From the Indian state of Tripura to Stonehill College

By Patrik Bergabo

            It was July 18, 2011 and Neeraj DevVarma squeezed into a Honda Civic with his mother, father, brother, sister, aunt and cousin on their way to Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose International Airport, the biggest airport in eastern India. At the airport Neeraj met three friends, Prithak, Alphonse and Karuna as they embarked to America.

Neeraj was prepared to say goodbye to his family. However, the thought of not seeing his parents for year or more did sadden him. After saying their goodbyes Neeraj and his friends descended into the busy cauldron that was the domestic part of the airport. After passing through to the international side they boarded their flight to Frankfurt, Germany and departed at 1 am on July 19.

Flash back seven months.

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Two important sets of exams were only a couple of short weeks away. For Neeraj, doing well meant getting into university in India. It was early December in Agartala, the capital of the Indian state of Tripura, as Neeraj packed his bags for the day and headed to Holy Cross School.

Neeraj approached the majestic campus with his mind firmly set on the exam that day. In the middle of the test, an administrator entered the room and called Neeraj and two of his best friends Prithak and Antara out of class.

Prithak was nervous walking through the hallways. The administrator had told them they were meeting with the vice principal. The thought of expulsion popped into Prithak’s mind, and he immediately began ravaging his memories for any major mischief he could have caused. As the three students entered the vice principals office, they were offered something distinctly different.

They had been offered the opportunity to attend university in America. The information was very vague – they weren’t even told the name of the school – and the three students left the vice principal’s office confused. Is this for real? Is it worth the hassle? Is it worth the money?

A few days later they received an email from Father Pinto of Stonehill College, providing details.

The three students later met with Stonehill College alumni who were doing service projects in India. Alums like Ben Albert along with the vice principal helped them fill out the Common Application, get teacher recommendations and write their personal essays.

Neeraj was excited by the prospect of the three of them, being the best of friends, all embarking on this incredible adventure together. However, in the thick of their application process, news broke out that only two of them would be allowed to attend Stonehill College.

December 18, 2010. The applications were sent out. Now they had to wait. And wait. There was no response until late March, 2011.

Neeraj felt relaxed through the waiting period. He learned from his father to never expect something that has been offered to you. It can just as easily be revoked. It was nearing April and still no official response. Eventually, Indrania DevVarma, Neeraj’s mother, spoke to the vice principal. She relayed the information to Neeraj.

Neeraj had been accepted, along with Antara. Prithak had been accepted into Kings College in Pennsylvania. Neeraj had always believed that he was the one that would be left behind, so this news came as quite a shock to him.

Two weeks pass and the reality of the situation begins to settle in. Neeraj was out of town in Shillong when he logged onto his Facebook to catch up on the latest happenings of his friends. Prithak had posted a status saying that he was attending Stonehill College instead of Kings College, along with Neeraj as Antara had pulled out.

The next major hurdle was acquiring a visa to stay and study in America. Two other students that were joining Neeraj and Prithak, Alphonse and Karuna, were originally meant to have attended Stonehill College a year earlier but they ran into visa issues. Neeraj applied online, and had to first pay a $300 application fee, and then an extra $200 to obtain a F1 student visa. The next step in the process was setting up an interview with the US embassy in Calcutta.

Neeraj travelled to Calcutta on his own at the beginning of May. He had an aunt and a cousin with whom he stayed with while in the city. The morning of his interview on May 8, 2011, his aunt drove him to the embassy and dropped him off in the blistering heat. Neeraj walked through the doors and was immediately confronted by security. He had already been told that he could not bring a backpack, so all he was carrying was a folder with the necessary paperwork to submit the full application. He walked through a metal detector and left his watch and wallet with security.

Neeraj walked further into the embassy and picked up his appointment ticket, number 93.

“Huh, same as my birth year,” he remembered thinking.

 He took a seat in the waiting room. A short time passed before being called up. On the other side of the glass at the counter was a disgruntled and rude Indian man. He wasn’t pleased with the pictures Neeraj had brought with him and told him that he needed new ones. There were photo booths situated just outside of the embassy for this exact purpose.

Neeraj knew he had no choice but to use one of these photo booths, despite the people running them being notorious for ripping customers off. Sure enough, Neeraj paid an extortionate amount of rupees just for new pictures. The sweat was dripping down his face while the sun pounded against his back as he headed back inside the congested and stuffy embassy. His pictures were approved by the angry Indian then took his seat again in the waiting room.

He waits. And waits some more. He waits so long that he starts to realize that people coming in after him are leaving before him. Two hours and a half pass before the number 93 is called out. Neeraj got up and headed into a side room where a smart looking American man is sitting. He hardly acknowledges Neeraj and for the most part stares at his file instead. He asked Neeraj the typical generic questions – “what will you be doing in the US?” “Studying,” – before asking him about Stonehill College. The interview ended and Neeraj picked up his belongings at the security desk and left. After waiting two hours and a half, the interview lasted less than a minute.

