Milwaukee A Collection of Work by Local Teens by Hidden Color Press

M I L WAU K EE A COLLECTION OF WORK BY LOCAL TEENS

Milwaukee / m l w k i / (Hoocąk: Tešišik [6]) is the largest city in the U.S. state of Wisconsin, the 30th most populous city in the United States, and 39th most populous region in the United States. It is the county seat of Milwaukee County and is located on the southwestern shore of Lake Michigan. According to 2010 census data, the City of Milwaukee has a population of 594,833.[7] Milwaukee is the main cultural and economic center of the Milwaukee–Racine–Waukesha Metropolitan Area with a population of 2,037,542 as of an official 2012 estimate.[8] This ranks the region as the 29th most populous Combined Statistical Area of the United States.

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HIDDEN COLOR PRESS presents

MILWAUKEE A COLLECTION of WORK by LOCAL TEENS

Published August 2014 by Hidden Color Press Fonts: A v e n i r C o n d e n s e d and Century Schoolbook Edited by Jack Hietpas, Rob Baumann, & Marisa Riepenhoff Printed in MKE

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................................................................................................................ ................................................................................................................... ................................................................................................................... ................................................................................................................ ................................................................................................................ ................................................................................................................ ................................................................................................................ ........................................................................................................................ ........................................................................................................................ ........................................................................................................................ INTRODUCTION................................................................................6 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.................................................................................7 ONLY ONE PLACE, Campbell Schaefer............................................................9 ALL IN A DAY, William Fendt.........................................................................10 ON A BOAT, Jack Hietpas.................................................................................16 IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, CHANGE IT, Celeste Caroll..................................17 MILWAUKEE POEM, Jordan Miranda............................................................18 COMING HOME, Alisha Bowen.......................................................................19 UNTITLED, Campbell Schaefer........................................................................20 IMAGINATION, Kelley Schlise.........................................................................21 UNTITLED, Demontre Harvey..........................................................................25 ............................................................................................................................ ............................................................................................................................ ............................................................................................................................ ............................................................................................................................ ............................................................................................................................ ............................................................................................................................ ............................................................................................................................ ........................................................................................................................... ........................................................................................................................... ...........................................................................................................................

intro d uction What does it mean to call a place home? This publication explores the meaning of “place” and our relationship with it. Both the memories and perceptions that make up our experience with the area in which we live are shown in this book, respectively. Naturally, we are deeply connected with our home because where we live affects who we are. It may not define us, but certainly the place we come from has an unquestionably strong influence on our sets of values, interests, knowledge, and more. For this reason, our home instills an emotional reaction within us, whether it be negative or positive. With this first publication, we sought to collect a variety of accounts of the city that we call home, Milwaukee. This volume is bursting at the seams with the work of talented young individuals from throughout the reaches of Milwaukee’s boundaries. Their window is this book, a project which set out to supply an opportunity for teenaged creatives in the metro area. The very best of the many works submitted are featured within these pages. Momentarily, you’ll find yourself gazing at our city through the eyes of these teenagers. Soon you will see that Milwaukee is a place where little red scooters transform into horses, tail-sprouting, dirigible-riding mutants perform daring deeds of good (at least, in an imagined future), boys fly across water, and young people dream of a better future.

acknowle d g ements Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re grateful for everyone who submitted their work to the project, making the existence of this book a reality. Thanks go out to the team of advisors who reviewed the submissionsâ&#x20AC;&#x201C; Dasha Kelly, Polly Morris, Marisa & Joe Riepenhoff, Sarah Luther, Rob Baumann, Jennifer Morales, and Alisha Bowen. Special appreciation is extended towards Rob Baumann, for his insightful editing, quality feedback and advice on the layout and design, and beyond, as well as towards Marisa Riepenhoff, for starting the fire and diligently helping out along the way. Their help was key in the coming-to-be of Hidden Color Press.

