Mainline – Spring 2016 by Dianne Heimer

Mainline spring22016

Mainline, the City College magazine, is published as part of the Sacramento City College Journalism Department and produced by students in the Journalism 403 & 407 courses. The views expressed in Mainline do not necessarily ref lect those of the City College Journalism Department, Sacramento City College, or the Los Rios Community College District. Mainline magazine was founded in 1995 by two former City College students, Doug Herndon and Paul Estabrook, with the idea that the magazine would complement the student newspaper, the Express. For more information regarding Mainline magazine, Journalism 403 & 407, or the City College Journalism Department, contact: Jan Haag Journalism Department Chair Sacramento City College 3835 Freeport Blvd. Sacramento, CA 95822 916-558-2696 haag j@scc.losrios.edu Find us on the web at saccityexpress.com

Editor in Chief

Kris Hooks

Design Editor

Michele Lee

Photo Editor

Vanessa Nelson

Faculty Adviser

Jan Haag

Faculty Design Adviser

Marcy Wacker

Contributors

Tyler Heberle, Kris Hooks, Jon Mercurio Knight, Vienna J. Montague, Callie Pashcall, Jonathan Taraya

Photographers

Kris Hooks, Vanessa Nelson

table of contents 4

Grow and Give Robyn Waxman’s FARM project is all about feeding people who need food Tyler Heberle

The Model Truths of Patrick Crandley City College professor teaches digital 3D Jon Mercurio Knight

New & old A look at SCC’s buildings & their namesakes Kris Hooks

Making art to live

Run

Ly Pham’s passion helped him survive as a Vietnamese prisoner Jonathan Taraya

A personal essay Vienna J. Montague

Between lit tle people and big people Laurie Perry guides students of all ages in early childhood education Callie Paschall

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Grow and Give Robyn Waxman’s FARM project is all about feeding those who need food

It’s a typical Monday morning in Davis. Cars are parked along the sidewalks of K Street, and solid green lawns abound. Yet one house seems to have more activity than the others. Peas, lettuce and asparagus are sprouting in the front yard. Carrots, onions, and a purple variety of kale provide a full salad’s ingredients within an average lawn’s parameters. Volunteers who walk up the driveway see Robyn Waxman — a Sacramento City College graphic design professor — plucking weeds, cleaning crops and handing out responsibilities to others in the garden. This gardening is part of FARM — Future Action Reclamation Mob. Relocated from San Francisco to Davis, FARM’s members grow vegetables, fruit and assorted organic foods to donate to low-income people, all while learning more about gardening in the process. “I just thought this would be a cool way to make change in our generation, and experimenting with a new type of protest,” Waxman says. “Not one where you’re carrying picket signs, but one where you’re gardening.” UC Davis interns and one paid worker, Leslie Melnyk, help Waxman with weeding, planting and harvesting. But FARM Davis takes grows — and, according to Waxman, this is by design.

“The purpose when we put it in the ground is to give [it] away at all times,” Waxman says. “It’s never to sell, because we believe food is a human right.” FARM Davis is engaged in many serves as an educational tool for UC Davis interns to gain community service experience. In addition to hosting workshops about edible weeds, seed saving and natural dyes, FARM members give the products of their harvest to those in need.

“The purpose when we put it in the ground is to give [it] away at all times. It’s never to sell, because we believe food is a human right.” This charity is the driving force behind the notable FARM project called Grow and Give, which grows vegetables in three locations. With help from Davis Waldorf School’s eighth grade students, the prepared food is given to residents of Eleanor Roosevelt Circle senior housing. Gail Doesken, who teaches gardening at Waldorf and supervises

note of Waxman’s service online. Doesken was looking for a way her students could provide community service while gaining experience in a farm setting. “Our eighth grade program gets to do this in the community where they have a little broader vision on making a difference and not just giving it to theoretical people, but actually meeting [them], having conversations,” Doesken says. “And that drew me to what Robyn is doing.” Carrots are a popular vegetable for workers and recipients alike in Grow and Give, particularly for their use in salads. But not all carrots are equally pleasing to the eye, according to Waxman. As she scrapes dirt off a newly plucked, short, bulbous carrot, she says it will likely be donated to Davis Community Meals for use in a stew. Conversely, food sent to Caesar prepared to look “like Safeway.” “The grocery store set that culture up of how food should look,” Waxman says. “So we have to try to make it look like that so people will want it — especially [those in] lowincome housing.” be a daunting task. This is not just for the sake of aesthetics. Rather, it plays directly into FARM Davis’ efforts as a form of peaceful protest. spring 2016

FARM Davis’ only paid employee Leslie Melnyk not only works the soil but also coaches volunteers, old and young, who come to work in the gardens.

