October 2016

Grant Magazine grantmagazine.com

October 2016

Joining the Movement Young people are using social media to get more involved.

But does posting something on the internet create real change? Pg. 8

By Callie Quinn-Ward and Ari Tandan

In this issue...

8

on the cover: Activism or “Slacktivism?”

By Callie Quinn-Ward and Ari Tandan • Cover photo by Finn Hawley-Blue

Student activists are increasingly relying on social media to make their voices heard. It’s a tool to help spread the word, and it moves things along more quickly. But does it also provide a false sense of accomplishment?

Photo by Blu Midyett

14

A new start

holding her up

Yanet Asghedom left everything she knew in Eritrea. As an immigrant, her path has proven to be anything but easy.

Through dance, Haleigh Tjensvold has a community that supports her through her strained relationship with her father.

By Kali Rennaker

2

24

22

Grant Magazine

By Isabel Lickey

reunited

By Sophie Hauth

When Lee Orr attended Grant, he frequently skipped class. Today he is the school’s attendance specialist.

27

30

32

Striving for more

The Alumni Profile

afterthoughts

Faith Scott found a passion for work through Grant’s Youth Transition Program.

And she’s not looking back.

Terrell Brandon’s path to the NBA started at Grant. Today, he’s committed to giving back to the city he calls home.

What happens when three generations, two political parties and one family come together.

By Molly Metz

18

By Sarah Hamilton

By Ella Weeks

Photo story: Hitting the high notes

By Julian Wyatt and Finn Hawley-Blue

What does it take to create a song? How do you find your muse? We take a look at students who play, write and record their own music and show how they find their inspiration.

Photo by Finn Hawley-Blue

October 2016

3

Quick Mag

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

Talk Back

Dixie Cups vs. Cones

As a result of Portland School Board discussions, some schools are starting to recite the Pledge of Allegiance every Monday. Thoughts?

The 3-inch Profile: Nick Branch Giving back a sense of pride one bag at a time.

By Kana Heitzman

Nick Branch walks the halls with a bag in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. As a long-time custodian at Grant High School, he doesn’t just work to keep the school clean – he wants to present a school that the students will be proud to attend.“I feel like the guardian of the school … And I take it with pride,” he says.

Growing up, Branch would always thank the janitors at his high school for their work.

The clean hallway floors and bathrooms gave him a sense of ownership for his school. With his job now, he hopes to give that back to Grant students.

For Branch, appreciation

means more than anything.

His position may not seem important to some students but when someone thanks him for his hard work, he says it feels like sunshine. “It’s like getting a bonus on my pay check,” he says.

He plans to stay at Grant even after the remodel of the school forces the relocation to the Marshall High School campus next year. The 5 a.m. arrivals and the long days of sweeping are worth it for him. He says he could never leave the school behind. “The move to Marshall is going to suck,” he says. “I chose to stay here ... I felt that I wanted to finish off this place.”

Katie Davidson, 17, senior “I think it’s good that we are honoring our country, but I think our country has a long way to go for what equality and equity means.”

Marta Repollet, 53, Social Studies, ELD teacher “I don’t think it should be required.

I think if people want to do it, like if people take a moment of silence for religious reasons, I think it should be the same.”

Eric McGee, 17, senior “That’s very stupid.

They’re trying to re-brainwash kids to America … I just think it’s stupid, honestly.”

Read more about nationalism in schools on page 5.

Senior

BUMMERS

GHS THEMED CRAYONS

By Sarah Hamilton

“Can I borrow a pencil?”

Yellow

Hall pass Green

Artificial Turf Green

Stage Curtain Red

Locker Gray

Gum under the desk Pink

Fluorescent Light White

College applications

2. Senioritis 3. Filling out the FAFSA 4.

5.

6.

"What college are you going to?"

A whole 34 weeks until graduation Required senior classes

A Brief Review: iPhone 7

By Julian Wyatt

The slick, waterproof, dual camera design with two speakers is all wonderful until the moment that you get passed the aux cord and see that the new wireless earbuds go for the low price of $160.

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Grant Magazine

Durability

∞

Usually deteriorate after one use

Reusability Water holding capacity

Optimum

Can be used to perform “The Cup Song”

Very poor

Other functions

Party hat

WINNER: Dixie Cups

SCARY MOVIES

(ranked by shortest time until first death)

1. The Purge (1 minute, 27 seconds) 2. Jaws (4 minutes, 47 seconds) 3. Scream (7 minutes, 17 seconds) 4. Psycho (48 minutes, 43 seconds) 5. Oculus (1 hour, 16 minutes, 14 seconds) 6. The Babadook (1 hour, 33 minutes)

1.

Unflattering gym shorts Blue

Has anyone considered Dixie Cups instead of cones at Grant?

By Kana Heitzman

7. The Shining (2 hours, 8 minutes, 40 seconds)

BY THE NUMBERS: SCHOOL ATTENDANCE

By Isabel Lickey Percentof ofstudents students with with good good attendance: attendance: Percent

62

VS.

freshmen

25 seniors

Average percent for daily attendace:

93

For freshmen, sophomores and juniors

VS.

88.4 For for seniors seniors

Read more about attendance at Grant on page 24.

Editorial

contact us

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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.

T

Liberty and Justice for All?

It’s time to start questioning our nationalistic norms.

he American flags at Grant High School are hard to miss this year. In front of the school, a huge flag waves in the wind. Stickers of flags are plastered on each entrance door. And in every classroom, miniature flags stand about six inches tall in windowsills and on bookshelves.

Most recently, another was placed just above the Grant Bowl for people to look toward during the national anthem.

This raises the question: is the administration trying to instill a stronger sense of nationalism in its students?

Compounding this, last month the administration nearly made the decision to have all students recite the Pledge of Allegiance once a week in every classroom.

At the beginning of the school year, a memo was sent to all the high schools in the Portland Public Schools district. The memo included a reminder of an Oregon state law that declares: “Provide students with the opportunity to salute the United States flag at least once each week of the school year.”

Benson is one high school that began to recite it early last month. After thorough conversation, the Grant administrators decided to shelve the idea, opting rather to have discussions with the student body before making a final decision.

Some take issue with the pledge and its wording. The phrase “One nation, under God” is problematic because it contradicts freedom of religion along with the separation of church and state, both of which were keys in the founding of this nation.

At the end of the pledge, the phrase “with liberty and justice for all,” raises issues for many, especially people of color who feel that they have not been treated equally in this country.

“It’s a tough one because we are a public school,” says Grant Principal Carol Campbell.

“We have people from various backgrounds and cultures and religions. So if we are truly going to be accepting and welcoming to everybody, there just needs to be a thoughtful way that things like nationalism and patriotism are presented.”

But what place does nationalism have in schools? Do our students truly benefit from being taught to show pride in a flag for a country, even if they feel it is marginalizing large groups of its people? Wouldn’t our students be better off being taught to hold our nation to a higher standard?

This recent resurgence of nationalism comes at a time when the topic is being widely debated

across the country. The most prevalent medium of disseminating patriotism that has gained a lot of media attention lately is the Star Spangled Banner.

The issue of our national anthem is all over the news because NFL quarterback Colin Kaepernick has decided to kneel rather than stand while the song is played. His decision is based on protesting the mistreatment of minorities in the United States by law enforcement. Players in the NFL, WNBA and other professional athletes across the nation followed suit.

So why do we play the national anthem at nearly all sporting events – from professional down to the high school level? Who decided that the anthem is critical to these events? If you don’t stand at the playing of the anthem, are you any less American?

Many argue that the national anthem shows support for our troops and that protesting it is disrespectful to them. However, our military exists to protect the lives and freedoms of U.S. citizens.

If respecting the troops means not taking your rights for granted, then protesting is doing exactly that.

With all the controversy surrounding saluting the flag, the Grant administration is making plans for a Race Forward event – a school-wide conversation focused on issues of race (see story: Grant High holds school-wide talks about race) – in October to discuss the pledge. The purpose of the event will be to hear multiple perspectives and gauge the opinions of the Grant student body.

It is important to remember: the pledge is outdated and dismissive of the religious preferences and lived experiences of many United States residents, including recent immigrants, people from differing religious groups and others.

In addition, the extensive distribution of the American flag and consistent use of the national anthem at sporting events can both be considered as a way to condition students to support their country and disregard its flaws.

Moving ahead, Grant students should voice their opinions and question norms, and the administration needs to continue to listen. If this truly is “the land of the free and the home of the brave,” then our students should feel emboldened to utilize their right to stand up, or kneel down, for what they believe in and feel that their actions are those of valiance. ◆ Visit grantmagazine.com/nationalism to see what the Grant community has to say about nationalism.

October 2016

5

Editorial

How Hard Is It?

Grant staff need to learn to make immediate changes when it comes to representation in Advanced Placement classes.

W

hen Susan Bartley started teaching her first Advanced Placement English class at Grant this school year, only two of the 30 kids in her class were black.

Coming from Franklin High School – which has the highest rate of AP enrollment for black and Latino students in the district – this came as a shock to Bartley. “I cannot accept that somebody would walk in and not have a problem with that,” she says. “I couldn’t imagine it.”

Bartley, who is white, complained to Grant administrators about the disparities before working with Vice Principal Diallo Lewis to make some changes. The two talked to a number of African-American students and told them about the benefits of being in an AP class.

It would be hard work, they told the students. But it’d be worth it.

Within a week, 10 more black students enrolled in the class, and participation for students of color rose to roughly 36 percent, an accurate representation of the entire student body.

This is a small-scale example of how real change can happen at our school. But why has it taken so long to happen?

Each year, AP classes at Grant contain few students of color. The reasons, some teachers say, have been varied: some point to the increasing majority of white students at the school. Others say picking students because of their race is against the law.

Still others say parents should work with their children to decide the best course of action for students.

The topic has been debated at Grant and nationwide for decades. As district leaders continue to be vexed by the achievement gap between white students and students of color, we’re left wondering why the school doesn’t make more moves like Bartley did.

The lack of representation in these classes has existed for years. There has been plenty of discussion, but nothing ever happens. Some teachers say they’ve made efforts to change the numbers, but things end up staying the same.

Not having black and Latino students

6

Grant Magazine

enrolled in AP classes is failing everyone.

This year, of the 10 AP classes offered, blacks and Latinos together make up roughly 10 percent of the classes, while white students make up 75 percent of the students taking the academically challenging classes. Students identifying as mixed race make up 9 percent.

And while the overall population of black students has slightly dropped in the last couple years, these numbers are still roughly the same since Grant Magazine covered this issue in the March 2014 story, “Feeling Alone.”

This calls into question what real change means for Grant staff. Simply acknowledging that there is an issue does nothing to help solve the problem. There needs to be a concerted action from the school to make AP classes more of a reality for black and Latino students, as well as a conscious recognition that many teachers still hold biases about students of color.

