Published in The Post-Star (D1)
3/14/06
GLENS FALLS -- These days, some of the most interesting stories at Crandall Public Library have been etched onto silver in an alphabet of light and faces, not typed on pages.
The walls of the small basement gallery space in the library's Folklife Center are heavy with several decades worth of visual regional history, culled from a lifetime of work by the Vermont-based photographer Neil Rappaport.
Rappaport believed in the power of images to tell stories, and he believed that the stories of ordinary people are worth telling. As a self-taught documentary photographer, Rappaport spent years with some of his subjects, following them through the details of their daily lives with a clunky old view camera and an almost tangible sense of empathy.
"He was interested in documenting relationships, and he had a way of building relationships with his subjects as he did that," said his wife, Susanne, who now manages her late husband's collection.
The 62 black-and-white prints in the current exhibit give viewers a glimpse of life in Pawlet, Vt., where the Rappaports lived for 30 years. In the 1980s, Neil made it his mission to conduct a "visual census," taking photos of every Pawlet resident in settings that ranged from living rooms to dairy barns.
As a native of New York City, Rappaport was fascinated by the way his rural neighbors made a living through manual labor. The exhibit includes images from his series of photographs of workers at the Ross Valve Manufacturing Facility in Troy and the granite mines in Granville.
"Making photographs was a way of learning for him. If he could photograph it, he could understand it," explained Susanne.
The exhibit also includes five portraits of inmates at Great Meadow state prison in Comstock in the 1970s, where Rappaport volunteered to teach photography in exchange for permission to use his students as subjects.
"I think it was at the prison that he really learned how to take portraits," said Susanne.
Rappaport died suddenly of lung cancer in 1998, when he was 56. Susanne, who still lives in Pawlet, has spent the last several years sifting through the "hundreds of thousands" of prints and negatives that Neil took in his lifetime. Last year, she published a book that combines her husband's work with historical photographs of Pawlet taken by two local women in the early 20th century. The book also includes excerpts from oral histories of Pawlet residents, which Susanne recorded in collaboration with her husband's visual census project.
Susanne said her next goal is to find a permanent home for her husband's work at an institution that can preserve and maintain the collection, and hopefully use it to teach future photographers.
"Neil felt strongly about leaving a record. He believed that you had to know what had come before you in order to live your life and anticipate the future, and he saw photography as a way to do that," said Rappaport's wife, Susanne. "Photography is always about time, in one way or another."
Monday, March 27, 2006
Monday, March 13, 2006
"Slice of Life" at Saratoga Diner
Published in The Post-Star (D1)
3/08/06
Editor's note: "Slice of Life" appears every third week in Arts Life, and looks at the atmosphere of a local diner.
Sunshine slanted through the windows of the Saratoga Diner on recent weekday morning, glinting off the thick glasses of a white-haired man enjoying a plate of Belgian waffles. A miniature white statue of a shirtless Venus watched him from the windowsill. An oxygen tank sat at his side, connected to his nose by a plastic tube.
He beckoned to a waitress who was moving around the large dining room with a glass coffee pot in each hand -- the orange-handled pot of decaffeinated brew was still mostly full, while the stronger stuff emptied quickly.
"Could I bother you for a refill, when you have a minute?" he asked.
She topped off his cup with regular, then hustled back to the kitchen with a weary half-smile on her face.
In one booth, a pretty young woman tucked her feet up on her seat and let her body relax against the wall, where images of flying horse hooves and the crowded stands of the local racetrack loomed above her in a colorful mural. She smiled at the young man seated across from her as he leaned over his coffee cup to tell her something.
A few feet away, a toddler giggled at his mother as he ducked his head beneath the edge of the checked plastic tablecloth. She gave an exasperated sigh, but smiled as she cut his French toast into tiny pieces.
Near the entrance, a neatly dressed young woman stood with a cellphone to her ear. When a sea of navy blue and white uniforms swept through the diner's doors at about 10 a.m., her face broke into a wide grin. One of the sailors threw his arms around her and swung her around in an embrace that lifted her feet off the flowered carpet for several seconds.
The waitresses pushed several tables together in the back of the dining room to make space for the group of sailors, which grew larger by the minute.
While the sailors scanned their menus, the mother and toddler got up to leave. The little boy's head swiveled to stare at the men in uniform, making him stumble as his mother guided him toward the door.
A waitress smiled as she watched them leave, then looked down at her hands, sighed, and returned to the kitchen.
The coffee pot was almost empty again.
#
3/08/06
Editor's note: "Slice of Life" appears every third week in Arts Life, and looks at the atmosphere of a local diner.
Sunshine slanted through the windows of the Saratoga Diner on recent weekday morning, glinting off the thick glasses of a white-haired man enjoying a plate of Belgian waffles. A miniature white statue of a shirtless Venus watched him from the windowsill. An oxygen tank sat at his side, connected to his nose by a plastic tube.
He beckoned to a waitress who was moving around the large dining room with a glass coffee pot in each hand -- the orange-handled pot of decaffeinated brew was still mostly full, while the stronger stuff emptied quickly.
"Could I bother you for a refill, when you have a minute?" he asked.
She topped off his cup with regular, then hustled back to the kitchen with a weary half-smile on her face.
In one booth, a pretty young woman tucked her feet up on her seat and let her body relax against the wall, where images of flying horse hooves and the crowded stands of the local racetrack loomed above her in a colorful mural. She smiled at the young man seated across from her as he leaned over his coffee cup to tell her something.
A few feet away, a toddler giggled at his mother as he ducked his head beneath the edge of the checked plastic tablecloth. She gave an exasperated sigh, but smiled as she cut his French toast into tiny pieces.
Near the entrance, a neatly dressed young woman stood with a cellphone to her ear. When a sea of navy blue and white uniforms swept through the diner's doors at about 10 a.m., her face broke into a wide grin. One of the sailors threw his arms around her and swung her around in an embrace that lifted her feet off the flowered carpet for several seconds.
The waitresses pushed several tables together in the back of the dining room to make space for the group of sailors, which grew larger by the minute.
While the sailors scanned their menus, the mother and toddler got up to leave. The little boy's head swiveled to stare at the men in uniform, making him stumble as his mother guided him toward the door.
A waitress smiled as she watched them leave, then looked down at her hands, sighed, and returned to the kitchen.
The coffee pot was almost empty again.
#
Homeless, but not hopeless
Published in The Post-Star (A1)
3/06/06
It’s hard to get philosophical about life’s deeper issues when you can’t stop shivering.
Peter Fish knows from experience.
In his almost 40 years of living, he has been homeless more than once. He knows what it’s like to wear the same clothes for so long that you’re tempted to steal laundry from clotheslines. He knows that sleeping on the streets can get you beaten up. He knows that even chicken from a
trash can tastes wonderful when you haven’t had a real meal in three weeks.
