollar. It is time that as an African American, you understand that per capita, you hold the most weight in America. Why else would McDonald’s hold Black History Month commercials in August? We shop the most; we are the people who get fly, and nobody does it like us. But we allow ourselves to be mistreated. I feel we are trying to break into a burning house. But if you truly want to go inside, at least walk through the front door. Respect is not given, it is owned. So the moment you have to ask a man for it, it is lost. The time to ask America not to hang nooses ended the first time a young man died in one. Discussions are getting old, so how about going out and making something happen?

drawing by Rashaun Rucker

Question: Are you doing anything to conserve water during the drought? “I don’t think that students really see this as a problem right now.” — Johnoven Cooper

“I don’t think it’s a problem right now on campus.” —Fletcher McIntyre

“I stopped using my dishwasher, and I wash my clothes in larger bundles.” —Amber Credle

A CAMPUS ECHO PUBLICATION

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true stories from the lives of ten nccu students

My war against food

Not black, not white

It runs in the family

BY CHASITY RICHARDSON

BY KRISTIANA BENNETT

BY MICHAEL MORMAN

ooking down, she saw the water was blue, her hair was light brown, eyes the darkest hue of brown and skin a rosy yellow. Her image erased as the remains of the pizza hit the water. The girl was me, the blue water my mirror, the image I see. Bulimia. A life close to death was not what I predicted.

ow come your skin’s tan and your mom’s and sisters’ are white?” my best friend Erica asked. We were 6 years old and walking home from school. I frowned and slowed my pace, feeling a moment of anxiety. I had been wondering this myself. My mother’s answers were always so

“H

hat’s that on your face?” She asked me during a sand castle contest at Morehead City Beach. I was 8 years old. I don’t remember her name, but I definitely remember her facial expression: she looked at me as if I had some contagious disease. Then she made sure that her teammates got a clear view of my face.

I never thought of anyone as completely perfect. I could easily see that everyone had their flaws. But I looked at myself, I was completely disgusted. Those who surrounded me always begged to differ and showered me with compliments, but no one realized that if you’re not happy with yourself, the compliments go in one ear and out the other. It all started my freshmen year of high school. From the outside looking in I was what every girl dreamed of being: pretty, popular and dating one of the hottest guys on the football team. But inside I was miserable. On many mornings I would get out of the shower, stand in the mirror and cry until my eyes were so bloodshot I could barely open them. I just thought that every day there was something I had to do. I couldn’t hate myself anymore. I started working out to the point that when I went to bed I was in a deep sleep barely two seconds after my head hit the pillow. Even I could see a subtle change in my body, I still wasn’t happy. Then came the diet pills. It didn’t help that my mother was a health nut and had every diet pill imaginable. I started taking one pill in the morning and one in the evening. By the second week I was popping at least four pills a day and eating barely anything. I had dropped 10 pounds, but no one suspected that anything was wrong with me. They assumed my running and exhausting tae-bo tapes had paid off. Weirdly, I was still more depressed than I had ever been. My pills and work-out process was working, but still too slow. I had to cut out food. I thought that was the only thing I saw holding me back. There could be no more pizza, fries, chicken nuggets or

vague that I never fully understood them, and her discomfort was so obvious that I felt uncomfortable myself when I asked her why I looked different than her and my sisters. She would tell me things like, “Your skin is tan because you have more melanin in your skin.” When I asked her what melanin was she replied, “Pigment that gives your skin more color.” Or she might say, “Your hair isn’t as soft as mine or your sisters’ because it’s coarser, honey.” I searched for an answer as I gazed at my feet in their black patent leather shoes, engaged in their hypnotic backand-forth rhythm against the cracked sidewalk. Then it hit me. “I was out in the sun too long when I was a baby,” I said triumphantly. It made perfect sense to our 6-year-old brains, and we continued home, chatting about our day at school. Twenty-one years later, my differences were still causing anxiety. “You are not black,” said my mother with furious emphasis. “What are you trying to prove?” “I think going to Central would be a good experience for me,” I said. “I’ve spent most of my life around mostly white people, Mom, and I’m part black too; besides, it’ll only be for one semester.” “You just don’t know how it makes me feel!” my mother continued to rant as if I hadn’t spoken. “I am the one who loved you and raised you — your white mother, not that black bastard who donated the sperm.” I had graduated from Durham Technical Community College and had been accepted to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, but they didn’t take transfer students in the spring. I was loathe to sit out until the fall. I needed to go to a university for one or possibly two semesters.

I felt the anxiety of being watched with index fingers pointed my way, but my younger sister and older brother kept me focused on building the sand castle. Surprisingly, we won the contest. But as good as winning that huge bag of bubble gum felt, the look on the face of that girl and her teammates cut me inside. What was on my face was a keloid. Keloids are a special type of scar which results in an overgrowth of tissue at the site of a healed skin injury. Mine resulted from my battle with chicken pox when I was 6. The endless itching became unbearable, so I scratched the right side of my face. Why did I do that? I’ve had to live with the results of that scratch ever since. The chicken pox cleared up, but a bump-like keloid about the size of a nickel developed on my face. Back then, I was so relieved to be free from the itching I didn’t give too much thought to my face. However, when I went back to school, the reactions of some of my class mates made me uneasy. It started with their stares and whispers. Soon they were asking a million questions. One of my friends who knew I had been out with the chicken pox thought I still had them and refused to sit beside me. Although the bump was small, it enlarged in my mind and my self confidence began to wither. I felt abnormal. Things got better as the year continued and my classmates got used to the keloid. Keloids are less common in children and the elderly. Although people with darker skin are more likely to develop them, keloids can occur in men and women of all skin types. According to About.com, keloid scars occur 15 times more frequently in “highly pigmented ethnic groups.” The tendency to form keloids seems to run in families. My grandmother’s and my mother’s skin also formed keloids.

n See RICHARDSON Page 3

n See BENNETT Page 2

n See MORMAN Page 4

“W

Stories written by students in Feature Writing for Magazines and Newspapers, taught by Dr. Lisa Carl

Feature

Campus Echo WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007

MY HERO’S TRAGIC FLAW The puzzle fell into place when I found out my daddy was a crack addict BY BROOKE SELLARS ids usually have someone they call a hero. Most of time it’s an action hero like Batman or Superman. For me it was my father. I was the typical daddy’s girl. I remember rooting for the New Jersey Jets as if I was a sports tycoon up on my feet in a football stadium. Mafia movies were his favorite and they became my favorite too. We must have watched “Goodfellas” a million times. Staying up late after watching R-rated movies was so thrilling. I held onto those memories throughout my adolescence and will continue to cherish them. I loved my daddy very much and never thought he could harm even a fly. But even then, there were some things I did not understand. Why would Daddy suddenly leave to run errands and be gone for several days? Why would he drive away with the family car, leaving us stranded at home? But when you’re a kid you don’t understand many things and questions are sometimes left unanswered. As I grew up, these behaviors became the norm for me. The role of a mother is to provide safety and protection. My mom assured me and my two younger sisters that everything was fine, so we continued life as usual. Then, in the spring of seventh grade, the life I thought was great got really bad. One afternoon, I got off the school bus, walked into my house and went straight for the kitchen. Mom was there, pacing back and forth.

