August Issue

Grant Magazine grantmagazine.com

August 2016

curtain call How will Grant’s theater department tackle the issue of diversity?

By Sophie Hauth and Callie Quinn-Ward

In this issue...

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24

22

in hot water

By Callie Quinn-Ward

Where does Grant High School stand when it comes to lead in the water?

The results are in.

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going deep

By Kana Heitzman

Eight years ago, sophomore Bowen Terry lost his brother in a tragic accident. Water polo helped him regain his footing.

two of a kind

By Blu Midyett and Molly Metz

The Grant community welcomes new staff members this year. A lifetime activist and a multi-talented artist are among the few.

on the cover: Setting the Stage

By Sophie Hauth and Callie Quinn-Ward

Data shows that Grant’s theater productions often lack students of color. But staff say a change is in the works.

Photo Illustration by Finn Hawley-Blue

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Photo story: Summer Snapshots

Grant Park is a neighborhood hub. What does the community do here while school is out?

By Grant Magazine Staff

From left to right: Kali Rennaker, Sarah Hamilton, Sophie Hauth, Blu Midyett and Molly Metz

A word from the editors

To the students, teachers, staff and community of Grant High School, Welcome to the 2016-17 school year, the last year any of us will be spending time in this building before it gets renovated as part of the bond renewal project.

Grant Magazine is entering its sixth year, and the program has grown immensely since its beginning in 2011. The content

Photo by Molly Metz

has changed each year, reaching new journalistic heights as we continue to gain experience.

And each year, we ask ourselves two questions: How can we improve coverage for our readers? And what are we going to do next to make a difference in our community?

As editors-in-chief, we have a responsibility to continue the legacy of this magazine and to make sure progress doesn’t stop.

In years past, the magazine has tackled issues such as hazing, transgender bathrooms, teen suicide and the N-word. We promise that we won’t avoid the difficult topics.

Our goal at the magazine isn’t to create sensationalism around issues. Rather, it’s to shed light on them and hold people accountable for their actions. Through this journalistic lens, we have been able to help create change at Grant.

This year, expect discussion, expect change and expect to be challenged.

We hope our content helps you stay engaged. We have plans to improve our website by adding regular podcasts and more videos. Look at the stories we cover and let us know your thoughts. Critiques are always welcomed.

The editors, Sarah Hamilton, Sophie Hauth, Molly Metz, Blu Midyett and Kali Rennaker August 2016

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Editorial

contact us Grant Magazine 2245 NE 36th Ave. Portland, Ore. 97212 (503) 916-5160

grantmagazine.com

grantmagazine@gmail.com

facebook.com/GrantMagazine

@grantmag

@grant_magazine

Editors-IN-CHIEF Sarah Hamilton Sophie Hauth Molly Metz Blu Midyett Kali Rennaker

Photo Editor

Finn Hawley-Blue

DEsign Editor Julian Wyatt

Online editor Charlotte Klein

Video editor

Mackie Mallison

editorial page editor Dylan Palmer

Adviser

David Austin

Editorial Policy We encourage the community to participate in our publication. Grant Magazine accepts guest editorials, letters to the editors and corrections.

Please include your name and contact information with any submissions.

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Grant Magazine

Support Hillary Clinton for president A Donald Trump presidency would leave the country in ruins.

When Donald Trump took the stage at the Republican National Convention, he made one thing clear: His campaign for president isn’t about his qualifications or what he’d do to lead this country.

It’s about prejudice, fear, hatred and the bashing of women, including his opponent, Democrat Hillary Clinton. While Trump can get his base roaring when he talks about making America great again, it’s clear his election would send this country spiraling.

We’re faced with two contrasting candidates.

And Grant Magazine is urging voters to support Clinton for president and say no to Trump’s discriminatory values.

Clinton is not perfect. As First Lady, she backed her husband Bill Clinton’s agenda, including passage of the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act of 1994. The act left our nation with the highest incarceration rate in the world, and it disproportionately affects African Americans and Hispanics.

She’s been criticized as Secretary of State for the handling of the attack on a compound in Benghazi, Libya that led to the deaths of four Americans. And she’s faced criticism for using her personal email accounts on public servers, a move that sparked an investigation by the FBI. These have led to questions about Clinton’s credibility and leadership. And supporters of her former rival, Sen. Bernie Sanders, still feel like Clinton isn’t liberal enough.

But let’s face it: Clinton’s downsides pale in comparison to Donald Trump as president.

Trump has no political experience. His corporations have filed for bankruptcy four times, making him one of the least qualified presidential candidates in U.S. history.

Once Trump decided to run, it didn’t take long for him to create another reputation for himself, one built upon racism, misogyny and xenophobia.

He’s denounced Mexican immigrants, claiming they bring crime to the U.S. and labeling them as “rapists.” His plan to “build a wall” across the Mexican-American border is a key aspect of his campaign.

He’s also referred to women as pigs, claimed that a female Fox News reporter was “bleeding out of her wherever” because he felt unfairly treated during an interview and referred to Clinton as “disgusting,” “pathetic” and “unfit.”

Equally disturbing is the notion that Trump says he would bar all those seeking asylum from Syria and all Muslims from entering the United States.

It’s critical to realistically envision a future with him as our leading man.

A Trump presidency would mean the appointment of at least two, maybe three Supreme Court justices. The court makes historic rulings that change the landscape of this nation, like the decisions to end desegregation, legalize gay marriage and allow women the right to choose whether to have an abortion.

Trump also plans to repeal Obamacare, which gives healthcare to millions of previously uninsured Americans.

But the most fearsome prospect of a Trump presidency would be the hatred and violence he would incite. By declaring war on being “politically correct,” he’s using it as an excuse to say deliberately offensive and racist things.

If elected, many people in this country might feel liberated to speak and act in a manner that replicates the head of state.

And how will this impact foreign affairs?

Trump has praised oppressive leaders such as Russia’s Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong-un of North Korea. He has continuously antagonized China and the situation in the Middle East. Who would want to be our allies?

Clinton’s resumé makes her arguably the most qualified presidential candidate in history.

Trained as a lawyer, she worked for Senator Walter Mondale in the 1970s. She was First Lady, served several terms as a U.S. senator and was Secretary of State.

She wants to make college affordable for young people, calling for community colleges to be free and moving toward debt-free tuition for in-state residents at public colleges.

Her campaign, which has adopted much of Sanders’ platform, focuses on human rights issues.

While Green Party candidate Jill Stein and Libertarian Gary Johnson are officially in the race, they can’t win. Some voters may feel tempted to support them, or to not vote at all out of protest, but that would be unwise. It comes at the risk of a Donald Trump presidency.

If you are mad about this election, you have the right to be. Both Trump and Clinton’s approval ratings have reached historical lows for major party presidential nominees. But choosing between the two is not difficult.

It is vital that come November, you vote for Hillary Clinton. You don’t have to like her. But you must know what a Trump presidency means for the future of this nation.

Editorial

Standing Up

It’s about time we get behind Black Lives Matter

By Dylan Palmer

I remember when the voice of the Black Lives Matter movement began. It was in 2012, after neighborhood watch member George Zimmerman shot and killed Trayvon Martin in Florida and was acquitted of the crime.

The movement gained momentum a few years later, sparked by police – the bedrock of law enforcement – killing a number of black people Dylan Palmer with illogical regularity.

In each case the victims were black and posing no threat.

In July 2014, Eric Garner was choked to death by New York City police while he gasped the words, “I can’t breathe.” His alleged crime? Selling single cigarettes on the street.

A month later, a Ferguson, Mo. police officer shot Michael Brown to death after an altercation left the victim lying dead on a street for hours. An ambulance was never called.

In November, Cleveland police shot 12-year-old Tamir Rice to death within two seconds of arriving to the scene. Rice was playing with a toy gun in a park.

When I heard about these incidents, they each took their toll on my perception of police. Surely, I believed, the slaying of these black people would spark immediate change.

But what’s happened since has been a series of similar incidents that left several more African Americans dead at the hands of law enforcement. The most notable cases – less than 24 hours apart – resulted in the deaths of Alton Sterling in Baton Rouge and Philando Castile in suburban St. Paul, Minn.

What followed was a boiling over point of sorts: police in Dallas and Baton Rouge were targeted and shot to death by black men.

In both cases, police believe the shooters resorted to violence to send a message. Dr. Roberta Hunte, an assistant professor of

Black Studies at Portland State University, says the shootings are a reflection of outrage and the failure of the justice system to hold its personnel accountable, and address discontent with past and current violence.

“Police perpetuate a type of violence within communities,” says Hunte. “If you’re not going to get justice outside, then people tend to try to take justice into their own hands. It’s not surprising and it’s heartbreaking.”

Violence toward African Americans – especially coming from law enforcement – is nothing new. The legacy of black oppression has roots dating back to slavery.

When a person owned slaves, they could do whatever they wanted with them, beating, raping or murdering them were all within legal bounds.

Black deaths continued, most notably during the Civil Rights era.

In 1962, a black military officer, Cpl. Roman Ducksworth, was shot to death by police in Taylorsville, Miss. Duckworth. He was headed home by bus from Maryland and had been sleeping when police ordered him to get out of the vehicle. The policeman who shot him claimed he was defending himself and was cleared.

In 1964, James Chaney, a black man, and two white Civil Rights colleagues with the Congress of Racial Equality were working in Mississippi to register black voters. They were stopped for a traffic violation and released. But local police later abducted the men and handed them over to the Ku Klux Klan. They were found buried in an earthen dam with gunshot wounds to the head.

In 1965, Jimmie Lee Jackson was shot to death by a state trooper while trying to protect his grandfather and mother. Three years later, police gunned down three black students at South Carolina State College during a demonstration.

Even today, while blacks make up about 12 percent of the U.S. population, according to statistics from the Federal Department of Justice, they represent more than 37

percent of the prison population. But this isn’t because blacks commit crimes at higher rates. Rather, the justice system targets African Americans for arrest, convicts them at higher rates, and gives them harsher jail sentences, according to a report by the Sentencing Project for the United Nations’ Human Rights Committee.

Now consider this: In early August, a white self-proclaimed Constitutionalist who had been stalking Portland police was arrested without incident, even though as the authorities approached his car they said he “appeared to be reaching around inside his vehicle.” The police found four guns in his car but he was not shot.

About the same time, a white cop in Ohio showed up at his ex-wife’s house with his gun drawn, fled, then returned and shot the detective who was there to interview the woman. This resulted in a standoff with police that ended with his arrest. He was not harmed.

As the Black Lives Matter movement continues to grow, it’s come under fire from critics who chide it with slogans such as “All Lives Matter” and, after the recent shootings of police in Dallas and Baton Rouge, “Blue Lives Matter.”

Those critics miss the point. The Black Lives Matter movement and the two men who killed police in Dallas and Baton Rouge represent two very different societal reactions to police oppression. One reaction is peaceful and productive, the other violent and fruitless.

I’m not advocating for the use of violence, whether it is committed by police or toward them. Personally, it’s painful to watch this country continue to divide itself over these issues. If you care about injustices, then you care about the same things that Black Lives Matter supporters do.

Let me ask everyone to ponder this: Why are we spending time getting tripped up over the phrasing used by a movement rather than coming together and standing united against injustices?

August 2016

5

Quick Mag

A condensed version of Grant Magazine that has almost nothing to do with just about anything else.

Freshmen vs.

Seniors: The First Day of School

Talk Back

If you could bring back one childhood T.V. show, what would it be and why?

The 3 inch Profile: Michelle Chariton

Michelle Chariton has always been one for a challenge. Taking on the Grant remodel has been her biggest one yet.

By Blu Midyett

Michelle Chariton has always been one for a challenge.

Taking on the Grant remodel has been her biggest one yet.

Michelle Chariton is molding the future for Grant High School. As the project manager of the Grant-to-Marshall move and the two-year redesign that begins next year, Chariton is behind every major decision made on the project.

She will be in and out of the building frequently this school year as she continues building relationships with the community. Working on a project that includes the future of roughly 1,520 students can be overwhelming.

And as of six months ago, Chariton is also juggling life as

a new mother of twin daughters.

Born and raised in Boise, Idaho, Chariton went to Oregon State University on a full-ride scholarship to play softball.

When she graduated, she had her priorities set. “I was just really excited about construction…

And I like dealing with money and people,” she says. Project management was the perfect fit.

Now, as a mother, her 15year career has helped her deal with two unpredictable babies.

“You never know when you’re going to have a blowout,” Chariton says. “The kid could throw up right then and there, and you have to be able to react and do it. I would say the chaos keeps coming but you just gotta keep going.”