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The nine and a half hour flight touched down in Germany at Frankfurt Airport at 7:15. The sheer size of the airport overwhelmed Neeraj, who had never seen anything so big in his life. Being the only one with a debit card, he was quickly talked into buying everyone breakfast. This lasted the group until they departed, this time on a ten hour flight headed towards Logan Airport, in Boston.

On the first flight Neeraj and Prithak watched three different movies on the personal TV screens assigned to each seat. On the second flight, Neeraj was sandwiched between two random travelers with no TV to distract him from the tedious trip.

At Logan Airport, Karuna was stopped by immigration. There were small discrepancies in her paperwork. Once the immigration officials had spoken to Stonehill College they let her through. Even then, the bags took hours to arrive.

Joe Pottackal, a recent Stonehill graduate, and his girlfriend Christina Perera, an upperclassman at Stonehill met them at the airport. The couple brought the jet-lagged and exhausted group to the Stonehill College campus.

The Indian kid had made it.


End Notes:
Interview with Neeraj DevVarma
Interview with Prithak Chowdhury
Interview with Jacqueline Guzman
Interview with Liza Talusan

http://www.holycrossschoolagartala.in/
http://www.nscbiairport.org/

120 Seconds In The Spotlight

By Hanna Pattie

           

          The brisk early morning air streamed through the pickup truck windows, keeping Tina Tramontozzi awake in the passenger seat. Five a.m. the digital clock read on the dash.  Tina and her trainer, Olana, pulled out of the Springfield Marriott and drove to the Big E Colosseum up the road where the competition would be held that day. The F-350 rumbled breaking the silence as Tina repetitively fixed her socks, making sure they were out of sight beneath the tailored leather of her tall boots.

             “You nervous?” Olana asked as she glanced from the drivers side.

             Tina exchanged glances with Olana and quickly shook her head.

            Months of searching for the right horse and hard training have led up to this day. The New England Championships is known throughout the East Coast as a prestigious competition which tests riders at their highest ability. For the past two months, Tina has leased a top notch horse named Calypso from Walnut Hill Farm in Plainville, Massachusetts. Four days a week for two months, the pair had gone through extensive training at the horse’s home farm with trainer Kellie Monohan. Tina, a member of the Stonehill College Equestrian Team, practiced twice a week with their coach and competed weekly.  Presentation, technique, position, studying the course, and perfect execution of every jump was needed to be considered a successful rider in this event.

            The truck stopped next to the barn, and Tina and jumped out on to the cold gravel of the parking lot. She could make out Olana’s co-trainer riding Calypso in the warm up ring across the lot. Stadium lights shone over the sand ring, illuminating the early morning sky. In figure eights, Andrea cantered Calypso over a jump in the center of the ring. One, two, three, jump, Calypso launched his four legs over the fence with his ears pricked forward.

            He was on today.

            Tina smiled, swung her bags over her shoulder, and began walking across the gravel and into the cement aisles of the barn.

                               _______________________________________________

            Looking in the mirror, she fixed her hair, tucking lose ends up into the hairnet.

            It was seven o’clock now.

            Olana called for Tina as the course walk was about to begin.

            The competitors were allowed to enter the ring on foot, and discuss with their trainer’s how to successfully execute the course. From a small piece of paper the competitors quickly memorized the order of fences and walked into the colosseum.

            Boards surrounding the ring were spotless, and rows of seating climbed high above the ground floor of the ring. A massive scoreboard hung at the far end, flashing equestrian sponsors and wishing all exhibitors the best of luck. Up to the left, four computers lay on a counter high above the ring, with the seats where judges would be sitting.

            Following in Olana’s footsteps, her students weaved around groups of trainers and students, all walking the same course fence to fence. Together they measured lines and decided how to execute each turn. Stepping at the base of a white rail, Tina walked to the next fence measuring the number of strides her and Calypso need to take without getting points taken away. Sixty feet. Four horse strides.

            “As long as I sit up and keep my leg on around the corner he’ll jump” she said.

            “He’s a different horse in the show ring” Olana said. “Don’t give him an inch.”

            Exiting the ring Tina kicked her way though the dark brown footing. Turning left through large glass doors, she walked beneath the stands to order lunch.  She ordered a grilled cheese and coffee, helmet in hand, brushing her shiny black boots on the tile floor. Placing her five dollar bill into the greasy glove of the vendor she added milk to her coffee and turned in the direction of the barn.

            “Tina Tramontozzi ten riders away!”

            The announcer called off the next fifteen riders as Tina led Calypso down the aisle, brown faded stalls on each side. Horses pawed and grunted as if they were wishing the pair good luck. His shoes clapped along the cement floor until they entered the sandy padding of the warm up ring.                 