Things have never been easy for Fish. He spent his childhood in foster care and boys homes after leaving an abusive home. He suffers from epileptic seizures and describes himself as "slow." He has had problems with the law because he can’t control his anger at times, although lately he’s been trying to leave everything in God’s hands.
When he married Nina, a sweet-faced older woman he met at a soup kitchen, it became easier to afford rent with their combined disability checks. They now share a small one-bedroom apartment on Warren Street and said they consider it a palace.
Peter’s story is complicated, but he’s very clear about one thing.
"It’s never good to be homeless," he said repeatedly. "Until you experience it for yourself, you don’t know what it’s like. I don’t want to think about ever being homeless again."
Cliff Green is hoping that homelessness will be nothing more than an unwelcome memory for many more people soon.
He helps lead a coalition that recently received a federal grant to help local homeless people pay for apartments — and become stable enough to keep them.
Green coordinates a local dual-recovery program for people coping with mental health and substance abuse issues, and is the co-chairman of the Warren/Washington/Hamilton Housing Coalition.
"If the first thing you’re trying to do with a person is to get them to address mental health and substance abuse problems, and they don’t know where they’re going to stay for the next night — they know you’re not really listening to what they need," said Green. "You have to meet their basic needs first if you want to establish a relationship with them."
The Housing Coalition, formed in 2004, is an alliance of more than 20 social services and community agencies that aims to develop affordable housing options for the local homeless population.
"Over the years, the agencies who provide mental health and substance abuse services have seen an increase in the number of clients who are homeless," said Lisa Coutu, the coalition’s co-chair. "We realized we needed to address that very basic problem to be able to provide services to these people."
On a single day in January 2005, the coalition counted 198 homeless individuals in Warren and Washington counties, including 24 children. While some of those people had found temporary shelters or cheap motel rooms, about one-quarter were sleeping outside or in abandoned buildings.
"I was shocked that the number was so high," said Green. "It really drew our attention to what the need was."
This year, the Housing Coalition received a $436,320, five-year federal grant to provide 14 subsidized apartments for homeless people disabled by severe mental illness, HIV/AIDS or substance abuse. The apartments will be managed by the Glens Falls Housing Authority and are located throughout Warren County and in Hudson Falls.
In exchange for a voucher that pays up to 70 percent of their rent, recipients are expected to spend "in-kind funds" to get the treatment and support they need. In other words, if the grant pays $300 of their rent each month, they must spend at least $300 a month at a participating service provider, such as Warren Washington Association for Mental Health. Medicaid will cover these costs in most cases.
The grant could benefit people like Gary Perkins and his wife, Cindy, who are facing the prospect of being homeless again. They have spent the past three weeks in a $100-a-week room at the dilapidated Hotel Madden on South Street, eating at the soup kitchen next door and waiting for their next disability checks.
Gary used to be a dairy farmer in Vermont, but his life hit a downward spiral in the past decade. A car accident nearly killed him in the early ’90s, leaving him with back pain and a broken rib that won’t heal. He lost the farm, started drinking and ended up drifting from place to place. He married Cindy, a former truck driver with multiple sclerosis, about three years ago.
They came to New York last summer hoping things would be better here, but things got worse. Gary blames it on the Social Services administration, which he said puts too many restrictions on their disability checks.
They’re already a week behind on rent at the Madden and don’t know where to turn for help.
Gary has stopped attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, and is angry and frustrated with his life — so angry that he punched a cement wall and broke his knuckles a week ago.
"I just don’t know what to do anymore. I mean, look at this. I’ve been low, but never this low," he said. He gestured around their small room, which contained a single bed, a sagging couch, a television and some empty beer and food cans.
"We would love to have an apartment, hopefully on the first floor. We’ve tried to get one, but everybody wants a big security deposit, and we’re just barely getting by right now," he said. "We’ve never had anything of our own."
For people like Fish, even a small apartment feels like a huge blessing.
"After being homeless, you look at your apartment totally different. We appreciate what we got, what God’s given to us," he said.
The couple’s funds are sparse after paying the rent each month, and they worry about the future. They eat most of their meals at The Open Door soup kitchen on South Street — that is, they did until a week ago, when Peter’s anger flared out of control again, and he threatened an elderly woman and a volunteer. Director Bruce Hersey banned him from the premises for at least two months.
"We told him that his wife is welcome to come and bring him home meals, or we can deliver them to his house, but he can’t come here. This has to be a safe place," Hersey explained.
Hersey said he thinks Fish would be an excellent candidate for the type of housing and treatment combination the new grant will provide.
"In this society, he’s failing and is prone to become homeless again," he said. "Peter has such a good heart, but he needs a stabilizing environment."
Hersey said he sees a need for more "transitional housing" in the Glens Falls area and is excited to see so many agencies working together to serve the homeless population through the Housing Coalition.
"Transitional housing means giving people help getting on their feet. It means getting them into a program for treatment and counseling, where there’s structure and accountability," he explained. "Then you want to tie them into some sort of positive supportive system so you can wean them off the program."
That’s what Fish believes, too.
"I see a lot of people getting evicted from apartments because they don’t know how to take care of them, or because they’re drinkin’ and druggin’," he said. "Instead of just giving them money, why can’t we use the system to help them, so they will stay in the apartments?"
#
3/06/06
It’s hard to get philosophical about life’s deeper issues when you can’t stop shivering.
Peter Fish knows from experience.
In his almost 40 years of living, he has been homeless more than once. He knows what it’s like to wear the same clothes for so long that you’re tempted to steal laundry from clotheslines. He knows that sleeping on the streets can get you beaten up. He knows that even chicken from a
trash can tastes wonderful when you haven’t had a real meal in three weeks.
Things have never been easy for Fish. He spent his childhood in foster care and boys homes after leaving an abusive home. He suffers from epileptic seizures and describes himself as "slow." He has had problems with the law because he can’t control his anger at times, although lately he’s been trying to leave everything in God’s hands.
When he married Nina, a sweet-faced older woman he met at a soup kitchen, it became easier to afford rent with their combined disability checks. They now share a small one-bedroom apartment on Warren Street and said they consider it a palace.
Peter’s story is complicated, but he’s very clear about one thing.
"It’s never good to be homeless," he said repeatedly. "Until you experience it for yourself, you don’t know what it’s like. I don’t want to think about ever being homeless again."
Cliff Green is hoping that homelessness will be nothing more than an unwelcome memory for many more people soon.
He helps lead a coalition that recently received a federal grant to help local homeless people pay for apartments — and become stable enough to keep them.
Green coordinates a local dual-recovery program for people coping with mental health and substance abuse issues, and is the co-chairman of the Warren/Washington/Hamilton Housing Coalition.
"If the first thing you’re trying to do with a person is to get them to address mental health and substance abuse problems, and they don’t know where they’re going to stay for the next night — they know you’re not really listening to what they need," said Green. "You have to meet their basic needs first if you want to establish a relationship with them."