Caleb Morita, 15 sophomore “I really like the old SpongeBob. I know SpongeBob is still around, but the old one is better...it had more adult humor in it. It wasn’t so childish.”

Kazuko Page, 47 Japanese teacher “I like Future Boy Conan.

That was Hiyo Miyaki’s first TV show. That was the first time I saw a very strong female character.”

Marty Williams, 36 Restorative Justice Coordinator “One of my all-time favorite TV shows was Thundercats.

What I liked about them is that they had super powers without having super powers.”

By Kali Rennaker

Planned out for weeks, favorite outfit

The Look

The first article of clothing you can find

Starting out at the bottom again

The Dread

Start of senioritis

Making a good first impression

The Stress

The reality of having one year left

Thirty minutes early to mentally prepare before the first bell rings

The Arrival

Five minutes after the firstperiod bell rings

The Olympics, by Injured Body Part Broken tibia and fibula

Aït Saïd, France (Vault)

Broken collarbones

Vincenzo Nibali, Italy (Cycling)

Broken shoulder

SUMMER

Richie Porte, Australia (Cycling)

BUMMERS

Fractured vertebrae

Annemiek van Vleuten, The Netherlands (Cycling)

Bottle it Up

Broken arm

Sarah Menezes, Brazil (Judo)

Because of elevated lead levels in school water, Grant has been provided with thousands of 16.9-ounce water bottles. What would happen if every student drank four bottles a day?

BY THE NUMBERS

By Sarah Hamilton

x 1,520 kids in student body= Four 16.9 oz. bottles a day

1,064,000

x 175 days in school bottles consumed by student year= body in one year

6,080 bottles consumed by student body each day

All those bottles lined up would span from Portland to Tacoma.

1. Lead results 2. Presidential candidates 3. New schedule 4. Last year in the building 5. School starts in August...again

A Brief Review: Pokémon GO

By Ella DeMerritt • Illustrations by Julian Wyatt Expectations: exercise, imagination and creativity

Reality: dead-body discoveries, violent team rivalries, car rides with pit stops at McDonald’s, pedestrian-into-car accidents

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Grant Magazine

By Sophie Hauth

$750,000

4

Estimated cost of supplying Portland schools with water this school year Number of Race Forward events scheduled on the calendar for 2016-2017

21

Number of new classes at Grant

Pen & Ink

Back to School Blues

When reality sets in on the first day back, it's hard not to miss summer break.

Story by Julian Wyatt • Illustrations by Sarah Hamilton

I can’t believe I have to go back to school, mom.

Don’t worry, I’m sure everyone will be welcoming.

Hey!

How was your summer?

Welcome back!

Let’s hang out soon!

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

Good to see you!

... you?

Welcome back.

Thank...

Hi, honey! Was everyone welcoming?

August 2016

7

Lead levels at Grant among highest in district Readings from the high school show staggering amounts of the toxin in 105 water fixtures.

O

By Callie Quinn-Ward

ver the last several months, the Portland Public Schools community has been entrenched in legal wrangling, hostile public meetings and an investigation into how skyrocketing levels of lead in water pipes went unnoticed in nearly 100 schools across the city.

School district officials recently released the water quality results from each building, including Grant.

The findings for the Northeast Portland school are laid out in a 14-page document that show levels of lead and copper in samples taken from every faucet, showerhead, spigot and drinking fountain in and around Grant. Nearly every page is marked with yellow highlighter indicating samples containing lead levels that exceed the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency’s action level of 15 parts per billion.

In all, 105 of Grant’s water fixtures produced samples with elevated lead levels, including multiple drinking fountains and kitchen sinks. Among the affected fixtures, one result stood out in particular: a sample taken from a sink faucet in a second-floor classroom tested at 57,600 ppb, the highest level of lead measured in any water fixture across PPS. That’s nearly 4,000 times the EPA action level.

Grant is one of 97 buildings that PPS administrators have published water quality results for this summer, 96 of which had at least one location with elevated lead levels.

Lead, a toxic metal, often seeps into drinking water from older plumbing. In many cases, high lead levels are caused by solder that joins pipes or from older brass fixtures that contain lead. Even lead contamination in drinking water below the EPA’s action can cause

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Grant Magazine

damage to the health of those exposed.

Although the results sound extreme, when compared to other PPS high schools, it’s clear the scale of Grant’s lead issues isn’t an outlier.

Cleveland, Jefferson and Alliance High School at Meek all have a larger number of affected fixtures. Marshall, the school Grant students will occupy beginning next school year for two years during the upcoming remodel, contains more elevated lead levels than any other building in the district with 255 locations surpassing 15 ppb.

“I can’t say that I’m extremely surprised because the building is old,” says Principal Carol Campbell. “My biggest concern is places where people would be drinking the water.”

More worrisome than results from the high schools is the large number of elementary schools on the list. Elementary-age children are especially vulnerable to lead’s toxic and long-term health effects.

One potential medical issue that can arise is damage to the nervous system that causes developmental delays and learning difficulties.

The plan for district-wide testing was announced last June after the release of documents showed high levels of lead were found at 47 PPS buildings, including Grant, between 2010 and 2012.

The latest tests, performed by TRC Solutions, reveal an urgent and systematic lead issue throughout the district. The results have left students, teachers and parents worried. Many are criticizing the district for a lapse in communication and a poor response around the handling the 2010-2012 lead test results.

“It seems like there was just a lack of transparency in what was going on…Obviously things weren’t handled quite right,” says Jolene McGee, the mother of a Grant freshman.

Under high levels of scrutiny, numerous PPS employees lost their jobs, and superintendent Carole Smith was forced to step down in disgrace. With district leadership in transition and a lead problem growing in severity, PPS is heading into the 2016-2017 school year on shaky footing.

No one has been chosen to replace Smith and the district’s school board is trying to stabilize leadership at Oregon’s largest school district.

“I think it’s kind of the district’s fault,” says Leo Oudomphong, a Grant sophomore. “They really need to take action.”

To many, the district-wide issue is reminiscent of the ongoing water crisis in Flint, Mich., which poses a serious public health danger to thousands of children. Flint’s problems are far deeper than Portland’s because the city’s water pipes that reach most of the homes are so toxic that residents are being ordered not to drink the water.

But large-scale water contaminations only account for a small portion of an estimated 500,000 U.S. lead poisoning cases annually.

Most often, the source of exposure lies in lead paint of individual homes.

“The estimates are somewhere around half a million kids are still getting elevated blood lead levels above the public health action level...in this country annually,” says Perry Cabot, a senior program specialist with Multnomah County’s Healthy Homes and Communities Program. “Most of these exposures are related to paint.”

Lead poisoning, Cabot says, is “the number one environmental health hazard” for children in the U.S. Exposure to lead is often concentrated in areas where low-income or people of color are concentrated. Most susceptible are residents living in public housing with old, crumbling infrastructure. This causes a racial and socioeconomic disparity for those who face the disastrous consequences of continuous lead exposure.

“There is definitely a disproportionate impact on certain racial and ethnic groups,” says Cabot, who cites that African-American children are three times more likely to have elevated levels of lead in their blood than white children.

For PPS, issues surrounding water quality first came to light last May when district parents were informed of elevated lead levels found at Rose City Park and Creston elementary schools, nearly a month after the initial testing. The district apologized for not following federal rules when testing occurs and announced they would shut off all drinking fountains for the remainder of the school year and provide bottled water for drinking and food preparation.

On May 31, the same day bottled water became available to schools, the Willamette Week newspaper published a story based on documents obtained through a public records request. The story revealed that between 2010 and 2012, 47 schools were discovered to have elevated levels of lead.

Previously, PPS officials had said there hadn’t been testing since 2001. Although emails showed district employees discussing putting labels on affected fixtures in 2012, no action was taken.

Carole Smith and other high-ranking district officials denied any knowledge of the tests and calls for her ouster increased.

The release of other internal communications shows PPS had multiple mishaps with filter installation and maintenance on water fountains. Another email conversation among district officials shows a decision was made against labeling lead-contaminated water fountains in order to prevent public panic.

Cabot says responses like these don’t match federal protocols for handling such situations. “It’s not in good alignment with what the EPA would expect or wish for in this case,” he says.

In early June, PPS announced it would perform comprehensive lead testing at all buildings during the summer. Many Grant students and staff believed this was a precautionary measure that would only reveal a small-scale contamination within the water system.

“I thought it would be solved in a week, like one of the minor problems that always happens at Grant,” says junior Marcel Bull.

That perception disappeared when Grant’s results were published.

Getting the lead out?

Testing over the summer found high lead levels at 105 water fixtures at Grant High School. The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency says anything over 15 parts per billion in drinking water is unsafe. Here are the highest lead levels found in Grant’s sinks and drinking fountains:

Sinks:

Faucet in Room 237: 57,600 ppb Faucet in cafeteria serving line: 1,300 ppb Faucet No. 4 in Room 59: 626 ppb Faucet No. 1 in Room 59: 498 ppb Faucet No. 2 in Room 59: 494 ppb

Drinking fountains:

Fountain near boy’s bathroom, second floor: 33 ppb Fountain by Room 230, second floor: 18 ppb Fountain in girl’s locker room, gym: 16 ppb The 57,600 ppb reading is even more than the highest level measured in Flint.

“I thought it was a typo,” McGee says of the result. “That’s ridiculous… if anyone drank out of that, it’s certainly a huge concern.”

Cabot says it’s possible the reading is a fluke, suggesting a small piece of lead solder could have contaminated the sample and drastically increased the result. PPS officials say they will retest fixtures with extremely high levels in the near future.

Overall, the test results may not paint an accurate picture of the water that was consumed on a day-to- day basis. The tests used samples taken immediately after turning faucets on after being unused for an extended period. Running the faucet for only a short time can dramatically decrease lead levels.

Out of 628 people screened, five students and two employees have tested positive for elevated levels of lead in their blood. It’s unclear if any of these people work or go to school at Grant. Medical information on individuals is private.

However, these cases aren’t confirmed,and there’s no clear link between PPS water and lead poisoning, officials say.

“I suspect ... that the odds are that the home is the most likely contributing factor,” says Cabot, but adds: “We will not rule out any location as a contributing factor until we’ve completed our investigation.”

Still, the possibility of negative health effects conjures up fear among Grant students and staff.

“It’s terrifying,” says Bull, who admits to drinking water from Grant taps on a regular basis. “It makes me really question my health. I think I’m OK, but at the same time, I don’t know.”

PPS has pledged to provide drinking water until it can be ensured that fixtures have levels of lead below the EPA threshold. At Grant, it doesn’t seem probable that solutions will come in the near future.

“I think we’ll have bottled water all year,” says Campbell. “I don’t think they’ll do anything major construction- wise or replacing plumbing because we’re going to be remodeled.”

It’s likely the district will implement water dispensers to reduce waste, she says. Whatever happens, it’s clear the district has a long way to go before any level of trust comes back. “I definitely feel way more distrust,” says Bull. “PPS as a whole hasn’t lived up to my expectations. We’re ingesting this stuff and it’s somebody’s fault.”

August 2016

9

POETIC JUSTICE Téa Johnson, winner of Verselandia 2016 and a senior at Grant, uses her poetry as an outlet to speak out about injustices in society.

Story by Ari Tandan • Photo by Finn Hawley-Blue

I

t’s a Friday in mid April. Téa Johnson sits in the Newmark Theater, mentally tallying her scores and comparing them to those of the other poets. She waits eagerly for the winners of Verselandia 2016 to be announced.

She recounts the previous rounds, doing the math in her head. By her calculations, she should end up in third or fourth place. Her name goes unread and she thinks: “It’s a shame I didn’t place this year.”

“And the winner of Verselandia 2016 is… Téa Johnson!” the judge says.

A jolt of excitement shoots through her and she walks on stage in complete disbelief. “I almost cried,” Johnson says.

Now a Grant senior, she took the top spot in the biggest high school slam poetry competition in Portland. Johnson has never been one to shy away from the limelight – from a young age, she’s always been interested in singing and acting. And it never matters whether it’s in front of her parents or a huge audience.

In the past, Johnson’s slam poems have been largely comedic, covering topics like boys and serial killers. But lately, her performances are more than just entertainment – they’re her take on social justice issues facing society today. As a queer woman of color who comes from a less than normal family situation, Johnson knows what struggle and inequality feels like and now she’s channeling that tension and turning it into her own thought-provoking art.

“I spend so much time on Facebook complaining and being like, ‘This isn’t fair. Sexism isn’t fair. Racism isn’t fair.’ But I want to

10 Grant Magazine

speak out on a broader platform and I want to use my artistic voice to speak out,” Johnson says.