Whether we want to admit it or not, there are implicit biases we all deal with.

Teachers especially need to reflect on how these biases affect how they approach their classrooms. Lowered expectations for students of color can do much more than allow for slacking. They are often part of the root cause for poor grades and low participation in classrooms – not to

mention a lack of cultural representation in the curriculum across the board and very few teachers of color at our school.

This, combined with the underrepresentation of students of color in AP classes, is how minority students are marginalized at our school.

If you’re white, imagine walking into a classroom and being the only white person.

How would you feel raising your hand in class? If the authors that were taught were all from a different background, would you be able to relate or identify with the experience? Would the class discussions interest you if the topics had no connection to your background at all?

Most white students at Grant have never had to experience something like that in their lives.

Think about that.

How do we expect students of color to thrive academically in such an environment if there isn’t a high level of representation or little to no support from teachers and administrators?

It took someone new to Grant to make the first changes. We think it was a bold step and it should be duplicated, especially in classes besides English. Critics say it was a premature move and that the school needs to put more thought into how things move forward.

We disagree. How many generations of students of color have to run the gamut of not being considered smart enough to take top classes? We’ve waited long enough.

If the progress stops here, we will inevitably fall into the cycle of discussion without results that we’ve become accustomed to here at Grant. For this school to truly succeed in terms of educational equity, we must stop the empty talk about being committed and do what’s necessary to make change. ◆ Correction: In the story “Teaching With a Mission,” (Grant Magazine, August 2016) teacher Susan Bartley was quoted about finding her “dharma.” The word was misspelled and we regret the error.

Pen & Ink

Back in the Day

Some things are only fun when you’re a kid.

By Sarah Hamilton

Bubble Baths

Action Figures I’m bathing in my own filth...

I’m Santa Claus!

Board Games

Wow, this is great!

What am I supposed to do with these?

Halloween Aren’t you girls a little old for this?

Sandboxes

Playgrounds

Guess this is his sandbox now...

October 2016

7

The Media e Movem nt Activism has exploded on the internet. How much difference it makes depends on whom you ask.

Story by Callie Quinn-Ward and Ari Tandan Photos by Finn Hawley-Blue

O

n a warm July afternoon, a crowd of a few hundred gathered in downtown Portland’s Pioneer Courthouse Square for a Black Lives Matter protest. Days after the fatal police shootings of Philando Castile in a suburb of Minnesota and Alton Sterling in Baton Rouge, La., a number of people across Portland felt compelled to join.

Among them were Grant students Izzie Valle and Iris Campbell, along with alumna Sprout Chinn, who heard of the protest via Facebook.

They took to the streets, blocking downtown traffic and shouting “Black Lives Matter” and “No justice, no peace.” The crowd came to a halt at the Justice Center, where speakers took the stage to demand reform.

In an instant, the Grant students and alumna remember the mood changing. “It was like someone flipped a switch,” recalls Campbell.

“Half the crowd just parted like the Red Sea, and people were just sprinting away.”

Amidst the confusion, Campbell and Valle decided to run. Passing armored police vehicles, they made it a few blocks away from the scene.

It wasn’t until Campbell glanced at her Facebook feed that she realized someone had pulled a gun at the rally. A right-wing Trump supporter had been waving the weapon around, claiming he felt threatened by the protest.

Despite the chaos, one thing was clear about the events of that summer night: smartphones documented everything that happened, and social media allowed thousands of others to participate.

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Grant Magazine

It’s an example of how the Internet has become a dominant force in the lives of young people. With most teenagers plugged into a social network, they are experiencing connectivity that hasn’t been seen before.

Access to information and what’s happening in the news is readily available. It’s difficult to avoid discussions around current events on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Tumblr.

For some, social media has provided a platform to find a cause that interests them and figure out how to advocate for it. “All this information is so much more accessible now, so it’s a lot easier to get

involved,” says Alice Fischer, a Grant senior and activist for Planned Parenthood.

Movements like Black Lives Matter have taken part in the phenomenon, bringing topics of racial injustice and police brutality to the forefront with the help of hashtag campaigns that go viral within hours. “Social media has definitely amplified the attention of racism,” says Ashton Allen, a Grant sophomore who uses Instagram and Twitter to express his political views.

Social media activism has been primarily spearheaded by millennials sharing articles, signing petitions and organizing events

Above: A protester documents the events of a Black Lives Matter demonstration. Social media is becoming increasingly popular to broadcast events and opinions amongst young people.

within the sphere of social networks.

Grant students are no exception. They advocate for causes ranging from the environment to LGBTQ rights, and social media presents a way to discuss controversial topics online. It also helps promote change, students say.

“Using social media as a platform is so important,” says Campbell, October 2016

9

who runs an Instagram account dedicated to discussing feminism. “I definitely think it can be effective.”

But critics say the increased reliance on social media as a tool for change has its drawbacks. Dubbed “slacktivism,” some are unconvinced of social media’s ability to have any meaningful impact.

“Some people might say that they don’t accomplish anything. Or more specifically, that social media perhaps provide a brief spark to a cause,” says Matthew Pittman, a communications Ph.D candidate at University of Oregon who studies social media. “But then the flame burns out when our attention moves on to the next thing.”

Madison Moskowitz, a Grant graduate who is a senior at the University of Oregon, says she can attest to this. “I don’t think I’ve ever changed someone’s mind on Twitter,” says Moskowitz, who heads the College Democrats at the university. “It goes to show that direct action, going door-to-door, protesting … that is the best way to show that you do actually care.”

Pittman describes a psychological effect that causes people to believe they’re fulfilling their role as an activist through small tasks like sharing a social media post on the Internet. “We do a small thing and make ourselves feel good, so we don’t do the larger good thing,” he says. “So while it has never been easier to get involved with a cause in a superficial way, that doesn’t necessarily always translate into real world action.”

Throughout American history, many major protest movements have been youth-driven. High school and college students have funneled their collective energy into staging walkouts, demonstrations and rallies.

One of the earliest cases of large-scale youth activism was the 1903 Children’s Crusade. Organized by Community Activist Mary Harris Jones, 200 child laborers from a Pennsylvania textile mill marched to New York to demand better protections and increased safety for child workers. Although unsuccessful, the crusade brought child labor issues to the forefront and created momentum for a national conversation.

Decades later, the civil rights era beginning in the 1950s solidified the role of youth as change makers. As segregation prevailed across the country, high school and college students staged massive protests.

In 1960, four black college students began a protest by sitting down at an all-white lunch counter in a Woolworth’s department store in Greensboro, NC. It led to the creation of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, known as SNCC. One of the most prominent organizations of the civil rights movement, the SNCC oversaw freedom rides and voter registration drives throughout the South.

In 1963, 250,000 public school students in Chicago participated in a one-day walkout. A year later, 450,000 black and Latino students in New York City organized an anti-segregation demonstration.

Coinciding with the push for civil rights were the anti-Vietnam War and counterculture movements of the 1960s and 1970s. One of the key players in the formation of the “New Left” was Students for a Democratic Society, which advocated for student mobilization.

Fueled by youthful passion, large-scale demonstrations against U.S. Cold War policy erupted across the nation. College campuses became a focal point for the protest movement.

At Grant, Dick Fulmer of the class of 1963 recalls these issues dominating the atmosphere during his time in high school. But overt activism was rare as most students were occupied with following the news and forming opinions. “High school students...were relatively naïve about what was going on,” Fulmer recalls.

A tiny population of students of color meant the civil rights movement didn’t come to fruition at Grant. However, during this time, students did push for curriculum and education reform.

“I think the activism as it related to these events, it really was in the form of changing the curriculum at Grant,” he says. “There was a movement to help expand how kids would learn.”

Ray Leary, a long-time Portland resident and co-founder of Self Enhancement Inc. (SEI) who graduated from Jefferson High School in 1972, can recall how the Black Power movement influenced students. He remembers black students increasingly wearing their hair in afros and demanding more racial equity. “The first thoughts of Below: Black Lives Matter protesters gathered during a demonstration in downtown Portland in July. Many believe this sort of in-person activism is the only way to spark real-world change.

“While it has never been easier to get involved with a cause in a superficial way, that doesn’t necessarily always translate into real world action.”

– Matthew Pittman, a communications Ph.D candidate at University of Oregon 10 Grant Magazine

Left: Iris Campbell, a senior at Grant, regularly uses social media to express her opinions, whether it’s on her Instagram page dedicated to feminism or casual posts on Facebook.

empowerment really began to seed while I was in high school,” says Leary.Youth activism in the 1990s and beyond encompassed more issues. Students and groups took on a range of causes like education funding, standardized testing and sweatshop labor.

Doug Winn, who taught at Grant from 1986 to 2008, oversaw the Amnesty Club. He remembers students writing the word “Peace” in several languages on a poster at Grant in 2002.

“Someone had complained that this was disrespectful to U.S. troops in Iraq and Afghanistan at the time,” Winn recalls.

In response, the group wrote the word on masking tape and covered their mouths with it, catching the attention of local news stations.

“Grant always had a strong number of students who not only want to make the world a better place, but they take action to make that happen,” says Winn, who has been involved with Grant for nearly 30 years.

In recent years, the Internet has taken center stage when it comes to activism.

Take, for example, the group Anonymous. Known as a “hacktivist” organization, members have used computer technology to hack into systems controlled by groups ranging from the Islamic State to the Church of Scientology. They’ve also targeted high-profile credit card companies like Visa and MasterCard.

The group’s goal? To perform cyber attacks and push campaigns aimed to diminish censorship, corporate greed and surveillance by governments.

In the Middle East, social media played a critical role in unveiling the truth behind the Arab Spring uprisings, bringing the issues of government oppression and violence to the world stage. Smartphones in hand, young Egyptian and Tunisian protesters took to the streets, broadcasting the protests to the world via social media as thousands gathered to overthrow dictators.

Pittman says social media can be effective, especially at times when it comes to mobilizing against a common opponent. “Social media lets people unite quickly around a cause,” he says. “In examples like the Arab Spring and Black Lives Matter, protesters can share information, news or video in real time to draw our collective attention to where important things are happening.”

Grant history teacher Don Gavitte helped organize the fledgling “Get Upset” movement in 2012, which was designed to protest major budget cuts across the Portland Public Schools district. “They were going to cut school funding to a point where things were going to be, essentially, directly illegitimate,” says Gavitte.

He remembers joining Facebook because it would help him

orchestrate the initial protest events.

Thousands of students and parents filled Pioneer Courthouse Square and marched to City Hall. Eventually, local politicians and others agreed to help stave off the proposed cuts.

Grant alumna Moskowitz remembers how it felt to make a difference. “They decided to not cut that $5 million, not cut those teachers,” Moskowitz says. “Students showing up and saying that we value this, it makes change.”