                   _________________________________________________________

            The past year of showing and training had come down to the next two minutes. Calypso carried Tina out of the sunlight and into the cool air of the spacious colosseum. Heavy lighting was directed onto the ring, lighting up the jumps which were spotless and each set with a different color scheme. Crowds of riders, trainers, and viewers were watched from the stands looking down. Jump crew men stood around the ring ready to run to fix any rails that are brought down by a horses legs.

            Breathing in and out, Tina sat on Calypso. Trainers Olana and Kellie both stood on either side of his head, hands on his neck. The final minutes of waiting at the in-gate seemed to take forever. The rider on course made her final circle. Her horse was pulled together in a collected manner, his large face tucked down by his chest which was now shining with sweat. She came to a walk and with a few large horse steps was walking out of the gate and into the sunlight.

            With gentle pressure Tina lay her metal spurs on Calypso’s side and he began to walk forward.

            “Go get em,” Kellie whispered behind her.
             Entering the ring, she could feel the horse step up onto the dirt footing, bright lights now shining upon them.

            The crowd now was watching.

            Her name, number and horse now was brightly displayed on the scoreboard.

            No turning back now.

            She sat tall, and with another quick pressure of her spur Calypso sprung into a collected canter. Tina sat deeply in the saddle, organizing her reins and fixing her feet in the stirrups one last time. Pressing her right leg and squeezing the left rein, she and Calypso made an opening circle around a green and gold pair of jumps which despite previous riders did not have a spot of dirt on them. With even pressure on both sides, Tina straitened her horse out as they made their way to the first fence. Five, four, three, two one. Calypso found the spot perfectly and they sailed over the brown rails. She tweaked her left rein to take his attention away from a fake vegetable stand displayed on the right side. With attempt to lower his face and regain control, she squeezed her rein and sat back with her legs on. Calypso began to steady and lower his neck as they round the corner to fence number two. The horses feet hitting the ground was the only sound in the ring. His breathing was getting heavier as he carried Tina around the large ring, however was drowned out by a quiet song being played over the loud speakers. Fence number two came up quickly. The horse’s pace was building. Tina sat back and steadied him as they approached a set of orange and white striped jumps, two strides were to be taken in between. Trusting her horse, she brought her hands up his neck allowing him to lower his head again and take over the next task. Landing off the first orange jump, he pushed forward and with two easy steps sprung his front feet off the ground and sailed over the oxar. The next three jumps were executed without mistakes. Tina’s Stonehill College team mates stood ring side, watching intently. The four judges were in their booth,  looking from their computers to the ring, tapping their keys as notes on Tina’s ride appeared upon their laptop screen.

            Just two jumps and another five strides to mark the end of this year’s work with riding.

            Slightly grinning, she bent Calypso around the corner and set him straight as an arrow to the final line.

            Speeding up then slowing again, she began to lose sight of a distance into the line. She pressed her spur and leg onto the side of his sides and looped her rein.

            He should take over from here, he knows where to go she thought.

            Three, two, one.

            They still haven’t left the ground.

            Rather than filling the next half step and leaping over the jump, Calypso’s back skid underneath him and his front shoes hit the ground rail. The momentum from their course thus far brought his neck and head over the top of the jump pushing Tina out of the saddle and sliding down his mane.

            Her feet were tossed out of the stirrups.

            Squeezing his neck she continued to fall forward. As her boots touched his neck she let go, allowing herself to fall to the ground. Laying in the cool dirt she peered up to the skylights. The crowd gave a slight moan and people began to whisper. After a few seconds, she pressed her leather glove into the footing and brushed the dirt off her once spotless tan breeches. Event staff and spectators clapped as she brought herself to her feet.

            Calypso was way ahead of Tina. Immediately after the fall, he turned and began to walk out of the ring, strategically weaving around people running to catch him as if he too was embarrassed. Kellie grabbed him at the in-gate. Swinging open the heavy wood panels she led the horse outside, Tina trailing behind. Exiting the arena, they stood next to the brick wall of its exterior.  Tina let small tears run down her face.

            “You rode beautifully up till that point, it happens”, Olana said, holding the blue material of her show coat.

            Tina smiled and nodded her head. Walking over to Calypso she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave his bay coat a pat. He turned his long neck around to Tina, nuzzling his nose into her chest.

            “Good boy,” she said.            

            Kellie’s groom tossed a blue fleece cooler on the horse protecting him from the chilly fall air. Turning towards the barn Tina and Olana walked alongside Calypo’s barn’s staff. Entering the barn, they walked beneath an overhanging garage door and strode down the grey aisle. Finished wood with rows of stalls for individual barns lined each side.  Dogs barked and the hustle of mucking stalls and preparing horses caused an array of chatter and noises. The months lease for Calypso was now over. The New England Finals marked the beginning of a new show year for Tina. The group walked together, Calypso’s shoes clinked sound upon the hard surface. They reached Olana’s stalls. A royal blue banner was hung evenly overhead with the words “Evenstride Ltd.” in block letters. Tina glanced over at Calypso and Kellie who slowed to a stop. They both smiled. She then walked over to the horse, rubbing his soft coat then embracing his neck in her arms.

