WATCH Magazine, Fall 2013

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Porter-Gaud School Fall 2013

Volume IV Issue I

Mr. Childs Smith

Matthew Key

Benjamin Joye

Ms. Karleigh Hambrick

Logan Coleman

Elizabeth Norton

Dr. Aaron Lehman

Austin Logan

Monica Nyland

Derrick Main

Kole Burke

Jenny Ulber

Brewster Sloan

Garland Blanchard

Elliott Crosland

Benton Franklin

Andrew Thompson

Lillian Saul

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Table Of Contents 5

Know Trespassing

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Do It For the Vine?

Austin Logan

Monica Nyland

11 Freaks, Geeks and Jocks at Their Peaks Logan Coleman

15 Panini Genies Elizabeth Norton

20 Kitchen Confidential Kole Burke

22 Breaking the Mold Matthew Key

25 Food for Thought: Something to Shoe On Brett Cranny

27 Same Love Jenny Ulber

31 The Fact of Fiction Andrew Thompson

33 College: What’s the Point Lillian Saul

37 In Loving Memory: Coach Randy Clark The watch would like to give special thanks to those who helped out with this issue: Brett Cranny, Gretchen Tate, Kathryn Sherrod, Maureen Daily, Larry Salley, David Reese, Al Trivette, Ken Hyde, Eleanor Wade, Michael Blanchard, Grayson Barnwell, Danny Avenel, Ben Colyer, Foster Moe, Mitchell Bluford, Aimee McShane, Cross Tolliver and Max Harley.

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KNOW TRESPASSING Austin Logan

Digital Security, the NSA, and You

The Digital Age, while a time of great potential where all can achieve far beyond what was possible a mere 30, or even 20, years ago, also at times borders into treacherous realms of freedom-encroaching lack of privacy. In the back of everyone’s mind, at some point, the thought that one’s life could be on display to some random stranger has appeared for at least a split second. Of course, until recently, we always dismissed the majority of that spying as something that only dictatorships such as China and North Korea or black-hat hackers would do. While we knew that websites such as Facebook and Google record our daily activities on their servers, few of us had any knowledge of the extent to which those records could reveal–and to whom they would reveal–our lives. e v r e Out of the few who did know, NSA whistleblower obs t s e u k m ro Edward Snowden was the one to finally uncover the ... we ery keyst a extent to which our digital lives are documented, and ev how make into tant following such a discovery, we must observe how ins we r o t r every keystroke we make into a search bar or instant ffec h ba a c r y a a e s messenger may affect our lives and how it might do so. ger m how it n e s s In the wake of Snowden’s revealing the NSA spying me s and o. e v i l systems such as PRISM and XKeyscore, several our do s t h g i m major technology companies received accusations of aiding the government scandals by allowing the NSA easy access to all of the content stored for their users: Those companies include Google, Facebook and Apple, and while each company has tirelessly refuted the accusations of scandal with promises of security patches and encryption updates, each company has equally powerful evidence showing just how insecure our data is on their servers.

From Google, the NSA obtains our search history, email and personal profiles; from Facebook, we lose our personal lives and interests; and from

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Apple, our phone communications, web history, and effectively anything ever typed onto an iDevice; modifications exist that may secure our future data, but, for the most part, only a massive overhaul of the entire Internet security system will ensure our digital safety from governments and criminals alike.

Google comprises a massive portion of all of almost everyone’s Internet experience, and, therefore, many of us entrust a huge deal of our private information to them, from our search results to the personal and financial information we email to and from our Gmail accounts, as well as any documents we save to Google Drive. However, Google may not keep all of our data as safe as we thought: search results are broadcasted out to advertisers to allow them to target a more willing audience, but that breach of privacy is widely known and feared much less than it could or should be. I say “should” be, because though many people know of Google selling results to advertisers, and just brush it off with minimal fuss, what many occasionally fear is that the search results could be used for some nefarious or intrusive purpose. To see this breach of privacy as dangerous was, until recently, dismissed as paranoia.

Unfortunately, what was then deemed paranoid has now been shown to be much more realistic. Back in August, The Guardian reported on a New York couple who received a visit from a group of six federal agents due to “suspicious search activity,” as the husband had recently searched pressure cookers and backpacks on Google, following the Boston marathon bombing.

While the agents later admitted that the searches had been tipped off to them by the employer of the husband (the searches had apparently been made at work), the fact that searches may be made so publicly available and may have such large implications for such small topics should be at least mildly disturbing.

The same could likely occur with emails. We now know that the government has ties to Google and Google the ability to parse your emails, proven by the fact that an account activation email can now be detected from the inbox and have a button added to the preview to automatically activate whatever account the activation is for before even opening the email. With the NSA just recently having been exposed to manipulating major encryption methods such as HTTPS and SSL to suit their needs of decryption, Google would

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likely not even need to supply the NSA with those emails before the government can know what they contain. From the insecurity of even the most major companies, like Google, we should take a message that precaution and discretion must always be considered on all of our online activity, even that which we think is safe.

Apple’s insecurity competes quite effectively as the largest threat to our security, as it can collect just as much as Google can but also iMessage records between Apple devices. The company has, as of March 2012, found its way into over half of all American households, making the data harvestable by the NSA all that much more profound as they can collect over half of the nation’s web history, text messages and anything else Apple stores from only a single company. Mimicking Google’s assurance that user data was safe with them, Apple assured us that texts and other information was not available to the government and went far enough to say that not even they had total a c c e s s to the information. However, cryptologists have discovered that all iMessages data is readable by Apple and is therefore readable by the NSA and any hackers that could make their way onto Apple’s servers. As iDevices also store browsing history, emails, contacts and a host of other personal information, we again see the threat of data insecurity and the lack of true privacy on the internet exemplified by the abilities of the NSA’s data harvesting programs.

While many have claimed that Facebook is becoming a dying breed replaced by Instagram, Twitter, Vine and a host of other new social networking platforms, those claims do not negate the fact that our final network still remains enormous in the social networking sphere and also, not surprising, fits nicely into our picture of data insecurity with its tracking capabilities, chronicles of our lives, lists of our acquaintances and so many other data pertaining to us all now harvestable by the NSA. Facebook has been accused of data privacy issues for years, such as the often-referenced knowledge that they sell our data to advertisers (much like Google was accused of doing), but the company was not as often accused of the actually potentially damaging privacy and security issues that it now has been shown to possess. The most notable privacy issue, alongside the obvious ability

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to harvest biographical data in a profile, is the ability of the NSA’s programs to track Facebook users’ friends and create a graphical representation of all of a citizen’s social connections. While this ability may seem harmless, the potential concerns it could entail are significantly more severe than one might perceive. Officially, this method can be used to link people as potential terrorist threats. While that goal may seem nice and good for the nation, it is also how the aforementioned Googler was already under suspicion, as he had many contacts outside of the US. Also troublesome is that, before the NSA, tracking American citizens’ connections was not legal. The method could be used to track foreign terrorists, but tracking had to stop once an Also American citizen was included as the method was mostly troub for determining how an external threat might enter the lesom e is t h at, be nation as opposed to how an internal threat might organize. f o re t NSA, Monitoring internal threats presents a slightly borderline tracki he ng Ameri legal potential for the government to possibly violate the can first amendment right to peaceful assembly as the next step citize ns from monitoring suspicious connections is to prevent them. conne ’ ct While prevention of meeting may seem like paranoia— not le ions was gal. and it may very well be, but it will still be acknowledged for the sake of argument—it is a logical possibility and is highly unconstitutional even if on a two-person scale.

Thus, NSA could easily manipulate Facebook into a tool to accomplish their unconstitutional deeds, and that is exactly what they appear to be striving to do with not only Facebook but also Google, Apple, and countless other social networking feeds now and for however long it takes for the nation, and world, to step up and stop them.

I leave you to ponder this question: what happens if another NSA worker or hacker, just like Snowden, steals another hundred-thousand documents—except then, the documents are your own personal data and are not being given to The Guardian as evidence for government crimes but instead to a terror organization as a list of targets? Where will the “nothing to hide” argument be when all data can be made incriminating? And what can you do to prevent your information from falling into the public domain?

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Monica Nyland

Do It For

Long gone are the paragraphs so intimately describing the weekends, the endless blog posts, and the infatuation with excessively long birthday uploads. Gone are the wordy novels of Facebook, the long tweets, the endless Instagram posts… Now, it is all about Vine and its six-second clips of start-stop motion displaying everything from enthrallingly well-shot pranks to “Smack Cams” to (inevitably) Miley Cyrus imitations. These viral seconds are spreading across the Internet like wildfire. Like it, Revine it, share it with all your followers. Whether from aspiring stand-up comedians or goofy teenagers, one breakthrough Vine can suddenly net 70,000 likes and 135,000 Revines—and get people all around the world talking.