“It’s very much in protest. We would like to set an example on how people — our neighbors, people in our city — should be treated,” Waxman says. “They should have access to the same delicious, nutritious and healthy food that everyone else has access to.” FARM did not always have its roots planted in Davis. Waxman started the near the California College of the Arts. Waxman aimed to grow and provide food for San Francisco’s homeless population for her thesis project. It was a response to what Waxman felt was a lack of city

College or UC Davis. When she’s not teaching her graphic design classes, she gardening for FARM Davis’ programs. In the K Street yard, Waxman looks dramatically different than as a professor in her classroom. She’s sporting a purple polo shirt with brown pants, grass stains and all. Leslie Melnyk, a UC Davis student and FARM Davis’ only paid worker, notes that Waxman is missing her “signature sunglasses.” Though the classroom and garden settings differ dramatically, Waxman

feed themselves.

operations of both. “We each have our role,” Waxman

expanded the FARM program to Davis. The element of “protest” is still a goal Waxman says she strives for, so food grown at any of FARM Davis’ locations is not to be sold to any vendors. “We put [food] in the ground to feed humans who can’t afford it — no exceptions,” Waxman proclaims. Waxman spends most of any week working with students, whether from City

everybody on track, on the same page.” As a leader, Waxman sets a key guideline for all to follow: The food she and her helpers grow is only for donation, never for sale. The example set by Waxman through FARM Davis is one that many have taken note of. When Waxman offered similar services in San Francisco while completing her MFA in graphic design,

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she says a local store wanted to buy some of her organic foods. While she has never she is grateful and often giving toward those who compliment FARM Davis’ work. “People will either walk by or drive by or bike by and yell out, cheer us on,” Waxman says. “They love it.” Though Waxman has built up a reputation in the Davis community for her agricultural services through various workshops and food drives, she swears that gardening did not always come naturally. “I didn’t really have any skills in agriculture when I started this. In fact, there had never been a plant that had recalls. “I learned all this from people like Leslie and UC Davis students.” Waxman moved to Davis and expanded her project there. She and her City College students in what she calls her Flagship Design Studio create promotional

Together they have designed websites, brochures and logos for City College Waxman’s design students were responsible for graphics, photography and programming on the FARM Davis website. They’ve also designed for charitable and environmentally friendly Food Co-Op and TOREMA, a Davis items out of recycled material. are helping other people,” Waxman says. To Waxman, graphic design serves the same purpose as her work with FARM Davis. Both employ creativity to get messages across without words — positive messages, she says. “Graphic design is about using tools to make change, so in some ways you could say it’s different [from FARM Davis], but in many ways it’s very much the same,” Waxman says. “We’re

Robyn Waxman considers growing vegetables and giving them to people in need as a form of protest, believing that everyone should have access to healthy food.

using this farm as a way to publicly and productively make the change we want to see in the world. That’s exactly what graphic design does.” Waxman has used her designer’s instincts through various forms of media to promote FARM in the past. During her time with the program in San Francisco, she created a digital poster, website

“Both of those things are to engage our next generation in ideas of generosity, and that we need to promote generosity in our culture, so that we have a future.” FARM Davis food is grown on the Waxmans’ property. The house growing food in its front yard has been owned by

copies of a tabloid publication explaining FARM’s mission. “It’s about engaging young people; it’s about engaging the next generation in making the change that they would like to see in their world,” Waxman says. “Some students do that through a visual medium, and some students do that through growing food and giving that away. And while Waxman works with different sets of people in FARM Davis and her design class, she says those students provide equally important service.

three growing locations. This front yard hosts a wide variety of vegetables, including lettuce, onions and carrots. There are also pink and red chards that visually and literally pop out of the green grass. Waxman says chard can come in many other colors when sold in stores. “But they actually grow in different colors, and at the store they mix them together and call it rainbow chard. It sells really well amongst children,” Waxman says. That’s how I got my daughter to eat it. It’s called rainbow.”

They have rented out the house since

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In addition to picking and cleaning garden aesthetically, like a bush of ivy near the sidewalk. However, the orange calendula doubles as a pollinator for other plants, according to Melnyk. She also says that California poppies are expected later in this season’s harvest. Not everything is meant to be eaten at the K Street Farm, but extra edible material can be found in rather unexpected places. Besides the carrots and onions, even bland-looking foliage like the fava leaves have a slight taste resembling peas. But Waxman makes one thing perfectly clear — anything past the sidewalk is private property, and it should not be picked and eaten by passersby. “People aren’t supposed to come here and eat,” Waxman says. “It’s not a grocery store.” All those who work for FARM Davis’ charitable programs put lots of pride and effort in the fact that the less fortunate will receive their food, Waxman says. “We work really hard, and you can see that,” Waxman says. “The application is that we’re giving this away, and we all have that application, we all get excited about that.”

work requires a whole lot of weeding — which Waxman says is a common practice. “I had heard the thing people do most around the entire world is weed,” Waxman says with the hint of laugh. “At any one time there are more people weeding than doing anything else.” Many weeds can be found growing near a creatively made bench at the front of the yard. It consists of various types of wood, including fence posts through the back and the remnants of a cherry tree for a footrest. “It’s a residential neighborhood, so it felt weird to put a sign,” Waxman says. “It’s just stuff we had around, even stuff in piles we found in the street.” Melnyk has fond memories of the exclaims with glee. Melnyk’s role as Waxman’s authoritative equal is on full display at Davis’ largest food-growing spot.

Amid the fruit trees, clucking chickens and familiar vegetables at the K Street site, eighth grade students sometimes come to this rural location to tend their own garden. Waxman is not present today, so Melnyk supervises Doesken and her students as they learn to grow various vegetables for the Grow and Give program. After giving the class a tour of the property, Melnyk directs them toward four rows of vegetation — peas, carrots, beets, kale and lettuce. She gives the students different tasks to choose from: weeding, planting and harvesting, or applying a fence down the middle irrigation line. The students all commit to their work. One girl asks if her newly harvested baby onions will be OK to eat later, while two boys help hammer down fencing. Melnyk has a hard time hiding her beaming smile. “I like these guys,” Melnyk says. “They know what to do.” While Melnyk works with middle has plenty of other student helpers at all FARM Davis locations. Internships are given to UC Davis students who seek community service projects.