            “Thanks boy,” she said.

           

REFERENCES

 HYPERLINK "http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_yFIHPZcDM" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_yFIHPZcDM

 HYPERLINK "http://www.newenglandequitation.com" http://www.newenglandequitation.com/

Remembering that day

By Kelsey Braga

The boys squinted and rubbed their eyes as the loud ringing of the tiny alarm clock woke them.

                It was 6 a.m.

                Private First Class Tyler Andrade rose out of bed and prepared himself for the long day ahead.

                “Ethan, get up!” Tyler shouted.

                The two Pfc.’s had a day fire and a night fire to perform, where they practice their shooting in a range – part of their daily routine while training in Indianapolis, Indiana.

                They met up with the 58 other men in the platoon, grabbed their M249s, and began shooting in the open range – a training session that Tyler believed was worse than Afghanistan.

                While the men in the platoon mainly focused on their shooting, Tyler and Ethan’s minds were elsewhere. Their platoon would be deploying for Afghanistan the next day.

                They finished up their night fire and awaited for morning to arrive.

                With Pfc. Tyler in the second platoon and Pfc. Ethan Goncalo in the third, Unit 181 deployed to Afghanistan on the crisp morning in October.

                After a plane ride that seemed never-ending, the unit arrived in Afghanistan. Before they knew it, Unit 181’s Platoon Sergeant Brevelari put the men to work.

                Pfc. Tyler was placed in Entry Control Point; he and his team would have to search anyone that came onto base and x-ray their vehicles. His cousin, Ethan, was put in Quick Reaction Force (QRF), where he would have to respond to any action around their area.

-

                The two cousins went about their duties for the next couple of months in Afghanistan. Sergeant Sweeting overlooked Tyler and his team as they performed the proper Entry Control Point duties. Sergeant Lawton advised Ethan and the rest of his team.

                The unit was settled in a no-rules range in Kabul, Afghanistan, in the middle of scenic mountains. The days were usually sunny – neither sweltering hot nor bitter cold – much more pleasant than the snowfall piling up in the men’s hometown of Fall River.

-

                On the morning of December 11, Tyler rolled out of bed, skyped his girlfriend back home, and prepared himself for another day in the Army.

                He arrived at the QRF shack in the early morning and hopped into the Humvee – Tyler was to be the gunner for the day. It was 74 and sunny, a temperature that was unexpected, for the forecast last night had predicted a cold day.

                A QRF member drove the Humvee out to the range. Tyler took his place at the top of the Humvee where two guns were placed. Tyler keenly picked up the M9 and began his gunner duties, providing fire support.

                At approximately 2 p.m. the QRF member drove the Humvee and Tyler back to the QRF shack, with the rest of the Humvees following.  As they arrived, Tyler noticed that his entire platoon was there, an unusual sight to see, though Tyler didn’t think too much into it.

                We must be having another stupid briefing, Tyler thought.

                Tyler hopped off the Humvee and began handing off his weapons. He unstrapped his pistol from his leg, and handed off his M4.

To his surprise, Platoon Sgt. Brevelari began to take the weapons and clear them.

                That’s weird, Tyler thought. It wasn’t common for the platoon sergeant to take the weapons.

                Once the weapons were clear, Sgt. Brevelari pulled Tyler to the side, in front of a hesco barrier, barriers filled with sand to protect the troops from weapons such as bombs.  

                Tyler leaned against the barrier to face his sergeant.

                “We lost your cousin today,” Sgt. Brevelari told him.

                “What?” Tyler asked his sergeant. “Was he hit? Is he on the side of the road…?”

                “No. We found him unresponsive,” the sergeant told Tyler.

                The sergeant walked Tyler and the other team members to the chaplain.

                Tyler, tears rolling down his face, sat down and listened to the priest.

                He sat, half listening, and waited impatiently to return to his room where he could be by himself and lay down.  

                As Tyler arrived at his room, his team leader asked him to hand over his weapons – a precautionary measure Tyler expected.

                Tyler then handed over his phone and his laptop. He did not want to be tempted to call his family.

                Tyler felt the grief overcoming him. He uncapped a bottle of Nyquil – the cold and flu medicine, high in antihistamine, a sleep inducer. He felt it travel smoothly down his throat and fell asleep.

                Hours passed as Tyler fell into a deep sleep. Tyler’s leader woke him later that night to say that they would be putting Ethan’s body on a Blackhawk – a helicopter that would fly him home.

                The unit dressed and lined up in formation to see Ethan’s body off, waiting for hours for the Blackhawk to arrive. They could never predict when the helicopter would show up, especially in a combat zone.

                After the fourth hour, the men started to break off. It was clear that it would be a while before Ethan’s transportation came. As Tyler solemnly headed back to his room, the sergeant told him that they were trying to get him special escort duty, so that he could fly Ethan home and attend the funeral.

