The Miami Student Magazine | Fall 2023 by The Miami Student

Katie Szekely PG. 34

Student band Thumbtack Mechanics returns for one more show THE MIAMI STUDENT MAGAZINE, FALL 2023

Volume XIII | Fall 2023

Editor-in-Chief Claire Lordan Managing Editor GraciAnn Hicks Art Directors Erin McGovern Hannah Potts Assistant Editors Allison Huffman, Elizabeth Martin, Henri Robbins, Jessica Opfer, Stella Sheckler Copy Editors Jack Schmelzinger Taylor Stumbaugh Art Staff Caitlin Dominski, Macey Chamberlin, Katie Preston, Olivia Michelsen

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Business Manager Devin Ankeney

Claire Lordan

Head of Student Media Sean Scott Faculty Advisor James Tobin Business Advisor Sacha Bellman

Letter from the Editor

Evan Stefanik

Examining Miami's Drinking Culture

Ryann Beaschler

Painting Joy

Anastasija Mladenovska

Sanctuary

Kennedy Monroe, Hossein

Vignettes

Riley Peters

Ohio's Road to Marijuana Legalization

Katie Szekely

Encore

Sobhani, Devin Ankeney, Allison Huffman, Sophie Malloy

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Madalyn Willis

Welcome to Miami University

Lyndsey Carter

Single and (Don't) Want to Mingle

Jack Schmelzinger

Visionary

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR Mechanics, a prolific Miami student band, and their road beyond the Brick Street stage. Lyndsey Carter’s personal narrative, “Single and (Don’t) Want to Mingle” is a bold, unflinching perspective on the pitfalls of dating as a woman in college. Can true love really be found in the bowels of a fraternity basement? Madalyn Willis takes us into the lives of three student tour guides in her reported piece, “Welcome to Miami University.” Willis shows us the impact tour guides have on prospective students and the role they play in preserving Miami’s traditions and culture. Finally, Jack Schmelzinger looks at the life of Sid Gillman, the most famous Miamian you’ve never heard of, in “Visionary.” This profile uncovers Gillman’s complicated legacy at Miami and his influence on football to this day.

Dear Reader, First off: Hello! On behalf of the staff of The Miami Student Magazine, it is a pleasure to welcome you to the latest edition of our publication (number 13!) TMSM has been a part of my college experience since my first year, and throughout the production of this issue, I’ve found myself reflecting on my last three-anda-half years at Miami. To me, the stories highlighted in this issue feel like a perfect amalgamation of what it means to be a student at Miami University — the good, the bad and the (sometimes) ugly. Returning writer Evan Stefanik starts us off with “Examining Miami’s Drinking Culture,” a harsh look at the party culture at Miami and the consequences it poses for students long after graduation. Ryann Beaschler’s profile, “Painting Joy,” invites readers into the life of Tarah Trueblood, director of the Center for American and World Cultures. Her profile teaches us about Trueblood’s lifelong passion for art and how it inspired her to start over, again and again. Anastasija Mladenovska writes about first love and cultural identity in her personal narrative, “Sanctuary.” Mladenovska reflects on how lost love can bring us closer to ourselves and the places we come from. Next up is our short story section, “Vignettes.” Our five stories highlight the lives of various members of the Miami community, from a singing strategic communications professor to a senior student coming to terms with a future beyond college. Riley Peters brings us into the lives of marijuana users, medical or otherwise, in the reported piece “Oxford’s Road to Marijuana Legalization.” With marijuana legalized by Issue 2 this past November, Peters questions how legalized marijuana in Ohio will impact the Oxford community. Katie Szekely snags the cover spot with “Encore.” This reported piece takes us through the rise of Thumbtack

I want to extend a huge thank you to the talented writers that made this edition possible. Your time, dedication and effort never goes unnoticed, and it has been a privilege to work with all of you this semester. I look forward to seeing your names in print in the future, at Miami and beyond! Next, a massive shout out is in order for Erin McGovern and Hannah Potts, our wonderful art directors, as well as the entire design team. Your work brings these stories to life, and I am continuously awed by your creativity and talent. Finally, thank you to the editorial team: Managing Editor GraciAnn Hicks and Assistant Editors Allison Huffman, Elizabeth Martin, Henri Robbins, Jessica Opfer and Stella Sheckler. You all have allowed me to keep my sanity this semester, and I am so grateful to each of you. It’s been a long road to get here, but I cannot express what being a part of this publication has meant to me. I hope that these stories come to mean something to you, too. Enjoy Issue XIII!

Claire Lordan Editor-in-Chief

At TMSM, we are constantly striving to learn and grow, so your feedback is both welcomed, appreciated and encouraged. Please do not hesitate to reach out to the email provided below. EIC.TheMiamiStudentMagazine@gmail.com THE THEMIAMI MIAMISTUDENT STUDENTMAGAZINE, MAGAZINE,FALL FALL2023 2023

Fall 2023 Staff

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Examining Miami's Drinking Culture The reality of college students’ favorite pastime By Evan Stefanik

PERSPECTIVE 6 THE MIAMI STUDENT MAGAZINE, FALL 2023

Design by Hannah Potts Photo (1) courtesy of TMS Photo (2) by Jake Ruffer

Patrick Murray sips his tequila lime soda. It splashes onto his T-shirt as he sways from the bar toward the sea of lights and smiles. He savors the moment before he goes to find his friends, bobbing to the pop song blaring from the speakers. With blurry vision, he moves onward to the beat and forgets all his worries.

This followed statistics from the program in 2016, which said 50% of students at Miami reported frequenting nightclubs, compared to the 11% national average.

In the morning, he remembers them with a rush of nausea.

Farrell attributes these increases to the social contagion of partying, which encourages students to play up a casual personality and seem cooler. She also believes that students struggle to conceptualize how much alcohol the people around them are consuming.

College students across the country experience a cycle with alcohol. Although the negative aspects of partying may poison their spirit, they come back to it for the people.

“There’s lots of evidence that college students tend to overestimate the extent that others use alcohol,” Farrell said. “They overestimate the norms.”

Murray, a Miami University senior software engineering major, joined Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity his first year because he wanted the social opportunities it gave his father. Four years later, he finishes 10 to 12 drinks each of the three to four days of the week he goes out with his best friends. He hopes for a grand finale alongside his fellow seniors.

Joshua Schoeler, an Oxford local for a decade and a cook at Paesano’s Pasta House and Patterson’s Cafe, learned that lesson in 2009 as a sociology undergraduate here.

“When most of us think of social events, we think of drinking first,” Murray said. “There’s not an insane amount to do here without drinking, and it’s fun to have all your friends in one place.”

Schoeler never graduated. All of his nights except Mondays ended in blackouts, leading him to skip assignments and sleep through class. His academics lagged behind. He used alcohol to manage other worsening circumstances in his life.

Oxford, Ohio, is a rural area, but it boasts many clubs and bars around High Street. Several bars will admit anyone over 18, so most underage students flood there when looking for fun. To someone passing by, the high concentration of students appears to signal that everybody at Miami drinks. Alcohol activates reward areas in the brain, creating a drive to constantly replenish it and, therefore, qualifying it as a depressant. Assistant professor of psychology Allison Farrell believes students choose it to override the negative effects of their other medications or mental illnesses, as well as to cope with external factors. Farrell noted that Miami students have reported more loneliness and isolation since 2020. “Without a social network, students turned to drinking,” Farrell said. “Though evidence shows it’s not particularly helpful in stopping stressors over time or helping in the moment.” According to 2020 reports from AlcoholEdu, an online, two-hour course required for all incoming first-year Miami students, nearly half binged on alcohol within a surveyed 30 days. Despite the suspension of house parties and bars that year, drinking prevailed.

“If you didn’t go out, you felt like you were missing out,” Schoeler said. “Every night’s like a Saturday night.”

“Drinking was my cure-all mask,” Schoeler said. “It can be the perfect elixir to loosen people up, but it can also be deadly.” As Schoeler sees it, drinking into self-imbalance can quickly morph into a bad habit that slopes on after college. “I graduated with a lot of people who have alcohol problems just because it’s what we grew up going through,” Schoeler said. “Seeing careers fall apart is shocking. Drinking carries on all the way through your 20s. In your first job, you’ll be drinking every weekend.” Lauren Evans Toben, the director of the psychology clinic at Miami, has facilitated substance abuse evaluations throughout her time at Miami and has found that students cite alcohol as making them more outgoing. “The benefits of alcohol shouldn’t be ignored, but they can be overgeneralized and simplified, and there are costs,” Toben said. “You can have a fun night out without binge drinking.”

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Toben has significant concerns about alcohol abuse on Miami’s campus, partly because her older clients often mention alcoholism in their therapeutic discussions. “People lose sight of how frequently and intensely they drink and how many consequences there are,” Toben said. “They usually don’t think it’s a big deal.” Toben deems the drinking lifestyle as a threat when students can no longer regulate their own choices. Farrell recommends students ask for guidance if they start encountering persistent withdrawal symptoms like shakes, chills and poor moods despite building a tolerance. “You’re not supposed to know exactly what to do,” Toben said. “Students should start by asking themselves questions like: How many consequences have I had because of my substance use? What goals did I lose sight of?” Students who violate the university code of conduct rules on alcohol by drinking in dorms or supplying alcohol to roommates under 21 must participate in an AlcoholEdu course as an educational intervention. In the course, they learn about blood alcohol content, metabolism and pacing methods. The program has a very low recidivism rate, meaning students’ drinking habits usually improve after completing it. 8

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Miami encourages a harm-reduction policy on alcohol rather than promoting abstinence. That decision was sourced from the 2015 founding of the Alcohol Task Force, now called Miami Oxford Substance Abuse and Information Committee (MOSAIC), to combat high-risk substance use. One of MOSAIC’s former invited community members, a 1981 business management alumnus and devoted Oxford resident, Michael Rudolph, opposed the push for abstinence that routinely surfaced within the task force. He also fought to secure beer sales at Yager Stadium for football games, saying students would instead tailgate in the parking lot when the bleachers prohibited alcohol. “If you were to stop alcohol here and enforce abstinence, you would cause a riot,” Rudolph said. “It’s hard to avoid when living in Oxford, and I don’t really want to.” Rudolph became a financial advisor for Eagle Strategies LLC even amid his college fun. As a member of the Glee Club, he got drunk at least twice a week and spent almost every Saturday Uptown. He misses grilling hotdogs and hamburgers at house parties and pouring himself bourbon-andCokes.

