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(04/12/11 12:27am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>“Chow time came. I decided I better not leave the plane to the care of
the MPs who were guarding it outside because I never did trust the MPs.
They were too damn curious. And so I decided to stay with the plane. And
by that time I was pretty tired. It was very hot in the South Pacific …
The bomb was loaded. It was now just a matter of waiting for the proper
time, which would be several hours later. Up to that time, Captain
Parsons had shown evidence of being quite worried about his
responsibility for activating the bomb … He was worried, apparently,
that he might be up in the aircraft and find that he didn’t have that
special wrench that he needed in order to put that detonator into the
gun. And he had been into the plane about, oh, I don’t know, a half a
dozen times to check that the wrench was still there. His behavior sort
of wiped off on me, I guess. I began to worry that it was my
responsibility to be sure that he didn’t encounter that situation. And
so, when it came time to go and get some dinner, I sent my boys in to
get their mess. I had decided I’d stay with the bomb and see that
nothing happened to it and that Parsons wouldn’t have any problems. So, I
decided to stay with the bomb and everyone disappeared. It became very
lonely. Here I was inside the bomb bay, in the dark, and there was an MP
outside, but that’s all. There was no noise or no sound. It was dark,
there was no light, and I had nothing to do. So, I stretched out on top
of the bomb. The bomb is big enough and it’s wide enough so that I
didn’t roll off very easily. I just stretched out and, by gosh, I fell
asleep. I mean, this isn’t proper conduct for a MP to fall asleep on the
job … I would’ve been awake very rapidly, very quickly if anyone tried
to get inside the bomb bay. But, the story is, the fact is, that I did
fall asleep on the bomb.I guess I’m the only person in whole world who
ever fell asleep on top of an atomic bomb. And, I think it was perfectly
safe. Well, only a slight amount of radiation from the uranium coming
through all of that material around it. I never gave it a thought. I
just fell asleep.”
(04/12/11 12:25am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Lawrence Langer was called out of his Bloomington professorship in 1941 to aid the war effort. In fall 1943, Robert Oppenheimer brought Langer to Los Alamos National Laboratory in New Mexico to develop the atomic bomb as part of the Manhattan Project. Though the use of the atomic bomb against Japan during World War II is a well-documented event, the thought of such a device a century ago was an impossible feat. With war on the horizon in the early 1930s, German chancellor Adolf Hitler started gathering the best scientists from across the globe in attempts to develop an atomic bomb. “We knew Germany was working on the bomb, which deservedly scared the daylights out of people,” says Hal Kibbey, a former IU News Bureau reporter who interviewed Langer during his time on campus. “People understood very well what Hitler would do with a bomb like that if he got his hands on it.” And so the United States began to form its own team of scientists to combat the research being done in Europe, with Langer joining as a group leader. “At that time, it wasn’t something you stopped to think about,” Kibbey says. “This was a race and the stakes were unimaginable. There was absolutely no question at all whether it was the right thing to do.” After two years of research and testing, the bomb was ready for use. By this point, Germany was out of the war. The United States had made the decision to drop the fi rst live atomic bomb on Hiroshima on Aug. 6, 1945. Langer was in charge of teaching the military how to arm the bomb once the plane was in the air. While Langer’s involvement up to this point is integral and a point of historical pride for many Hoosiers, the last few hours are when things get interesting. On a hot summer night in the Pacific, hours before the bomb was to be dropped over Japan, Langer did the unthinkable. He crawled into the bomb bay of the Enola Gay, stretched out on top of the atomic bomb, and fell asleep.
(04/12/11 12:19am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Campus in wartime was a thrill of anti-war rallies and what Kibbey calls euphemistic student activism. There was a lot of draft dodging and cheating on deferments.“There was a whole institution of how to dodge the draft,” Kibbey says.Guitarist Phil Ochs song “Draft Dodger Rag” became an anthem for the late ’60s. Kibbey recalls strumming the chords on his guitar, singing the lyrics that ran all-too-true across the campus and country. I hate Chou En Lai and I hope he dies, but one thing you gotta see, that someone’s gotta go over there, and that someone isn’t me. Flat feet, poor eyesight, homosexual tendencies, allergies. The list of possible loopholes was endless. The fact is, most of them didn’t work. Even if they did, Kibbey didn’t see them as viable options. The song might be fun to sing in Dunn Meadow, but dodging the draft was never a consideration. “I would not, I did not, approve of that sort of behavior,” Kibbey says. “I was surprised my deferment continued as long as it did.”