                Tyler fell back into a deep sleep. He was awoken at 7 a.m. The Blackhawk was finally arriving. He watched as the old-fashioned, World War II-like ambulance brought out Ethan’s body on the stretcher.

                The grey body-bag hugged Ethan’s body so tightly that you could see his facial features.

                It hit Tyler. His cousin was gone.

-

                After days of struggling to attain military orders to fly off base and back to the U.S., Tyler landed in Delaware. The plane with Ethan had also landed. An officer handed Tyler a pen. Tyler was signing for Ethan’s medals and other property.  

He also was signing for his body.

                When Tyler eventually arrived at Hanscom Airforce Base in Massachusetts with Ethan’s remains, the military lined up in formation. They saluted as Ethan’s casket and his family members made their way down the base to the highway.

                As they traveled down the highway, state troopers blocked off every exit. Firefighters stood above the overpasses holding the American flag.

It was the beginning of the farewell.

The wake was held at Ethan’s high school on the brisk afternoon of December 22. Thousands of friends, family members, teachers, and servicemen gathered to pay respects. Scores of people offered condolences to the family.

                The funeral was held the next morning at Holy Rosary Church and mourners later gathered at St. Patrick’s Cemetery.

Tyler stood strongly as he watched Ethan’s coffin lowered into the ground.  

He did not cry.

Not a tear was shed since he left Afghanistan.

-

                A week later, Tyler was packing his bags to return to Afghanistan.

                As he boarded his plane on the morning of January 3 he felt empty.

He was about to go back without his best friend.

                He settled into his seat for the flight out and recalled the anticipation of the first trip to Afghanistan that he once shared with Ethan.

                He knew Ethan would be proud.

The Flea Market Life

By Rachel Norberg 

 

Gary Hill and his neighbor at the Grafton Flea market sit  next to each other at tables, the same spot they’ve been for four years.   Around them, the market is packed to the walls with vendors at tables separated by sheets strung around the auditorium-sized space.  There is a sense of camaraderie at the market developed over years.  Hill and Bushley are no exception.

Customers leave Bushley’s table with an arm-full of books.  Bushley tells them he is out of plastic bags.  He points them in Hill’s direction. Hill hands them a plastic bag.  Look at my selection of canvas book bags, he says, “only 3 for a dollar!”  Customers often buy the bags, then peruse the rest of the selection, picking up small items they would have overlooked.

“It’s all about reeling them in to your table,” Hill says.  “I know from experience that this is how the customer works. Lots of times people aren’t looking for something specific, but if you give them a good enough deal, they’ll pretty much buy anything.”

The Grafton Flea Market is a popular spot in the area.  There are two sections: the outdoor and indoor table areas.

Customers line up at the entrance at 6 a.m. to be the first to arrive at the indoor portion of the market.  The outdoor market runs from March to November and has the feel of a large yard sale.  The indoor market resembles a cheap convenience store, where you can find anything from a deck of cards to unused army toys.  One vendor sells packs of gum and old-time candy while his neighbor specializes in cassette tapes (Michael Jackson is the special today).

Gary Hill has lived in Grafton for 10 years.  He moved back in with his mother at age 30 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer, and became the sole heir of her small estate when she passed away one year later.  Along with the house, Hill inherited the keys to a small storage space, and all the contents inside.

 He didn’t realize it at the time, but Hill had found his hidden passion.

During the year before his mother died, the two woke up early Sunday mornings and attended Mass at St. Mary’s Church.  Afterwards, they would head to the Grafton Flea Market to find treasures hidden among the three acres of vendors.  The Sunday morning outings became a tradition, and after his mother died, Gary continued to go to the market on Sunday mornings.

“Those mornings were the highlight of my week,” Hill said.  “Even if we didn’t buy anything, there was so much to see, and so many people to watch.”

When his mother died, Hill spent four months cleaning out her house, selling various knick-knacks at yard sales.  When he finished, he took a week-long vacation to Florida to prepare for the clean-out of the storage space.  He returned from Florida and, armed with boxes and trash bags, he headed to Worcester to see what was in storage. 

When he opened the door, he could not believe his eyes.  Boxes of books, a bedroom set, framed paintings of fruit.  He walked into the middle of the room, and was surrounded by his mother’s old treasures.    

“There must have been 50 crystal vases,” Hill said.  “They were too beautiful to throw away, but I had no space for them.  That’s when it hit me.”

Hill never considered buying a space at the flea market until then.  He never had anything to sell.   Now, he was more than prepared to begin the journey.  Hill called to reserve a space for next Sunday morning.

Hill has been there since.

“I started selling my mom’s old items.  It took about a year for everything to go, but I was hooked way before then.”

When Hill ran out of his mother’s items, he began to browse local yard sales.  He looked for large items that were cheap, and could be sold at the flea market for profit.