At 64-years-old, Rudolph cracks a cold one whenever he returns home from work and drinks wine with his friends on Wednesday and Friday nights. He feels that the drinking culture he grew up with has majorly transformed over the years.

Young suggests that students with mental health issues in particular refuse all alcohol because it can exacerbate their substance use into a dependency. If haphazard drinking continues, it can inflict lifelong dangers like liver disease and more.

“Now, it’s about rushing to drink as much as you can and the kegs and the games,” Rudolph said. “There’s stronger alcohol but less socialization.”

If peer pressure ever influences a student, Young implores them to initiate a conversation with their friends about it, no matter how awkward. Some approaches feel more comfortable than others, so Young suggests students might also try Miami resources like confidential hotlines, therapists at student counseling services, wellness studio programming and HAWKS Peer Health Educators.

Federal law during Rudolph’s time in college permitted him to drink at 18, but beers consisted of a weaker 3.2% alcohol content. He figures that fostered responsibility in him as a student. “You had to drink more than a few beers to feel a buzz,” Rudolph said. “I think you got more full than you did hammered.” He recalls professors scheduling exams on Green Beer Day without controversy. Bars felt more intimate. Friends took pride in their grades, and parents cared more about their students’ academic achievement. Rudolph and his friends even routinely plopped their notebooks onto high-top tables and studied together in bars, drinks in hand. Director of Student Wellness Rebecca Baudry Young sees students validate their drinking by pursuing alcohol as a reward for their schoolwork. “The semester is a marathon, but what we see instead is students sprinting through a work hard, play hard mindset,” Young said. “That's where we might get into some behaviors that are not going to be very conducive to the time when you should be resting.”

The Haven at College, an off-campus outpatient center, supports students living with alcoholism and other conflicts. It hosts weekly recovery meetings and provides housing at Miami Preserve. For students looking for sober activities, Miami Activities and Planning (MAP) coordinates “Late Night Miami” programming events throughout the semester. Like many college students who go out, Rudolph had his share of trial and error as a student before easing into his customs as a drinker, but it delivered him an important lesson. To thrive, Rudolph advocates moderation above all. “I respect students’ ability to have fun, but think about what doing it badly would do to your family name,” Rudolph said. “You can either control or kill your success.” S

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PROFILE

By Ryann Beaschler Tarah Trueblood preps her corner of the shared studio space and opens the desk drawers containing tubs of bottled oil paints. The topmost drawer holds her neutrals, the middle the warm colors and the bottom the cool colors. She arranges her materials on her desk: a clutter of bottles, jars and cans filled with paints, water, mineral spirits and watercolor fixatives. Her corner is coated with inspiration. Printed pictures of abstract paintings, sources of future inspiration, litter the wall. Specs and splatters of

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paint and echoes of past inspiration decorate every surface. She dons forearm-length rubber gloves, protecting her arms from her present inspiration. Trueblood is the director of the Miami University Center for American and World Cultures, a former corporate finance lawyer, an ordained Methodist minister and, as often as she can be, an artist. She paints abstract art because it’s expressive. There are no rules to follow: no lines to make straight or forms to shade just right. She experiments. She makes strokes, blends strokes, Design by Katie Preston Photos by Ryann Beaschler

wipes away strokes and makes more strokes. She starts not with an image in mind but more with a sort of concept. Sometimes a feeling she wants to elicit. This particular painting is meant to elicit joy. She didn’t always like abstract art. During her time training as a docent for the Crocker Museum of Art in Sacramento, Calif., she learned how to interpret it. She discovered that it asked questions of her and that she could ask questions of it. She became skilled in sharing her newfound appreciation. She would stand with hapless museum visitors, whom she had scooped up from their first hesitant steps into the airy galleries, to show them how to look at the paintings. To really look at them. She shared what questions they could ask of them. What is it doing? What is it getting at? Now, she stands in her corner of the studio space, looking at her own unfinished painting as if it has the answers to what it should be within it. She stands five feet away — far enough to take in the entire large canvas painted with strokes of purples and blacks and oranges, all forming a dialogue of shapes. She turns to her desk and her palette and begins with a bit of cadmium medium yellow and dioxazine purple.

She holds the palette up to the painting. Not quite. Back to mixing. She adds more mineral spirits to thin it. It needs more yellow. When she gave tours at the Crocker, she was still in the middle of her six years practicing law. Only when she had opened the sealed letter informing her that she had passed the California bar, one of the two hardest in the country, did she ask herself: What the hell am I going to do with my life? She had never actually considered being a lawyer. She went to law school and focused on the most difficult subjects to prove to her parents — and herself — that she was smart. Her legal career plans, though, had only reached as far as passing the bar. Maybe that’s it. She holds the palette up once more. That’s more like it. She sets the palette down and takes quick dabs of the mixture. Then, she steps toward the painting and makes combative strokes. The small brighter spots, which diverge from the grouping of rectangle-adjacent shapes on the left of the painting, receive the darker shade.

The mixture needs something more. She adds crimson red and viridian green. Dabbing her brush, she strokes the palette to get the right shade. She’s been experimenting with complementary colors, mixing them to get darker shades. She ordered a color wheel because she can’t quite remember them. Purple and yellow? Pink and green? Green and red? She’s working on a Bachelor of Fine Arts, taking the free class per semester she gets from being a member of the faculty at Miami. Maybe that’s it.

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After years in corporate law, floating between jobs and making the rich richer, a friend from church invited her to a painting class. It was there that she remembered she was alive. She never thought she was any good at painting. In grade school, when she had to draw or paint something in particular, her teachers told her she was doing it wrong. The people teaching the church painting class helped her discover what she was good at. They didn’t pressure her to be good at one art style, and it was there that she had an epiphany — she wanted to pursue art.

On one of their walks, Trueblood’s sister asked her to bathe her. She was hesitant, a bit freaked out by the very intimate request. As she bathed her sister, she became aware of the importance and the fragility of the pieces of a body. The arms and elbows and hands that make up a life. The four large, darker spots touching the left border need more depth, more color. They need to talk to the purple background. She adds brown to the topmost shape. Oh, yeah. She makes the long, brown strokes to add an inviting depth to the once-solid black. Now, there’s room to come in and feel like you’re a part of it. Working in corporate law made her feel like her life lacked meaning. Trueblood wasn’t making a difference there like she knew she was meant to. She’d felt like she was doing more at the Crocker, showing people art. The moment with her sister had been transformational. It had prompted her to make a change. A bold stroke. It was then that she discerned a call to ministry. She went to seminary, pursuing both a Master of Divinity and a Master of Arts, guided by a passion for using art to connect people.

She steps back and takes in what she’s changed. It needs something else. She mixes more on her palette. The diverging spots fall victim once again to strokes of her curated brown. Oh, yes! That’s it. Her sister had gotten sick when Trueblood first became a lawyer. She was at Johns Hopkins Hospital for over a year. Trueblood flew out to sleep on the floor of her sister’s hospital room. During the day, they walked up and down the bleak hallways. Her sister, influenced by pain meds, joined her in existential conversations about life and their relationship.

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There, she learned that art is not about being great but about expression and vulnerability. She could finally let go of trying to create great art and just create. Maybe some blue. She takes a new brush to mix the deep blue that she offers to the painting. Just a little in the corner. That works. Maybe all around the shape. She spreads it with her brush. It needs some spiffing up.

As a minister, Trueblood could finally devote herself to her spirituality, creativity and love for community. She was able to build community as a minister of three different churches. The first was in the Santa Cruz Mountains, where she established a community among outcasts. The second was in Selma, Calif., where she helped merge a wealthy white church with a less wealthy Hispanic church. In the third church, she was a campus minister at the University of California, Berkeley, where she used art projects, music, plays and drum circles to explore creativity and build community. Still, something wasn’t quite right. She mixes a lighter blue and takes it to the canvas, holding it to the dark blue shape. Where might a highlight go? She paints a right-angle highlight in the top right corner of the shape. She gently smooths the bright blue highlight. She adds cadmium orange to her palette. A tiny bit of purple? She takes it with her brush and makes daring strokes upon the dark purple spot on the canvas. Nope, too much. She wipes some away from the palette with a paper towel and blends the rest. She takes a step back and looks at the canvas, searching it. She knew what she wanted her final image to feel like. She just needed to find the strokes that would get her there. From an early age, Trueblood had an affinity for self-reflection and a strong self-awareness. She knew who she was and what her life should look like. It wasn’t a perfect image of what she wanted to do but a sort of concept. In grade school, she would go on camping trips with her father, a Southern Baptist, where they would fish. They’d pass a bottle of whiskey and a rum-soaked, lumpy cigar between discussions of theology, creationism versus evolution, and other existential topics. He wouldn’t shut down her ideas. He was open to discussing and exploring them. It wasn’t just a kid talking to an adult; they were equals in dialogue.

In high school, she asked her father to baptize her. But not in a church — in a stream. She wanted to be baptized into the community of humanity rather than a specific denomination. She didn’t know what to call it then. She didn’t quite have the word for it. But she always was a Mystic. Mysticism is a denominational sect with a deeper emphasis on spirituality. For Trueblood, she seeks to connect with the great consciousness and to be in harmony with other beings and things around her. Like with art, asking questions helps Trueblood connect to this consciousness, to people and community. Maybe the spots are too different now. They’re not communicating. She adds some brown strokes to the spots. “I feel myself getting anxious,” she says to herself. “I gotta slow down. It’s not a race.”

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After years in corporate law, floating between jobs and making the rich richer, a friend from church invited her to a painting class. It was there that she remembered she was alive.

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At a community project at the University of North Florida, she made her mysticism public. She decorated her office doors with questions for students to stop and write their answers to. They’d write their religious or secular identity on the sign and stand in front of the doors for a picture. She stood before those doors and proclaimed her mysticism on her sign. They hired her for her ordination as a Methodist minister, but she didn’t necessarily have to stay a Christian. So, she made an intentional move into mysticism. These movements throughout her life, switching from one path to the next, have made her more conscious, more intentional. She incorporates this into her art. Every stroke, color, shape and relationship is intentional. She always asks her paintings the same questions as the abstract art in the Crocker. What is it doing? What is it getting at? What is the relationship between the foreground and the background? Are they pushing and pulling? Where are the strokes taking you? How are the colors talking to each other? How does the piece make you feel? The piece she is working on was once various shades of brown, but it didn’t elicit joy. It wasn’t inviting. She painted over it with pinks, blues, oranges and greens. She came to dislike those colors too and felt the shapes weren’t communicating. So she painted over it once again.

