Hill Magazine Fall 2022

Welcome to Hill.

The creation of this edition has been on my mind for years. Since touring the summer before my senior year of high school, taking my first steps into the newsroom, I’ve aspired to be a part of this outlet of student media. I’ve worked hard to get here. Many people work hard, and are never able to reach their end goal. That’s the angle I thought I would see when creating the theme of this magazine: Hustle Culture.

However, despite my pessimistic outlook of Hustle Culture going into the selection of these stories and poems, I saw an overwhelming amount of perseverance and positivity. Although this wasn’t the hard hitting angle I was expecting, I still feel it encompasses the idea of hustling. Our society is full of hard workers. And from what you’ll read in this edition, you’ll see a showcase of those few that shine through despite the difficult journey.

Of course, this edition was not made possible by my hustling alone. I’d like to thank our contributors who are amazing writers, photographers, and poets. Thank you to my incredible editorial staff who helped bring this edition to life, both physically and digitally. I’d like to thank our assistant editor Emma Dannenfelser, who constantly shares immense encouragement, support and help through this process despite her busy schedule. I’d like to thank Alyssa Riley who stepped up as the first to be an online content editor for Hill Magazine, learning the ins and outs of working the website and being a pro at social media when I was confused. And I’d like to give a special thank you to our senior designer Blaise Keasler for taking my jumbled words into beautiful designs and illustrations. I’d like to thank Professor Bret Schulte for taking the time to meet with, advise, and help to reassure me that I was doing enough when I felt like I absolutely was not. Lastly, I’d like to thank all of you, the readers. I really appreciate you taking the time to see what we’ve produced.

We hope you enjoy Hill: The Hustle Issue.

Thank you, Victoria Hernandez Editor-in-Chief

Contributors

Victoria Hernandez Editor-in-Chief Emma Dannenfelser Assistant Editor

Victoria Hernandez is a junior from Flower Mound, Texas studying English and journalism with minors in history and gender studies. She loves winter weather, coffee, and music.

Emma Dannenfelser is a senior journalism major from Houston, Texas. Her favorite pastimes are hiking, watching romantic comedies and spending time with her friends. After college, her dream is to work for a travel and lifestyle magazine.

Alyssa Riley Online Content Editor

Alyssa Riley is a senior journalism major from Graham, Texas. She is also the student life section editor for the Razorback Yearbook and loves all things writing! Her dream job is to work as a lifestyle and entertainment writer for Cosmopolitan Magazine.

Contributors

Blaise Keasler

Designer

Blaise Keasler is a senior majoring in graphic design from Kansas City. Their dream is to open their own tattoo studio.

Maddie McGibbony Writer

Maddie McGibbony graduated with a degree in journalism in May 2022.

She moved back to her hometown of Little Rock and now works as a paralegal for a corporate law firm.

She loves spending time with her dog, Baylor, as well as reading and binge-watching a good show in her spare time.

Rogers Pitcock Writer

Rogers Pitcock is a senior journalism major from Hot Springs, Arkansas. He knows all of the words to Ice Ice Baby.

Contributors

Betzhold Writer

Sophie Betzhold graduated in May 2022 with a bachelor’s degrees in journalism and communications. She now lives and works in Dallas, Texas. She spends her free time taking an unnecessary amount of pictures of her dog.

Alyssa Crutcher Writer

Alyssa Crutcher is a sophomore English and journalism major from Sand Springs, Oklahoma. She is also the lifestyles editor for the Arkansas Traveler. After graduation, she plans to pursue her dream of moving to a big city and working on the editorial staff of a newspaper corporation!

Jasmine Sylvia James is a senior majoring in Marketing, Finance and Psychology from Singapore and moved to the United States four years ago. In her free time, she writes poetry and spends time with her rescue dog, Milo!

Sophie

Jasmine Sylvia James Poet

Contributors

Poet

Paige Babcock is a senior social work major from Poplar Bluff, Missouri. Babcock has lived in Springdale for most of her life and loves the arts. She is very inspired by music and the people in her life.

Joshua Droll is a freshman majoring in broadcast journalism from Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. His last name is actually a word, droll, which means dry but funny.

Sarah Wittenburg is a junior physics major from Conway, Arkansas.

She also minors in journalism and art history and is the Photo Editor of the Razorback Yearbook. She has been a photographer for five years.

Paige Babcock

Joshua Droll Poet

Sarah Wittenburg

Photographer

The First-Gen Plight

by Maddie McGibbony

F

irst-generation students face many challenges upon entering college, especially those who come from Arkansas, the second poorest state in the nation, according to 2012 U.S. income and poverty data. Their lack of experience dealing with the bureaucracy that is the higher education system and financial constraints creates a recipe for confusion.

According to the Education Advisory Board, first-generation students have a higher likelihood that they will not complete their degrees within four, or even six years.

However, a University of Arkansas junior, Cailee Stone, was prepared to face these challenges head on. She knew when she approached her parents during her freshman year of high school to tell them she planned to attend college, that the conversation would be tough. Neither of Stone’s parents had completed high school and were convinced that college was a waste of time and money.

Stone had never even considered college until she transferred to Lakeside High School in Hot Springs, where she was surrounded by peers who were taking AP classes and planning for the future. Stone decided to try out AP chemistry and excelled in the course. Her teacher and her advisor both pushed her to pursue an education and Stone soon realized she wanted to be the first in her family to attend college.

“Eventually once I found that, like, I am capable of more than just basic level classes, I really decided to … show myself what I’m truly capable of and just challenge myself,” Stone said.

Stone knew that she would be alone in this endeavor. Her mother was unemployed, and her dad made do with odd jobs throughout her childhood. There was simply no support, financially or emotionally, to help Stone through this journey that her parents deemed unnecessary.

“That also was one of those situations where I was like, ‘I know what I don’t want to be because of this,’” Stone said.

Stone was determined to accomplish her goal on her own. She took a job at Kroger when she was 16 and has been working to support herself ever since.

“For a lot of people, the legal age for being grown up, I guess, is 18,” said Stone. “Usually that doesn’t mean you’re getting kicked out of your house, usually that doesn’t mean your parents are going to stop helping you all together, but for me it really did.”