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CAMPBELL SCHAEFER, age 14, St. Robert School There is a place where robins dance in inches of snow, Where the sea gulls pace the beaches and steal away snacks as they go, Where the sun flickers across Lake Michigan as the day draws to a close, And where the stars glisten radiantly in the moonlit sky. This place has it all: The music, the cheese, the brats, the history. Behind every brick in this city, there is a story waiting to be told. It is here that the shovel and mitten surplus is never at a low. Nor is fun ever at a lack. How can a frozen tundra become a sweltering site in just one change of season? And still, the dandelions manage to poke through the once frozen ground. What makes this bizarre place so wondrous? Could it be the diverse number of people who make up the resolute community? Or is it the architecture that movesâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;literally? Maybe itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the vast opportunities that await someone here. Is it possible for a city to love you back? In Milwaukee, anything is possible.

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WILLIAM FENDT, age 15, Milwaukee High School of the Arts Soder’s well-equipped dirigible (the only safe flying vehicle after the collapse of the Western U.S.) was muttering along in the sky over the little town of Green Bay. He had just come from a long logging stint in Door County, and was hoping for a respite where he could sell some cherrywood logs in Milwaukee. Soder flew alone—most distrusted a fox-tailed briddie—but he didn’t mind. The rumble of the engine and the slightly smoke-tinged, cool breeze were his. It would be about an hour or two more to Milwaukee, so Soder picked up a book from his small built-in bookshelf in the back of the cockpit. The metal walls remained undecorated after many years of use, but he kept the bookshelf full for comfort. He sat down in the captain’s chair, tail tucked around his leather aviator’s jacket, and began to read. Two humming hours later, Soder was over Glendale. He knew this because his iPhone’s wi-fi dinged on for the first time in a while. He gleefully picked it up and unlocked it, immediately checking his email. He should have been disappointed as there were only two messages, but at least something was there. Both were Milwaukee-postmarked (the entire USPS had been digitalized, literally creating ‘e’-mail). Milwaukee was also the only place he would have expected anything from—much of the South had been drowned in floods due to global warming, and the West had, for the most part, been destroyed after the eruption at Yellowstone launched enough ash into the sky to institute a winter that would last a good hundred years. Of course, the briddies, or animal-human hybrids that scientists had been experimenting with, were able to survive there. But briddies weren’t always the best of people—Soder had been lucky to have his sanity. Soder was about to call in to the Milwaukee Main airfield outside the downtown, when his phone started ringing.

13 Now, after the disasters around Milwaukee started, the city took quick action. Renewable power plants were built as near as possible to the city, and cell phone towers were unilaterally commandeered by the city to provide a constant service to the people. The city also ordered all non-essential vehicles to be traded to the city to conserve on soon-to-be disappearing gas and metal. Then, after the Western collapse, Mayor Barrett and the city council ordered city borders to be assessed, so that defensive barriers could be put in place where needed. So Soder, like everyone else, had his phone hooked up to the Milwaukee network. Soder’s call was coming in from a friend, perhaps his only friend in Milwaukee, one Adam Bradley—the city’s own royalty. Adam, like Soder, was pushing twenty-five, but unlike Soder, navigated the political game like an albatross at sea. When Soder picked up, Adam said quickly, “Soder, have you landed yet?” “No,” he responded, “How did you know I was landing today? And why does it matter?” “Don’t land at the Main. The city folk are ready for briddie blood, and they won’t really care if it’s their friendly lumber merchant. You can land in my yard. You still remember where I live, yes?” He paused for a breath. “And I knew you were here ‘cuz I put a trace on your phone for situations just like this.” Soder’s eyes widened as he replied, “Yes, I remember, out on the Lake Drive. Thanks Adam, you probably just saved my life.” Soder rapidly swung the ship towards the lake. “You bet. Gotta go now—the city council is going to vote on what measures to take against the briddies out in the Upper Miller Valley, and Mayor Barrett wants me to get info while he negotiates for peace with the Racine briddie colony. They just might help, but—” “Stop talking and go,” Soder said, cutting him off, “See you back at that monstrosity you call a house.” He hung up before Adam could reply.Soder turned his complete attention to steering the boat-like dirigible now, maneuvering the air currents to come to rest in the large Lake Drive yard of Adam’s home. Once he turned off the engine, Soder started unloading the cherrywood into one of the sheds. He was grateful for the hedges to keep anyone from seeing his briddie strength at work, let alone his tail. Soder went inside after he finished, having a key, and found some food to scarf down. The clock chimed three o’clock