Sometimes, when she makes a daring or radical stroke, she doesn’t think about it. It can be painted over anyway. She can paint more to fix it. Sometimes, maybe it was better the way it was before. But even that worse painting can be fixed. Even after she’d put six years into her law career, it didn’t elicit enough joy. So she made an intentional stroke. When she’d gone to seminary and became a minister, it wasn’t right. So she made another stroke. What she’s kept — art, community and mysticism — is mediated by her continuing desire to ask questions, to be more conscious. Purple is the mediator of her piece. It runs between all of the shapes and creates depth within them. She takes a paper towel from her roll and brings it to the canvas. She wipes away layers of paint to reveal more of the purple underneath. She wants to reveal more of it within the foreground, to separate it less from the background and prompt dialogue. What is it doing? What is it getting at? She takes her brush, purple paint already on it, and she adds daring strokes to the orange shape. “That’s sweet.” S

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PERSONAL HISTORY

Sanctuar y Confronting the different versions of myself By Anastasija Mladenovska

I live in a world where tall people fear themselves. A world where we don’t know who we are, Until our moms remind us to breathe. We are lost; We are pieces of a rudimental legacy, Our world - the Balkans.

When I was 15, my friend and I snuck into our neighbor’s backyard where he kept his old tractor parked. The vehicle was so huge that it took up the whole space, leaving only a little theatrical leeway for the ants to move through. Breathing heavily, stumbling upon each other, my friend and I climbed our way up and finally reached the seat to stargaze. It was such a funny sight, and I later wondered if observers laughed at us as they were passing, thinking how bizarre it was to see two girls sitting on this red tractor with their fingers pointing at the stars. I looked down at my feet and saw a dragonfly swirling its turquoise wings and eating an insect that looked identical to it. I glared at the dragonfly’s feast for a moment, disgusted, when I felt a warm liquid make its way down my calf. I heard my friend exclaim: “If I stand up and stretch my arm hard enough, I can reach the sky, Ana!” I smiled and then realized my leg was covered in tractor oil, cursing our neighbor for keeping this ancient piece of crap as a reminder of our dysfunctional civility. I told my friend that we should probably leave, pretending not to hear what she had said. I knew that the sky was reserved for different people. We had a lot of work to do on Earth first. 16

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People who have traveled anywhere in Eastern Europe know that we were never jobless, and for that matter, we were never soulless. Every Slavic language has at least three distinct phrases describing what it means to have a soul. Ironically, I always thought that the more we talked about our souls, the less we were in touch with them. Our elderly men owned and drove their tractors, buses, trucks and all sorts of other machines in the most urban parts of the city, and they were fast and furious. When they could no longer drive, the elderly men would put them in their backyards as reminders of their past usability, strength and sometimes even a symbolic reference to our indisputable relationship with God. Through harvest, progress, blood, sweat and tears, our men and women remembered socialism and nostalgically looked at the comradery that once existed. My grandfather owned a red Lada in the early 2000s, and she was the pride of our family. My mom and aunt were in an eternal battle over who got to drive her first, but by the time I got my driver’s license, things had changed. Ladas had become obsolete vintage pieces; they no longer represented durability but rather the inevitable washability of time’s touch. I was no longer friends with those who dreamed of touching the sky, and we drifted further and further away from each other. There, my story began. It was Jan. 22, 2022, a ripe evening, when I walked past his window and almost jumped from fear. I am always in a hurry, my steps chasing after one another. So you can imagine how shocking looking through this window was, since it made me pause for a moment and glare at my reflection, something I rarely do.

I was walking that night to meet my girlfriends at one of the local pubs for some hot chocolate and idle talk. It was cold, and I still don’t know what made that window so special, but I stopped and counted my breaths, one after another. There was a little succulent hiding in the shadows, which was the first thing that caught my attention. I saw a man eating popcorn and watching a soccer game. It appeared that the TV was much larger than the man, as if it was encompassing his whole character. I stared intensely, trying to find something substantial that would help me justify intruding on this poor man and his soccer game. He was an older man, maybe a grandpa or a fatigued father, and I imagined he was indulging in food and relaxation after a long day at work. I saw his coat in the corner of the room on one of the racks, thick black cotton stretched by the pockets, and I thought of my own grandfather, who wore the same clothes for years. It was almost a sin to go shopping and replace his polos. My grandpa was sort of a skeptic, a critic of the new textile order. I wondered if this old man was similar to my grandpa. Then I saw him, a young man, lurking from the opposite part of the room. His almond eyes cut through me, and it hit me: The window was so low I couldn’t see my whole self, only from the chest downward. Is that all I am? A half-being? I thought for a brief second. That was the first time I was scared of my own height, and I understood why all tall people seemed to make themselves smaller, scrunching their backs and kneeling in pictures. It was also my first interaction with him — the one who was supposed to be my one but never will be. I started to run as fast as I could away from that glass that depleted and split my body in half. I knew that his eyes were still fixated on me, but I ran nevertheless. Even then, I refused to believe in coincidences. I had a gut feeling we would meet again. He stopped me on a different street five months later at a community event to say hello, where he told me I looked bored.

Design by Olivia Michelsen

“A pretty girl is never bored,” I lied. I was sad, not bored. I recognized his eyes immediately and wondered if he knew I was the girl who had stared through his window. I refused to say anything, afraid to ruin his first impression of me. I was full of emotions, but he had no right to them, so I hid them well. You know that feeling when you meet someone and it feels like time has reconstructed itself to let you exist in as many forms as you like? I became all things joyful and lovely — butterflies, strawberries, gin and tonics, mushrooms, music, philosophy, myself. I turned into happiness, sadness, everything and nothing. I wondered: How can one person liberate another this much? I understood what my friend was saying when we were 15; only through letting go of our bodily sensations, of structures and bonds, and sharing ourselves fully with someone else can we experience an abstraction beyond the perceptions of who we’re supposed to be. Oh, how blind I must have been then to prefer the Earth over the blue skies! We were sitting on the grass one night after the sprinklers had freshened it up, a couple of months after our encounter on the streets, and I kissed him on the cheek. He blushed, and I wanted to see him melt under my touch forever. I remembered my mother telling me how nothing in the world can measure up to the love of a Balkan woman. I wished to give this boy my love and my demons. And so, it happened that way. All the passion, the beauty, the good and the bad, I gave it away. One day, after I got home from college in America, my mother insisted we all go to church. She always considered the church sacred, claiming that the universe will give you what you wish for if you are brave enough to ask for it. By that time, I had known him for a year and three days.

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I had a gut feeling we would meet again.

I held his hand as we walked out of the church, and when we got to the exit, I wanted to light a candle for my great-grandfather, who had passed away a couple of years earlier on his 105th birthday. It is my little personal tradition to always light a candle in his honor. As I held his hand, lighting my candle in silence, the fire suddenly blazed. For a split second, I saw myself again, half-half, the same feeling pulsing through my veins as the day I dared to look through his window and meet his eyes for the first time. Why did life keep splitting me up? A tear made its way down my cheek. I wondered if he’d noticed. He hadn’t. How do you even explain such a bizarre occurrence to your boyfriend? He and I lived in fulfillment, at least for some time. It was the type of love everyone knew we shared, filled with respect and intimacy, yet only communicable to us. It was hot and passionate, messy and liberating, yet confining. All the way through or nothing at all. I never knew how to describe it to my mother or brother, and they both yearned for a logical explanation. “Sometimes you meet someone, you fall in love, and you just pray it will work out,” I would say. But until when? In April, we had the best time of our lives. He flew to Ohio, and we spent most of our time together in the grass, fighting bugs and caressing each other as we discussed political philosophy and current issues. What does a person need more than the coziness of blossoming trees and the comfortable reassurance of a loved one? He became my sanctuary in a twofold sense: protecting me from the world and myself.

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In May, things began to change — our relationship, just as my reflection, split in half. Conversations turned into fights. Fights turned into bitterness. I took the shape of a Rubik's Cube: impossible to figure out in the hands of an unskilled person. “Love might be complicated, but we are responsible for the complications,” I would remind myself, but nothing could beat the feelings of dissatisfaction. I craved him — what we were — long before we ended. Sometimes, I used to close my eyes and return to that alley when I first became two people in one body. Is that what adulthood does to all of us? Makes us forget who we are, who we wanted to be? Makes us hate our bodies and look for ourselves in others? Is everyone afraid of their height? I know I am. Finally, with this thought, I split into pieces. I understood why that dragonfly had been eating its counterpart in the dead of night. I realized we all eat our partners sometimes; we hurt those we love most, unable to face ourselves, to accept the good and bad in us — the essential parts that make us human. It’s a paradox: The people we choose to love and cherish are the reflection of our souls, an extension of our beliefs and values. Yet when they act or perform in ways that reflect ourselves, we get scared. Knowing yourself is a curse. It is the most difficult of all relationships.

When I had to let him go, it was one of the hardest things I had ever done, among death, loss, rejection, violence and poverty. I found it astonishing how the heart cries for the most banal of things while enduring much more horrific things in silence. Letting him go meant I had to let the person I was with him go and move forward into the unknown. When I turned 20, I wept for 36 hours, holding myself in an embrace, combing my hair and praying to myself for forgiveness. I’ve heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime, and I’ve always imagined that it departs through chimneys in the winter when families are burning wood and sitting together. I sacrificed my hot love for the lukewarm of peace. I hope that next January will take the old Ana with it, burn away the stains of half-love and half-personhood, and, in return, give me clarity and let me heal. Until then, I can only hope and repeat:

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Vignettes

/Vin yets/ plural noun A collection of brief stories that provide a glimpse into the lives of five different students

I'll Do It Tomorrow By Kennedy Monroe

He laid in bed, hands behind his head. His eyes scoped the smooth, white ceilings, trying to memorize the marks.