(04/12/11 12:16am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>On a hot August day in 1968, Hal Kibbey fi led into a long room with
hundreds of other men, all of whom had received the same letter. The
mandatory physical would determine who could be drafted. The men were
clumped in groups of 10, driven like cattle in only their underwear,
clutching their forms as they moved from station to station. Kibbey
didn’t know it yet, but the men who were drafted would be headed into
Vietnam for the deadliest year of the war.During the vision test, the other men snickered as Kibbey stepped closer
and closer to try to read the eye chart on the wall. His only chance at
deferment was that he was extremely nearsighted. He could fnally make
out the big E at the top when we was three feet from the chart.
“I was hoping my eyesight would save me,” he says. “It didn’t. They just verified that I couldn’t see.”
Hopefully it would be enough to keep him out of the infantry. Maybe they
would send him to an office somewhere to do paperwork. He could do
that. He had no qualms with serving his country. But he would prefer to
do it with a typewriter instead of a rifle.
The hot, heavy air carried the voices of the soldiers throughout the
room as they instructed the men and stamped their papers at each
station. The tension was palpable. Each man watched the man before him,
waiting to see what would happen to him next. There was no small talk.
Just a long line of anxious men called to serve their country– whether
they wanted to or not.
Kibbey reached the end of the narrow room and approached the last station.
“Did you bring any letters from a physician?” asked the soldier seated at the table.
“Yes,” Kibbey said. “I have this one.”
Kibbey had seen various doctors regarding “dizzy spells” he had been
experiencing for the past six years. The minute-long episodes weren’t
noticeable to others and didn’t affect his ability to walk, drive or
function in general. He never paid much attention to them.
His personal doctor wrote an official letter printed on hospital
letterhead. Any hopes Kibbey had for a medical deferment had vanished
when he read the single page. The letter included no recommendations, no
plea for deferral, just a list of the symptoms and a mention of
Kibbey’s “dizzy spells.”
“I remember being disappointed and thinking, ‘So what? That’s not going to do anything.’ But I brought it with me.”
That’s the letter he passed to the soldier waiting at the last table.
And for the first time, he was directed not further down that long, narrow room, but to the side. A deviation.
He entered a cubicle, where a physician’s eyes scanned the page in one flowing glance from top to bottom.
“He didn’t even read it,” Kibbey thought. “That was the last chance I had and he didn’t even read it.”
“I’m doomed.”
Without saying a word, the physician stamped the letter and passed it
back. After being turned door with a new form. The bustle and bright
lights were gone. Two new officials sat in relative darkness.
Kibbey handed the form to one of the officials, who read it once.
Without a word, he set it down and picked up another page. Kibbey only
heard one part: “You will be drafted only in the event of a national
emergency. Do not try to enlist.”
The wave of emotion overwhelmed Kibbey, but he couldn’t determine the cause of the saving news.
“Psychologically, I was a basket case,” Kibbey says. “I got down to what
appeared to be the bottom and was shotgunned back up to the top.”
He took the form, turned, and walked into the sunlight, trying to digest what had happened.
“I had my student deferment for life,” he says. “The letter that I thought was worthless was what saved me from all of it.”
(04/12/11 12:07am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Nets Hawk Katz is drawn to unsolvable problems. The math professor recently solved the Paul Erdös Distinct Distances Problem, a fancy name for a 65-year-old math problem. Katz, with Larry Guth of the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, was able to combine the algebraic method with topological math to solve the Erdos distance problem in three months. Instead of basking in the glory of his success, Katz quickly moved on to a new project. “Some people are really good at developing a big idea and turning it into a cash cow with lots of elaboration and follow up,” he says. “I find it a lot more fun to work on problems where I don’t think I have a very good chance of solving them.” While Katz says this breakthrough will eventually have some use in the real world, he admits that’s not his main concern when solving a problem. “Pure mathematicians don’t worry immediately about what the applications are of what we’re doing,” he says.
(11/29/10 5:04pm)
Bouncers at two of Bloomington's most popular bars tell Inside how they spot a fake ID.