Johnson was born on Nov. 3, 1998 in Mount Pleasant, Mich. Born an only child to Alicia Tate and Joseph Johnson, she remembers always wanting to be at the center of her parents’ attention. Johnson’s family structure has always been unique – her parents were never married, and they split up when Johnson was a year old. “I didn’t even realize until like kindergarten that most people’s parents were together,” she says.

Johnson had a deep interest in acting and being onstage, performing in plays as a youngster. “She was so vocal and just seemed so comfortable being in front of people on stage,” Tate says.

Johnson was 4 when her mother was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, an illness that causes many symptoms including fatigue and muscle numbness. In severe cases, it leads to paralysis and blindness.

Tate made regular trips to the doctor, thinking she only had chronic fatigue syndrome years before being diagnosed.

Then, when she was 30, she began going blind in her right eye.

Shortly after, she began to lose feeling on the right side of her body.

When she was fully diagnosed, Tate remembers having mixed feelings. “It was almost kind of a relief because it had explained why I had been having all of these other health issues,” she says.

In 2005, Johnson’s family moved to Portland for a change of scenery and more racial diversity after living near Pullman, Wash., and Moscow, Idaho. “You know it’s bad when you move to Portland, Oregon for racial diversity,” Joseph Johnson says.

While she was in grade school at Llewellyn Elementary, Johnson fed her creativity by filling notebooks with fan-fiction stories and attending theater camps.

Her outspoken personality on-stage was the same off-stage.

She got along well with other kids for the most part, but she never hesitated to call out things she didn’t approve of.

When Johnson was in third grade, a group of fifth graders began picking on one of her friends and calling him a “nerd.” Johnson

For next year, Johnson is working to write poems on the social justice issues she feels so passionate about.

wouldn’t stand for it. “What’s wrong with you? Leave him alone!” she yelled at the fifth graders. “They left him alone after that,” she says proudly.

Johnson remembers not understanding how insensitive and ignorant the other children were to those who were different, using ‘gay’ as a term for things they didn’t like.

“I was like, ‘That’s not OK to say. You can’t say that,’” Johnson says.

In fifth grade, her life became more complicated.

During the winter of 2009, Joseph Johnson was laid off from his construction job.

With the recession at an all-time high, he struggled to find another job. “There was just nothing out there,” he says.

Not long after, Johnson and her father found themselves packing their clothes after being evicted from their apartment when they fell behind in rent.

Eventually, he landed work building and refinishing vintage homes, and he purchased a sailboat to live on. He says living on the boat was what needed to be done so he could stay in Portland and be involved in his daughter’s life. “It’s an interesting lifestyle. It’s not for everyone,” he says.

Johnson stayed full-time with her mother, but her dad remained close to the family. Johnson helped her mom with her chronic illness, whether it was making dinner or bringing her mom beverages when she wasn’t feeling well.

It was at da Vinci Arts Middle School that Johnson was first introduced to slam poetry. Her English teacher, Shannon Wasson, led a slam team that met once a week. “When I was younger, I like, wrote poetry all the time and I was like, ‘This is fun, but I feel limited,’” Johnson says.

At the time, Johnson realized that she identified as queer.

To Johnson, this means she experiences attraction to all people, regardless of their sex or gender identity. “I like everyone. I like women. I like men. I like people who don’t identify as either,” Johnson says. “I’ve never seen someone’s gender as a reason to have a crush on them or not have a crush on them.”

She says that coming out to her parents was never a problem because her family was so supportive and accepting.

In middle school, Johnson met Ellory Schrepel. Johnson’s curious hairstyles and bold personality drew Schrepel to her, and they’ve been close friends ever since. “Her slam poetry is a way she can express herself and say what she’s thinking,” Schrepel says. “She’s good at piecing words together in a way that’s powerful.”

Johnson continued with slam poetry and theater in high school. As a freshman, she participated in the Grant Slam Poetry competition-known as Grant Slam-- and fell in love with performing slam poetry on stage. “I feel more supported on stage than I might feel in dayto-day life because all these people… they’re there to listen to me,” Johnson says.

She also enjoyed getting to understand different perspectives when listening to the slam poetry of others. “There’s all these injustices in the world people don’t understand unless they’re a part of a certain community,” she says.

Freshman year, she wrote one of her more serious poems about her father and his struggles through life in the recent years, and how he had overcome them by being resourceful. “I always thought he

was someone who was really hard working,” Johnson says. “As I’ve gotten older and I’ve realized what my dad has gone through and how like strong he’s stayed...that’s made me understand and respect my dad a lot.”

Johnson remembers her dad crying after hearing the poem.

“Everyone thought it was really sweet,” she says.

Johnson competed in the Grant Slam again as a sophomore, coming in second in the competition and qualifying for the citywide Verselandia for the first time.

As a sophomore, both of Johnson’s poems for the Grant Slam were comedic, including a letter to every boy she has ever had a crush on, which the audience loved. “People went crazy for it,” she recalls.

Later that year in the spring of 2015, Johnson joined the Bridging Voices Gay Straight Alliance Youth Chorus, a group designed to empower people of any gender or sexuality through music.

After joining the choir, Johnson began hearing horrible stories of discrimination that other people in the group had faced because of their sexuality. “A lot of kids have to hide who they are from their parents...that’s so sad to me,” Johnson says. “I didn’t realize how horribly that can affect people. I don’t think it’s fair to treat people differently or like make these judgments on people based on who they love or what their gender is.”

Junior year, Johnson performed in the school play, As you Like it, playing Corin. “My character was kind of like this hippie-mom character,” Johnson says. She also competed in the Grant Slam for the third time that year.

Johnson placed first in the Grant Slam, sending her to Verselandia for the second year in a row. She remembers reciting her poems countless times before getting on stage. She feared she would forget them, even though they were the same poems she’d performed for the Grant Slam less than two weeks earlier. “It’s really nervewracking,” she says.

However, once she stepped on stage, her nerves disappeared.

“I WANT TO USE MY ARTISTIC VOICE.” -TÉA JOHNSON

“Once I get on stage, I’m fine…It’s just like talking to a friend,” Johnson says.

Although Johnson thought she would do well in Verselandia, she had no idea she would win. “I didn’t go into the competition expecting to win,” she says.

Her parents were so surprised and excited, Alicia Tate almost punched her mother in the face by accident. “My heart went from dropping and did a U-turn,” Joseph Johnson remembers. “I may have even gotten a little misty- eyed.”

After winning Verselandia, Johnson was asked to join a Portland slam group called Spit/Write to help mentor students new to slam poetry. She also attended a slam poem festival in Washington, D.C. in July.

“I just think it was so amazing to see so many people from so many different backgrounds,” says Johnson. “I have never been in a space with so many people of color.”

As a senior, Johnson plans to continue to stay politically active through her poetry and hopes to write more serious slam poems during an intense and divided time in the United States. She sees it as her responsibility. “All of these other people have had this courage to speak up,” says Johnson. “And I feel that I, too, need to speak up.”

August 2016

11

stage

left Grant High administrators acknowledge the school’s Theater Department needs to be more inclusive. How do they make that happen?

Story by Sophie Hauth and Callie Quinn-Ward Photos by Finn Hawley-Blue

12 Grant Magazine

I

n early 2015 Grant High School auditorium’s stage was adorned with a gray backdrop, framed by its signature red curtains. The set was a scene from a 16th century European home; a few chairs covered with a paisley print and a dresser also sit in the background for the play, “Tartuffe.”

The characters, nearly all white, were dressed in long printed dresses, pantaloons and tights. They spoke in British accents between laughs from the audience.

The show isn’t the only production that’s played out this way. In fact, it’s a pattern the Grant community has come to know well. Over the last six theater productions at the school, there have been more than 200 students who participated.

Less than 40 have been students of color.

In the last few years, the play “Spamalot” had the greatest number of students of color that made up about 22 percent of the cast, which is significantly under Grant’s population of students of color. And only a few minority students had leading roles. When the Theater Department put on “Noises Off” in 2014, the production didn’t have a single person of color.

Grant Principal Carol Campbell acknowledges the lack of students of color participating in the Theater Department is a concern. And she’s working with her administration and teachers to try to change things.

“It makes you wonder,” says Campbell.

“Looking at the kinds of plays selected and do they attract a diverse cast? Are they the kinds of plays that students of color may not be interested in being in? Or are they plays that are traditionally plays that are mostly casted with white students?”

Theater at Grant has had an up-and-down history when it comes to diversity. In the 1990s, sources say the stage at the school was filled with a wide variety of people. But in recent years, plays have featured mostly white casts.

Campbell and others wonder if the types of plays Grant puts on are effectively connecting with all students.

“It really should be something that we put as a high level of importance when we are selecting classes, when we’re designing classes, when we are looking at programs, when we’re looking at performances, that we are creating opportunities that are representative of our student body,” Campbell says.

When it comes to theater, racial representation is crucial, says former Grant student Andrea White. White is involved with the Artist Repertory Theater in Portland.

“Art is such an important part of development and being a human being and being able to express yourself, ” says White, who is African American and white. “It supersedes reality. And if we are not representing everybody, then how many people

are being missed?”

He directed shows like “The Music Man,” “My Fair Lady and Kevin Jones has appeared in and directed shows at the Artist “Fiddler on the Roof.”

Repertory Theater, Portland Center Stage and the Portland “I would say our performing arts department tried hard to make Playhouse. He says having diversity in plays is essential because all students feel welcome and that they could find a place there,” theater attracts an audience and emphasizes community.

McDonald remembers.

Jones, who is black, started the Red Door Project, a theater Trisha Todd, who has put on a number of plays at Grant as program that addresses racial issues through the arts. one of two current drama teachers, says when middle schools cut “If we don’t have a reflection of the African-American theater programs, it cut down on the number of students who came experience on the stage – and all we have are white stories or the to Grant with experience. classics for example, then what the message is on a conscious and “When the cuts happened, and I got moved out, I think diversity unconscious level to the audiences...is that this other experience, in terms of just our program into itself got smaller,” she says. the African-American experience, doesn’t matter, ” Jones says.

“When I first started, Beaumont had a thriving theater program...

Current and former Grant students agree: representation is key. so we’d get kids from Beaumont who had a lot of experience.”

“I think having more diversity, especially for younger students, A lack of experience among students today may be why more would definitely encourage them to audition and try out,” says Izzie students of color aren’t auditioning, she says.

Valle, a bi-racial Grant senior who was in “The Little Mermaid.”

“We don’t have nearly as many kids coming into the theater Jordan Smith is African American and graduated in 2013. program because they have not experienced it,” she says. “I think Involved with football, basketball and track, he tried out for “The it’s hard for kids to come into theater and start theater when they’re Wiz” his senior year and got a leading role. in high school.”

Theater “gives you the opportunity to do different types of shows Todd says the program is “completely open” to anyone who depending on who’s performing and whose interest is what; you wants to audition for a play. can tailor your shows,” Smith says. “There’s a whole lot of black Celeste Jones, who is African American, was active in the Grant theater out there that has not been tapped into theater scene and graduated in 2002. It wasn’t other than ‘The Wiz,’ which I think would be until she enrolled at Howard University that super cool for all people, not only black people.” she became fully aware of racial disparities Racial representation in theater has been onstage, something she says now is a constant an issue everywhere from high school plays conversation. to Broadway and across the board in the “As far as being an actor and being a person entertainment industry. of color, it’s a constant battle because you In the 19th century, Black minstrel shows are living in a society that’s used to white as dominated theaters across the country. In those normal,” she says now. plays, white actors often donned blackface, Grant theater’s leadership thought it was portraying African Americans on plantations as making inroads into developing more diverse stereotypically dim-witted. casts by putting on “Hairspray” in 2012. The But the Harlem Renaissance of the early play depicts 1960s segregated Baltimore and 1900s brought on an advent of Africanhow a white teenager tries to integrate a local American culture that intersected with theater.

TV show’s cast. While a majority of its leading Black actors were able to redirect the art form to roles are white, there are several major parts playhouses that featured plays written by black -Celeste Jones, 2002 Grant Graduate meant for people of color. playwrights and performed by all black casts.

Sophia Morrow, who graduated from Grant in “What the Harlem Renaissance did was it created an environment 2015, auditioned for the part of Motormouth Maybelle, a leading and not just theater, across the board for black artists to be able to role for an African-American woman in the show. create and participate in society,” says White, who graduated from Part of what led her to sign up was that Chris Lane, the main Grant in 1991. theater teacher at the time, came to a Black Student Union meeting And in recent years, Broadway has put on a number of shows to encourage students to audition. such as “The Wiz,” “The Color Purple” and “Hamilton,” that Lane, though, decided to cast a professional adult actress for dive deep into African-American culture in the United States and the part instead of providing an opportunity for a student of color feature diverse casts. at Grant. The move evoked heavy criticism of the department, At Grant, a lack of diversity in the theater department hasn’t including an editorial in Grant Magazine calling for theater always been an issue. White remembers a much different time. teachers to be more inclusive.