Vine first came about in June of 2012 and shortly thereafter spread faster than any other social networking app in its league. Just as the name suggests, the app grew overnight and spread onto every iPhone worldwide, drawing people in and amazing them with an idea so groundbreakingly simple that it was a mystery no one had created it sooner.

This concept appeals so much more than a post for obvious reasons. The vast majority of Vines are meant to be funny, but few of them genuinely are. The majority of Vines amassing attention serve as a testimonial of humor, painting a clear picture of the direction comedy is going. Slapstick takes on a literal sense, as one of the most commonly posted Vines involves the epic “Smack Cam.” These slightly violent posts share a common trait: sheer pain, and usually on the unsuspecting. From people attacking others with whipped cream to the face to people slamming milk cartons onto a napping guy on the couch, this type of humor takes users back to the times of Vaudeville and, later, Charlie Chaplin. The difference, though, is that in today’s version of this comedy, people from all over the world are competing to do the most outrageous and painful thing on film seen by virtually anyone, 9

the Vine?

anytime. Perhaps the popularity of this kind of Vine humor can attest to the unspoken love of violence that seems so prevalent in our everyday lives. But this isn’t television; Vine has no pain limit. There is no board of people censoring every word and action. Vine is uncut and raw, which plays a huge role in its raunchy appeal. Any Vine displaying a person suffering to a certain extent can become the six-second epitome of comedy for this age. But there is a fine line between danger and humor, and how far are people willing to go for the sake of a laugh?

Another type of Vine that simply cannot be ignored involves the Twerking phenomenon. This raunchy dance caught on as soon as Miley Cyrus’s music video for “We Can’t Stop” was released. Suddenly everyone on Vine was twerking. Girls would twerk with their friends on a car; boys would twerk on a table at McDonald’s. When written on paper, these ideas sound horrible, but when shot and uploaded, they amass thousands of likes. It makes the viewer wonder whether this attention is worth it. Is there no embarrassment for the foolish things people will do just for a fleeting glint of fame?

The most successful Vine users push the limits. They break rules and endure pain for a certain type of popularity that cannot be recreated, until someone crazier comes along and recreates their idea, making it more painful, or more embarrassing, or more politically incorrect. If anyone—of any age or intelligence level—were to load the popular page of Vine, she would see the spectacle that’s sweeping the world: people of all ages and lifestyles teetering on the edge of the appalling and the questionably hilarious. Ruin a wedding, slap your father across the face, oil the floor before a sibling walks on it, cover yourself in ice cream at the drive-thru to a seductive song—all of these pranks ask the question, “Would you do it for the Vine?”

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s k e e G , s k a F r e And Jocks at t

heir Peaks

) y t li ea r l o o h sc h ig h e h t (an explanation of Logan Coleman

I had school experience. As gh hi g in ch oa pr ap y for m child, I always longed ld bo d an g un yo a s A contain a very stark d an al ci so ly re pu to be again, high school was d an n ai ag t ou g in bozo in the dark envisioned it play ed os -n ot sn e th to ader the queen-bee cheerle om fr g in ign re y— ch th, communal hierar ed your personal wor fin de h nc lu at at se hich your oom. A kingdom in w sr as cl y er ev of er of medium-wash, corn ir pa e m sa e th in up strolled ur supposed “bestie” yo if at th nt te ex and to such an frantically exclaim, to t bu e oic ch no d have orn last Monday, you’ w d e’ sh s an je ny in ol social scene was, Abercrombie sk ho sc gh hi e th of t ncep ur reputation. The co yo e ag lv sa to !” us ith who reached the “You can’t sit w e os th e; ac pl r he d to fin everyone must climb at th n ai nt ou m a d, ould desperately in my early min w nt ce as eir th g rin k du d those who got stuc an g, do p to e m ca be mountain’s peak ars. all their remaining ye in ak pe e th ds ar w up to continue to scrabble ing role academics um ns co etim e th er nsid school whimsy did I co gh hi y m in er ev N

no way accurately in k or w ol ho Sc . se di para four years of future y m g rin du ay pl ld wou achieving acceptance of s re su es pr e th n mentio cial equation. Not to so y m to in ed or ct fa to maintain sanity y ilit ab e th r no t; es Midw the god-knows-where in ge lle co at e th om fr w, of enclosed, ston fe a ke ta or e giv , days hundred and twenty n ve se e es th h ug ro th ffrey Chaucer, and eo G , ion ot M of s aw n’s L s lectures on Newto es dl en d an rs be am ch

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the Tang Dynasty.

My bas is for such a prized wor ld could nev of the num er have bee erous high s n formulate chool movie d without th d r a e assistance mas I had w of my slobb atched since ery, toddler the word “p trap. Years om-pom” dr la t e r , t h ibbled out e apparent as lack of realit I considered y embedded feigning illne in my fanta s sy became s e a c h morning bef socially awk ward self in o re having to to a seemin drag my exh g ly e austed and ndless numb dreaded rea e r of classro ding quizzes oms contain . ing plaid skir ts and The act uality of hig h school wa s rather dif promised it ferent than to be; there the movies was no unb that I worsh e lie v iped had a bly dreamy knees of ev athlete that ery teenage made the ta girl give-out nning lotiona s h e overconfid stained no hunchba e ntly strutte cked calculu d through the s addict who hallway; the was repeate period. Sure, re was dly shoved in we all have to a locker our hobbies, e very day af and in some ter second quasi-cliques w a y , shape, or fo , but not to rm, we all sq the extreme ueeze ourse s t h a t my belove indicated. Be lves into d Breakfast C ing a total m lub, Clueless, ovie buff, I or Heathers recently reclassics. Wha had w atched a fe t I found wa w o f t hose esteem s in some w ed high-scho ays surprisin adolescence ol cult g : d e s p ite the unde , the messa niable overges conveye dramatizatio d and the c few approac n of o n s t r u c t e d stereotyp hable truths e s in these m . ovies contain Despite a having a ser ies of infam ous charact class clowns ers that wa to teacher’s lk my schoo pets—one l grounds — J ohn Bender ranging from my halls lea of The Brea ving a wake k fast Club do of stale ciga es not prow r e t t e s l through a nd the disag trailing behin reeable sten d him. Yet s ch of teena imultaneous ge delinquen ly , n o n e o devil that lo f our youth cy unges on ou can deny th r shoulder a e presence of nd casually a little red our eager ea w h is p ers all that rs. Andrew is mischievous Clark, also o and temptin f The Break subjects in h g into fast Club, do is unflatterin es not reign g wrestling over his high tights and w school in over my susceptible t eenage hear t with a 12

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a blossoming female nd ou rr su re lo ga ys cal bo ue eye. However, typi bl le pa a of h itc tw atious attraction. Our semi-coordinated irt fl ily da d an n tio ac tr leaving us prone to dis ls, al w m oo sr as cl r ou population inside no king—nor even an s ha ol ho sc r ou ; us a stat ne wolves seeking alph lo as t no t bu , er th ith athletes, brains, boys reign toge w d le fil , cy ra oc m de ity, a is a diverse commun dy bo t en ud st r ou r, oligarchy. Rathe eater significance of gr en ev an ld ho ho and w ial to our foundation nt se es l al e ar ho w and individuals, ary Allison Reynolds sc d an t en sil s b’ lu C kfast social realm. The Brea , te ia ed m im r ou in aniacally laughing those close with m l, re pa ap k ac bl of s layers swaddled in numerou , ry ra lib ol ho sc r ou seeks doesn’t lurk in Allison, like all of us, et Y . st pa ll ro st ho w those e and discomfort for lu va koc sh r fo ly re pu way to be noticed e m so in e riv st l al e rm, w hindrance of a unifo e th ith w en ev e us attention, beca to grab attention, g in im A s. nt le ta al individu e recognition for our iv ce re to as l el w as aesthetically, ised Claire Standish, po d an r la pu po hy w nce something positive—he in lt su re s ay w al ot however, cann g her actions for tin ric st re d an ce fa g her cupied with powderin oc ly nt ta ns co so is the cute one, n, the stock nerd, so hn Jo n ia Br , ed ey gd bi Baby-faced, blonde, an e. ag im an up g in ep test, the sake of ke g in his BC Calculus in rn tu r te af st ju ils of na desk, biting his nubs s hi in er iv qu on’t t no es do for the assignment w % 0 10 a g in tt ge ly d on the bonus question an g in iss m at th g in ay pr ars over the stress of te to en iv dr e ar ds ki er, ing to Harvard. Howev go om fr m o hi t en ev pr they were assigned tw ok bo ed ag -p ed dr un ur-h d annotating that fo an ks ee w ed m m -ja st te e miserable evening. months ago, all in on nder in us, or Brian Be hn Jo of t bi tle lit a ems that we all have The point here se in this sense. Each of e bl ta la re ly al ion nt inte on Reynolds; they’re Johnson, or even Allis bad thing, for it’s a t no ’s at th d an , ee all of us to some degr these characters is in es cinematic high ak m t ha w d an s, er enag an, what makes us te what makes us hum