She earned enough in student loans, scholarships, and work study funding to continue her education at the University of Arkansas despite the lack of support from her family. Stone was beating all odds. For students like Stone whose parents did not complete high school, only 36% enroll in college immediately after receiving their diploma, according to the National Center for Education Statistics.

Thanks to her strong work ethic and firm belief in her own abilities, Stone, now 20, is in a senior standing at the university. She works as a lab technician and has only accrued $5,000 in student loan debt, putting her well below the average of at least $25,000 for 65% of first-gen students according to Pew Research Center.

Stone’s success story is one that shocked Dr. Mary Margaret Cunningham. Cunningham has studied and worked with the UofA for over 12 years. She spent almost three of them working as the assistant director for first-generation student support and led the 360 Program.

The program is a resource that invites certain first-gen and low-income students whose admission data indicates they may need more tailored guidance during their first semester in higher education. The program offers one-onone academic advising and a peer mentor to help make the transition as smooth as possible for students who may not know what to expect. Cunningham’s main objective within the position was to keep these students enrolled due to the elevated risk of first-generation students dropping out before earning their degree.

According to the First Generation Foundation, the dropout rate of first-gen students is four times that of second-gen college attendees. 89% leave college within six years with no degree, and over a quarter leave within the first year. The most prominent obstacle that consistently comes up for why first-gen students are so likely to drop out is the financial burden. The median family income of a continuinggeneration college student nearly triples that of first-gen, according to the Postsecondary National Policy Institute. More issues arise when it comes to conquering the often confusing administrative processes and mastering study skills according to the Education Advisory Board.

Cunningham noted that she saw that lack of what she calls “college literacy” often in her work with first-gen students. She provided the example of a first-generation student who does not perform well in math and doesn’t realize that they should not be in the math course that only meets once a week, but rather three times a week.

“Whenever I saw first-generation students struggle so much, that’s when I really started to feel disenchanted from higher education,” said Cunningham.

Financial insecurity and an unfamiliarity with the system often lead first-gen students to seek out financial aid. With no immediate connection to someone who has experience with it, it can be a daunting challenge to handle.

This problem is what caused Debbie Garcia, 21, to abandon her studies at the UofA. Unlike Stone, Garcia’s parents

Cailee Stone, senior, working on her assignments with the stress of school and being a first-generation college student on her mind.

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg.

strongly encouraged their children to attend college. They worked tirelessly to ensure that she went to a private, Catholic high school, and firmly believe that better education leads to better opportunities. A native of Waco, Texas, Garcia not only loved the University of Arkansas during her visit in high school, but she knew she could benefit from the scholarship that covers much of the difference between in-state and out-of-state tuition.

Garcia felt prepared to take on the load of college courses, but unprepared for the convoluted process that is financing higher education. She recalls how overwhelmed she felt when having to fill out her Free Application for Federal Student Aid, or FAFSA, something she was completely unfamiliar with. Her parents were at a loss as well. Garcia was a work-study student during her first semester, which also led to a feeling of isolation among her friends who were free to go out and experience the fun of a typical first-year college student.

“I love the school so much, but I honestly didn’t feel like they had that many options to help students,” Garcia said. “It’s really hard paying out of pocket, and no one ever talks about it.”

Garcia chose to take a year off from school to find a betterpaying job in order to save money and return. Originally a nursing major, she made the switch to education before taking time off and becoming a waitress. She wishes she had gone to a community college for at least her first year, rather than succumbing to the pressure of her private high school to immediately enroll in a four-year university.

First-generation students have consistently made up 18-20% of entering freshmen classes at the UofA for as long as Suzanne McCray, the vice provost of enrollment management, can remember. Many first-gen students at the university are from rural areas as well. According to McCray, first-gen students often find it difficult to ask questions or reach out to faculty for help. She said the university is working diligently to introduce them to resources that can provide any necessary guidance as well as encouraging them to seek advice from faculty.

“We’re trying to create a sense of belonging,” McCray said. The university created a program called “Pick One” within the last few years that provides a lengthy list of different organizations and programs on campus that can help first-gen students create a network. Those students will automatically receive a reserved spot in the organization they choose to participate in.

“If we can just get a kid working on campus or engaged on campus, they’re more likely to retain because they feel like, ‘Oh yeah, I do belong here,’” McCray said.

Programs like the 360 Program are also vital resources to keep first-generation students on campus. Don Nix, the program’s current director, claims that one of the greatest tools a first-generation student can have is just one person within their network who is rooting for them.

“More often than not, especially among first-generation college students, there is a need at some point to know somebody, and to know that somebody here knows who you are, and is on your team,” Nix said.

Nix possesses an optimism that allows him to focus on the strengths of first-generation college students rather than the systemic issues that may be holding them back.

He notes that one of the primary issues that the university is working on to benefit first-generation students is simplifying as many processes as possible. It has become apparent that there is a need to demystify many complicated requirements and procedures when it comes to higher education, especially for those who have no one to walk them through it.

The UofA also offers the federally funded program, TRIO Student Support Services. TRIO provides in-depth and consistent guidance to first-generation, low-income, and disabled students. The program’s director, as well as the Director of the Multicultural Center Retention Program, C.J. Mathis, said that two-thirds of his students are both first-generation and low-income.

Cunningham said, “Whenever I saw first-generation students struggle so much, that’s when I really started to feel disenchanted from higher education.”

TRIO SSS provides specialized advising with the same advisor throughout the entirety of a student’s time at the UofA. They also offer career workshops, financial literacy advising, and career development connections. Mathis confirmed that the biggest difficulties his students face are navigating the financial aspect of college as well as being aware of all their career and degree options.

“A lot of first-gen students, particularly if they’re first-gen and low-income, come to college because they want a better life and a better life typically means a better job,” Mathis said. “If you don’t come from a culture of people who, you know, have studied a variety of things, there are few fields that [firstgeneration students] know about that make money.”

Many experts agree that first-generation students often get tunnel vision when it comes to choosing a career that will be lucrative. Often, they pursue the fields that they have heard make the most money, such as being a doctor, lawyer, or engineer. However, those paths may not be the best fit for them, and they may be unaware of more specialized degree programs that will still lead them to great career opportunities.

The systemic disadvantages such as poverty and lack of social capital all stack against first-generation student success, and they still typically must work harder to stay in school, but more and more is becoming available to them to make that a reality.

1 in 4 first-gen students drop out within their first year. Illustration

by Blaise Keasler.