At 9:45 p.m., he only had two paragraphs left.

He’d been doing this for 10 minutes, knowing that he had to finish his loads of homework before he went out.

“I’ll just wake up early to finish it,” he thought, pulling his shoes on to head to Hepburn.

He got up. He completed his first assignment and then immediately checked his phone.

As soon as his friend opened the door to his room, he smelled a mix of vapes and alcohol.

“We’re going to Brick tonight. Be ready by 10,” he read.

He was greeted by five students, who slurred their words and held up bottles to celebrate his arrival. He tried to hide his discomfort as he walked out of the dorm.

He’d been wanting to hang out with this new group of friends, and now they’d finally asked him to join them. At 8:45 p.m., he still had to finish his physics homework and write one more paper. Fifteen minutes later, he was stumped on the last two questions of his homework. He was antsy; he only had an hour to get to his friend’s dorm, and it was a 15 minute walk to Hepburn Hall. Ten minutes later, he figured out both of the questions and was onto his two-page paper that was due the next

morning. It was worth 30 points, and he’d gotten a C on his last quiz.

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They entered Brick Street Bar, hundreds of sweaty bodies dancing to the popular music amid endless make-out sessions. “You have to take this shot with me, man,” his friend said. He obliged. Three hours and six shots later, he stumbled as he left his safe ride back to his dorm room. He slept until noon. He received a D for late credit and an “incomplete” on his paper. S

Only a Passport By Hossein Sobhani “American passports this way!” Ignoring the shouting, I hid my burgundycolored passport among other documents. I filed through artificial pathways that are modified as needed for the comfort of U.S. nationals. Americans carry themselves differently than everybody else; they know they’re on home turf. They feel entitled to special treatment, as they should. It’s their homeland, after all. The mood was different for the rest of us. Some were relaxed, proudly displaying their passports. Some were on edge, constantly checking and rechecking their documents. Some busied themselves with their phones, hoping to make time go faster. Finally, it was my turn. “Why are you coming to the United States?” the officer asked. Starting with the most difficult question. Giving this question a proper answer would take at least a few hours that neither of us had, so I sufficed to say: “I’m here to study.” He carefully inspected my documents along with my passport. “Are you bringing any food with you to the United States?” he asked. I wished I could. I wished I could bring my favorite mom-made dishes with me just

to breathe in their smell and be reminded of home. But let’s not open that door. I had to answer the officer before he suspected me of hiding something. “Just some noodles,” I said. “That’s fine,” he said. “Are you bringing more than $10,000 with you to the United States?” Good God, do people really have that much money to spare for their travels? “No,” I said. He returned my documents and passport, and I went through baggage claim and customs. Past the customs gate, the entire atmosphere changed. I found somewhere quiet to sit while I waited for my next flight. A few minutes passed, and a middle-aged man approached me. He asked if I spoke English, to which I answered yes. He went on a five-minute rant about how his family was in another city and needed $100 to get there. I told him that I had just arrived in the U.S., and I had no money to give him. He disappeared quickly. I found it funny that my first real interaction in the U.S. was with someone trying to scam some money out of me. Land of the free and home of the brave, they say. And I felt so out of place, since I am neither of the two. S

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Hour 12 By Devin Ankeney Hongmei Li was about to hit her 12th working hour of the day. She had started working at 6 a.m. She only taught one class on Tuesdays, but she had to work on a grant proposal in the hopes that she’d have even more work to do in her little free time. At 5:57 p.m., the students in Hongmei’s class looked weary. They were downright exhausted. It was a two-hour-long sprint class, so it wasn’t entirely unjustified. Hongmei is always trying to improve her classes for her students. She’s brought in snacks, given the class breaks and changed assignments to accommodate students’ learning. However, as the clock neared hour 12 of working, Hongmei had a different idea to improve the dreary class. “I’m going to sing,” she said. The entire class looked at one another in slight disbelief. Was she being serious? She’s going to sing? She can sing? Turns out, Hongmei spends as many moments as she can doing things just for herself. She tries to focus on the moments in front of her and seize them.

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So, she’ll sometimes teach herself to sing from YouTube videos. Hongmei believes that classes are for the students, that learning is most important and that she should do everything she can to improve her classes. So, she tried something new. Moments later, with her students still utterly confused, Hongmei opened up the lyrics to a song in Chinese on her phone and began to sing. She sang the entire song. The room filled with pervasive smirks and muffled chuckles. She wasn’t bad at all, but the students didn’t quite understand what was happening. Needless to say, they were wide awake now. The song ended, and the class of not more than a dozen students erupted in claps and cheers. “Wow!” “That was great!” The class settled down, and Hongmei grinned a huge smile — as she often does. It was a success. S

Illustrations by Katie Preston

Fall, Fourth Year By Allison Huffman As a senior, I haven’t stopped thinking about the future since I moved back to Oxford for the last time. There’s an air of nerves and expectation, hope and fear in every conversation. The seniors I talk to are full of conflicting emotions, and everyone asks the same questions: What are you doing after graduation? Have you found a job yet? Is that really what you want to do with the rest of your life? A few weeks ago, the not-knowing got to be too much for me. I couldn’t write another word of my application because my fingers were frozen. My mind spiraled, spinning with uncertainty about where I might be this time next year or the year after that. I scrolled through LinkedIn and Instagram until my eyes strained, until I decided it was too late for me; I should just move to another state where no one knows my name and start over again. While walking to class, I felt a crushing temporality and an anxiety to keep moving. My legs couldn’t carry me fast enough. I was floating above myself in the present moment, waiting to reach some future point where I'll no longer have to wonder.

Illustrations by Macey Chamberlin, Photos by Jake Ruffer

To ground myself, I took a long drive. Driving on the country roads around Oxford, I opened both windows to the crisp, half-summer, half-fall air and breathed in the smell of dying leaves. I watched dried corn stalks and hills burnished with amber and gold blur past. I turned on my favorite oldies radio station until the music was too loud, and I started to remember what being me felt like. When waves of apprehension close in on me, I light a candle and place it on my desk while I work. The tiny, unsteady flame and the scent of cinnamon bring me back to the space in between my breaths. On morning walks to class, when my mind starts to cycle through the worst scenarios, I focus on the slants of light through the trees and the illuminated dew on the grass. While washing the dishes, I try to look outside at the train rolling by, shaking everything in its path. I pause for the far-off bells marking the hours. I listen to my best friend laughing through my phone speaker. The future is important, and I’m working on it. I want my dream job and my dream life, but it’s these little things that keep me going until then. No matter where I am, what’s undecided or unsure, I will still have these moments that require no success or status to hold. S

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Standing out, Fitting in By Sophie Malloy The girl skipped ahead, long black hair falling in a perfect sheet as she turned to the boy. They said something in Japanese, the language the rest of us were still wrapping our minds around. Syllables — or more accurately, mora — flew from their mouths in a comfortable mumble drowned out by the damp chaos of the dark Namba streets. We had missed the last train. The sky felt close, heavy clouds hung low between the Osaka skyline. Neon light flooded our veins as we walked, charging up the excitement that only the edge of drunkenness could provide. The girl turned to me. “Let’s go to the conbini first,” she said, taking my arm and pulling me into the warmth of the Family Mart on the corner. Our group of three exchange students and two local students always threw off the energy in whatever convenience store, McDonald’s, Sukiya or Izakaya we were in. There was a visible shift in the workers’ posture, a tightening of their shoulders or look of worry in their eyes. I felt the need to ease their stress, let them know we weren’t regular tourists, we were the good ones. Our Japanese, while clumsy, relieved the tension. There was guilt in the pleasure I found from being accepted, like by assimilating I had left myself and America behind. But that wasn’t true. I couldn’t leave America behind because

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she walked ahead of me wherever I went, announcing our presence to the world no matter how Japanese I dressed or how Japanese I tried to act. Shame came with disturbing the peace with my presence. No matter my effort, my existence in Japan made people uncomfortable. That’s why, when it was my turn at the register, I put my Asahi Super-Dry on the counter and recited the well-worn sentences I’d practiced ad nauseam. I said. One Family Chicken please! 「お袋入りますか？」 the cashier asked. Do you want a bag? 「あ、大丈夫です」 I said with a smile. That’s OK. It wasn’t. Like my face, my smile was just another way for America to announce herself. There was no winning. Not when my options were constantly assessing how I was perceived and being perpetually anxious, or ignoring the culture, like the American frat bros we saw earlier, drinking Strong Zero on the train and yelling profanities. I didn’t want to be like them. I wanted Japan to know how much I loved her, how much my heart ached at the thought of leaving. So I chose shame. I wouldn’t ever be a natural part of the landscape, but I could continue to try not to tarnish it completely. S

TRENDING

Design by Hannah Potts

THE MIAMI STUDENT MAGAZINE, FALL 2023

EDITOR’S NOTE: While elements of this story were revised following the outcome of the Nov. 7 election, the reporting and sourcing for this story was completed prior to the election.

Marijuana is often referred to as a “gateway drug” to using other substances, a term that this user agrees with. Her friends, even those who don’t participate, are understanding and supportive of her use. “They know where I’ve come from, what I’ve dealt with and [that] now I’m using it responsibly,” the Oxford resident said. She believes that a recreational user’s relationship with marijuana depends on several internal and external factors. “It really just depends on how you use it and where you’re at mentally,” she said. “It allows me to take a step back and center myself, and focus on what’s actually important.”

With Issue 2 passing with 57% of the vote on Nov. 7, recreational marijuana is now legal for all Ohioans over the age of 21. This follows the 2016 legalization of medical use in Ohio, though legalized recreational use has faced challenges on its journey to the ballot. It joins 23 states and Washington D.C. who have legalized recreational marijuana use, with another 17 having legalized medicinal use. A Forbes Magazine poll conducted prior to the election stated that a majority (59%) of Ohioans support legalizing recreational marijuana. Issue 2 will create a new Division of Cannabis Control in the Department of Commerce and will allow people to possess 2.5 ounces of marijuana. It will also create a minimum 10% sales tax on all recreational marijuana products, according to the Ohio Secretary of State’s Office. Medical marijuana in Ohio has a sales tax rate of 5.75%, according to Ohio’s Cannabis Information Portal. The official initiative petition requested that this 10% tax on marijuana products be distributed to several funds in the state treasury that Issue 2 will create: 36% to the cannabis social equity and jobs fund, 36% to the host community cannabis facilities fund, 25% to the substance abuse and addiction fund and 3% to the division of cannabis control and tax commissioner fund. One 21-year-old woman from Oxford said she has been using marijuana for five years, but she was too young for the drug when she first began smoking. “The way I started using it when I was 16 wasn’t healthy,” she said.

