. ~

l

Volume Two • Spring 1996 • $3.00

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the attitudes and viewpoints of the diverse

population of th University of Alaska Anchorage family, particularly

its students. It will provide accurat and timely information in entertaining,

informative and

relevant ways. It will also provide a

professional and personal growth

experience to the Journalism and Public

Communications Department students

who create it. The taff

will always eek to repr sent student' interest

first and foremost and

will trive to be fair in all discourse. Thi pub­lication is not a vehicle for divisiveness.

Instead, it will strive through its conten to unite readers in a

is a point of determination. A

pathway to more.

With this second edition

of True North, we celebrate the

intersection of our lives, This

self-supporting publication,

produced entirely by stu­

dents, represents the success­

ful navigation of our journey.

In navigation, true north

is not the same as magnetic

north, In order to reach our

destination, we must adjust

our course from the compass

read ing.

The staff of True North would like to thank Atwood

Profess~r of Journalism Tad

Bartimus - our navigator.

With her guidance, w 've

traveled beyond the bound­

a ries of ex pecta tion.

p.. Thanks, Tad, for

holding your breath - and

reminding us to breathe!

When the staff of True North brainstormed for the

theme of the Spring 1996

issue, words like "destina­

tions," "connections," "rela-

Welcome to Troe North.

\:)0,...4.H.'~"1 editor in chief

tivity" and "duality" were

offered up. But none ade-J .

quately describe the heart of

the University of Alaska

Anchorage-a.nd its students.

We're a community, but

we lead lives beyond this

'campus. With a median age

of 27, we represent a broad

spectrum of the larger

Alaska. We're not easily

'defined in a single word.

Then it came to us. We all

share a common goal. Like

those who came this way

before us and those who will

follow, UAA is our

Crossroads.

We make separate plans,

chart many paths and travel

different routes.' We're indi­

viduals, but for all of us, this

tad barlimus atwood professor of joumali m

1993 - 1996 photo In) ken julian

margaret knowles copy editor

tad bartimu atwood professor of Journalism

editor & publisher

irue NOl1n is published annually by the instructional program of the Journalism and

Public Communications Department of the University of Alaska Anchorage, 3211

Providence Drive, Building K·203, Anchorage, Alaska 99508. Volume Two ©1996

irue Nol1n. ISSN pending. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part

granted with written permission. UAA is an EO/AA employer <lnd educational

institution.

2 4' True Nortn ";~ Spring 1996

paula m. story editor in d1ief

deanna thomas chante1 dambecky senior editor promotions

april carter mike hinman design djrector photography editor

bonnie doucette craig farrar art director contributing editor

nick ahnen advertising manager

Jim sharp production manager

cover photo by laurie marchesnni photo illustration by bonnie doucette

rebecca greenberg contribu tor

22 by nick ahnen

44

~

by jim sharp

37

40 by ani mareck

28 by mike hinman

24 byapr-il carter

by jim sharp

oc

4 leap of faith by chantel dombecky

9 now! by dean wariner

10 dow tim by margaret knowles

13 a slice of anchorage by craig farrar

16 mental morphism by deanna thomas

19 gee! haw! whoa!

a world without chalk

transfiguration

season f darkness

ways to love

renaissance stu ents by paula m. story

hut, two, three, degree'

passage by bonnie doucette

printed by Anchorage Daily News

True Nolin ¢ Spring 1996 ¢ J

education college. Tkacheva was in her first year of college when she got Stoklos' offer.

"I've always wanted to go to the big cities like New York and San Francisco. It was so awesome to finally see them," she says.

Texas and Colorado remain Tkacheva's favorite states because of their beauty.

Tkacheva began speaking English at age ten. With a soft-spo­ken voice and a hint of Russian accent, it's hard to believe this flu­ent speaker ever had problems with the language, but random slang terms used in conversation made it hard for her to comprehend Americans.

"The hardest part of under­standing the language was getting used to people's accents and how fast they would talk," she says

Receiving an education at UAA has been a revelation, because in Russia her college was one building and the classrooms were lecture ........................~-

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halls that held about 200 students. "Students never come to class

late or leave early in Russia. We don't eat or drink in class, either," she explains.

Tkacheva believes she will ben­efit as a business major because of warming relations between Russia and the United States.

"I think I am a competitive per­son and there's risk involved in business," she says.

A hard adjustment for Tkacheva was living with a host family when she first arrived. Living off campus in a family life environment instead of a college student's environment didn't suit her.

"The family was different than my family at home, but ever since I have moved into the dorms, every­thing has been fine."

Also, communication in Russia isn't as casual as in the United States.

"I like how older people (here)

look at younger people as a peer. We (Russians) have to address our elders formally and they usually aren't friendly with younger peo­ple."

Tkacheva plans to live perman­ently in the United States.

"I think I want to stay in Alaska because the opportunities here are good due to the Russian and American businesses going on. Plus, my good friends are here."

When Tkacheva went home last summer, her dad said she seemed to be "Americanized."

"My friends thought 1 had an accent and I seemed a little differ­ent," she said.

Has Tkacheva been Americanized?

"I like Alaska, and I missed doing the things I do here when I was home," she says. "1 miss what I do at home, but it's not as much fun as Anchorage. I feel like this is my home now." ".

BP EXPLORATION (ALASKA) INC. lMOo.o

Congratulates the accomplishments of UAAls

Journalism and Public Communications Department

as they begin their second successful year of publishing

rue or BP Exploration wishes you continued success and

reward in your educational and professional

pursuits in 1996 and beyond.

Irue Nort ~. Spring 1996 'I" 1

OJ' • • TELECOMMUNICATIONS

UNDERSTANDING

8 'I" True Nortn 'I" Sprin~ 19%

NOW!

by dean wariner

N w is Ihe menl I can ~elieve:

Ye Ie ay ~ 19~t; _­

TomQrroW h~s_n;t -happe~ed.--. -, -- ...

This instant rriylife 'is real:_

i ~~ -t~s{e -j~~e .~od sadn~s._ . I- can: run -free 01: 'sft. '

. Icaridiscmret..

N w, is a' beatlUfur-pll'lce~'

Far f~om:lh~ -(a'i1ings, oi~ y~sterday, Brighter tha~ (h~ pr6inise- of tomorFow: __-- ':­

Sweet with the tloneysuckle: ai~. -, __ -,

Fresh as the wind Off lhe:walei\ ­

Now is where 1 want Iv live: .

Slipp d of the chains of guilL;

Free from lhe tide of lrouble

That held me PI" on lhes n any ye8rs.

Now Is life's rewa tor going 011.

-,

T North.,- pring 1996 .,. 9

I

lJUillrl 'JJJJJ~ lJ[jillrl 'JjJ1J!;) lJfjillrl 'Jj1JJ~ D[jl..Ur,- -- -- ~ -­

hile other students rush out of the classroom in a blind

panic, Brooke Mossefin shrugs her shoulders and remains

calm. She knows she has a million things to do, but for the

moment she is content to rest. Besides, much of her life is

centered here, on this long, narrow strip of buildings that

make up the campus.

/0 ~. True Norlh ¢ )pring 1996

"My professors seem to think that I have no life, that all I ever

want to do is study for their class. Wrong l I'm always busy. If I

had time to only be a student, I would be okay."

College life at the University of Alaska Anchorage is definite­

ly not traditional Of the approximate 15,000 students enrolled on

this campus, only about 400 live in dorms. For most students the

university is a place to attend classes for a couple of hours, then

leave.

But Mossefin, 21, chooses to spend her free time taking

advantage of the dozens of activities on campus that many stu­

dents never know about, let alone enjoy. She spends five days a

week either in class or looking for entertainment. She is not

alone.

Daniel Perri en, 20, a sophomore who usually carries 18 cred­

its each semester, knows a lot about life at UAA. Like Mossefin,

he spends the majority of his time on campus, some of it study­

ing and doing school work, but often doing other things. He vol­

unteers three hours a week at KRUA, the campus radio station,

but says it can easily inch up to more than 15 hours. He writes a

column, "Hiphopcrisy," for The Northern Light student newspa­

per, about the latest hiphop and rap music.

Perrien pries himself away from his work every Monday night

to play basketball as part of the intramural program offered by

the UAA Athletics Department.

I

"There is a lot of competition to be picked for the best teams," he says. "People watch you play for a few weeks, then teams are selected. It's hard."

Andrew Mosby, the intramural director, says more than 200 people sign up each year for sports ranging from basketball to

flag football to indoor soccer or racquetball. Students into serious competi­

tion can be found at the Spring Team Challenge, held in April. Eight teams of 15 people compete in inner tube water polo, running, volleyball, broomball, basketball and tug-of-war. Competition is intense, but the main goal is to bring students, staff and facul­ty together in a campus setting.

Students looking to spend time with

their families can always return to campus Saturday nights when the student activities department shows a movie.

Going to a movie in Anchorage might cost a family of four $30; at UAA it's more like paying for entertain­ment with spare change found beneath a couch cushion. More than 400 people, half of them under age 10, show up to watch the movies every year.

"The event was created ... to get students with fami­lies of their own involved with UAA," says Annie Route, UAA's student activities coordinator.