Adapting to Arkansas

Quadriplegic athlete Sean Kent brings adaptive sports to an underrepresented area.

by Rogers Pitcock

Sean Kent secures himself in a specialized rugby wheelchair with help from his mother, Bonnie. She fastens his feet while he adjusts his belts. “If you can breathe, it’s not tight enough,” he jokes.

In a rugby wheelchair, his center of gravity is much lower. The wheels are angled upward and shielded to protect from hits. After an adhesive spray is applied around the wheels, Kent’s mother helps wrap tape around his arms and puts his gloves on.

At the Springdale recreation center, an indoor basketball court has been specially sanctioned for the Ozark Adaptive Sports Association, Kent’s nonprofit. For the last two years, OZASA has provided adaptive sports equipment and facilities to Northwest Arkansas. Along with rugby chairs, Kent has tennis chairs, basketball chairs, and hand cycles.

Two more members arrive, Darryl Coit, a special education teacher from Fayetteville, and Cecil Brown, Kent’s personal trainer. Brown is a former strength and conditioning coach for the Arkansas Paralympic team. He struck up a friendship with Kent at a local park when he noticed him in his wheelchair practicing. Tonight, he is working with Kent to get him in shape for rugby. Coit secures himself into a tennis chair while Brown goes to practice basketball on an adjacent court. Kent and Coit put cones up around the court and begin their drills. First are wheelchair orientation drills, then shooting and mobility drills. Wheelchair orientation functions as a warmup, where the athletes weave through a course of cones forwards and backwards. Shooting and passing are then practiced while doing the same drills.

Sean Kent preparing to take the court.

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg.

“Low turnout tonight,” says Kent. After two hours of exercising, Kent’s mother helps him out of his chair. “Dad’s gonna have to re-tape your gloves,” she says. Replacing gloves is a regular occurrence. He goes through almost a roll of tape every practice. Kent uses mechanic gloves, finger tape to prevent blisters, and tractor tire inner tubes wrapped around his fists. “Everyone has their own set up,” he says as his mother scissors off his tape. “People like to put in cushions or extra restraints.”

For those suffering from spinal cord injuries, like Sean Kent, maintaining an active lifestyle can be difficult. With OZASA, he hopes to strengthen independence through community sports.

“The big goal is to create a facility that’s geared towards disabled athletics, both physical and developmental,” he says. “Once you have the space, the possibilities are endless.”

Kent was paralyzed at age 25. While visiting friends in Oregon, he had a diving accident. “I went running into the Pacific Ocean and dove into a cresting wave. Right behind it was a sandbar. It was like going full speed into a wall,” he said. Still conscious and face-down in the water, Kent couldn’t flip himself back up. He could not move his legs. He knew not to panic, because if you panic you’re just going to inhale more water. He passed out and was later resuscitated on the beach.

Kent spent two weeks in Portland for surgery and observation. A medical flight took him from Portland to his hometown of Chicago, to the best rehab facility in the

country. The Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago, now called the Shirley Ryan Ability Lab, would be where Kent spent the next six months. He had broken his C6 vertebrae, which limits mobility in the hands, triceps, and torso. Kent had to relearn how the hands and arms function. He had to learn how to eat again.

“They didn’t have enough beds on the spinal cord floor. So they put me on the kids’ floor, and when I’m doing my therapy, I see a five year old that got meningitis and had to have their hands and feet amputated. If she can do this, I can do this,” Kent said. Other patients would shut down and lock themselves in their hospital rooms, not wanting to do their therapies, but Kent would take as much therapy as he could in the day.

He suffered an incomplete spinal cord injury, meaning it wasn’t severed. He regained sensation back and some movement in his legs, but couldn’t feel pain at all on his left side from the chest down. Kent would spend his days in therapy. Physical therapy exercises leg mobility and fine motor skills while occupational therapy focused on daily living, where he learned how to feed and dress himself.

“When you look back on it, you go, ‘Wow this is the thing that got me. Out of all the crap I’ve done in my life, diving wrong is what got me,” he said. “If I would’ve dove five feet to the left I’d be fine.”

Kent says that the biggest personal obstacle people deal with is the loss of independence. The loss of function. Things that were once easy aren’t easy anymore.

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg.

“Velcro is a real pain in the ass for me,” says Kent. “When your world and independence shrinks, it’s a lot to deal with. You wake up and shit doesn’t work. It takes years for people to get their confidence back. You do anything to get your mind off of it.”

While in Chicago, he was recommended the documentary Murderball by hospital staff. It is about wheelchair rugby, a quadriplegic-specific sport. It piqued Kent’s interest. His limited tricep mobility wouldn’t allow for wheelchair basketball, so after inpatient rehab , he decided to go to a wheelchair rugby practice. Kent’s rugby team in Chicago consisted of other quadriplegics, veterans mainly, all with different function levels. “They’d tell me how to handle things and answer my questions,” he said. “Some guys’ hands work and others don’t. It feels better when your support group is more easygoing. Sports make it more natural. It builds a sense of camaraderie.”

On the team, Kent was forced to live independently. Once a month, the team’s sponsor would pay for them to go to a tournament for a weekend. They’d cover the hotel and travel. Kent learned how to live without a wheelchair accessible room and how to handle the TSA, airports, and airplanes. He considered it to be therapy in and of itself.

“The best thing I did after my injury was sports,” Kent said. “When I was in rehab and they forced you to go to support groups, they had a therapist that would show up in my room and I’d try to fake like I was sleeping. The support groups were just people complaining and that’s no fun. People are just depressed. They think life is over, especially depending on your level of injury.”

After years of planning and research, Kent moved down to Northwest Arkansas. He was attracted by the burgeoning economy, proximity to family, and the untapped market for adaptive sports. “I lucked out,” said Kent. “I know people that were abandoned by their families after their injuries and they are sent to nursing homes. My family was willing to be very supportive and helpful with this.”

To continue playing rugby though, his closest team was in Kansas City, over 200 miles away. He made the drive to practice once a week for a year. “Originally I tried making a wheelchair rugby team here in Arkansas, but after talking to others in the area, I learned that once the coach or captain quit or retired, nobody picked up after,” said Kent.