She says the casts were diverse across many lines. “We were rich “I do remember there was a lot of upset at the very beginning and poor, black and white, there was really no separation. We all with the cast,” says Morrow, who says she was initially shocked intermingled,” she recalls. that the role was offered to a professional.

During White’s time at Grant, theater teachers recruited Morrow recalls how the play’s subject matter sparked students from a wide range of backgrounds and interests. Artists, conversations around race during rehearsals. “I remember that athletes and students within the special education program were being the first time kind of talking about race and how it makes encouraged to participate. people feel,” she says. “I think that’s the only time I remember that “I wrote notes to hordes of students. I accosted them in the happening.” hall, I persuaded students of all types to try getting involved,” The next year, Grant put on “The Wiz,” – an all- black musical recalls Bruce McDonald, Grant’s drama teacher from 1982-1997. set in Harlem – for its spring musical.

“As far as being an actor and being a person of color, it’s a constant battle because you are living in a society that’s used to white as normal.”

August 2016

13

izzie valle, 16

“It’s very important to see someone on a stage or an a screen who looks like you.”

Taylor Hall-Debnam, who graduated from Grant in 2014 and was the BSU president her senior year, says Lane made efforts to recruit students for the play. But she says the next year, Lane never came to a BSU meeting.

Smith says no one had ever pushed him before that time to participate. “That was the one time where I felt like, ‘I would like to do this because it fits me culturally,” he says. “Sometimes they think black kids don’t want do theater because it’s a cultural thing.”

Morrow was excited. “It felt like a great step forward,” says Morrow, who played the lead role. But, she says, “ I think the call for diversity in theater kind of died a little bit after ‘The Wiz’ happened.”

In recent years, the Theater Department has returned to plays that are different from “Hairspray” and “The Wiz,” such as “Noises Off,” “Spamalot” and “Tartuffe.” It has also produced “Little Shop of Horrors,” “As You Like It” and “The Little Mermaid.”

“Noises Off” – Grant’s 2014 winter play – featured no students of color. The next year, “Tartuffe” featured one student of color in a 13-member cast, and that role came onstage only in the waning minutes of the play.

“If it’s a Shakespeare play, I don’t see a lot of minorities that are like, ‘Oh yeah, I wanna jump right in that!” says Kyra Orr, a student who was in “As You Like It” at Grant. “They may think that it’s not for them.”

Todd defends the play selections of the past.

“We don’t traditionally do African-American plays like an August Wilson play or something like that because we’ve just never had that many students on the advanced level,” she says.

“Sometimes, you’ll get a lot of African-American students on the beginning levels, but they don’t continue on with the program for

14 Grant Magazine

kusiayah gibson, 18

“It shouldn’t be an uncomfortable topic, it should be something that we can just talk about.” whatever reason and maybe it’s because they don’t feel like the material is interesting.”

But that’s not a good enough reason, according to some Grant students.

Senior Eileen Conley is Japanese and white, and she participated in theater her first two years at Grant but has since given it up. She says diversifying content would make her more interested to participate.

“I wasn’t really interested in the content of the plays we were doing,” Conley says. She prefers “plays not about white people from a really long time ago.”

And even when roles traditionally for people of color are featured in Grant’s plays, that’s no guarantee they ensure a diverse cast.

The role of Sebastian, a crab with a Jamaican accent, in “The Little Mermaid” was voiced by African-American actors in the Disney movie and original Broadway show. Both are black. A white student played the role in the Grant production.

Grant teacher Jessica Murray, who choreographed the musical, says she made a point to encourage students in her dance classes to try out for “The Little Mermaid” in an effort to add more diversity to the program.

It stemmed from a conversation she had with Orr on the floor of the dance studio. Orr remembers as a young girl watching TV shows and Disney movies and not seeing anyone who looked like her.

When Orr told her about what it meant to be a role model for other kids of color in theater, Murray says it stuck with her. “It was a really impactful conversation to just sit down and listen for a minute,” says Murray, who kept the discussion at the forefront of her mind when casting for “The Little Mermaid.”

Now, Murray says a change around putting on theater

jordan smith, 21

“I just think theater -- a strong theater department is really important for all kids but especially kids of color... it provides another outlet and I think that’s super important.” productions is in the works.

“One of the questions in the puzzle is that diversity piece,” she says. “And are we representing the Grant population? Have we considered this person? Have we considered this person? I think we shouldn’t just ignore it – race – when we talk about casting.”

Vice Principal Diallo Lewis says part of that change includes the administration sitting down with the theater teachers to address issues of diversity.

Asia Austin, who identifies as African American, was one of the newcomers to the production. She tried out for “The Little Mermaid” after Eisemann encouraged her to sign up. She says she had never seen herself as being a part of the theater community before.

After earning a supporting role, she said she enjoyed the experience. But it wasn’t without challenges. “I did notice that there wasn’t as many students of color in theater. It was difficult,” she says, describing herself as the “underdog” during rehearsals.

“I had to seem like I had to work twice as hard.”

The history of Grant theater’s lack of diversity can’t be changed, but administrators say its future can. Murray, Eisemann and Todd say they are are committed to making changes.

When contacted by the magazine over the summer, Lane said he would answer questions only by email. He never responded to emails or follow-up telephone requests for an interview.

Todd plans to direct “The Conference of the Birds,” in the fall, a play adapted from a 12th-century Persian poem. Todd says the play emphasizes multiculturalism.

“Any gender can play any role, any ethnicity can play any role.

It’s wide open,” she says. “The symbolism is that all different ethnicities races in the world are coming together.”

Todd also plans to team with Tom Beckett – Cleveland High’s theater teacher – to hold a panel with members of the Red Door

kyra orr, 18

“We have to start somewhere and why not it be the arts?”

Project. The idea is to discuss the dilemma of race in high school theater, she says.

“Is there more that we can do? I’m sure there is,” says Todd.

“Clearly, we should be doing something that we’re not.”

Eisemann says he wants to see more students involved and wants students of color to step forward. “If the student body values a more diverse theater program, then the students have to be the agents of change and get involved,” he says.

Kevin Jones argues that change must come from the leaders of the department.

“Teachers need to be trained differently than they are right now,” he says. “White directors are gonna have to tell black actors what to do, they’re gonna have to study what it means to direct a person of color, they’re gonna have to understand their own internalized racism.”

Henry Belliveau, a white senior who’s been heavily involved with Grant’s theater productions, observes a level of hesitancy in addressing the racial disparities.

“Some people are just like ‘What we have going is great, and I don’t wanna mess with it,’” he says. “I think that that’s not a good way of thinking because whatever improvement we see in a demographic balance is only for the better. But people are kind of touchy about it.”

Belliveau believes the longer the absence of diversity remains, the more difficult the problem becomes to address.

“I think once you have this demographic of virtually almost all white kids, it kind of perpetuates, and year after year it becomes more set in stone that Grant theater is white,” he says. “Then you just don’t have any minority kids trying out and that becomes the status quo.”

Grant Magazine reporters Dylan Palmer, Toli Tate and Jessica Griepenburg contributed to this report.

August 2016

15

A Life in Tune

Story by Kali Rennaker • Photo by Finn Hawley-Blue

Grant teacher Branic Howard’s connection to sound is nothing typical.

He uses his passion for music to inspire students.

B

ranic Howard remembers the final performance for his degree in music composition at Portland State University.

It was 2009, and he stood in front of an audience of 50 people in a downtown Portland church. In one hand he clutched a potato, the other: a sharp knife.

Inside the potato, Howard had meticulously placed small hidden microphones. He angled the knife, rhythmically cutting into the potato’s skin. The effect? An electrical sound that filled the church and mesmerized the audience.

His performance of “They Used Potatoes To Hold the News Down At the Bodega,” named after a poem by Tom Blood, solidified Howard’s non-traditional look at what music can be.

“It was a turning point...I think it was a turning point for my mom. She realized I wasn’t as normal as she had hoped,” he says, jokingly.

Howard’s relationship with sound has proven to be anything but ordinary, something that’s been clear to him since childhood. For as long as he can remember, he has gravitated toward listening and interpreting daily noises most people fail to recognize.

It’s unconventional, to say the least, as Howard lists several irritating sounds, like the buzzing from an air conditioning unit.

“People say, ‘That’s noisy,’” he points out. “When I hear something like that, I don’t think of it in the same way. I say, ‘I like that noise.

I like that sound. I find it pleasing and I find it interesting.’”

He’s working toward his doctorate in music in composition from the State University of New York at Stony Brook while teaching audio engineering and guitar at Grant.

Howard’s mission is clear. He hopes to share his passion for sound with students in a musically hands-on environment. Getting students actively involved in creating music of their own has been key.

“It’s so cool to see people change… their lives,” Howard says about teaching. “They did something and now they have that experience, and I got to play a small part in facilitating that experience for them.”

Howard was born on Oct. 14, 1983. He was an adamant listener as a child, forging an immediate connection to sound.

He remembers taking a handful of Lincoln Logs, piling them into one of his dad’s socks and rolling it around to hear the woodon-wood sound effect. “I would do stuff like that and just put it up close to my ear and listen, and that was my lens into the world,” he says.

Howard and his sister, Britt, grew up in a close-knit family in Vancouver, Wash., going over to their grandma’s house every Thursday night for a big dinner with relatives.

But by the time he was 4, his parents divorced, causing Howard

Away from his teaching position, Howard can be found recording for artists with his company Open Field Recording and composing music on the side. Both have served as artistic outlets.

to grow apart from his father.

His mother, Kellie Cooper, remembers Howard as an introverted child, constantly channeling his relationship to noise: “I would find him like, ‘Where’s Branic? Where’d he go?’ And then I’d find him sitting behind a door with his toys making sound effects and making helicopter noises.”

Howard remembers having synesthesia-like symptoms, where he would associate certain sounds with colors. “I very clearly remember sitting in my mom’s little Austin-Healey… listening to The Beach Boys and seeing the color turquoise, feeling the color turquoise,” he recalls.

As for music itself, Howard’s exposure was limited. In his house, he remembers having just two vinyl albums: one by Bruce Springsteen and another that was a Halloween music soundtrack.

At Evergreen High School, Howard was a dedicated cross country runner and maintained straight A’s.

Despite his atypical interest in sound, he says the music department at Evergreen was lacking. “I was obsessed with sound, and I think I always knew that, but I had no outlet,” he recalls. “In high school, no one said, ‘Why don’t you try music?’ I just didn’t have that.”

His interest in music wasn’t solidified until his pottery teacher helped him discover a new outlet. Howard remembers skipping class just to go down to the pottery room. The teacher burned him a variety of CDs of artists he had never heard of, like a Cuban group, Buena Vista Social Club.

“That was my early influence into how good music could be… people who have poured their whole lives and generations before that, people who have passed down a tradition of music that’s just so humanistic,” he says. “It really spoke to me.”

He graduated from Evergreen in 2002 and moved to Portland.

He attended Portland Community College, thinking he wanted become an engineer. Between classwork, Howard remembers always being in the library where he’d research new music online.

He later transferred to PSU. At PSU, he found a place he felt he belonged. “There were other people around me that were like-minded, not just other students, but the professors,” he recalls. “I felt like I was in a community that made sense to me.”

In 2006, Howard co-ran Portland New Music Society, an organization that scheduled musicians from across the country to come play in Portland. Then, in 2009, Howard received his bachelor’s in music in composition.

After graduating, Howard made the bold decision to move to New York City and attend Syracuse University. He moved into a predominantly black section of Brooklyn with his now-wife, Gabriella Lewton-Leopold.

Howard says it contrasted so dramatically with his experience in Portland that he considers it to be “the most important experience” of his life, one that had a heavy impact on his perspective.

In Brooklyn, Howard was exposed to an array of new music, constantly going to old jazz clubs at night. Meanwhile, his own composition underwent change as well, as he explored unique sounds in what he calls “noise music.”

He would sit for hours along the coast of Maine, recording

equipment in hand to catch the sound of the waves hitting the rocks. “A lot of people would be like, ‘Oh that’s just noise,’” says Howard. “But I see it as something that has inherent beauty.”

As a means of income, Howard then started his own business called Open Field Recordings. He graduated from Syracuse University with a masters in music composition in 2011. Three years later, he and his wife moved back to Portland.