school fictio n a partial r eality. Not a single studen to a stereot t at Porterype depicted Gaud can be in Clueless, o accurately p r The Breakfa inned down movie; for if st Club, or in this was pos any other h sible, we wo igh-school ce u ld n ’t b e ntered embedded in individuals. T h The Breakfa e most prof st Club goes ound quote, in my opinio as follows, “ hiding it.” In n, W e’re all bizar other words re. Some of , we’re all ou us are just r own perso better at how much w n , f u ll of idiosync e choose to rasies and s expose our t tories—rega rue selves a rdless of Ultimately, n n d f ind comfort one of us c in familiar la an or ever bels of pers will be one o onality.

Ted, nor his f t h e Heathers or beloved, Sam Sixteen Can —for they a dles’ geekily re not only adorable but individua c h a r a cters, but in ls as well. dividuals, an d we are no t clones,

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Panini

What does it take to master the art of the Panini station? As these pros will testify, it’s more than just magic.

Elizabeth Norton

Rome: 100 B.C.E., an era of unfathomable hunger and a looming civil war. A famished gladiator awaits a bloody contest in which one fighter will emerge victorious to live in eternal glory while the other will come face to face with certain death.

But first--lunch. Placing a cold ham and cheese onto his shield resting in the sweltering Roman sun, the unassuming gladiator begins to lace his sandals when he hears a noise that no gladiator has heard before. It’s a sizzle. And not just any sizzle, but the sweet sizzle of toasting bread and melting cheese. Amused and slightly confused, but still really hungry, the gladiator decides to give his now golden-brown accident a try. What happened next will forever be remembered as the day the sandwich died, and something else entirely was born.

While the actual origins of the Panini may not be quite this exciting, the Panini itself still engenders great passion and excitement, and no less so than at Porter-Gaud. Each afternoon, Washington Hall draws in a crowd of hungry students who form a chaotic line around the counter every day in an eager anticipation of assembling the über sandwich. At the front end, though, stands the new Panini station—a bank of gleaming (and later on, crusted) Panini presses that act as the gateway from “merely lunch” to “an indulgence of culinary mastery.” The wellequipped Panini counter top gives each student the creative culinary license to transform himself into a five-star cuisinier, even if only for a mere 45 minutes.

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Genies Enter Ben Colyer, Mitchell Bluford, and Foster Moe: the jersey-toting, football-slinging, self-proclaimed Panini connoisseurs with the bravado to tackle the Panini station each and every day. These three modern-day gladiators are known for their edible works of art primarily consisting of two pieces of bread, a generous serving of meat, and “just enough cheese to tickle the taste buds.” Think the likes of Peyton Manning or Michael Jordan but in the increasingly ruthless and relentless sport of Panini pressing. Indeed, the mere task of finding a vacant spatula during the lunch rush can be daunting.

When it comes to lunch time, these guys certainly don’t mess around. All three claim to be the “best of the best” when it comes to producing just the right answer to their dietary dreams. What exactly is it, though, that makes these players All-American in the cafeteria when it comes to Paninis?

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Foster Moe Would you consider yourself a Panini professional?

I most definitely would. It’s always been in my blood.

What’s your favorite Panini to make?

It really depends on what the options are. However, there is nothing better than the pepper jack cheese with a little bit of mayo to moisturize the bread. I typically go for turkey but sometimes I switch it up and use roast beef and lastly I add any extras to my liking.

Can you describe the perfect Panini?

Any Panini made with extra fluffy bread and those little ridges; preferably Boar’s Head meat and some fresh cheese on a squeaky clean Panini press.

Do you have any special ingredients or a particular process?

I definitely have the magic touch. The pressure put on the Panini maker also makes a big difference. Sometimes I’ll use a bit of salt or pepper and a dollop of honey mustard to top off my best work.

Common mistakes?

Condiments should never go on top. A lot of people make the press too hot and the top of the Panini will burn before you can even melt the cheese. It’s a rookie mistake, but I see it all too often.

Are there any ways to save a bad Panini?

No, throw it away. If you don’t have the utmost confidence in your Panini, there is no saving it.

On a scale of one to ten, where would you rank yourself when it comes to making Paninis?

Ten. Obviously.

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Mitchell Bluford In the world of Panini making, which athlete would you most equate yourself to?

Tom Brady, 100%. If you look closely, you can see we have a similar jaw line and the perfect hair flow. The hair is what really does it, though.

How would you coach a newcomer when it comes to mastering the Panini station?

The most important thing I’ve learned is to take your time. If the line is long, it isn’t worth it. You can’t be rushed.

I would recommend getting to lunch early to ensure that you have enough time with the ingredients. Really get to know them and understand what you’re working with.

Have you ever been pleasantly surprised by a bizarre-sounding combination of ingredients?

Yes! A peanut butter and cheese melt. So delicious.

Does using a spatula take any special skills?

I think that five years of playing World of Warcraft really gave me a leg up in the motor skills department of spatula operation.

What are some common mistakes you’ve seen people make at the station?

American Cheese, it never works out.

Smashing the Panini--one of the biggest mistakes I see being made; you need to press gently, and with care.

Melting the cheese too much. Achieving the perfect consistency takes time.

Not using enough ingredients and using too many ingredients. Similar to the cheese, it’s a delicate balance that needs to be practiced before it can be perfected.

Do you ever regret eating a work of art?

Never.

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Ben Colyer

How would you describe your approach to the Panini maker?

I’m what you call a lone wolf. If there’s a line, “Your Boy” is not making a Panini, because some “noob” is going to try to make his sandwich paper thin by putting all of his strength (what little he has) into the press, ruining my perfect sandwich. I’ve made the fatal mistake of being impatient, and I’ve paid the price. I’ve seen it get bad. Some little sophomore the other day literally disemboweled my sandwich... Never again…

What ingredients go well together?

Turkey and provolone, mayo and tomato, and of course Panini and honey mustard…obviously.

Any secret ingredients?

Love.

What is your process for the perfect Panini?

Condiments on first, then the meat, then the cheese. Occasionally, I’ll slap on a good ol’ tomato. Next, I put that bad boy in the Panini maker. But it’s crucial that you press it, never push. It makes a world of difference. Finally, you let it cook until the cheese is melted to perfection.

What’s the most common way people ruin their Paninis?

The easiest and most common way to ruin one would be to push down on the press like everyone else does. It ruins the perfect Panini.

Do you ever regret taking a true work of art and literally eating it?

I’m a great artist, and every artist improves from piece to piece. So no, I never feel bad about it because I know I can duplicate my work on a daily basis. I’m the best of the best.

Would you consider yourself a chef? If so, who do you credit your culinary success to?

Yes, I would say I’m a Five-Star chef. And I can only credit myself for that.

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What’s your favorite sandwich?

The Atlanta Bread Company Turkey Club. No questions. It is perfect in every way.

Kitchen ConfI d enti a l A Taste of the Life The New Yacker

of Danny Avenel Kole Burke

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Appetizers: The Meal

Mr. Avenel began his family, which now consists of his seventeen-year-old son, Chandler, and thirteen-year-old daughter, Alden, and moved back to Summerville, where he took on the management position at Oscar’s restaurant, where he was soon promoted to general manager. After seven years there, he left and went to Chik-fil-a for five.

“Then,” he says with a smile, “this opportunity came up and I jumped on it. And I’ve been loving it.”

Nowadays, when Mr. Avenel isn’t cooking for 900 Porter-Gaud students and some 200 staff, or managing emails from Porter-Gaud and his dining service, or doing caterings, or making truck orders, he actually has a life of his own (it’s shocking, I know: P-G faculty and staff really do have lives of their own outside of school). Mr. Avenel is a “guy’s guy”: He likes college football, food on the grill, helping out his elderly neighbors, and doing yard work.