The Housing Coalition, formed in 2004, is an alliance of more than 20 social services and community agencies that aims to develop affordable housing options for the local homeless population.
"Over the years, the agencies who provide mental health and substance abuse services have seen an increase in the number of clients who are homeless," said Lisa Coutu, the coalition’s co-chair. "We realized we needed to address that very basic problem to be able to provide services to these people."
On a single day in January 2005, the coalition counted 198 homeless individuals in Warren and Washington counties, including 24 children. While some of those people had found temporary shelters or cheap motel rooms, about one-quarter were sleeping outside or in abandoned buildings.
"I was shocked that the number was so high," said Green. "It really drew our attention to what the need was."
This year, the Housing Coalition received a $436,320, five-year federal grant to provide 14 subsidized apartments for homeless people disabled by severe mental illness, HIV/AIDS or substance abuse. The apartments will be managed by the Glens Falls Housing Authority and are located throughout Warren County and in Hudson Falls.
In exchange for a voucher that pays up to 70 percent of their rent, recipients are expected to spend "in-kind funds" to get the treatment and support they need. In other words, if the grant pays $300 of their rent each month, they must spend at least $300 a month at a participating service provider, such as Warren Washington Association for Mental Health. Medicaid will cover these costs in most cases.
The grant could benefit people like Gary Perkins and his wife, Cindy, who are facing the prospect of being homeless again. They have spent the past three weeks in a $100-a-week room at the dilapidated Hotel Madden on South Street, eating at the soup kitchen next door and waiting for their next disability checks.
Gary used to be a dairy farmer in Vermont, but his life hit a downward spiral in the past decade. A car accident nearly killed him in the early ’90s, leaving him with back pain and a broken rib that won’t heal. He lost the farm, started drinking and ended up drifting from place to place. He married Cindy, a former truck driver with multiple sclerosis, about three years ago.
They came to New York last summer hoping things would be better here, but things got worse. Gary blames it on the Social Services administration, which he said puts too many restrictions on their disability checks.
They’re already a week behind on rent at the Madden and don’t know where to turn for help.
Gary has stopped attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, and is angry and frustrated with his life — so angry that he punched a cement wall and broke his knuckles a week ago.
"I just don’t know what to do anymore. I mean, look at this. I’ve been low, but never this low," he said. He gestured around their small room, which contained a single bed, a sagging couch, a television and some empty beer and food cans.
"We would love to have an apartment, hopefully on the first floor. We’ve tried to get one, but everybody wants a big security deposit, and we’re just barely getting by right now," he said. "We’ve never had anything of our own."
For people like Fish, even a small apartment feels like a huge blessing.
"After being homeless, you look at your apartment totally different. We appreciate what we got, what God’s given to us," he said.
The couple’s funds are sparse after paying the rent each month, and they worry about the future. They eat most of their meals at The Open Door soup kitchen on South Street — that is, they did until a week ago, when Peter’s anger flared out of control again, and he threatened an elderly woman and a volunteer. Director Bruce Hersey banned him from the premises for at least two months.
"We told him that his wife is welcome to come and bring him home meals, or we can deliver them to his house, but he can’t come here. This has to be a safe place," Hersey explained.
Hersey said he thinks Fish would be an excellent candidate for the type of housing and treatment combination the new grant will provide.
"In this society, he’s failing and is prone to become homeless again," he said. "Peter has such a good heart, but he needs a stabilizing environment."
Hersey said he sees a need for more "transitional housing" in the Glens Falls area and is excited to see so many agencies working together to serve the homeless population through the Housing Coalition.
"Transitional housing means giving people help getting on their feet. It means getting them into a program for treatment and counseling, where there’s structure and accountability," he explained. "Then you want to tie them into some sort of positive supportive system so you can wean them off the program."
That’s what Fish believes, too.
"I see a lot of people getting evicted from apartments because they don’t know how to take care of them, or because they’re drinkin’ and druggin’," he said. "Instead of just giving them money, why can’t we use the system to help them, so they will stay in the apartments?"
#
Contra dancing
Published in The Post-Star (G1)
3/2/06
The couples face each other in long lines as the music begins, then lock eyes and clasp hands as their bodies move closer. After a swirl of motion and eight beats of music, the lines shift to create new couples.
Speed dating meets musical chairs?
No, this is contradancing, a centuries-old form of entertainment that is still bringing people together.
"It's a scene where you can be friendly with people, look into their eyes, and move on," explained Doug Haller, a board member of Hudson-Mohawk Traditional Dances, which sponsors monthly contradances in Ballston Spa.
"I've heard a lot of people comment that going to bars is not necessarily the best way to meet people," he added. "And this definitely isn't the bar scene."
It certainly isn't. The dances take place in the wood-floored sanctuary of the First Presbyterian Church, and the only drinks in sight are water bottles and coffee cups. Getting sweaty on the dance floor means swinging and spinning, not bumping and grinding.
"It's really a wonderful feeling when you come out of a spin at the right time and there's your partner, falling into your arms," Haller said. "And by the end of the night, you've probably danced with everyone in the room."
Sometimes, you find a partner worth holding on to, Haller pointed out. He met his wife, Ann, at a Saratoga contradance about seven years ago. Rich Futyma and his wife of three years, Maria, also met contradancing.
"I always think of contradancing as being good for a person in three ways -- it's a cultural event, it's exercise and it's social. It lets you interact with people even if you're relatively shy," said Futyma, an environmental consultant from Ballston Spa who organizes the local contradances.
Contradances are set to live music, usually bouncy Irish jigs and reels that involve a fiddle. Futyma said contradancing descends from 17th-century English country dancing, which could explain the name.
"One theory is that the word 'contra' is simply a French corruption of the word 'country,' that started when contradancing was carrried over to France," he said. The term could also refer to the fact that dancers line up against each other.
A caller gives instructions at the beginning of each dance number, making it easy for even the clumsiest novice to participate.
"There's a saying that if you can walk, count to eight, and know your left from your right, you can contra dance," Haller said.
Children as young as 8 were keeping up with the adults, proving his point.
One divorced father brought his kids along, and let them dance on their own while he worked his way down the line looking for ladies to flirt with. It's the best of both worlds, he pointed out -- a dating scene with built-in babysitting.
For 22-year-old Rebecca Swank, who said she started dancing "in the womb," contra dances are about having fun, not getting a date. She brought her own.
Her boyfriend, 21-year-old Kyle Morse, became a contra dancer about four years ago.
"I roped him into it," Swank said with a sly smile. "You'll not find a friendlier, more outgoing group of people than in this environment."
Morse nodded.
"It's just a nice, social thing," he said.
Proceeds from Saturday night's dance went to benefit the Dance Flurry, which is facing at least a $75,000 loss this year because last month's power outage in Saratoga Springs forced organizers to cancel most of the three-day annual festival. Other benefits are in the works, said Haller, the administrative director of the Dance Flurry.