(11/21/10 8:41pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Political science students love to spout off about Iraq and Afghanistan. I sit in the creaking chairs in Woodburn Hall, in another afternoon of Comparative Foreign Policy, bristling as the kid with the sweater vest and the too-loud voice pontificates on Bush’s mistake and Obama’s inheritance. Then he goes back to checking Facebook and sipping his grande caramel macchiato.The war is costing thousands of American deaths. But we calmly discuss it between gossip from last week’s football game and Saturday’s parties. Here in Bloomington, the sacrifice in Fallujah and Marja doesn’t bear down upon us. Our daily lives remain the same. Our routines cycle on.I listen as students around me pass every judgment and air every complaint about battles that will never touch them. Most of the time, I keep my mouth shut.But for me, the war is not a political debate. It’s my big brother.*** As I write this, Blake is a few days from deploying for his fourth tour with the Marines. At 28, he's already served three times in Iraq. Now he's on his way to Afghanistan. I don't know where exactly he'll be stationed. What he'll be doing. Or if he’ll come home.But I can count on one thing. Once my fear and frustration get to be too much, I’ll pop in another disc of "Gilmore Girls." When Blake’s home, he and I sit on the couch watching and rewatching all seven seasons. My brother might be a combat-hardened jarhead, but he dances with me during the opening credits. He’ll tell you he likes the show because Lorelai and Rory Gilmore are hot. But that doesn’t explain why he had newly released seasons shipped to his barracks. He watches every episode, enduring the teasing from fellow Marines, as a reminder of his baby sister and as a break from bullets and IEDs. I watch it to feel like he's still sitting beside me. And to avoid thinking of him riding in another convoy.I’ve spent the last six years trying to preserve my brother. I hung photos from his wedding on my bedroom wall and saved a voicemail he left in 2006. If something happens, I want to press a button and hear him say he loves me. Before his first deployment, I searched for something of his to keep with me. I found a silver ring on his dresser. It wasn’t really silver – just one of those knockoffs you buy at the mall – but from that point on, I wore it on the index finger of my left hand. One day, I was sitting in class when I noticed my finger was bare. I frantically retraced my steps through the halls, checking my locker and searching until I ended up in the school parking lot. My heart pounded so loudly it filled my ears as I scoured the pavement. There, under my car’s back tire, I found the ring. I slipped it back on my finger and breathed again.***During his tours, I pretend Blake’s in an office doing paperwork. Or playing basketball with his unit behind the blast wall. I picture him doing anything other than his job. It’s harder to pretend when he brings home medals. They don’t give gold stars or commendations for valor to the guy behind the desk.I didn’t know the explanations for why he received such honors until I visited him last summer. There, stashed away in the corner of the guest bedroom, was tangible proof of his duties. I sat down on the bed, poring over the certificates: he’d conducted 55 combat missions, amassing 12,000 miles and escorting 1,300 vehicles and 10,000 personnel. And then I read what happened on May 3, 2007:When a vehicle was destroyed by an improvised explosive device, First Lieutenant Johnston established security, coordinated a ground casualty evacuation for the wounded Marines, and requested explosive ordinance disposal and vehicle recovery support. As I tried to grasp the reality of my brother’s job, he opened the door.“What are ya doin, Sweets?” he asked.“Oh, nothing,” I said, now conscious of the tears streaming down my face.He shrugged. “Come on, dinner’s done.”***Blake’s confidence reassures me. But sometimes my mind wanders, and I imagine ways I would react if he died. I see my mom showing up unexpectedly at my apartment. Sometimes I collapse like they do in the movies. Other times I’m silent, unable to comprehend what’s happening.I know it’s morbid. Still, the scenes seep into my mind. It’s like my subconscious is trying to prepare me, as if the grief would be more manageable with a script to follow. Being a journalist makes it worse. I know how the media would handle Blake’s death. Our local paper would run a memorial story: “Hometown hero dies in Afghanistan.” If it’s a slow news day, they might run his photo. Friends would share stories from Little League and lament his youth. And then the world would move on. Because soldiers die every day in the desert 7,000 miles away.***Most people talk about the war like the weather. I want to shake them and scream, “You have no idea.” As Blake prepares to ship out, I’m growing more defensive. My ability to listen passively is waning. My eyes go directly to headlines about the war.Then I take a deep breath and remember Blake. Not the Marine. But the brother who taught me how to pitch a baseball and throw a punch without breaking my thumb. The brother who eats mountains of mint-chocolate chip ice cream with me and does a spot-on impersonation of Mickey Mouse.I tell myself I’ll see him next summer when he comes home. Over and over, I touch the ring on my left forefinger, checking it’s still there.