And every Friday night in the fall you can find him at the Ashley Ridge football field supporting his son, the team’s quarterback. With such a busy schedule, then, I wondered: How is it possible for Mr. Avenel and his co-workers to provide us with so much as seamlessly as they do?

It was 3:30 on a Tuesday in late September: the bipolar early fall Charleston weather had struck again, and the pants and long-sleeved Oxford I’d chosen in the morning were now heating up, cloaking me in a wave of discomfort and annoyance. The six hours of sleep that I had not yet grown accustomed to as a PG junior had severely debilitated me, and I could not move past the villainous chemistry test I had just taken. I was hot, exhausted, frustrated, underrested, and over-worked. But, above all, I was hungry.

Then I remembered: today was the day. I had luckily scheduled an interview with Porter-Gaud’s new chef, Mr. Danny Avenel, and I knew a delicious tasting awaited me in the cafeteria. As I walked through the cafeteria doors to begin my interview, the smell of delicious food entered my nostrils and it was as if all was right in the world. As the playwright George Bernard Shaw once said, “There is no sincerer love than the love of food.” Set before me were delectable-looking stuffed mushrooms, ham rolls topped with a little Dijon mustard, and some seasoned green beans to complete the tasting tray. Needless to say, I dug DesSert: The Job in. In time, my senses rejuvenated and my belly filled, I set out to discover just who this knight in shining armor—or With the giant fork and spoon as their weapons of a chef ’s jacket—might be. choice, Mr. Avenel and his crew fight day in and day out to Who is the man with the giant fork and spoon? free us from the oppression of what you might find in your Who is Danny Avenel? average school cafeteria. They put in hours and hours of their time to make sure that we students are able to enjoy Main Course: The Man what is considered the highlight of most of our days. To do this, Mr. Avenel and his crew get to school at 5:30 each Mr. Avenel was born in Bethesda, Maryland, but morning to begin prep, and usually continue cooking for relocated often because his dad was in the Navy. He lived several hours. The sheer amount of food it takes to feed in Chicago for three years, right outside Honolulu for all 900 of us is amazing: 160 pounds of beef, 360 pounds three more years, and then finally settled in Summerville of chicken fingers—and these are all for individual days. in 1984. Yet despite these travels, one thing remained How do they do it? Says Mr. Avenel: “I’ve got an amazing constant: Mr. Avenel had a passion for food. “I remember crew in the kitchen. They’re all hard working; they all have growing up, [and] at a young age, always fooling around in great personalities. I thrive off each and every one of them. the kitchen, always wanting to use the oven,” he says. “So I love to have fun. The morale is very high in the kitchen, from a young age, I always knew that I liked it, and I’ve and we all get along. To do my job, and to do it well, it pretty much been with it all my life.” Starting at age 15, for takes a certain type of person. I love challenges, and I love example, Mr. Avenel worked at “Po Folks” in Summerville, multi-tasking, and you have to be able to multi-task in this manning the grill and fry station; he later worked at job. If two employees don’t show up, I still have to feed Applebee’s during high school, and after attending and 1200 people. Still have to cater. You have to enjoy it, have graduating Trident Tech, he started working for Trident to have fun with it. My crew is great. I just have a passion Hospital as the kitchen director at age 21. He was then for people, and I can go home after a crazy work week and transferred to a sister hospital in Myrtle Beach, where he enjoy it because I love what I do. And I’m lucky.” lived for about a year and a half; from there, he moved to As I scarfed down my last mushroom, I thought: we’re North Carolina and helped to open four Hams restaurants the lucky ones. and later opened a brew house in Greenville. After that, 21

breaking the mold how three porter-gaud students distinguish themselves Matthew Key

Slouching in your auditorium seat during a morning meeting, staring up, mindlessly at first, at the student articulating his lifechanging events on stage, you are struck by questions that metaphorically slap you across the face: Compared to that person, how talented am I? What talents do I have? What can I do to stand out? How will I go to my dream college?

How can I be unique?

How will I differ from the amazing students who surround me?

Curiously, several Porter-Gaud students do break the mold—exploring passions and talents that seem to defy expectation. When sophomore Cross Tolliver, for instance, saw Hiroyuki Sozuki’s performance at the 2005 FreeStyle Yo-Yo competition, his jaw dropped. Cross’s now PorterGaud-famous talent of yo-yo-ing originated

at a young age, but after seeing Sozuki’s astonishing skill, Cross dedicated himself to the discovery of new and complex tricks that destroyed the realm of child’s play he knew all too well. From when he first picked it up to when he mastered basic tricks, a fire kindled deep inside of him to expand his repertoire of mind-boggling maneuvers. Just listen to how he puts it: “I use the momentum of the yo-yo to shoot it into the air and then gracefully catch it on the string,” Cross says when describing his favorite trick, the Eli Hops. To perform the horizontal Figure 8, Cross says, “I throw the yo-yo sideways then roll it above my wrist then under my wrist from a horizontal one and a half mount.” Aside from his mastery of yo-yo tricks, Cross says, “Internally, I have a sense of pride when I yo-yo. It makes me feel unique that I have a passion nobody else shares. Yo-yo-ing is 22

my own personal art that I have freedom to pursue.

It's not something I chose; everybody picks up a yoyo at some point in their life and depending on their level of interest and dedication, they'll either put it down or continue to bring it back up. I was just one of the people who couldn't put it down.” Although he initially had no idea where to begin to reach this level of intricacy, he still imagined the possibilities.

According to Cross, “The idea of yo-yo-ing has gone through an identity crisis. Is it a sport, a hobby, or simply a toy? The answer is the beauty of yoyo-ing. It's all of these, but none. Yo-yo-ing is whatever the person throwing it wants it to be.”

While Aimee McShane cannot create a horizontal Figure 8 with a yo-yo, she can create jewelry in a similarly intricate fashion.

Her flourishing love for the skill started at the age of seven when she was taught by her grandmother.

Throughout her travels, she has created her own individualized style that she reflects in her jewelry.

Currently, Aimee works at The Charleston Bead Company, where she crafts new pieces and develops ideas constantly. Over the years, magazines such as InStyle and People: Stylewatch have inspired her as she 23

explores new trends in art. To Aimee, the creation of jewelry is all about expression: she reflects her feelings in a unique and creative way that can be enjoyed by all. Aimee’s jewelry has been featured and presented in a variety of ways; in fact, she even created a piece for Darius Rucker’s wife, who received it at an award banquet. “I really loved making [that] bracelet for Beth. I really tried to make it look like ‘her’! Hopefully more famous people will be wearing my stuff!" She also creates jewelry as gifts which have appeared in venues at MUSC and will be exhibited at this winter’s Holiday Market. When asked about her plans for the future, Aimee says, “I would love to sell my work in a store, maybe on King Street or in a huge retail store! I would really just love for my jewelry to be well known around Charleston and maybe the world!”

Sophomore Max Harley might not create something tangible like a bracelet, but he possibly could create one-or almost anything else for that matter--on a virtual scale. Max and his colleagues understand the nuanced aspects of computer science, which most of us are unable to comprehend.

Since age five, Max has dabbled in the arts of

website creation using XHTML, which deepened his passion for computers. Max is crafting an essay based on the comparison between SQL and NoSQL, very sophisticated databases. “I chose computers over other things, like music or sports, because of the power I have. When I was in third grade, I made a bad score on my report card, so my dad took away the time that I could spend on playing video games. I found a book on XHTML and started programming small websites. When I found out that I could make a computer do something like that, it amazed me. I wanted more, so I looked up how to do more programming. It has been a constant want for more information about it that is still going on today.”

Currently, Max studies C as well, another advanced computer programming language utilized in high level computer sciences.

When Max attempts to describe the creation of games and computers, he says, “to create games, I use programs like Maya and Cinema4D to create the player models and animations. Then I use a program called Unity to add the game mechanics to it. The final process is to put the code for the game on a website called Github, so other people can see, and edit my work.” (Although Max makes it sound simple, he’s leaving out the detail: few of us could even follow

him if he got into the nitty-gritty of code.) At such a young age, Max and other students who thrive in virtual environments are bound to be successful individuals in the future. However, computers are the main source of entertainment for Max as well.

“Computers allow me to know people. It seems like an oxymoron, but I know so many more people than I would have. If I went to Canada, I would know 25 people in all different parts of the country. England?

I know 17 people that are there now, although one of them is moving to Egypt soon. I could go on a lot more, but the idea is similar. I know that it isn't the same exact relationship that I would have with someone at my school, but it is about 80% similar. We have inside jokes; we see each other every weekend.”