These days, students are seeing a blend of using the Internet and in-person activism to take stands. Chinn and student government leaders organized “Speak Out” week two years ago, in which students detailed their experiences with bullying. The campaign encouraged students to use the hashtag #speakout.

Last year, Race Forward – school-wide talks that focused on the effects of racism – involved discussions in every classroom. The talks were led by the student and staff equity teams after a racist incident involving social media with the boys’ soccer team last year.

In late September, many members of the Royal Blues took a knee while singing the national anthem at Grant’s homecoming football game. Inspired by San Francisco 49ers backup quarterback Colin Kaepernick, the demonstration was meant to highlight systematic racial injustices and police brutality.

Conflicted on whether or not to stand, Valle, the choir president, shared her dilemma on social media prior to the game. “Since I didn’t have any other outlet to discuss it on, I posted it on Facebook,” she says. “It was the spark that started (the demonstration).”

Now, for a handful of current Grant students, social media is bridging the gap between only being interested in a cause and speaking out.

Campbell, who considers herself an activist for the rights of the LGBTQ community, feminism and racial justice, credits sites like Facebook and Tumblr for helping her gain awareness and begin protesting.

“I cannot stress how uneducated I was, how frankly problematic some of my views were before I became educated,” she says. “I started going to websites that bring stuff up about body shaming or rights for people of color, and I slowly learned. Now, it’s incredibly important to me.”

Brianna Henderson, a Grant senior and member of the Student Equity Team, mirrors that experience. “(Social media) is how I got so racially awoke,” she says. “I just read articles everyone was sharing and was like, ‘Oh, this is how I feel,’” she says.

Despite this trend, there is little consensus on whether quicker and easier access to information is resulting in a more socially and politically aware generation of teenagers.

“I think young people have the potential to be more informed,” says Pittman. “But not all young adults are the same ... Some youth are going to want to stay informed on the topics that are important to them, so they can make critical and balanced decisions. And some are going to remain mostly ignorant, seeking out just enough information to confirm what they already believe.”

Grant students claim social media activism can be a powerful form of education for their peers and a way to prompt discussion. For many, having these kinds of conversations, whether in real life or on social media, is crucial.

October 2016

11

“You gotta do more. You can’t just talk on Facebook but not do anything in person.”

– Brianna Henderson, Grant senior and Student Equity Team member

“(Social media’s) most effective use is for education, kind of laying an issue out there and saying this is what’s going on, this is what we need to do to fix it,” says Campbell, who posts about issues regularly on Facebook and Instagram. “I think that’s incredibly useful because we all start out ignorant.”

Fischer believes social media has potential to not just educate people, but to engage others to join or create protests. With the ability to cast a wide invitation to an event through Facebook, word of a protest can spread quickly and gather a large number of attendees.

“Every rally I’ve ever been to was organized on social media, and the word gets out so well on Facebook and Instagram,” says Fischer.

“Overall, it’s a really good force.”

Leary views the use of social media as a positive phenomenon.

“I believe physical activism, negotiation and compromise is the only chance you have against structural change. But what you do have in the social media realm is the ability to influence thought, to influence opinion and to maybe change someone’s assessment of a situation or a dynamic.” he says.

Leary says that an increase in social media use has led to a diversification of issues and greater momentum. “The civil rights movement we were growing up with was the only game in town. It was a singular movement,” he says. “Now ... you’re getting that cross pollination that wasn’t possible back in the day.”

Critics, though, argue the majority of online activism rarely translates in sustainable change.

“It has potential to raise awareness, but sometimes people think a click is all that is needed and that once they have made their voice heard, they have done their job,” says Scott Talan, a public communication professor at American University. “But with so many voices clamoring for attention, the message can be watered down.

Words are one thing. Actions and accomplishments another.”

While Fischer thinks social media plays an important role in activism, she agrees there’s a feeling of a false sense of accomplishment among high school students. “So many people, because of social media, think that they’re so involved because they share an article or post some status about a cause they’re passionate about,” she says.

“But I think in order to make a difference, you have to go a little farther than that.”

Some argue that anonymity and lack of personal connection across the Internet creates a harmful environment toward activism.

“If you can hide behind an anonymous mask, you can say whatever

12 Grant Magazine

Above: Many protests are now organized through Facebook to engage a large number of people.

you want with no repercussions, and I think that it lets white supremacy and rape culture, all of this stuff, really fester,” says Moskowitz.

The pejorative term “social justice warrior,” abbreviated as SJW, has been tossed around to refer to people who advocate online for progressive issues.

Henderson has faced this particular insult but doesn’t dwell on it.

“I’ll embrace it. Call me a social justice warrior,” she says. “I have actions to back up my words. I don’t just say that black lives matter. I go to protests. I’m part of (Black Student Union). I’m part of Equity Team. I’m doing something to try to change something.”

Others are convinced social media’s focus is too widespread.

In the past, many of the most successful protests had a singular, powerful cause. Now, with social media, anyone can find something to get involved with, leading some to believe youth activism lacks a coherent message.

“When we discover more, we tend to absorb less,” says Pittman.

“The Internet – and the many digital technologies we use to access it – has dramatically transformed our media diet into a massive buffet.”

Still, Grant students are adamant that this generation is highly engaged, and the use of social media is pushing causes under a spotlight.

“It’s a way to communicate with people and raise awareness,” Henderson adds. But she also concedes: “You gotta do more. You can’t just talk on Facebook but not do anything in person.”

Many agree that a balance needs to be met. “As important as I think it is and as much as I value social media and activism, there is a definite line that needs to be drawn,” says Campbell.

For her part, Chinn says nothing on social media can compare to what happened to her at the Black Lives Matter protest in July.

“I was part of a human wall we made to guard off the SWAT team, and we were all holding hands,” she recalls. “They were like: ‘Put your T-shirt over your face in case they start pepper-spraying people.’

That is a totally different experience than posting something on my Facebook page.”

“Both are important steps. But one of them ... is going to have a higher chance of getting media attention, one of them is actually getting out and doing something. All revolutions, all changes have been made by getting out and doing something.” ◆

Time with ... Alex Davis The New Kid in Town

Getting a fresh start in Portland, the Kansas City native shares how he got interested in the world of politics.

Interview by Dylan Palmer • Photo by Molly Metz Age: 18 Hometown: Kansas City, Kansas Political affiliation: Democrat Favorite politicians: Barack Obama and Bill Clinton Hobbies: Playing piano and playing basketball Favorite book: “The Autobiography of Malcolm X”

by Alex Haley and Malcolm X What was it like coming to a new school in a new city?

I knew moving here that it was going to be much better than what I was leaving behind. When I got on the plane, and it took off, I said, “What’s next?”

In what way did you think it would be better in Portland?

I thought there would be more opportunities to be around a more culturally diverse city. I know a lot of people of color in Portland have said it’s very Caucasian here. But from where I’m coming from, it’s more culturally diverse. For example, I went into a Cold Stone Creamery, and there was a white lady with a burqa on. You don’t see that back home.

What was it like in Kansas?

I lived in a pretty rough neighborhood, and the schools were known for being very bad … when I was in sixth grade, my mother took me out of school and homeschooled me.

How was that?

It was rough the first three years until eighth grade because everybody that I knew in the neighborhood was going to regular school. It helped me in the end because I was able to develop my own personality and not have to conform to what everybody else was doing.

I could be myself.

What did you spend your time doing back home?

One year, my mom bought season tickets to the Kansas City Chiefs, and we went to games for a while. More recently, I was involved in two campaigns. I was involved in Hillary Clinton’s campaign, and then there was an African-American minister who was running for district attorney.

What was it like participating in these campaigns?

I mostly just canvassed and handed out flyers. I belong to this church denomination called the Church of God, so I would go to those churches and say, ‘Hey have you heard about this guy Mark Dupree, he’s running for district attorney.’ And then

“I knew moving here that it was going to be much better.”

with the Hillary campaign it was a lot less impactful because I was just going around knocking on doors.

How did you get interested in politics?

My grandmother used to tell me a lot about her father who was involved with the Brown v. Board of Education case. That sort of inspired me to want to be involved in legal matters and politics. And then my mom’s dad was an attorney and a commissioner and a city councilman in Kansas. He got a letter in 1965 from President Johnson congratulating him for being a black legislator. He was very influential in fighting for African Americans and the rights of minorities. When I was 5, I went to Topeka where they tried to enroll Linda Brown, and so they had this big event for the 50th anniversary and President Bush came. Right after that, President Reagan died, and I watched a lot of his funeral, so I kind of got into politics then.

So do you want to go back to Kansas?

I’m thinking about it. Even though I talk bad about Kansas to a lot of my classmates, there’s still a lot of people there that want me to succeed, and I really appreciate that.

Do you see yourself getting into politics in the future?

Well, I want to start off as an attorney, and then I want to seek a local office somewhere.

I feel like what’s being done here needs to be done where I’m from because there are schools that are not integrated. The worst school in our district is over 85 percent minority. That’s my roots in Kansas City.

Do you plan on getting involved in politics here in Portland?

Yeah, I just haven’t called the Hillary people yet, but I plan on definitely being involved in this campaign. I can’t let someone like Donald Trump become president without me being involved in trying to stop him in some way. I think that’s my duty as a citizen. ◆ October 2016

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Holding onto home

As an immigrant from Eritrea, senior Yanet Asghedom’s story is uncommon compared to Grant’s student body.

By Kali Rennaker

anet Asghedom sits alongside fellow students at the International Youth Leadership Council monthly meeting. It’s a nearly six-hour event that’s designed to give a voice to students, for whom English is their second language.

A slide pops up on the screen at the front of the room. “What’s in a Name?” the slide asks.

A list of questions follow: “Do you like your name?” “What has your experience been?”

The room falls silent as the students ponder their responses before a group discussion.

One person stands and tells stories of mispronunciations and pressures to go by an easier, more common name. Another follows, discussing her name’s origins and learning to find pride in its rarity.

Others nod diligently. There’s a mutual understanding of one another that seems to fill the room.

The council, known for short as IYLC, has given Asghedom – a 17-year-old Eritrean immigrant – and others a chance to connect with other students of similar backgrounds.

For Asghedom, a Grant senior who has been a member of the council going on three years now, the experience is unlike any other.

“I feel comfortable at IYLC,” she says. “It’s just so cool to be around people that are the same level. They speak multiple languages, and then they’re not going to judge you because of your English or your accent.”

Like many of the council members, Asghedom’s life story contrasts with the average high school student. Asghedom immigrated to the United States at age 14.

Knowing little English when she arrived, her educational experience would greatly differ from her American peers as she struggled to overcome the language barrier.

But coming from another country has other implications. “You know what you’re talking about because it’s in your language, and you understand what’s going on,” Asghedom says about a life where she could use her native language, Tigrinya.

“But coming here ... You can’t really be a leader or have confidence in what you say when you come here because you have to know what you’re talking about first.”