"We've already seen several big checks tonight, and that's encouraging," he said. "We hope to make over $1,000 tonight."
Contradancing is always part of the Dance Flurry, he said, and it's often a first step into other forms of traditional and folk dancing.
"It's the easiest to get started in, so it's a portal to the rest of the dance world," Haller said. "Most of what you're doing is walking, basically."
#
3/2/06
The couples face each other in long lines as the music begins, then lock eyes and clasp hands as their bodies move closer. After a swirl of motion and eight beats of music, the lines shift to create new couples.
Speed dating meets musical chairs?
No, this is contradancing, a centuries-old form of entertainment that is still bringing people together.
"It's a scene where you can be friendly with people, look into their eyes, and move on," explained Doug Haller, a board member of Hudson-Mohawk Traditional Dances, which sponsors monthly contradances in Ballston Spa.
"I've heard a lot of people comment that going to bars is not necessarily the best way to meet people," he added. "And this definitely isn't the bar scene."
It certainly isn't. The dances take place in the wood-floored sanctuary of the First Presbyterian Church, and the only drinks in sight are water bottles and coffee cups. Getting sweaty on the dance floor means swinging and spinning, not bumping and grinding.
"It's really a wonderful feeling when you come out of a spin at the right time and there's your partner, falling into your arms," Haller said. "And by the end of the night, you've probably danced with everyone in the room."
Sometimes, you find a partner worth holding on to, Haller pointed out. He met his wife, Ann, at a Saratoga contradance about seven years ago. Rich Futyma and his wife of three years, Maria, also met contradancing.
"I always think of contradancing as being good for a person in three ways -- it's a cultural event, it's exercise and it's social. It lets you interact with people even if you're relatively shy," said Futyma, an environmental consultant from Ballston Spa who organizes the local contradances.
Contradances are set to live music, usually bouncy Irish jigs and reels that involve a fiddle. Futyma said contradancing descends from 17th-century English country dancing, which could explain the name.
"One theory is that the word 'contra' is simply a French corruption of the word 'country,' that started when contradancing was carrried over to France," he said. The term could also refer to the fact that dancers line up against each other.
A caller gives instructions at the beginning of each dance number, making it easy for even the clumsiest novice to participate.
"There's a saying that if you can walk, count to eight, and know your left from your right, you can contra dance," Haller said.
Children as young as 8 were keeping up with the adults, proving his point.
One divorced father brought his kids along, and let them dance on their own while he worked his way down the line looking for ladies to flirt with. It's the best of both worlds, he pointed out -- a dating scene with built-in babysitting.
For 22-year-old Rebecca Swank, who said she started dancing "in the womb," contra dances are about having fun, not getting a date. She brought her own.
Her boyfriend, 21-year-old Kyle Morse, became a contra dancer about four years ago.
"I roped him into it," Swank said with a sly smile. "You'll not find a friendlier, more outgoing group of people than in this environment."
Morse nodded.
"It's just a nice, social thing," he said.
Proceeds from Saturday night's dance went to benefit the Dance Flurry, which is facing at least a $75,000 loss this year because last month's power outage in Saratoga Springs forced organizers to cancel most of the three-day annual festival. Other benefits are in the works, said Haller, the administrative director of the Dance Flurry.
"We've already seen several big checks tonight, and that's encouraging," he said. "We hope to make over $1,000 tonight."
Contradancing is always part of the Dance Flurry, he said, and it's often a first step into other forms of traditional and folk dancing.
"It's the easiest to get started in, so it's a portal to the rest of the dance world," Haller said. "Most of what you're doing is walking, basically."
#
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Ritual moments series: Ash Wednesday
Published in The Post-Star (D1)
3/2/06
"Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."
The Rev. Scott Harding repeated these words dozens of times Wednesday over the kneeling figures of congregants at Church of the Messiah, an Episcopal church in downtown Glens Falls.
Each time, he dipped his right thumb into a small brass bowl in the palm of his left hand. The bowl held the ashes of burnt palm branches -- the same branches used last year to celebrate Palm Sunday, the beginning of the Holy Week before Easter.
For Christians, Ash Wednesday marks the start of the season of Lent, the 40 days preceding Easter (Sundays aren't counted). It is a season of penitence, or remorse for one's sins, and ashes have been used since Biblical times as a sign of mourning.
"Grant that these ashes may be a sign to us of our mortality and penitence, that we may remember that it is only by your gracious gift that we are given everlasting life, through Jesus Christ our Savior," the congregation prayed aloud before lining up to kneel at the altar rail.
Harding worked his way down the line, wearing a simple white vestment with a long purple-and-gold scarf called a stole. The large silver cross around his neck echoed the shape he brushed onto each waiting forehead.
His blackened thumb swept down and across in two swift strokes.
After receiving the "imposition of ashes," the worshippers stood up one by one, turned around, and filed back down the few red-carpeted steps between the altar and sanctuary.
A white-haired woman clutched a friend for support on one side of the staircase, while a wobbling toddler held her grandmother's hand on the other side. All of them had the same dark mark on their foreheads, but their faces were bright and smiling.
Back in their pews, they read Psalm 51 together:
"Had you desired it, I would have offered sacrifice, but you take no delight in burnt offerings," they read aloud. "The sacrifice of God is a troubled heart. A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise."
After the service, Harding explained that the ashes are a symbol of more than just penitence.
"It's a visible reminder that we are God's creation, and we belong to him," he said.
#
3/2/06
"Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."
The Rev. Scott Harding repeated these words dozens of times Wednesday over the kneeling figures of congregants at Church of the Messiah, an Episcopal church in downtown Glens Falls.
Each time, he dipped his right thumb into a small brass bowl in the palm of his left hand. The bowl held the ashes of burnt palm branches -- the same branches used last year to celebrate Palm Sunday, the beginning of the Holy Week before Easter.
For Christians, Ash Wednesday marks the start of the season of Lent, the 40 days preceding Easter (Sundays aren't counted). It is a season of penitence, or remorse for one's sins, and ashes have been used since Biblical times as a sign of mourning.
"Grant that these ashes may be a sign to us of our mortality and penitence, that we may remember that it is only by your gracious gift that we are given everlasting life, through Jesus Christ our Savior," the congregation prayed aloud before lining up to kneel at the altar rail.
Harding worked his way down the line, wearing a simple white vestment with a long purple-and-gold scarf called a stole. The large silver cross around his neck echoed the shape he brushed onto each waiting forehead.
His blackened thumb swept down and across in two swift strokes.
After receiving the "imposition of ashes," the worshippers stood up one by one, turned around, and filed back down the few red-carpeted steps between the altar and sanctuary.
A white-haired woman clutched a friend for support on one side of the staircase, while a wobbling toddler held her grandmother's hand on the other side. All of them had the same dark mark on their foreheads, but their faces were bright and smiling.
Back in their pews, they read Psalm 51 together:
"Had you desired it, I would have offered sacrifice, but you take no delight in burnt offerings," they read aloud. "The sacrifice of God is a troubled heart. A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise."