I watched as poor people, professionals and people in fancy cars entered looking normal but exited with saddened faces, so scary they looked like zombies.

Something was wrong. My dad had taken the car and he hadn’t returned home. A car pulled into the driveway. I ran to the window, hoping it was Daddy. It was a police car. Mom sent me upstairs with my sisters as she opened the door to let the policeman in. I walked slowly up the staircase, hoping to hear something reassuring. What was going on? Why were the police here? My sisters and I leaned against the bedroom door, listening quietly. My mother whispered to the cops, “My husband is a crack addict and he has stolen our car.” I froze. My palms were sweaty. A thousand thoughts ran through my head as my sisters Jaime and Holly looked at me for answers. Was I in a dream? My daddy couldn’t be hooked on drugs. It couldn’t be true. Everything went silent around me and tears steamed down my face. I wanted to disappear in a dark closet and never come out. The secret was out. How was I supposed to deal with this? The door opened and mom sat on the floor beside me. “I didn’t want you to find out this way,” she said. My face buried between my

Brooke Sellars SAVIN JOSEPH/Echo Staff Photographer

legs, I replied, “Why didn’t you tell us, Mom?” I tried to hold back the tears but they kept coming. “You and your sisters are too young to understand,” she said. What was left to understand? My daddy was a substance abuser and I had had no clue. I was born in New Jersey., but when we moved to North Carolina things changed. My father had a hard time finding a good job in Fayetteville. The pay in North Carolina was a lot lower than my mom and dad were used to. So I guess the stress they experienced from the north-to-south transition led to my father’s drug use.

Indeed, I thought, if that was the case, why didn’t we move back? That couldn’t have been a good excuse because my mom was fine — she wasn’t using drugs. I had so many questions, but I felt too young to ask them. I went into isolation; I became cold to everyone. I didn’t want to go outside, didn’t care much about school or participating in any activities. The life I had thought was normal was not normal at all. It hadn’t occurred to me until that point that drug use was a likely reason for my father’s behavior. Now I knew why he disappeared after getting paid, or

why on Christmas Day some of the presents were missing under the tree and, even more alarming, why some of the spoons in our silverware drawer were burned black at the bottom as if they were held over an open flame. These mysteries became pieces of the picture I put together myself, trying to make sense of the situation. Another memory: after school, Dad would pick us up and we would head over to his friend’s house, a friend I would never meet because we were told to stay in the car. It was a tall, white house that looked empty from the outside, but people were always walking in and out. I watched as poor people,

professionals and people in fancy cars entered looking normal but exited with saddened faces, so scary they looked like zombies. We sat there for hours. Eventually it got dark and the streetlights came on. My sisters were asleep in the backseat, but I stayed wide awake, still waiting for daddy to come out. I dozed off until I heard him jingle the keys. Scared, I tried to fake like I was asleep. I was scared to see if he also looked like a zombie. This dreary white house has been a recurring symbol in my dreams and imagination. Why? I really don’t know. All I know is that when I heard my mom’s words that night, all my questions were answered and the pieces of the puzzle came together. My daddy, my hero, was a crack addict and he’d been in that house getting high. I can’t believe I have had the guts to write this down. My mom would be proud — she has encouraged me to do this for years. My father has been in out and jail since that day the police showed up at our house. My father and are not in touch but once in a while when I am home we bump in to each other. Sometimes when I drive through neighborhoods near campus I get chills when I see a white house with zombies staggering on the porch. I park my car and walk to my classroom building. I am a senior in college and plan to go to graduate school in public administration. With support from my mom, my sisters, and God, I will go farther than I could ever dream.

BENNETT CONTINUED FROM PAGE 1 “What’s wrong with Central, Mom?” “It is in Durham for one, it’s all black, and it has a bad reputation. You don’t belong there — you are too bright. Just go to N.C. State for a semester,” she said. “Besides that,” she went on, “you aren’t black. What do you think, if you go to a black school suddenly blacks will accept you? Is this about what happened in Highland Park?” My mother and I had moved to Highland Park, N.J., a predominantly Jewish town with a large population of black people, from a predominantly white neighborhood in Edison, N.J., when I was 12 years old. Until then, I hadn’t been exposed to many black people. It was a nightmare. I was teased and taunted, called “half-breed,” “sell-out,” “zebra,” “Oreo” and “high-yellow bitch,” and was accused of talking and dressing “like a white girl” by most of the black kids at school. One group of black girls thought it great fun to beat the crap out of me practically every day. They would lie in wait for me after school and kick me, scratch me, pull my hair and punch me. I knew better than to fight back; I was always outnumbered. It got so bad that I would skip school and hide in the woods or in town because I was so terrified of being assaulted and so miserable at not fitting in. I became ashamed that my mother was white. I would dread school events, or when my mother would have to come speak to the principal about my assaults, because that just gave the kids, especially those girls, more ammunition to use against me and my “white-ass mother.” This conversation with my mother brought all of those memories back with a vengeance. I felt that familiar elevator sensation in my stomach – the one I always got when conversations with my mother turned to race, and in particular to Highland Park, where my race became the ultimate stumbling block between us. My mother couldn’t get over those times when we walked together, and I would make sure there was a wide enough gap

I was ... called “half-breed,” “sellout,” “Zebra,” “Oreo” and “high-yellow bitch” and was accused of talking and dressing “like a white girl” ...