As a line of cars snakes out of the parking lot, stu­dents for the next class begin to enter the sunny room. Mossefin stands up, collects her books and scurries off to

[rue Nortn ~~ ~pring 1996 ~~ II

the Campus Center for Noon Music. The tunes actually play from

11:30 a.m. to 2 p.m. Every week a local musician hired by the student activities department entertains stu­dents in the south cafeteria. Some musicians play traditional folk music, others sing popular songs heard on the radio. The Noon Music program offers local singers and performers an opportunity to tryout their original material on an audience. Brooke listens for a while before going to look at student art.

Just upstairs and around the corner, student work is displayed in the Campus Center Art Gallery. The large, open room is flooded with light streaming through the floor-to­ceiling windows. The look is mini­malist, so as not to overwhelm the artwork. A radio plays quietly in the background as students peruse the art displayed on the walls. Paintings with bold strokes and bright colors scream for attention as other, more subdued paintings beg

for recognition. Richard Cochinos, 20, a fuIl­

time UAA mt student, sits behind a small table. He monitors people in the gallery and answers questions they may have about the shows.

Meanwhile, in the Business Education Building, students rush to and from classes as Mossefin ambles past the Advising and Counseling Department. She notices a bulletin board beckoning students to stop and take a look. She always does.

Handouts giving advice on how to handle a life filled with chaos are stapled next to hints on preparing for job interviews.

The "How To" list of work­shops is endless - stay safe on cam­pus, write a good resume, manage your time. Anyone can make a sug­gestion for a workshop. The depart­ment tries to make sure that the information students want IS

always available. Class times are flexible, says

department clerk Chris Aust. In addition to daytime workshops, classes also are available in the evening for people with tight sched­ules. Four to six workshops are held each month.

Around the corner, the smell of fried meat mingles with the aroma of popcorn, pulling students to cam­pus on a wintry Saturday. A potluck dinner sponsored by ative Student Services offers music and friend­ship. People of all ethnic groups share stories, traditional foods and a little down time.

To help students celebrate cul­tural diversity, another club, the African, Hispanic, Asian, International and Native American Association (AHA A), highlights a different ethnic group each month, such as September with "Hispanic Heritage" and February with "Black History Month"

On the east end of campus, the UAA Theatre Department offers student-directed one-act plays. This particular week, Wendy Wasserstein's play, "The Heidi Chronicles," is one of four main­stage productions students can audition for or attend each year. Students are involved in everything from casting and directing roles to costume design, sound and lighting.

Truly stressed-out students storm the Campus Center for Study Break ights in the week leading up to final exams. When Mossefin needs a break from cramming, she can spend a couple of hours watch­ing sitcoms on a huge TV screen and eating tons of free food.

Besides, there's so much to do here on campus, who has time to worry about finals? oon music is over and Brooke gets ready for her next class.

"It's hard work being a student, but think how boring my life would be if I had nothing else to do other than study," she says.

With a laugh, she turns and walks away, headed for her next UAA discovery. ~'

IL -?' True North ";~ Spring 1996

by craig farrar

One Saturday in Anchorage, plucked out of the air from every

other, is the heart of our little tale.

In spring, dawn arrives slowly behind the Chugach Mountains,

bringing the city a morning glow rather than bright sunlight. Jets

streaking over the polar route toward Europe have their contr<:lils lit

pink· by the morning sun. University of Alaska Anchor<:lge students

<:Iwake <:It this moment will c<:ltch same of Alaska's natural beauty.

Often, they a.lso have a similar thought: "Man, I need some coffee

before r skid off the road."

Kaladi Brothers coffee shop on Frontage Road opens at 7 <:I.m.,

offering salvation in caffeine. The place is out of the way, unlike the

dozens of shoe box-sized huts that beckon in neon and strobe lights as

you zip off late to cl.a e days. Kaladi's offers atmosphere as

il1iS'(X)ffe~,artWodCii:nd~c~~I:'S'~:~oi1..

:::;:===---~=...:....~=--=,~~=-======---==-~----

my Magstadt, a 23-year-old nursing student, has been there since 6 a.m., working hard to provide service to the weary and weird "morn­ing people." The tip jar fills

quickly. Parked at a table near the door,

browsing through a newspaper, is Eppie Hogan, 25, a master's student in the Environmental Quality Science program. Alaska was a little different than she had expected w hen she arri ved in 1994 from upstate New York.

"I thought I knew what winter was. This year, I was a little better prepared for the darkness and the cold," she says, bundled in a baggy fleece jacket, her hands wrapped firmly around a cup of steam­ing java.

She fuels up with caffeine for her usual Saturday activity, refereeing youth league soccer for the YMCA at a local elemen­tary school. She bends to the kids' height to explain her calls, pat s the m o n the

back and

offers sug­gestions.

"It's great. I get to interact with

the kids without actually having any."

With very little on­campus housing, most

UAA students live on their own and need the basics - like

really cheap food - to survive.

14 ~ True North ~~ Spring 1996

When Top Ramen is a little too expensive at 10 for a dollar, Costco is the clear answer. Nothing says shopping delight more than buying pickles in bulk right next to where you get your winter tires. A hidden Saturday bonus of Costco is the ability to eat free. Display tables, complete with smiling servers and gingham tablecloths, are set up throughout the aisles. The famished graze on

a delightful

selection of reduced-fat

breakfast muffins, diet soda

and healthy, fat-free oatmeal cookies. Free

brunch, one sample size at a time. Bon appetit!

Around 11 a.m., Borders Books and Music offers a chil­

dren's story hour. Light, new age music plinks through the air as browsers pick through the books. Like most Saturdays, Marlene Lammers and her daughter, 3-year­old Kourtnei, are here to enjoy time together with friends.

"It's inexpensive fun," says Lammers. "We just pay for drinks and let the kids go wild."

Downtown Anchorage at noon on Saturday is usually a mecca for shoppers. Today the Iditarod also starts its 1,049-mile trail to Nome on Fourth Avenue, so hundreds of spectators, UAA students among them, have gathered around yelp­ing dogs and trucked-in snow.

At Westchester Lagoon, the city has cleared snow off the frozen

pond and cre­

ated a nat­ural skating

rink. A perfect afternoon activity

is lacing up a pair of blades and gliding

across the vast expanse of ice. The location has

become a "hot" spot for Saturday afternoons, with

music, food and heated barrels to warm chilled appendages.

On a hill overlooking Anchorage, at Stuckagain Heights, Elaine Houriean and Kiki Hess, both 24, enjoy a brilliant sunset atop their snowboards. They chase the last rays of sunlight down the hill before going home to warm up for an evening of Star Trek viewing with friends.

Anchorage is notorious for burning out nightclubs and bars with alarming rapidity and regular­ity. At 8 p.m., in the Java Joint cof­fee house, a pair of master's stu­dents in English calling themselves the Rude Mechanicals (a Shakespearean reference nobody gets) is playing some folk music for the sparse crowd. Tonight, Bob Clark, 33, and Jeff Silverman, 35, have only four months' experience performing in front of live audi­ences and have yet to get to the point in their careers where these gigs bring in any money. "On a good night, you usually get enough to buy new strings and stuff," says one Mechanical.

By 10 p.m., th~ CJ1~f'S_ hm.is.-a· hoppin' scene. Packed to standing room only, late arrivals must share tables with people they don't know. The blues band shaking the house calls itself Harry Ross & the

Allnighters, and is little more than a conglomeration of local artists slapped together for a glorious jam session.

Later, one of the bar's waitress­es, along with the sound board operator, steps to the stage to belt out tunes. The microscopic dance floor is packed with migratory cou­ples in frantic urgency. Music is the focal point, volume the key.

Seated with her date at one of the tables in the middle of the bar is Gina Weinberger, 25, an anthropolo­gy student who comes to the Chefs Inn for the atmosphere.

"I'd much rather hang out here than in a meat market," she says. As she makes the statement, a guy leans across the table and becomes instantly annoying. She shoots him down in brilliant flames The band

gets back from its break and all is forgotten.

At midnight, choices of places to go in Anchorage are limited. Standing like an odd, misshapen beacon in the night is the ever-pre­sent Chilkoot Charlie's, an Alaska institution. People who have weird imaginations and have often won­dered what it would feel like to ride in cattle cars are right at home at 'Koots as they fork over the cover charge and slide in sideways, just like sardines, into the mass throng of undulating humanity that resides within those walls.

On Saturday night, college stu­dents mingle with military guys sporting high and tight haircuts who travel in packs. Talking with someone becomes a screaming con­test - despite the fact that you're

standing nearly on top of them. A drink is an imagined thing, a wait­ress an illusion as she sandwiches her way to wherever she's going. Her tray is raised above her head as if she were the Statue of Liberty. This is the perfect college bar; well, if it were in a college town it would be. Here it becomes a conglomera­tion of the young people in Anchorage. All the young people in Anchorage.

Saturday in Anchorage is an entirely personal thing. The ability to work, the stress relief of skiing or other outdoor activities, the desire to go out to listen to music, meet people or just hang out and talk are individual choices. Watching stu­dents entertain themselves could become a hobby in itself.~·

Partners i Alaska1s Fut e

ARea Alaska, Inc.

~..

True NOlin -?~ Spring 1996 ¢ I,

s hIe y chultze, 21,

b gall )11 ge wanting t b

an engine r. Three years later, he has ('xchang~

hi..:: cak'Ulator fOT c1 sweat­hirt and switched hi

major to ph " i al duca­tion.