After the service, Harding explained that the ashes are a symbol of more than just penitence.
"It's a visible reminder that we are God's creation, and we belong to him," he said.
#
Anteing up
Published in The Post-Star (D1)
2/23/06
Got some paint in your hand? A big slick? Or are you bluffing and hoping something good comes down the river?
If you're scratching your head right now, odds are that your hobbies don't include a card table. Poker is the hottest card game in the nation right now, with an estimated 50 million Americans playing everything from free home games to high-stakes casino tournaments. There's even a World Series of Poker on ESPN.
The advent of online gaming and televised poker have raised the game's profile higher than ever in recent years, although it looks like the surge in new players is finally being checked.
"I think the trend is tapering off beyond the big spike of the last couple of years, but if you look at it historically, this is the continuation of a 30-year growth trend," said Dan Michalski, a freelance journalist who writes a poker blog (pokerati.com).
Michalski lives in Dallas, and -- not surprisingly -- his favorite poker game is Texas Hold 'Em. He said it might sound silly, but he sees it as a metaphor for life, or even a religion.
"Everyone has their own two unique cards, plus the community cards that everyone's sharing, and you have to do the best you can with what you have," he said. "And even when you do everything right, you can still get screwed."
For local players like Rich Cavak, 33, there's nothing quite so mystical about the game.
"For me, it's mostly a way of getting together with friends, and meeting new people," he said. He plays one night a week with about six other players at a friend's house in Glens Falls.
"It definitely brings out the emotions in people. You see people get really happy, or mad," he said. "We're competing, but in the end, we're all friends."
The social aspect of poker is what drew 31-year-old Toby Leah Bochan to become more serious about the game a few years ago, after breaking up with her fiancee.
It turned out to be more than a fleeting attraction, however -- she's now an online poker expert for About.com, and author of the book, "The Badass Girl's Guide to Poker." Bochan lives in New York City, where she plays poker for fun at least twice a week, and gives lessons to women who want to get in on the action.
She recommends that potential players learn the basic ranking of poker hands before playing. Developing strategy takes more time, and sometimes, luck beats brains.
"There's a saying -- it's better to be lucky than good, but it's best to be both," she said.
Michalski said new players should try out a few free online games to get their feet wet before playing for money.
Wait a minute -- there's money involved? Is that legal?
Bochan said in New York state, it's perfectly legal to play poker with real money, as long as the host of the game isn't making a penny of profit (apart from any winnings).
"The law is that it's illegal to profit from gambling," she said.
What that means is that if there's a "buy-in" (i.e. $20 to join a game), all of that money should go straight to the winning players and/or to pay a dealer if one was hired. Cover charges on top of that may not be legal.
In Texas, said Michalski, a newly formed political action committee is pushing to legalize all forms of poker gambling.
"The entire country is struggling to figure out what's legal and what's not right now, because the gambling laws were written way before poker was played the way it is today," he explained.
Cavak's game in Glens Falls involves a $10 buy-in, which means every player pays $10 to receive an equal number of chips at the beginning of a game, and the winnings are split between the top three players at the end.
"Of course no one's going to get upset about $10," he said. "I wouldn't say it's about the money, although it's certainly nice to win."
THE LINGO:
Ante: Mandatory small bet that each player must place to participate in a game.
Big Slick: An Ace-King hand.
Blinds: Mandatory initial bets made by the player(s) on the left of the dealer at the beginning of a hand, sometimes used in place of the ante.
Call: To match the amount of money bet by other players in a round (the minimum necessary to stay in).
Check: To bet zero (only possible if other players do the same).
Doyle Brunson: A 10-2 hand, named after the famous poker player who won the World Series twice with these traditionally lousy cards.
Flop: The first three community cards dealt simultaneously in Texas Hold 'Em. After a round of betting, a fourth card is dealt, called "the turn." The fifth and final card makes "the river."
Paint: Face cards (Jack through Ace).
Raise: To bet more than other players in a round, forcing them to put more money in the pot to stay in.
TO LEARN MORE:
For beginners: "The Badass Girl's Guide to Poker," by Toby Leah Bochan; "The Smarter Bet Guide to Poker," by Basil Nestor; "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Poker," by Andrew Glazer; "Thursday Night Poker," by Peter Steiner.
For more advanced players: "The Theory of Poker," by David Sklansky; "Doyle Brunson's Super System," by Doyle Brunson; "Phil Gordon's Little Green Book," by Phil Gordon.
LOGGING ON:
Play online at pokerstars.com, fulltilt.net, pokerroom.com and partypoker.com.
Read up on the game at poker.about.com and pokerati.com. Seek out fellow players on meetup.com.
#
2/23/06
Got some paint in your hand? A big slick? Or are you bluffing and hoping something good comes down the river?
If you're scratching your head right now, odds are that your hobbies don't include a card table. Poker is the hottest card game in the nation right now, with an estimated 50 million Americans playing everything from free home games to high-stakes casino tournaments. There's even a World Series of Poker on ESPN.
The advent of online gaming and televised poker have raised the game's profile higher than ever in recent years, although it looks like the surge in new players is finally being checked.
"I think the trend is tapering off beyond the big spike of the last couple of years, but if you look at it historically, this is the continuation of a 30-year growth trend," said Dan Michalski, a freelance journalist who writes a poker blog (pokerati.com).
Michalski lives in Dallas, and -- not surprisingly -- his favorite poker game is Texas Hold 'Em. He said it might sound silly, but he sees it as a metaphor for life, or even a religion.
"Everyone has their own two unique cards, plus the community cards that everyone's sharing, and you have to do the best you can with what you have," he said. "And even when you do everything right, you can still get screwed."
For local players like Rich Cavak, 33, there's nothing quite so mystical about the game.
"For me, it's mostly a way of getting together with friends, and meeting new people," he said. He plays one night a week with about six other players at a friend's house in Glens Falls.
"It definitely brings out the emotions in people. You see people get really happy, or mad," he said. "We're competing, but in the end, we're all friends."
The social aspect of poker is what drew 31-year-old Toby Leah Bochan to become more serious about the game a few years ago, after breaking up with her fiancee.
It turned out to be more than a fleeting attraction, however -- she's now an online poker expert for About.com, and author of the book, "The Badass Girl's Guide to Poker." Bochan lives in New York City, where she plays poker for fun at least twice a week, and gives lessons to women who want to get in on the action.
She recommends that potential players learn the basic ranking of poker hands before playing. Developing strategy takes more time, and sometimes, luck beats brains.
"There's a saying -- it's better to be lucky than good, but it's best to be both," she said.
Michalski said new players should try out a few free online games to get their feet wet before playing for money.
Wait a minute -- there's money involved? Is that legal?
Bochan said in New York state, it's perfectly legal to play poker with real money, as long as the host of the game isn't making a penny of profit (apart from any winnings).