(10/22/10 3:26am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Michael Cavanagh knew how to capture the soul of a piece of art.“He was able to take these complicated works of art and turn them into new works of art,” said Linda Baden, associate director of editorial services for the IU Art Museum.“You might not be as struck by it in the gallery as you are through his photographs.”The head photographer at the museum died Tuesday morning after suffering a heart attack. He was 55.Cavanagh photographed collections and individual pieces for the museum starting in 1983. His photographs are featured in exhibition catalogues and other art publications worldwide.Though some might question how much work is involved in photographing art pieces, the process was more complicated and involved than many people understood, Baden said.“There’s a huge amount of interpretation for a fine art photographer to take pictures of works of art,” she said. “He was always pushing himself to be better.”From which background color to use to where the light came from, Cavanagh was dedicated to crafting each detail of the photograph. His photographs made the pieces vivid, Baden said, allowing the viewer to almost feel the smoothness of the surface and trace the curves of the stone.“He made the object look lively and interesting,” Baden said. “You wanted to learn more about it.”Behind heavy doors and down a stark white hallway on the second floor of the museum is Cavanagh’s studio. A tall, bright lamp stands before the large black backdrop where he shot many of his photos. Rows of filing drawers are packed full of transparencies and slides chronicling the history of each piece of art in the museum. Two dark rooms are reminders of an earlier time when Cavanagh would develop his photographs by hand. When he first started, each photograph was a black-and-white 8-by-10. Color and digital editing crept in during the years he worked at the museum. Now, his desk is covered with four different computer monitors for digital editing.On one end of the desk is a pair of white gloves — he never touched a piece of art with his fingers in case any oil or dirt would rub off. A caricature drawing, dated 8/13/98 hangs on the wall next to his chair. His two children and a dog grin brightly in cartoon form.“He was an incredibly dedicated family man,” Baden said. “He loved his family very much.”Two of Michael’s personal photography exhibitions, “It’s a Boy” and “Windslow,” included photographs of his children and family. His most recent work was a project about people and animals.“He was fascinated by the everyday kinds of stuff that you don’t always notice,” Baden said.He was an efficient worker always trying to improve, Balden said. Fellow colleagues sometimes referred to him as the curmudgeon with the heart of gold.“He was really a sweet, sweet guy,” she said. “He was a very wonderful person.”
(10/22/10 3:25am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Carven Thomas feels blessed.The Bloomington GE union president celebrated with co-workers Monday when GE announced a $93 million investment in the plant as part of a $161 million initiative through 2014.“To go from having to look for a job to knowing you’re going to have a job — a good job — for the next few years, that’s indescribable,” he said.The 44-year-old factory worker endured years of layoffs and closure threats, wondering if and when his job would cease to exist.At one point, he viewed the plant’s uncertain situation as a positive opportunity to go back to school and take on the challenge of a new career. That was before the economic collapse. Suddenly, he found himself facing the daunting reality of competing against recent college graduates with bachelor’s degrees in an unstable economic climate.Though previously threatened with a closing announcement two years ago, the plant now faces a significant investment for its future.The funding will convert the plant to run the new, energy-efficient products of the future. The conversion is crucial in a time when legislation continues to push for new energy efficient units and appliances, Thomas said.The investment also marks a change in strategies, as GE spent the past 12 years transferring production away from the Bloomington facility. “GE’s investment indicates the company’s faith in Bloomington and its workforce,” Mayor Mark Kruzan said in an e-mail. “This really is a perfect case study of what staying competitive and relevant means to the American workforce.”The side-by-side refrigerators from the plant will now meet anticipated high-efficiency Energy Star criteria as well as the 2014 U.S. Department of Energy efficiency standards. The funding will also create 200 jobs by 2014, bringing employment back to numbers similar to before last fall’s layoff of about 190 workers. Based on this job creation plan, the company can receive up to $2.25 million in performance-based tax credits from the Indiana Economic Development Corporation.The benefit of those 200 jobs goes beyond the four walls of GE, said Ron Walker, director of the Bloomington Economic Development Corporation. As a result of supplier relationships and consumer spending, Walker projected that 170 outside jobs will benefit from the addition of 200 new GE jobs. This equates to about 140 households affected by the addition.Outside businesses also benefit, as the plant requires services and utilities.“They require everything from maintenance to food to paper towels,” Walker said. “All down the line they need things, and there are other companies that provide those things.”The economic ripple effect of this investment should not be underestimated, Kruzan said.“The buying power of the company and its employees means more dollars circulating through our community, which is really one of the defining aspects of what keeps a community livable,” Kruzan said. “The fact that not only is GE staying open, but is adding 200 jobs is nothing short of a blessing for Bloomington.”