“I didn’t make much money, but it wasn’t about that anyway.  I had a full-time job, and some money left over from the inheritance.  It was, and still is about the things you find and the people you meet.”

Thousands of people mull through the items in the indoor flea market, arms full of other people’s junk that has now become their own treasure.  For $5, a man walks out with the DVD box-set of the Rocky movies.  For $3, a woman leaves with a new scarf and matching pair of gloves.  For $10, a boy rides out ahead of his running mother on a used Razor scooter. 

There are no limits to what you might find at the Grafton Flea Market, and no one knows this better than Gary Hill.

 The second Sunday Hill and his mother had gone to the market he bought a watch from a man selling some of his wife’s jewelry.  The watch had made it into the pile by mistake, but he agreed to sell it to Hill for $7.

“He said it was a knock-off Rolex that he had found in his restaurant.  Someone left it at their table, but had never come back to reclaim it.  He had worn it once, and hadn’t even noticed it was missing.”

Hill wore the watch every day for the next year until his brother-in-law bought himself a new Rolex and was showing it off at Thanksgiving dinner.  Hill thought it looked exactly like his.  He decided to bring it to a jeweler to verify its authenticity.

“When the dealer told me I had bought a $1,000 dollar watch for seven dollars, I couldn’t believe it.  I could have sold the watch back and made some decent money, but I like to wear the watch as a reminder.  And it doesn’t hurt that it looks so good!”

All those years of uncovering treasure has paid off for Hill.  Although he can’t quit his job, when he retires he is looking forward to devoting his full attention to his favorite pastime, and his favorite memory of his mother.

http://www.graftonflea.com/

http://www.americantowns.com/ma/grafton-information

Personal Interview with Gary Hill

An Unnoticed Worker's Struggle

By Frank O'Brien

A slight cream-skinned woman of middle age bustles about the second floor rug of Dulac. It is early in the morning, and the sun frames a crimson halo against the window.  The hall is quiet then, aside from the vacuum’s incessant purr as Irene Duff starts the machine. It is just the beginning of a day’s work for her. Few other students are about at this hour.

            Irene gracefully glides the vacuum across the rug, absorbed in her work.    

            As a member of Stonehill’s residential custodial staff, Duff is responsible for the general upkeep and cleaning of the Dulac dorm areas. Her work is focused around the bathrooms, kitchens, and general common areas. The first thing Duff does each day is remove trash from the building. She then cleans the bathrooms, spending most of her time on the shower areas. It is really important to Irene that the residence remain clean and a good place to live. She must mop up toilet and shower leakage as well as any vomit lingering after weekends. The last areas she focuses on are the lounges, where she will vacuum stray crumbs, mop trash off the floor, and clean any marks off the walls.

            The busiest day for her is always Monday. Since no cleaning is done on the weekends, the bathrooms are usually messy and the trash overflowing by this time. The bulk of this day is spent cleaning those bathrooms, they are the priority. Duff stresses that it takes a long time to clean those rooms. She observes that many students in her areas can be careless about the upkeep of their living space. Being the only custodial member in Dulac, she often must run a very tight schedule in order to get everything cleaned.

She found herself very drawn to Stonehill, because of how close it was to her home in Brockton. She was also drawn by the promise of free tuition for her two children, now 28 and 30 years old. College was very important to her, since she never had the chance to go herself. When she was young, college was never even an option for her. She had grown up with 12 siblings on the poorer side of Brockton. Her parents made enough to support the family, but did not have great jobs and did not push their kids to pursue a university education. She enjoyed high school and was involved in many extracurricular clubs, but a college education ,she knew, was beyond her reach. Neither of Duff’s parents brought up the prospect of college. And Duff constantly needed to work to support herself, ever since she was fourteen picking food at Packett’s Farm in Brockton. Immediately after graduation she left home and got her own apartment. Yet Duff says she always regretted not going and often thought about what she had given up. She really wanted her two children to attend college, and continually pushed them in that direction. She stresses how necessary an undergraduate education is today, and that jobs are always asking for it.

Neither of Duff’s parents brought up the prospect of college. And Duff constantly needed to work to support herself, ever since she was fourteen picking food at Packett’s Farm in Brockton. Immediately after graduation she left home and got her own apartment. Yet Duff says she always regretted not going and often thought about what she had given up. She really wanted her two children to attend college, and continually pushed them in that direction. She stresses how necessary an undergraduate education is today, and that jobs are always asking for it. Though neither of her children ended up choosing Stonehill, both did succeed in furthering their education and have had career opportunities that were unavailable to Duff. She is very proud of this.