One such intern, Ervine Nhan, seems content with his work, whether he’s picking chards at K Street or tending to “It’s a good excuse to go outside,” Nhan says. There is also occasional crossover with Waxman’s former City College students. “Usually when they come, they come all together. They make plans and they there on a farm,” Waxman says. who showed up to help on FARM Davis’ Waxman says she is thankful for her expresses gratitude for Melnyk and all those who have helped her grow and give food. “FARM Davis allows us to build relationships through the sharing of our labor,” Waxman says. “If we don’t grow any food, we are still doing good work and reconnecting with the land, ourselves

“The application is that we’re giving this away, and we all have that application, we all get excited about that.”

Patrick THE MODEL TRUTHS OF Crandley City College professor teaches digital 3D W o rd s

Jon M e rc P ic tu re u r i o K n i g h t s Kris Hooks

“A long time ago... in a galaxy far, far away.” The familiar line in an opening crawl of text comes toward the audience set against a deep space background, soon moving down to reveal a planet and the first two starships locked together in combat, one towering over the other. In the darkened living room, the front of the TV set glows, light flickering from it with every laser blast flashing on screen, barely illuminating each onlooker’s face. The screen entrances a watching family unit — a mother, a father and a 5-year-old boy named Patrick Crandley. He looks up, wide-eyed, taking in every part of the experience.

would become a lifelong passion for creating models, from ships to trains to everything in between. From the physical world of models to the computer-generated world of digital 3D creations, Crandley ended up an industry professional and eventually landed a job at Sacramento City College as a graphic communication professor, where he now teaches those skills to others. Like many great journeys, Crandley’s has a number of milestones, moments where the

(kind of like a Walmart) had kit models, paints and brushes that residents on the base could buy. I was captivated with the process and was completely enthralled with the idea of ‘building things’.” A 7-year-old Pat Crandley glances across an aisle of plastic kit models lining one wall. He chooses his first kit, a B-17 Flying Fortress, eagerly taking it home and quickly removing the packaging to reveal a series of pieces attached to square plastic frames. Carefully, he pops out each piece. A wing. A cockpit. A tail section. Then he examines the instructions, analyzing how the pieces fit together. With lots of glue and a little patience, he assembles the kit. He delights in painting the exterior and applying decals. Though he will later decide that the finished product isn’t very good, the result matters little in the end, nor does it take away from the fun of building the B-17 Flying Fortress. He glances with a smile, proud of himself for conquering this, the first of many plastic kit models to come.

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“I’m a big believer that it’s all about the little victories. Share the little victories, to keep people excited.”

Crandley sits comfortably at his teacher station toward the left front of a class of eager rows of students sitting at Mac work stations across a half-lit classroom. Drilling through the last of the roll, Crandley takes quick glances at the rows, noting hands or nodding as he remembers who he’s seen today, “Tyler is here. Simon, where’s Simon? I saw him. Isabelle.” Checking the classroom, he grimaces, “Negative on Isabelle.” Finishing up the roll, he “I’m going to start off with what you guys don’t want us to do,” he says with a smile. “I’m going to show the [animated sequence homework] for last week. Part of being an animator is looking at the work at what others have done and using their successes and their failures as a guide — as a barometer for how to go on.” Pat Crandley carefully observes a starship flying across the television screen. At 13 years old, he has seen the “Star Wars” trilogy many times and has carefully observed the detail work in each ship and vehicle model onscreen. Industrial Light & Magic (ILM), the model shop that created all of the effects of “Star Wars,” is the best in the business. After the movie, he sits down at his latest model kit. Though his skills have vastly improved over the years, he knows he still has a long way to go before he’s of the ILM caliber. He glances at his fingers, noticing dried glue fragments peeling away, a direct result of finishing the model. A commotion in the next room calls for his attention, and he steps into the living room to find his father home. “What’s this?” Patrick wonders aloud as his father presents a clump of 1.44inch floppy diskettes with the curious title, “Video Toaster.” “You should check this out…. looks like fun,” his father says. A moment later, Patrick sits down at the family Amiga computer, popping the disks in, one by one, installing every piece of software on them. A video editing suite. A digital 3D modeling program titled Lightwave 3D. Intrigued by Lightwave, he loads up the program and begins fiddling with the controls. Through exploration, he discovers how to create a digital shape on screen, then rotate it, and manipulate its size, all in three dimensions. He fiddles around with the digital lights as they shine on the surface of the shape. Then he slices up the shape, alters its form. “Rad,” Pat whispers. Feeling his fingertips, he glances down at them, still encrusted with dried glue. Then he stares back at the screen, at his newly formed creation. In the computer, he can create whole worlds, limited only by his imagination, with no real world restrictions. This, he surmises, is the future.