(10/15/10 4:13am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Terry LaBolt stood in a rehearsal room surrounded by the cast and crew of “Rent,” struggling to find the right words. The musical director for IU’s Department of Theatre and Drama had known this moment was coming for a few months now, ever since the department chose the show as the season opener, but that didn’t make it easy. No matter how many times he did this, it was never easy.As LaBolt searched for a way to begin, his eye caught a model version of the set. It was simple: a brick wall, the façade of an apartment building in 1980s Alphabet City, N.Y., now known as the Lower East Side. Parts of the wall had fallen away, decayed and worn. As he took in the set, the memories flooded in with unexpected force. He had lived in Alphabet City in the 1980s. He walked the streets of the theater district lined with people asking for $2 — the price of one crack hit. He watched his friends physically change before his eyes — growing thinner, paler, weaker — as they fought the battles for their lives. Battles they would eventually lose, overcome by blindness, pneumonia or cancer.He was prepared to tell his story, but not for the wave of emotion that hit him so suddenly. He looked down at the set model, a recreation of a place and time that defined his life. As he wrestled with the memories that were still fresh after 25 years, he started the only way he could.“I was there.”*****LaBolt was diagnosed with HIV in 1986. He knew he was at risk, but he didn’t suspect the news until taking an anonymous test.“That’s all very interesting to some people,” LaBolt said in reference to his infection and diagnosis. “But to me, it’s just what happened.”What “happened” would transform LaBolt’s life. He disclosed his status to a select few people, excluding coworkers and his music students. Life was a flux of ups and downs, drug combinations and diet reforms. LaBolt survived an onslaught of complications, but by 1996 he was too sick to teach. He was weak, his skin sallow. Tests revealed a tumor forming on his already failing liver.Doctors suggested a liver transplant. But despite his obvious need, doctors were clear on two things: He wouldn’t be eligible as an AIDS patient, and he had two years to live. While LaBolt’s health was waning, a musical by composer Jonathan Larson was turning heads. “Rent” opened in an off-Broadway theater on Jan. 25, 1996. Riding the wave of success, the tour came to Cincinnati that year where LaBolt had moved to teach at the University of Cincinnati.When the show opened, LaBolt watched the scenes of Alphabet City in the 1980s unfold. The drugs and impoverished artists were an all too familiar sight. But they were also a sight of a previous decade, a preservation of the old way of thinking that permeated the ’80s under the shadow of HIV/AIDS.“They just prayed for a miracle and were nice to you,” LaBolt said of the nurses and physicians in the ’80s. But that changed in 1996 with the advent of antiretroviral drugs and the revolutionary drug “cocktail.” “The former nurses had to find some other hopeless people to work with,” he said. When he first heard the now iconic songs played out on stage, pushing his memories back to 1986, LaBolt was overcome with a feeling of annoyance. People were finally feeling good about new meds and feeling hope for the future for the first time. “The hopelessness of the ‘Rent’ characters seemed out of place,” he said. “I didn’t want others with AIDS to have that hopeless feeling. Therefore, ‘Rent’ was not an experience I felt they, or I, should dwell in.”And so he avoided the show for more than a decade. For one thing, rock wasn’t his style. And while he could appreciate the show and its music, he couldn’t move past the topic. His grief for friends he lost and his own problems was still too raw. *****In 2003, LaBolt was one of a handful of HIV patients nationwide to receive a liver transplant. He was slated as the first person in a five-year study to undergo the procedure. Twenty-four hours after the study launched, he was in surgery.“I was in really bad shape, and when I woke up, it was like I was 20 years younger,” he said.The combination of his renewed health and an opening in IU’s musical theater program for a musical director had LaBolt considering a return to teaching. Before the interview with IU, he spoke with legal counsel who assured him he had no obligation to inform the search committee of his status. He prepared a statement, but decided to wait until meeting the committee before choosing whether or not to share his status.During the interview, he felt a connection with the people around him. He now felt they were deserving of the information. And he told them he had HIV.The room grew very quiet, LaBolt recalled. No one knew how to react, including him. “I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing that I’m telling you this,” he remembered saying. As a person who has disclosed his status countless times during the last quarter of a century, he’s learned that there is never a magical moment. There’s no formula for when or how to disclose.But the uncertainty of his decision didn’t last long. LaBolt was offered the musical director position shortly after.*****As the department planned for 2010, “Rent” emerged as the main choice to start the season. For LaBolt, it meant working on a show he had managed to avoid for so many years. But when the idea was proposed, he decided that now was the right time to do it.LaBolt discussed with director George Pinney how he would talk about HIV and witnessing the real Alphabet City. The two planned the night as if preparing for a class.Pinney had just posted the cast list that day, and the students buzzed with excitement as they filed in for their first meeting, senior Gina Ricci recalled. They listened as designers showed them concepts for the set, costumes and lights.Then LaBolt stepped forward.Many of the cast were already aware of LaBolt’s status, but had never heard the emotion and details behind it all. And so LaBolt told them what it was like to see those he loved get sick and die. Mostly, he told them about the people. People who stopped showing up to work and school, and no one would go looking for them. People who abandoned their partners when they got sick. People who died alone. The students tried to grasp the reality LaBolt presented them. Some had tears in their eyes. Most had no idea how to react. “I looked around the room at my friends, the family that I’ve become a part of here, and tried to imagine watching them waste away and die,” senior William Angulo said. “Not really understanding what they were sick with, having their friends and family cast them aside out of shame. It’s almost too difficult to do.”All they could do was listen as LaBolt told stories of watching his friends suffer, describing this contemporary leprosy where people were too scared to touch the people they loved.“His story gave our cast a sort of a mission mentality, if you will,” Angulo said. “We knew exactly what our piece was about and exactly what work we had to do. Every rehearsal had that undertone that we were contributing to something that was greater than ourselves."LaBolt knew that night would be emotional, but he expected it to build — working its way out, growing as the details reorganized and settled in the students’ minds. But the moment of raw emotion that seized LaBolt set the tone from the beginning. He cried, and the cast cried with him.