But it had been a lengthy road bringing Duff to her present position at Stonehill. After high school Duff began work at minimum wage at a laundry at a local hospital. She previously owned her business, a place called Irene’s Lounge in Middleboro.  Though she ran a good business and did well with her lounge, after 13 years she said that she didn’t like the job. Duff worked long hours at the lounge, primarily cleaning duties such as sweeping, cleaning, and preparing the kitchen. She would work from 6 am to 2 am the next day. She was often surrounded by drunken customers, and found the bar’s general atmosphere unpleasant. The bar was very crowded and though she was only allowed to serve 45 people, as many as 70 would often find their way in. It was not someplace she wanted to remain long. Duff eventually sold her business and sought other work. After a few years of traveling with the money she made from her lounge, she joined a cleaning company her brother worked for and various other side jobs.

She would spend five years persistently applying to for positions at Stonehill every time there was an opening. But for a while, Stonehill was hesitant to hire her because many people at the school disliked her ex-husband, who had previously worked at Stonehill and had been known as kind of a nuisance. Eventually Duff was able to convince her employer not to judge her based on her ex-husband’s faults.

            Irene has worked at Stonehill for thirteen years now, and hopes to remain there until retirement. Duff believes she has learned a lot from the way she was raised, that it has taught her to set goals for herself, like owning her own home. Little by little, she was able to secure a better, though still far from affluent, way of life than she had growing up. Duff also claims her upbringing allows her to be more open to those who are struggling to support themselves. She wants to keep working at Stonehill for at least seven more years.

            A cheery, balding man reclines into an armchair as his brow furrows in thought. Father Hugh Cleary says that often comes into contact with Duff, since he also lives in Dulac. He said Irene has become a part of students’ lives, someone always available for them to chat with.

He says the custodial staff at Stonehill often goes above and beyond what is expected of them. He tells the story of George, a custodial worker in the student ministry building. Cleary recounts one day after the student ministry retreat, there was a huge mess in the kitchen. Though it was not his responsibility at all, George, without prompting, came in and cleaned up the area. Father Cleary said people shouldn't take for granted what the custodial workers do and the integral role they play in Stonehill’s community.

Duff said she tries to establish a strong rapport of communication with students she encounters, believing this makes her job easier. She feels communication is everything. She often tries to help students who are having trouble adapting to being away from home. If a student is having adjustment issues being away from home, Duff makes every effort to talk to the student and get her the help she needs. Being a parent herself, Duff tries to treat students like her own kids and believes students should get the most out of their college experience.
Duff gently emphasizes that she likes it when students talk to her and doesn’t want people to feel hesitant to approach her. She believes it is the students who give her the job. In her experience students are generally polite, but are hesitant to acknowledge Irene except in passing, when they are forced to. Though many times students are inclined to avoid her, Duff does not want this to be so.

Duff walks down the Dulac hall, swinging a red cooler by her side. She wears the same blue uniform as always, the same cheery, unfazed expression. She enters her parked mini-van and starts the engine.

Sources

            Interview-Professor Velazquez

            Interview-Father Hugh Cleary

            Interview- Andrew Young

            Interview-Ernest Zezze

            http://www.nea.org/home/30347.htm

            http://www.ehow.com/facts_5602192_job-description-custodial-workers.html

            http://www.ok.gov/opm/jfd/f-specs/f50.htm

On the prowl for water foul

By Jill Jansson

“Shoo geese!” Gail Devins commanded.

With those two words, Louie and Winston, a flash of white and black fur, were off, bounding toward the pond, splashing into the water and barking their throats dry, as they paddled toward a flock of Canada geese.

The geese lazily swam in a cluster.

Then, their long necks perked up at the sounding alarm—“woof, woof, woof”— shattering the quiet of the cool autumn afternoon.

The two Border Collies strategically closed, while the third, Tug, the oldest of the three collies, stood guard at shore. The three sang out a chorus of incessant barking, all conducted by Devins’ clenched fist moving side to side—code for “bark.”

“Shoo geese! Shoo geese!” Devins yelled, urging her dogs on.

The geese, reluctant to move at first, sensed the presumed predator zeroing in. Then, the urgent honks sounded in a succinct stream of screams.

They flapped of their wings, preparing to take flight.

In a seemingly rehearsed succession, they climbed through the air and disappeared behind the tree line.

Louie and Winston paddled back to shore and charged up the hill, barking enthusiastically. Then, dropping himself on his back, Louie did his “victory dance” and rolled around in the grass.

Devins congratulated her dogs, bending down to pet Winston’s wet and mudded fur, while throwing a stick over to Tug, who leaped forward to retrieve it.

This is a typical day on the job for Devins. The life-long Easton resident and her three border collies work for area country clubs, corporations and schools to keep Canada geese off the grounds. 

Devins had dogs all her life.

As a young girl, it was her dream to do something with dogs, but she never really thought about it later on, and instead went on to become a Real Estate agent.

Five years ago Devins adopted Tug from a couple, who couldn’t manage an energetic, 2-year-old Border Collie.    

Border collies are a high-energy breed of dogs and are very smart. They need to be exercised and stimulated daily, Devins said.

She began to think about how to keep him busy.

Devins heard of a dog that chased geese way at golf courses in the area.