After seeing several adaptive sports institutions fail across the state of Arkansas, Kent started planning the Ozark Adaptive Sports Association. In December of 2019, he acquired his 501c3, which would allow him to start it as a nonprofit. During the initial outbreak of COVID, Kent used time to prepare and get equipment until April 2021.

Kent said, “They didn’t have enough beds on the spinal cord floor. So they put me on the kids’ floor, and when I’m doing my therapy, I see a five year old that got meningitis and had to have their hands and feet amputated. If she can do this, I can do this.”

Kent says the two biggest barriers for adaptive sports are equipment and transportation. “Basketball chairs, rugby chairs, and hand cycles cost thousands of dollars each, so it’s not like people who want to play adaptive sports can just hop in and try it out.” Basketball chairs are lighter and sit higher to allow easier shooting and rebounding. Wheelchair rugby is the only full contact wheelchair sport. “We break our necks and then spend thousands of dollars running into each other,” he said. “I’ve only flipped over three or four times.”

As an organization trying to appeal to people with injuries, OZASA wants to fit in as many activities as they can. Basketball chairs are universal in paripeleigc sports, so they play basketball, tennis, pickleball, softball, and wheelchair lacrosse to name a few. Rugby chairs cover the quadrepelegic sports, and hand cycles allow for outdoor racing.

Cycling is what attracted Darryl Coit to OZASA. Coit was injured in a car accident and went to the same rehab facility as Kent. He enjoys playing tennis and basketball but primarily cycles. “I wouldn’t live here if it weren’t for the trails,” he says. He recently moved from California and cites Northwest Arkansas’s cycling potential as his motivation to exercise.

“Northwest Arkansas is a very cycle-friendly area, and we want to take advantage of that,” says Kent. “So for anybody able-bodied or disabled, come and try it out on Wednesday nights. Mostly we offer basketball and rugby because Springdale Parks and Rec has been phenomenal in letting us rent a court once a week.” The goal for OZASA is to travel

and play other teams competitively, nationally or regionally like in Chicago and Kansas City. The Ozark Adaptive Sports Association currently meets weekly at the Springdale recreation center. Most of OZASA’s athletes are from the area. “I’ve had contact with people from Oklahoma, Fort Smith, and Bella Vista,” said Kent. “Ideally, our range is a 90 mile radius around Springdale. We have a social media presence, but adaptive sports is an institution where if you’re not looking for it, you usually won’t find out about it. My strategy has been getting into contact with rehab facilities, hospitals, and medical vendors; giving them brochures and information.”

Arkansas is unique in that it has the Arkansas Spinal Cord Commission, a branch of the department of human services which keeps track of where disabled people are who need state assistance. Kent uses the commission to help identify new recruits for OZASA.

According to the CDC and Arkansas Spinal Cord commission, 12-15% of Arkansans are under the age of 65 with a disability. The number one causes of spinal cord injuries in Arkansas are car accidents. Kent uses this information to find people willing to try OZASA.

“Starting an adaptive sports program in Arkansas has been challenging, but if something like this existed, I wouldn’t have the chance to do it,” says Kent. “It’s the time to do it here. The programs like this help people build their confidence back but they have to want to do it. People lose hope after their injury and we’re trying to show them lifes not done. Come out and do these activities, come out and feel independent again. OZASA requires tenacity to just want to do it.”

Under Kent’s leadership, OZASA has become more than premier recreation and sports, but a support group, uplifting the disabled community of Arkansas.

Kent says,“Starting an adaptive sports program in Arkansas has been challenging, but if something like this existed, I wouldn’t have the chance to do it.”

Throwing out the Milk

by Paige Babcock

How do you separate the savory from the rotten and the sour from the sweet?

Going through the days, I’ve gotten lost in obscene thoughts and nooks and crannies of my mind.

Maybe tomorrow or yesterday, I can find the answers I’m looking for. While life goes by I ponder a time where I realize that I am no longer the milk. And as I wander I start to wonder and realize I have never been the milk.

Milk gets sour and can be thrown out while the carton can live another day, refilled and reused another way.

I am the carton.

I am a shell. Don’t rid of me even if my insides start to smell. I can be new and I can be whole, or so I’ve been told. This truth I am sold.

A Tough Skate Through Loss

by Alyssa Riley

Clementine Simpson is bombing down a Fayetteville hill, her sharp mullet whipping behind her in the cold wind. Her feet swing from left to right on the pavement that disappears beneath her; this thrill is what she loves about skating.

Simpson, 22, is a senior nursing major at the University of Arkansas and has lived in Fayetteville her entire life. However, it hasn’t been all fun and skating, as she has struggled with mental health for many years and for several reasons.

Mental health is an aspect of daily life that many people struggle with, but, thankfully, it is becoming less stigmatized as shameful when talked about openly. According to the National Institute of Mental Health, one in five adults suffer from at least one mental illness, but it can look different for everyone.

Simpson’s brother, Solomon, was a musician, cross country runner, “everyone’s friend type-of-deal” kind of person when he passed at 19.

People who knew Solomon can say he was one of the kindest, most open human beings, she said.

This tragic event in Simpson’s life occurred two days before her 13th birthday; she was in her “teen-forming years,” as she put it, causing the first-hand experience of trauma at a young age.

Many northwest Arkansas residents may recognize Simpson from her transportation methods around Fayetteville. Her quad skates are always strapped to her feet as she hill-bombs or slung over her back when she arrives at her destination.

“I started picking up things he was interested in, seeing if that was some way to connect,” she said. “I was already skating before at this point.”

Photo courtesy of Maggie Mmeraki.

Simpson began skating in 2008 at Starlight Skatium with a group of friends from school where they formed Arkansas Elite, a roller speed-skating team. She went to national championships and won several awards.

In 2013, she retired from competitive speed skating: “It was like, this is the end of it, I’ve accomplished what I could,” she said. “I quit skating, so I didn’t really have a passion for anything, and I was trying to figure out, like, ‘What do I want to do with my life?’”

“It kind of took me a minute; everyone deals with grief differently, but I don’t think I’ve ever gotten in a super depressive state or anything about it,” Simpson said. “Obviously, it’s the worst pain you can possibly imagine.”

While studying abroad in France after graduating high school, she realized that being abroad did not leave many friends upon returning to Fayetteville. In a sense, this was an opportunity to start fresh.