14 and Adam hadn’t returned. I wonder when Adam’s little sit-in is gonna be over... Soder sat around a while longer, before lifting up a flap of his jacket and sniffing. “Ugh. I should take a shower.” When he finished taking his own advice, it was almost four o’clock and Adam still wasn’t home. There was however, a message on the answering machine. “Soder,” Adam said, “The city council isn’t just sending containment trucks this time—they said the city has decided enough is enough, and they’re going to clear the place.” Adam’s breathing grew heavy like he was running. “I have to get Mayor Barrett now. The Raciners aren’t going to like this.” Adam was about to hang up when he remembered, “And under no circumstances are you to leave the house. The situation out there is better than deadly right now.” The call clicked off, leaving Soder stunned. There had always been a briddie outpost along the train tracks and in the warehouses off of Highland Avenue in the Upper Miller Valley; the city had found it was easier to concede land than it was to fight a constant war. Besides, the other colonies, like the one in Racine, were usually cool-headed enough to keep the Valley briddies in check. This declaration, though, would send the other colonies into a frenzy over hybrid rights. The phone rang again, and Soder instinctively picked it up. The voice on the other end said, “This is Lily. Adam told me to call his house if anything developed on the Valley quandary. Are you Soder?” “Yes?” Soder replied. “The city has sent off their trucks to the U.M.V., but someone said they saw your dirigible touch down in Adam’s yard. They’re going to send a patrol your way. You better be gone in fifteen minutes.” “Thank you...Lily. I’m surprised you would help me, for not knowing me.” “Anything for Mr. Bradley,” she said with a wink in her voice. They goodbyed and hung up. Soder looked around, grabbed a couple things from the house (Adam wouldn’t mind, he now had an excellent stock of cherrywood in his care, and hadn’t changed his family’s name back to Bradley for no reason) and left. The dirigible hummed into the air quickly, especially with the heavy cargo gone, and sped through the air like the wind was on its heels. Nearing the city downtown, which took up more land than it had before the Cataclysms, Soder decided to just take a quick pass over the Valley before

15 he left. He charted it in, coming up on it a little while later. The fight was now well underway, and being carried out mostly through nightsticks and tasers (probably to conserve bullets). Soder dipped in closer to see a group of frenzied briddies coming up on a wounded woman. The briddies were wolf-gene by their characteristics, and filled with blood-lust by their eyes. They were eager for the woman. Soder’s protective instincts kicked in, and he swooped down, almost divebombing the ground in front of them, before pulling up a little. The woman took her chance and scrambled up into an advancing group of enforcers. Soder flew back up again, but found himself slowing down near the warehouses (extensively renovated by the briddies) where one was standing out in the front shade. He looks familiar… Soder slipped closer, before being forced to land on the large roof. He got out and walked towards the boy and the second-level opening. The boy was looking decidedly more human by the second. The boy looked confused at Soder, but didn’t say anything as he approached. Oh right, I look briddie. ‘Cuz I am briddie. Ha. “Aren’t you the briddie-human boy?” Soder asked. The boy nodded, replying, “Yeah, I’m Jason. Who are you?” “I’m Sotíras X-671, but most people call me Soder. You know Jason, I think I know your uncle....” Soder replied, thinking about how much the boy looked like Adam. “Do you know why they’re fighting?” Jason looked concernedly at the fighting for a while, over the Highland bridge. “Yeah. Lupino, our chief-guy, wanted some more houses around here; Highland and all that. The city refused, so he tried using me as a bargaining chip, then he just started looting the houses. Now he’s bargaining with some real humans. The city’s not liking that.” Soder contemplated that. “You mean Lupino’s keeping hostages?” “Yeah,” Jason responded, “But I think that’s really bad. And anyone should be able to see that that’s where the problem is.” Soder grinned wickedly then. “Jason, how’d you like to save some people and meet your uncle?” Jason looked in awe at Soder. A few minutes, three quick kicks to the stomach and Jason’s knowledge of where the keys were kept later, Soder, Jason and the hostages were sitting in