"The law is that it's illegal to profit from gambling," she said.
What that means is that if there's a "buy-in" (i.e. $20 to join a game), all of that money should go straight to the winning players and/or to pay a dealer if one was hired. Cover charges on top of that may not be legal.
In Texas, said Michalski, a newly formed political action committee is pushing to legalize all forms of poker gambling.
"The entire country is struggling to figure out what's legal and what's not right now, because the gambling laws were written way before poker was played the way it is today," he explained.
Cavak's game in Glens Falls involves a $10 buy-in, which means every player pays $10 to receive an equal number of chips at the beginning of a game, and the winnings are split between the top three players at the end.
"Of course no one's going to get upset about $10," he said. "I wouldn't say it's about the money, although it's certainly nice to win."
THE LINGO:
Ante: Mandatory small bet that each player must place to participate in a game.
Big Slick: An Ace-King hand.
Blinds: Mandatory initial bets made by the player(s) on the left of the dealer at the beginning of a hand, sometimes used in place of the ante.
Call: To match the amount of money bet by other players in a round (the minimum necessary to stay in).
Check: To bet zero (only possible if other players do the same).
Doyle Brunson: A 10-2 hand, named after the famous poker player who won the World Series twice with these traditionally lousy cards.
Flop: The first three community cards dealt simultaneously in Texas Hold 'Em. After a round of betting, a fourth card is dealt, called "the turn." The fifth and final card makes "the river."
Paint: Face cards (Jack through Ace).
Raise: To bet more than other players in a round, forcing them to put more money in the pot to stay in.
TO LEARN MORE:
For beginners: "The Badass Girl's Guide to Poker," by Toby Leah Bochan; "The Smarter Bet Guide to Poker," by Basil Nestor; "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Poker," by Andrew Glazer; "Thursday Night Poker," by Peter Steiner.
For more advanced players: "The Theory of Poker," by David Sklansky; "Doyle Brunson's Super System," by Doyle Brunson; "Phil Gordon's Little Green Book," by Phil Gordon.
LOGGING ON:
Play online at pokerstars.com, fulltilt.net, pokerroom.com and partypoker.com.
Read up on the game at poker.about.com and pokerati.com. Seek out fellow players on meetup.com.
#
In the beginning, there was a Power Point presentation.
Published in The Post-Star (D1)
2/23/06
The student Bible club at Adirondack Community College sponsored a public lecture Monday by Robert Carr, a retired chemist who teaches that science disproves the theory of evolution.
"I believe a day will come when evolution is on the scrap heap of failed ideas in history, like communism," Carr told the audience of about 60 students and members of the community.
Carr has a B.S. in chemical engineering from Clarkson University, and is the former president of Schenectady International, a global chemical company. He lives in Greenwich, and volunteers his time to speak at churches and schools about the scientific basis for creationism.
He used something called Borel's theory of probability to argue that the chances of life forming from non-life were impossibly slim.
One of Carr's simplest arguments was based on information theory, which states that all information can be traced back to an intelligent source. He noted that DNA is the most information-dense system in the known universe.
"The information in DNA could not have come from natural sources. Information is not a property of matter," he said.
He concluded from this that God exists, is all-knowing and powerful, and that all theories of evolution are false.
During a break in the presentation, 18-year-old Julie Carter reflected on what Carr had said so far.
"I think he's given a lot of scientific evidence to prove evolution wrong, but I'm waiting to see his proof for creationism," she said.
At least a dozen students wrote down questions for Carr on slips of paper during the break, but he only had time to briefly answer three of them.
He spent the last few minutes attacking the idea of "theistic evolution," which blends a belief in God as creator with acceptance of evolutionary theory.
"I tell my brothers and sisters who compromise on this, that I think it's the most miserable position you can take, but I love you anyway," he said. "By definition, evolution does not include God. Christians are jumping on a bandwagon that doesn't want them -- it's bad science, and bad theology."
Later, a student who identified herself as Christian said she sees most viewpoints on this subject as a leap of faith.
"Either way, you're taking people's word for something, whether it's the people who wrote the Bible or the evolutionists," said Elisabeth Bink, a 19-year-old student at the college.
Other students said they found Carr's talk interesting, but inconclusive.
"I would like to be convinced of creationism, but I'm really not convinced by him," said Corey Ellithorpe, who is studying science and engineering at the college. "He used a lot of generalizations, although there's truths in what he said. I would have preferred to hear from both sides, maybe see two people have a good debate about it."
Charles Bailey, a professor of history and religion at the college, is the faculty adviser for the Bible club. He said the interdenominational club, which calls itself Chi Alpha, does not take a stand on the issue of evolution.
"Obviously, there will be people that don't agree with (Carr), but we believe that a liberal arts campus ought to afford a forum for all viewpoints, especially those not often heard," he explained.
Carr said his motivation for speaking on the subject stems from his Christian faith, and his love
for people and science.
"I was hoping to have people step back and reconsider the worldview they have when it comes to our origins, with the hope that they might come to faith," he said after the lecture. "I'm positive that some students today heard a viewpoint that they'd never heard before."
#
2/23/06
The student Bible club at Adirondack Community College sponsored a public lecture Monday by Robert Carr, a retired chemist who teaches that science disproves the theory of evolution.
"I believe a day will come when evolution is on the scrap heap of failed ideas in history, like communism," Carr told the audience of about 60 students and members of the community.
Carr has a B.S. in chemical engineering from Clarkson University, and is the former president of Schenectady International, a global chemical company. He lives in Greenwich, and volunteers his time to speak at churches and schools about the scientific basis for creationism.
He used something called Borel's theory of probability to argue that the chances of life forming from non-life were impossibly slim.
One of Carr's simplest arguments was based on information theory, which states that all information can be traced back to an intelligent source. He noted that DNA is the most information-dense system in the known universe.
"The information in DNA could not have come from natural sources. Information is not a property of matter," he said.
He concluded from this that God exists, is all-knowing and powerful, and that all theories of evolution are false.
During a break in the presentation, 18-year-old Julie Carter reflected on what Carr had said so far.
"I think he's given a lot of scientific evidence to prove evolution wrong, but I'm waiting to see his proof for creationism," she said.
At least a dozen students wrote down questions for Carr on slips of paper during the break, but he only had time to briefly answer three of them.
He spent the last few minutes attacking the idea of "theistic evolution," which blends a belief in God as creator with acceptance of evolutionary theory.
"I tell my brothers and sisters who compromise on this, that I think it's the most miserable position you can take, but I love you anyway," he said. "By definition, evolution does not include God. Christians are jumping on a bandwagon that doesn't want them -- it's bad science, and bad theology."
Later, a student who identified herself as Christian said she sees most viewpoints on this subject as a leap of faith.
"Either way, you're taking people's word for something, whether it's the people who wrote the Bible or the evolutionists," said Elisabeth Bink, a 19-year-old student at the college.