He hopes that he will be able to continue his studies and one day become a successful system architect, and to do this, Max says, “I need to know everything about computers.”

So, whether they are walking the dog, crafting, or coding, Cross, Aimee, and Max have, in some sense, accomplished exactly what the PorterGaud faculty and staff hope for all of its students—they’ve managed to “break the mold” just by being themselves.

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Food for thought: Something to shoe on What’s walking around campus?

Brett Cranny, Guest Contributor

Shoes go everywhere with me.

And, generally, with everyone. Every morning before I leave my house, I grab my wallet, phone, keys, and slip on my favorite pair of shoes. They may just be a mixture of leather, rubber, and cloth that we habitually put on our feet, but in reality, they’re essential to who we are. Even in learning to tie our shoes, we didn’t truly learn: we watched someone else do it, copied their motions, and never truly understood the motions we were performing but doing anyway. Shoes are foundational: they’ve helped us stand our ground through most of our lives.

Honestly, when was the last time you really noticed the shoes on the feet of people around you? To quote Morgan Freeman from The Shawshank Redemption, “I mean, seriously, how often do you really look at a man’s shoes?” Take a quick moment to marvel at all those shoes situated on the feet of your peers. Now ask yourself, where do these shoes go when they leave the classroom or the school?

If you think about it, shoes, not the eyes, are the windows to the soul. What you do, they do; where you go, they go. It even seems that shoes, like people, are attracted to similar beings. If you look at the social groups of Porter-Gaud, we don’t follow a typical jock, nerd, and cheerleader social system; people of all walks of life seem to socialize with anyone else. And yet: shoes, it seems, stick together. There are the Sperry Topsiders, the Nikes athletic shoes, and the Vans skate shoes. It seems that similar shoes tend to be attracted to each other, so what would happen if you wore a different pair one day? Stepping into a new pair of shoes might literally be stepping into someone else’s life.

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Shoes are the literal base of our bodies, the pillars of our personalities. As I said before, Porter-Gaud is not truly a place of stereotypical social structure; we don’t necessarily embrace the idea that what you do defines who you hang out with.

A student in an advanced computer class can also be a star football player, and a writer for the WATCH magazine can take part in the school play. Yet, no matter how much we are capable of blending social groups, it still seems that shoes are attracted to each other. When students are not in class and are finding a group to chill out with, it’s as if their shoes lead them to similar shoes. As soon as that star football player walks out of his computer class, the nikes seem to find themselves.

It is a phenomenon that has only recently appeared in the high school social scene with the disintegration of the typical social groups that had been so widespread since at least the 50s. One of the reasons that the typical 50s letterman football player, greaser, or nerdy stereotypes are disappearing so quickly is, in fact, the increased appearance of mass-produced shoes. Shoes used to be one of the most important parts of a person’s outfit. Back in the day, shoes would be one of the nicest gifts you could get--a nice pair of leather shoes created by your town’s local cobbler, and you could tell the effort he put into these shoes. Now, shoes are cheap, and so many people have shoes similar to others. Yet these shoes are still unique to each individual person.

Another cultural phenomenon is the fact that with shoes so similar to one another, we are able to find individuality in each pair. As I said earlier, where do shoes go when they leave the classroom or school? Each shoe is able to tell an entire story based on the scars present on them. A pair of hiking boots tells you what stream you walked through based on the mud stuck to the bottom. A pair of soccer cleats tells you how many games they’ve played based on the holes present throughout the rubber.

A shoe’s lifetime is certainly shorter than ours--they don’t last forever, and while shoes cannot necessarily talk, you can learn a potentially amazing story through them if you simply listen close enough.

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Same Love After years on the periphery, the issue of gay marriage becomes front and center.

27 Jenny Ulber

It used to be a quiet whisper diffusing its way through society, an issue sometimes willfully ignored.

In time, it tip-toed out of the closet, so to speak, audible but understated. Yet, through media exposure and the changing dynamic in the opinions of politicians which are, of course, rooted in the public interest, the issue of homosexuality and, specifically, gay marriage has risen to a roar, particularly in the last 20 years.

In a poll conducted in 2013 by CNN, 53% of Americans agreed that gay people should have the right to get married, up a significant 26% from 1996. Needless to say, times have changed and are still changing. And we as a generation seem more aware and more involved in politics and are entering the seemingly ever-present debate over the legality of gay marriage.

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The split between the two groups is often thought of as strictly political, as Republicans are generally opposed to gay marriage while Democrats, by and large, argue that gay and lesbian couples should be allowed to marry. Interestingly, though, this issue is no longer as divided between the parties as much as it is between ages and generations. A recent poll by the People Press showed that in the 18-32 age group, 78% of people supported gay marriage whereas in the group of people aged 68-85, only 53% of people, still a majority, supported it. Clearly, it seems the newer generations are adapting to the modern world and changing their ideas on what may be right or wrong in society.

So why the rise on gay marriage support? One factor is exposure. Homosexuality as commonplace has been plastered all over the world of popular culture for twenty years. Hit TV shows in prime time like “How I Met Your Mother,” “Will and Grace,” and the fittingly titled “Modern Family” have featured leads filled by openly gay actors playing openly gay characters for years. Daytime television as well marks this change, as seen with the success of comedian and talk show host Ellen DeGeneres, a prominent lesbian. In fact, the face of CNN news, Anderson Cooper, is openly gay, as is his colleague on rival network MSNBC, Rachel Maddow. Straight artists, too, like Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, are beginning to go out of their way to show support for gay rights in their song lyrics.

Such regular exposure suggests that, through all of this publicity, the issue of gay rights being seen as taboo has almost become, well, less of an issue. Because young people are generally the most attuned to TV shows, movies, and popular music, it makes sense that we as a group are more open to, and supportive of, gay marriage. But if so many figures of popular culture are coming out, and more and more people are in support of gay marriage, then why is it only legal in fifteen states?

One argument, of course, is that the church has traditionally defined marriage as between a man and a woman, and such terms mean marriage cannot be entered into between two people of the same sex. And yet atheists can get married. Non-religious people can marry in a church even.

People who have never wandered remotely near a church can get married. Even criminals can get married, citizens who have demonstrated by their actions a will to jeopardize the societies they live in. Yet, two men or two women, perhaps devout Christians who attend church every Sunday and peaceably obey the laws of their country, have had this right denied to them because, as a society, we have seen their love as … different.

Marriage is a legal status recognized by the world; with it come rights, protections and obligations within societies. “Civil unions,” alternative statuses offered to same sex couples, are legal protections at the state level in many states, but they are not recognized by the federal government. Marriage’s legal protections involve the right to leave work to take care of a spouse, the right to sponsor a spouse for immigration purposes, and also the rights to social security survivor benefits, to name just a few; yet civil unions, because they are not more widely recognized, do not bring any of these legal protections. As a result, those involved would not receive pension protections, provision of insurance for families, and access to programs, such as Medicaid.

And so, while marriage denotes a legal status, the fully recognized institution of marriage connotes much more. Indeed, marriage is a term meant to convey the ultimate expression of love between two people; the word contains the power and strength that truly define a loving relationship.

And it’s about time that every person, gay or straight, has the right to this expression.

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Meeting Street Academy Tuesday Afternoon Paint-It Palmetto Monday Afternoon Pet Helpers Wednesday Afternoon Bouquets of Cheer Last Sunday of Month

Meeting Street Academy

Bouquets of Cheer

Pet Helpers

Habitat for Humanity

Crisis Ministries

Special Olympics

Blood Drive

Paint-it Palmetto

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the fact of fiction Discovering how fiction can illuminate life’s essential truths

Andrew Thompson Why, so many high-school readers wonder, do we even read fiction? What’s the point of all this so-called “independent” reading, which is, in fact, totally compelled and not independent at all? Given hard economic realities—we need to learn marketable skills, not read about imaginary characters—fiction seems like a confection: something nice and sweet but totally unnecessary.

In reality, though, fiction illuminates lives with a thousand suns never before seen by man. Readers of fiction walk in gardens that have never been planted. They fly, feel joy, and see the world around them with a broader perspective all on account of words on a page. Life without fiction is a half-awake existence in which zombies shamble blindly from person to person, lacking the meaning to live.

Fiction chases after truth in a world not bound by fact. A world of our own creation.

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Words can mean so many different things. They can convey thoughts and feelings. They prevent us from being mere islands. No man is an island except he who is without words.

Our greatest gift is love, and, second to that, I would place fiction. To put a book in someone’s hands changes her life forever.