Simpson had not laid a finger on her skates for quite some time, but as the COVID-19 pandemic began to change everyone’s life, she decided to pick her passion back up.

“I kind of got in this mental state – it wasn’t depression –but everyone was so sad. No one could hang out, no one was getting the social interaction that they needed,” Simpson said. “People who were new to the area were like, ‘Well, I’m going to college right now and I don’t have any friends. I was expecting to meet people but here I am on Zoom.’”

She was scrolling on TikTok when she saw videos of roller skaters. Simpson said she thought, ‘That’s what I do, why don’t I do that right now?’

“It just makes me happy to inspire people, and people will always comment on that,” she says, laughing. “And say that they decided to start skating because of me or they went outside and street-skated and hill-bombed for the first time.”

The group poses for a photo after a day of teaching meet up skating with the Arkansas Roller Skate Crew. Photo courtesy of Clementine Simpson.

Illustration by Blaise Keasler.

Being confined by the pandemic, this was the perfect way for her to stay safe and healthy while spending her time doing what she loves.

Her first step was an Instagram account, which she named ‘Clem.skates’, and on June 22, 2020, she posted her introduction, not knowing this picture and caption would result in over 18 thousand followers on the platform and 20 thousand on TikTok in less than two years:

“Hey, thanks for following! Here is where I’ll post anything new I learn, wipeouts (because we know they happen), and stuff I already know,” the post read. “If you’re a fellow skater in the [northwest Arkansas] area, dm or email me to skate together. I want to start a group that does weekly trail skates.”

This is when Simpson’s sense of community and mental health started to change.

About 80 people initially contacted her and 30 showed up to the first skate crew meet-up, which has grown to at least 300 and inspired the creation of other groups around the northwest Arkansas area.

Simpson said she believes that the skate crew is about community, cheering others on and being open and accepting of everybody.

Over time, she learned anxiety was common in the skate group. “Especially now, with social anxiety, because we’re not used to it anymore; it’s just a weird odd thing,” she explained.

“It helped me a lot as well because, yeah, I wasn’t happy,” she said. “I was pretty bored, not knowing what to do, and then I just found a passion for it and now I can’t believe there was a year that went by where I didn’t touch my skates. It’s kind of crazy to think about now because I do skate every day.”

Even now, things are still changing for Simpson as her skate crew, social media presence and passion grow.

Along with the meetups, Simpson’s skate crew participates in Fayetteville parades and hosts events for the community and skaters of all kinds. For Valentine’s Day one year, she put on Cupid’s Skate, an open event that entailed extra skates and skateboards, a photo booth and a mini ramp area and live music by two DJs.

(Topmost) Photo courtesy of Maggie Mmeraki. (Lower) Simpson and her dad, Sam Simpson, after she placed first at the National Competition for Speed Skating in 2012. Photo courtesy of Clementine Simpson.

“It just makes me happy to inspire people, and people will always comment on that,” she says, laughing. “And say that they decided to start skating because of me or they went outside and street-skated and hill-bombed for the first time.”

Although Simpson had some rough years – mentally and emotionally – from the loss of a loved one, the loss of social normalcy or the loss of a hobby, she found her way to make every single day a little bit more enjoyable and fulfilling.

She has made more connections in college than many could hope for, inspired others to take a chance and put on the skates and reclaimed her passion along the way.

Silver and Gold

by Joshua Droll

It’s raining. Of course it is.

It had been forecasted for a while now.

It should have been obvious, The wisps of white that mimed Paul’s Revere, The temperature reaching a fever pitch, The air itself seemed to sweat so that the Earth Must wipe it all away, leaving a gray streak in its stead.

That golden sun you were so focused on grasping with all your worth Has disappeared behind the streak, as does your self-worth. And the golden days are over.

All that time protecting the sun from a foe you never saw coming, The sting of defeat tingles as the electricity mounts, The rain pelts you like insults, striking you coldly, And the wind howls like shouts of malice.

If the sky could kill, you’d have drowned. If words could kill, those drops are icicles.

The sun is gone, child. Look for the silver linings, The edges of gloom illuminated by the gold that once was. The sun is still there, right behind the rain. It’s no golden beam, but you must take them.

Waiting for The Golden Beam is to wait for God; Only possible in death, and even then, You’re never really sure either will be there. Take the silver, wait out the howling storm.

Endure the strikes that are only ice if you let them be.

The gold will triumph over the silver And you will be basked again.

The ground beneath you will be damp; Some things may be a wreck; But you will have withstood a storm; No longer a child, but a force all your own.

The Payoff

by Alyssa Crutcher

They say if you’re not exhausted, you didn’t work hard enough. With that, there are so many people in the world who spend their days hustling. They work excessive hours, take care of their kids in their free time, do household chores, run errands and still barely make a living wage. With hustle culture being so prevalent, especially in younger generations, there is a lot of pressure on working hard and pushing yourself to perform at 110%.

People who live in the lower class are some of the most determined, hard-working people out there. Yet, for whatever reason, our society views them as lazy or less than just because of their financial status. No matter how hard they work, the world seems to place them at the bottom with no regard to the stress that comes with it.

According to the Center on Poverty and Social Policy, the amount of people in the US living in poverty has been slowly increasing since December of 2021. As of February of 2022, 14.4% of Americans are living in poverty. And the number of homeless individuals in the US is high, higher than it should be, at 17 people per 10,000 in the population, according to the Council of Economic Advisors. Waitlists for homeless shelters have been doubling, even tripling, in recent months, details an article by the New York Times.

When one loses their home, they are put at risk of losing their job. After this happens, it becomes incredibly difficult to acquire a new job with no permanent address or access to the internet, which adds onto the already high pressure of needing to hustle and make money.

It is no secret that many people look down on the poor and homeless. They’re viewed as unmotivated, lazy and a waste of space. What most people don’t realize, though, is that the top cause of homelessness is poverty, which is caused by low wages and a lack of affordable housing and healthcare, according to an article by Human Rights Careers.

Sometimes hustling takes time to pay off; despite how hard people work, they still struggle to survive.

Trinity Barnes grew up in a household with her single mother whose yearly salary as a teacher’s aid was only about $4200 a year, due to the Great Recession, leaving them with only $1800 to spend on things like food, housing and other necessities. They would stay in an unoccupied house owned by her grandmother, she said.