Other students said they found Carr's talk interesting, but inconclusive.
"I would like to be convinced of creationism, but I'm really not convinced by him," said Corey Ellithorpe, who is studying science and engineering at the college. "He used a lot of generalizations, although there's truths in what he said. I would have preferred to hear from both sides, maybe see two people have a good debate about it."
Charles Bailey, a professor of history and religion at the college, is the faculty adviser for the Bible club. He said the interdenominational club, which calls itself Chi Alpha, does not take a stand on the issue of evolution.
"Obviously, there will be people that don't agree with (Carr), but we believe that a liberal arts campus ought to afford a forum for all viewpoints, especially those not often heard," he explained.
Carr said his motivation for speaking on the subject stems from his Christian faith, and his love
for people and science.
"I was hoping to have people step back and reconsider the worldview they have when it comes to our origins, with the hope that they might come to faith," he said after the lecture. "I'm positive that some students today heard a viewpoint that they'd never heard before."
#
Pets pg: How to pick a puppy
Published in The Post-Star (B12)
2/19/06
Puppy love doesn't always blossom into a lasting relationship, which is why many dogs get dumped at shelters. Potential pet owners often face the tricky task of figuring out a dog's personality in a matter of minutes -- how can you tell what they'll be like in a home environment?
Something as simple as popping open an automatic umbrella or jingling a set of keys in front of new puppy can provide clues about her personality.
"You're looking to see their response -- they might startle, but then come over to see what's going on, and that's a sign of a well-adjusted puppy," explained Micki Gorman, a dog breeder from Pennsylvania who wrote the new book, "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Puppies."
Breeders often do what's called "temperament testing" on puppies at about seven weeks old, she said. Although the formal testing is difficult to perform in a shelter, the concept can be applied in simpler ways.
Clapping your hands or stamping your feet suddenly, for example, can show you how the dog might respond to the sudden movements and noises that come with a house full of kids. If the dog responds by trying to attack your hand or foot, that's a red flag. If the dog cowers in the corner, that's a bad sign, too, Gorman said.
"Of course, we all want to help dogs like that, but you have to realize that they usually have what we call 'fear aggression' issues and may respond to fright by snapping or biting," she explained. "A lot of times those dogs never settle into a household."
Gorman advocates getting dogs from breeders or shelters, rather than pet stores.
"Pet store dogs are usually bred by puppy farms, are genetically compromised and badly taken care of," she said. "They can have terrible health and disposition problems, which ends up adding to the shelter population."
Before you even go to look at a puppy, she said, "You have to be honest with yourself about what your lifestyle is." Even mixed-breed dogs usually have a dominant breed, and each breed has tendencies.
"You have to know that all dogs were bred for a purpose, and you can't get rid of that genetic code no matter how much you train them," she said. "For example, Irish wolfhounds will always be coursing dogs -- if they set their sights on something, they're going to run after it."
Dog behavior isn't absolutely predictable, however, and will vary depending on how the dog is treated after being adopted.
Debbie Pruyn of Queensbury adopted Kodiak, a shepherd/collie mix, from a shelter where he was about to be euthanized after five months of constant confinement.
"They thought he was too aggressive, because he would charge up to the kennel door and bark when people approached," he said. "But I'd talk to him, and pretty soon he was rolling over belly-up. That's a vulnerable position, so you know a dog like that isn't truly aggressive."
It took Pruyn about three months of what she calls "desensitization" training to help Kodiak adapt to life outside the shelter, but now he is a loyal, loving pet.
"He already saved my life once," she said, referring to the time that Kodiak's barking stopped someone from breaking into her home in the middle of the night. "I call him my rock star."
#
2/19/06
Puppy love doesn't always blossom into a lasting relationship, which is why many dogs get dumped at shelters. Potential pet owners often face the tricky task of figuring out a dog's personality in a matter of minutes -- how can you tell what they'll be like in a home environment?
Something as simple as popping open an automatic umbrella or jingling a set of keys in front of new puppy can provide clues about her personality.
"You're looking to see their response -- they might startle, but then come over to see what's going on, and that's a sign of a well-adjusted puppy," explained Micki Gorman, a dog breeder from Pennsylvania who wrote the new book, "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Puppies."
Breeders often do what's called "temperament testing" on puppies at about seven weeks old, she said. Although the formal testing is difficult to perform in a shelter, the concept can be applied in simpler ways.
Clapping your hands or stamping your feet suddenly, for example, can show you how the dog might respond to the sudden movements and noises that come with a house full of kids. If the dog responds by trying to attack your hand or foot, that's a red flag. If the dog cowers in the corner, that's a bad sign, too, Gorman said.
"Of course, we all want to help dogs like that, but you have to realize that they usually have what we call 'fear aggression' issues and may respond to fright by snapping or biting," she explained. "A lot of times those dogs never settle into a household."
Gorman advocates getting dogs from breeders or shelters, rather than pet stores.
"Pet store dogs are usually bred by puppy farms, are genetically compromised and badly taken care of," she said. "They can have terrible health and disposition problems, which ends up adding to the shelter population."
Before you even go to look at a puppy, she said, "You have to be honest with yourself about what your lifestyle is." Even mixed-breed dogs usually have a dominant breed, and each breed has tendencies.
"You have to know that all dogs were bred for a purpose, and you can't get rid of that genetic code no matter how much you train them," she said. "For example, Irish wolfhounds will always be coursing dogs -- if they set their sights on something, they're going to run after it."
Dog behavior isn't absolutely predictable, however, and will vary depending on how the dog is treated after being adopted.
Debbie Pruyn of Queensbury adopted Kodiak, a shepherd/collie mix, from a shelter where he was about to be euthanized after five months of constant confinement.
"They thought he was too aggressive, because he would charge up to the kennel door and bark when people approached," he said. "But I'd talk to him, and pretty soon he was rolling over belly-up. That's a vulnerable position, so you know a dog like that isn't truly aggressive."
It took Pruyn about three months of what she calls "desensitization" training to help Kodiak adapt to life outside the shelter, but now he is a loyal, loving pet.
"He already saved my life once," she said, referring to the time that Kodiak's barking stopped someone from breaking into her home in the middle of the night. "I call him my rock star."
#
Ritual moments series, Catholic prayer
Published in The Post-Star (D1)
2/16/06
Editor's note: This is part of an occasional series that describes different faith practices by focusing on a particular ritual within each one.
SARATOGA SPRINGS -- A young blond boy peered up at the high ceiling of St. Clement's Catholic Church during a recent Sunday Mass, jabbing a tiny finger in the air to count each of the hanging light fixtures and slow-circling fans.
His reverie was interrupted as the crowd of people around him picked up a prayer card from the hymnal racks on the backs of their wooden pews. The small squares of stiff white paper had the words "Prayer for Vocations" printed on them in English and Spanish.
At the front of the church, a priest in green-and-white robes spoke the first words.