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Now that marijuana is legal, she will consider switching to dispensaries depending on cost. Currently, she spends about $100 per month on marijuana and would stay with her current dealer if their price stays better. Right now, she gets her marijuana through acquaintances and friends, and she never buys from someone she doesn’t know. She believes that the overall safety of the product will increase with legalization. “You won’t have to worry about someone lacing it with fentanyl,” she said. “People wouldn’t have to do sketchy shit to get it. The quality of the weed will increase, especially since they will have more ways to grow it.” In addition to having more varieties of product, she is excited by the prospect of larger stores selling marijuana. “It would be cool if big stores sold it, dispensaries sold it or certain gas stations sold it if they could get the rights to do that,” she said. “They’re already doing that with delta-8.” According to the FDA, delta-8 is the legal synthetic by-product of the CBD chemical found in hemp plants. Hemp plants are a type of cannabis plant and are federally legal to grow due to the low content of THC, the chemical that makes you high. “Weed allows you to get outside, be around the people that you love, and go and see the world,” she said. “If I'm being completely honest, I've never gone hiking so much in my life to smoke a blunt. I've seen so much more than what I would just by exploring with your friends.” Despite medical marijuana being legal in Ohio since 2016, some medical users have faced judgment for their marijuana use.

The Ohio Medical Marijuana Control Program lists up to 26 conditions that currently qualify for medical marijuana use, with almost 400,000 patients registered.

how it can be used in good ways,’” Ratliff said.

One Miami student with a medical marijuana card went from having three to five seizures per week to not having them at all. She takes her regular seizure medication in addition to a cycle treatment she created with one of her doctors, who believes in a holistic approach to treatment. Her four-day cycle changes her dose each day from five milligrams of THC to 10 milligrams, then back to five, with two days off.

Lieutenant Lara Fening of the Oxford Police Department (OPD) is wary of how legalization will affect law enforcement and social culture in Oxford. Fening, who has been working in law enforcement for 30 years, said officers are not equipped to handle marijuana violations when it comes to OVI (operating a vehicle impaired) checkpoints.

The medical card initially cost her $120, and after a short phone call with a doctor he sent over her medical card information. She said the people who judge her marijuana use are swayed when she explains her medical experience with it. “Having a medical need for it, having a medical excuse, it makes people a little bit more accepting,” the student said. “It makes people feel a little bit better.” For recreational use, racial disparity in drug offenses and sentencing has dominated the conversation around legalization. According to the National Library of Medicine, people of color convicted of drug offenses on average receive sentences of more than double the length of white people. Thomas Ratliff, visiting assistant professor of criminology at Miami University, believes that policy enforcement is flawed largely due to socially constructed patterns. “There is clear evidence in the criminal justice system that there is a dysfunctional system when it comes to the equal distribution of punishment and reward,” Ratliff said. “The law in action is often not exactly what it says on the books.” Ratliff believes the disparity of incarceration between races results in minority groups being “normalized as scapegoats” for drug use and criminal behavior. While legalization at the state level may alleviate some of these biases, federal laws on marijuana use continue to spark frustration. “The structural policy and direction doesn’t line up with the cultural adaptation,” Ratliff said. “I think we’re going into a big period of unsettledness over these issues. We already are.” Cultural perception of marijuana use has changed in recent years. “The cultural aesthetics, the general norms and beliefs have shifted enough to where it's either a more pragmatic, utilitarian or libertarian stance where it's like, ‘Well, I don't like it, but I can see

In Oxford, legalization poses various challenges for local law enforcement.

“There’s a big gap right now in the law that will have to get more specific,” Fening said. Fening said for enforcement to be fair and equal, state organizations must “hone existing laws or amend them to adjust for this change in society.” For OVI checkpoints, there are standardized tests that officers can use to determine possible impairment for alcohol, but not for marijuana. Because of this, checkpoint officers must use a “common sense approach” for marijuana violations. “Give us some standardized tests, so we can appropriately and equitably determine if drivers are OK to go,” Fening said. There are still potential concerns with regulating marijuana, such as the length of time between smoking when someone becomes sober enough to drive or what access to marijuana should look like in a home with children. “You want consistency,” Fening said. “Everyone would want to know, ‘What am I not allowed to do?’” Fening said the “risk-taking behavior” that legalization could bring to Oxford has given her concerns regarding a spike in various health problems within the community. “I’m afraid that we will be uncovering a lot of side effects,” Fening said. “There will be new things that pop up, and that will be a monstrous challenge for us.” From law enforcement to sales to taxes, the legalization of recreational marijuana will pose a variety of changes both statewide and on the more local level. The state measure will take effect on Dec. 7, 30 days after the election. S THE MIAMI STUDENT MAGAZINE, FALL 2023

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Newton & Ivy

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Student band Thumbtack Mechanics returns for one more show

By Katie Szekely Brick Street Bar swarms with parents and students decked out in Miami University gear. It’s parents’ weekend, and the RedHawks have just won their Saturday afternoon football game. The energy in Brick is electric, and Thumbtack Mechanics is about to take the stage. In his junior year at Miami, pre-medical studies, psychology and neuroscience major Miles Lynn decided to form a band. As an amateur guitarist who wanted to take his playing to the next level, Lynn hung fliers all over campus. He took his request for band members to residence hall quads, performing arts buildings and anywhere else he thought he could recruit fellow musicians looking for their start. In the following months, he found six budding musicians, and Thumbtack Mechanics was born.

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Design by Macey Chamberlin Photos by Ellison Neumann, Allison McWilliams, Joe Shults

On Saturday, Oct. 7, Thumbtack Mechanics starts off its show day hauling equipment to Miami’s Interfraternity Council-hosted football tailgate outside Millett Hall. The band arrives at the venue hours before its set to start, ensuring everything is ready for the performance. It’s the first chilly day of fall, and the leaves are just starting to change. The West Millett Hall Lot is lined with multicolored tents adorned with fraternity letters. Students are playing beer pong, tossing footballs and blasting music. Meanwhile, band members prepare for the show by passing out printed copies of their setlist and cans of Natty Light among themselves. Lead vocalist Jane Feck has performed at Miami for years. During her time as a student, she was a member of the Treblemakers, an a cappella group on campus. Even though she is no stranger to a crowd, especially one made up of Miami students, she still encounters jitters. “I still get nervous before shows,” Feck said while laughing. “Sometimes I’ll feel fine at first, but then I walk on stage.” The group finishes getting the equipment ready as cheerleaders and the marching band start to line the street. The event’s emcee welcomes the football team as horns blare and students yell.

Immediately after the players arrive at Yager Stadium, Thumbtack Mechanics opens its set with a rendition of Paramore’s “Still Into You.” The crowd gathered for the game quickly turn their attention to the stage, singing and dancing along. Some more enthusiastic members of the mob yell, “I love you!” to the musicians between swigs of their drinks. “I’m only here for them!” one audience member yells. Over the next hour, the band plays a mix of fan-favorite rock hits and debuts some of its original songs for the first time. When it comes to songwriting, Thumbtack Mechanics takes inspiration from groups like The Beatles, The Strokes and band-favorite Fleetwood Mac. “That’s the blueprint I always think of when I’m writing,” songwriter and vocalist Ethan Kraus said. After their set, the band members scatter to talk to friends and family in the crowd. They then pack up their instruments and head to their next show at Brick. The audition process for band members did not include many people. While Lynn wanted to seek out talented musicians, he also wanted to find members who had a similar drive to make the band happen.

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i m only For

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Here i them. “All six of these people were so ready and willing to put in the effort to make this thing into what it was,” Lynn said. “I would just meet with these people and be like, ‘OK, you're in the band,’ … and we started going over plans. They were so ready to work at it and see the vision come together.” The only real audition that took place was for drummer Brock Shults. A first-year at the time, Shults had years of experience playing live music, but he didn’t have his own equipment. After their first meeting, Lynn asked him to invest in a new drum kit, but Shults hesitated. After playing in some self-described “bad bands” in the past, he wanted to practice with the band to ensure it was the real deal before investing in a new kit. “After I heard Ethan, Jane and Zach, there was just a connection there. They were so musical,” Shults said. “I didn’t even have a drum set. In my first rehearsal, I was playing on my legs. After hearing that I was like, ‘alright, this is real,’ so I bought everything.”

Thumbtack Mechanics, which got its name from the thumbtacks used to hang audition posters, began by playing shows at sorority and fraternity events on campus. In November 2021, just months after the band formed, it had its first show at Corner Bar. This initiated its transition into the Oxford bar scene. While performances at Brick Street and other bars have been highlights for the band, some of the members’ fondest memories are from those early shows. They named their first show at an Oktoberfest-themed party as one of their favorite moments. “That was the moment that I think I realized that we could actually turn this into something that was not just an idea Miles had,” bassist Zach Hillman said. “We could make it into something that we could really continue to work on.”

Halfway through its Brick set, Thumbtack Mechanics performs a new original song, “This Time Around,” which debuted earlier that day at Millett. The ’70s style and Beatles influence is palpable. The crowd is loving it. Miami parents dance, and students jump around as their drinks spill into the hot, sticky air. Kraus takes in all of that energy and climbs up onto Shults’s drum set. He takes a look into the crowd and then jumps back on to the stage. The audience claps and cheers as the band keeps rocking out.