Kristiana Bennett BRYSON POPE/Echo Staff Photographer

between us that people wouldn’t think we were together. I started using slang and dressing in “hip-hop gear” to fit in. I would sneer at her and say, “It’s a black thing, Mom, you wouldn’t understand,” when she asked me what was wrong with me. She couldn’t get over how I started reading about how whites oppressed blacks for so long and the anger it sparked in me, or how even though I had been raised in a white family, the world still perceived me as black. Back to my 27-year-old self: I struggled to explain myself yet again. This disconnection between my mother and me about my ambigu-

ous race always made me feel desperate. My mother was my lifeline, touchstone and closest friend. My desperation, induced by the fear of alienating her, caused my inarticulation. “No, this isn’t about Highland Park, Mom, it’s about me,” I said. “No it’s not! This is still about what happened in that goddamn town,” my mother shouted. “You need to get over it already — you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.” A tear slid down my face as I gave up trying to explain. She would never understand what it was like to be me, or why I felt that I should go to a historically black university, even if just for one

semester. I felt torn about where I belonged. I wanted to see what it would feel like not to have to fight being racially categorized. My mother had always drilled into my head that I should not accept the label of “black” and I had, but at Central, that wouldn’t be necessary. I could be just another black girl. In the United States, people of mixed heritage have traditionally been pigeonholed into a single racial category or identity. Gradually, that’s been changing. Advocacy groups fighting the “check one only” classification of race began to appear in the late 80s and 90s; in the 2000 census, Americans could choose to check more than one race. In 2004, Senator Barak Obama referred overtly to his multiracial identity in his address at the Democratic National Convention, showing a shift in the acceptability of multiracial identity. According to the American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy’s website (aamft.org), some 7 million people in the U.S. consider themselves “mixed race.” AAMFIT estimates that by 2050, America’s mixed-race population will increase to 21 percent. However, the site said, despite these gradual changes, multiracial and biracial individuals and families are still marginalized and face specific problems that are “poorly understood by professionals, coworkers, friends, and extended family.” These problems include racial definition, parental conflicts regarding race, racial devaluation, aversion to discussions regarding race by people around them, and rejection by friends or peers based on multiracial or biracial status. I dealt with all these issues and more. I get anxious when I have to indicate my race on forms.

I always end up checking white, black, Native American and Hispanic; my grandfather is Cherokee and black and my grandmother is Puerto Rican. I had to deal with white family members making racially offensive comments like “blacks are so lazy,” or “blacks and Hispanics are so violent.” They sometimes used racist terms like “nigger,” “spic” and, for Arabs, “sand niggers” in my presence as if these names were okay because I was “one of them.” In their minds, their words didn’t apply to me. When I expressed how offensive I found those comments or terms, I was told to “Stop being so sensitive.” Or the subject of race would be avoided in such an obvious manner that the tension made me wish I had remained silent. No one in my house spoke about the Rodney King debacle in my presence, though we often talked about the news at dinner. My sister, who is white and who I once worshiped, called me a “nigger” once. We rarely talk anymore. A black man I was involved with told me matter-of-factly that I was “really a white girl” because I look at the world from a “white perspective.” Whatever that means. I’ve had to listen to anti-white rhetoric from Central professors, like, “White people don’t care about us and whether or not we fail,” and to comments from my mother like, “Black people are too lazy and too willing to accept handouts to really make any headway as a group, unlike the Jews.” Two years after that painful conversation with my mother, I have no regrets about my decision to stay at N.C. Central. My mother still doesn’t completely understand why I stayed here, but she at least accepts it. As for me, I embrace my differences and all that I am. I am glad to be “other.”

Feature

Campus Echo WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2007

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STUMBLING ONTO A NEW PATH A father’s brutality, a son’s anger and the will to succeed BY DAVID FOWLES ooking at me, you might wonder, who’s the big clumsy guy who’s always giggling about something? Where did he come from? I was at odds with myself when I pondered telling this story. How will my peers perceive me if they know my story? What will people think if they knew I dropped out of high school at 16 and had served time in prison? Would they judge me? Or would they overlook my dreadful past? My father, an illegal immigrant from Clarendon, Jamaica, came from the tenacious agony of poverty. Growing up, I told myself that this was the root of his fury, but now I believe that I was looking for some reason he hated us so damn much. There were times when the mere sight of me would anger him. The beatings, unmerciful and acutely painful, served as a form of Novocain, numbing every ounce of dignity encapsulated within both of us. Knocked on the floor, kicked by the door, I felt as though it was somehow my fault. I can’t take no more, I thought. He called my mother a whore. Every time I was punished I’d think, “What’d I do now?” What was I doing wrong? I’d stop doing it if I knew what, or if, or how? To listen helplessly as my mother was beaten and raped. This, I believe, is where the fire started. My father taught me how to hate. When he was killed in a drug deal, I didn’t care — I think. If asked whether I missed him, I’d have to answer, “yes.” Who was I, anyway? Maybe it was my fault. At any rate, from this point on I

Whenever I thought about what had happened in my life, I would get angry.

David Fowles SEBASTIAN FRANCES/Echo Staff Photographer

would never allow anyone to dictate my path or decisions. From this moment on I would be the leader of my own destiny. Why, though, could I not stop the tears, dammit? When I was 16 we moved from New York to North Carolina and I relocated to a new place in my mind, avoiding crowds whenever possible. I didn’t want to get close to anybody and I didn’t want anyone close to me. From the start I had problems in North Carolina. I didn’t feel that my mother could teach me how to be a man, so I ventured forth on my own. School wasn’t appealing,

and I stopped going. I hated seeing the students’ vibrant faces in the morning. One could see all the care that had gone into their appearance. Hell, it was a struggle for me to even get there. Some mornings, I didn’t even want to wake up. What was the point? I was still trying to work out my purpose for living. I didn’t have time for mathematical equations. I wasn’t ready to answer questions about the future. Whenever I thought about what had happened in my life, I would get angry. I can devise an elaborate reason for my decision to quit school, but the truth is