Experts say it’s a struggle most high school students don’t experience.

Klarissa Hightower is the assistant director of Portland Public Schools’ English as a Photo by Molly Metz

Second Language program. She acknowledges the troubles many ESL immigrant students face.

“They’re having to learn not only the language but the culture at the same time,” Hightower says. “It can be very difficult because as you grow up, wherever you are, you’re taking that in as your norm ... You come to a different country where a lot of your norms are nowhere to be found.”

Asghedom has made significant progress in her growth as a language learner, though there are still everyday hurdles she faces as an ESL student. As one of only nine in her English Language Development class at Grant, connecting with fellow students who are different than her has proven difficult.

Because she has struggled to find a larger community at Grant, Asghedom holds tightly onto her birth country’s culture. “If you lose your culture, your language … it’s like losing everything,” she says.

Asghedom, who was born Nov. 2, 1998, in Asmara, Eritrea, recalls fond memories of her childhood. School days lasted from 7 a.m. to noon. After class, students often did homework until reuniting in the late afternoon. She remembers the streets being flooded with kids.

“We’d come back and play soccer until 10, until we can’t see the ball anymore,” recalls her older brother, Saimon Asghedom.

Growing up as Orthodox Christians, Yanet Asghedom’s family life, along with most Eritreans,’ centered around the church.

With nearly half the Eritrean population identifying as Muslim, Asghedom remembers the friendly relations the two religious groups had, frequently inviting each other over for holidays.

Given Eritrea’s authoritative government, others who practiced Pentecostal and Evangelical religions were heavily persecuted.

Asghedom remembers that each time she went to visit her aunt it was common to see heavily armed police officers lining the streets, stopping people at random. “You get scared, like what are they doing?” she recalls. “You think they’re going to kill you or they were going to arrest you.”

There were other problems, too. Electricity sporadically turned off and on. And the water supply needed to be used sparingly to support their family of five as people had to ration enough to last the day.

For Asghedom, such things provided a heavy contrast to American life. “If it rains, you thank God because you can get water from it,” she says. “And then you come here and everything’s provided.”

October August 2016

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Her family yearned for a better future, and her parents made plans to move to America.

“It’s difficult to live in Eritrea,” says her father, Goitom Ghidey. In the United States, he adds, “there’s life, there’s education, freedom of speech, freedom of movement – all better than in our country for us and for our kids.”

It was 2008 when Asghedom’s mother and then three-year-old sister, Luliya, left Eritrea befire coming to the U.S. Yanet and Saimon Asghedom and their father left two years later, resettling at first in Uganda.

Asghedom remembers the final goodbyes with her then-best friend and neighbor.

“We were just crying,” she recalls. “We were holding onto each other. We wouldn’t let go, but we had to ... I cried the whole time from the house to the airplane.”

In a predominantly English-speaking school in Uganda, Asghedom struggled to keep up. Having only known her native language, she befriended a boy who knew English well. “All I knew was ‘thank you’ and ‘how are you,’” she recalls. “I had to have my friend translating to me ... He used to tell me I had to teach him Tigrinya, and he had to teach me English.”

After about two years, Asghedom and her family packed up and headed to Kenya.

“It’s so crazy ... like you meet a bunch of new friends and just letting go after,” she recalls. “I was just like: ‘If I’m gonna leave them, then there’s no point.’”

Portland.

She attended Woodlawn school as an eighth grader, with hopes of connecting with other Eritrean people. But those hopes faded fast.

As an ESL student, her English made it difficult to connect with other students.

During a group project, she remembers getting left out by the other members.

When the teacher talked with one of the students in her group, Asghedom remembers the weight of what the teacher was told.

“He was like, ‘She doesn’t know English.

How is she going to help me?’” she recalls.

“After that, it was really hard for me to work with people. Even though I thought I helped them ... it’s not like they’re going to put it in there.”

Saimon Asghedom faced similar barriers when he started freshmen classes at Grant.

He remembers his notion of the country before coming to the U.S. was largely influenced by American movies. They portrayed something far from his reality.

“It’s not what I imagined in my mind,” he says now. “They don’t show the depths and the loneliness you feel here.”

As Yanet Asghedom began high school, the hardships continued. She still remembers the overbearing dread she felt entering her English classes.

Some teachers, she says, have consistently failed to recognize her needs as a learner.

“There are some teachers that say, ‘I don’t care where you came from, or I don’t know what you’re going to do, but you have to do as good as them. That’s just the way you’re going to pass the class,’” she says. “You have to struggle.”

Because of the language divide, Asghedom found herself becoming introverted at school, often worrying about how she would seem to others.

“I wouldn’t raise my hand and answer,” she says. “Because I feel like I would say something wrong, and people are just going to make fun of me.”

According to Francisco Garcia, the district’s International Youth Leadership Conference program manager at PPS, the language difference comes with many misconceptions.

At a recent International Youth Leadership Council meeting, Asghedom catches up with friend Mariamou Abdoulaye. The council offers Asghedom a chance to connect with other “Some of these images are imESL students within PPS. (Photo by Finn Hawley-Blue) posed on them like: ‘You are

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Arriving in Kenya, Asghedom and her family moved into an area with many Eritrean neighbors. Asghedom was quick to make friends but didn’t attend school.

Instead, she focused on her religion. She recalls during fasting time sleeping over at her church for up to two weeks, praying every day and washing herself with holy water.

In 2013, nearly a year after they arrived in Kenya, Asghedom and her brother boarded a flight to the U.S. Their father had to remain behind.

At the airport, Asghedom’s mother and sister greeted them for the first time in five years. “We were all crying ... It was a happy cry,” she recalls. “It was the best moment.”

Luliya, who was eight at the time, didn’t recognize her siblings, having not seen them for five years. “I was waiting in the car with my mom and was wondering who those people were,” Luliya recalls. “And my mom was like, ‘These are your brother and sister.’”

After the family reunited, Yanet Asghedom began to adjust to Portland. The differences between her old life and her new reality were easily noticeable.

Her new church was a shocking downsize from that of Kenya. Many of the church attendants were also born in the U.S., causing variance in Tigrinya fluency and cultural ties.

Asghedom was quick to realize just how small the Eritrean community was in

this way. You are ESL. And you have a lack. You’re not going to make it into this system,’” Garcia says.

As Asghedom became more reserved, she found it difficult to connect with native speakers at Grant.

Worried about what others might think of her English, Asghedom spent much of the beginning of high school feeling isolated.

Suzanne Toole, an ESL counselor with the district who helped start the council, sees this as a common refrain. “They are very much accused of being quiet,” Toole says.

“But an invisibility comes with that that really they Every Sunday for nearly six hours, Asghedom can be found at church. It helps keep her hadn’t planned on. connected to the Eritrean community in Portland. (Photo by Molly Metz) “Your high school is kind of your world you She’s like me,’” Abdoulaye says.

Beyond school, Asghedom attends live in every day, and it’s a very limited “When I came the first time, I was like, church every Saturday and Sunday, a place, experience when you’re struggling,” she ‘Oh wow, you know, there’s more people she says, that allows her to be herself. She says. like me here. There are people who are serves as a member of the church’s choir For Asghedom, the ELD class at Grant related to me with what I’m going through, and helps with the finances, dedicating served as a safe haven at school. There, you know, in life,” says Abdoulaye. much of her weekends to supporting the she befriended a fellow student, Yaislenis Asghedom’s role on the council has tight-knit Eritrean community.

Estrada, who immigrated to the U.S. from grown. Last year, she planned a presentation “That’s the only place where I can find my Cuba. Both English learners, the two were for the group’s annual conference to help culture, see my culture,” she says. quick to form a tight bond. eighth grade ESL students understand what The service, all spoken in Tigrinya, lasts “We could talk about anything,” Estrada high school is like. nearly six hours. On Saturdays, Asghedom says. “It doesn’t matter what. We knew Through IYLC, she says she’s had a can be found at the church, helping children that it was a safe place where we could say complete transformation. “It helped me,” born in the U.S. stay connected to their anything and nothing would be exposed.” she says. “There’s some points where I just Eritrean roots.

Outside of school, Asghedom continued say, ‘OK, I’m gonna do it because I believe Saimon Asghedom, is a deacon at the to attend weekly church services, the only in it.’” church. He sees his sister as a model: “She’s place she could regularly gather with local Marta Repollet, Grant’s ELD teacher, actually being a leader to the kids … you Eritrean people. recognizes the change Asghedom, and lead them (to) the path, and they will take Then, during her sophomore year, her other students, have undergone. “To it forever, that’s what the Bible says, so you Asghedom and Estrada joined the IYLC see that growth, to see that confidence in know, she’s actually showing them the way, together. themselves as speakers, and socially as well and I hope they grow up to be like her.”

A part of the council’s aim is to bring ESL as academic ... being able to do that with As she starts to look ahead, Asghedom students together and empower them as these kids for four years is just amazing,” plans to attend Portland Community leaders. At the monthly meetings, students Repollet says.

College to improve her English before delve into topics of culture and identity and Many hurdles, though, remain in play. heading to a four-year college to study share their day-to-day lives as a minority People, Asghedom says, continue to lack occupational therapy. population in their schools. an understanding of where she’s coming Knowing full-well the challenges that The council has changed Asghedom’s life. from. “Some people like don’t know you accompany a new life in America, she A close friend from the council, and start judging you ... when they see you hopes to someday serve immigrants like Mariamou Abdoulaye, an immigrant of or hear your English,” she says. “They just herself.

Central African Republic and an ESL act like they know your whole entire story.”

“I don’t want people to go through the student at Benson High School, recalls the It’s why most days, Asghedom can be same struggle I went through just because first time the two met. found in Repollet’s room at lunch, with they didn’t find people to help them out,” “Since the day I saw her, I was like, ‘Whoa, her cousin Haben Sebhatu and fellow ELD she says. “I know all the challenges. I’ve she’s so cool, you know, let me talk to her ... student Sagen Maharjan. been through it.” ◆ October 2016

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Tuned In

The music scene at Grant High varies, depending on whom you talk to. W local talent to see how – whether as part of a group or solo – they get inspire From electronic music to indie to rock, finding their muse means unearthing

Style: Alternative Singer-Songwriter

Quiandra Watson “I usually come out here to write because I like being outside. It’s nice to have fresh air. It helps me think. Usually when I come out here, it’s like really, really early in the morning, like three or four in the morning, because it’s usually when a song won’t leave me alone, when I’m trying to sleep. I’ll come out here, and I’ll just sit and play with it for

a little while and go back to sleep, then come back the next afternoon and be able to like finish it up. The thought and the energy of the place where I’m writing is very fleeting.

It comes and it goes really fast, so if I don’t get it down on paper, it will just turn to nothing.