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While Thumbtack Mechanics has experienced these moments of inspiration, being in the band also comes with downsides. In May 2023, four out of the seven members graduated from Miami. Balancing careers, school and other responsibilities has proved difficult to juggle. These difficulties don’t mean that the band isn’t able to keep perfecting its sound, though. After a hiatus from May to September of this year, Thumbtack Mechanics reunited for its first show back at Brick. “After that set, our sound guy told us that was our best sounding show yet,” Lynn said. “It's good to be able to work on our own and then come together and have it still work so well. I think that we all feel very comfortable musically with each other and that’s a pretty special thing.” Kraus moved to Chicago after his graduation from Miami in May. He worked in management consulting and spent much of his time traveling, which didn’t leave time for his music. Two months in, he left Chicago and decided to pursue music fulltime, both on solo projects and with Thumbtack Mechanics. “There was just so much to do, and I was moving around too much,” Kraus said. “It was hard to have these conflicting priorities, especially because I knew what I wanted to be doing.” Being apart has not stopped the band from pursuing new projects. This fall, Hillman, along with keyboardist Sara Noall and Shults formed a side group, New Haven. As for Thumbtack Mechanics, the band plans to release an original album within the next year. It hopes to eventually take its show on the road, traveling to other colleges and venues nationwide. In true Thumback Mechanics fashion, the band finishes off its Brick show with an encore of three songs. The crowd screams the lyrics to “Gives You Hell” and fights to catch the guitar picks and T-shirts the band throws toward the dance floor. Fans storm the stage for photos and a chat with the musicians, who encourage them to make it to their next show. Thumbtack Mechanics hasn’t seen the last of Brick Street, with shows planned for the rest of the semester. While the band members might not know exactly what their future holds beyond Oxford, it’s clear that Thumbtack Mechanics is just getting started. S

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ON THE JOB

By Madalyn Willis

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Design by Caitlin Dominski Photos by Caitlin Dominski and courtesy of Office of Admissions

Most Miami University students go about their daily lives unaware of the rich history and captivating stories lying beneath Miami’s surface. However, student tour guides have a different perspective. Tour guides delve deep into the university’s history and culture, offering a look at Miami based on their personal experiences, campus involvements and diverse backgrounds. This perspective provides valuable insight for students considering Miami. Tour guides are the storytellers of Miami, exposing its hidden gems and lesser-known stories. They explore the institution’s past, present and future. Tour guides are paid employees of the Office of Admissions, located in the Shriver Center. The Office of Admissions works with high school student-applicants, while the tour guides work alongside admissions counselors. They also stuff bags with info sheets and t-shirts, work the front desk and answer phone calls. The roles of a tour guide vary. Most often, they conduct walking tours with prospective students. They also lead personalized tours for faculty and staff, escort visitors on campus, facilitate “Make it Miami” events and work within the admissions office. Elaine Soska, a senior middle childhood education major, is one of these special few. “My time as a student tour guide working in the admissions office reminds me of the privilege it is to attend school at Miami and to have the opportunity to meet so many new, kind people,” Soska said. When Soska was a first-year, she joined the College of Education, Health and Society Ambassadors, a program that allowed her to engage with prospective students through the admissions team. This involvement fostered her love of working with students and inspired her to become a university tour guide. “It is such a rewarding experience to get to be the friendly face that prospective students get to learn from and talk to during this influential time in their lives,” Soska said. “To have the privilege to hear visitors’ stories and what brought them to Miami as well is heartwarming.” For Soska, being a part of the students’ journeys and hearing their stories is more than just a job; it’s a deeply fulfilling experience. “Every story is different,” Soska said. “Hearing what brings us together and the connections that make our world feel smaller is always the highlight of my week.”

Soska frequently gets inquiries into the social and cultural aspects of campus life. Many ask questions about how students balance social life in Oxford while maintaining a routine and being involved in school. “I often inform students that college is what you make of it,” Soska said. “The resources and organizations you seek out will shape your experience, and I encourage students to make educated decisions and to pick organizations that mirror their values.” Soska draws from her own experiences when sharing information with students. She offers guidance on various topics, from her favorite vending machines on campus to utilizing the Howe Writing Center. She also shares stories, such as memorable dinners with her MTH151 supplemental instruction group, the residence hall on campus where she met her best friends and her favorite dining hall meal. The admissions office became Soska’s second home on campus. After completing her first year remotely due to COVID-19, she needed a welcoming community, and the tour guides embraced her wholeheartedly. Speaking to a group of strangers for 75 minutes can be intimidating, but the support of friends and admissions staff has allowed her to step out of her comfort zone and embrace new experiences. One of the first questions Soska asks on a tour is how the group learned about Miami. She enjoys hearing about students’ unique experiences — the moments and decisions that led them to Miami — and their goals for their collegiate experience. This question often leads to discussions about how she chose Miami and knew it was the right school for her. Initially, it was a challenging question for her because she had doubts early on about Miami, but over time she realized she had chosen the perfect school for her. “My hope is that all prospective students walk away from my tour with a glimpse of the campus and a desire to share in the fond memories I’ve shared with them,” Soska said. Her most cherished tour experiences involve conversations with alumni who eagerly recount their fond memories of Miami. Once, she led a campus tour with a man and his granddaughter, a potential Miami student. As a proud Miami Merger, he had a special connection to the institution. His excitement was palpable as he delighted the group with stories of his time on campus.

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His eyes sparkled with nostalgia as he reminisced about his own college days. As they strolled through campus, he eagerly pointed out the buildings where he had attended classes decades ago and marveled at how the campus had transformed over the years. “I remember feeling such a sense of pride in our school,” Soska said. “The memories that shape our four years here could have such a lasting impact on the trajectory of our lives and how unique it is that the memories of this campus last generations.” Cade Houston, a fellow tour guide, is a senior human capital management and leadership major. During his first year, he received an email from the admissions office inquiring about potential student tour guides. Recognizing the significance of his own positive tour experiences during his college search, Houston seized the opportunity to become a tour guide himself. Houston’s favorite part of leading a campus tour is making people laugh. “I love to talk about myself,” Houston said. “I always joke that tour guiding is 75 minutes where families are forced to listen to you talk. They're forced to listen to me talk and laugh — hopefully laugh. I love that part of it.” Houston finds great pleasure when students tell him his guidance influenced their decision to choose Miami. He also appreciates the feedback students and their families give him. “I love to hear from families how they enjoyed the tour,” Houston said. “I love to hear their feedback on how beautiful they think campus was or what they really loved about Miami.” 42

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Houston has honed his skills as a public speaker, developing a candid and unfiltered communication style while delivering presentations to audiences of over 700 people at the Armstrong Pavilion Center. He measures the effectiveness of a campus tour by evaluating the reactions and responses of the visiting families. “Are they laughing at me? Are they asking questions?” Houston said. “Those are the two things that I need to make sure it's a successful tour. because if they're not laughing, if they're not asking questions, it means they are not engaged, and they're bored, which means they probably won't like Miami as a result of it.” Uncooperative visitors pose challenges for tour guides by wandering off and exploring areas that tour guides do not showcase, either because they are unimportant or restricted from public access. Sometimes, families will attempt to sneak into residence hall bathrooms, despite that not being a part of the tour, and disturb students. But getting applause at the end of a tour makes even the biggest challenges worth it. “It always feels great, and you put your hands out like, ‘Oh, guys, stop. It's no big deal. This is my job,’” Houston said. “But honestly, keep the claps coming. I love them.” Houston's most cherished memory from his time as a student tour guide was when an ordinary day took an unexpected turn. As he led a group of families on a campus tour, the sky suddenly darkened, and ominous clouds opened up with a torrential downpour. The excited chatter of the touring families turned to dismay as they scrambled for cover under any available trees.

Determined to make the best of the situation, Houston kept his composure. He reassured the drenched families that, rain or shine, the tour would go on. He even cracked a few jokes to lighten the mood, but the relentless rain made it challenging to maintain everyone's spirits. Just as Houston was contemplating how to salvage the tour, a familiar face appeared through the sheets of rain. It was Lindsay, a friend from his residence hall. She was rushing to class, but she had noticed Houston's predicament and approached him with a bright pink umbrella in hand. “Oh, my God, here you go, Cade,” she said with a warm smile before handing him the umbrella. “You need this more than I do right now.” With the umbrella now shielding him, Houston continued the tour, feeling grateful for Lindsay's kindness. He assured the touring families he had not orchestrated the umbrella exchange as a clever marketing ploy. They erupted with laughter. Senior media and communications major and former tour guide Maya Mehlman’s love for Miami was evident to the Office of Admission from the moment they saw her application. In the second semester of her first year, Mehlman became a student tour guide. To get the position, she created a video presentation to introduce herself. She opted for an unconventional approach, producing a rap performance that showcased her deep affection for Miami set to the “Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” theme song. Such was the admiration

for her video within the admissions office that she swiftly bypassed the interview phase and was brought on board immediately. “It was a fun group of people to be part of,” Mehlman said. “We all knew that it was kind of this nerdy thing to do, and we all just took it and ran with it. I love the tour guide program. I really, really do.” Although she is no longer a tour guide, Mehlman’s appreciation for Miami made educating others on it easy. “I always said that my job wasn’t to persuade people, but rather to give them the facts and let them make their own decision,” Mehlman said. “I wanted to be able to give prospective students the reason why I love Miami.” In her quest for the perfect college, Mehlman embarked on tours of 16 different campuses. Her mother, an alumna of Indiana University, would often remark that none of the campuses they visited could match the beauty of her own alma mater. It became a mantra during their college exploration — until they set foot on Miami’s campus. Mehlman’s mom couldn’t help but be captivated by the picturesque surroundings. She gazed in awe and muttered, “OK, maybe it’s prettier than Indiana.” As their tour guide led them through the stunning campus, Mehlman was overcome with a sense of belonging. Tears welled up in her eyes, and a warm feeling filled her heart. This was it; this was the place she had been dreaming of all along.

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It wasn’t just about Miami’s aesthetics. It was about the feeling of being home, the sense of belonging and the promise of a bright future. At that moment, she knew this was where she wanted to spend the next chapter of her life. “I genuinely believe that Miami University’s campus speaks for itself,” Mehlman said. “You step on this campus no matter where you’re coming from, and it is gorgeous.” Including personal stories was Mehlman’s favorite way to make a tour personalized and unique. She loved telling the story of the first time she ever ran into President Crawford. It was a typical sunny afternoon on campus when Mehlman noticed Newton and Ivy, the Crawfords’ dogs. Unable to contain her excitement, Mehlman called out to the dogs, and President Crawford let go of their leashes. His two furry companions bounded over to her, tails wagging with unbridled enthusiasm as they showered her with affection. It instantly brightened Mehlman’s day. To her surprise, as she basked in the joyful canine chaos, President Crawford approached her. He handed her a gift card, a token of appreciation that left her both touched and grateful for the unexpected encounter.