He continued working for his company, recording for local groups like Third Angle New Music Ensemble. On the side, he composed his own music, using nontraditional sounds. When a teaching position in audio engineering and guitar opened up at Grant last August, Howard jumped at the opportunity.

Remembering the impact his pottery teacher had on his musical career, Howard wanted to replicate that experience. “I thought: OK, I have the opportunity to maybe do that for one student every five years,” he remembers thinking. “Of course I want to be a high school teacher, and I got hooked right away.”

In his audio engineering course, Howard leads students to develop their own music and learn the intricacies of music composition. The class has proven to be unique among the course offerings at Grant.

Junior Taylor Crotteau, who enrolled in both of Howard’s courses last year, says the class opened her up to a new career field.

Howard’s audio engineering was more than an average class, she says. “Before, I hadn’t really tuned in to smaller sounds that were around me… how sound impacts everything that we do, everything that we take in,” she says. “My perspective definitely changed.”

Howard says being able to create that uniquely sonic learning experience for students has been key. His devotion to educating others is made clear in the classroom every day.

“It was really inspiring how much he cared about what he did and every student’s projects, how he would nitpick at every detail to help you,” says junior Nikole Roy-Johnson, who took audio engineering last year.

As Howard keeps busy with teaching at Grant, he still records music for artists on the side with Open Field Recordings. “It’s absolutely a passion,” he says, chuckling. “I’m laughing because it’s almost like I have a problem. It’s all I think about.”

As he teaches, Howard is working toward a doctorate, which will make him a rarity among Grant staff.

Art teacher Lynn Yarne says her colleague’s vast knowledge of music doesn’t go unnoticed. “He’s very intelligent without being overpowering or arrogant,” she says. “It’s really apparent how much he respects his students as artists, not just as students.”

With the little free time Howard has, he can be found composing his own music. Given Portland’s natural setting, Howard likes to record in remote rural areas, carrying his hefty microphones and wind guard with him.

Howard stores the new sounds, along with hours worth of past recordings, readily available to combine and edit into music.

As he moves into his second year of teaching at Grant, he wants to open up the student body to a unique perspective in music.

“I definitely try to use my own experience as a way to kind of provide some new ways of thinking,” he says. “That’s the thing as an educator that I’m always thinking about. How can I open up a window for somebody that otherwise they wouldn’t have?”

“I was obsessed with sound, and I think I always knew that, but I had no outlet.”

-Branic Howard

August 2016

17

SUMMER ON THE GR

Grant Magazine photographers reveal what’s happ

Mateo Cornelius, 9, of Northeast Portland’s Sullivan’s Gulch neighborhood, on playing Pokémon GO (above) “I got it on the second day right after it came out. So there’s a Pokémon right in front of you, and you have a Pokéball, which is just a little ball and you swipe to throw it, and if it hits the Pokémon it catches the Pokémon. But sometimes the Pokémon escape, and when that happens you just keep throwing Pokéballs at it.”

Lee Moyer, 36, Mateo’s mother “I like that it gets the kids outside. My problem is the safety factor of it all. He likes to cross streets obviously when he’s doing the Pokémon thing, and he will keep the phone up. So we have a ‘no phones up when you’re crossing a street’ rule. So it’s both good and bad. We actually hadn’t been to Grant since the Pokémon GO craze started, but we’ve hit up all different parks around the city. It’s like a standard to the trip to the park, there’s always that component to it now. When he came back over to the other part of the playground I had to say, ‘OK, we got to put the phone away now and get some wiggles out and do the park thing’ and you know he transitioned well into that. I think you have to make a conscious effort to do that or it’s just going to be all Pokémon all the time.”

- Photo and interview by Molly Metz

18 Grant Magazine

RANT HIGH CAMPUS

pening around the school during the three-month break

Adrian Esteban, 42, Diego’s father, helps him attempt the long jump (left) “He wanted to win. He wanted to jump farther, so he asked if I would do it with him. So we ran, and I picked him up. He was happy when he got his first place gold medal.”

Tonie Esteban, 39, mother of Diego Esteban, 3, of Northeast Portland (left) “It was a birthday for my 3-year-old son, Diego. It was Olympic themed. So we used the track, which was awesome, and it was perfect because there was enough shade for us, and the kids had plenty of stuff to do.

There was long jump, disc throw on the football field, then they did relay races on the track, and they came up and did bean bag toss. They loved it. Each event we scored them first, second, and third place. We gave out medals, and they got to stand on the little podium and take their picture.”

- Photo and interview by Molly Metz Samra Meredith, 10, of Northeast Portland (right): “I go to Beverly Cleary. My favorite thing about Grant is...I like that it’s turf, I like that it’s big and you can play on it, and sometimes when you just come out to play you find a lot of your friends here.”

Kurt Meredith, 50, father: “We live next to the park. We’re here all the time. It’s big enough... it has a little bit of everything. Tons of soccer.

It’s fair to say she started at 4. She always talks about wanting to play for the Thorns.”

Samra: “My favorite player is Tobin Heath.

She’s just really inspiring. She’s a really good soccer player. She likes a lot of things I like. Her team number is the day of my birthday.”

Kurt: “We moved in here before we got the kids, and we were just looking for the best community to raise kids in. And we’ve loved it ever since.”

Samra: “It’s an awesome community.”

- Photo and interview by Finn Hawley-Blue

SataieVior Ayilola, 14, of Northeast Portland (above) “There was nothing for me to do at home. Instead of just sitting…I know like people come here at the park all the time and just play basketball. I play basketball for the Grant varsity team. I played as a freshman, but I couldn’t play that much ‘cause there was a lot of people in front of me. But this year, I’ll be able to play a lot more and start on varsity. I just have a passion for the game. When I was born, my father put a basketball in my hands when I was like 2 months old, and ever since then I’ve just been playing, building a love for the game... working hard to get good at it.”

- Photo and interview by Finn Hawley-Blue

Greg Truax, 34, of Northeast Portland, with his son, Evan, 3 (above) “We’re just here to play tennis. We come here every day pretty much, sometimes twice a day.

He loves it. He comes over to the playground most of the time, but sometimes we play tennis, sometimes we go swimming, sometimes he goes in the fountain. I’ve played tennis for a long time, since I was little, so he’s just picking it up right now.”

- Photo and interview by Julian Wyatt

20 Grant Magazine

Juan Saldivar, 31, of Sandy, Oregon, an assistant projects officer for Grant’s renovation “I’m like an assistant project manager. I’ve been doing this for about 2 years. I used to be a pizza guy. I wanted something new. I got bored of pizza after working in that for 10 years… I didn’t realize how much asbestos was everywhere when I started. This might be my favorite project so far because I don’t normally use big tools. I usually work in the office. It’s a lot different. More muscle is put into it, but I like it. Working out here will help me, getting experience.”

- Photo by Kayanna Henderson, Interview by Toli Tate August 2016

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Just Keep Swimming After Bowen Terry lost his eldest brother in a tragic accident, water polo acted as the remedy to his loss of confidence.

Story by Blu Midyett and Kana Heitzman • Photo by Molly Metz

B

owen Terry was six years old on a hot summer day, finishing up a little league baseball game when his life was changed forever. His mother, Pam Terry, was working at the snack shack nearby when she got a phone call from her husband and left in a rush.

Moments later, a family friend approached Terry and his brother, Max, and told them that she was going to drive them home.

When they arrived, their mother met them on their front porch, got down on her knees – pulling their hands in to hers – and told them that they weren’t going to see their older brother, Finn, again.

Bowen Terry didn’t understand at first. He thought it must be a lie. But it dawned on him that his older brother would never be returning home. The news hit him like a brick.

“I was just confused and wanted to be alone,” he remembers.

Dealing with death at such a young age took a piece of Terry’s confidence away. With his brother’s passing, outside activities and friends began to fall to the wayside and his upbeat and inclusive personality faded, his parents recalled. Throughout elementary school, Terry felt like an outsider.

But after joining a water polo club team in sixth grade and later the Grant Varsity team, Terry found a passion and confidence that he hadn’t felt since before he lost his brother. The sport gave him a sense of pride and leadership that he had never felt before.

Terry has since gained a solid place in the water polo community at Grant. As a sophomore and starting goalie, he is one of the leaders on the team. He’s come farther than he ever thought he would.

“I feel like he lost his voice but then because of his water polo... he found his voice again,” says his older brother Max Terry.

“The goalie is always making the calls and because of having the leadership in the goal, it built him into a confident person and built up his leadership.”

Born Sept. 1, 2001, in Portland, Terry is the youngest of four siblings. As a toddler, he was always smiling and eager to socialize with people. For him, no one was a stranger; they were just friends he had yet to meet.

“Bowen is joy… I don’t know how else to describe him,” says Pam Terry.

Out of the four kids, Max and Madeline Terry were studious and hardworking, while Bowen and Finn shared a disregard for schoolwork. They were a pair; always the two to initiate family games and get everyone to go on hikes. For Bowen Terry, Finn was the older brother he always looked up to.

“Max and Madeline are the kids that like to stay in the box, they want to be like other people,” says Pam Terry. “But for Finn and Bowen, it’s like they didn’t even know there was a box.”

On June 7, 2008, Finn Terry died after his canoe tipped on the Clackamas River during a Boy Scout outing. He drowned moments later.

At the time, Bowen Terry didn’t believe that it had actually happened, it took a few days for the reality to set in. He says the news was so devastating that most of that day and following weeks

22 Grant Magazine

were blocked from his memory. All he remembers was the urge to always be alone.

In the days following, Bowen spent most of his time inside, away from the constant stream of condolences. But after a week, he and Max decided they needed to join a swim team. Finn was an avid swimmer and was well known in the swimming community around Grant. The boys wanted to honor Finn in death by doing something he loved.

They did it “to feel closer to him even though he wasn’t there,” Bowen Terry says. “We wanted to be more like Finn, and Finn did swim team and loved it so we thought we could do it, too.”

They started on a Grant pool swim team days later.

When he returned for the start of his second grade year, Bowen Terry still felt lost but wanted to keep up his outgoing personality for his friends at school. He says he went on as the joyful kid to deflect any sympathy from classmates. Dealing with other people was difficult. With a death in the family, he felt like no one understood him.

He had lost his role model in Finn and had to reconcile it somehow. He says at that point, he decided to turn his focus inward.

“I wanted to be my own person,” he says. “Do what made me happy and do the things I needed to do to get to where I wanted to be.’

For Bowen Terry, it was his way of dealing with the loss.

Throughout the rest of elementary school, he stuck with swimming but it soon grew dull. He was a strong swimmer but the sport wasn’t for him; he was a team player and swimming was too independent for him.

In sixth grade, Terry watched a live water polo match in the Olympics and knew it was time to change sports. The sport – which is set in a pool and includes two seven-person teams that try to score by throwing a volleyball-like ball into the opponent’s net – intrigued him. Later that year, he started his first practice for Tualatin Hills Water Polo Club.

Terry was nervous at first. Walking into a team environment was new for him and getting to know all the new faces was overwhelming.

But it quickly grew on him, and after two months, Terry had formed a bond with his team that he had never experienced before.

“It keeps me happy and I enjoy doing it,” he says. “I also do it to be a part of a team and make new friends.”

Tualatin Hills Water Polo also grew as a program and by the time Bowen Terry reached eighth grade, it was one of the best clubs in

Bowen Terry has found a comfort in the water polo community, even as one of the youngest on the team, he stands as a prominent leader. “I like being in the water and being part of a team and water polo combines both of those into one.”

the Northwest. Terry had practice eight times a week. The physical toll was exhausting, but to him it was worth it. He found a place as the goalie of the team, the position known as “the coach in the water.”

When Terry came to Grant, his mother helped to start the water polo team. She wanted her son to be able to play the sport at the high school level. Without the Terry family’s efforts on bringing the sport to Grant, the water polo team would never have been created.

“Pam (Terry) has gone above and beyond to bring water polo to Grant High School,” says Grant Water Polo coach, Brian Hobelman.

“She has given up much of her time and has shown infinite passion in the team and community.”

Pam Terry was inspired to give back because of the everlasting support their family received after Finn’s death, she says.

As a freshman, Bowen Terry excelled on the team. While shy at first, he followed in the steps of his brother, Max, who was also on the team. Bowen started to step out of his shell.

During a game this summer at a tournament – a tournament that decides the members of the next Junior Olympic team – a teammate’s dad was yelling from the bleachers at his son. He wanted the boy to do exactly as he said, Bowen Terry recalls.

Before the match, Bowen approached his teammate and said: “Your dad is wrong. Do you know what you have to do in the next game? You have to prove him wrong about all the things he

is saying. You want to think about what he is going to say in the future when you blow him away.”