She decided to give it a try.

Contacting the Easton Country Club immediately, she told them she needed to use up her dog’s energy and wanted to give geese chasing a try.

It was Tug’s big interview day. Devins brought him out, let him loose and said, “Ok, get the geese!”

Tug just looked at her.

“Shoo geese,” she said, trying again and hoping desperately he would make a move.

He picked up a stick and began to play with it.

Fail.

But Devins didn’t give up. It took one and a half months to teach Tug how to shoo geese. She used the follow-my-lead technique. It was quite a funny sight, seeing a woman running after geese, screaming bloody murder, she said. 

Finally, Tug caught on.

“Woo Hoo!” Devins yelped with delight.

Ever since, Devin’s company, Shoo Geese! Border Patrol, has been servicing Easton’s country clubs, cemeteries, corporate properties, and school campuses. She currently has 10 accounts.

As the company slogan states, the team of four are “on the prowl for water foul.”

Really, wherever nice grass and water are, is where the geese will be, Devins said.

At Stonehill College, geese overrun the open quad in central campus and the pond at the Route 123 roadway, where there could be up to 600 geese at once, Devins said.

It can take a while for the three dogs to move that many geese up and out.

It requires a lot of barking.

One morning around 8:30, Devins was on the central-campus quad area with the dogs. She had them barking away.

“Some people are trying to sleep here,” yelled out a sleepy-eyed, disgruntled student from her dorm room.

“Sometimes I forget where I am,” Devins said, trying to hush the dogs.

Devins is always worried when she’s at the country club or corporate grounds. The over-excited, friendly dogs jump up on people, she said.

“There are always the ladies with nice, clean, white shoes at the Country Club, then, along comes Winston,” said Devins, dressed in her muck boots, jeans and turtle-neck sweater.

Canada Geese have become a growing problem for the area.

The Federal Migratory Bird Act of 1918 protects geese and their goslings, which has caused overpopulation, and the warmer climate allows them to remain in the Northeast year-round.

Not only do geese kill the landscape with their droppings, which they produce up to 25 times per day. The Centers for Disease Control reports that the droppings are health hazards because it contains disease-causing bacteria, but certainly not enough to justify mass destruction of the Canada geese population.  

Geese no longer fear humans because they are so used to being around them and often can act very aggressively towards people, especially if they have goslings or a nest close by.

Devins brings Tug, Louie and Winston to Stonehill College twice a day every day, except Sundays, at different times, otherwise the geese will anticipate her timing.

After all, geese are quite smart, Devins said.

The geese in Ocean Spray in Middleboro, Mass., know it’s her when she drives in. They walk around the grounds all day, not fazed by the passing cars, but once they see her car pull up, they “waddle themselves away, right away,” Devins said.

She does succeed in shooing the geese, but once one flock leaves, another moves in the next day. That is why it’s a full time job for Devins.    

For golf courses, airports, parks, school recreation fields and corporate parks, shooing geese has become a common service in recent years. Border collies are the method of choice in keeping the geese out.

As naturally energetic and intelligent herding dogs, border collies have an immediate effect on the geese—more effective than other measures, such as loud gun shots, balloons or fake coyotes.

Border Collies’ wolf-like presence frightens the geese, who think they are predators, while they are really gentle animals that would never harm the geese or others in the area.

If these dogs aren’t given a job, then they will find one on their own. It’s really the best thing for them, Devins said.

“Mother Goose,” the name Devin proudly had embroidered across the chest of her bright red “Shoo Geese! Border Patrol” coat, is the master of her three beloved dogs.

“Down, sit, stay,” she commanded sternly.

Her favorite part of shooing geese is watching her dogs in action. “It amazes me, even though I do it every day,” she said.

She remembers the time when Louie, only six months old, started swimming after the geese, when two swans, who possessively guarded their babies, started to get really nasty.

They kept circling around little Louie, who was without a life jacket.

He just kept swimming and barking.

Devins was scared for his life.

“When he got to shore I have never been so happy,” she said.

Winston, the baby of the group, is Devins’ most recent pride and joy.

Recently, she wanted to teach him to swim after the geese, so he could tag-team with Louie in the water.

She tried and tried, and was about to give up.

“This just isn’t going to happen. He’s just not going to do it,” Devins said.

Then, one day, off he went, on her command, “Shoo geese!”

Devins says that she loves what she does—being with her dogs outside in the fresh air with nature. “It’s a nice, healthy way to spend my day,” she said.

After a job well done, no geese were in sight.

The pond was still, once again. 

The dogs moseyed around, already in pursuit of another job.

“Time to go home, guys,” Devins told them.

She rounded up the three pups.

“Winston. Louie. Tug,” she called, opening up the car door.

They came running and jumped in one after the other, plopping themselves down comfortably on the blanketed seats.

All ready to go home.

     

Endnotes: www.shoogeese.com; www.canadageese.org