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In his animation class, Crandley calls out, “Someone brought this up, the Van Gogh…” As he talks, he pulls down the large screen from the ceiling and steps over to his teacher work think is absolutely rad.” artists who replicated famous paintings by Vincent Van Gogh, turning those images into a words. “Something like that is herculean.” The students murmur and agree, one calling out how nuts the post effects must be on a project of such magnitude. “Each frame is a painting. This is pushing the aesthetic of animation,” Crandley declares. “Ten years ago, something like this would be impossible. I love it.” Fierce clicking echoes across a small office in the middle of downtown San Francisco, the base of the studio, Wireframe Garage. No fancy adornments mark this place, just basic folding tables set up with several computers. Cables run everywhere with no regard for aesthetics. Artists work tirelessly on their parts of a grander project — completely computer-generated 3D animation recreating the Apollo 11 moon landing. The 20-year-old Crandley, a production assistant paying his dues, zips between tables, carrying various cups of coffee and delivering them to craving hands. Crandley sits down at his table-bound computer and begins shuffling through folders with photographs, blueprints and schematics detailing all the parts that made up the Apollo 11 mission, including the Saturn 5 Rocket, the command service module, and the Apollo Lunar Module. After examining a photograph, he clicks on the computer in front of him, tagging a description of the image and where to find it. He then moves on to the next photograph. Alex, Crandley’s immediate supervisor, steps into Crandley’s world of cataloging, which prompts Crandley to stop what he’s doing and scoot his chair around. “What’s up?” “Pat, we know you’re interested in 3D modeling. How about you do a little bit of work for us?” Alex asks, a knowing smile on his face. Crandley’s eyes light up. “It’s nothing too big or exciting,” Alex adds, “but it’s a start.” Soon after, Crandley scans a reference photograph. On screen, he recreates a bolt from the top of the command module. He relishes every part of the process, even for such a small piece of the whole. His first contribution to a professional project. spring 2016

After eight years serving the industry in various capacities, with such wide-ranging projects as commercials, documentaries and episodic television, working with companies from MTV to Mike’s Hard Lemonade, Crandley lodged another milestone, once more altering the course of his life. While working as a senior editor and 3D modeler for Peppers TV in Sacramento, he noticed a teaching position open at City College. Teaching, he says, felt like a natural direction for him. His grandfather taught. His father and mother did as well. It was his time to throw his hat in the ring, he decided, and see where it would take him. each semester that range from introductory to advanced classes in both animation and game design programs. He also teaches at the Art Institute of Sacramento, plugging holes in their curriculum from time to time when needed. He refers to himself as a generalist, which he describes as highly adaptable to a variety of potential subjects along the lines of computer animation and computer modeling. Back in the classroom, he tells his students, “The fastest way to get an artist to stop paying attention is to tell them their work sucks. I’m a big believer,” he pauses, “that it’s all about the little victories. Share the little victories, to keep people excited. We’re not going to start the day telling people what’s wrong with their animation; we’re going to look at the positives.” pops up on the big screen. Jeff, the animator, calls out, “I’m very happy with the background.” Crandley takes a moment to observe the sequence on loop. “Alright, what do you distracting since the focus of the project are the legs. “I do this often, where I’ll put my hand over the area I don’t want to see,” Crandley shows his hand clearly over his eye while he continues observing the looped sequence, “to focus on the important area. It’s a good start. It’s a really good start.” “His name is George,” Jeff adds. “This is a step in the right direction — no pun intended,” Crandley notes, laughing. “The center of mass is a little unbalanced.” Crandley returns to his station. On his iMac, he breaks down the walking sequence to note areas of the animation, where the character’s hips don’t move up and down naturally. He returns to the front of the class and acts out a walking sequence, noting the position of his feet in relation to his hip and body movements. He makes exaggerated stomping motions to ensure every point hits clearly. After going through all of the walking sequences, he says, “Good luck — may the force be with you.” He considers this for a moment, then corrects himself. “No, we’re not done today. That sounded like we were done — no.” Laughing, he directs the students on the in-class lab assignment. “Let’s do grumpy. I like grumpy. Draw me a grumpy character. Body only, no faces. How are you going to pose our character to show grumpy?” With that, he turns on some Beethoven on the iMac to set the mood. his right contain all manner of Star Wars models, various plastic kit models and a colorful array of 3D printed projects. Sitting at his desk, Crandley states, “I can’t say that teaching inspires

me — my students do. Every single day, my students come into the door with questions and experiences and a thirst to learn this art form and this pipeline.” He goes on to mention that despite being such a big industry, computer graphics is a community college level. “Usually this content is reserved for universities,” Crandley continues, “the four-year to offer this content here, at this level, in an accessible environment, is really, really quite

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“I feel that education should be free. I think my entire tenor here is access. Everyone should have the same opportunities to learn this material. We shouldn’t shut the doors to the animation graphics industry to folks just because they don’t have access to this information.” If Crandley wasn’t teaching, he says he’d still be working in the production world, on computer animation and visual effects, while still having aspirations to work at Industrial Light and Magic.