However, growing up, Barnes said she was never completely aware of her family’s financial situation.

On top of being hard-working, the heads of lower income households can be the most caring, too. Many adults will give their food or extra money to the children and do everything within their power to make them happy. They keep their struggles a secret so as to not cause worry to the children.

“We always had enough food for my brother and I,” Barnes said, “but there were many times my mother couldn’t afford to eat her own portion of a meal. She hid our lack of money so well, I was convinced she had an eating disorder rather than a financial crisis.”

Although the financial situation is usually attempted to be hidden from the children, they still can have negative mental effects from it.

Not only did Barnes, her mother and her brother have to navigate financial worry, but they also had to navigate the harsh words and the aftermath of a separation from her father.

In her life, Barnes’ father was the only person who ever tried to make her mother feel lazy due to her financial situation, she said. He would also try to use Barnes and her brother against her mother to force her mother to save what little money she had; money she needed to spend in order to care for herself and her children.

“(It) was traumatizing,” Barnes said. “A grown man who knew that our mother was already having to go without food more often than not, wearing clothing with many holes, unable to afford a surgery she desperately needed and still trying to tell her that she needed to save money was obscene at best. He was just trying to break her spirit.”

Sofia Kingsbury grew up poor in California. Her parents got divorced when she was just three years old. When staying with her dad, she and her sister would live in either a hotel or a garage that belonged to a family friend, because her dad could not afford a permanent place to stay.

Kingsbury and her sister would often be left at home alone by their father for whole days at a time while he worked full

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg.

time starting a business, which people called him lazy for doing instead of working towards a more traditional job, she said. Kingsbury’s mother also worked full time, but it was a more stable environment. When staying with her, she and her sister had a live-in nanny to take care of them.

Regardless of the unconventional lifestyle she had at a young age, Kingsbury has a more positive outlook, saying it has given her plenty of funny stories for her to talk about with friends and gave her more of an exciting childhood.

“When everyone was watching movies with both of their parents, I was traveling to new and cheaper places and getting to explore the outdoors, beaches, and mountains of California,” Kingsbury said.

While growing up or living in a low income household can be stressful, exhausting and certainly not ideal, the life lessons that can be learned from the experience are like no other. While it may seem like the hustle is taking you nowhere, the outcome is almost always rewarding.

“Growing up in poverty shaped my life by giving me an alternate perspective on people’s appearances,” Kingsbury said. “When someone physically looks like they are financially struggling, I can understand where they are coming from because I’ve been there before in my childhood.”

Although Barnes’ view of her childhood wasn’t directly affected by her financial situation, it still changed it. It taught her how to be more in touch with reality and how to save and spend wisely, she said. She doesn’t look back on her childhood with distaste because she had her family, and that was everything she needed, she said.

Barnes also has found her passion in helping those who are struggling financially and to help those that are so incredibly low-income that saving money really isn’t an option, she said.

“My brother and I were perfectly content with what we had, even though it wasn’t much of anything,” Barnes said. “I care greatly about helping people learn how to get themselves out of financial ‘holes,’ so to speak, hence why my major is finance.”

Although their hustle paid off, throughout the years they pursued to get to this point, society still viewed them as less than.

Now Barnes’ and Kingsbury’s families are both doing well financially. Kingsbury’s mother is a well-accomplished Human Resources manager and her dad’s business is doing very well, she said.

“I can make it through college without financial worry, but I always keep money in mind because I remember how it feels to not know where you’ll be a year from now,” Kingsbury said.

Barnes’ mother remarried and they now own a house with more than they need, she said.

“My mother was the hardest worker I’d ever met,” Barnes said. “She juggled having two kids, a job, and the stress of (my father) all by herself. It was truly amazing how stressed she must have been and still managed to be just about a perfect parent.”

So appreciate and respect those around you, no matter where they are in their lives mentally, physically, or financially, because you never know what someone is going through behind the curtain. While you may be conditioned to look down on those who are below you financially, it is better to have kindness and understanding of the hard work and feelings of discouragement that go with the need to hustle.

Kingsbury said, “I can make it through college without financial worry, but I always keep money in mind because I remember how it feels to not know where you’ll be a year from now.”

Worrying about bills, putting food on the table, and everyday expenses overwhelms hard workers, making it hard to achieve the payoff of it all.

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg.

New Fears

by Jasmine Sylvia James

When I was 7, I feared the dark The monsters under the bed and skeletons in the closet So I slept with a night light

When I was 14, I feared losing my sight The flowers I would never see and faces I would never meet So I spent every possible moment under the sun

When I turned 21, I now fear silence The thoughts that would be given a voice and space to be heard So I now live with constant noise

Illustration by Blaise Keasler.

Speechless

by Jasmine Sylvia James

I am pressing this pen to paper

Forcing ink to spill and smudge Constant pressure in one spot Tears through several pages

I want to translate my thoughts into words But I have exhausted the alphabet Racing sentences too fast to be rational I am speechless

Women of Fire

Women defying the odds, finding community in the male dominated field of firefighting.

by Emma Dannenfelser

Firefighters are an integral part of society, and they have been throughout much of history, as well as the average American’s life. Children’s books, movies or cartoons, you name it, we were raised on stories about a man in that heavy, puffy suit saving people from ferocious fires. Today, young minds are being inspired to help the community as more women are not only becoming firefighters, but completely thriving in the field.

In 2020 men accounted for around half of all employment nationwide, but over three-fourths of protective services employees, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. As of 2020, only 4.4% of the nation’s firefighters were women. However, that number is due to rise in the future as more women pursue a career in firefighting.

Although fighting life altering flames sounds terrifying to many, with the splitsecond decisions, long hours and serious scenarios, Alexandra Wade from the Fayetteville Fire Department has always had a “hankerin’ for it”.

Growing up, Wade says she was always active. In college, she played basketball at Southern Arkansas University.

A career in firefighting matched everything that she was looking for. A job filled with comradery, brotherhood and challenging physical tasks.

“I was just like, Dadgumit, this is a dream. I’m just gonna chase it,” Wade said.

Wade began her career at North Little Rock Fire Department, where she said she was at first nervous to work in such a male-dominated field. She quickly realized that once she proved her work-ethic she was welcomed by her male peers with open-arms.

Alexandrea Wade (left) and Alexis Flagg (right).