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Throughout her tours, Mehlman frequently received inquiries from parents nervous about sending their children to college far from home. Hailing from New Jersey herself, Mehlman's experience as an out-of-state student is particularly noteworthy as her parents relocated to Arizona shortly after her high school graduation. “I think that Miami is a really great community. If you're going to do long distance, you might as well do it here,” Mehlman said. “We have such a supportive community. It’s not super overwhelming because we’re not in [a] huge city, and we just have so many resources and so many clubs that you can join that you will find your place here. You're going to get homesick like every college student does. But you will find those connections, and you will make it through.” A year ago, Mehlman received an email from a girl she had never met. In the email, the girl explained that Mehlman had been her tour guide during her visit to Miami. The girl wrote, “I have decided to come to Miami, and I want to let you know that it was all because of you.” As Mehlman read those words, tears rose in her eyes, an unexpected surge of emotion catching her off guard. It was more than just words on a page. It was a profound acknowledgment. It reminded her that she had accomplished something meaningful, something worth celebrating. S

“I have decided to come to Miami, and I want to let you know that it was all because of you.”

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EXPERIENCE

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Entering Miami University as a wide-eyed first-year in September 2020, I had high expectations of finding true love. I mean, come on, with Miami’s reputation for matchmaking, how could I not? On every tour and in every admissions conversation, the long-lived tradition of “Miami Mergers” will be brought up without a doubt. The university’s reputation of having a significantly high percentage of alumni marrying each other was a statistic I found hopeful when I decided to enroll.

Despite the hopes that I would find my one true love during my time at Miami, my dating experience in college has been nothing short of, well, … disappointing. For the entirety of my three years at Miami, I have been single. My most serious “situationship” lasted only about a month and a half, and it ended with me walking in on him sleeping with someone else.

If so many people can find love here, why can’t I? Now, I am embarking on my senior year at the same place I was determined to find love as a first-year. In the past three years, I have faced the harsh truths of dating in college. And it's not all Miami cracked it up to be. Of Miami’s approximately 236,000 living alumni, 12.6% are Mergers. Every year, the university’s alumni association mails out thousands of Valentine’s Day cards to Mergers to celebrate the love they found with a fellow Miamian. I always imagined one day receiving a Merger Valentine, congratulating me and my husband for finding love in college. This year marked the 50th year that a specially-themed card was sent out to Mergers. Along with valentines, the Miami University Alumni Association has an entire page on its website featuring Miami Merger spotlights, statistics and even a Miami Merger recipe book.

Design by Katie Preston Photos courtesy of Lyndsey Carter

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I definitely dodged a bullet with that one. I’ve met plenty of boys at Miami who piqued my interest, but all have epically failed. Of course, not before they receive a nickname so I can chat about them in public with my friends. Tall Skinny Sexy (TSS for short), Rodent (the cheater mentioned earlier), Blue Fish and RJ are just a few. He wouldn’t be a man of interest if he didn’t get a nickname. My dating experience in college has left me feeling frustrated. Most guys’ idea of a date is lying on their grimy old couch watching a lame chick flick and hoping they can “get some” by the end of the night. In the past three years, I have only been on three actual dates that don’t involve just “hanging out.” In my first year, I caught strong feelings for my guy best friend. We did everything together — movie nights, going out to eat, shopping at the mall, even visiting each other over breaks. Everyone thought we were dating, but when I finally confessed my

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feelings to him, he told me he didn’t feel the same way. The rejection was an absolute punch in the gut, and it left me angry and confused. I questioned my worth, wondering what was so wrong with me that he didn’t want to be more than just friends. My dating experiences since haven’t gone up much from there. It seems like society favors couples that find love in high school or college. It’s an unsaid narrative that young love is somehow more special and impressive than finding love later in life. My prefrontal cortex, the decision-making part of the brain, won’t even fully develop until age 25, so why am I expected to choose a lifelong partner as a college student? I can’t even decide what to do with my career, where I want to live after I graduate or what I’ll eat for dinner tonight. How in the world am I going to find “the one” in this gruesome dating pool?

Tinder? Hinge? Instagram DMs? A sweaty college bar? A frat basement? Are these really where I am supposed to find my person? Dating apps are debilitating, resulting in empty conversation after empty conversation. Hookup culture is rampant. Everyone who wants a relationship is already in one. Everyone else just wants sex. These thoughts rotate through my brain as I sit at home, scrolling through dating apps while many of my friends are out with their partners. College is a bubble. A bubble that is so misleading compared to what the world outside Oxford is really like. This revelation struck me in the spring of my junior year after I spent the fall of my junior year studying abroad in Luxembourg. Gallivanting around Europe alongside my best girlfriends for four months taught me more about the world and myself than I had ever known before. From thrilling late-night escapades in Barcelona to shooting back shots with charming Greek men in Santorini, it didn’t take long for me to realize that the world has so much more to offer than the nonsense that happens in a college town. When I was abroad, I had no desire for a boyfriend. For the first time in college, I was living completely for myself. I felt no pressure to find my person.

Escaping the Miami social bubble and meeting people from all over the world opened my eyes to how many people actually exist, how many potential people I have yet to meet in my life and how it would almost be a shame if I only looked to find my person in the confines of Oxford, Ohio. I will be the first to say that being single throughout college has been difficult. I have experienced plenty of mental breakdowns, wondering what is wrong with me, why I am not desirable or why the man I was talking to left my message on “opened.” Despite the pressures to find my Merger, I have found something much more important. I found love for myself. Instead of pouring all of my love and attention into a significant other, I have committed to growing into the person I hoped to become three years ago. I spent four months of my junior year traveling to 13 countries around Europe. I committed to becoming more in touch with my body by going to workout classes and cooking new, healthy recipes. I go out on several “hot girl walks” a week, jamming out to music blaring through my AirPods. I work tirelessly to achieve my academic and professional goals, and I dedicate time to meeting new people and sustaining relationships with friends and family.

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I answer “yes" to any opportunity that comes my way where I can get out of my comfort zone and grow. Instead of settling for anyone who would give me the time of day, I spend hours reading books and listening to podcasts about dating in your 20s, learning how to be the best version of myself before I be my best self for someone else. My mom tells me all the time, “You can’t love someone else until you learn to love yourself.” I used to roll my eyes, but now I get it. She’s been right all along. As much as I crave affection and romantic companionship, I would never trade my single years of college. There are so many triumphs of being single in this phase of life. So many experiences that I would have missed out on if I was tied down. I’m OK with not getting a Miami Merger Valentine’s Day card. I would rather discover more about myself, and maybe one day, someone worth it will come along. Someone worth way more than that guy from a frat basement. S 50

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Visionary

The oft-forgotten coach who crafted football’s modern offense

By Jack Schmelzinger

PROFILE 52

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Design by Erin McGovern Photos courtesy of Miami Archives

It’s Feb. 2, 2020, and the Kansas City Chiefs have their backs against the wall. It’s halfway through the fourth quarter of Super Bowl 54, and they’re losing to underdog San Francisco 49ers 21–10. The Chiefs made it this far because of their highpowered offense. Today, that offense is failing them. But with just over six minutes left in the fourth quarter, things start to click. Patrick Mahomes stomps his foot once and calls hike. Star tight end Travis Kelce takes off from his spot in the slot as soon as the ball is snapped, running a classic seam route. The uber-athletic Kelce beats a much smaller defensive back to the end zone. By the time he turns around, the ball has already left Mahomes’s golden arm. The flailing defensive back tackles Kelce before he can grab it. Easy pass interference. Ball to the one. First down. Seven plays later, the Chiefs are ahead. San Francisco stalls out on its next drive, and Mahomes and the Chiefs score again. This time, it only takes two plays. Whoever said “defense wins championships” never watched the Chiefs on offense — three touchdowns in under five game minutes to win the Super Bowl. So much of that game can be traced to one former Oxford, Ohio, resident: Sid Gillman. The seam route that Kelce ran to get the Chiefs rolling? Many say Gillman invented it. Gillman loved his tight ends, and at a time when they basically only blocked, Gillman thought a good one was the secret to an explosive offense. The famous “West Coast” scheme that Chiefs head coach Andy Reid runs? The guy who invented it idolized Gillman and built the strategy based on the concepts Gillman came up with. Gillman spent his life innovating the offensive side of football. His influence over the sport can be seen across the modern football landscape. High-powered spread offenses and film reviews are just some of the concepts he created, or at least made popular. Gillman is the only coach ever to be inducted into both the Professional and College Football Halls of Fame, despite never winning a Super Bowl or National Championship. Many call Gillman “the father of the modern passing game.” He started his career at Miami University, where he built great teams and destroyed bridges.

If you’ve been to Yager Stadium since 2010, you’ve seen the group of statues that dominate the south side of the concourse. You won’t find Gillman among them. Even on the day those statues were unveiled, Gillman was being bad-mouthed in Oxford.

Gillman was born Oct. 26, 1911, in Minneapolis to Sarah, an illiterate New Yorker, and David, an Austrian immigrant and police detective turned movie theater owner. From birth, he was infatuated with sports. As a kid, he wanted to be a baseball star. He cared about nothing else. That wasn’t good enough for Sarah, who wanted a Sid of all trades. When Gillman was seven, she started him on classical piano lessons, and for the next 10 years he practiced an hour a day. He became good enough to make decent money playing gigs through high school and college. The piano and an appreciation for music stuck with Gillman for the rest of his life. Still, he was all sports. He once set all the clocks in his house forward to get away from the piano and to the football field earlier than he was supposed to. That dedication to sports helped Gillman make a name for himself in Minneapolis. He was an all-city football and basketball player whom the newspapers touted often. Gillman’s football prowess earned him a spot on the Ohio State University football team, where he was named a team captain and won All-Big Ten honors in 1933. Once he became a coach, Gillman was one of the first people to take advantage of game film when creating his game plan. It all started because Gillman’s cousin Don Guttman, who worked at one of the theaters Gillman’s father owned, ordered his projectionists to cut out all the football clips from the newsreels and save them in tin cans. Gillman came home from Ohio State for the summer and was delighted. Guttman said it was nearly impossible to get his attention because he would always be running the plays back and forth. Gillman spent much of the summer going through film and making notes on index cards.