Words are for everyone. Literature is something to share. Reading is an experience not a requirement, and the only difference lies in your perception of it.

Take the following passage from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, for example. To set the scene, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are characters who have been driven away from each other by their own pride (and prejudice).

They are walking alone together through the English countryside, and Elizabeth has just thanked Mr. Darcy for helping her sister out of financial trouble.

“If you will thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing.

Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.”

Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”

Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him; but, though she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of feelings, which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.

They walked on, without knowing in what direction.

We can approach this passage in several ways.

Here is what SparkNotes (a Zombie’s Guide to Literature) has to say: Mr. Darcy proposes to Elizabeth. She seems to say “yes.”

Here is what AndrewNotes (a Human Heart’s Guide to Literature) has to tell us: Read the passage. Read it again. If plot was what drove the most beautiful scenes in literature, this one would seem pointless. Nothing really happens. He asks her a question, and she answers affirmatively. The beauty of this passage lies not in what happens, but the journey the reader takes. The scene is not idealized and over-romanized; it has no fireworks and no clues for the modern reader to think, “Oh, here is an important bit.”

But it is so real. It is awkward. It is as awkward as the moment should be, and Austen doesn’t give you the actual dialogue of the scene. She jumps back a hundred steps because you know what they are saying; you feel their emotion. When she finishes with “They walked on, without knowing in what direction,” she says more than all the flowers of Valentine’s Day. It screams to what love is and what emotion feels like. The heart that feels not now is truly dead.

Believe in the characters; take the plunge. Laugh and cry alongside literature, and I promise you that the road not taken will have its rewards.

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College: — What’s the

Point?

adDressing the other options.

Lillian Saul

Corporeal Mime. Jewish Mysticism. Yoga. Math Philosophy and the Real World. I cannot help bursting out in laughter as my brother lists his fall course schedule to me over the phone. A Porter-Gaud graduate, my brother Davis went off to college hardly considering the other options available to him. For Davis and many other P-G graduates, going to college is a guarantee; the school sends 100% of its graduating class off to institutions of higher education. In May, as Head of School Mr. Egleston lists the names and destinations of the graduates, freshly picked roses from P-G’s garden of flowering students, we will likely hear aloud that no student has decided to gear off into the unconventional and choose a path out of college’s reach. And yet a wave of skeptics is sweeping the nation asking one question: is college worth the cost?

“Math Philosophy and the Real World. That seems ironic. Do you really think any of those classes prepare you for the real world?” I asked my brother, doubtfully. As enlightening as these courses may be, are they really practical in readying a student for the abyss of worldly affairs? In an increasingly less academic world—one that more and more thinks itself literal 33

and concrete rather than ethereal—it becomes difficult to link the abstract and liquid stuff of college with the actual occupations a student must hope to fill upon exiting the sea of Corporeal Mime and Jewish Mysticism.

Curiously, in a recent study conducted by Time Magazine, only 55% of college grads said they thought college prepared them for a job in the real world.

“I think these classes do ready a student for life after college. They all involve the practice of directing energy, which is essentially what we do in the real world. They center on relating to other people and being a part of what is happening,” my brother responded, calmly, with all the pacifism of a Pacific dweller.

Okay, fair enough. But do we send you off to the one of the top liberal arts colleges in the country to learn how to direct energy?

In some ways, Davis seems absolutely right. I can’t imagine a better reason to pursue a liberal arts education. College signifies a time between child- and adulthood and an opportunity to unveil the train tracks our lives will take.

On the other hand, college is our chance to walk away from the track that was already laid out for us and set down our own rails. It allows us reaction time to stop our merciless tooting toward a meaningless destination, and both evade a life of aimless floating and grow aware of the inherent aimlessness of life. Andrew Delbanco, Director of American Studies at Columbia University, and named “America’s best social critic” by Time, speaks on the importance of a liberal arts education: “My students convinced me that they are far less interested in getting what they want than in figuring out just what it is that’s worth getting.”

In some regards, despite the literalness of present-day world perceptions, the globe is melting into a state so liquid that rare is a time when circumstance goes unchanged for any serious length of time. How can we expect to be able to predict the skills needed to thrive in this wildly dynamic beehive? More useful are the students of liberal arts who glean all they can about how to handle a variety of topics—who master the art of multiplicity— and thus are ready to engage in anything that the world throws at them, than the students of limited vocational training who focus only on one skill—a skill that may soon render itself obsolete in a world where the only constant is change. This is not to say that learning facts about specific topics is not useful, or that honing oneself into a specific area of study limits understanding of the universe. On the contrary, this liberal-arts school of thought advocates delving into topics as deeply as possible, for the sake of genuine curiosity, gusto, and passion, as opposed to motivations piqued by the drive to attain a ‘real world’ goal or learn a ‘real world’ vocation. Students living with this philosophy are held accountable for both the broad ideas and the specific details— expected to intertwine the nitty-gritty with the big picture, to thus create a detailed mural of original ideas and realizations, spread widely across the wall of one’s own learning experience.

These students ask themselves this question: how can my discoveries in this one meadow of study lead to revelations about anything and everything?

So here’s another question: Why is it that we don’t do college like the Brits, or the Germans—walking in with a purpose and walking out with a better chance at achieving this purpose—certainly a cheaper and more effective way to go about higher education.

(Most students in Western Europe attend college for little to no monetary cost.) The arts and personal growth are cultivated outside of the college sphere, whereas the university prepares its students thoroughly in one specific 34

area, wasting no time or resources on the space of four years of possibly indecisive meandering that a liberal arts college provides.

Maybe, though, liberal arts colleges remember that the purpose a student goes into college with may not be very purposeful at all—at least not for that student—because a student’s goals and understanding of the world at eighteen may have completely changed by the time that student matures to twenty-two. Why spend a whole life doing something that simply isn’t worth doing because you thought it was super cool at eighteen?

Liberal arts colleges hope to avoid this situation, and send their students off into the world fully aware, not of what they want to do, but that they intend to do something, whatever this something may be, that is meaningful to them as individuals.

The liberal arts way of college acknowledges that life is precious, and ascertaining the Purpose of One’s Life can be handled neither too swiftly nor recklessly. College is a time to look out of the train window, to step off of the train, and to gaze back at the train and ask yourself where it was headed, and why you were headed there with it in the first place—to realize that you have the materials to build your own tracks to take you wherever your heart desires, and that it’s what your heart desires that is most important.

Though perhaps as Porter-Gaud students, to ask why college has to be inevitable, we are doing exactly what a liberal arts college hopes to encourage. To ask, are there other options that we haven’t yet considered? is to think in broader terms already. The students who realize that this collegiate path was forged by someone other than themselves are ahead of the game in the sense that they have had the vision to turn around and catch the paradigm that preparatory school provides, before even stepping foot on a college campus. To realize that nothing is set in stone—that our lives’ crust is as dynamic as earth’s tectonic plates— gives us the freedom to create a route that we as individuals desire and value, and that will always have significance in the kingdom of our hearts.

So what, exactly, is the ‘real world,’ and why must preparing for its challenges be defined as going to 35

college? Given that nearly 100% of Porter-Gaud students attend college after high school, the notion of skipping college may initially strike many P-G students as outlandish; but, besides breaking convention, there are countless statistics pointing toward reasons to duck out of a college education and take a more direct path into the ‘real world.’

According to the American Student Association, more than 60% of college students take out loans to pay for higher education. With more than 37 million people currently in debt from college loans, and over $900 billion dollars total owed by the American public from the cost of college alone, someone’s going to have to pay. When most kids in Britain or Germany attend college at little to no cost, one has to wonder if there is a better way. For a student who has ambitions or ideas powerful enough to veer him or her away from the conventional path, college may be unnecessary, and act as nothing more than an inhibitor. In many prospective professions, methods of training other than college may be more beneficial to attaining a final goal. Living life independently can teach lessons college can never hope to achieve.

For certain, college is not for everyone. If people are to fulfill multi-colored destinies, then they must walk on the stones of multicolored educations, each providing an advantage of its own. And after all, just because a student skips out on college when she is eighteen doesn’t exclude her from pursuing a traditional college education at the age of twenty-two. Arguably, we are more equipped to soak up the advantages of higher education later in life anyways.

Thus we are presented with a dilemma— and a difficult one at that. But at least there is a dilemma—a choice that, as Porter-Gaud students, we all too often forget. Whether it be college, or any other decision in life, the train-tracks that we have traversed in the past do not dictate the traintracks that we will lay down in the future. If we remember this, the world is our oyster, our train, winding along the tracks of our individual whim and creation.