“All of my songs come from personal experiences, which is why it’s really weird for me to play in front of people, and I’m like, ‘Wow, this is like reading my

diary in front of people.’ Writing from a personal experience is very easy, but trying to write about something else that you saw from someone else’s perspective is kind of an interesting thing to do. I appreciate people who are honest. I think that’s one of the best things that a musician can be, even if it’s not like from personal experiences, if it’s someone else’s experience like for them to be real and genuine. And that’s what I want to do.”

– Photos by Julian Wyatt, Interview by Finn Hawley-Blue

18 Grant Magazine

Age: 17 Year: Senior

Soundcloud: @Quiandra Watson Inspirational artists: Lady Gaga, Matty Healy Instrument: Guitar

We tracked down some ed to create their sound. g what’s at their core.

Style: Choral Arrangement and Singer-Songwriter

Ellory Schrepel “I am a songwriter; that’s my main thing. I write at least a song a week probably, just compulsively almost.

You know, about all sorts of different things. I like to challenge myself with different styles. Sometimes, it’s more jazz oriented. Sometimes, it’s more instrumental. Sometimes ... I wanna sing and play ukulele.

“I do arrangements for Hooked on Harmonics, so I like take a pop song and then make all the notes so that we can sing that in three-part harmony. First, I have to listen to the song a lot of times so that I can kind of understand what it sounds like. I transcribe the melody as is from the recording, so that has to be pretty

much exactly the same. And then the instrumentation, anything that’s in the background, drums, bass, guitar, piano, that has to be translated into single voice parts.

“It feels very intimate to make music with someone. To have that kind of give and take, and you know when you’re creating music with someone what you’re both doing becomes one.

So it’s a type of human connection that can be very personal, very vulnerable … hearing someone play music, I feel like I can understand the way they think and the way that they work a little bit better, singing especially. It’s the closest form of expression to your actual soul.”

Age: 17

Year: Senior

Soundcloud: @engrav_r Instruments: Piano, ukulele, marimba Inspirational composers: Stephen Sondheim Jason Robert Brown

– Photo and interview by Julian Wyatt

October 2016

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Style: Progressive House Music and Ambient Age: 17 Year: Senior

Soundcloud: @boosto Inspirational artists: Nhato, Shingo Nakamura Equipment: MIDI keyboard, Ableton Live editing software, computer

Ethan Hirsch

“Before school in the morning, I’ll sometimes play piano. If I come up with something that I really like, I’ll record it on my phone, and then after school, I’ll put it into (Ableton) Live and then see what I can kind of build around it. And yeah, that’s the main thing.

It also leads to a lot of half-baked projects that I don’t finish. For me, it’s just like entire folders of four-bar loops that I never finish … It takes about three to four days, maybe like four or five hours (each day). It’s kinda therapeutic for me. School is just kind of that environment; it wears me down fast, and I’m fairly introverted. So it’s hard to do that for so long, and it helps to just listen to things.”

– Photo and interview by Julian Wyatt

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Style: 90s Alt Rock and Grunge Inspirational artists: Elliott Smith Weezer Led Zeppelin Nirvana Songs they like to cover: Backwater by Meat Puppets Flagpole Sitta by Harvey Danger Alex Chilton by The Replacements In Bloom by Nirvana Members: (clockwise, from top right) Koby Haigerty; Adrien Wright; and Irene Haigerty and Megan Rinker (left).

Flamanglebesh

Koby Haigerty, 17, senior: “Our friend, Bob, he’s been playing music since he was like 12 … He recently got diagnosed with ALS. That hit hard just because it’s stopping him from playing, and that’s like his one love. So recently we had a benefit concert with all the musicians that knew him. (We) played a bunch of songs … everyone loved it. And Bob was in like the front row, and he was nodding along the entire time.

“So music … really helped me be less afraid of people. I was absolutely terrified of any human interaction at all; I’m definitely still scared of people but a lot less. If I’m in the room with a stranger, I can now strike up a conversation.”

Megan Rinker, 15, sophomore: “Music in general is a more accessible form of release.

Because, like I consider roller derby to be the best to calm me down, and I can’t just go do that whenever, but I can pick up a guitar almost any time.”

Adrien Wright, 16, junior: “Music is probably my favorite thing to do, and if I can make a living playing music that would be awesome.”

Irene Haigerty, 15, sophomore: “It’s a great connection to be able to like feel the same when you’re playing together. It’s a different form of communication … You can like find yourself through music.”

– Photos and interview by Finn Hawley-Blue

In the Right Company

G

With her father largely absent from her life, Haleigh Tjensvold relies on her mother and dance team for a sense of community.

By Isabel Lickey

rant sophomore Haleigh Tjensvold leans against the outside of a building, catching her breath from the short sprint she ran to catch her bus.

She checks the time on her phone and boards the No. 45 to Tigard. It’s the second bus she rides to get to Beaverton.

Forty minutes later, she enters Beaverton Dance Center, a nondescript building on the edge of an office park. Her hip-hop class is still stretching when she arrives, and 15-year-old Tjensvold makes a beeline to her friends stretching by the wall-length mirror. She greets them with hugs and takes a seat.

Tjensvold makes the nearly two-hour trip four days a week.

Some days, when it would take too long to get home, she spends the night with her grandmother in West Linn.

She can’t imagine doing anything else. “Dance is my life,” she says. “It kind of gets my head out of thinking about things ... it forces me to not think at all and just dance.”

Beyond her life in dance, Tjensvold shares a close relationship with her mom, Allison Bailey. Together, they have struggled to deal with Tjensvold’s father, who has battled alcoholism since before she was born. Because of her limited contact with him, she isn’t talking to him currently.

Her mother, who raised her, is the first person Tjensvold turns to in times of need. “I always knew I could count on her for everything,” Tjensvold says.

She also feels she can rely on her community in dance when she needs more support or someone to talk to. “If I needed to talk, if I needed a hug ... my friends were always there when I needed them to be,” she says. It’s given her a space where she could leave her problems behind.

Her dance team is “like a family. It’s ... a safe place where I can just be myself,” she says.

Tjensvold was born Jan. 12, 2001, in Portland. When she was ten months old, her parents split up. “I left him because I knew in my heart that that was the best thing for (Haleigh),” Bailey says. “It’s always been about her.”

Bailey and Tjensvold moved in with her grandparents, Susan Bailey and Richard Uffelman. “We spent a lot of evenings together just the two of us and ... we just, you know, really bonded from that,” says Susan Bailey.

Tjensvold was introduced to dance at an early age. When she was 2, Uffelman paid for her classes at the Hollywood Dance Studio as a Christmas present. “She loved it, and she was having fun,” Allison Bailey recalls. “She really liked being on stage ... She got to be the center of attention.”

After six months of dance, Tjensvold remembers her first recital.

“It was scary being on a giant stage in front of a ton of people and, you know, little kid dance,” she recalls. “No one ever really does the choreography because no one quite knows what it is, but ... I did have a lot of fun doing it.”

The summer before she began preschool, she and Bailey moved into their own apartment. At the time, Tjensvold saw her father sporadically. Though her parents had shared custody, she spent

22 Grant Magazine

most of her time with her mom. Her father continually told her he was trying to get sober, but he relapsed often, she says.

Her mother shouldered the responsibilities of both parents. “I have to be everything and protect her and kind of hold her close,” Bailey says. “So I try extra hard to take care of her heart and encourage her to do it all and change the world all by herself. It’s a battle we fight together.”

When her mom began working and couldn’t always be around, Tjensvold’s grandparents helped her stick with her passion. They drove her to and from dance practice when Bailey couldn’t and helped pay for her classes.

The summer when Tjensvold was 9, she and her dance studio performed at Disneyland through the Disney Performing Arts OnStage program. The months leading up to the performance, she had practice six days a week to perfect the routine.

Her family, including her father, came to watch. Allison Bailey organized a family dinner in celebration.

Tjensvold was on reasonably good terms with her father, and she was pleased that he came to watch the performance. It was one of the first big events of hers he had seen.

“My dad has made a lot of promises, and I don’t remember him keeping a single one,” she says. “He’s made these promises to stay clean and stay sober and come to birthday parties, and as far as I remember, he’s only been to two.”

She says her dad showed up to the dinner halfway through, intoxicated. He broke the rules of the restaurant, and when he couldn’t sit next to Tjensvold, he “threw a fit,” she remembers.

He yelled at Allison Bailey, threatening to take Tjensvold away from her.

“I’d invited my dad because I hoped maybe he’d act normal for once, and then it was worse than I thought it would be ... I was scared out of my mind,” Tjensvold says.

After the experience at Disneyland, Tjensvold’s relationship with her father changed. Allison Bailey filed for and won full custody. Her dad was allowed supervised visits, but Tjensvold rarely saw him.

As hard as the experience was, Tjensvold found the silver lining. “It almost made me stronger as a person because I knew what I was fighting against in the world and the exact thing I didn’t want to become, and that was him,” she says now.

Tjensvold relied heavily on her mom during this time. “It just makes it easier to know that she’s always there and always has been and always will be,” she says.

And as she entered fifth grade, Tjensvold was able to focus more heavily on dance. She asked for more classes and put more hours in at the studio.

Despite her strong connection with her mom, having an absent father still affected Tjensvold.

“She would feel like there was something wrong

with her because he wasn’t good to her,” Bailey says. “When other people weren’t nice to her, she took it personally.”

But the community she had in dance created a safe space for her.

Dancing with the same people for hours on end helped her form strong friendships. “Having that positive energy around me made it so that I didn’t even have to talk about it to make it better,” she says.

“I could ... just absorb the positive energy, and it made everything so much better.”

When she got bad news about a family member during dance, she fell apart. Her team huddled around her, offering her comfort.

“It almost felt like my whole world was shattering around me, and all I had left were the people that were right there in that room,” she says.

In middle school, Tjensvold began seeing her dad again on her own accord. He lives in California with his mother, and she visited over spring break and during the summer. Spending time with him was confusing. She enjoyed the visits but felt distant from him.

The last time Tjensvold saw her dad was at her eighth grade graduation.

She remembers walking on stage and being surprised when she looked out to see his face. They spent the weekend together, but it was difficult. She knew that he would have to go back to California at the end.

Tjensvold entered high school without a hitch. She took beginning dance, and at the end of her freshman year got into the advanced dance class.

Last summer, Tjensvold began dancing with the Beaverton Dance Center, a competitive company. “I find it’s going to give me more opportunities to do what I want with my life which ...

ultimately is dance,” she says.

She spends almost every afternoon after school at the Beaverton Dance Center. Though she joined the dance group in early August, she quickly formed a strong connection with them.

One of her dance instructors, Thomas J. Yale, notices how she brings people together. “She kinda holds everyone together even ... with students that she’s not with. She’s ... super motivating, always just like really positive,” he says.