16 Soder’s dirigible, taking off for the enforcer command center Soder had seen earlier. Enforcers surrounded the little aircraft by the time Soder switched off the engine. The passengers got off slowly, but Soder was grabbed and shoved into the ground as he tried to walk out. Come on Adam, get Barrett and get me out of the hole I’ve dug myself, he thought. “Wire the Council,” the commander said, coming over to Soder. “And who might you be, my foxy little friend?” “Sotíras X-671. A friend of Adam Bradley.” “Yeah, and I’m personal friends with Her Royal Majesty. Get some cuffs on this one until the clearing is finished.” The medic’s tent was nearby, and the woman Soder had saved came up to the commander. “Chief, I recognize this ‘rigible. This man saved my life.” “He’s not a man and probably just trying to win our trust, aren’t you,” The commander declared. Soder pleaded, “No, just call Mr. Bradley if yo—” “No need, Mr. Bradley is here,“ Adam said as he walked over from the city car with Mayor Barrett. Adam smiled. “You just can’t stay away from danger. Now what are you doing,” Adam turned to the commander, “holding my friend here. It looks like he just solved our hostage crisis.” The enforcers had already let Soder go as the commander mumbled back to Adam. The Mayor waved him off saying, “I’d like to speak with our savior in a bit of privacy.” The others moved away as Adam led the Mayor and Soder into the commander’s tent. They sat down in fold-out chairs spread in a circle, and Mayor Barrett had Adam close the tent flap. “Now, after what you just did, I should be hanging a medal around your neck, Soder,” The mayor said as he slipped off his shoes and rolled up his pants. Mayor Barrett had undergone a genetic splice to receive tortoise genes that helped him stave off some of the aging process. The after-effects were definitely strange. “Sir, all I—” Soder began. “Please, call me Tom.” “Mr. Barrett, all I want is to get some money for my cherrywood, before my

17 next expedition. Honestly, I don’t care much about the situation here.” Adam spoke up. “But we were thinking that there should be a way to keep you safe—even during times like this. Like a passport, or badge.” Soder was shaking his head, smiling a little. “I don’t want a passport, or a badge, or anything. I’d feel like I had to be legitimized to be here. If you want to help me, find a different way, or don’t. It doesn’t matter to me.” Adam nodded. This time, Mayor Barrett said, “You know, ‘Neo-Hybrid stays true to job, saves hostages’ would be an interesting headline.” He smiled wryly. “Oh, Jason!” Soder remembered, “Adam, would you like to see your nephew?” Adam jumped up, smiling confusedly, “Umm….” They excused themselves of the Mayor and went to find Jason with the hostages. “Hey Jason,” Soder said, “Remember what I said about your uncle? Here he is. This is Adam Bradley.” “Adam Bradley?” Jason said excitedly as he rose, “You’re my uncle? Really!” Adam nodded and laughed and they started to talk. Soder moved away, looking out over the steep incline that lead down to the Valley, and the cordon police that were now just keeping the briddies from running wild for a while. The breeze picked up, bringing with it the faint smell of Miller beer, still cooking away. Adam and Jason had finished talking and Adam came over. “Soder, Jason has something to ask you.” Soder looked at him quizzically as Jason asked, “Is your life always this exciting?” “I mean, mostly. Why?” “Can I come with you? On your trips? “Umm....” Soder looked at Adam, who nodded, “How old are you Jason?” “Fifteen,” He answered, “Well, seventeen-and-a-half in briddie years.” “Then get ready, I guess. Pack and all that. We’ll be leaving in a couple days. I was thinking the Chicago Remnants...then maybe the New York. Have you ever seen a real skyscraper, Jason?”