“The genesis moment, the impetus of my entire career, like many people, was the original ‘Star Wars’ film,” Crandley says. From that beginning, a world unfolded, from plastic kit models to computer animation, from professional visual effects work to teaching. He followed his dreams at every step, a person often in the right place at the right time, but also one who embraced every opportunity when it came. He didn’t make excuses, nor did he shy away from change. Sacramento City College. According to Don Button, a fellow graphic communication professor at City College, Crandley’s students not only highly respect him, but they also love his classes. “Pat brings so much energy and enthusiasm to his classroom,” Button observes. “He creates a very positive rapport with his students. And it shows in the high quality of 3D,

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new & old A look at SCCâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s buildings & their namesakes Before walking into the front of Sacramento City College campus, across from William Land Park, stop and take a look around. Look at the architecture of the two structures

the school. With SCC celebrating its centennial at takes a look at some of the older buildings on campus, and the people whose names

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newer brick buildings. Look at the trees, the decades-old redwoods towering in front of campus. And look down at the numbers embedded in brass diamond plaques, and a few in cement on the walkway into the quad, outlining the life of one of Californiaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s oldest community colleges. Now walk farther into campus. See Hughes Stadium rising to the east, the oldest structure on campus, and observe the Student Services building, the youngest. Everything is part of a rich history that

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Words Jonathan Taraya Pictures Vanessa Nelson

Making art to live Ly Pham’s passion helped him survive as a Vietnamese prisoner A cascade of large, rust-colored metal doors stand sentinel beneath the concrete roots of Hughes Stadium. Crimson numbers, cleanly stenciled on beige walls, label each section the doors open under. The clang of metal instruments being Here a City College maintenance technician puts away his tools for the day. Hollywood response to a casting call poster that reads: “For the role of Older Asian Man.” small in stature, white-streaked hair peppered with black cupping a receding hairline, thin clear-framed eyeglasses encasing small black eyes, both set polished brown leather.

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But if given a second glance, it is clear that this man does so much more keeping City College from falling apart. He is also a talented artist, a survivor of war making the most of a second chance in his adopted country. Known as Mr. Ly (pronounced Lee) on campus, his full name is Ly Pham, and shaking the sandpaper texture of his warm hand, his soft, alert eyes soaked in the wisdom of living a hard life, it is apparent that this short, wrinkled Vietnamese expatriate is so much more than his title. me,” says Pham in broken English entwined in a thick Vietnamese accent, with soft consonants rolling melodically into exaggerated vowel sounds. He

pronounces “to” as “scoo.” “Because I do everything,” Pham says with one clap of his hands as if just lock problem, call maintenance, and only me build. And the door, cannot close, door It’s easy to miss Pham on campus. thin, wiry frame often buttoned-down in what Pham calls his “handicap-blue” maintenance uniform, he often blends into the background. But when visitors sit in his workshop of Pham’s accent, it clear that there are many more colors than “handicap-blue” in this man’s history. Such as the white in the beautiful marble statues of the Virgin Mary he

Ly Pham carves many images in wood and stone; this one represents him and his wife, Donna.

chisels by hand at his South Sacramento home, or the deep red of Communist held prisoner for seven years during the Vietnam War. Or the brown wood etchings of Jesus he carves and just gives away because he wants to be remembered. “I never sell… always give away,” Pham says of his art. His body of work ranges from chiseled themes. The art, much like its subject matter, is immaculate. Exquisitely detailed reproductions of images imprinted into the Catholic subconscious, such as the Virgin Mary in repose while holding baby Jesus or the wooden bust of Christ during the height of his suffering. “If I sell to you, you forget,” says Pham, “If I give to you, you remember.”

orn in the city of Hue in Vietnam on New Year’s Day

do art as a child. He says he would draw all the time, and in high school he learned how to carve and chisel stone and wood. He wanted to pursue his art professionally, but his mother convinced him otherwise. remembers what Pham’s mother used to say about his art back when they were together in high school. “My mother-in-law told him, ‘You study,’” says Donna in an accent similar to Pham’s. “’Not do this. Only make money when you die.’” Pham says his mother believed that artists are always poor in life, and their work only begins to make money when they are dead. Heeding his mother’s

advice, Pham kept his art as a hobby and studied political science at what he calls the College University of Law in Saigon. he says, that’s what most young men did after college. Pham served in the South Vietnamese into detail about his military role, Pham gives a quick history lesson of the political climate came in Vietnam during that time. by two. Look like Korea.” Pham says after the division by the Geneva Accords, North Vietnam was given to the Communists while South Vietnam was made a Republic that promoted democracy. Pham says his job War involved explaining the difference between a Communist state and a republic. spring 2016

Pham says most soldiers under his command didn’t understand what they convince them they were on the right side. “Vietnamese people not clear about what is Communist,” says Pham. “’What does that mean — Communist?’” Pham says he would use an analogy soldiers could understand. “[In Communism] the building is yours,” says Pham. “The government say the building is yours, but inside they control everything. I have nothing. The people have nothing. Only the bike, the bicycle. Only that is yours.” Pham says he would often use economics to get his message across, telling the men he commanded, that in a republic, if you had money, “you buy anything you want.” But in Communism, he would say, there is nothing to buy. Pham thought since he was just a But he soon found out that was a mistake.

the company will kill you.” Pham had the same training as what

between the two jobs is that, in between battles, he didn’t get a break because he had to continue to teach the soldiers about why they were there. very, very hard,” Pham says clearly and deliberately. Pham says it was his value as a political Vietnamese. As the Americans began pulling years, the United States stopped sending support to the South Vietnamese. Pham says gradually China and Russia began taking control over the country and he and his soldiers were afraid of being immediately shot when revealed as South Vietnamese