On a recent Wednesday night, Tjensvold and three other girls are practicing the latest piece for their contemporary company. Their instructor circles them, offering directives where she sees fit. They practice the piece in complete silence, the only noise the muted sound of music from the room over.

“From the top,” Chelsea Shambaugh, her instructor, says. She starts the music.

Tjensvold runs from the edge of the room to the middle and crumples to her knees, an agonized expression on her face. When the other dancers come to try and pull her away, she sinks to the floor.

The other dancers pull Tjensvold into their arms, swaying with her to the music, and the dance continues.

Afterwards, Tjensvold reflected on what motivated her about the movement. “Chelsea ... told us to think about something that kills us inside before we started dancing,” she says. “It put me in the mindset of the dance because I thought of what it would feel like to lose my mom ... that would be the most painful thing in the world for me.” ◆ Visit grantmagazine.com/dancing to see Tjensvold practicing in her studio.

Haleigh (center) with her dance team at Beaverton Dance Center. “Dance ... feeds your movement, and it’s almost like your movement always has a hunger for more,” Tjensvold says. (Photo by Jessica Griepenburg)

Walking the Halls Again

As Grant High’s attendance specialist, Lee Orr’s job is to make sure all students make it to school regularly. It’s a far cry from where he came from as a student.

I

Story by Sophie Hauth • Photos by Momoko Baker

t’s a little after 8 a.m. on a recent Tuesday, and Lee Orr is already hard at work. His day starts in a room tucked away in the counselors’ Office of Grant High School.

Orr, who’s official title is community agent but is known by most of the school as the attendance specialist, is leaving messages for parents of students who haven’t been at school lately.

He introduces himself, expresses concern and tells them to call him back soon.

Then he hangs up, pops a peppermint candy into his mouth and is on the move, taking large strides down the hall while holding a clipboard with a list of students who have been chronically absent.

He’d normally wear dress shoes, but on this day he’s wearing boots so that he can easily get around the school. As he wanders down center hall, he’s greeted by students.

“Orr, what’s going on?” says one student.

“Get to class, man!” Orr calls out to another.

He circles the building three times in 30 minutes, stopping in classrooms to ask teachers in a hushed voice if certain students are in class. Most of the time the answer is no, but Orr’s not discouraged.

School has been in session for less than two months, but it’s clear that Orr has found his place.

Not everyone knows that he’s walked these halls before. He attended Grant in the late 1970s, but back then, he wasn’t exactly the charismatic go-getter he is now. Anxiety prevented him from attending classes, and his grades dropped. After only a little more

24 Grant Magazine

than a year at the school, he dropped out.

“School anxiety for some students is real,” says Mary Krogh, an attendance case manager for the Portland Public Schools district.

Mental health issues, along with poverty and family struggles, are some of the key reasons for poor attendance for students.

“Oregon as a whole... has not really been very consistent about responding to attendance and hasn’t been very focused on it,” says Krogh.

Attendance at Grant – about 30 percent of students have severe or chronic absences – isn’t an outlier compared to other schools, but Grant administrators still see room for growth. They want to get that down to at least 10 percent.

That’s where Orr comes in. In the past, there hasn’t been a fulltime faculty member devoted to tracking attendance.

“We really felt like having a person full time dedicated to just looking at attendance is something we wanted to do,” says Grant Principal Carol Campbell. “Non-attendance is the number one thing that contributes to lack of success at school, more so than anything else.”

Grant Vice Principal Diallo Lewis puts it simply: “If you’re not here, you can’t learn,” he says.

But the focus of Orr’s job isn’t punishing students who skip class. Rather, Orr is leaning on a career working with youth and his own experiences growing up to design a different approach.

He forges connections with students through home visits and routine check-ins. He has the phone numbers of many chronically

absent students and texts them regularly to check on their progress.

“I think the attendance specialist today is important,” says Orr, “because otherwise, there’s a lot more people that struggle and wouldn’t graduate. I don’t care if I’m liked. I just want people to feel comfortable and feel they can trust me.”

Orr was born in 1961 in Portland to his mother, Shirley Orr, who was 17 at the time. He is the oldest of four siblings, and his parents split up when he was young.

From the beginning, Orr, who went by his middle name, Anthony, was close with his mother. “She was my everything,” says Orr, who still calls her “mommy.”

When Orr was older, his mother went back to school to get her degree in nursing. Money became tight, and the family relied on public assistance and a local food pantry to get by. Orr still remembers the sense of shame he felt when the truck pulled up to their house to deliver bags of food. “It was tough, but she always made sure we had enough on the table,” he says.

When he wasn’t helping out at home, Orr was outside playing football, basketball or baseball in the streets with neighbors or siblings.

But Orr also had other interests he didn’t share with his peers, such as climbing trees, reading science books and flying paper airplanes. Today, he describes himself during childhood as “nerdy.”

“A lot of times I was by myself,” Orr says.

In school, he excelled academically. But when it came to interacting with others, he struggled.

That’s because he stuttered. Once, in elementary school, a teacher called on him to work on a problem at a board at the front of the class. Orr knew the correct answer, but when it was time to work it out, he froze.

Then, when he tried to answer, his tongue tied up and he couldn’t get the words out. Tears began to flow, and the class behind him erupted in laughter. “It always made me really hesitant to speak, that one experience,” says Orr. He rarely raised his hand after that.

As a freshman, he walked into Grant at only 4-foot-9, weighing 90 pounds. That, coupled with his stutter, made him an easy target for bullying.

Even though he loved basketball, he didn’t join Grant’s team because the coach at the time yelled at the players. Soon, Orr began cutting class.

Whenever his mother dropped him off in the morning, he’d wait in the hall until she drove away before slipping out the back door. He’d often sit alone in the Grant bowl before walking down Northeast Knott Street and heading back home.

He thought his mother didn’t see him. But Shirley Orr says she saw what her son was doing. “I did not know what the issue was,” she says now. “It was very, very frustrating.”

One of his only sources of refuge at school was his friend, Gil Flowers. They connected, says Orr, because Flowers was silly and immature, and Orr didn’t see him as a threat.

He remembers how Flowers would try to pull him toward the classroom door, but Orr always managed to let loose of his grip and lag behind.

“I just want people to feel comfortable and feel they can trust me.”

– Lee Orr “He would urge me,” Orr recalls. “He would get mad at me.

‘Come on, Anthony! Come on, man, let’s go to class!’”

During his sophomore year, Orr stayed at Grant long enough to get his school picture taken. Then, he dropped out. He tried two alternative schools in Portland but couldn’t find his place, the curriculums either too loose or too technical. After only a few months at each, he dropped out again, deciding to instead get his GED. “Once I left (Grant), then I’m on this whole different path,” he says now. “I am the kid who takes the alternative path to education.”

After getting his GED certificate in 1979, Orr decided on his next step: the military. “I was lacking what most students had: discipline,” says Orr. “So the military gave me discipline.”

Orr was stationed at the U.S. Army’s Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri, where he was a telecommunications operator. It wasn’t long before Orr put on some size and became a leader in his platoon. “There is a camaraderie in the military that isn’t like any other,” says Orr. “I’m glad I did it because now I’m a member of a group.”

When Orr was 24 and had finished with the military, he began attending Lower Columbia College, a two-year school in Longview, Wash. There, he was the point guard on the basketball team, which was how he got to know Robert Key, who also played on the team.

“He was more like our leader,” recalls Key. After graduating, Orr began working at a few local community centers and youth basketball teams in the Washington and Oregon area. Around that time, he got married and started a family.

He also worked in the mailroom for a Portland law firm, which propelled him to secure a degree in political science at Portland State University.

He then worked at a number of jobs that focused on helping at-risk youth. That included the Youth Employment Institute, a nonprofit in Northeast Portland where he worked as a case manager for students who were involved in the judicial system or teen parents that had dropped out of high school.

“They just needed someone that would speak to them with October 2016

25

respect,” says Orr. “My role ... (was) to give voice to that student.”

Things then started to fall apart for him. He and his wife divorced, and soon after, Orr became unemployed. For nearly two years, he couldn’t land a job. Without work, his meals mostly consisted of beans and rice, and he didn’t have heat during the winter.

“It was tough,” says Orr. “I wouldn’t go to relatives’ houses because I wouldn’t want them to see I needed anything. And then somehow ... you can’t feel bad or sorry for yourself anymore, and you just try to recall that old strength that’s deep inside you.”

By sheer will, he built himself back up, landing work at Better People, an organization aimed at reducing criminal recidivism rates in Portland.

“I think my life is proof of what I’m trying to present; if you believe in yourself and you continue to push forward, not be fearful to show people your talents, then you’ll be successful,” he says.

Around that time, Orr reconnected with someone named Nikki Blackburn through a work event. When he saw her, he realized she was a familiar face. They had been neighbors growing up but hadn’t seen each other in around 30 years.

“I felt something so strong... that I just said I can’t believe I’m seeing this lady that I saw all these years ago,” he recalls.

They began dating, and in 2011, they married in Orr’s mother’s backyard.

“He’s very much in your corner of a fight,” says Blackburn.

“He’s a protector; that’s something that I saw in him very early on.”

Orr landed a job in 2013 working with Metropolitan Family Service, an umbrella agency that works with community partners to help families overcome barriers. He managed after-school activities and helped with transportation support for families in the Reynolds School District.

While there, he received a call from Key, who had been named the Grant Boys Basketball coach in 2014. He needed some extra coaching help and wanted to know if Orr was up for the challenge.

Without hesitation, Orr was in.

Entering the gym as an assistant coach that year was the first time Orr had been back at Grant since he was a student. He remembers having to hold back tears as he sat in the gym a few times. “I’m coming back to the high school where I failed, and I’m put in a

Orr stops by classrooms, like Susan Bartley’s, to check on students who are missing class.

26 Grant Magazine

position to be able to touch kids, young people ... and I take that so seriously,” he says.

After beginning to coach, Orr quit his job to help coach full time on the team.

He built relationships with the players quickly, offering some rides to and from practices and taking the team out for meals after games.

“After practice, I told him I’m gonna stay longer, and then he stayed there longer with me,” says Ty Rankin, who played on the team last school year. “Whenever we needed something, he always helped us and did the best he can to give it to us.”

Seeing Orr interact with the team was how Vice Principal Diallo Lewis first took notice. “His commitment to forming relationships, getting to know them, while also holding them accountable, the way he communicated with students, staff and parents,” Lewis says, is what he appreciated about Orr. It didn’t take long for Orr to decide he wanted to apply to work at the school. Lewis says Orr was easily the most qualified candidate for the attendance job.

Now, Orr’s goal is for Grant to have 100 percent attendance, something he doesn’t think is too lofty.

While data isn’t out yet on attendance rates for the current school year, administrators sense there’s been an improvement.

Since the beginning of the school year, Orr’s scratched around 30 kids off his list of chronically absent students. That number sits at a little more than 100.