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JACK HIETPAS, age 13, St. Robert School Before last summer I never felt what it was like to swiftly skate across the milky Lake Michigan water like a fox in the field to let the ropes run through my hands to feel the green breeze bursting in my face with life One flick of a rope a nuance of the tiller the boat breaks into a different course tacking gybing working the boat like a beautiful machine As I run across the waves listening to the wind laughing with new friends I feel the pulse of the lake the pulse of life just a sheet of plastic between me and it just me in a little white boat gliding on the giant old lake me just a minuscule piece of the universe

I f y o u d o n ‘ t l i k e i t, c h a n g e i t CELESTE CARROLL, age 16, Shorewood High School

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JORDAN MIRANDA, age 17, Riverside University High School The smell of moldy bread as I drive through the city, Graffiti on walls expressing the feeling of a teen’s stability, Bars everywhere I look the drunken man has a home any and every night Women aren’t judged on their brains here, it’s all about their looks and reputation Split up in different parts whites in the suburbs Mexicans on the Southside blacks in the inner city Not one of the best places to live due to this crazy weather we go through hot, cold, hot and cold Different people everywhere I go different appearances different perspectives But this is where I live this is what I call home I love my city– Brew City.

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ALISHA BOWEN, age 17, Brookfield Academy

Until he comes home to the dark, gloomy sky and the tall white building coming through Until he comes home to the changing of green that once was a sparkling blue view Until he comes home the great ship thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s shown filled with different colorful hues Until he comes home the loud chaos will continue as the ball makes it through And as he comes home the home comes back to him as if he never left.

u n t i t l e d CAMPBELL SCHAEFER, age 14, St. Robert School

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Imani Adams, age 17, Riverside University High School It’s hot, the grains between my toes Ooo it’s hot, it’s beaming on my skin Changing the color from white to tan. It’s cold, Rising from my feet to my leg. I’m moving a little faster Trying to get use to it. But I couldn’t because it’s Cold Tired of the ice. So I walk slowly On to the little mountains. It’s loud, kids running around All wild. It’s loud, birds flying above making crazy sounds It dies down. It’s not hot anymore, it’s a little chilly now. It’s not chilly anymore, it’s freezing now. It’s not loud anymore, since all the kids are gone. This beautiful hot ball of colors starts to hide In the sky, behind the ice. Seems like everything is at a stand Still. Calm. Soft waves hit the Ice.

I M A G I N A T I O N KELLEY SCHLISE, age 13, St. Robert School Imagination fades as you grow up. But pieces float back to you sometimes, and you can relish again the sweet taste of pretending. When I was younger, maybe in second or third grade, and still in my phase of obsession with horses, I would go outside in the brittle piercing autumn air. I would wear what I thought were my stable clothes. I would scooter back and forth on Concordia, the street alongside of my corner house, but I would never bring my scooter around the sharp corners that ended my domain. I would stay on one side of the street, too. My scooter wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t just a scooter for me, though. It was my horse. My horse, with two red handlebars extending off the top of the dull silver metal pole that was its body. My horse with two red wheels, one in front and the other in the back. I jumped over lines of chalk I drew in the uneven cement of my block. They became vertical jumps, oxers, combinations, and more varied jumps that I distinguished on the pavement with designs and words. I jumped and jumped for long periods of time outside, lifting my front wheel over all the jumps. I always stood on the scooter with my left foot and pushed my right deep into the pavement, into the sidewalk, remembering to always wear shoes when scootering so the brake on my scooter wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t burn my foot. This was my imagination game. My familiar red Razor scooter stood tall at its maximum height, raised proudly all the way to the top. The ripped red handle bar on the right side was covered by a shiny bright blue piece of duct tape, a special trademark of my scooter. And on that scooter, I knew the sidewalk like my best friend. I knew where all the cracks were, which parts were smooth and rough, which blocks were longer and shorter, which parts of my friend I had to be careful traveling over. I knew where little sprouts of green dug through the solid cement, yearning for the sun. The stretch of sidewalk on Concordia was my sidewalk, my arena.