I just didn’t want to face the world anymore. I am 6 years old. “Mommy, Mommy look at what I did in school today!” “What in the hell is it, boy? Damn!” This message played over and over in my head. My mother’s words to me at 6 years should have rolled off my back. The world was unforgiving and I had to learn to be the same. By this time I didn’t care; my path was decided — so I thought. I would do everything in my power not only to survive but to be successful at it. Drugs would be my first-class ticket. I began selling marijuana. My initial interest was

fast money. Mother would leave for work at 11 o’clock and return at nine in the morning. Perfect. I could stay out all night and leave in the morning as if I were going to school or work. In four years I was hustling drugs and living on the streets of Chapel Hill. I eventually was arrested for assaulting a police officer and spent several months in jail. When I got out, I was back on the streets. One day, a group of UNC students came to the InterFaith Council shelter in Chapel Hill to offer a class in creative writing. As a novelty, I participated. What could it hurt? By the end of the six-month course I had gained new friends and found a love I never knew: writing, writing, writing. For once in my life I had a “thing” — something I liked and something I was good at. It was a place I could go when I had no place to go. I could discuss my feelings and emotions whenever it was convenient, and without judgment. This was when I decided to stop being a victim. This time, I was ready to make a positive transition. My first step was to enroll in Durham Technical Community College’s continuing education program. The feeling of accomplishment I felt was amazing. It was as if I had been born again. After two years I earned my high school diploma. I was so elated that I just sat on the floor of my apartment. For the average person, having a diploma and a place to live might not mean much, but for me it was a milestone. Just two years before, I

was living in a homeless shelter. Now I was leasing my own apartment and was a high school graduate. Although I never got to hear my father utter the words, I had proven to myself that I wasn’t worthless. I was an individual with promise, someone who could climb mountains if he chose. In 2003 I received an incentive scholarship to pay for my first two years of college. I had always dreamed of college but never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would be granted the opportunity to attend. The first day I sat in a college classroom was a monumental experience. I looked around, watching, waiting and wondering what the professor would say next. Five semesters and 64 credit hours later, I earned my associate of arts degree and attended my very first graduation ceremony. I applied to N.C. Central University; three weeks later I received a letter of acceptance. This was another defining moment. I would not allow anything to stand in the way of my success. I was not a criminal, a convict or a victim — I was a respectable individual. Today I am in the throes of my last semester at N.C. Central and it has been a great experience. I wish I had applied myself more or pushed myself harder at times, but I made it. Sometimes I catch myself staring at my professors — I admire them so. They helped me and countless others achieve our dreams and for this I will forever be grateful.

RICHARDSON CONTINUED FROM PAGE 1 There could be no more pizza, fries, chicken nuggets or chips — by now, food was the devil and I had become a complete saint.

chips — by now, food was the devil and I had become a complete saint. Now that I wasn’t eating, the days got longer and my good nights of sleep shorter. Along with my weight, the girl I knew was fading away. I was getting away with murder — of myself. My mom mentioned that her diet pills were getting low, but I just denied taking them and she let it go. After two weeks I couldn’t deal with the pain anymore. The constant feeling of being empty and lightheaded was overwhelming. My peers knew what I was going through, but to them there was nothing wrong with killing myself to be what society called perfect. They were the ones giving me the worst — but what I thought was the best — advice. I asked my friend Amy what to do if I got hungry. She explained to me that I could eat as much as I wanted as long as I purged afterwards. At first the idea made me sick to my stomach. Yeah, I had seen the purge stories on the occasional Lifetime movie, but I thought purging was disgusting and definitely not me. Amy laughed at me and said, “If that’s what you

want then that’s what you have to do.” That sentence became my motto. Back at home everyone was still clueless as to what was really going on with me. My mom told me that I looked good, that I “keep up the good work.” Two more weeks went by and I became accustomed to my routine: wake up, run non-stop, do an hour of taebo, take a shower, analyze every inch of my body, cry for 15 minutes, skip breakfast. One day at lunch I was so hungry that my friend Nicole offered me a bite of her pizza. She went to the restroom, and when she returned I had scarfed down the entire slice. I figured that since I had already eaten the pizza, why stop there? Since my mom had taken her diet pills out of the kitchen I no longer had an appetite suppressant. So when I got hungry, I couldn’t do anything but eat. At that one sitting I ate two slices of grease-drenched cheese pizza and an entire box of fries. Leaving the cafeteria, I thought about what I had done and couldn’t handle the fact that I had put all that junk into my body.

I was disgusted. Then I remembered Amy’s advice. The next thing I knew my head was over the toilet and out came everything I had eaten. What I didn’t realize was that once I started purging, I couldn’t stop. After a week I had become a pro. I learned every trick of the trade: First, never throw up liquids with fewer than 200 calories; that’s what kept you from getting dizzy. This left only natural juices, unsweetened teas and water. Second, always drink first, never during. This get you full of liquids so you binge less. When you purge, use a toothbrush or something long. The acid from your stomach can scar your knuckles. Wear a retainer to protect your teeth from stomach acid. Purging had become second nature to me and I saw no reason to stop. It was the perfect solution — I could eat anything I wanted in public, then go to the bathroom and purge. And in case there was no bathroom around, I kept grocery bags in the car and shopping bags in my closet. Brilliant, I thought. I got away with murder for three months or so. It was one little Sunday dinner

at my grandparents’ house that gave me away. My grandmother had cooked all my favorite dishes: roasted corn loaded with garlic and butter, turkey with pepper gravy, my favorite pepper greens, and more. I ate so much that my grandparents asked my dad if he had been feeding me. Little did they know it would all soon be thrown up. I didn’t run the water like I usually do because there was a lot of noise in the house. But my cousin was standing outside the bathroom and he heard everything. There was dead silence when I came out. Everyone looked as if they had seen a ghost. My grandmother could tell that my head had just been over the toilet — she said all the color was out of my face. I felt horrible and guilty. For the rest of the day, my family called me Bulimic Betty. They asked me to promise not to do it again. My father threatened to punish me if I ever did it again. From then on, my mom kept a good eye on me. I had to sit at the table for 30 minutes to wait for my food to digest. I just sat there and cried, “Why are you doing this to me?”

Chasity Richardson BRYSON POPE/Echo Staff Photographer

My mom cried with me. She was hurting too. During my yearly physical, the doctor looked at my throat and said, “If this continues, you won’t make it to prom.” I was put on vitamin supplements and my mother monitored my diet carefully. Mentally, I will never be

cured. Today the thought of purging is always in the back of my mind, but I count to ten and tell myself, I’m okay, I am okay. When I look in the mirror, I will never see perfection. I’ve learned to live with that — but most importantly, I’ve learned to love myself.