“They lied,” Pham says. “They lied.” Pham says the North Vietnamese would announce on loud speakers that any South Vietnamese who willingly turned themselves in would not only be allowed to live, but would also get to go home. Pham had three children with Donna at the time, the youngest 3 months old. The lure to see them again was too much. Pham revealed “And then they catch you,” says Pham. Pham was held prisoner in a rock quarry in North Vietnam, leaving his wife and three young children to fend for themselves. In order to survive, Donna had to think of clever ways to put food on the table. Pham says Donna would take all the at the markets in the morning. She would buy as much as she could and then resell it at a higher price later in the day. But, she says, sometimes it wouldn’t work “Not freedom like here, you know,” says Donna. “Everything, of the food, government control. Sometimes police took

my food. Bought and sell, you know.” Donna says during this time, their kids would stay with Pham’s mom, the same woman who told him not to pursue art. But it was Pham’s art that helped him survive in prison for seven years. Pham says the rations of food at the quarry were very small. “They have a two meal,” says Pham.

his craft and use new tools to scratch

road to pick up any type of job available.

on aluminum poles for more food. Those seven years in prison, Pham says, rekindled his love for art. The more art he made, the more he survived. His mother was right. Pham was never meant to make money with his art. He was just meant to live.

program in the U.S. that allowed political prisoners who were held more than three years to immigrate to America. So Pham took Donna and their four kids to Stockton that year, and they both learned English at community college, was able to pivot that education into a job

the second year, a little bit. And the third year, one pull. One pull.” Pham begins laughing while telling these details. “If you like to diet,” says Pham with a wide grin, ”you go to a North Vietnam prison. Guarantee you, after one year… Pham used his art to get extra rations of food. He would make rings and trinkets out of stone and wood, trading them for extra pulls of rice. Pham says he got ahold of an old plastic toothbrush and would break the plastic, using the bits as jewels in his rings. Over the years, he would hone

Pham go. “What lessons you teach?” Pham says they would ask. “I don’t remember,” he would answer. After seven years of asking, Pham says they eventually believed him. He reunited with Donna, and they had worked all sorts of jobs with the skills he gained in prison. “I work everything,” Pham says. “Carpenter. Blacksmith.” He would even stand on the side of the

“If I sell to you, you forget. If I give to you, you remember.”

maintenance technician. Donna also worked as a part-time custodian on campus for eight years. Their daughter worked in Admissions and Records, and their son worked as a maintenance technician with his father. Pham never gave up his art, and to this day, he continues crafting beautiful pieces. Not for money, or for food, but just to make others happy. Pham says that’s part of his philosophy, in work and in life. “If you happy,” says Pham, “then

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The sun was setting on a rundown apartment on Lake Boulevard in Redding. It was the bad side of town, riddled with sex offenders, drug dealers and homeless people. I sat in the kitchen of an apartment with no furniture, staring at tile that had peeled off the wall, as if it were trying to escape, along with the rest of us.

the corner, trying to pry open a window in the back bedroom.

I nervously stood, beckoning my two friends, Melissa and Desserae, to come with me. They were sisters: Melissa was my A man screamed, yelling in a language I couldn’t understand, but still, his meaning was clear. another man shouted, frantically pawing through a stained duffel bag, his long, pale, skinny Wailing sirens drew closer as we all scrambled to get our things, some more valuable than others. It was every man

for himself, except for Melissa, Desserae and me. As we fell out of the window and onto the gravel, we ran for the street and started walking, pretending that the most part, it was. For the cops, it was just another routine call to roust a bunch of homeless drug addicts out of a drug den. For the landlord, it was another routine call from neighbors saying the music was too loud. And for us — some homeless, some addicted, some criminal — it was just another day of the monotonous routine of living on the run.

By the time the house burned down, it was too late. My mother, a victim of mercury poisoning and an month for her disability. Five hundred dollars went to rent, cover our bills, food and life’s emergencies. This was how we lived after my stepfather, the only father I had ever known, died. He had been the breadwinner, my mother always at his side. A pension for smoking and unhealthy eating habits put him My biological father was a heroin addict and gang member with a serious anger problem,

home burned down in a massive my stepfather died from a heart attack. Until then, I was a straight A student who dreamed of going to Ivy League colleges, being a renowned lawyer and policymaker. Granted, I was always concerned about my mother’s ability to make decisions, both on my behalf and her own. My mother, always encouraging, would simply say, “It’s meant to be” or “If it’s God’s will.” She never worried that anything would go wrong until it was too late.

my mother. She always told me she thought he was dead, which I assumed to be true. I wasn’t even sure he knew that my mother was pregnant with me — she didn’t know until she friend of my biological father told me he had other children, although he didn’t pay much attention to them. The only thing I knew about him was his name — Charles Marlow — and that I probably look a lot like him because I don’t look a thing like my mother. spring 2016

After the house burned down, there was no renter’s insurance. There was no backup plan, no emergency fund. My mother could no longer provide for me, so we were forced to go our separate ways. After we parted, my mother lived in a tiny trailer on a good friend’s property with no hot water and no real kitchen. She boiled water to take baths and used a tiny microwave and camper stove to heat her food. I only visited her there twice during our separation. I felt so terrible — I couldn’t stand to see her that way — but I could barely provide for myself as a homeless teen whose grades were tumbling down a steady slope. I decided to stay in Redding to attend school. My mother couldn’t afford the gas to take me there. So I packed my things and went to a new home — the couches and corners of my friend’s houses. more responsible people, adults with homes. I lived with my ex-best-friend’s stepmother for