He' no diff r nt than the mall)' college freshmen h -e lives are cl uded by Illte night .c am sessions high n

.. ca ffeine;: 1'- ~J...ey ames ari.d'.Hving . n a. h e­string bu~tg t: Th -t; ~tu­l ents fr~9uen~ly dt;JIl't e . liege for what it·

reall is -un erstanding.

photo illustration by bonnie doucette

16 'j~ Irue North ¢ Spring 1996

,­. The.f i. 11 i fa~'d- ot,: I].cret buildin- s aHed

. Ult:8ni. 'e1: jfy: f.Alasku-Anch()ragl:houses~oppor­ by deanna thomas: -tui1.i.ti~s:Fr·.2Q,OOl)s~~dents~to deve"top< 1 und r­~-fa'i).Lfing~6f-_-hotliey-,1re-al{d'wllat th y beli V in,

-_~" Filidll~g iJ~e11';sef'_es -]_mri1~rsed ill a pIa' ~vhere , they are (0 }alttly :~C)mbarlf.ed ,\-\iith van u: the­ties; I;:onc_ pCliia:,9pl-lih, s"rLid,ents - m-"t s mggle ·t figi.l~ () t_ wlv t _e~ want,out of th ir education

~ - ~ltholr h -J 6t all 'students Jlile. IIp to sign lh "ye r)n.1.stratecl wn'l~:pr~i~;sors~:Vho , p~'p- 1_<\-' rk.to8'~:<i.i:c-Ii--.thelr:[najo.i: every -time-a n w . liid not imrhedialely gi veJ~t:'r,-"the"

cl s ::;p~arksthe;r )l~.ter sf, m~ny find th ir int r .ts an w rSJo b~"r qiJ~s~i()I1s."., ' " cha~;iing __as _tiicy~.a. jW t" tl~e'r-yaI1 . syst n5. or ar "1 don't ~ ee,tha'ffhe1,e.rs'~1L\v;1V-Sa

~ - _ _ - . .J.

b 'anci'wh-ite a:h~v';'-er:a~ny'mor~,", . '-Fot Schultz--, it-va -,C- math'r .' f mIner to term eX"pi)~ qJ pii~lS-, ley diqrro~ know·. xist I.

Watchu,ssays.~:'fu~ed to thin~' tl~ere ith- \.\;hci-t:r ~- ~~tcd.it1-doi-i~~his:ii eveisH!? wh the . was 'nIJi.()n~ right ans\ver!', ',_ -_

th6ught-'s~)Cye.tY \.Ya.~t~:r:ll1Il1:to_ do. e s he, is Now,:, she'- saYs;1i.~r ~'an~ers mu J)n~(ir.c nteli.t':~.v-Pr.Rin:g .toward,hi h si al con-lein ~ai:ying sh~des-_()-t: graY;, educati -n{i -J1 e.-", '-, . Since -!ea.rning,d~sri.'{$lhyays

. : Th'if(:cl1811gc . me: 0nly, after h~ e, tized his conl~ in ,the-JOJ:Ilj of _~oo}<.S;_-rrillCh: f -_ str~n': lhs<fh- :, w. - "t '~S!thJ1'g_~t ad. k cru cilio . siud.e0fs--k!10wle~i ge _:h~ ~1.p~ns· 1

mi_l?e~sll.-d-~ ,~~- he.-say-s._--"l:g'qtbUrll ~d()ut on all 'ih ourse 'OC---c<,lll\lers,;-fi<:)ii.s - \-vi th that 1_- afh_-:l'J-~ .il1ore~ n) -ica!.-person: i

' ot r: _wb_di:r , i::lafiStn-<\les'~ act -as -:.5_0ilY· wil(tiilli, tl.eif a-nswersin th> inner work­ . ui1di-ng bl)aidS£~ride~1s a__I-I~ ques­

ilii~ ~)f-~n iltltoml)hll~-.-Fpr.othersi it',s und '~stan r 19 tion "prOfeSSQfS_ pIa)':-- the. [.()le' of the ii,_tricaci '5'-fShaResrearec~n SOnilets. For most, mediatoraildi&:turei:' -.'

it's l-it:ning-fo t _u!,t,t· '~6Wll j-ntell tan Ali~g!"a- 5tQetzel, ~a 22­_ -elieve-ifr,tI- ,<Ii rt'6ftheinl-'nth u hts, , -ye_ar-:o.ld _'"-eel If<;:atio.ri_ :-ilJaj r,

--, A"~g~la: .n>...'~r/-~~~ i,i:ye 'j-=ol~ .political " .sl1e ha.5. gain.ed -instghts sCi -, ce: ~lr.!-li;- ~ays~ l~ers~has:'bee!) a proc s froni. pepple she Lia~: encoLin­ofg:rQ~;ing t C: develo-p ~idt:as ,al d th ughts Now, she says, : - tered.: in- cl~s~e-s.,".YOl} can indepcnd,cnt-oJHI ~s-.. " . , learn:fr0ffi a-yar(et5i-of peo­

"t lhjnk~.v), -n yelll st~rt,conegt' , . u t nd her answers ple,'.' -slle says-.: ': : . ~ reJY,on W ~t ~jks and prof Sl)r say_ I . .- ·Ken--Mil)aha-in,-- who- ha Ulink nO''Y-l'l~l~-_n].m~ i:Viliing to_sa what I come In vary- ._spent" 20 ye~1rs' t(niger ttlc n h( ve to s?y-a.nd u, -h ok' to b" ~1<. j[ up," she ing shades of :: S~~)et:-~~I ~om-illLtni.(--atii~g with sav ...: ~~-, --- ~"- ~:- - . . other , :sav5 -he- -is, --Still learn­

'- -Brewel', ai '-·~--ai·j~iJlg foi-' her 0\ 'TI gray. '-ing-~ J~o_~/'-to ~_c~111111Ulji at answers-}is rna' ~ ner Uio . ht n> e" ' : beb~ri.ng issue_sand listening d r~r." 't": heIp- dn-ier ~Iearn\ \-V tothink. to fello,~stud-ent~ bas m.a ~

in hI h' 0 I r dl I't think verv \ II for hi.m~Ie -Judgmeuta.] _. od .' -,,". - ~~ . ~- - -. - ~-

nws-·lt. . -, '- - , mo-re- patien,t. -, _ - _'- ': -i ~_ '-il :-of-:ii -~tin "tlwr~ ]~aTI]..i.ng to facl. and fig- -_:T don!t -nlake -as ..many -snap -- LUeS, '~il-S(~~l€astudcl;~.-begjtl-rt)::;e wh I i efl dedsi()Jis C1bOL!( people ~'i~~ ereat

instead.'cof -parts-f. Jd -C!s; 'like- nursing:seu)or LisC\ tolerallce/ tte:·sa'ys..-- :. - '... "'. -.-' Wate-hus. - " - - -. - ." - ­ . Bythe~ime·~il:.l.deiltsst~gger: . lIt

'. ~:F(;r~ i~ ~r, -th i$:11 '·c l-r~s_h ~ ijli·d~r~t(;fndsho.. all of of oilege; .they ~x-\...'Ul m()st.-Ji~ely be - ettie-part ~J-tli b' )r-_~6rk16ge Ij~r andhc)w dru s . armed :with 'm('n~~I-r~ap's_-t.hat will

_- jilt ~ra€t witI1J~adjorg -'l>WFtCli 'sAtUirst began, h t k 'then(t~) p!~ce? th~ynev~r imag­-, ~a)fs shc:.slmggi d .l-'see-if rn-~roa~terms~ -. : 'ined,going.,~:·'_. ,- _' .~--

"-.'~ ()\\C rcflll-.s~call {iJ thpie~~of the.puzzl fall -, _ "_olleg.e _ is _a -c-rossrliaCis or --into.pi ( ,I Fe J iik~ tho ~i~hoie. \~rI4- hcl. ) n d up them. It: ts.· a Infn!O!-oi2-el"!in-g, and .tlill1e.'~ '--. - - .' . - ',' --' ­ broad nillg'ex.perie:nce," ~say, AA

-Wa_tcJ.1w-'ay-:s~h - pent"m )'5t qf her freshman un' elOI:Robert-_5te'\·VarL ',.,..'

X1rue Nordl -9 Spring 1996 -9" 17

- - -

e. \i1Y,· Me..tt1Y~" "MHt.1"Y . - - -IfA _ ---.- -_ .. 1Vlq· .

. ... BY De"""a 'HoMa. . . -"';0 ~)..

.."[J.. hen I was a child, it seemed " aeveiy adult I met asked ih ..me que,tio'1 - whatdo you wanI 10 be

when you grow up? Flashf(;mvard--to my high' ho I waduation.I'd hard1yfini"shed flipping-11l/ ssef­

before my family and friends, -Iooking-pt'- ith expectant eyes, k d me the dreaded-_qT:lestion - whilt an:" you-­

going to do now? After the firsff~\.v-~lilbarra$.ing answers of "I don't know," or "I h~ven't really thought ilbpuf­

it yet," I realized 1needed a pla-n.-­

_I soon decided_1 wahted -to b~ ~ history h~.lcher. I mean, why not? I liked hist ry in high School. By the time I· ­

arrived at college-:th~W9ids'_wererolling uff y tongue ith uth rity, as if 1 had spellt-years pondering this-­

1116ve: I ... WANT :.:.1"0 -... -BE< ... TfICH .. SCHOOL Y ... TEACHER.

r took a gre~t~histoty out my fir t s ester e profe sor brought Andi~'w:Ja{;kson, George _:

Washington arid.:FtanklinD. ROll~ v· t~f'Ii.~!f&J" tiJme with discus j n un pliblic policy ilnd bor- ­..... .