25 When I scootered, I let my mind do gymnastics as I imagined stories, and characters who rode horses. I would make a protagonist, a kind girl who was the best rider at the stable that blossomed in my mind. Then a mean girl would take shape as the antagonist, someone who was snobby and rich but also talented at riding. This person often had two friends to flank her. I would devise the stable in its glory, the layout of the stalls, the tack room with each character’s gleaming saddles and bridles, and the instructor and owner. I would also picture the clothes of each character, and of course their horses. I would take breaks from my scooter races at the corners of the block or just simply sit on the sloping step up to the yard and ponder my characters’ personalities. I remember shiny black haired Ruby and her friends: Brianna, who had extremely white blond hair that she sometimes wore in a french braid, and Serena, who had blond hair with brown highlights. These were the mean girls, all pretty and excellent riders. Ruby’s horse was black and Serena had a horse named Rose. Then, there was the instructor’s favorite rider, Cecelia. She was a pretty blond, and the best one at the stable. Cecelia would always be in a good mood and she had a perfect horse. I remember shooting down the block, so fast I never wanted to stop. The wind pressing against my rosy cheeks, my fingers numb. My blue stopwatch would hang around my neck, bouncing against my chest as I lifted the front wheel of my scooter off the ground over the chalk lines. Once my course ended, at the corner, I would skid to a stop and quickly jam my finger onto the stop button. I would ride the course multiple times, pretending to be a different character each time. I would record times for each character and see who had the best time, competing against myself in different points of view. I remember too riding scooters with my friend Delilah. She was a year older, but we were best friends, and she liked horses too. She would bring her newer red Razor scooter over to play, and the two of us would go out in the cold and crisp air in our jeans and plaid shirts, daydreaming about horses, and real riding. We made dressage tests and used trees and street signs as markers, writing down tests and making efforts to memorize them. We critiqued each other, and devised ways to do each gait from free walk to collected canter. We posted and sat to the trot, awkwardly moving in a back and forth motion.

26 Riding my scooter horse was a way for me to let my imagination run in all different directions, in territory that I enjoyed. It also let me ride horses, something I was afraid to actually do. Being out in the fresh air, pushing my foot along the cement, was a carefree time for me to play, and it still remains a fond memory for me. Today, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t scooter anymore. I sometimes sit quietly and imagine my dream bedroom, or I mentally select clothes for an occasion. But it never satisfies as much as being outside on the sidewalk, racing with the wind, faster than all the cold air that rushed by, worriless and fearless.

U n t i t l e d DEMONTRE HARVEY, age 16, James E. Groppi High School from Center Street to Burleigh, from Hamilton to Galena, from da Southside to da Eastside, every night it’s going down in Mil-town. dem young bucks on Congress bang–– what y’all old folks called slungin’ man. I think something ‘bout to pop off. dang, another homie died tonight. there are only three ways you can make it in Milwaukee, I can see you on my big screen seeing that you made it or I can see yo’ face on a shirt saying “R.I.P. In Loving Memory” or see yo’ name on Facebook saying “FREE Little Bro.” dey gave him five years, he still got three more. this the life that everyone want, right? want to be something? dey not trapping up and down the same ol’ blocks. got yo’ first gun, now you want to go rob a man? this is Milwaukee. “Hustle City”. you can make money any type of way, why you got to rob and kill someone for everything dey got, man? I remember when I used to see nothin’ but love. now I see nothin’ but blood, thugs, guerillas, and killers. everybody want to be a hitter.

28 walk down Ring seeing females sell themselves. ride down Locust see the males selling drugs. but dey saying it’s all good. we put ourselves on the map, but not in the good way. we came from civil to savage trying to make it from rags to riches. it seem like if you live on Silver Spring, you not making it out Milwaukee unless you working in the kitchen. everybody think you got to kill somebody, sell something. you got to live that way? naw, be a leader, not a follower. be a go getta, not a quitter. be a man, not a hitter. stop doing stupid stuff so you won’t have to watch yo’ back, sleep with a nine-millow under yo’ pillow or having the police wondering where you at. what’s wrong wit’ bein’ a college person? family person? or just doing things the right way? but you can’t change everyone, everybody can’t change water into wine, but it’s Milwaukee. hey, we got some good parts to us. a lot of us help out the youth or take care of our family. don’t everybody got to be a follower, so I’m gonna be a leader. hope you follow me ‘cause I’m gonna take you to that light where it shines. BRIGHT

Book design by Jack Hietpas