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a while. She had an addiction to OxyContin, though, and was always worried I was trying to steal her boyfriend, who had just gotten out of prison. Soon after I moved in, he was arrested again — something about tax evasion on car purchases made in Oregon. In addition to consoling this woman, I helped take care of her small children, walking them home and taking them to school. Later they were taken away from her. I went from one extreme to another. I lived with my French teacher, an older Mormon woman who insisted that I not make any noise, always set my cup on a coaster, put things in a certain place in the refrigerator and be in bed by a certain time. I’d like to say it worked out, but I just couldn’t live up to those standards. After that I went to live with my cousins and aunt. She and had once tried to kill her children. Her children were also greatly affected by her illness, as she had to be under constant

care and supervision, taking Despite her faults, she was a very kind woman, who, I believe, had the best heart of anyone. She was just too lost in her own trauma to take care of me. I didn’t stay long at each of these homes. I was plagued by the feeling that I didn’t really belong there, and despite the best efforts of all involved, I that I was the burden — and that was something I didn’t want to be at any cost. I never felt truly welcome any place until I got to know Melissa and Desserae, who, along with everyone else who welcomed me into their homes, had no money and the most problems. Melissa and Desserae were by far the scariest girls I knew in school. Everyone was afraid of them. They looked tough and barely talked; they hung out with scary people. As they weren’t scary at all, or maybe I became scary, too,

mother, a former meth addict, had started a new life and had young children to worry about. They lived with their father, a chronic gambler, who was kind but focused all his strength on battling his own demons. When I had nowhere to go, I could always go there — wherever they were at the moment. Like most kids in situations like that, my friends became my family. They, too, had serious drug problems, but I never cared because I was too young to see them as serious until I was much older. I started to get to know Melissa and Desserae, what makeup and music they liked and, slowly but surely, they became real people. We supported each other no matter what, our loyalties running deep. They would screw over other people, but they would never screw me over, nor I them.

walked with them through the trees to meet up with some guy who had a few grams of meth he was selling for cheap, directly from one of the many meth houses in the neighborhood. He had just gotten out of prison and met with us in front of a bar where one of his prostitutes had just gotten done with a job. It was just another day. A few weeks later, I walked into another rundown apartment with Melissa and Desserae, and that’s when everything changed. with the sour, milky smell of cooking methamphetamine. A loud, red-headed woman with tattoos on her face welcomed us. She asked if we were hungry and beckoned us to take a seat. As I turned a corner, I saw a woman, eight months pregnant, turning

the glass meth pipe in her hand. I stopped, losing my breath. “Aren’t you worried about your baby?” I asked. Everyone’s eyes turned toward me; I felt the focus of tattooed faces, some hands carrying guns and some cutting lines, all of them rough. “Nah,” she replied. “This’ll be the third one CPS takes away. I can’t afford them anyway.” I was instantly repulsed. She had a point; most people I knew who started using this drug either did it experimentally, to gain energy or to stop eating. Fifty dollars worth of meth could keep you full for a month — no need to buy food. And because women so often traded sexual favors for drugs, they could essentially pay nothing to stay alive and feel good at the same time. But that was something I would never do.

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I knew I was not a drug addict; I was not going to trade sexual favors for drugs. I was still in high school. I wanted to go to college, to help people like this. I was not going to kill my children to kill my pain. But for that year I was homeless, I was just like them, using drugs and caring about very little, which was the only thing I could do. So I decided that if I didn’t want to be like that pregnant woman, it was time to grow up. Soon I wouldn’t be able to blame my decisions on the indiscretions of my youth. By then my mother had saved enough money to rent a one-bedroom house. We had lunch one day, and she invited me to live with her again. I got the bedroom. I started attending a new high school. I made friends with new people, none of whom did drugs. I went to a doctor and got put into an experimental program for teens with major depression, which I was diagnosed with that year. The medication made all the difference. Life goes on, so did I, and so did my friends. Melissa became the proud mother of three children whom she cares for deeply, and she no longer

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does drugs. She called me months after I switched schools, lifestyle with me. Desserae fell back into old habits, but is doing much better today. To be honest, it was pretty easy for me to get out. I’ve never had an addictive personality and was always pretty capable of making the smart decision. But even I went down a road that not many escape and most people judge so harshly, not understanding how unlikley it is for anyone to make it out. Later I started going to college and interned at a local TV station where I fell in love with producing. After working there for more than seven years, I got a job in Sacramento at CBS 13, where I work as a news producer. I started going back to school once I got here and have been working on an A.A. for transfer in journalism, which I should accomplish by the end great friends, many of whom are coworkers, most of whom would never imagine where I came from. I may be a few years late, but I’m alive and striving. And

Between little people and big people Laurie Perry guides students of all ages in early childhood education Words Callie Paschall Pictures Vanessa Nelson On a Wednesday morning at the Child Development Center at Sacramento City College, the doors are open and Indya Smith, the always-smiling front desk clerk, welcomes children and students into the building. Gathering in the schoolroom, the cuteas-can-be children that Early Childhood Education professor Laurie Perry calls “the little people” free themselves from their soaking raincoats and rain boots. Perry greets the City College students, or “the big people,” with a hug and soft “hello.” “I think it’s circle time,” Perry exclaims almost musically as everyone enters. This happens every weekday at the Child Development Center. Originally located in the portable trailers behind the current building, the center was opened coordinator and namesake. According to City College Chronicles, the campus’ monthly newsletter, Clayton taught more Today, a statue of Clayton sits in front