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg. Illustration by Blaise Keasler.

The job certainly does not come without a fair number of challenges, and for many female firefighters, the physical side of the job is an area where they have to develop more technical skills in order to match weights or repetitions with the men.

“There are standards that we have to meet, and that can be really difficult,” Alexis Flagg, with the Springdale Fire Department said. “We are expected to lift like everyone else. There are gentlemen here who are 6’5 and have a foot on me, I need to be able to do the same things as them.”

Enthusiastic and undyingly positive success stories, like Wade’s and Flagg’s, are common here in Northwest Arkansas, where departments intentionally work to provide more inclusion for women.

Some of these changes include things like prioritizing private bedroom and bathroom areas inside the department, however, many of the challenges that female firefighters face are found outside the firehouse and in the community, Thomas Jenkins, Rogers Fire Chief, said.

“The obstacles they face are often more cultural in the community. Unfortunately, even in 2022 we still find people who don’t associate the job of firefighting with a female,” Jenkins said. “Luckily, I think you would find that within the department, that stigma is extinct.”

As more women join the force, the public’s acceptance has also grown, Lacie Hewlett, from Rogers Fire Department said.

While the public commonly view men as stronger, Hewlett said female firefighters can have a special presence on many calls, offering a more calming presence.

Hewlett has been working for Rogers Fire Department since 2004, offering her a front-row seat to the developing inclusivity that stations around Northwest Arkansas are deservingly proud of.

“I think with the new kids coming in the mindset is just completely different. Everybody is just more accepting of everybody, for who they are no matter what they are,” Hewlett said. “I think it’s becoming easier for women now, compared to back-in-the-day.”

First responders everywhere are tasked with assisting with gruesome, tragic and bone-chilling scenes every day, which sometimes means carrying home an onslaught of emotions. However, recent years have shown the mental health of firefighters being prioritized, Jenkins said.

“There is a huge focus here on taking care of the station’s firefighters. A few years ago, talking about feelings was taboo and ‘hush-hush’, we were told to just ‘push it down and deal with it’,” Flagg said. “I think a challenge is just having enough mental strength and awareness for the mental health side of the job. But it’s facilitated well here, we have resources, and everyone is open and willing to help.”

Female firefighters in Northwest Arkansas, but also nationwide, are on the rise. Now is the time for women to go after a career in firefighting, Flagg said.

“I like being in the fire service in this transitional time. For instance, in public I’ve had kids go ‘oh look firefighter woman!’ and it’s really rewarding to see this change,” Flagg said.

“There is a huge focus here on taking care of the station’s firefighters. A few years ago, talking about feelings was taboo and ‘hush-hush’, we were told to just ‘push it down and deal with it’,” Flagg said.

Springdale Fire Station 7. Photo by Sarah Wittenburg.

No Goal Is

Fred Jennings cracked his skull in a 35 foot fall. He finished his Ph.D.

by Sophie Betzhold

On the first day of classes, students shuffle through the tight rows in the small auditorium that is Physics classroom 133. The old, metal seats squeak with every tiny movement made by the nearly 50 college kids waiting for instruction from their professor. Busy setting up his presentation, Fred Jennings has yet to acknowledge the dozens of eyes staring down at him. He sets two papers on the long desk in the front of the room and instructs the crowd to sign in for attendance.

Hundreds of creaks bounce between the white brick walls while the class settles back in yet again. This time, the professor welcomes them into the persuasion course and begins his introduction.

Like most instructors, he provides insight into his career and shares a glimpse into his life. A family portrait in a green field shows his family smiling at the room, and he details his time completing his bachelor’s degree at the University of Arkansas.

He talks about how he learned different ways to present information while finishing his master’s in communications in China. He clicks to move onto the next topic but pauses.

“I lost my train of thought,” he said. “This happens sometimes because of my fall.”

He takes a breath, pulls his mask back up between his nose and glasses, and continues teaching as if nothing happened. He finishes by explaining the class project that involves creating a fundraiser for nonprofits in the Fayetteville area.

What Jennings left out of his opening remarks was the months he spent in and out of a coma in a hospital in Shanghai, the years of rehabilitation it took for him to learn how to walk and talk again, and his ongoing trouble with his vision. He did not share what it felt like when his skull hit the concrete below his apartment balcony.

Instead, he focuses on the impact he wants his students to make on the community while taking his class. His passion for creating positive change is apparent through his dedication to his students. Though the class may be unaware of the trials he persevered through to be standing in front of them, his passion and love for his work is evident.

Too Big

Then 28, Jennings had been working in China for less than a year. April 15, 2009, while attempting to fix something on his girlfriend’s balcony, he tripped and fell 35 feet resulting in a coma that would last for three full days.

His girlfriend found his limp body beneath their home and took him to the nearest hospital. She informed his mother, Kathy Jennings, who was thousands of miles away in his hometown of Goodman, Missouri, with a call in the middle of the night.

“We didn’t understand her very well because she didn’t speak good English, but we heard ‘accident’ and ‘Freddie’ and ‘hospital,’” she said. “I asked her if he was okay, and she said yes, but he hasn’t woken up yet.”

His mother knew something was terribly wrong. She recalled not being able to sleep that night before the phone call and told her husband that “something was wrong with Freddie,” she said.

Because neither of his parents had passports, Jennings spent the next five days without his family until they acquired emergency passports from the governor and went straight to see their son. They were shocked by what the doctors told them.

The “doctor in Shanghai told us he just needed rest and gave him Tylenol Three,” she said. “We knew that there was something wrong because we knew how he was normally.” He was a bright, young man who had been involved in many things. However, his slow responses were unusual for a normal recovery timeline, and his family was concerned.

Jennings was unconscious upon his parent’s arrival. When he awoke days later, he was in constant pain. They traveled to three separate hospitals all of which gave him the same diagnosis: he just needed time to rest.

“We even took him to an eye doctor because his eyeballs were just kinda floating around,” she said. “They told him to straighten up, like he was doing that on purpose.”

After a couple of weeks, Jennings was released from the hospital to heal in his one-bedroom apartment with his mother and father. He had yet to sit up in bed.

Jenning’s head was very sensitive to noise and light. The simple act of typing on a computer was enough to warrant an angry complaint, his sister Tiffany said.