.ing dates.In"itead,he told me Andr m her husband.--My histotyteacher .

- tal..lgh~exacHrfheway rwanted to leech - until I t

, : ThE;monientI walked inl( Psych 101 [kn

brought a-ft)rmaldchydL"-soak d human brain t

The-~_arh~-d<:i:/ he brought in th br; in, 1calle m now a pvchology"niajor She lis-­-' - - .,. - .

tened- intently"tliensupported my d cision. In hinds~;ht;~~iqp!Cts: w this woul not be-the last time l'd

call her- witl~' a chcmge of heart.

I stuck 'with psydi9logX for two y ar', until vision 0 dep sed patient, years of gra-d~afe:schooland neu­

r6tic colleaguesplagtiedJri~head. It 'A, slime t mov' on. :

Where else to find ani~aiorbut bf looking through the course catalogu ? Pa sing over accounting (T hate

math), biplogy (science-is tOl~ilar~:f}-and economics (T didn't do so h t in an earlier econ.omics class), I ended HI? il)

the Js,.Hey, !-thought, here'-s jOl!rn~li5~11 __ ureka! Allh ugh I'd never taken a joun1alismclass,.1 kn'm,v I'd found"

my calling because twaS the 0)11)[ per~Ol} 1 knew who could pull off a lO-pag papel' in--one_\-1ight without batting- '.'- - - - - -'

an eye.

One month away fromrny coIfege graduation my moHler still d eSn'fthi~kJ!ve finished changing my mind.­

-_It helps _to kilO\'" ~ am not alone in this e.xperIence. uring my freshnianyeaT, -my f00liunate was: G_ mathemil ttc:'

niajor. She graduated in 1995 with a broadcasLJoumalj ttl degree anci n~WB~~~s-cotfe-e OJ1 thG set ofthe TV sllo\"';

: Melrose Place. My best frtel\d .that sclme yec1f\-Va?: gqing tbe odor; she is'now in ber Jitstyearof law 5ch601.

When I see adults asking cI1iJdrel1 wh.a(th~ywallt to b wheldhey grow up, Iamconvin(e9- tht~yarenotrear-

, Iy interested in the chilG['sfl;tl~re- ti~ey a~e Clctual-fy seeking-c~re~r~-dvke: . - - - ­

I look forward to tile day \~h~n -I walk acr~ss thestag~ to receive 1~1Y dipluma. 1. can aIread.y see my family's

eager faces and hear the question - what arey(;u g(;in~{to~~no':v_,t~at'y~lt!~e-ir~wl~U~?~'

I8 ~. rrue North 'i' Spring 1996

I

88! aW! boa!

iving under the poverty level

in Otto's Cabin! a mile from the

nearest electrical line and about 250

miles north of Anchorage. The only

light came from the old pot-belly

stove, which lit the room at night. It

glowed through cracks between its

door and the cast iron body! casting

em orange glow over the room.

"111 the long, long night, by the lone firelight! while the huskies, round in a

ring, Howled out their woes to the homeless snows - 0 God! how I

loathed the thing."

Cabin fever had set in. Cold,

darkness and solitude. I was primed

for a beer, and maybe some conver­

sation, at the Healy Roadhouse

about five miles away. My only

mode of transportation, besides my

snowshoes, was a dog team. I was

taking care of my friend Jim

Blakeway's dogs while he was in the

Lower 48.

1'd never run dogs before, but

by jim sharp ••.­excerpts from Robert Service,

"The Cremation of Sam McGee",

Collected Poems of Robert Service

irue Nortn -1>" Spring 1996 -1>" 19

I

l A J K A

J URNALOf (OM~lIRCI

Joan Ray 249-1900

Ketc ikon TlI1a Williams 225-3157

oily ews

JUNEAU Jo""Wm""~'" EMP*RE

'The Voice oj Alaska's Capital City'

THE DA I LY Thad Paulson 747-3219

SENTINEL

ALASKA IBm i~

NEWSPAPERS INC. Christopher Casali 272-9830

L0 ¢ ,rue Nortn ?" )pring 1996

I'd never run dogs before, but

there's always a first time. Besides,

the premise seemed simple enough.

How many dogs would I need? I'd

figure that out in the process. I ride,

they run.

First, I pointed the sled in the

direction of the bar and laid the tow

rope out in front. I took a harness in

one hand and a dog in the other.

guided one foot through this side of

the harness and pleaded, "Sit! Stayl

Come here'"

I rolled my eyes, thinking of

how smart I was as the dog ran free.

The excitement level in the dog yard

rose as the renegade canine tested

the chains of the others.

After a few more unsuccessful

tries, the dog either to_o~ pity or

became bored with my _chasing him.

I reattached the harilessed dog to its

chain and reached for another.

I straddled this next dog and

hel her between my legs before

slipping the harness over her head.

Success - two down l By the third

dog I put my hand through the har­

ness and pulled the paw and leg

through. I was really getting the

hang of this. After the fifth dog, I

decided that was the magic number.

It was like preparing for a family

outing with five small children.

Besides, I was thirsty.

low the trick was to hook the

dogs to the tow rope while keeping

them from running away with the

sled, getting tangled up, and fight­

ing among themselves. Then, once

they were all rigged up, I needed to

be able to unhook the anchor and

head down the trail.

"And on 1 went, though the dogs were

spen t and the grub was getting low; The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,

but 1 swore 1 would not give in ... "

•• ••

These dogs weren't very obedi­

ent. Their agenda did not match

mine. But they were enthusiastic (as

they repeatedly pulled my arm out

of its socket) while I led them, one

by one, to the tow rope.

1 stepped onto the back of the

sled and pulled the anchor.

Yee-haw' We propelled down

the path and past the front of the

house. The lead dog must have

thought I said "Gee'" or "Haw'"

because before I had time to think, I

was doing somersaults with the sled

as the dogs took an immediate right

around the house on a non-existent

trail that, thankfully, dead -ended

into a deep snow bank.

.••••­

" ... we were mushing our way over the Dawson Trail. Talk of your cold l

Through the parka's fold, it stabbed like n driven nail."

The whole team cowered as I

emerged, looking like a white ghost.

I untangled myself and the dogs

and again pointed everything in the

right direction. The next stop was

the roadhouse. Well, almost.

Except for a few bumps, scrapes

and close calls with large trees, I

made it. In the instances where my

feet came off the runners I was

grateful I held on as tight as I did; I

never knew I could run so fast.

••­•.•-• •.

But I grinned all the way and a

true musher was born. After a few

hours and a few beers at the road­

house, the frigid night air and the

ride home didn't seem nearly as harsh. ~.

"And the dogs were fed and the stars o'erhead were dancing

heel and toe ... "

UM IS AN rO'AA (~PLOY( R......m EDUCA TJOH"L ~Sl1TljT1Otl True Nortn if' ~pring 1996 ij" L1

The scent of wet leaves mingles with cool

autumn air in timeless memories. We

come here, all of us, with our own vision

of the next few years. Some come in sweet ecstasy,

some in trepidation. We all come here to take a journey

of knowledge.

Fall progresses. Tasting snow on our lips, we take

the first faltering steps through the seasons of the acad­

emic world. Treacherous roads, frozen fingers wrClpped

around tear-stained papers marked in red.

"Oh, my God, I can't do this'" Snow flies harder,

faster, painting us into a cold, gray world. We shiver.

Piercing doubt clouds our sleepless nights.

Scrdmbling, we tear through winter's grip.

Classes, teachers, projects. They come and they go,

some in force touching our core, changing us far more

than we know at the time. Some slip by in oblivion.

Through it all, we reach out to the people struggling

with us. Their encouragenlent forces us to go on when

we want to quit. We work harder, harder. There is no

end in sight.

And then we feel it. Slowly, with graceful delibera­

tion, a pdle daffodil lifts its frClgile head from dormant

constraints. Sunshine glitters dbove. Snow-capped

mountains rise majestic in the distance. Raise your

heCld. Feel the light on your cheeks.

Icy roClds melt. Spring is here, hurrying forward on

eager feet. We can see the end. It is time.

We pause, looking back. Then the moment comes

and we move toward the door. We are frightened,

exhilarated. We have done it' Graduation. We smile.

Summer's wClnnth welcomes us. ",'

photo by tau'rie 177archesani

24 ~. Irue Norln ../ )pl'ing 1996

chalk - cantin ued from page 23

But experts predict that 15 years from now, students will spend much less, and rely more on digital­ly-stored information. University bookstores may be busier selling sweatshirts than textbooks.

In fact, this very year in Anchorage a nonprofit group is organizing to break up the UAA bookstore monopoly by connecting over the Internet sellers of used books to buyers of used books without a middleman. Competition in cyberspace will be good for consumers.

The future could also mean the end of lugging a 20-pound bookbag. Instead, students of the future might be carrying a single unobtrusive electronic notebook similar to that of a day timer, which ''''ill hold everything you need: a fax, your "books," elec­tronic money, everything.

screwed. Sort of like losing your backpack now.

What about the role of profes­sors in the future? Some people fear technology may replace professors. Microsoft Corporation co-founder Bill Gates, in his book "The Road Ahead," says that "IT WONT" Professors will continue to be an integral part of the university set­ting while technology aids teaching.