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of the Child Development Center to honor the lasting impact her contributions to City College’s campus. Like her predecessor, Perry has had a long career at City College, having already Child Education coordinator at City College, teaching adults how to be preschool teachers Perry says the Child Development Center is often overlooked as a learning environment for real-life experiences with children and viewed as just campus day care. lab for Early Childhood Education students, not just a child care center,” she notes. Those ECE students — Perry’s big people — round up the little people in small groups, sit them down and begin reading a sing-along stories that require a lot of jumping and clapping. As the little people carry on with circle time, Perry is off in the station to make room for snack time. She wipes down the table and sets it

with colorful spoon, fork, bowl and cup outlines to show children where to place their utensils on instructional laminated placemats, more learning tools for the little people. “I really want this to be an incredible environment for the children and the ECE students,” Perry says.

erry’s mornings start by replying

which is covered with stacks of student journals placed next to her blue lunch bag. Impressive art projects done by cabinets. Photographs of previous students and their children are scattered on the wall. In addition to the wall of memories, a couple of festive Christmas cards are thumbtacked next to her computer. Perry was born and raised in Montana where she completed her college education at the University of Montana. She majored in Elementary Education with a minor

in what she calls a “self-made” Early Childhood Education degree, because there were no ECE classes available. “There weren’t any Early Childhood Education jobs either in Montana,” she recalls. “Women didn’t really work outside the home that much in Montana. I went to a couple programs to interview. They [were] awful, and they didn’t even Montana resulted in Perry’s move to Fresno with her sister who had two boys who needed child care. Perry’s sister convinced her to move by telling Perry about the job opportunities.

Before obtaining her master’s degree in Child Development from the University of California, Davis, Perry studied marriage and family therapy at California State University, Fresno. Although she admits still using some of what she studied in Fresno, she interest her. professor at Solano Community College where she served as the ECE program director. Later, before coming to City College, she held the same position at Napa Valley College and Yuba College, teaching the same subject to new people.

teacher shortly after her move. However, because of the low pay, Perry says she decided it was best to continue her studies in graduate school.

the uses and abuses of power — humans’ innate need for power, whether they are

thought, ‘I have to do something because I don’t want to live on that pay my whole life,’” Perry says.

are using power with children and learn to teach children about problem solving,

very important that adults working with

t’s snack time, and the little people are having freshly cut watermelon, yogurt and plastic cups of cold water. boy named Joshua. He places two cut watermelon slices on his plate while Perry scoops a spoonful of yogurt into a plastic white bowl. “Is it good, Joshua?” Perry asks. With a mouth full of food, Joshua nods. Slowly, the rest of the little people make their way to the table. Two little girls, Alyssa and Cassius, decide to play grocery shopping but start to argue over the amounts of food in each of their carts. One of the girls snatches corn from the other’s toy basket. A lab student notices attempting to calm them down, then signals for Perry’s help. “Let’s try and trade,” says Perry as she places one hand of each girl’s back. Alyssa and Cassius agree to exchange the items they don’t want. spring 2016

“The mediator has to intervene to stop any hurtful words or actions, listen to both sides of the story, and try to help they can both agree,” she says later. “I’ve meetings. Children are not really very different from big people. Adults just forget to respect them.” But Perry doesn’t do this alone. Her second and third pairs of hands are her interns Jeri Clark and Eddie Tanimoto, who completed both of Perry’s beginning and advanced lab classes. Clark and Tanimoto currently attend Sacramento Childhood Education. “Other teaching programs have themes, but this program is child-focused [on] how they learn,” Clark says. Tanimoto claims that Perry has

had a huge impact on his goals and education. “She’s incredible and really cares,” Tanimoto says. “Listen to Laurie.”

t’s 1 p.m., the beginning of the little people’s outside activities. Perry guards the small bike shed, passing out wagons and tricycles. Meanwhile, the big people assist the little people on the plastic slides. A couple of big people sit at the scattered blue and green picnic tables. Clark pulls a group of small passengers in her red plastic wagon along the cement pathway. Laughs and playful screams swarm the playground. “I really would love to videotape what we do here and use it for teaching tools for students who can’t attend the laboratory,” says Perry.

Once playtime is over, it’s the end of the day for the part-time little people. The big people line up all the children to head back into the lab playroom. Perry kneels on one knee to help button the raincoats and double checks that each child’s rain boots are on the correct feet. Her work does not go unnoticed by her colleagues. “It’s nice to watch how Laurie Perry works with kids and students and how hands-on she is,” says Lisa Garcia, childcare center supervisor. Like most days, not once was there a cup coffee in Perry’s hands, and not once did Perry eat a meal. Instead, as the little people walked away, only an abandoned sock from a child remained with Perry. time,” Perry says. “Let’s just say I am tall

“ I try to emphasize that it is a teaching lab for Early Childhood Education students, not just a child care center.”

Sacramento City College Student Magazine Produced by Journalism 403/407