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HANDS OFF MY DIARY A father sets the tone for future intimate relationships BY KESHA LEACH er father is the first man a young woman has a relationship with, the first she loves. He is the protector — but could he shield his daughter too much? According to Dr. Jane’s Notebook (dr-jane.com), when fathers exercise absolute authority, daughters quickly learn to rebel. If a father is overly critical and all-powerful, men become the enemy. If a father is fair and listens to his daughter’s thoughts, she will gain selfconfidence and pride in her opinions. Growing up, I sometimes felt uncomfortable talking to my parents about relationships, how I felt about myself — just day-to-day things that went on at school. So in middle school I started keeping a diary. I had started looking at boys, and would write down my latest crush. At first I was a little afraid to write down how I felt, but I was keeping things bottled up inside. There had to be an outlet, a positive one. So I would date the entry and let my feelings flow. A guy I liked in middle school played basketball at the park across from my house. I’d say I was going to the park, and I’d meet him there. We’d flirt around — nothing serious — and I’d go home before dark. Boys weren’t supposed to call my house, but they’d call anyway, and hang up if they heard my dad’s voice. I tried to pick up the phone first. I hid my diary, but I’d come home from school and see things out of place in

I sat there while my dad read my diary to my mother. She had tears in her eyes.

my room. So I changed the hiding place every day. It didn’t click at first that somebody was reading my diary and putting it back. I thought it was all in my mind. One day, my dad called my neighbor’s house and told me to come home. He never made me come home. When I walked in the house and went to my parent’s room, my dad told me to go get my diary. So many thoughts raced through my mind. I thought of the first page I had written. I couldn’t remember what was on the page — my thoughts blurred. There were things in there I wouldn’t want anyone to read. Then it hit me – he’d been reading my diary the whole time. What triggered him to make me bring it to him this time? My first thought was to tear out some of the pages. But by the time I got my hand on the pages the sound of my dad’s voice startled me. So I walked back downstairs and into the kitchen. My mom looked on the verge of crying. My dad opened my diary and started reading out loud. “I go over to my friends house to talk to boys,” he read. I started crying, I was so embarrassed. There were some harsh things in there about my parents also. Things about my complicated relationship with my dad. How I couldn’t talk to guys on the phone, how he listened in on my phone

conversations. About how my parents had never sat down and had the “talk” with me. I had things in there like, “I wish my parents would get a divorce” and, “I hate my dad.” I wrote about how trapped I felt when all my friends were going to the movies and to the Skating Ranch and I couldn’t. If I asked, I’d get a 30-minute lecture and interrogated for 30 more. After all that, I wouldn’t even want to go. I could see my dad being that way if I had been a problem child, but I was good for the most part — I went to school and came home. I was even on the honor roll. I sat there while my dad read my diary to my mother. She had tears in her eyes. Just knowing I was hurting my mother made me feel terrible. I didn’t know what to do. I knew my parents would look at me differently after this. I think this was a turning point for all of us. I wish I could have approached my dad about certain things without him blowing it out of proportion. When we argued I would go to my room and cry. It got to the point where I would cry every night. He never apologized, even to this day. So I guess I turned to guys for comfort. Not sexually, but emotionally. I had my first real relationship when I came to college. I felt he did more for me than my dad had ever done. He was there for me

Kesha Leach BRYSON POPE/Echo Staff Photographer

financially and when I needed someone to talk to. He was there emotionally. This also led to a downfall. I had so many emotions wrapped up in him that when we broke up, I felt like I was nothing. I have always wondered

why my relationships with guys have been so terrible. Now I can see that it all starts with the guy who loved me first — my father. This might sound crazy at least he was in my life. Girls usually feel this way when they don’t have a

father. Our relationship has never really gotten better. I still feel I have to hide things from him. Even though I am grown, I still long for that relationship; but I guess it is never too late.

MORMAN CONTINUED FROM PAGE 1 I was tired of the looks people gave me in the grocery stores, and in every public place, so I went into a shell of fear and insecurity.

Michael Morman BRYSON POPE/Echo Staff Photographer

There are several theories for why keloids form. About.com lists these: infection at a wound site, repeated trauma to one area, skin tension, a foreign body in a wound, or “a deficiency or an excess in melanocyte hormone, decreased percentages of mature collagen and increased soluble collagen, or that very small blood vessels get blocked and the resulting lack of oxygen contribute to keloid formation.” Of course I wasn’t always stressed about the keloid. However, from the first grade to the fifth I felt restless. I used to imagine how people would treat me if I didn’t have a keloid, espe-

cially the girls. I was tired of the looks people gave me in the grocery stores, and in every public place, so I went into a shell of fear and insecurity. I was afraid to initiate a friendship — I always waited to see how people responded to me first. I had a humongous crush on the prettiest girl I had laid my eyes on. But I was too afraid to write the famous “check yes if you like me” letter to her. Finally, in the summer of 1994, my parents decided to have something done. The plan was that by the beginning of the fifth grade I would have my keloid surgically

removed. My hopes ran high — I thought my dreams would come true if I had the operation. The morning of the surgery, I was afraid of going under the knife, but excited about how I would look afterward. This would be a turning point of my life, I thought. It would mean no more awkward stares, finger pointing or whispering giggles. Awaking from the anesthesia, I touched the right side of my face with my hand and felt the bandage. Yes! I was excited to feel that side of my face was flat. A couple of weeks later it was time to remove the bandage and

the stitches, and the mixture of excitement and fear returned. As I got up from the table, the doctor gave me the mirror. I saw a long thin scar at the site of the incision. “I can live with that,” I told myself. After everything was finished and my parents got a huge bill, I felt a surge of self-confidence. I didn’t feel like a leper, at least for that short time. As the years went on, I noticed the thin scar begin to grow and spread. Yes, into another keloid. I was not the only one who noticed its change. One of my closest friends said, “Man, it’s worse now than it was before you had surgery!” I wanted to knock the spit out of him; his statement made me think about how others would react to me. Later I learned that no treatment for keloids is 100 percent effective. About.com reports that surgical treatment of keloid scars is only 50 percent effective, and MedicineNet.com warns that this method is risky, because “cutting a keloid can trigger the formation of a similar or even larger keloid.” While non-surgical methods such as cortisone or interferon therapy are effective, they have side effects: a reddening and other changes in in the skin for the former, and depression and flu-like symptoms for the latter. Combined treatments, such as surgical removal followed by steroid injections, have a recurrence rate of 50 percent to 70 percent, according to About.com. My first reaction to the regrowth of the keloid was disappointment. It wasn’t fair. In junior

high school, when most boys experience insecurity about acne, I had this big lump of skin protruding from my face. Insecurity was beating me down. There were times when I didn’t even want to look in the mirror. When I suspected that someone was gazing at me, I propped up the right side of my face with my hand to cover the scar. And please don’t mention class photo day! In the tenth grade I reached a major turning point. Looking through my father’s extensive library, I came across a book by T.D. Jakes called “So You Call Yourself a Man?” The book addressed issues that men face at all ages. One chapter caught my attention: “Stop Cutting Yourself Down!!” I pondered that statement. Jakes related the Biblical story of Jesus healing a lunatic man. The scriptures say that the man had been cutting himself with stones. Jakes said that a lot of men allow life to pressure them to the point that they lose the will to love and accept themselves. I found myself in that chapter. I had allowed a few people’s reaction to my keloid to dictate how I felt about myself. That’s when I realized there’s more to me than the scar. I was growing into an intelligent, handsome and strong young man. Since that time, I’ve learned to be understanding of people’s reaction to the keloid. Things that are different catch people’s attention and I have a responsibility to respond to that attention positively. I have committed to building myself up instead of cutting myself down.