“It felt great afterwards,” Bowen recalls. “I felt humble, but confident.”

It was a pivotal moment for Terry as he began to step into a leadership role on the team. Now going into his sophomore year, he will start as a goalie or midfielder on the Grant team. He says he feels more confident than ever.

This year, Bowen Terry wants to continue his progress in the sport and is currently training six days a week. “I’m improving my water polo skills and doing everything I can to be the best I can be,” he says.

Terry’s main goal is to play highly competitive water polo in college and he dreams of competing in the Olympics one day.

Although, Finn Terry never played water polo himself, Bowen still credits his initial interest in swimming with his brother. Finn will always live on in his heart, he says.

“I try to keep my head up and keep the whole team’s head up because that’s vital if we want to play well in the next game,” he says. “It really makes me feel like the soul of the team because I... lift them up to make sure they focus on the task at hand. If we are thinking about the past, we won’t be ready for the future.”

To see how Terry overcame adversity, visit grantmagazine.com/waterpolo August 2016

23

Susan Bartley’s husband, Pedro Anglada Cordero (left), Bartley (middle) and her daughter, Simone Anglada Bartley taking a moment in their blossoming garden. Growing up Bartley was always in the dirt, she hopes to raise Simone in the same environment.

Teaching with a Mission

Susan Bartley has spent a life bringing activism into her job as a teacher. At Grant, she plans to continue pushing for educational equity.

Story by Blu Midyett • Photos by Kayanna Henderson

S

usan Bartley was six years old when she started raising money for the Ethiopian Hunger Crisis of 1984 – one of the deadliest famines in world history.

After spending weeks crocheting 15 unique pot holders to sell, she went off into her neighborhood one late summer afternoon, walking door to door, begging neighbors to support those in need.

Some gave her a dollar, others more.

She ended up with $17 – which to her at the time seemed like an incredible amount of money – and made her parents sent it off to a local Red Cross. She didn’t know how much it was going to help, but she knew one thing: she couldn’t let an issue like that go without getting involved.

“It was childish, but I couldn’t stand the idea that those things were happening and that I wouldn’t do something about it,” she says now.

24 Grant Magazine

Bartley has never stopped advocating for the afflicted.

At Franklin High School, where she taught for 12 years, Bartley created the Advanced Placement Scholars program that helped to close the achievement gap between white students and students of color. In its peak last year, the program had more than 500 kids and 100 percent of the students who joined were accepted into college.

She left last year after creating school-wide rules aimed at continuing to support students of color in upper-level classes. When it came to the Portland School Board, it received unanimous support.

At Grant this year, she plans to keep making strides in educational equity and bring the students of Grant a wider awareness of social injustice. For her, social justice and teaching have been one in the same.

Ray Leary, a friend and work associate, says Bartley has an innate ability to reach students. “Her greatest concern is helping students

discover their voice and to then have the courage to use it,” he says.

She went through a job as a life skills teacher for recently released “The student body (of Grant) should be prepared to be inspired, felons and taught at Open Meadows Alternative School for a year. to be challenged, and to be affirmed,” Leary says.

But she realized that her passion for teaching should be taken to the Bartley was born on Oct. 19, 1978, in Buffalo, N.Y. Her father, next level.

John, worked as a painter for a living and her mother, Maureen, So with a little financial assistance from her mother, Bartley was a passionate florist who always brought bouquets home for the joined a 15-month masters program at Portland State University. family.

Two years later, in the school year of 2003-2004, Bartley started as Her parents didn’t have telephones or television in the house, so a full-time teacher at Franklin High School. along with her older brother, the majority of Bartley’s childhood Immediately after arriving, she says she noticed a gaping disparity was spent painting, reading and listening to music. Gardening also in the number of students of color in A.P. classes at the school. To quickly became part of Bartley’s daily routine. her, this was unfamiliar coming from a highly diverse and high “It was like eating,” Maureen Bartley recalls. “It was just achieving high school in Buffalo. something that was a big part of our lives.”

She made it her mission to change that.

Alongside that, activism was brought into her life at a young age.

During her first few years, Bartley pushed all the students past the Bartley has pictures of herself at age 2, sitting on the shoulders of limit of what they could achieve by not taking “no” for an answer her mother walking into a protest. Conversations around race and from a student. Shay James, the former principal of Franklin and class were constant in the household. a former district administrator, remembers that Bartley never gave “We wanted to make sure that they realized that not everyone up on a student even when most others had. “She is a phenomenal lived this way,” says Maureen Bartley. “I don’t think it’s a good idea teacher that knows how to reach kids that not everybody is able to to keep things away from children and not introduce them to the reach,” says James. idea that life is different for people in different parts of the world or “She believes that all students can achieve in higher level classes, even in your own city.” and when I say all, I mean special education students, ESL students, When it was time for Bartley to go to school, her parents wanted kids of color, everybody,” James says. “And she is able to see what to make sure there was a strong emphasis on social justice in the they need to be successful with the supports in her classroom while classroom. They sent their children to an she’s holding them to high expectations.” alternative elementary school called Coalition for Action Unity In the 2007-2008 school year, Bartley decided she needed to step and Social Equity, or CAUSE, that was located her efforts up. After a joint effort made by multiple across town. teachers to improve A.P. classes at Franklin, The school didn’t have grades or send home Bartley took the lead on a project she called the report cards and they also didn’t have desks – A.P. Scholars Program. The basic concept was to all the students sat on the floor. The teachers intentionally focus on bringing in a higher number held conversations on world issues frequently, of students of color in A.P. classes and create a introducing topics like Civil Rights and the strong support system for those who needed it. meaning of race to international conflicts as early “There were some teachers that got together as kindergarten. to formulate a plan and I was just one of those Bartley says it taught her to recognize the teachers,” she recalls. “But the difference between inequalities between her white family and the me and those other teachers is that I was that African-American families in her neighborhood. It engine. So I took some of those ideas that we came also cemented her place in the world of activism. up with together and never stopped.”

She began involving herself in social movements The first year of the program was slow but she from as early as six years old. At 10, she rallied -Ray Leary, work associate still had 88 eager students pledge to take three A.P. against apartheid in South Africa, hanging posters classes. And with help from school and district around the city denouncing any company that administration, Barley was able to gain a grant financially support that government. Her protesting got to the point for $2.5 million that was split between Franklin and Benson high that some parents didn’t allow their children to spend time with schools over a five-year period.

Bartley, believing she was too outspoken.

The next year a number of kids struggled with such a rigorous As a teenager, she jumped head first into the world of hip-hop. She course load but others started filling their entire schedule with A.P. started a job at a local skateboard shop and took on hip-hop dance, classes. throwing parties with local DJs. Sometimes, she even performed.

With newly gained traction and funds, Bartley poured all her Back at school, she was the leader of the Model United Nations time into the program. She worked as a half-time teacher and spent team and co-founder of the poetry and philosophy clubs. the other half mentoring kids, creating study groups, and helping She graduated from high school in 1998 and went on to New to create stronger relationships between students, teachers and York University to study race, gender and sexuality studies. She was administrators. taught by some of the most renowned Africana studies professors in At the time, Bartley’s name was being heard around the district as the country. the program gained more recognition. Colleges even began sending They forced her to fully recognize her position in a society that her words of encouragement to continue sending more students on systematically benefited white people. to their schools.

When she graduated from NYU, she took a road trip across the When her name reached Pedro Cordero, a bilingual aide at country. When she found Portland, she quickly decided it should be Jefferson High School at the time, he was intrigued. The two had her new home.

“The student body (of Grant) should be prepared to be inspired, to be challenged and to be affirmed.”

August 2016

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been mentioned to one another countless times before they finally met at a mutual friend’s party. After their first conversation, they both knew they were meant to be together.

“We were never really apart since that day,” says Bartley about her now husband.

By the last year of Bartley’s time at Franklin, the number of students taking A.P. classes at Franklin had risen by more than 124 percent and the school had the highest enrollment in the district.

Lynn Dao, a 2016 Franklin High School graduate had Bartley as an AP English teacher last year and went through the AP Scholars Program since freshman year. She was the first of her family to graduate from high school and will be attending Barnard College this year. She credits much of her success to Bartley.

“She just pretty much was a supporter from me, my parents didn’t really quite help out in the (college) application process. I had to figure it all out on my own,” she says. “Bartley was there every step of the way for me...Without Ms.Bartley I don’t know what was going to be possible for me.”

James says the program had an enormous effect on the academic culture of the school, as well as the students themselves.

“Not only did it grow and become the cultural fabric of the school,” she says. “But it played a significant role in closing the achievement gap, raising graduation rates and helping students gain post-secondary opportunities that I don’t believe they would’ve had without that program.”

When James left Franklin in 2014, Bartley lost what she calls “a match set in heaven” with the former principal. She was concerned that no one else could reach the level of understanding that Bartley and her had.

In the end, Bartley felt that the program she spent years creating wasn’t being properly supported. Her departure brings a bittersweet ending to her time at Franklin.

In response, she created what she named the “Bill of Rights for Students of Color in A.P. and I.B. courses,” a six-page document

that outlines the exact responsibilities of school administrators across the district to meet the needs of students of color.

It mandates that schools with high rates of students of color must have the same rate of A.P. classes as schools with high rates of white students. The legislation also required at least $15,000 of funding from the district for Summer Bridge programs – a summer math program that helps students who are behind in math – among other things.

When it went to the school board, support for the plan was unanimous and it gained the support of various esteemed professors from across the country, teachers, alumni and Oregon senators.

“It’s predicated on all the things that we were doing and I guess it was my last grasp at trying to enforce the things that we know work,” says Bartley.

With the Bill of Rights, Bartley hopes to be leaving the school in a solid place. But nonetheless, leaving Franklin has been the “biggest transition of my life,” she says. “I’m basically walking away from my life’s work.”

For her, gardening and a passion to continue helping students in need has kept her going.

In her backyard along with her four year-old daughter Simone Bartley, Susan Bartley has found a sense of calm and balance. In her shed, she collects dried flowers to make bouquets and even paints when she has the time. She is also finishing a book focused on the effects and solutions to racism in education that she hopes to have published later this year.

This year at Grant, she will teach sophomore and A.P. English, and plans to continue to address issues of race, gender and class in her curriculum.

Lamarra Haynes, a 2011 graduate from Franklin High School and former student of Bartley’s, says that her former teacher’s focus on authors of color and topics of race and gender had a significant impact on her. “As a student of color, as an immigrant, as somebody who identifies as female, she actually saw me as a whole person as opposed to just another Bartley tying together the start of a bouquet using flowers from her own garden. For black student.”

Bartley, working with flowers helps keep her grounded.

“There are a lot of issues around racism but to have a teacher that was willing to address those things and really go out of their way to add into the curriculum people of color, women, people who are not American, that was really cool and I found that extremely liberating.”

To Bartley, that’s all part of the job.

“I knew that activism and being a teacher, were what for me feels like my dalma or my role in the world,” she says.

“It’s the most hopeful job I think that one can have...in my view it is the greatest way to make an impact.”

Kelly Merrill sits at his dining room table and paints a custom family crest for a friend’s wedding.

The Media Man Kelly Merrill has done it all. From filmmaking and animation to illustration, Merrill brings his expertise into his Digital Photography and Printmaking classes at Grant this year.

Story by Blu Midyett • Photos by Kayanna Henderson

A

spaceship crash-lands on the campus of Room 9 School in Kirkland, Wash. Then aliens emerge and begin teaching students how to levitate objects. The young children are curious about the supernatural visitors, though they know it’s only their classmates dressed in black outfits with antennas strapped to their heads.

The aliens touch down as part of a production put on by a group of then fourth-grade students. A fishing pole and wire dangle a book into the view of the VHS recorder. Behind the camera is 9-year-old Kelly Merrill, who watches as part of his directing role.

The movie, “Return to Enin Moor” – the name of Merrill’s school spelled backwards – was one of the annual Halloween productions the students created at the alternative school.

The curriculum, which was based around the students interests, was a good fit for Merrill, who often struggled to stay focused in class. For him, art was a way to concentrate his energy and stay engaged.

Throughout his working life, Merrill has drifted from screenwriting and animation to video editing and illustration. His focus has always been widespread across his interests.

But now, as Grant’s new digital photography and printmaking teacher, he’s ready to settle down into a long-term position and concentrate his focus. “I kind of wanted like a solid career...

Something that was a little more grounded, and I felt like I could build something,” he says. “That was sort of what drew me to teaching.”

Just months after finishing his master’s in education program, Merrill hopes to use his background in various subjects to lay a concrete foundation of core concepts in digital media. In short, he wants to help students find their voices through a creative outlet.