After a gruesome 20-hour flight back home, he was taken to the local hospital where they discovered the plate that his brain sat on had cracked and was leaking spinal fluid. His head had been overcompensating for the loss of fluid and the excess liquid production needed to be stopped immediately.

He was rushed to yet another hospital, this time, in St. Louis for an emergency surgery. There they found he had at least seven broken bones in his head, and after two months of no treatment, some had already healed improperly.

Fred Jennings teaching his class.

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg.

“Every doctor that he saw when we got back [to Missouri] has told us that he should not have made it with that much damage,” his mother said.

The following years consisted of intense rehabilitation at home and in various recovery centers.

“I couldn’t move without falling,” Jennings said.

While at a care center in Mt. Vernon, his mother received a phone call from a nurse who asked, “has he always been good at math,” she said. They had given him the hardest problems they could think of, and he solved them all without writing the questions down.

Jennings had always been good at math, but the nurse told her “When your brain gets affected it has files, and his math file did not get hurt at all,” she said with a chuckle.

He had always been insightful, but, at that time, he was unable to walk or speak many words. Yet, his students today do not notice the difference between his teaching versus any others.

Mind over matter was the focal point of his vision therapy. He would often stare at a ball on a string and try to get his eyes to move with it, a task that sounds easier said than done for a person with a traumatic brain injury.

Though his eyesight improved, “he still has tunnel vision, double vision, and no peripheral vision,” his mother said. However, most of his physical rehabilitation was done at home.

In his childhood home, his mother taught him how to stand and walk, yet again, but this time, he needed a lot more help.

“We tied a belt around him” to let him work on balancing on his own, his mother said. He also performed various leg exercises to get his strength back because he couldn’t stand. “Every minute” was devoted to helping him recover, his mother said.

“(During rehab) I learned to set a goal and follow that goal,” he said. “Though it was tough, I had to make the decision to persevere.”

With extremely hard work and a lot of pain, both physical and mental, Jennings regained most of the normal bodily functions that he had lost. However, recovery will last “the rest of my life,” he said.

Nearly 10 years after the injury, he is a completely different person than he was before the setback. Though he had very little control in some aspects of his life after the accident, he made the choice to no longer live a “pointless, meaningless [life], that made no real impact on the world,” he said. He had plenty of time to reflect and reevaluate the person he once was, and it led him to find a “new perspective” on life, he said.

“Without knowing beforehand that he’s had a head injury, I would have never known or assumed so,” said one of his students Ashlyn Falcon.

“His teaching style doesn’t show any signs of past injury, and he teaches his class just like any other teacher would.”

Years after regaining most functions, Jennings had gone back to school to earn his PhD in communications at the University of Missouri. Though he has accomplished many things despite his injury, he still has ongoing complications from the fall.

For his vision, he took a three-hour round-trip car ride two or three times a week to therapy in Springfield. The Missouri Council of the Blind also performed home visits with the goal of getting him to focus, since he had little control of his eye movement.

He credits his family and community for helping him discover his newfound perseverance. His ability to recover was rooted from his network’s support.

His community, in fact, was the reason the Jennings were able to cover the enormous cost of his medical bills and his family was able to stay with him overseas.

“They gave us so much money,” his mother said. The football/soccer team he played on in China had “raised enough money where we never spent any at all over there,” she said.

Members of their local church also held an auction, dinner, and 5k, and their friends set up a bank account where they donated money to the family to spend during their time overseas.

Photo by Sarah Wittenburg.

“He is a living example of overcoming adversity and is not ashamed of his disability,” Dean said. “He shows others how to embrace their strengths and weaknesses alike.”

“(During rehab) I learned to set a goal and follow that goal,” he said. “Though it was tough, I had to make the decision to persevere.”

The multitude of connections he had played such a large role in allowing Jennings to receive the help he needed. Today, he gives back to a newfound social group of those like him.

Jennings, once unable to stand on his own, had regained his love for running in the years since his accident. He was part of the Columbus House Brewery Run Club in Fayetteville, Arkansas, when he first met his friend Mary Dean.

The two spent the last night before COVID-19 shut down the country talking and running 5 miles together on the U of A campus. Dean had been an occupational therapist and was intrigued when Jennings shared the story of his recovery on their trek and how he started a couch-to-5k challenge that led him to run a full marathon.

“I was inspired hearing his story,” she said. She was shocked by his fearlessness when she heard of his visual impairments because “he would bolt across the street without looking,” she said with a laugh.

Dean had recently started an Achilles International chapter in Arkansas where she serves as president and founder. The non-profit is a global organization with the mission to “change the lives of people with disabilities through athletics and social connections,” she said.

The group meets every possible Saturday morning to run, walk, and roll together as a community.

Noting how dedicated Jennings was to accomplish his goals, Dean invited him to the organization.

“In the last half-mile of the run, I decided to join the group,” Jennings said. “I am half volunteer, half athlete.”

Though Jennings meets with the group to run each Saturday, he also serves as a model for what the organization is about. Along with running a marathon, Jennings went back to school to earn his PhD after his fall. He learned the importance “to have a goal and follow that goal,” he said.

Dean uses him as an example to the other athletes to show that “no goal is too big,” she said. “Freddie was the first person I met [in Arkansas] that realized his disability isn’t a bad thing. In fact, he is thankful to be a different person.”

Since joining in 2020, Jennings has given speeches to the group and used his classes to aid the organization. He partnered with the nonprofit the following two years by making his students organize a fundraiser as a class project. Achilles collected all proceeds.

Though Jennings had taught before his fall, he encourages his students now to do meaningful work in their lives rather than “moving to do something fun” as he used to, he said.

Today, he inspires students to help their own communities by continuing to require some form of fundraising or event to help a local non-profit as an

assignment. Using his work to make a difference is exactly why he got into teaching.

Many of his students enjoy “the idea of implementing nonprofits into our classwork,” said Falcon. “It’s a wonderful way of teaching that also gives back to our community.”

Though his students may be unaware of the full extent of his injury and years of recovery, Jennings’ passion for life and helping others is apparent in his work.

“He is a living example of overcoming adversity and is not ashamed of his disability,” Dean said. “He shows others how to embrace their strengths and weaknesses alike.”

Many of his students enjoy “the idea of implementing nonprofits into our classwork,” said Falcon. “It’s a wonderful way of teaching that also gives back to our community.”