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PARENTS, DO NO HARM At 12 years old I was raising my baby sister BY JIMMY VINCENT hen I was a kid, the eighth and the twenty-third were my two favorite days of the month. Those were the days when the welfare check and food stamps came in. And if I needed some money, I’d better get it then or I wouldn’t get it at all. My mother was on drugs and my father was in jail. At the age of 12 I pretty much had to raise myself and my younger sister J’Cynda, who was then 3. If my mother decided not to come home for the night, I had to feed J’Cynda and get her ready for school. I had to answer her questions about where mommy was or why she was in the house alone. I had to stop being an older brother and become a parent. I didn’t have a model of how to do that, but somehow I managed. Though I always had plenty to eat, I never had the other things: new clothes, updated toys, or money in my pockets. Christmas was always the worst. My birthday is Christmas Eve, so you would think I’d get more gifts. In fact, I got fewer. Often I’d go Christmas shopping with my mother to purchase the gifts I wanted. But Christmas morning, nothing I had picked out was

Even if I hid the money in a sock drawer or in a box in the closet, I would never see it again. At times I believed there was a hidden camera in my room.

under the tree. My mother always returned these gifts so she could do what she wanted with the money. Usually there was just a bunch of bullshit gifts — mainly puzzles and books — from Globe Santa, an organization that gave away toys to poor families. When I was in middle school, the money I got from relatives or from doing odd jobs at the local barbershop or at my uncle’s video store would always come up missing. Even if I hid the money in a sock drawer or in a box in the closet, I would never see it again. At times I believed there was a hidden camera in my room. When my cousins stayed the weekend, their money or other items would be missing too. I never wanted people to come over. As a child, I was always ashamed of my situation. I never talked about it. The rest of the family knew what was going on, but never talked about it either. I guess we wanted to pretend that everything was perfect. As for my father, I saw him a couple of times while he was in jail, but we didn’t

establish a real relationship until he got out when I was in the fifth grade. (To this day, I still don’t know why he was sent away.) Even now, 11 years later, I try to avoid conversations with him as much as possible. He wasn’t there when I needed him as a child, so I don’t need him here now. Watching television with my mother or helping her cook, I saw her sweet side. But as soon as it was time for her to feed her habit, I became the target of her physical and verbal abuse. This caused me to lash out. I would go to school, but I wouldn’t do my work. I would interrupt classes and often got suspended. If I needed something and didn’t have money for it, I would steal it. I fought, and didn’t care who I hurt. I was hurt and I wanted everyone else to hurt. From middle school to high school, I was constantly in trouble. My grandmother, with whom I lived from the eighth grade on, got tired of going up to the school. She told me if I didn’t shape up, I’d end up like the other dummies on the street. When I looked at those

guys, I saw that that wasn’t the life for me. I didn’t belong out there. I don’t know how, but my senses came to me. I started hanging out with a new crowd, the ones who actually cared about their future. I started doing my schoolwork and even enrolled in AP classes. I got a part-time job at Old Navy. My junior year, I enrolled in a journalism class, where I discovered my passion for writing. I had always liked writing, but I’d been too scared to write down my true feelings. But in journalism class, I would write and write and write. The summer before my senior year I enrolled in a journalism camp for minorities, and that fall I became editor-in-chief of my high school newspaper, The Burke Banner. For once in my life, I thought about college. One thing I knew for sure: I was going as far away from Boston as I could. I knew I’d be running away from my problems, but that’s what I wanted to do.

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Jimmy Vincent BRYSON POPE/Echo Staff Photographer

A GAME, A GUN, A LIFE LOST The death of my best friend inspired me to drop my foolishness BY TORRY BAILEY still remember the first time we met. It was third-grade lunch and a short kid wearing a Megatron Transformer shirt came over to my table. I was new to the school and he was the first to introduce himself: “Hi, my name is Efland — Do you like Transformers?” Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed that this kid would have such a profound impact on my life. We had a lot in common. We both lived in single-parent homes in rough neighborhoods, and we both loved dancing and music. I’d go see him dance at parties. Man, he was good. I could never dance like that, but he showed me moves he knew I could do. We were like brothers. You saw “Elf ” and you knew I wasn’t far behind. The 90s were a good time and the “deadly duo” added a few more members — we became a posse. This band of brothers from different mothers all took the same oath, a code of the streets: First, you watch my back, I watch yours; second, money is necessary; third, be the best of the worst. It’s crazy, but it seems everyone is afraid of a young black male who doesn’t give a damn. We went from wanting to dance to wanting to kill in the blink of an eye. We used music to fuel our rage over misunderstandings and hardships. Not knowing what we were going to eat or what was going to happen on any given day — even, “Am I going to get shot today?” can really have an effect on rational thought. A survival instinct kicks in and you become an animal with no respect for yourself or others. I still don’t know why we did what we did. Nonetheless, these decisions have molded the

man I am now. But if I could have done it different … As the world began to change, so did we. With no hopes of achieving the mythical American dream, we became America’s nightmare, with the philosophy of survival of the fittest. We would terrorize everyone we came in contact with and no one was safe. Everywhere we went, we would do the same thing … show up, act a fool, shoot up the place (maybe just shoot in the air) and then ride off. I can guarantee you that guns were involved in many instances. I cannot recall knowing anyone in my neighborhood who didn’t have a gun. Where I lived, shootings were the norm and only an idiot would be caught without a gun. Just to give you a picture, in my neighborhood, one day I was standing on the porch talking to my homey and a car with dark tinted windows drove by. To the average person, no big deal … until we saw fire come from the back window. We ducked. Overhead, bullets flew like it was a shootout on a battlefield. When things like this happen on the regular, your mentality is going to change. White, black, Mexican, old and young, women, children … no one was safe. We struck fear into everyone in our path. It was a road to self-destruction and I was speeding to meet death faceto-face. I’m not proud to say I owned my first gun at 15, when I was still in school. Now I look back and think of myself, underage, smoking cigarettes and surrounded by drug-selling … what a life. “No more school for me,” was my motto by the time I reached high school. School just couldn’t be as important as making money. Education was a hurdle you had to jump if you wanted to live in this society,

I didn’t know where I was going until that day the world paused for no more than a second.