The Gallery

From Top to Bottom:

Eleanor Wade, Elizabeth Norton, Hannah Clark, Madison McNeill and Ben Colyer

“I would trade all my technology for an afternoon with Socrates.�

-Steve Jobs

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In Loving Memory:

Coach

Randy

Clark (1950-2013)

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Many of my memories of Randy Clark are intertwined with his wife, Ellen, like sitting around the pool and the tiki hut, swimming, playing games, and talking. Games of catch phrase, drinks poolside, the boys, their lovely granddaughter Lola, and their dogs Roxy and Spike come to mind when I think of the Clark house. But most of my memories are in Randy’s office. I haven’t yet set foot in there without the big guy there, but I can see the bronze elephant that sits on the edge of his desk, the picture of Lola and Eric prominently displayed, the picture of Ellen in her white dress with the sailor collar, the old TV that can’t have ever worked in recent years, and of course the trophies.

I’ve spent many mornings sitting in one of those maroon leather chairs across the desk from Randy, either chatting about life, asking for advice for dealing with a parent or student, talking about concerns over faculty members, or just laughing. I’d always pop by, thinking I’d be there for a minute or two and linger in the doorway. At some point, inevitably, I’d drop my school bag, shut the door, plop into one of those chairs, and talk away at least a half hour (when I probably should have been prepping for class or grading). And whenever I would walk by Randy’s office during the day, there would be someone else sitting in one of those chairs, doing the same. He was charming, he was friendly, and in a place like Porter-Gaud, even though he had been here for years, he was a breath of fresh air.

During one of my early years at Porter-Gaud, I came to Randy with a gut-wrenching essay a student had written that had me concerned. The student had had a few difficulties and was feeling this intense pressure to do something big, to better live up to others’ expectations. I gave it to Randy and asked for his advice. Randy had his head down as he read, and I kept hearing him make little noises. I initially thought he was laughing, which to me, was an odd response. When Randy looked up after finishing the essay, he had tears streaming down his cheeks. And to me, that’s Randy right there. He was so incredibly sensitive and caring, and at the center of him was an everlasting love for kids.

Randy treated all of his “kids”—his faculty and his students—like we were his own. I saw Randy moved to tears more than a few times over students and faculty. In discipline councils, I watched him sit back and listen to people debate how to best handle situations for hours. Typically in a just a few words, Randy held the attention of the room and brought the conversation back to what was important in that moment—the student and the impact on other students.

His compassion and understanding of what it was like to be a kid made him invaluable in these situations. His sharp intellect and ability to cut to the core quickly and not mince words made him stand out in these situations. Because he wasn’t one to talk for the sake of talking during long-winded meetings, everyone listened to what Randy had to say.

In trying to teach my kids to be polite, I worked hard with my oldest son, Seamus, to always ask, “How are you?” when someone asked him the same question. After months of prompting, I had all but given up when Seamus gathered his courage to ask the question back for the first time. And of course, it was to Mr. Randy. I told Seamus that mournful Tuesday that Randy was gone; Seamus’ first response, “but he’s so big?” says a lot about how huge Randy loomed to small children. But his warm smile and friendly greetings pulled my boys in. They loved Mr. Randy.

Seamus’ second response, “But who will be there now?” instantly brought tears to my eyes. Who could be there now?

There’s no one who can be a Randy. He was one of a kind.

I’ll miss our early morning talks. He was a sounding board, a wise source of advice. He reserved judgment, and he was a fierce defender of his teachers. He was the guy everyone wanted to sit with at a party. You could talk to Randy about anything—whether it was The Big Lebowski, how they really ought to run the bagel line at Bagel Nation, or the twisting plot of The Sopranos. I’m so fortunate I spent time with him. I’m so grateful to have had a role model like him to shape my identity as a teacher. There is only one Randy Clark, but with his example, all of his teachers have just a little bit of Randy, too. […] Anyone who agrees to work in a middle school has to be somewhat strange and bizarre by nature, and Randy unified us in a way that will be impossible to replicate. It wasn’t through corporate team-building or with silly “employee of the month” rewards. Randy’s support was unwavering. Our grief at losing him is immense and profound…

In my last conversation with Randy, we focused on topics that were typical: helping a faculty member, parental involvement, and Randy’s concerns over the health of one of our colleagues. I know we laughed, because I don’t think I’ve been in his office without a smile and a laugh. I never imagined it was going to be our last conversation. Had I known it would have been, what would I have said? We still have more to learn from you. You have been a father, a friend, a confidante, a mentor, a source of both comfort and humor. Thank you. We love you.

Maureen Daily English Teacher 38

Goodbye and Godspeed, Coach Randy Clark. Somehow both intimidating and avuncular. Larger than life and an approachable friend. The protagonist of “Clark Theater” on the basketball court sidelines. An enormous personality who touched so many and will be missed by all. I will always box out because of you.

Paul Fyfe, Class of 1994

I feel like a cornerstone has been ripped away. God bless Randy Clark and his family. What an icon and a guiding light. One of my favorites: “Buxton, I tell you what: you’re special. If you could just jump a little higher, make crisper passes, get up and down the court a little faster, snag a few more rebounds, give a little more hustle on defense and actually make shots . . . you’d be one hell of a basketball player.”

Jim Buxton, Class of 1991 My very first day at Porter-Gaud in 7th grade found me in Coach Clark’s class. We were sitting in the classroom, and I heard someone coming down the hallway with very heavy footsteps. The door slammed shut from the outside and then opened as Coach Clark ducked through the doorway. He growled at us and said something along the lines of “This is what they gave me to work with this year? Great!” Peggy Barnes started sniffling. I however saw his eyes twinkling and knew that this was just a ruse and started to giggle.

That was it! That one moment set the course for the rest of the year.

Coach Clark loved to pick on me for the way I spoke. While he had definitely been in Charleston long enough to know that we speak a little different than most folks, he liked to pretend that he had never heard anyone speak like me. One time when I said the word “quarter” without pronouncing the middle “r” of course, he had me come up to the bulletin board and spell out the word “quarter.” He was delighted that I could spell it properly, but wanted to know how that “r” got lost between me knowing how to spell it and me actually saying it. I, of course, did not have a satisfactory answer for him, so that just meant every time I said the word, up came the “lost r” issue.

One day, to Coach Clark’s delight, I said the word “idea” in class.

I pronounce it more like “idear.” Coach Clark had me come up to the board and spell out the word “idea.” Here we went again on the difference between the spelling and the pronunciation. Then, all of a sudden and with the excitement of Sherlock Holmes solving a great mystery, he asked me to also write “quarter” on the board.

“McDaniel! I’ve solved the mystery of the ‘lost r.’ You took it from quarter and stuck it on the end of idea. That’s where it has been all this time!” Much pleased with his great discovery, we returned to the lesson of the day.

It never bothered me when he picked on me. I knew he was just a big ol’ teddy bear hiding underneath that gruff exterior. Somewhere in the back of my 12-year-old brain, I knew he was doing it for my own good. Teaching me to have thicker skin, to not let the comments of others bother me, to remain confident when being questioned by others, to stand firm in who I was and not let anyone change me.

Ten years later I was in law school and had a rather grumpy professor (Prof. Langum) who had a reputation for even making the 39

guys in the class cry. He loved to pick on you when your opinion was not in line with his. My classmates feared him. Not me. When my friends asked me one time how I could handle “Hang ’um Langum” ripping out pages from our textbooks when I disagreed with the court’s holding and not get upset, I just smiled and said “Oh, this is nothing. Coach Clark did this to me in 7th grade.” It was at that moment when I realized why Coach Clark did what he did, and I am so glad that I got the chance to thank him.

Emily McDaniel Barrett, Class of 1990 My friends and I, throughout all of our escapades, found him to be such a kind and understanding man, who always disciplined us with a stern hand while still maintaining a warm humor, an indication that he really did understand what makes young men act the way they do. He was far more reasonable in dealing with us than he had to be, and he was an iconic role model for all of those who grew up in the Porter-Gaud community over the years.

Cole Huey, Class of 2012 In seventh grade I had a math test that I was freaking out over.

I was so worried I tried to skip assembly to study for it. I was found and taken to Coach Clark’s office to talk to him as to why I wouldn’t go to assembly. In that office I had to provide an argument for the first time in my life with good evidence and good reasoning. Without that little journey I would not be half the outgoing man I am today.

Randy Clark blessed my life by simply listening. I will always hold him in my heart.