*****This piece of musical fiction was LaBolt’s reality. The cast began to view characters such as Mark, Roger and Mimi as more than creations from the writer’s mind.Mark’s role as the survivor who has no control over his friends’ suffering was LaBolt’s constant struggle. Though he was infected when he lived in New York, he wasn’t diagnosed until he had already left.He was the one who had to stand by helplessly as friends died, some taking their own lives rather than going through the tortuous journey.When Roger runs away in the play, unable to watch Mimi die, LaBolt remembers moving to Ohio, separating himself from the grief in Alphabet City. He remembers wanting to get away from the sick people and hide from his life.“The cast really had a connection to that because they felt they were speaking for me,” he said.For the students in “Rent,” Larson’s lyrics aren’t a distant concept but LaBolt’s history. Those scenes are grounded in more than a script and preconceptions.“Every time I felt a block or was thinking too much, Terry would let me know about a point in his life,” Ricci said. “He helped us immensely throughout the creative process. There were so many levels to every character that, without Terry, would never be stripped away.”*****LaBolt’s feelings of annoyance and avoidance toward “Rent” have passed. It is a different time and he has a different attitude, largely attributed to his transplant and improved health. He knew for his students to understand the piece, to portray it in the truest sense they could, he had to share his experience.“I love having my students experience this part of my life, and I hate it at the same time,” he said. “Part of me doesn’t want anyone to have to know about this. But another part of me knows it is important for all of us, and I allow it all to happen.”The characters on stage carry accuracies within them. Moments of truth are apparent in the world they create. And now, decades after the 1980s Alphabet City, LaBolt said he believes it is important for people to remember and understand the history of the AIDS epidemic.“It’s even more important to me now than it was then,” he said. “It’s no longer a death sentence, but it’s still a life sentence.”LaBolt will be there behind the stage as the curtain rises. As a cast of students share a story of love and anger and AIDS in 1980s New York, LaBolt will remember. He will allow the memories of friends and loved ones to rise to the surface. And when the emotions get to be too much, he will let the music tell the story.
(10/12/10 6:18am)
It’s time to break out the tissue box. We asked you to tell us about the first time you called Bloomington “home.” Some of you didn’t remember. Some of you said you’d never called it home. But most of our respondents had at least a vague recollection of the time they let the word “home” slip in regard to their campus house, apartment, or dorm. If you made your mom sob, take comfort in knowing that you weren’t alone.
(10/12/10 6:17am)
Turn off your iPod. Take out your earbuds. Listen. The sounds of home are more addictive than any Lady GaGa song.
(10/12/10 6:14am)
Forget that “new car” smell. Inside asked readers to list the scents that reminded them of home. We think some ambitious Kelley School of Business students could get rich making “grilled fajitas” or “Dad’s cologne” air fresheners in the shape of a house.
(10/12/10 6:13am)
A house might have four walls, but the sights of home are a little less defined. Here are some hairstyles, landmarks, and objects that remind us of home.
(10/12/10 6:12am)
Home. It’s where our family gathers at Thanksgiving and where the B bus drops us after class. It can be a dwelling, a city, a network of friends, or a place where we spend a lot of time.
(09/14/10 12:52pm)
10. Insecurity
(09/01/10 4:40am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Paints. Goggles. Canvas. Calculators. Manuals.The list goes on, and the cost adds up.The price of books is a pain for everyone, but for some students their chosen major leads them down an even more expensive path.Certain degrees at IU — from the School of Health, Physical Education, and Recreation, the School of Education and the School of Fine Arts — often require classes that not only have pricey books, but additional fees for supplies. Sarah Cummins, a freshman majoring in human biology with a minor in medical science, said she has already experienced such costs in her first semester at IU.“My chemistry class alone basically cost around $400,” she said. “We got a new book that could only be bought hardback, a response card, goggles, a lab manual, laboratory graph paper, a calculator and an online access card where we do our homework.”With a major in the science field, Cummins said she knows she will have to face these costs continuously for the next four years — and for years to come after that.“I don’t think it’s necessary to have all of the materials cost as much,” Cummins said. “I can understand lab fees, though, because chemicals are expensive.”Sophomore Tom Colcord said he expects to spend about $200 on art supplies for his painting and drawing classes this semester — that’s in addition to tuition, housing and textbooks.As a freshman, Colcord said the extra costs were unexpected. But the studio art major said he’s now more prepared and has learned to factor supplies into his college budget.“By this time in my career as an undergraduate, I’m ready for it,” Colcord said. “It doesn’t catch me off guard.”While buying the supplies might be a hassle — requiring a few trips to Walmart or Pygmalion’s Art Supplies on North Grant Street — Colcord said it tends to average out with other course fees he bypasses, such as textbooks. Colcord spent approximately $150 on textbooks for his other classes. Coupled with the $200 he plans to spend on supplies, the total adds up to $350 worth of fees for the semester.Students can choose to buy their supplies from Pygmalion’s, which provides pre-packaged bundles for various IU art courses. While the bundle is an option, IU Provost Karen Hanson said students are not required to buy it, and can buy their supplies individually instead.“The stuff that is bundled by Pygmalion’s is also available piece by piece,” she said. “They’re supposed to be making that plain at the point of sale, and the faculty is supposed to be making it plain as well.”But art supplies are not the only school supplies weighing the pockets of IU students.Jordan Burns, a junior exercise science major, said he too has dealt with additional fees for classes. He is studying physical therapy, and said he takes a lot of five-credit hour science classes.“You have to get things like goggles and clickers, and if you take any type of HPER class you usually have to buy something else for it.”Burns said he spends about $500 a semester and usually gets his additional supplies from the T.I.S. College Bookstore.Though his supply cost situation can be frustrating and it sometimes seems unfair to have such extra costs, Burns said there really is no alternative.“I’d rather have goggles in a chemistry lab than not have them,” Burns said.