Torry Bailey SEBASTIAN FRANCES/Echo Staff Photographer

which I didn’t. I was a loner, a misunderstood black rebel, and so were Elf and the posse. So every chance we got to rebel, we did. We just had no sense of repercussion. I didn’t know we’d have to pay for our actions one day. We used to play a game called “gotcha.” You’d catch

your opponent with his guard down, or slippin’, and you’d pull out your unloaded gun and pull the trigger and say “gotcha” when it clicked. Elf ’s girlfriend would see us play this modern-day Russian roulette with our life and ask, “Why?” Today I can give you a million reasons why life is

precious. Back then, I couldn’t tell you why one day was worth living. Then there was that day. Any other day I would have skipped school to meet up with the fellas. But that day I decided to go to school and try to complete my senior year. I wasn’t a failure in class; it’s just that where I lived it wasn’t cool to show you were book-smart. Someone might take an intelligent comment as an insult and shoot you faster than if you’d scuffed their new shoes. So I went to school that day. One of my posse got assigned after-school detention and I waited for him. We called Elf to come get us. His girlfriend answered. “Elf ’s been shot!” There was an eerie silence. I didn’t know what to say or do. Then I got the whole story. Earlier that day Elf and a mutual friend had gotten into a heated argument with someone who had threatened to come back and shoot them. So they decided to load up their guns in case he came back. The guy never came back. They forgot to unload the guns. I can’t say who started the game of “gotcha.” But then my friend caught Elf slippin’. One-shot, close-range, to the head. When I got back to the neighborhood, the police were everywhere. Elf ’s girlfriend was crying. My friend was in the back seat of a police cruiser, arrested for manslaughter. That evening, I went to the hospital to see Elf. His mom and little broth-

er were there, and I asked if I could see him but he couldn’t have visitors. I thought, no problem, he’s going to be fine and I’ll see him later. I never spoke to him again. The next time I saw Elf, he was lying in a coffin and I was in a nightmare. The walk down that church aisle was the longest I ever took in my life. It seemed like every step I took, the casket would get farther away. When I finally made it to the coffin, I could not believe it. Elf was dead. It was unreal. I could barely control myself. For a split second he looked like normal — then I saw that his head was twice the size it was when he was alive. The swelling to his brain had killed him. I stared at this corpse that used to be my best friend and didn’t know what to do or where to go. Elf was confident in whatever he did. He never turned his back on his friends. He was always there — until now. I didn’t know where I was going until that day the world paused for no more than a second. I asked myself, what will the future hold if I keep going at this rate? I had never been afraid to die but maybe I was scared to live. I didn’t want to end up in a coffin. That’s when I decided to drop the foolishness and head back to school. This was an easy decision — I had never failed in school, I just hadn’t gone consistently. I was, as my mom says, “sleepwalking in the daytime.”

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ONE DAY MY FEET WENT NUMB My daily struggle living with type II diabetes BY AMANDA POOLE ettuccine Alfredo has become my enemy. We are in an ongoing battle over territory and power. With food, my territory is not my own nor do I always have power over the effects. When I was 16, an endocrinologist, a doctor who studies hormones, told me I was insulin resistant. Insulin resistance? What does this mean? I did as much research and asked as many questions as possible. Insulin resistance means that my body does not use insulin effectively. My doctor discovered this when he found that I had high levels of insulin but also high levels of glucose. My body did not know how to effectively retain nutrients and rid itself of the by-products of food. My doctor told me that if I did not lower my intake of carbohydrates, especially those high in fat, I would become type II diabetic at an earlier age. My family has a long history of diabetes. My cousin Jocelyn, four years older than me, was diagnosed with type I at age 4. I remember going to Decatur, Georgia every summer to see Jocelyn and her sister Chelsea. I remember Jocelyn injecting her own insulin with a needle at age 10.

My aunt would make sure everything we ate, e.g., pancakes with syrup, had a “diet” alternative for Jocelyn. Then there were her mood swings, which I thought came because of her period. But it never occurred to me that Jocelyn experienced ups and downs in her moods because of the drastic ups and downs in her body. In their 40s, both my parents were diagnosed with the disease. I knew my mom had had it during her pregnancy with my little sister, but I never knew it could recur. After my insulin resistance diagnosis, I attempted to change my eating habits. I tried the Atkins diet, sugarfree this, sugar-free that, no sweets. Then came my love for Diet Coke. Then there were the bouts with extreme exhaustion. I was always tired, no matter how much sleep I had gotten the night before. I also would suffer from excessive thirst, never feeling quenched. The tell-tale sign for my mother came when I informed her that my hands and feet were numb and tingling uncontrollably. She decided it was time to visit the doctor. Shortly after a significant weight loss in late 2006, I was diagnosed with full-

blown Type II diabetes. I had just began to take Metformin, a common diabetes medication and thought I could stand clear of the thought of it. It found me. Even with medication, my blood sugar level is never constant and quite bi-polar. I can clearly feel the distinct difference in my body when I have become “low.” I become weak, low in energy, and began to tremble. At times like this, I have to have a snack on hand, high in sugar and carbs, to neutralize these levels. Then are those times I have just had a heavy meal with pasta or bread. The effects are instant — irritability and fatigue soon ensue. In the past, I did not normally eat breakfast. Now, daily, I have to make sure I fit in time for a trail mix bar or a banana. This small addition jump-starts my metabolism but also allows my blood sugar to level out and not drop significantly. I must carry snacks at all times. Any time my blood sugar drops, I need a snack high in sugar or carbohydrates. Little snacks such as chips, Goldfish, and juice are important. It’s a constant balancing act. While throughout the day I’m trying to avoid extremely low levels, at meal time I

fear increased levels. My infatuation with Fettuccine Alfredo and French fries must be set aside for mixed greens and grilled chicken. “Anything white,” as my mother says, could result in high blood sugar and then exhaustion. That means even those things considered healthy, like white rice, pasta, potatoes and bread, are my enemies. Ironically, these are my favorites; I tend to give in, in moderation. I am a chocolate-lover, but dessert is almost out of the question. There are sugar-free alternatives but I find them to taste 10 times as sweet with their artificial sweeteners. And I must not forget my medicine: two horse-sized pills to be taken at dinnertime. In laymen’s terms, the Metformin makes sure my blood sugar does not fluctuate drastically. I also am more susceptible to weight gain than most. My metabolism has plummeted because my body can’t break down food properly, resulting in those carbs quickly adding on pounds. It is a cycle. My body lacks a high metabolism, so I’m sometimes too tired to exercise, resulting in the packing on of more weight and lowering of my metabolism even more. While very busy as a col-