“Lee has a great personality and ability to reach out to families in a way that doesn’t feel punitive,” Campbell says. “To me, it feels like he has taken on ownership of this particular piece of getting students to school.”

Students, too, are feeling the difference.

It was only a few days into the school year that he met Evan Bladow, a senior who, because of a self-described lack of confidence around school work, had a spotty attendance record at Grant.

After a visit to Bladow’s home the first week of school, they developed a rapport. Orr texts him “good morning” at the beginning of every school day and offers him a ride to school if he needs it.

“He’s like someone I will always look up to and like always remember ... he’s been there for me,” says Bladow, who, like most students, calls Orr “Mr. Lee.” “Just making sure I’m getting to school,” Bladow says. “If he didn’t, I probably just wouldn’t come.”

On a recent school day, Orr is driving around Northeast Portland to visit the homes of students who’ve been missing class.

He walks up to countless doors, knocks and waits. If no one answers, he heads back to his car to send the student a text.

On the drive back to school, Orr is in a good mood because the mother of a student he hadn’t been hearing from lately finally texted him back. Her child had made it to school on time that day.

“That made my day,” Orr says.

Now, after years of moving around, Orr says that he’s ready to settle in and dive deep into his new job.

“I feel like my journey now is complete,” he says. “I found that young kid again. I found him, and I brought him along with me. He doesn’t have to hide or slip out the back door anymore.” ◆

Faith Scott works at Legacy Emanuel Medical Center as part of a youth employment program.

Working Her Way Through It Health issues aren’t enough to keep Grant senior Faith Scott down. With help from the school’s Youth Transition Program, she’s making her mark and building for a potential career.

D

Story and photos by Molly Metz

ressed in black pants and a Legacy Emanuel zip-up fleece, Faith Scott begins her six-hour shift on a recent Sunday afternoon.

In the long basement hallway of Legacy Emanuel Medical Center, the Grant High senior gets a cart stacked with 12 meals and begins delivering them to patients’ rooms in both Emanuel and the nearby affiliated Randall Children’s Hospital.

Delivering meals is just one of the many roles she plays at the hospitals, where she began working eight months ago. “What I know now is that she loves to work,” says her mother, Cammie Richey, who runs a daycare business out of their home.

Scott, 17, is one of 13 Grant students with disabilities or emotional issues who make up the school’s Youth Transition Program. It’s a program designed to help set students on a new course toward employment or college.

She’s had to overcome a variety of health problems, including anxiety and depression. With help from the program, she’s found solace assisting others in need. And she’s discovered how to thrive in school while working through her emotional health issues.

“With all that I’ve been through, being born with physical issues and growing up with emotional issues, I think the best thing that

helped me the most was having a support system and not feeling alone,” says Scott. “YTP has been a support system for me in many different areas.”

Born on Feb. 20, 1999, Scott was two months premature and weighed in at just 2 pounds, 2 ounces. She was born with macrostomia, a condition where the muscles connecting the cheeks and chin around the mouth don’t fuse correctly, resulting in an elongated mouth.

She spent eight weeks in the Intensive Care Unit at Emanuel where she was hooked up to a Continuous Positive Airway Pressure machine. Known as CPAP, the machine helped her breathe.

At 8 months old, Scott had her first surgery to help correct her macrostomia.

Richey gave her the name “Faith” for her ability to fight for her life. “She died in my arms twice. I had to give her mouth to mouth before the paramedics got there,” says Richey. “She’s my miracle child.”

Those first few years were difficult for Scott and her mother.

The young girl had to spend another five months using a CPAP machine until she was able to breathe on her own.

Richey didn’t have anyone who could watch her baby if she had October 2016

27

to leave the house for work, so she began a daycare business out of her home.

Growing up, Scott spent a lot of time in hospitals and doctors’ offices. She had to be seen for her macrostomia, she had asthma and over time she had developed some leg and back problems.

From a young age, Scott says she wanted to be a pediatrician when she was older. “Just growing up and seeing my mom help people and take care of their kids,” she says. “And then with my health problems as well, and just going to counseling made me want to do that for somebody.”

When she was younger, Scott was quiet and shy. She went to Arthur Academy on Rocky Butte for preschool and kindergarten and later attended City Christian Schools through elementary and middle school.

Richey says her daughter tried different activities, ranging from gymnastics and piano to basketball and chess. But in the end, she chose reading as her favorite. When she was younger, her mom advocated for her to read at least 30 minutes a day.

“When I first started, it was kind of like a drag,” she says. “But when I found books that I actually liked, then it just kind of stuck.”

As she grew older, her mom’s daycare business quickly grew to three locations, and now Scott’s home is a 24-hour location.

Kids come and go at all hours. With up to 16 kids in the home at all times, ranging from infants to middle schoolers, life is always busy.

But for Scott, it’s normal. “It can be chaotic just having kids in and out, but I don’t know anything else,” she says. “I’m used to it.”

She spent a semester at Jefferson High School but yearned for the feel of the small schools she had attended as a kid. She transferred to De La Salle North Catholic High School.

There, her workload grew more intense because the school required her to start an internship with the Blazers Boys and Girls Club. With one day each week dedicated to her internship, it became difficult for Scott to stay on top of her schoolwork, and her anxieties grew.

“I just couldn’t keep up with the pace, so I didn’t really like it that much,” she says.

For a few months, she was in and out of school, and her grades began to drop. She began taking night school and summer school to complete the credits where she’d fallen behind. When she decided De La Salle wasn’t a good fit for her, she switched to Grant for her sophomore year.

The transition triggered more anxieties for Scott. She was nervous about starting at her third high school in two years and

Scott meets regularly with Grant’s transition specialist Patti Downing (right) to talk about school and work.

Faith Scott pushes a meal cart down halls of Legacy Emanuel Medical Center.

28 Grant Magazine

worried about getting to know a new system. “I was already having anxiety about moving schools, so it all kind of came on at once,” says Scott.

“With me, if I get anxious about something, like my whole mind just kind of shuts down, and I become distant, and then I get depressed,” she says. “Especially when a class is hard for me. For some reason, I’ll get anxious about it. I just stop completely trying because I didn’t know how to handle it.”

During her second semester, she remembers fainting during her math class. She visited the School Based Health Center at Grant and began the process of visiting multiple health professionals before she was formally diagnosed with anxiety and depression.

After the diagnosis, she was put on an Individualized Education Program.

During her junior year, Youth Transition Program transition specialist Patti Downing came to speak to one of Scott’s classes.

Downing told students about the program and what it offered.

From the beginning, Scott was hooked. “The first day that I went in to do an orientation to explain what YTP was, she raised her hand and looked at me and said, ‘I want to be your first success story,’ and she stuck to that,” recalls Downing.

She says Scott was and continues to be diligent about coming to meetings, checking in and doing the necessary paperwork.

The Oregon Youth Transition Program started in 1990 as a partnership between the state’s Department of Education, the Office of Vocational Rehabilitation and the University of Oregon’s College of Education. Students get help to overcome barriers and forge a path toward potential employment and college.

The program has provided services and improved outcomes for more than 25,000 students with disabilities.

In the beginning of the 20152016 school year, the program was introduced at Grant because, according to Downing, data showed that a large number of students fell through the cracks once they graduated from high school.

“Maybe they aren’t going to do the traditional things that Grant high schoolers do,” says Grant Vice Principal KD Parman, who oversees special education. “They have an ability to get some information about different options about things that they can become successful using a different path.”

Scott joined Grant’s program soon after the start of the year and was the first student on Downing’s caseload.

The two met multiple times a week during free periods, flex time and after school to create a profile of Scott’s strengths and passions. Together, they wrote a résumé and began to look for

“It showed me how to be independent in a lot of areas, not just in working but just going after what you want.”

– Faith Scott employment opportunities.

“It showed me how to be independent in a lot of areas, not just in working but just going after what you want,” says Scott.

According to Downing, having a job can improve aspects of life beyond the job itself. She says: “When any of us do a job that we love, it makes a difference in our productivity, our attendance and our attitude. It is the recipe for a positive outcome.”

By February, Faith finished her application, went through the interview process and got a job at Legacy Emanuel. She wasn’t slated to start until the summer, but the hospital needed employees right away.

So for the remainder of the school year, Scott worked after school and on weekends. She says there wasn’t time for anything else besides school and work. From the beginning, she worked every day of the week, often only getting a day off after working two weeks straight.

Because Scott was doing so well at her job assembling meal trays in the kitchen, she was then trained in multiple areas to fill in elsewhere when needed. On some days, she transports meal carts or delivers meals directly to patients, and on others, she works serving people in the cafeteria.

Scott’s favorite part of her job is interacting with the patients at Randall Children’s Hospital. “With the children, you can give them a compliment on their hair and their whole face just lights up,” Scott says. “Some of them are really sick, but it’s easy to make them happy, so that’s probably the nicest part.”

Beyond helping Scott become employed, YTP has provided her with resources in addressing her anxiety and depression. The program pays for her weekly therapy sessions so she can learn how to work on managing her mental health issues. “A lot of things changed,” she says. “I had to work on time management because I get anxious about that kind of thing…I had to work on organization and just like responsibility has become strong in the last eight months. Now that I work, I have to pay some bills so that’s been a big change for me.”

Now, Scott stays busy between finishing high school, working on the weekends and helping her mom out at home.

She hopes to get her associate degree from a community college after high school. Her long-term goal is to get a master’s degree in psychology.

Going into psychology has been on her mind since her anxiety and depression worsened a few years ago, but the help she received since has opened her up to it as a potential future career.

“With the depression and anxiety, I didn’t know how to handle it at all, and I know what it feels like,” says Scott. “I wouldn’t want anyone to feel like they don’t know how to handle it.” ◆ October 2016

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The Alumni Profile

Taking Your Shot

Terrell Brandon made it to the NBA, but he’s remained humble and true to his roots.

Today, he’s focused on strengthening the community where he grew up.

By Sarah Hamilton

S

econds remain on the clock, and the score is tied. ThenGrant High senior Terrell Brandon stands at the free throw line. All the pressure is on him to make the shot. He takes a deep breath, extends his arms and lets the ball leave his fingertips. The audience is silent as the ball flies through the air – swish.

The crowd erupts with cheers. A pack of Grant students rush onto the court, cheering and nearly trampling the players. Then it hits Brandon – as an 18-year-old All-State point guard, he has just led his team to victory at the 1988 OSAA boys state basketball championship.

This was all part of Brandon’s path to stardom in the world of basketball. Just three years later after a stellar career for the University of Oregon Ducks, Brandon was drafted 11th overall by the Cleveland Cavaliers in the 1991 NBA draft.

One might think a man of Brandon’s stature would walk with a certain swagger, but he’s nothing but humble. He’s “just Terrell,” he says.

A North and Northeast Portland native, Brandon, now 46, is determined to give back to his community in any way he can.