(04/30/10 2:31am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Thursday of dead week, a little after 1 a.m. The drunken fever of Little 500 has subsided into a dull hangover as students prepare for finals. More than a dozen students are curled up in chairs and bent over their laptops in the South Lounge at the Indiana Memorial Union. Starbucks closed hours ago and the eyelids are drooping.Two students occupy one of the notorious leather couches, prime napping real-estate during the day. One slowly works his way through a final paper as another flips through a copy of Sports Illustrated.Enter Rory Hondo Coyote Derryberry.Yes, that’s his real name. He has two IDs to prove it.Derryberry isn’t here to study. As he walks into the lounge, he makes a beeline for a couch across from the two students. In one fluid motion, he collapses onto it in an act that could almost be called graceful — if he wasn’t intoxicated.The two students look up in concern, contemplating if they should help him. As Derryberry pulls his hands up in front of his face, they decide he is probably all right.They weren’t the only ones who spotted him. Two IU Police Department officers make their way to the couch about 15 minutes after Derryberry collapsed.The officers approach Derryberry and begin to tease him, the two students recall. They crack jokes, asking if he needs a blanket. No? Maybe a bedtime story. How about a binky?Derryberry is up-front with the officers. When they ask him how much he’s had to drink, his answer is simple.“Too fucking much.”He’s lying back on the couch, feet propped up on the cushions. He tells the officers his name, and they radio it in to dispatch.“Rory Hondo Coyote Derryberry,” the officer says. The dispatcher doesn’t seem to believe him. He repeats the name, this time spelling it out.The officers continue to question Derryberry, but their tone is light, even playful. Derryberry is respectful, the word “sir” often slipping into his slurred speech. His carefree giggle mixes through it all.“Maybe we should just take him to jail because it would be fun,” the first officer says.“No,” the other replies. “He’s too happy to take to jail.”“I didn’t realize that was a factor,” one woman studying says.The officers lead him out through a back door, by the green awning. They watch him walk, jokingly encouraging him to place one foot in front of the other.As they stand on the steps outside the Union, the conversation is casual. Derryberry’s relaxed. The officers are entertained. The time inches closer to 2 a.m.The first officer tells Derryberry to walk down the steps and wait by a white van in the road. A cab’s coming to take him back to Teter Quad, he says. It’s unclear what’s happening. Are they really calling a cab? Or are they just trying to keep him calm until they get him back to the police station?“Were your parents tripping on something back in the day when they named you?” the first officer asks Derryberry as they wait by the curb. They can’t control his last name, the officer jokes, but at least they could have spared him with the others.Derryberry laughs, claiming he doesn’t know.“You really never asked?” the other officer asks.As a Yellow Cab pulls into view, Derryberry starts apologizing for his intoxication.“No, it’s cool, I’ve been there,” the same officer says. “I’ve been there, bro.”The officers guide Derryberry into the back seat of the cab. They close the door, laughing as the cab pulls away.