Eli M. Noam, professor of

NiCk's top picks for way-cool sites

Harlel/ Links /-loS l-lcClvcn! http://ww\~•. netctrl.com/-henrylopp.htmJ

CNN .1nlcracJive http:// www.cnn.cOlu/

Chal Server Network http://chat.servers.net/entry.htnil

Discovery Chrll'1nel On/il]C

http://www.discovery.cam/

Finance and Economics at Columbia University, who shares Gates' view, stated in SCIENCE magazine that "education is based on mentoring, internalization, iden­tification, role modeling, guidance, socialization, interaction and group activity." In other words, learning can't happen without people.

Technology is upon us. We're knee high in it and it's filling every niche in our lives, particularly edu­

cation. But technology is only a tool to be used to augment educa­tion, not take the place of it.

Noted futurist author Arthur C. Clarke summed. it up in his 1983 speech to the United

ations: "Before you become too

entranced with gorgeous gadgets and mesmerizing video displays, let me remind you that informa­tion is not knowledge, knowledge is not wisdom and wisdom is not foresight. Each grows out of the

Problem is, if you lose it, you're other, and. we need them all." '1'

26 ~' irue Nortn ~ Spring 1996

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ea on of arkness

photo by bridget sanders

l B~~ True North ~. Sprin~ 1996

When the leaves

are gone, so lS

the light. With

the arrival of

win ter and snow,

the world turns

to shades of

gray and so

can the moods

of people.

nchorage sits at 61 degrees, 13 minutes north latitude. The amount of daylight ranges from five hours and 28 min­utes at winter sol­

stice to 19 hours and 21 minutes at summer solstice.

Living or studying in Alaska means co-existing with drastic sea­sonal differences in light. How we choose to deal with the darkness, or not deal with it by leaving, is some­thing that all of us have to face.

The life of a UAA student rotates around the cycle of light; fall semes­ter finals are near the winter solstice. Studying can actually become easier in spring and summer semesters as the daylight lengthens.

"I do really well during the sum­mer because I don't think I have to be in bed, so I stay up studying," says Ginger Shootman, a 25-year-old management information systems student.

The light is omnipresent in sum­mer. People get out and do th.ings, from biking and hiking to fishing and boating. As the sunlight fades and fall descends, Alaskans find themselves turning into "couch potatoes."

Student Jo Patterson keeps her­self off the couch by drawing, paint­ing, walking and swimming for win­ter recreation.

"I try to keep my mind occupied (and) stay away from the liquor," Patterson says.

Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is a depression caused by a hormonal imbalance directly result­ing from decreased winter light.

"When I come home (in winter), I just veg out on the couch," Shootman says.

Do you feel like you're made of lead and can't get out of bed? Can't stop those munch-out sessions? Maybe you've put on some extra weight, become less sociable or just feel depressed? These are all symp­toms of SAD.

Subsyndromal Seasonal Affective Disorder (S-SAD) is a more common and less severe form of SAD, which is a major depression that affects a person's life S-SAD has the same symptoms but elicits milder complaints from sufferers.

The ratio, from a study in Fairbanks co-authored by Dr. John Booker of the Health Sciences Department, reveals that roughly twice as many people suffer from S­SAD as SAD.

Most people who exhibit some sign of SAD get through winter without seeking help until it dis­rupts their life, says Connie Roseman, former depu ty director of nursing at the Alaska Native Medical Center.

Shootman hasn't been tested for SAD and never considered herself as having SAD.

"I think the reason I never thought of it before is that I've grown up in Alaska and it didn't affect me when [ was a kid," she says.

SAD also can hinder the ability of a student to succeed in class by decreasing interest and making it harder to concentrate. Another fac­tor that could be a problem for a stu­dent suffering from SAD is a low energy level.

Several national studies have shown SAD is four times more like­ly to affect women than men.

"I think women are generally more sensitive because of their genetic makeup," Roseman says. "Women have more hormones in their body and are more sensitive to change."

Some women don't have the time to slow down, says Amy Dean, a 35-year-old accounting major who says she stays busy with classes and providing "mom's taxi service" for her four children.

"I just know I'm much happier in March than September," Dean says. "When February ends, you know you've turned the corner and break-up is coming."

True Nortn ¢ )pring 1996 /I" i 9

From the depths of winter, spring emerged in my garage today. Amidst the

mountain of yesterday's news and tomorrow's recycled cans, hope poked its bud from the stalk of what I'd long ago abandoned as a rose. It, and my memories of summer, had been banished in mid-December when winter and its Arctic twin, darkness, took up residence in my home.

Five-plus minutes of additional daylight makes a world of differ­ence in Alaska. I might not have noticed except for the meowing of the cat, who raced around the house, searching for the elusive sun­shine streaming through windows. Tired of the chase, she found a beam on the bathroom sink to keep her company.

But her laziness outlasted her patience; the sun slipped around the

Perseverance by paula 111. story

side of the house, melting icicles in its path and leaving the cat curled and chilled within a porcelain bowl.

She looked at me as if it were my fault. I shrugged and trudged down the stairs in search of coat, gloves, maybe a thicker sweater. The woman on the radio told me it was 7 degrees outside. Way too cold for any thoughts of spring to plant themselves in my mind. Besides, it's only February, I grumbled to no one in particular.

I felt the cold seep into the chinks of my winter armor. My chin dropped and my neck began to

bend against the long ffio'nths ahead. Coat zipped, gloves at the ready, I headed for the car in the garage.

As I opened the door the cat shot past me, launching "herself squarely in the middle of a tower- . ing, precarious stack of old· news­papers - recycling trips' waiting for wanner temperatures:Pa~ers

scattered and the cat tuml:>led.She stared at me, daring me to catch her. My first impulse was to lunge toward her before she d-isap~ peared into the mountain of boxes, tools and yard equipment. .

That's when I saw it. Behind the rubble of my lethargy; a tiny shoot of phosphorescent green had appeared. Straining from its dry clay pot, it validated what the cat had been trying to tell me.

Spring emerged from my garage today. We'd ma<ie it.:1" .

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hlr reservations or information call AJyesb l<csort at 7S'+-rJ l.l. ALYESKA RESORT

JO ~" Ime North ~" Spring 1996

SAD sufferers may go from a vegetable state in the winter to normal or even manic episodes ca used by too much light in the summer. One sign of a manic person in summer is too much talk - they become a chatterbox.

So why, exactly, does this happen? Increased sun­light tells the pineal gland, a small pea-sized gland deep in the brain, when to produce serotonin and melatonin. Less light in winter produces more mela­tonin and less serotonin; the opposite happens in summer.

Melatonin is a hormone that helps keep the body in synch with the day. It has gained popularity recent­ly for treatment of jet lag and insomnia.

Serotonin isn't a hormone, but a neurotransmitter that is found in chocolate. It is the base for many anti­depressant drugs, including Prozac.

"It's part of losing daylight that the body (pro­duces less serotonin), so we eat more chocolate," Roseman says.

Before going out and binging on chocolate, con­sider other forms of therapy. Light treatments have been shown in national studies to be effective for about 80 percent of SAD sufferers, experts say.

Sitting in front of a 10,000-lux light box for 30 to 45 minutes a day appears to relieve symptoms inphoto illustration by bon/lie dOllcette

True Norln ". ~pring 1996 ~. JI

some sufferers in about four days. However, the symptoms often return just two or three days after trea tmen ts are stopped.

"Most people start light thera­py at the end of August or early September," says Virginia Haneluth, owner of Alaska Bright Lights.

Light boxes are available from several stores around Anchorage and cost from $349 to $459. They weigh eight to 11 pounds,

"It's just like carrying a brief­case around," Haneluth says.

A lux is a measurement of light per square meter. So how bright is a light box?

"It's about 40 times as intense as (normal) room lighting," Haneluth says.

Mi.1rsha Werlinger, a 46-year­old journalism student, experienced the effect of light boxes while help­ing a patient who suffered from SAD. She says she was hyper for

I

I \ '

four to six hours after exposure. "I used to go on six-hour clean­

ing jags," Werlinger says. "I know they work."

Treatment for SAD with bright lights can cure the problem of "cabin fever" or the "winter blues," but the transition may be so gradual it goes unnoticed.

Shootman thought staying indoors during the winter was a nat­ural progression of growing up in Alaska. She developed the philoso­phy to "go outside when you have to, that's it."

SAD isn't easy to formalJy diag­nose. It is a new area of expertise that was first designated as a med­ical problem in 1984, says Booker

"A lot of people who experience major depression first show up in their family doctor's office," Booker says, adding that the family doctor can be constrained by two factors: how much they know and how much they believe. Formal diagno­

sis is made by a psychologist or psychiatrist, with the patient hav­ing a history of two years of depres­sion in winter to form a seasonal pattern.

There are a number of ways to control mild effects of SAD. Diet, exercise and tanning are recom­mended.

Also, diet should be low in processed sugar, fats should be less than 20 percent of daily total calo­ries, and foods should be high in complex carbohydrates. Alcohol is another no-no because it's a depres­sant.

o season lasts forever. Soon the sun packs some heat. With heat comes the hope of spring. Each day beyond winter solstice gives weary Alaskans five-plus minutes of light.

Who is that rollerblading exer­cise freak streaking past you at mid­night? Last December's couch pota­to? ah - couldn't be. ~.