Born in Kirkland in 1979, Merrill grew up exploring the world of fantasy through writing short stories and making videos with his older brothers, Jason and Justin.

He remembers watching the movie “Young Frankenstein” as a 4-year-old. He was instantly immersed in the world the writers had created, sparking his interest in storytelling. “I basically didn’t want that world to be over,” says Merrill. “I was invested in this world, so it really frustrated me that there was an end to it.”

During elementary and middle school at Room 9, one of Merrill’s teachers influenced his interest in filmmaking as she taught students the basics of creating films. “From then on, in the summers, even during the school year, we’d make short little movies with our video camera,” says Merrill.

And his mother, Melanie Merrill, remembers them well. “The joy of my work week was to see a film they made,” she says. “I still watch them.”

August 2016

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During his years at Shorewood High School, Merrill honed in on the arts. On the weekends, he and his friends formed a group to express their creativity and love of filmmaking. They called themselves “the good time boys” and made videos of themselves running around the neighborhood, climbing buildings and highfiving cashiers.

At school, he explored the arts through sculpture classes, where he built clay figures and busts. It was this interest that led him to Western Washington University. However, after a displeasing conversation with the program’s lead instructor, he decided to transfer to Shoreline Community College to save money and complete his general education requirements.

At the same time, he worked at Meadow Brook Daycare in Seattle, where he taught kids how to draw and paint. It was one of his first experiences in the classroom, and since then, the idea of becoming a teacher lingered in the back of his mind.

Going into his junior year in college, Merrill transferred again to The Evergreen State College to focus more on digital media and animation. For one of his final projects, he created a film called “Phantom Zero” with a few of his classmates. The film was based off the disappearance of Edgar Allan Poe in the last few weeks of his life.

“Kelly’s always been really good at getting people interested in the projects that we’re doing and...giving the people drive to accomplish what needs to be accomplished,” says Merrill’s friend, Mike Wallace, who also worked on the Poe movie.

The film went on to win an award from the Seattle Experimental Film Festival.

“It encouraged me to pursue film, so I can create something and win an award, and so what else can I build off of that?” says Merrill now.

Soon after, he graduated from Evergreen with a degree in art with a focus in film and animation.

He moved back to Seattle and picked up a job as a production assistant on the set of the film “Police Beat,” which followed a week in the life of an African bicycle officer in Seattle.

On the set, he was exposed to the many dimensions of the film industry. From running errands between locations to helping with camera equipment and lighting for producers, Merrill says he filled in wherever he was needed to move production forward.

“You kind of get to do a lot of what the director does,” says Merrill. “You’re kind of interacting with the lighting, camera, the production team and you kind of just learn all the little bits and pieces.”

In 2003, he moved with some friends to Portland. A year later, he met Jaime Ausborn on MySpace. The two began messaging back and forth and connected over similar interests in music. A few months later, they started dating.

For the next two years, Merrill worked various day jobs. He delivered newspapers for the Portland Mercury, was a DJ at high school dances and weddings, framed artwork for Pearl Gallery and Framing and worked at Imago Théâtre.

By 2005, Merrill had landed a job at Wieden + Kennedy, a Portland based advertising company. He worked as a member of the audiovisual department and helped catalog commercials or media that Wieden + Kennedy produced. He also edited together videos and created mock commercials for creatives and copywriters.

But after nearly five years, he was ready for a switch. He was

burnt out doing advertising and was looking to get back into the film industry.

Merrill moved back to Seattle and got a job at Microsoft. There, he took old seasons of TV shows and edited them, fixed any problems and wrote code to convert video files from TV to Xbox.

Although he wasn’t making films, getting to immerse himself in the film industry was refreshing.

Kelly and Jaime decided to pack up and move back to Portland again when Jaime got a job within her career of interior designing.

Leaving Microsoft in 2013 behind, Merrill passed the days doing freelance video projects and editing for Adidas and Portland State University. And it was during that time he began entertaining the idea of teaching.

In June 2014, Merrill dove into the world of teaching and began taking classes at Portland State University for his master’s in education. “He’s become more entrenched in his determination to do something that is creative but is also serving the community,” says Melanie Merrill.

When Kelly and Jaime Merrill married in 2013, they wrote a skit for their wedding. “We actually made masks out of papier-mâché and chicken wire,” says Jaime. “I was an owl, and Kelly was a fox, and we made this little like story about how they met and fell in love.”

In October 2015, Merrill and his wife had their first child, a girl they named Juniper. “Learning to raise a child, I think a lot of that relates back to being a teacher, so my home life kind of connects to what I want to do,” says Merrill.

While taking courses for his master’s, Merrill filled his time out of the classroom as a tutor for the Advancement Via Individual Determination program at Tualatin High School.

For the first time, Merrill was pushed outside of his comfort zone in the world of digital arts, film and illustration and had to work with students on math, chemistry and language arts. But that didn’t throw him off course. It wasn’t art that was driving him; it was teaching.

“To me, it was kind of a good trial to see even if I was teaching something that may not interest me as much, I still enjoy breaking down information and creating some sort of logic for students to have to build on their previous knowledge,” he says.

Earlier this year, while a student teacher at Benson High School, Merrill learned about the Career Technical Education programs that helps students learn skills for future careers. He was intrigued by the idea and wanted to be a part of that program to teach students about digital arts.

In June, he got his degree and blanketed his applications for jobs in teaching digital media across the city. Just a few weeks later, he interviewed and accepted the position at Grant.

As the school year begins, Merrill hopes to create a curriculum with different approaches and choices for students, so they can see the range of skills that are needed in digital arts to prepare them for the future.

“I think doing CTE is really a cool thing for me because it represents what drew me to teaching,” he says. “I learned what it’s like to work at an ad agency, what it’s like to work at Microsoft... now it’s exciting to bring that to a high school level.”

“I learned what it’s like to work at an ad agency, what it’s like to work at Microsoft... now it’s exciting to bring that to a high school level.”

- Kelly Merrill

28 Grant Magazine

To see Merrill using his creative outlets, visit grantmagazine.com/merrill.

Time with...Emmet White

Speed Racer

Longboarding has given Grant junior Emmet White more than just an outlet for expression

“I never felt judged for wearing a helmet.”

Interview by Georgia Greenblum • Photo by Molly Metz

Age: 16 Favorite place to skate: Maryhill Loops Road in Goldendale, Wash.

Fastest speed while longboarding: 60 mph Favorite genre of music: “I like hip-hop and rap.

Vince Staples and ASAP Rocky are my favorites.”

Favorite vegetable: “Bok Choy is pretty legit.”

Hobbies: Working on cars, cooking, film photography When did you start longboarding?

In the later months of 2010. It felt like an adventure and I thought it might be a fun thing to do for a little. But I had no idea it would turn into the obsession I have with it now.

Do you remember when you first started?

The first day I got my longboard, I went to Laurelhurst Park and skated down the biggest hill, and I speed wobbled off my board and into the dirt. My mom was freaking out, saying that she was going to take it away. It wasn’t until the end of 2011 and start of 2012 that my parents saw how cool it was and how good it was for me. I was making more friends, being more social and going to races and improving.

Do your parents make you wear a helmet?

They made me wear a helmet, and I was really into wearing helmets. Still am. I never felt judged for wearing a helmet, yet at the same time if someone is making fun at you for wearing a helmet, you have a pretty good argument for wearing one.

Have you ever gotten injured?

I’ve had road rash, but I have never had a concussion. I have hit my head my pretty hard. That’s what concerns me the most, hitting the head can really affect you long term and it destroys brain cells. I have crashed probably 200 times and hit my head majorly four times. Whenever I hit my head that hard, I usually take a breather for the day just to be safe.

How do your parents feel about it?

Whenever my parents would take me to my events, they would always be really nervous about it. They would watch me and see how happy I am doing it, and I think there is a point in longboarding when you figure

out how to control yourself. I think at that point they saw how happy I was, how much I was improving and that I had found another passion that I loved.

What is the longboarding community like in Portland?

It’s a lot of people who are into the same thing who can instantly form a strong bond. It’s a really supportive community. I have some of my best friends from longboarding. The whole point of skating trips are that you drive together, stay together and eat together. It’s like being with another kind of family.

How does it make you feel?

I would say throughout the whole time I feel like controlled chaos mixed with extreme happiness. When I am skating, it’s super chaotic. I’m really close to people and I’m trying to avoid them; at the same time I am having the time of my life while being in this controlled chaos.

What does this sport mean to you?

I would say my skating now is me trying to progress and have a fun time. I used to be focused on getting sponsors or winning stuff, and now it’s been really focused on having a good time because in the end, that’s what I would say longboarding is all about to me.

How have you changed since you started?

Skateboarding has definitely added more freedom in my life than without it. I think the freedom I have gotten from skating has allowed me to prove that I am responsible enough now and in the future to go on road trips, travel by myself and make the right decisions. With skateboarding, I feel more comfortable sharing my opinion and talking with people I don’t know and being more comfortable in group situations.

What else are you into?

I was really into snakes and lizards.

I even wanted to have a snake collection. I only ended up having one snake.

I had a Ball To see a video of White in action, visit python. It was grantmagazine.com/longboarding named stripes.

August 2016

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Navigating

Two Cultures How Grant sophomore Tina Smillie used an earthquake in Japan to find a new home in America.

By Ella Weeks

T

ina Smillie was sitting at her desk in her last class of the day at Takamori Elementary School in Sendai, Japan when everything began to shake.

That Friday afternoon in March 2011, the Pacific Coast of Japan was hit by a 9.0 magnitude earthquake. It would be the fourth largest earthquake ever recorded in world history, killing more than 20,000 people and creating havoc around several nuclear power plants that were affected.

“I got my notebook out,” recalls Smillie, now a Grant High sophomore. “And then the floor started to shake.”

She and the other students in her fourth grade class calmly climbed underneath their desks, following protocol. After experiencing several minor shakes throughout the week, Smillie and her class assumed they weren’t in danger.

But when she began to feel the building lurching from left to right, she knew something was wrong and ran out of the school with her classmates. “Everyone was just crying,” Smillie remembers.

As panic kicked in, she tried to recall the last thing she had said to her parents, but couldn’t. Luckily, everyone in her school made it out alive, and soon Smillie’s parents picked her up and took her home.

But nothing was the same after that and for Smillie, the disaster marked a time when she made a choice: to move without her parents across the world to Portland.

Now five years later, the 15-year-old Smillie sits at the dining room table looking through an old photo album that contains a blend of two different cultures, America and Japan. Even the shelf across from Smillie is stuffed with books in equal parts English and Japanese.

For her, the earthquake turned into an opportunity to pursue her dream of living in the U.S., a dream that’s been with her since she was young. “(America) was just always a part of me,” she says. “I think I was meant to live there.”

She lived with relatives in Portland and was separated from her parents and sister for eight months. But for Smillie, whose independence has shown since she was young, the move was natural.

“I was confident. If anybody could handle it, she could,” says Smillie’s dad, Braven.

After years of change, Smillie finally feels like she belongs.

“I’m not missing out on anything,” she says.

Smillie was born in Tokyo and later moved to Sendai when she was 1. Her parents met in Japan while working for a news wire service. While her mom, Chiaki, was native to Japan, Braven was born in the United States and came to Japan through a student exchange program in high school. With parents from both countries, she’s been immersed in the two cultures since birth.

It was in Smillie’s nature to organize activities on her own.

“She was the first kid in our neighborhood to start ‘trick-or-

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Tina Smillie performs a hip hop routine at the Clark County Fair on August 13th, 2016. Photo by Finn Hawley Blue

treat,’” says Chiaki Smillie, explaining that her daughter delivered flyers for the event to neighbors.

She started her own dance group with friends, meeting every week to choreograph routines.

She strove to become fluent in Japanese and English in order to fulfill both sides of her identity.

“I always lived half-and-half in both worlds...In our home and in school, too,” she says.

She loved watching American TV shows like “Hannah Montana” and admired the way the characters spoke perfect English and had lockers in their schools, something she didn’t have in Japan.

Braven Smillie was eager for her to experience both cultures. “I know how hard it is to become bilingual just by academic studying, like in school,” he says. “So I thought, ‘What a great opportunity to be moving back between both countries.’”

Smillie and her family visited San Diego nearly every year during summer or winter breaks. There, they met up with family members and Smillie and her younger sister, Elena, would go to summer school at a church to learn in English.

Back in Japan, struggles with language made it tough to balance both worlds, and her dad acknowledged the difficulties she faced.

“People are fairly strictly categorized according to different types,” says Braven Smillie. “You just naturally assume everybody’s Japanese...Unless they’re slightly different – then you stand out, for better or for worse.