(04/26/10 4:45am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>They came together as a community.Family, friends and faculty gathered Sunday for a memorial service in the Indiana Memorial Union Alumni Hall to remember the life of junior Gregory Willoughby.“We knew he had friends here, but to actually hear them tell stories and share their memories, it was very cathartic,” said Andrea Wooley, Willoughby’s aunt.Through the memories and stories invariably came the references to his smile and sense of humor. Willoughby was known to many as shy and reserved, but he also had a gift of making others laugh.Speakers included Provost and Executive Vice President Karen Hanson, Rev. Patricia Efiom and assistant professor of psychology Sharlene Newman. Several friends and classmates of Willoughby also shared memories.After friends shared stories of his humor, Wooley spoke on behalf of the deceased student’s family. Willoughby loved roller coasters and dancing the electric slide. He was a fantastic singer, though he refused to sing in public. He was competitive. He loved to study the Bible and worship at church. He didn’t believe in ironing — that’s what the drier is for. He liked playing Scrabble, but mostly he liked winning.Their stories, of memories from Disneyland to dorm life, painted the picture of a beloved individual. Through it all, a projected photo of Willoughby covered the backdrop of the stage — his smile shone over everything.A funeral service took place on Tuesday at Jerusalem Temple Apostolic Church in Indianapolis. The memorial service Sunday allowed Willoughby’s family and friends to come together in grief and remembrance.“It was something that the family really needed,” Wooley said.Willoughby’s uncle, Forrest Wooley, Jr., said the service helped the family in a very different way than the funeral service did, allowing them to connect with Willoughby’s friends who have known him during the past few years.Willoughby was celebrated for his many accomplishments, including his reputation as a talented cellist. In light of his passion for music, the Jacobs School of Music All-Campus Orchestra and the African American Choral Ensemble performed in addition to individual performances by juniors Sarah Saviet and Esther Uduehi.Amidst music and speeches and tears hung unanswerable questions.“Where were we when the lights went out? Where where we when the music stopped playing?” Rev. Efiom of Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church asked the crowd.“We must learn from his life and his death,” she said. “A community doesn’t come from putting lots of students on the same floor.”Donna Brown, Willoughby’s aunt, said she hopes Willoughby’s legacy will live on and students will take heed of Efiom’s advice.“Lean on each other,” she said. “You are each other’s family.”
(04/15/10 4:43am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>They remember his smile.Whether working in a research lab, studying in his residence hall or jumping over the yellow posts outside of Best Buy, junior Gregory Willoughby was always smiling.“I never saw him once without a smile on his face,” said senior Andrew Nejad, a resident assistant in the honors community Willoughby lived in during his freshman year.Willoughby was found dead Tuesday in his room in Willkie Quad. “We’re shocked and saddened and trying to come to grips with it,” said Wells Scholars Program Director Timothy Londergan.Willoughby, a 2007 Wells Scholar, epitomized the qualities valued by the program, Londergan said. Academics, service and leadership were embedded into Willoughby’s life. His awards are numerous. A cursory glance at the organizations he was involved with identifies him as an engaged individual with a record that can only be categorized as impressive.Willoughby, a biochemistry major, worked as an undergraduate research assistant in the Cognitive Neuroimaging Laboratory in the Department of Psychological and Brain Sciences. He was also a cellist and served as co-principal chair in the All-Campus Orchestra in spring 2008. He was known to volunteer at the Monroe County Animal Shelter and the United Ministry Food Pantry.“He had these lovely other dimensions to his personality and life,” Wells Scholars Program Associate Director Charlene Brown said.While academics and research played a large role in his life — he spent his free time seeking out volunteers to run MRIs on for a research project — Willoughby’s sense of humor permeated his relationships.“He knew how to make people laugh,” said junior Esther Uduehi, a friend of Willoughby’s since freshman year. Uduehi and Willoughby shared a love for both science and music. With two other friends, they formed a quartet called “Stringin’ Scientists.” Sporting lab coats and goggles, the group performed at an informal Wells Scholars Program event. Willoughby, an accomplished cellist, topped off his outfit with a white wig.An avid “30 Rock” fan, Willoughby often played video games. Last semester, the voices of Barry Manilow and Mariah Carey could be heard from his room. Willoughby also sat in the balcony with his fellow Wells Scholars when Yo-Yo Ma performed at the IU Auditorium in March.Though Willkie residents describe the floors of Willkie as isolated and quiet, Willoughby’s floor freshman year was a tight community, characterized by open doors and a large floor-lounge. Willoughby navigated a busy schedule and was known to be reserved and shy at times, but he was very much a part of the community, said senior and honors community RA Polina Kostylev. “Everyone always felt comfortable talking to him and inviting him to events,” Kostylev said. "He’s impressive. He’s definitely someone a lot of people looked up to.”Even living in an honors community, Willoughby stood out as an academic characterized by outstanding intelligence and sincerity, Kostylev said.“He always knew what he wanted and was overall a smart and great guy,” Uduehi said. At the end of January, Londergan approved Willoughby’s study abroad program for the summer — first a stint in Spain and then another in Italy. Londergan said Willoughby wanted to strengthen his skills in speaking Spanish so he could join the Peace Corps for a few years. From there, he planned to obtain his Ph.D. in chemistry.“He’s a phenomenal person who had so much potential and was destined for great things,” Uduehi said. “He had so much ahead of him.”