Alaska's coal reserves are estimated at 5.5 trillion tons­more than half that of the rest of the United States.

\ \ Ala ka's coal is clean. The coal produced at Usibelli

Coal Mine has an ultra-low sulfur content-less than 0.2% - and low nitrogen, as well.

And Alaska's top-of-the-world location puts us in a perfect position to supply our clean coal to world markets.

ALASKA COAL - The Fuel of the Future!

USIBELLI COAL MINE INC.

UMhcll, Co.,1 1\I'l\c,ll\c • P.O. BO' woo I k,ly. AI."k.,'N7·n ('l07l MlJ-22.21> • 122 Is, AV<'. F.lirh.\IIks. Al.\,k" <J<)701 ('l07) -l~2-2(,2<;

l2 ¢ Irue Nortn ¢ Spring 1996

. ~ .­ ~

~, .. - . . ". -­ .. ' - '--. ~.' . . .' ". "

. . '.

-. - ~- -. - --. .

. .. -.

--. -' - - ...

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,rue Nortn ~/ Sprin~ 1996 .,~ Jl

I b jim sharp y. b b01lnie doucette illustratIon !I

J4., True ort~ .," Spnng 1996

femlifer Vdel1lOvell alld Robert Wiederspolm

met in a campus dnting game.

fen Beck and felly Willkelstein, wllo met on tllcir fir t dny at UAA, will marry in lune.

pllOto by bridget salldcr

helt ill ­was four ago TIl

be married

ion year

two will this June in Maryland.

Food al 0 helped bring Jennifer Vdelhoven and R bert WiederspoJul Logether. Both were c nte tants in a dating game held 1I1

VAA' tud nt hou ing. Wieder pohn a. ked thre wumen itting behind a urtain que -lions

such as "WhaL' your ideal we k­end?"

'" picked h r (Vdelh ven) b au e r Ilk d the idea of a cabin on a lake and doing a lot oj hiking and I'm fTOm oULhea I Alaska and I enjoy the outdo r ," Wied rsp hn say.

In U,e following weeks, Weid rspohn frequented Th

omm n at UAA h u ing where Vd lhoven work d t b com acquainted with her before th 'y u ed the diTll1er COUPOl1 lhey'd won.

A few w ks later, Wiederspohn tromped through deep snow La buy h r flowers on alentin' Da,

TIley've been together more than a year now.

F rm r awolf play r Todd Green met Colleen Edmonds( n al a hocke game.

"I met him and thought. 'Hmm, he' a ni e, funny guy.' And then th saga begins ... 1t was just a me' . 11,ree year of u chasing, 'hasing each oLher," Edmondson ay·.

"There'd be a voU ~yball gam Of

Cl bunch f friends would get tog ther/' Gr n e plain .

"And th re he was, Edmond on dds. "Our friend got fro tra~ d with us and when w finally got togeUler th y 'aid, 'It's about tim .'"

Green anti. Edm nd n will be married ne t falL ~ ur and a halt yeClTs after they met in the bleach­ers.

Julie Vavilova, from Rus -in, met

her Ru' ian boyfriend, Dmitry Malyugin, while making hi fD card at the tud~nt Wormation counter.

t fir t she thought h wa a bit dd because he spoke Rus ian 0 slowly to her. lIe had heard her sp ak Ru _ian but thought she wa' Am rican. lW hi a lions peak loud r than word"; he buys her !lower- and helps fix her car.

Li Fuentes Cc ught Will St:lemko' attention as bi( logy lab partner. The foil wing em ster they sh(\fed anoth r bi 1 gy cia s. M vie, ic kating, board games and ( imilar field of study mad them a &ignificant part f ea h

th f' live. "We became a ouple when I

gave h r a kis and he kissed me back/' Szlemko ay. ow, in an e pres ion of trL! Ala kan love, he parlQ. her l:ar in their one-car garage

True North ..,A Spnng 1996 .,. 15

I and he scrapes the ice off his vehicle parked outside.

Students form attractions when that special someone walks into a room, hears a tone that draws them, feels a mutual bond, or senses the same answer to the same question.

Carrie Lehman used her sixth sense when she met her husband, Jay, through a computer chat line called "Leather and Lace."

Carrie describes the conversa­tion like this:

"He said, 'Hi, how are you?'" "I said, 'Fine.'" "Jay said, 'Do you like wine?'" "I said, 'Sure.' So I took his

phone number." "We got off the computer and I

called him ... We were engaged four weeks later."

Of course, it is not just how these couples met that keeps them together. Lehman says they encour­age each other's activities. He offered to take a second job to help her with her educational goals and he tells her she can't sleep in and miss class or watch TV until her homework is done. In return, she supports him and his military duties.

Winkelstein and Beck enjoy window shopping together - with­out any money - and have the same outlook on life regarding morals and homelife.

Vdelhoven and Wiederspohn say they enjoy each other's family.

Plus, Vdelhoven says, "it's really hard to find people that don't drink, smoke or do drugs and neither of us does."

Green says of Edmondson, "I don't think I've met a woman that knows as much about the sport (hockey) as she does."

Vavilova bakes for her honey, he leaves notes and flowers for her. She describes their bond as her being held like a bird:

"If you squeeze me too hard, I'm going to die," she says. "If you hold me too loose, I'm going to flyaway. But if you treat me just right, I'll stay." ~

J 6 ~~ Irue Nortn ~~ Spring 1996

by lerzah lippin The ram is on the loose and 100 ing for a mate, watch outl Two Anes

together are not a bad pairing except that neither will give any ground.

A more likely match is the notorious ire sign, Leo. On the other hand,

you might want a lillie air to leed your fire, Aries; in that case go with a

Gemini.

Aries

March 21 - Apnl t9 The bull is on the roam and where should he look? While a pairing with

those flighty air signs might seem interesting, you'll have a higher

degree 01 success with one 01 your own kind or even better with a

solid Capncorn or soullul Pisces.

Come down to earth, Gemini l While you may be attracted by the stable! """,1 • • , ~ :~", . attributes of the earth signs, someone more closely aligned to your• ',' (,__ ~ 0

I true nature would be more successful. Another Gemini offers you intel­

~ r' ~~.•.-.1~' ~.: .lectual rapport, but for a real thrill try a fire sign like Leo to really feed , , .)

I .' the flame I , .. '---- _ .. ' :.

Mooning over a long lost love won't get you anywhere, Cancer l WhatCancer

might jazz you up is the long emotional talks you would have with a June 21 ·July 22

Pisces. or the secure environment created with a Virgo. However,

Cancers seem to be inexorably drawn to the most unlikely mate, Aries l

Give that one some Ihought belore jumping in.

What can one say about Leo the Lover? Built lor romance with endless

determination. Leo can make a go of almost any relationship. For the

long haul, narrow the playing lield to one or two. A Sagittarian has your

Irisky sense of play, or add a little more heat to your fire with an Aries.

Leo Since you choose for life, Virgo, a sign with the same sense of security

July 23 - Aug. 22 that you crave would be the best mate. Taurus has all the attributes

you want. plus some. You may find yoursell attracted to magnetic lire

signs, but to keep your sanity, a though lui Pisces or steady Capricorn

will see you through.

While you can see the good and bad in any relationship, try not to

explain away simple incompatibility. You might find the balance you

seek through the interesting and curious Aquarius. However. another

Libra will understand your need for harmony and equilibrium more than

"""........""--=::..=..J mos t. Libra

Sept. 23 - Ocl. 22 Your intense desire for depth in a relationship is often met by love·ori·

ented Leo, but a less volatile painng might be more soothing. The com­

mitment of a Virgo or the strength of passion 01 Pisces ofler the haven

you seek in a lurbulent world.

While commitment is not at the top of your list, when you decide to

settle down liery Leo may offer the excitement you want. If Ireedom is

your credo, stay away from stable earth signs and seek a little air from

Gemini or Aquarius

Capricorn has many plans for Ihe future and having a consoli to pro·Sagittarius

Nov. 23 - Dec. 21 vide stability and security is invaluable. You may be allracled 10 Ihe

excitement and eccentricily of fire and air signs, but a lasting bond will

more likely develop between another earth sign such as a Virgo or

Taurus.

Unconventionality and uniqueness are what you need In a mate,

Aquarius. because that is what you are l Others of your kind offer the

kinship and understanding you need to go the distance. Gemini and

Libra look into your soul and are not afraid 01 what they see; on the

contrary, Ihey will more than likely see reflections of themselves.

Your philosophical and reflective nature, Pisces, demands that you have Aquarius an equally medltafive partner. Cancer can provide the emotional bond Jan. 20 . Feb 19 thai you so crave and, more importanlly, maintain il. However, don't

overlook Ihal calm and reserved Taurus that has been wailing In the art by corel corporation

wings for you to nolice him l

Taurus

Apnl 20 . May 21

Virgo Aug. 23 . Sepl. 22

Gemini

May 21 -June20

Pisces

Feb. 20 - March 20

Scorpio

Oct.23 . Nov. 22

Capricorn

Dec. 22 . Jan. 19

•

~naissance Students

Gel network technician Lei! Sawyer doubles as Shakespeare's King Ferdinand.

When Leif Sawyer began work­ing as a student consultant in the University of Alaska Anchorage's computer labs eight years ago, he never dreamed it would lead to a full-time job with a major corpora­tion. Just out of high school, his call­ing was to the arts - music and the­ater - and "playing" was his main objective.