But it wasn’t until she experienced her first real move – the family moved to another neighborhood in Sendai – that Smillie began to consider moving much further away.

“I felt like it would be different,” she says. “I always felt like I wanted to be in both [countries]... I guess the grass is greener on the other side of the fence.”

Even though her parents expected their daughters would stay in Japan until college, Smillie was set on moving for good, determined to end her struggle with language and move to the country she’d come to love.

“I remember her saying that, ‘I will go, even if I am alone,’” says Chiaki Smillie.

But not everything went as planned. After the earthquake hit her city, Smillie became paranoid, fearing the hundreds of aftershocks that were to come at any moment.

“When they go through a disaster like that,” Braven Smillie says about his daughters’ experiences, “It’s the first time that they realize their parents are not always there to save them.”

But Braven and Chiaki Smillie reassured their daughters and did their best to stay safe, sectioning off a room in their house with one large bed and no loose objects in order to avoid injuries.

They also focused on the positives. Smillie remembers the community “was really coming together.” Citizens checked on friends and the elderly almost daily. Markets sold large bags of food and supplies for 50 cents each, and Smillie’s family worked together to stabilize their lives during an unsteady time.

“Things were very up-in-the-air for our whole family,” says Braven Smillie. Like others in their city, they were faced with options about what to do next: moving to a new city to escape potential radiation poisoning or moving to a new country and starting fresh.

Smillie remembers going back to her dream. She says the earthquake showed her what it was like to live with change. “(I) was like, ‘OK, I’m more ready than I thought,” she recalls.

“Tina...really tipped the scales in favor of us taking that adventurous step of just completely turning our whole lives around,” Braven Smillie says.

After attending a family event San Diego, the family decided to part ways. Chiaki couldn’t stay in the U.S. because she didn’t

3/16/2011- Smillie and her grandfather, Tatsuo Ishimura, in Takarazuka for the first time after the earthquake.”

Photo courtesy of the Smillie family.

have an immigrant visa, and Elena, being three years younger than Smillie, needed to continue her Japanese education. Braven had to stay to work.

But for Smillie, it was clear that her time in Japan was over. She made her best friends bracelets and spent a night with each of them to say goodbye.

Her parents notified friends and relatives about their daughter’s move.

“She was like the trailblazer for her family,” says Braven Smillie.

Smillie flew to Portland where she moved in with her aunt and uncle in the Sellwood neighborhood. “It was almost like being with a host family, but after a while, it felt really like I was living in my house,” she says.

She restarted fifth grade at LLewellyn Elementary School and spent the next six months in a brand new life without much communication with her parents and sister.

“Living with people that I hadn’t lived with for longer than a month, that really made me mature,” she recalls.

The move also meant that she had to get used to a new culture fast. At school, U.S. history was a challenge. She learned who Lewis and Clark were when a friend explained after seeing a Lewis-and-Clark-themed ride in Oaks Park.

Language still hindered Smillie’s progress, especially writing.

She hated written assignments that were displayed in the hallways because she worried people would see her imperfect English.

“I was thinking of these words that I wanted to write but I couldn’t spell them so I’d have to think of other words that were easier to spell,” she remembers.

By the end of 2011, Braven Smillie was able to leave work and family in Japan and return to the U.S. to set up a new home in Southeast Portland. He and his daughter moved into a new house in a new area.

“She had become American,” her dad says of reconnecting with his daughter.

A year after the quake, the rest of the family joined them. “I just missed them so much,” Smillie says. “Having my mom’s voice and my dad’s voice and my sister’s voice...feels like a real family.”

The family moved again to Northeast Portland and the girls started in the Japanese Magnet Program.

Through the program at Mt. Tabor Middle School, she was able to take a two-week trip back to Japan, which reminded her of her time in the country. “When you’re back, you just remember living there,” she says.

Her dad recalls how she appeared nostalgic for her Japanese home. “She had friends over there that she missed, and she’s really bicultural in that way,” he says now.

As a freshman at Grant last year, Smillie felt at ease in the community, especially since it included many former Mt. Tabor students.

Today, her family has settled down in a house they own, and Smillie has turned her focus to dance. She made it onto the Gendrills last year and hopes to continue dancing.

She says she also wants to pick up another language – French.

Her goal? To visit new countries.

She stays in touch with her roots by studying Japanese in school, reading it in books and speaking it with her mom.

“Now I value my Japanese more,” she says. “And it just feels good that I’ve lived in both worlds. It’s satisfying that I didn’t miss out on anything. Everything that happened made it possible to be here and move forward.”

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ALUMNI

Beat of his Own Drum

An appearance on NBC’s “America’s Got Talent” catapults alumni Ilan Swartz-Brownstein into the spotlight. But he won’t forget his faith.

By Sarah Hamilton

T

his is it, Ilan Swartz-Brownstein remembers thinking.

He recalls taking a deep breath and walking onto the enormous stage of NBC’s “America’s Got Talent,” alongside his partner, Josh Leviton.

The lights are blinding. Swartz-Brownstein remembers that he could hardly make out anyone in the audience other than the celebrity judges in front of him: Howie Mandel, Mel B, Heidi Klum and Simon Cowell.

Based on the pair’s clothing – dress shirts and pants, yarmulkes and traditional Jewish fringes called tzitzit – Swartz-Brownstein and Leviton appear as if they are about to recite passages from the Torah.

But they have a surprise in store.

Swartz-Brownstein and Leviton begin singing the words to Meghan Trainor’s “All About That Bass” before launching into a remixed beatbox version of the pop song. The audience erupts with applause. The judges are equally as pleased, sending SwartzBrownstein and Leviton on to the next round.

A 2012 graduate of Grant, Swartz-Brownstein, 22, is an Orthodox Jew. In 2010 as a high school junior, he took a hard look at his life and realized it lacked deep purpose. Becoming Orthodox allowed him to see the world in a whole different light.

“Being orthodox is much more than just keeping the rules,” says Swartz-Brownstein. “Being orthodox is recognizing the meaning and holiness within everything.”

His religion has empowered him to embrace his authentic self – part of which includes beatboxing. As an Orthodox Jewish beatboxer, he’s gained national attention on this season of “America’s Got Talent.”

But for Swartz-Brownstein, it’s about more than the recognition.

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Above: Ilan Swartz-Brownstein studies the Talmud at the Yeshiva University Beit Midrash, or “House of Study.”

Photo by Luke Bolton

It’s about showing members of the Jewish community how to be true to themselves.

Swartz-Brownstein was born in Ketchikan, Alaska. Growing up, he was close with his twin sister, Lieba, and older brother, Natan.

They called themselves the Brownstein explorers, often adventuring off trails together during family hikes.

Their parents, Linda Brownstein and Stan Swartz, who are both Jewish, wanted their children to be raised as such. But Ketchikan lacked a Jewish community and the family was left wanting more.

So when Swartz-Brownstein was 5, the family relocated to Portland. “I wanted my kids to follow their tradition,” Linda Brownstein says.

Swartz-Brownstein attended Portland Jewish School for kindergarten through third grade. Then he went to Laurelhurst and Sunnyside Environmental School before reaching Grant.

At Grant, Swartz-Brownstein was a self-described class clown.

He would do anything to make people laugh, no matter whose expense it was at. “Looking back on my high school experience, I had a lot of fun, but I was missing direction,” Swartz-Brownstein says now.

Freshman year, Swartz-Brownstein started running cross country and joined a Jewish youth group called the National Conservation of Synagogue Youth. Aside from weekly meetings, the group attended weekend conventions with inspirational speakers and educational programming focused on understanding Judaism.

C/O ‘12 He remembers walking away from those conventions feeling invigorated and inspired.

During his first two years at Grant, Swartz-Brownstein was active in the Grant social scene, going out with friends on Friday nights. He has fond memories of making late-night excursions, but near the end of his sophomore year, he started to question his choices. Was this really what life was all about? Was this who he wanted to be?

One day at cross country practice, Swartz-Brownstein posed a question to a fellow runner. “What do you think the meaning of life is?” he asked.

“To have fun,” his teammate responded.

Swartz-Brownstein decided he didn’t like this answer. “It felt like that was a very shallow reason to be alive, to just have fun,” he recalls. “And it was at that point when I started to become more religious.”

Junior year, Swartz-Brownstein became strictly observant in his Judaism. His two siblings were also transitioning to an orthodox lifestyle, and they drew inspiration from one another. As an Orthodox Jew, Swartz-Brownstein would have to adopt dozens of practices to observe his newfound religion, such as only eating kosher foods and attending synagogue. He also had to keep shabbat, meaning he had to adhere to a series of expectations around being orthodox.

Keeping shabbat proved to be difficult for his social life. The Jewish Sabbath occurs weekly from Friday evening to Saturday night and is a designated time of rest for Jews – they are not to drive, use cell phones or do anything strenuous. Swartz-Brownstein could no longer go out with his friends on Friday nights.

He remembers picking up his phone after shabbat to see dozens of texts from his friends, asking him to hang out. As time went on, Swartz-Brownstein stopped being invited to social events and ended up losing many friends.

“I thought it was sad that a lot of those relationships were based on whether I could hang out with them on a Friday night,” he says now.

His mother was also not accepting at first. “It took a while for me to understand all the nuances of all they were and all they were taking on,” she says.

But Swartz-Brownstein didn’t sway from his decision. He was dedicated to the core – on Saturday mornings, when driving in cars was not allowed, Ilan and Lieba walked for three hours to their synagogue on the other side of Portland, nine miles away.

The siblings had little to do during the walks – no phones or music are allowed during shabbat. So Swartz-Brownstein started beatboxing, imitating drum sounds with his mouth.

“I thought it was so obnoxious,” Leiba Swartz-Brownstein says.

But he got better with practice and research. He spent hours perusing YouTube, learning new techniques and styles. He was particularly inspired by another Orthodox Jew beatboxer, Leviton, who called himself “The Orthobox.”

After graduating from Grant in 2012, Swartz-Brownstein traveled to Israel with a Jewish study program called Yeshivat Netiv Aryeh.

For a year and a half, he studied Jewish law, history and philosophy in a temple-like stone building across from the Kotel – a sacred wall from an ancient temple in Jerusalem that is considered to be one of the holiest places on Earth for Jews.

One day while visiting the wall, Swartz-Brownstein saw a man he thought he recognized. “I saw this really tall guy with a black kippah and glasses, and he looked just like the guy from the videos,” he recalls.

It was Leviton. SwartzBrownstein walked up to him and asked, “Are you the Orthobox?”

The two struck up a conversation, did a bit of beatboxing together and exchanged contact information. Days later, Swartz-Brownstein and Leviton performed for the first time at an outdoor shopping center bustling with tourists.

After their time in Israel, Ilan Swartz-Brownstein, Swartz-Brownstein and Class of 2012 Age: 22 Leviton went their separate Where he is now: Yeshiva ways. Swartz-Brownstein University in New York City began attending Yeshiva Favorite thing about University, a private Jewish college: “Aside from school in New York City, understanding more about while Leviton returned to what I want to do with my school in Maryland. life, I’ve been able recognize But the pair remained in the nuances in different contact, and when Leviton people and situations, moved to New York City in where in high school, I saw 2015 – less than a block away everything as ‘yes and no,’ from Swartz-Brownstein’s ‘black and white.’”

Fun fact: “Even though I dorm – the pair jumped at dress pretty standard in the opportunity to share their the Jewish world – I wear talents with the world. a button down shirt and In November, they dress pants – I always wear submitted an audition tape colorful socks. It’s really my to “America’s Got Talent.” thing.”

Three months later, it was confirmed – they were going to be on the show.

For the first round, the duo stunned the audience with an unexpected performance. But in the next round, Swartz-Brownstein and Leviton’s fell short in the eyes of the judges and didn’t move ahead.

The disappointment was crushing, but Swartz-Brownstein realized the performance meant more to them than just cheering fans. For them, it was the interactions backstage – sharing Jewish culture with other contestants – that they felt most proud of.

Now, Swartz-Brownstein is in his senior year at Yeshiva University. He’s travelled all across the country with his school’s A Cappella group, The Y Studs, performing at bar mitzvahs, concert halls, fundraisers and more.

He plans to graduate with a degree in marketing, then study to be a rabbi, though he doesn’t plan on holding a position at a synagogue.

“It’s a strong foundation for beginning the next big stage of my life,” he says.

Since their appearance on the show, the beatboxers have become celebrities in the Jewish community. Throughout everything, though, he has stayed true to his morals. “We always think it’s going to be this big, grand, exciting thing that everyone’s going to see,” he says.

“But the biggest impact I think, is the one we can make offstage.”

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