Amanda Poole BRYSON POPE/Echo Staff Photographer

lege student and often exhausted, I have made small changes to my lifestyle, bit by bit. Unlike those with type I, my body does manufacture some insulin. The Metformin, in increased doses, processes my insulin more efficiently. While I do not have to inject myself with needles, I occasionally have to prick my finger to check my blood sugar. This lets me monitor my levels and figure out

WHEN THE CELLS GET STUCK, THE PAIN SETS IN Sickle cell anemia attacks the body, not the spirit BY LA-TASHA DAVIS fter four hours of driving, we finally made it to South Carolina. It was the weekend of my best friend’s birthday and I was only in town for one night. We attended a football game and tailgated for hours afterward. The evening flew by — I hated to see the night end. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in a hospital bed. I glance around the allwhite room. It all seems surreal. After we’d partied all we could, I’d hit the sack; we had a long drive ahead. At some point in the night, I’d awakened in excruciating pain. Though it’s happened many times, this time was unexpected; I hadn’t been sick in almost two years. ... A sharp pain in my side releases me from my trance. My hands search for what I call “my peace.” The doctors call it a PCP pump; at the push of a button, morphine flows into my body through an IV. It’ll probably only take the edge off the pain. If I’m lucky, it’ll put me to sleep. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I try to recreate my evening. What triggered my crisis? Having dealt with this disease for nearly two decades, I understand that anything from stress to an abrupt change in the weather can trigger a small clot, and the smallest clot can become the most severe crisis. I was diagnosed with sickle cell anemia at 8 months old. Since then, I’ve been hospitalized nearly 20 times for sickle-cell-related

pain. Sickle cell anemia is a genetic disorder that causes red blood cells to become abnormally shaped. These cells can get stuck in blood vessels and form clots. Because the circulation is obstructed, mindnumbing pain can occur in and around these sites. For me, the pain usually flares up in my back. Growing up with sickle cell was a challenge, to say the least. I wasn’t allowed to engage in sports until high school, for fear that I might overexert myself and go into crisis. I was rarely allowed to spend the night away from home, for fear that I might wake up in the night and need medical attention. Each person coping with the disease has his or her own “triggers” and must learn them. Something as simple as an abrupt change in the weather can lead to an extended hospital stay. On the other hand, a long time might pass with no sickle cell activity at all. I’ve always been determined to live a normal life. Most people don’t even know what sickle cell anemia is, let alone what it entails. On a chilly November morning in third grade, I was sitting in homeroom. Over the intercom, the office secretary cleared her throat and asked us to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance. I rose, put my right hand over my chest — and then it happened. Pain shot across my back with an intensity that left me crumpled on the floor behind my desk. No one seemed to take the situation seriously. The

what foods cause what changes in my body. Sometimes there is a real conflict, like when I crave Oreo cheesecake. I have always loved food and sometimes this presents some real issues in terms of willpower. But then I think of the long, successful life I hope to lead. And I think: What is more important? One moment of pleasure or a lifetime of pain?

BAILEY CONTINUED FROM PAGE 5 You don’t know how to live until you feel you may die. When I was with my posse, I wasn’t afraid to die. Maybe that was just the ignorance or despair of poverty talking, but I know now how precious life is. Graduating from college is a dream I am living not just for myself but also for Elf. His death gave me a second chance, and he will never know how much I love him for it. If it weren’t for this tragedy turning me around I wouldn’t have my wife and two beautiful children. And I wouldn’t be telling this story. So now I don’t just live, I am alive. When times get rough, I remember the thirdgrader with the Transformer shirt. And I wish he could know how he transformed my life.

VINCENT CONTINUED FROM PAGE 5

La-Tasha Davis BRYSON POPE/Echo Staff Photographer

few students who saw me fall returned their attention to the front of the room and continued the Pledge of Allegiance. One of my best friends had been watching from the back of the classroom. “You feelin’ okay? You want me to go get the teacher?” She was near tears. “Mmmhmm,” I managed to grunt. When my friend returned with the teacher, the other students looked on, confused. They’d heard I’d been sick before but had never seen it first-hand. “What seems to be the problem, La-Tasha?” my teacher asked.

“I need to go home,” I squeaked through my tears. “You were fine a minute ago. Don’t waste my time,” she said. “We begin our standardized testing today and you just conveniently get sick? You’re using your sickness as an excuse to get out of work and it’s not appreciated.” I’d never heard such crap in all my life. I had never once used my illness to get out of doing work. I got up, asked my friend to help me to the nurse, and left without my teacher’s consent. That crisis landed me in the hospital for 11 days. As I’d missed so many days of regular school, I was home-

schooled until spring. Eventually, I decided that being angry was not the solution, but that educating those ignorant to the disease was. In 1994, I became the South Carolina Sickle Cell Poster Child, using my position to spread awareness. Twice a year, I lecture at a South Carolina college to medical professionals about sickle cell anemia’s effect on the lives of carriers and those around them. I’ve learned to deal with the disease and I’m not ashamed — nor I do expect others to pity me. I still lead the life of any 20-year-old college student — overworked and in debt.

Who’d have thought I’d end up at NCCU? Not me. From my junior year of high school on, I had all the new clothes I wanted. I worked non-stop in the summer, so I had money. I won the yearbook’s best-dressed award. And I had friends who cared about me. But I felt empty. And I still do. I still resent my mother. On the phone, when she says, “I love you,” I hang up. As far as I know, she is clean now, but I just can’t forgive or forget. My father lives in England now. We’ve talked only twice in the last year, and that’s fine with me. When he e-mails me, I always take a long time to respond. I guess I’m still not ready to talk to him, either. He once said he loves me and wishes he could have been there for me. But he wasn’t.