Today, at 26, Sawyer has all the trappings of an eager, young com­pany employee. As a full-time employee of GCI, he's tethered by a cellular phone, two pagers (one for on-call and one for general) and an electronic scheduler. Can't locate him in person? He has his own home page on the Internet. With a phone call, beep or flash of a screen, he might be on his way to Prudhoe Bay to troubleshoot some communi­cation problem or train employees

story and photos by paula m. story

on a new network system. Sawyer is a network technician,

one of three GCl employees charged with keeping British Petroleum's communications run­ning between Houston, Prudhoe Bay and Anchorage

His friends tease him. "'You've gone corporate,' I think is the new slogan," he says, unconsciously straightening his tie.

Well, kinda corporate. Upon closer inspection, the tie bears a beaming Mickey Mouse that rivals Sawyer's wide grin. Although he wears his longish, blond hair slicked back for the 9-to-5 thing, it breaks loose and flops over one eye as he speaks during lunch - hands

punctuating his theatrical voice. In just a few hours, he'll rush from work to the UAA theater depart­ment for a 3 or 4-hour rehearsal as the lead in Shakespeare's "Love's Labours Lost."

Multifaceted. Learning and evolving. Sawyer is not unlike the 20,000 or so people who take cours­es at UAA and its satellite campus­es. They combine their talents, work, interests and goals into a way of life. These students, with a median age of 27, have lives beyond the bounds of UAA's skin­ny strip of buildings. They are not one-dimensional, nor easily pigeon­holed by simply declaring their major.

They are young, old, employ­ers, employees, parents, volunteers, athletes, caretakers, artists. Some seek a first degree, others simply

Irue Nort~ ¢ Spring 1996 ¢ 17

-- -- ~- -

Hirut Campbell, a former hair stylist, finds a new call­ing in UAA's Lucy Cuddy Center.

seek direction - a path. Some have returned to school to advance their career, and some have returned for a second chance.

But each comes to this cross­roads with a common goal - to learn. They come to enrich their lives, to find something more.

According to the U.s. Department of Education, about 15 million Americans embark or con­tinue along the path to higher edu­cation each year in colleges and uni­versities across the nation. Whether they seek knowledge or a job, the rewards are apparent.

Although more men than women were employed nationally in 1993, the gap becomes less obvi­ous as levels of education increase. Of men aged 25 to 29 years who dropped out of high school, 70 per­cent had jobs, but only about 50 per­

l8 ¢ True Nortn ¢ )pring 1996

cent of women with similar educational ...... background were employed.

The gap closes to a mere 5 percent for those earning bachelor's degrees or higher - wi th men at 90 percent employment and women at 85 per­cent.

But Sawyer did­n't follow the typi­cal degree-based route to employ­ment.

He's yet to earn his degree and boasts that he's taken Anthropology 250 twice, "and I still have to take it again l " He claims only a handful of core courses in his transcript and con­tinues his pursuit of basic knowledge of other languages ­with Russian, Arabic and American Sign

Language already conquered. And graduation? "It's taken

eight years to get where I am now," he says. "Why spoil it?

"I see college as a tool that peo­ple can use to get somewhere."

But simply earning a degree isn't his main goal in attending UAA. "I go to college to learn. Why should people stop going to college just because they've supposedly learned?"

Nationally, the number of stu­dents enrolled in post-secondary schools increased throughout the 1970s, mirroring the high number of high school graduates born throughout the 1950s. With the exception of a small drop in 1984, enrollment has increased each year since 1985.

Many of those students, like UANs Kim Marie Walker, are now

returning for a second degree. Walker, a 39-year-old geologist, is working toward a career as a natur­opathic doctor.

"It seems to me that in order to survive in our future world, you're going to ha ve to be more flexible, more versatile," she says.

She's driven, focused and mea­sures each word carefully. She's perennially early and unusually cheerful for a weekly statistics class at UAA's Eagle River campus. While other classmates groan, her large dark eyes shine as the profes­sor returns an exam - hers is one of the highest scores in the class.

Walker took the traditional route and went directly from high school through college, earning her bachelor's degree in geology in 1980. She was hired by the United States Geological Survey in Sioux Falls, S.D., and landed in its Anchorage field office about three years la ter.

She's worked as an indepen­dent consultant and is now employed as an automated map specialist and analyst through Colorado State University, which contracts to Fort Richardson and creates digital maps for city pro­jects.

She took a look at her home library one day and noticed 30 to 40 books spanning a lot of Clfeas of naturopathic medicine - natural healing processes. Something clicked.

"I could sit down and read these books, we're talking text books, and I could really enjoy them," Walker says.

She vowed that by her 50th birthday she'd return to school and become a naturopathic doctor. "Who knows)" she says. She may combine her new skills and her pilot's license (the flight lessons were a wedding gift from her hus­bClnd) and become a Bush doctor.

"I don't see it CIS leaving one CMeer and going into another," Walker says.

A Wasilla resident, she attends classes at the Matanuska-Susitna

and Eagle River campuses, plug­ging away at her prerequisites (biol­ogy, organic chemistry, algebra, sta­tistics) before eventually enrolling in the naturopathic program in Seattle or Portland, Ore.

"I have to be my own self-moti­vator in doing these things," she says.

For some, returning to school takes more than self motivation. It's a new language. A new culture. An entirely new way of thinking.

"When I came here, I didn't know a word of English," says 57­year-old Hirut Campbell. "I really learned it from zero."

Campbell enrolled at UAA about six years ago. Born in North Africa and raised in Italy, she's trav­eled the world over, first as a teen­aged nanny for a wealthy Italian family, then with her commercial airline pilot husband of 32 years. She first went to school in France at 18 and earned her license as a hair­stylist, later building a successful

business in Milan, Italy. Campbell is independent,

friendly and accustomed to chatting with just about anyone she comes in contact with - she speaks Italian, Arabic, French and Spanish. But until recently, not a word of English.

"I've done many things, but for writing and language I was really behind," she says. "So when I came here, it was really hard for me."

As she sits in the Lucy Cuddy Center at UAA, where she spends much of her time cooking and work­ing as wait-staff for her hospitality class, her greetings sound like a United Nations reunion.

"Bon jour!" she says to a passing classmate. "Buenos dias," she waves to another. An Italian friend stops by to chat and they talk of recipes, classes and other things Italian. "Chao'" she says as they part.

All of this is interjected with near-perfect English - two classes remain between her and an English­As-A-Second-Language degree ­

~intin!f the CWap to @.xx/fence

N

and maybe 18 months before she is graduated from the food service program.

Campbell enrolled in UAA's Food Service program after a fall on Anchorage's slippery streets broke her wrist and ended her career as a stylist.

"I said 'What am I going to do? I have to work. I like to work.'"

Her brothers, who still live in Italy, offered to help her open her own business, confirming a family promise to their father that they'd always take care of their little sister. She plans to open a restaurant in Anchorage specializing in North African food.

It hasn't been easy. "I swallowed my pride. I did everything," she says. Although she's still struggling, "I am so happy, and I'm doing really good. I came a long way from where I was."

Diverging paths and a common goal. They meet here, within the population of UAA. ~'

~KlVA Tk

geEEZE..- KNIK-FM 10S~3

KBYR (NEWS-SroRfS-TALK)

700 AM Cdf111'tOlJltmdm tmd CdlttinlJM SIJCCC5.f '" "'(;nlc CK'tmh" ~

jidm CK'tmltcm '(;C!cPifidn, @nc. MUZAK

True Nort~ ~/ Spring 1996 ~. J9

I the average three-year duty post. More than 1,000 colleges and univer­sities participate in this program, which guarantees a more liberal transfer, testing, military training, and residency policy at the degree­granting school.

"I have one student, he's been working 15 years to get his degree," says Smith. "He and his wife were packing to move to Texas. He was so happy to be getting his degree that he was planning on flying back up so he could graduate with his class. The movers were at his house when his orders were changed. Now he's in Bosnia."

The University of Alaska also holds classes on the military reserva­tions. In addition to general educa­tion courses, an Associate of Arts degree in General Studies, a Bachelor of Arts degree in Business Administration and a Master of Arts degree in Public Administration can be completed on most bases and posts.

Classes are taught in the early morning, at lunch, late at night and even on weekends and holidays. Three-week compressed classes can be arranged for special situations.

"Sometimes it's hard to find an instructor who wants to work the crazy schedule we come up with for these guys," says Peet. "We'll have plans like they']] go four hours one day, won't go the next day, go the afternoon after that, the next morn­ing and then all day Saturday and Sunday, for three weeks," he says. "I've seen soldiers take as many as 21 credits and get all As. To me it's amazing."

Megan Dockemeyer, who flies aboard AWACS, is in the Air Force "Bootstrap" program, which grants successful applicants one year to attend school full time in order to complete their degrees. A legal agreement with the Air Force binds UAA to providing the specific class­es required for Dockemeyer, also a

mother, to receive her communica­tions degree on time.

Dockemeyer's husband also is a member of the 962 Advanced Airborne Command Squadron. Neither of them was slated to fly on Friday, Sept. 22, 1995, their daugh­ter Chelsea's fourth birthday.

That day, 24 of their fellow AWACS colleagues died in the crash of an aircraft when it stalled on take off at Elmendorf.

The possibility of disaster is part of the job. So is commitment to their country - a tradition that often extends back through generations.