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In 1934, after graduating from Ohio State with a bachelor’s in English, Gillman joined the Michigan State University coaching staff. He would jump around the Midwest for the next 10 years, finally becoming head coach of the Miami University football team in 1944. All week long, Gillman’s Miami team would work on offense, inserting innovative new plays and drilling them until they were second nature. Finally, late on Thursday (or sometimes Friday, depending on whom you ask) before a Saturday game, Gillman and his team would focus on the defensive half of the game — for a few minutes at least. Don’t mistake Gillman’s disdain for defense as laziness or a lack of will to win. Gillman and his teams slept, ate and breathed football. He often prioritized winning over anything else. When Gillman could, he would skirt the rulebook or ignore it altogether. At Miami, his teams practiced throughout the year, which was against the NCAA’s rules. As the story goes, if a player on his Miami team made a

particularly good tackle in practice, Gillman would send him to a steak restaurant Uptown for a free meal. During his years at Miami, Gillman’s teams went 8–1 in 1944, 7–2 in 1945, 7–3 in 1946, and finally, 9–0–1 in the 1947 season, which was punctuated by a 38–7 win over the University of Cincinnati in the Battle for the Victory Bell and a 13–12 Sun Bowl victory over Texas Tech. Another of Gillman’s qualities that shines through history is his keen eye for talent. Gillman recruited Paul Dietzel, who had just come off of service in World War II, to his Miami team for the 1946 season. Dietzel wound up winning a national championship as head coach of Louisiana State University in 1958. In 1942, Dietzel enrolled at Duke University after receiving a football scholarship. His girlfriend, Anne, was headed to Miami for a spot on the cheerleading squad. Soon after enrolling at Duke, Deitzel received notice that he had been drafted and enlisted in the Army Air Corps. While fighting in the war, he received consistent postcards from Oxford. From Anne, but also from Gillman, who had somehow figured out that his sweetheart went to Miami. Gillman figured he could convince Dietzel to join his girlfriend in Oxford, and he was right. Paul and Anne Dietzel were in attendance the day those statues were erected; Paul’s is among them. One of Gillman’s key offensive strategies, his passing attack, was so effective partly because it was one of the first to use the whole field, vertically and horizontally. Gillman would line up his tight ends away from the offensive line and send them on routes downfield at a time when the tight end was almost exclusively a blocking position. He spread his linemen out to give his backs wider holes to plunge through. “The field is 100 yards long and 53 yards wide,” Gillman once famously said. “We’re going to use every damn inch of it and force the other guy to defend all of it.” Gillman believed you could control the passing game with a good tight end. He would line his tight ends up around the hash area, which forced defenses to cover the inside of the field and opened up space for the other receivers.

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Many call Gillman “the father of the modern passing game.” He started his career at Miami University, where he built great teams and destroyed bridges.

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He was one of the pioneers of the seam route, where a tight end lines up in the slot (between the outside receiver and offensive line) and runs straight up the field, occupying at least one safety and giving at least one receiver single coverage on the outside. After the 1947 season at Miami, Gillman took an assistant job at the United States Military Academy in 1948. When Gillman was an assistant coach at the academy, he built a relationship with a young Fordham University assistant. When Gillman left the next year to take the head coaching job at Cincinnati, he recommended that Army coach Earl Blaik replace him with that friend, the then 35-year-old Vince Lombardi. In 1958, at a meeting before the NFL draft, an old friend pulled Gillman aside and asked for a recommendation for the next head coach of the Green Bay Packers. Gillman once again singled out the man whom the Super Bowl trophy is now named after. The rest is history. Gillman took the assistant job at the academy, expecting that Blaik was close to retirement. Really, Blaik was 10 years away. So after a year at West Point Gillman returned to the Midwest, this time as head football coach at the University of Cincinnati.

In his first year at Cincinnati, Gillman’s Bearcats were set to open the season against the University of Nevada. Gillman sent a young assistant, Jack Faulkner, to Reno. There, Faulkner disguised himself as a student and tried out for the football team. And he made it. He practiced with the squad, and after every practice he would send Gillman notes. When it came time to register for classes, Faulkner vanished and high-tailed it back to Ohio. Gillman saw more success at Cincinnati, going 50–13–1 over six seasons with the Bearcats. After one of those six seasons, Mel Olix, who played quarterback for Gillman, got invited to a college all-star game. At one point during the festivities, Olix was cornered by a pair of college football legends: Hall of Famer Rip Engle, who had just hired Joe Paterno to his staff at Pennsylvania State University, and University of Illinois UrbanaChampaign coach Ray Eliot, who would win the school’s only national title the next year in 1951. They wanted to copy Gillman’s offense. They asked Olix to relay it. “That was the only reason I was invited,” Olix later said. “That’s all they wanted from me.”

When Gillman left Miami for a more glamorous job at Army, he angered much of the Miami faithful. But it was when he reappeared a year later, 30 miles southwest at Miami’s biggest rival, that the real grudging began.

In 1954, Gillman left for the NFL and became the head coach of the Los Angeles Rams, the beginning of nearly 20-years as an NFL head coach. Gillman continued to obsessively study film when he got to the NFL, trying to replicate his success in the college ranks. For him, it wasn’t work.

It didn’t help that Gillman poached a good part of the Miami program to Cincinnati. Head coach George Blackburn jumped ship for an assistant job under Gillman, and many of Miami’s star players went with him.

One time in the ’60s, when Gillman was the head coach of the NFL’s San Diego Chargers, he was watching film with a colleague, Bum Phillips. After hours in front of the screen, Phillips was falling asleep.

In 1948, the year before the Gillman to Cincinnati saga, Miami beat Cincinnati 43–19 at Nippert Stadium in Cincinnati. In 1949, Miami lost 27–5.

“Hey, Bum!” Gillman barked. “This is better than making love!”

Gillman would skirt the rule book at Miami, but with Cincinnati he was even more brazen. He’d call each player into his office every week to review his film from the previous game. Make a jarring tackle? You might get $5. If you knocked the guy down, but your technique wasn’t perfect, you probably only got $2.50. Thurman Owens, whom Gillman once called “pound for pound the best defensive lineman in UC history” would sometimes leave Gillman’s office with $50 in hand. 56

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Phillips jolted awake and glared at Gillman. “Sid, either I don’t know how to watch film, or you don’t know how to make love,” he replied. Even when Gillman was in his late 70s and out of football for good, he would still obsessively study film. The retired Gillman’s study housed over 500 cans of film, with gray cans for passing plays and blue for runs (he didn’t need a color for defense). Gillman would spend hours splicing raw footage together to make highlight reels.

As he got into his later years, Gillman would wonder why he was still spending so much time studying film. “What else would I be doing?” he’d answer himself. “It’s my life: what keeps me going.” Gillman was so infatuated with football’s progress that, unlike many other older, successful people, he didn’t miss how things were in his day. “Everyone’s interested in the past, the good old days, the Golden Age," Gillman once said. “God almighty, football is so much better now, the technique, the players. The games are great now. I’m part of the good old days, and they weren’t worth a damn.” One way people measure a football coach’s influence is by examining his coaching tree. The coaching tree is like a family tree, except instead of kids, you have assistants who become head coaches. There have been 56 Super Bowls played in the history of the NFL. Twenty-eight of them were won by a head coach directly descended from Gillman. In today’s NFL, Andy Reid of the Kansas City Chiefs, Miami grad John Harbaugh of the Baltimore Ravens, Sean McDermott of the Buffalo Bills, Mike Tomlin of the Pittsburgh Steelers and Mike McCarthy of the Dallas Cowboys are some of the

head coaches who can trace their lineage directly back to Gillman. Gillman’s fingerprints are still all over football, even 40 years after his retirement from coaching and 20 years after his death in 2003. His spread offense is now status quo. His tight end infatuation has spread throughout the game. Many of the NFL’s most successful championship teams relied heavily on a star tight end: Kelce, Rob Gronkowski of the New England Patriots dynasty, and Shannon Sharpe of the Baltimore Ravens and Denver Broncos to name a few. They all made their millions lining up in the slot and running Gillman’s streak route. Despite all his achievements, Gillman wasn’t inducted into the Miami University Athletics Hall of Fame until 1991, after being inducted into both the College and Professional Football Halls of Fame. Of the 11 statues south of Yager, four are of men Gillman recruited to Miami during his four seasons as head coach. According to the Miami University Athletic Department, Gillman is not honored because he didn’t graduate from Miami. At the 2010 ceremony where those statues were revealed, Lucy Ewbank, the then-104-year-old widow of Miami coaching great Weeb Ewbank, said this about Gillman: “You can have him. [Gillman] owed everybody in Oxford when he left.” THE MIAMI STUDENT MAGAZINE, FALL 2023

Miami football bounced back from Gillman’s departure and program pilfering, as did some people’s attitudes (Although some, like Lucy Ewbank, would take their resentment to the grave.) In 1977, former players from Miami’s 1947 Sun Bowl winning team wrote a stack of letters to Miami urging administrators to let Gillman in the Hall. Then-Miami Vice President of Development and Alumni Affairs John Dolibois penned a quick note to Athletic Director Dick Shrider that read: “I was literally besieged at the Sun Bowl party about Sid Gillman. I now agree … his time has come.” The time hadn’t actually come yet for one of the greatest minds in football history, one of the most influential people ever to call Miami home. In 1991, 14 years later, he was inducted into the Miami Athletics Hall of Fame. But he still doesn’t have a statue. S

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A note on sources: Main sources for this story were the book Sid Gillman: Father of the Modern Passing Game, a 2018 book by Josh Katzowitz, The Genius of Desperation: The Schematic Innovations That Made the Modern NFL, a 2018 book by Doug Farrar, and The Games that Changed the Game: The Evolution of the NFL in Seven Sundays, a 2011 book by Ron Jaworski, Greg Cosell and David Plaut. I also consulted a feature that Paul Zimmerman wrote on Gillman for Sports Illustrated in 1991, and a 1987 Los Angeles Times article by Bob Oates, called “Miami of Ohio: A coaching factory: this university is renowned, not because of its Testaverdes and Kosars, but because of its Parseghians and Schembechlers.”

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Katie Szekely PG. 34

Student band Thumbtack Mechanics returns for one more show THE MIAMI STUDENT MAGAZINE, FALL 2023

Volume XIII | Fall 2023