George William Jilich, Class of 2015 There are lots of Coach Clark moments I will never forget. I remember the fear I felt, driving to the YBOA national tournament through a torrential Central Florida thunderstorm in one of the old, rickety hot boxes. Coach Clark was at the helm, his body bent forward and draped entirely over the wheel, a position I’d see many times on bus rides and would come to know as classic Coach Clark.

From my seat towards the back of the bus, it looked like Coach had chosen a very inopportune moment to take a quick cat nap and was resting his forehead against the windshield. Of course he hadn’t, and eventually got us through the downpour and safely to our destination.

I’ll never forget cutting down the nets after our first state championship. Coach was last to take a turn with the scissors. He climbed the ladder, snipped the final thread, grabbed the entire net in one hand and slammed it through the hoop, an emphatic end to an amazing game and season. I remember lots of moments on the court with Coach Clark, but that’s perhaps most special of all.

Mostly, however, I remember how Coach Clark made me feel.

As was said at the service on Friday, Coach had a gift. As principal and basketball coach, the occasional outburst was part of his job 40

description. But Coach Clark had magical power. He put you in your place (when you needed to be put in your place), but then won you over again so quickly with his wit, and charm, and above all his huge heart, that a minute later you forgot all about whatever confrontation had just occurred. You left the court much like you did the nurse’s office after a flu shot: slightly bruised but the better for it, and always without a trace of hard feelings. The only other coach who has made me feel that way is JP, and we all know who JP learned the gift from.

Today I look at our team pictures and feel the passage of time. It’s been over eight years since our last game together, but it didn’t feel that way until this past week. There’s no cutting of the nets or team bus rides without Coach Clark.

John Kresse, Class of 2005 One of the best moments I’ve shared with Coach Clark was when I was sent to his office for repeatedly laughing in study hall. When I told him what I had been sent there for, he looked at me and started to laugh and told me to just go back to study hall. He understood that sometimes people just needed to laugh a little. He was a great man.

Cade Callen, Class of 2017 Coach Clark always knew what was happening in the lives of each student. The day after an athletic or academic event he would ask you how it went and encourage you to keep at it, and how things can only go up from there.

Gray Eubank, Class of 2017 We all know how tough the transition into middle school is, and with it the indelible impressions that first-period homeroom teachers can set. Even with that tailwind, few could measure up to the impression Randy “Coach” Clark gave. The moment his six-and-a-half foot towering figure entered the room, slamming his briefcase to the desk, then booming out the roll while addressing his students as “Mister” This and “Miss” That, one instantly realized that the cuddly days of elementary education and apples for the teacher were long gone. Hijinks were not tolerated, at least not without declaring that the offender had “one foot out the door.”

But Coach Clark was more than a disciplinarian—he was someone who made his life to shepherd young people through the worst phases of adolescence. Once order was established, the highest priority for a room of hormonal 12- and 13-year-olds, he was prone to letting his soft side show. A smirk and a wink accompanied his sarcastic retorts to our daily barrage of asinine questions, those questions adolescents ask solely to garner attention from their peers.

In our homeroom, the lead practitioner was the burgeoning military genius whose response to all American military setbacks (1812, Pearl Harbor) was, simply: “Why didn’t we blow them away?” Coach Clark, after quite enough of this seventh grade Sun Tzu, finally turned to my classmate, and with the big bearish grin that anyone who knew him knows, announced that he had had quite enough of the student’s “red-necky” opinions and he thought the rest of us had as well. With his generous smile and ensuing belly laugh, the tension was broken and we all followed in laughter, as we did many mornings that year.

As we all progressed through Porter-Gaud in the ensuing years, Coach Clark’s door was always open to any former student, particularly as he graduated from history teacher into the role for which he was always cast—middle school principal. His demeanor remained firm but friendly, with low tolerance for dumb behavior but even more so with a hearty laugh always at the ready.

A few years later, when I was in early high school, he was kind enough to let me ride with him and his faculty posse on Friday evening road trips to away football games. It was a small group of guys, basketball coaches mostly, and I was one of the few students who got to tag along in his vintage Chevy Mark III van. The radio was inevitably tuned to 98 Rock, and 70s-era rock anthems were blared until the older guys’ ears couldn’t take it (usually about 30 seconds into the song), and every trip featured a requisite stop for dinner at one of South Carolina’s great roadside restaurants: the late Edisto Motel, Duke’s and Sweatman’s BBQ, and myriad other places the Lowcountry’s rural highways en route to Sumter, Manning, McClellanville, and other towns. Why he put up with some freeloading 14-year-old I’ll never know, but I’ll always be grateful. Perhaps it was just who he was—and why he was the right man to be a middle school history teacher, then middle school principal, and why so many of his current and former students felt it so acutely when they learned Coach Clark had left us so suddenly. After all, we had just taken it for granted that he would be there for our children as well.

Jamie Ewing, Class of ’95 41

No matter whether I was having a good day or a bad day, Coach Clark could always make me smile and laugh, leaving my world brighter than before. He had that effect on the whole PG community, just like a big ol’ ball of sunshine.

Sarah Carlton, Class of 2015 One of my favorite Randy memories was when a 7th grade student vomited all over me and my classroom. I called him so he could come up and cover the remainder of my class. In typical Randy fashion, he opened the door, threw his arms up in the air, and boomed “This room STINKS!” All of the students had been completely overwhelmed with the situation, but leave it to Randy to provide the comic relief and ease their minds. I will never forget his booming but wonderfully caring voice. I will never forget the way he talked with his hands. I will never forget his warm and caring smile. I miss him and am so sad that we don’t have his joyful energy in our lives anymore.

He was my first real boss. He was a great mentor and sounding board for me throughout the years. He was always willing to listen and had such wisdom about him that when he wanted to tell you something, you listened. I always went to him to ask his opinions even after I stopped working for him. But I always noticed that others did as well. His office was always filled with people wanting to talk to him and learn from him. He helped make this school what it is today. Everyone is a better person for knowing Randy Clark.

Gretchen Tate, US Science, Director of Community Service As a middle schooler, I was often misbehaving, stirring up the waters in any way I could, and thus, I often found myself in Coach Clark’s office. Fortunately, through these encounters, as well as through various other avenues, Coach Clark and I established a relationship that endured and grew through the subsequent years until graduation and more so in the years after.

Coach Clark was someone who always exhibited a generosity of spirit. I’ll always remember his big voice, lumbering walk, and the gentle tone with which he spoke in more intimate settings. He was always interested, willing to listen, and able to say what was appropriate, comforting, and valuable at the time. Whenever I returned to Porter- Gaud, in the years following college, I was greeted by him with a new openness, and was transported to a memory of earlier years, of younger times.

Coach Clark was a blessing. To meet his gaze was a gift. May his soul rest in deep, everlasting peace.

Davis Saul, Class of 2010 The first day I ever met Coach Clark, he broke my pencil! Not by accident—he did it on purpose. It was the first day of seventh grade in 1981, which was also the first day of middle school. We were upstairs in Richardson Hall. In comes my teacher—the first male teacher I had ever seen. He was ENORMOUS. Now that I am a grown-up, I know Randy was a big guy. But at 12, and particularly as one of the smallest kids in the grade, he was one of the biggest men I had ever seen.

And he was LOUD. And he was TERRIFYING. I sat right in the front row—nerdy kids somehow know to do that. And as soon as the bell rang, he began to tell us the rules of the class, pacing back and forth in a room that wasn’t long enough to contain his strides. “Don’t EVER touch my maps!” And then he paused, right in front of my desk. He looked down and picked up my #2 pencil, and snapped it in half, letting the pieces drop on the floor. “Use a pen! Pencils can BREAK!” He went a couple of desks down and lifted another kid’s spiral notebook with a few purple-mimeographed handouts tucked inside. He held it up, shook it, and the pages fluttered all over the front of the room. “And get a BINDER! Stuff can FALL OUT of a notebook!”

Back in those days, no one would have ever thought to complain that our fragile egos had been assaulted by Coach Clark. We were completely in awe of him. Within just a week or two, we all had realized that his bark was worse than his bite (although none of us were dumb enough to want to feel the bite), and that the whole act was designed to get us to be the very best we could be. History became my favorite class, and eventually, my calling…

Over the past 20 years, I have patterned my teaching, my coaching, and my leadership style more on him than any other person. I am still every bit as in awe of Randy as I was on that day over 30 years ago, and I am flattered that I was able to call him my friend. He is the best boss I have ever had, and one of the best teachers and best men I have ever known.

Larry Salley, Class of 1987 Middle School History Teacher

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watch Porter-Gaud School 300 Albemarle Rd. Charleston, SC 29407