"My father and two uncles were in the service, and my grandfather was a Royal Air Force officer," says Dockemeyer. "I dearly miss his war stories. It's those stories tha t charmed me into joining the mili­tary. You might say it's a family tra­dition." ~'

P·oneer Broadcasting Company

KFQD750AM

KMX5

"Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your

life. " Confucius

9200 Lake Otis Parkway, Anchorage, Alaska 99507

42 ¢ True North ~' Spring [996

I arrived in Alaska about three years ago. My hus­band James and I had both received coveted assign­ments to the prestigious 962 AWACS unit now known as the 962 AACS at Elmendorf Air Force Base. We felt extremely lucky to get assigned to the unit and were eager to finally finish our bachelor's degrees. James finished his last spring. Then it was my turn. It's been a turbulent year - but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

My first contact with UAA wasn't a pleasant one. I called an instructor to ask for some advice on class schedules and made the mistake of calling him "sir." This is perfectly normal and consid­

I sometimes wear my uniform to school when I have an official appoinhn nt on base, but I try to avoid it. Don't get me wrong, though. I'm very proud of my uniform and of my job in th Air Force, but when you wear a uniform on campus, people stare l You stick out like a sore (and very gTe n) thumb.

But military clothing can be fun, too. I catch peo­ple trying to read my name tag and patches all the time - wondering what my rank is. I guess they are just too shy to ask.

This year has been filled with laughter and tears. When we lost the crew now known as YUKLA 27 in the E-3 crash last fall,

after five minutes of an insulting ered courteous in the military, but

my family took it hard, like the rest of lecture on how college "is not mili­ the squadron. My daughter Chelsea is by megan dockemeyer tary," I realized I might have to change my ways in order to succeed. I still have a hard time not saying "sir," though.

I've also had a difficult time adjusting to my new clothing requirements. I guess I'm what you could call wardrobe challenged. Before, when I would go to the closet during the week, my biggest decision was "Hmmmm, should I wear the green T-shirt with this flight suit, or perhaps the black one?" I see girls wear­ing combat boots around campus and laugh, because I have the real thing, and you could not pay me to wear them with a dress!

only four, but she still talks about sev­eral of the friend' w lost.

Sometimes I'll hear a laugh or see someone sitting at a console on the plane, and for just a second I think it's someone else. Then T remember that it can't be. Losing a friend is hard, but losing 24 is almost over­whelming.

I felt guilty about going back to school and thought about postponing it, but James and I decided it would be foolish to give up su ~h a wonderful oppor­tunity. If there's one thing the military ha taught me, it's not to take anything or anyone for granted.

I

~~~ I~ ~

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True Nort~ ¢ Spring 1996 ¢ 4J

story and photo illustration by bonnie doucette

in that amorphous landscape between the safe h a v en of col­lege and the foreboding shadows of the "real world," University of Alaska Anchorage journalism graduate Cia Dittmer scanned the 1995 commencement audience for her parents.

As her thoughts wandered, a motivational cadence from her army training surfaced in the back of her mind: "1 can do it .... bum, bum ... you can do it ... bum, bum . .. we can do it ... bum, bum ... Hell, yeah I ... bum, bum ... Hell, yeah! ... bum, bum. ..."

The ceremony was taking way too long.

Alone. Dwarfed by a sea of black caps and gowns and drowning in the sweet smell of good luck leaves clinging to the neck in front of her, Dittmer nod­ded in response to the speaker on stage.

Bum ... bum ... bum ... bum ... Bridging cultures and tran­

scending time, rites of passage ceremonies have been celebrated for centuries. UAA upholds this tradition by way of commence­ment each May.

The passage from student to graduate is confirmed through traditional academic caps and gowns, marching patterns to the cadence of "Pomp and Circumstance," and the symbolic switching of tassels.

The irony of graduation is that it can be a time of both cele­

bration and ambiguity. Halfway through the passage

from student to graduate, Dittmer looked around. She was sur­rounded by strangers. She had no idea what she would do after graduation. She had a ridiculous little cap on her head. Yet, some­how, in the grand scheme of things, she knew this ritual was important.

"It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience," says Dittmer. "It was my chance to finally say 'I did it.' ... [College) was the longest four years of my life, because it actual­ly lasted five."

Dittmer used graduation to celebrate her past accomplish­ments, establish her graduate sta­tus and move into a new stage of her identity.

"I have a piece of paper now that says I have a college degree," she says. "In some small way, that makes me feel like I have worth­the worth that society puts on it."

In their book "Rituals for Our Times," Evan Imber-Black, Ph.D. and Janine Roberts, Ed.D., say "rituals make change manageable and safe ... change is enacted through rituals."

This year more than 2,200 stu­dents will graduate from UAA, but only one-third will particpate in commencement.

Jayson Smart, co-chair of the UAA commencement committee, says UAA upholds several tradi­

44 ~~ Irue Nortn ~ ~pring 1996

-

p a s s a 9 e

Irue Nortn ~ Spring 1996 /;" 4~

tions but, "without students mak­ing it a celebration, th~ ceremony is meaningless."

Yet, for many students, the cer­emony is not what graduation is about.

Gena Morgan, 30, a junior studying physical education, says walking doesn't matter to him.

''I'll know mentally when I have the degree/' he says.

Brenda Sherman, 34, a junior studying social work, says, "The commencement ceremony is not for me. It's for when you're straight out of high school."

At prestigious universities such as Harvard and Yale, about 95 per­cent of the graduates participate in commencement.

"There are no ~h'ong ties to (this) campus," says Ius tory profes­sor Bill Mack y. "A lot of older stu­dents probably don't even consider graduation il rite of passage."

Michael Hood, a ting associate dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, believes this is linked to UANs youth. Traditions form with time.

"The patina of tradition is slow­ly developing here," h says.

This low percentage f partici­pating graduates allows time for those involved to willk across the stage and shake hands with the chancellor and other dignitaries.

"If everyone attend'd," says Smart, "some of those things would be lost."

Several of UANs commence­ment traditions celebrate the stu­dent-teacher relationship. As the faculty march down the center aisle in the academic dress of their alma maters, the students turn and applaud them.

Then, when the students have been graduated, they willk down the "honor aisle." fJculty stand shoulder to shoulder. With a few handshakes and warm-hearted hugs, they rele se them to the future.

Hood recalls wh 'n, a f w years

46 I/' ,rue Nortn 'I' Spring 1996

ago, faculty attending the ceremony spontaeously formed double aisles and applauded their graduated stu­dents.

"We did it out of love for our students ... a love of higher learning and appreciation of a high standard of education," Hood says.

The most traditional aspect of UANs ceremony is the switching of the tassel.

"It's the passage/, says Smart. "One moment you are going to be g.aduated and the next moment you are."

Michael Reeves, director of UANs Career Services Center, feels that completion, or sense of accom­plishment, motivates students to go forward.

"Without that 'you did good'

"You're at the edge of a plank,

there is nothing out there."

- Cia Dittmer

send off, you have less of a sense of who you are," he says.

Imber-Black and Roberts say that "as we announce who we are and who we are becoming through ... ritual, we also connect with a sense of humanity through time."

Early tribes marked life pas­sages with ritual ceremonies.

The Middle Ages brought acad­emic dress to universities. Heavy dark robes were worn in cold build­ings, evolving into caps and gowns with hoods, worn every day by stu­dents in residence. Scholars estab­lished a new social category.

Today, we honor the tradition of academia by wearing gowns, hoods and caps on special occasions.

Gowns and hoods vary in style based on the particular university and degree earned.

The square "Oxford" or "mor­tarboard" cap is worn with a tassel.

Mortarboards, referencing the tradition of masonry, honor the stu­dent as builder. With knowledge piled high upon their mortarboards, graduates can build their dreams, their future, their lives.

But for many students, the cere­mony doesn't get them there. They can't build their dreams without a job to finance it.

So, as they approach their moment of transition, it is not the stately candence of "Pomp and Circumstance" which rises up with­in these students, but the quick pace of "pounding the pavement" as they head out into the "real world."

Bum ... bum ... bum ... bum ... Dittmer, now news production

manager for KIMO- TV Channel 13 , sent out several resume tapes in her last semester. Getting no response, she sent out a third round the day after graduation.

"Then all I could do was wait," she says. "You're at the edge of a plank, there is nothing out there ... I was just alone, going 'What do I do novv?'"

She says the biggest difference between college and the working world is the level of responsibility.

"You're worth more when you have that college degree. The hard­est thing is the responsibility that comes with having that worth."

"It is not just another punch card showing you put in your time," says Reeves. "Graduation means you've accomplished your first level of dealing with the real world and you've got a good start."

It is a passage. From the left side of a cap to the right, across a stage, out the doors of UAA, over the bridge from classroom to work­place, off into the realm beyond.

No one, says Reeves, should ever feel like, '''Well, I'm done learn­ing now.' Commencement is just the beginning.'"

They march. Bum ... bum ... bum ... bum ... "I'"

True Nortn ~. Spring 1996 ¢ 47

- - - - - -- - - -- -_-:.--~ .~"----- ............,.~-

In today's fast-changing world, successful living means c;ontinuing to seek out new experiences, new people, and new ways of thinking. Success on the

job means continuing to keep up with new developments in your field.

Continuing education means quality of life ... continuing the quality of YOUR life.

College of Community & Continuing Education 786-6721