Whether it’s providing jobs through one of his many businesses – including Terrell Brandon Barber Shop on Northeast Alberta Street – or putting on basketball camps for kids, Brandon remains a pillar.

“I’ve never wanted to be a community member. I always wanted to be a community leader,” he says.

Brandon was born in Portland in 1970 to Charley and Charlotte Brandon. A leg deformity meant spending much of his early childhood in uncomfortable metal leg braces. For 22 hours a day until he was 3, Brandon had to wear the braces everywhere he went.

30 Grant Magazine

Above: Terrell Brandon and his teammates from Grant’s 1988 varsity boys basketball team were inducted into the Grant Athletic Hall of Fame last month. (Photo by Molly Metz)

Those two hours he spent without them were bliss for Brandon and his family – he was happiest when he had the freedom to stretch his legs and toes. “I think that taught me how to be tough without even knowing it,” he says now.

Growing up in a tight-knit neighborhood taught Brandon the value of community from a young age. “Everyone took care of each other,” he remembers.

But Brandon also remembers a harsher side of the area he grew up in. At the time, his Northeast Portland neighborhood suffered from gang violence and police brutality.

“Coming from Northeast Portland, it’s kind of hard, of course, so that’s created a hardness within my soul,” says Brandon. “Seeing the things that I’ve seen, it strengthens you.”

As a kid, Brandon often watched basketball on television with his father. “We only had one TV back then, so whatever he watched, everybody watched,” Brandon says.

He also took turns with his dad shooting mini basketballs in the Nerf hoop that was hung in the living room.

In second grade, Brandon played on his first basketball team at the Matt Dishman Community Center. He didn’t tower over his peers, so he played point guard – a position that values speed and coordination over height. “That’s usually the small guy’s position,” he explains.

Whatever Brandon lacked in height, he made up for with his skill.

He only played with the second grade team for about four games – it was clear from the beginning that Brandon had a special talent. By the end of the year, Brandon was playing for the fifth grade team. He

continued this pattern for seven years to come – playing years ahead of his age group.

In 1984, Brandon started on the basketball team as a freshman at Grant, following in the footsteps of his sister, Tracy. He remembers trying out for Grant’s team – an experience he describes as nervewracking.

In his first year, Brandon was initially placed on the freshman team before being moved up to junior varsity halfway through the year. By sophomore year, Brandon was on the varsity team and played as a substitute for the Grant team that won the 1986 state championship.

The next year, Brandon continued performing at a high level.

“His junior year, he was phenomenal,” says John Stilwell, Brandon’s coach at that time. But unfortunately, they lost the championship that year.

“You’re on the top of the mountain, then all of a sudden you’re so low down in the dirt,” says Brandon.

At the beginning of his senior year, he broke his ankle, continuing a pattern of leg problems that would eventually lead to the end of his basketball career. He played in only a few games throughout the year because of the injury, but he was able to work up the strength to lead his team to the championship in 1988, a feat that earned him “Player of the Year” honors.

“Terrell was a very skilled basketball player,” says Stilwell. “He was just a delightful kid to work with. He was very coachable, very humble.”

Throughout his junior year, Brandon was flooded with scholarship offers from colleges all across the country. In the end, Brandon’s heart was set on the University of Oregon. He grew up watching the UO basketball team play each Saturday. “I would just fall in love with the yellow and the green,” he says, “I knew where I was going inside.”

As a student athlete in college, his day-to-day schedule was packed – classes from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m.; basketball practice from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m.; study hall from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m.; and then back to the dorms to study some more.

After the season ended his junior year, Brandon started to look toward bigger things when it came to basketball. In May 1991, a variety of NBA scouts began interviewing him. That included personnel from the Cleveland Cavaliers.

It was a scary proposition making the choice to go into the draft, because players lost their eligibility for college basketball if they declared for the draft early but didn’t get chosen. “You don’t know particularly where you’re drafted,” Brandon recalls. “You just hope that all the interviews and the workouts that you had, you hope that you’ve done well enough.”

During the NBA draft ceremony in June 1991 at Madison Square Garden, Brandon was selected by Cleveland. The experience was surreal for Brandon – as a kid, he never thought he’d make it to the NBA. “I was just happy to get drafted. I wasn’t caught up in what team and all that,” he says.

At age 21, after signing his contract with the Cavaliers, Brandon decided to open a barber shop. With money he’d earned from the NBA, he purchased a plot of land on Northeast Alberta Street and began construction. When the shop Left: Brandon on the cover of Sports Illustrated in 1997 Courtesy of Sports Illustrated

opened, he hired four barbers and the business took off immediately. Brandon already had a name for himself in the community, so it wasn’t difficult to attract customers.

His early years with the Cavaliers were spent performing rookie duties and becoming acclimated to the intense environment of the league.

“The NBA is enjoyable, but it’s business. It’s just kind of a totally different beast,” says Brandon.

Terrell Brandon He enjoyed the relationClass of: 1988 ships with team members.

Age: 46 “You find out as the weeks What he does now: Owns a and the months go on, barber shop, dog grooming through conversations, evbusiness and limousine eryone’s path was similar,” service says Brandon. “Everyone had Favorite spot at Grant: The something in common.” heater to the right of center He was later traded to the hall. “That was my spot, Milwaukee Bucks where that belonged to me. Before school, guys would be on the he played for two years heater and when I walked in, before ending his playing they would move out of the career with the Minnesota way.”

Timberwolves, retiring with a Advice for current Grant knee injury. He was traded to students: “Just keep it real the Atlanta Hawks for salary within yourself. Don’t try cap purposes but didn’t ever to be anybody that you’re play for the team. not. Whatever you want to He looks back fondly on a accomplish, you can do it. career where he played in two Just work hard at it.”

NBA All-Star Games with the likes of Michael Jordan and Patrick Ewing. He was also on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and he won the NBA Sportsmanship Award in 1997.

While it’s easy for some athletes to get caught up in the fame and fortune, Brandon always kept his head. “My parents taught my sister and I about having an appreciation for life and what God blesses you with. He can also take it away from you,” says Brandon. “I think I got that so early and instilled that into my own head after hearing it so much, that when I so-called ‘made it,’ the transition, it was just so easy. Because I know who I am.”

After settling back into life in Portland, it was as if Brandon had never left. “When I came back, it was natural,” he says “It was just a continuation of what I was already doing.”

He started spending more hours at his barber shop and led basketball camps for underprivileged and disabled kids at Grant and at Irving Park. “I think it’s important for me to give people what I’ve learned,” says Brandon, “I’d like to give back to Grant and give back to the community, show how much I appreciate them ... That means more than anything.”

Today, Brandon can be found chatting up customers and sweeping the floors at his shop. He says young people who know him are shocked to find out he played professional basketball. “I prefer just being known as the barber shop guy,” says Brandon. “It’s just comfortable. It’s me.” ◆ October 2016

31

Afterthoughts

Coming Together, for Better or for Worse

Politics in this family can get complicated when relatives come for a visit.

T

he air was more tense than usual last May with my grandfather’s visit to our home in Portland coming up.

My mom, dad, brother and I sat around the dinner table eating and wondering what my grandpa’s June visit would be like this time, especially with the presidential election closing in.

Finally, my mom put down her fork and broke the silence: “Please promise me that none of you will bring up politics while he’s here,” she said.

It was a normal request of us. My grandpa’s conservative beliefs weren’t unfamiliar, avoiding politics around him had become habitual.

In our world, it’s common to encounter opposing viewpoints within families like mine. With roots in the South and the East Coast and one small branch in liberal Portland, political disputes happen during every family vacation. Starting when I was little, I remember hearing racist tinged comments in the midst of conversations.

Other times I overheard debates over presidential candidates in another room.

After 15 years of living in Portland in a Democratic household with non-religious parents, my own beliefs naturally followed that same path. But with each visit to see my grandparents, either in a small town near the coast of New Jersey or a small city in central Virginia, I have become more uncomfortable with the points of view that run so counter to me and my parents.

It’s made me wonder if I’ll ever be able to enjoy spending time with my extended family, especially this year during such an explosive election season. But over the summer, I made a change. I decided to get involved in the disputes to understand my place in these conflicts and what they mean for my family.

I’ve grown up surrounded by the liberal

32 Grant Magazine

Story and illustration by Ella Weeks ideas of Portland and my parents, with limited knowledge of their very different pasts. My dad grew up in New Jersey with beliefs that mirrored those of his mildly conservative parents. My mom grew up in Virginia in the 1970s when it was normal for uniformed maids of color to serve daily at her grandparents’ homes.

The two eventually converted to the liberal side in college, leaving right-wing leaning politics to their parents. But it wasn’t until my eighth grade year that I was exposed to the deeper political history of my family.

I remember having mock debates in my history class where students had to play the role of members of both sides of the Civil War. I, along with everyone else in my class, could barely form arguments in favor of slavery on the Confederate side.

Around that same time, my mom explained that I was the direct descendant of a Confederate hero, a man who my grandpa still looks up to with respect. It was then that things began to stack up for me.

I remember seeing a photograph of my grandpa smiling with Donald Trump at a small campaign meeting in Virginia.

He’s the only person in my life that isn’t completely opposed to Trump. I wanted to understand the history behind his beliefs.

Sensing my curiosity, my parents began telling us stories about their parents.

When my grandpa visited in June, I wondered what he would think of me having friends of different races and writing for a progressive magazine.

During his visit, all conversations were kept at surface level. It was the first time my mom didn’t play the evening news in the kitchen, for fear of any election coverage. His visit triggered some reflection by my immediate family. We

agreed that our differing beliefs made our relationships with relatives less honest and more uncomfortable.

My mom then said something that’s stuck with me. She explained that my grandpa’s way of thinking is rooted in the history of his hometown and his parents, just as mine is. That doesn’t excuse the causes he supports, but in the case of a family that goes back centuries, I realized there’s nothing I can do to change him.

Later that summer, we traveled to New Jersey to visit my dad’s parents. On the first night, my other grandfather was complaining about having to pay so many taxes. My mom stepped in to defend her belief in a communal society, one in which everyone pays their fair share of taxes.

Instead of retreating to the living room with my younger brother, I decided to stick around. I stayed quiet while their voices rose and several accusations ensued. But I didn’t let the discomfort chase me away.

The yelling eventually stopped, and I was glad to have been there after years of shying away from family conflicts.

The four of us on the West Coast have come to accept we will never be able to see anywhere near eye to eye with those rooted in what feels like another world.

And vacations might not ever feel fully comfortable, but I’ve learned that that’s OK. I know I will always feel nervous before each visit with relatives across the country.

But the experience this summer made me realize that I need to brave the discomfort so that I can understand the opposing beliefs that exist in our country, as well as in my own family. ◆ Ella Weeks is a sophomore reporter for Grant Magazine.

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