"Send forth your Spirit, Lord, into the hearts of your faithful people ..."
The worshippers bowed their heads and joined in. Their voices blended together, not quite in
unison, the words bumping up against each other in a low murmur.
"Grant that many of us may dedicate ourselves to You through the priesthood, religious life, and lay ministries," they recited.
Later, Father Joseph Tizio explained that this prayer is specific to the Redemptorists, a Catholic order founded in Italy in 1732 to "reach out to the most abandoned." The order has about 5,000 priests and brothers worldwide, tending to parishes in twos and threes because they believe in communal living. A growing shortage of clergy has prompted Redemptorist churches to include the Prayer for Vocations in all Masses between Christmas and Lent.
"We pray, too, for religious, and especially for the Redemptorists, that generous men may join them to become zealous missionaries ... "
The little boy peered up at the pulpit, where Tizio stood. The priest's figure was dwarfed by a massive mosaic depicting Christ in crucifixion pose, on a blue-green backdrop shot through with geometric streaks of gold. A large circle of sticks hung from the ceiling overhead, representing the crown of thorns that the Bible says Christ wore on the cross.
"We make this prayer through Jesus Christ, Our Lord and Redeemer."
The boy didn't need a prayer card to know what came next. His lips were still forming the last word as he looked up again to resume his count.
"Amen."
#
2/16/06
Editor's note: This is part of an occasional series that describes different faith practices by focusing on a particular ritual within each one.
SARATOGA SPRINGS -- A young blond boy peered up at the high ceiling of St. Clement's Catholic Church during a recent Sunday Mass, jabbing a tiny finger in the air to count each of the hanging light fixtures and slow-circling fans.
His reverie was interrupted as the crowd of people around him picked up a prayer card from the hymnal racks on the backs of their wooden pews. The small squares of stiff white paper had the words "Prayer for Vocations" printed on them in English and Spanish.
At the front of the church, a priest in green-and-white robes spoke the first words.
"Send forth your Spirit, Lord, into the hearts of your faithful people ..."
The worshippers bowed their heads and joined in. Their voices blended together, not quite in
unison, the words bumping up against each other in a low murmur.
"Grant that many of us may dedicate ourselves to You through the priesthood, religious life, and lay ministries," they recited.
Later, Father Joseph Tizio explained that this prayer is specific to the Redemptorists, a Catholic order founded in Italy in 1732 to "reach out to the most abandoned." The order has about 5,000 priests and brothers worldwide, tending to parishes in twos and threes because they believe in communal living. A growing shortage of clergy has prompted Redemptorist churches to include the Prayer for Vocations in all Masses between Christmas and Lent.
"We pray, too, for religious, and especially for the Redemptorists, that generous men may join them to become zealous missionaries ... "
The little boy peered up at the pulpit, where Tizio stood. The priest's figure was dwarfed by a massive mosaic depicting Christ in crucifixion pose, on a blue-green backdrop shot through with geometric streaks of gold. A large circle of sticks hung from the ceiling overhead, representing the crown of thorns that the Bible says Christ wore on the cross.
"We make this prayer through Jesus Christ, Our Lord and Redeemer."
The boy didn't need a prayer card to know what came next. His lips were still forming the last word as he looked up again to resume his count.
"Amen."
#
Thursday, February 16, 2006
An inside look at Army recruiting
Published in The Post-Star (A1)
2/12/06
Staff Sgt. Paul Beausoleil put on his black beret and stepped out of his U.S. government car into the Aviation Mall parking lot. He smoothed the front of his uniform -- a new "digital camouflage" pattern that recently replaced the more familiar Army uniforms -- and strode purposefully through the glass doors of the mall.
"I try to make eye contact with people first, to see if they're interested in talking to me," he explained. "You can usually tell a lot just from the way they greet you."
In the jargon of recruiters, this type of "face-to-face prospecting" is called "P3" time. Beausoleil, a gregarious guy with a ready smile, prefers this to "P1" -- trying to reach potential recruits by phone. Some days, his calls net him nothing more than an earful of angry words from parents or the beeps of answering machines.
"You've got to have a thick skin in this job," he said. "Parents, know this: I can't take your child off the list until they tell me directly that they want to be off the list."
It's the rare conversations that keep him going.
"As long as I can talk about the Army, I'm OK," he said, then laughed. "Heck, as long as I can talk, I'm OK."
On this weekday afternoon in the post-Christmas lull, there were only a handful of shoppers at the mall. No one wanted to talk, but Beausoleil was still upbeat and smiling as he drove back to his recruiting station in Queensbury about an hour later.
He said it can take a long time for some people to make up their mind about joining, and he's been working on a few of the mall employees.
Some of them have already enlisted, like Ashley Harris, the 19-year-old girl staffing the sunglasses kiosk. Harris leaves for basic training next month and is looking forward to it. She didn't need a recruiter to convince her -- she has wanted to be in the military all her life -- but she enjoys chatting with Beausoleil.
"Sometimes, you're just there to say hello, be a presence," Beausoleil said. "People know who I am; they see my uniform. If they want to talk to me, they will. And you never know when they might want to."
TRUMAN, PART ONE
Eighteen-year-old Truman Allen had no interest in talking to a recruiter when his best friend Joseph Clement dragged him into the Queensbury recruiting station last summer.
Both young men had just graduated from South Glens Falls high school, and Allen wasn't sure what he wanted to do next. He had recently moved out of his parents' house, but life didn't seem so hard, at first.
Allen got a summer job at the Magic Forest amusement park, cleaning toilets and performing a juggling act, but he quit in August when he grew tired of the long hours.
Then he spent more than $100 on kitchen knives that a direct-marketing company promised to help him sell at a profit. The "guaranteed sales appointments" didn't pan out, however, and he lost his investment.
Allen thought his luck had changed when he got a full-time job at a Target warehouse in late October. A month later, he was fired for getting into an accident with some of the loading equipment.
By that point, his brother Vernison, 19, was also without a steady job or place to stay, and they were running out of options.
For six days in late November, the brothers slept in Truman's 1994 Chevy Beretta, a small two-door model with a busted window on the passenger's side. They ended up at the Mountainview Motel in Wilton, where $175 a week gets them a one-room "efficiency apartment" -- what Allen calls "a cave with wood around it." He sleeps on the floor, and his brother sleeps on the couch.
"Right now my life is going nowhere," Allen said recently. "I need to get moving."
Clement, who enlisted in the Reserves last November, gave Allen a ride to the Queensbury recruiting station a few weeks ago. On Allen's third visit, he agreed to take a practice version of the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery to see what type of jobs he might qualify for if he joined.
"I think this could really help him," Clement said.
The recruiting effort
As Clement waited for his friend, he discussed his own decision to enlist. For him, he said, it came down to the money.
"I'm going into the Army to kind of get stuff on track," he said. "Right now, I'm the typical college kid, still living at home. I want to get financial stability, get my own apartment."
In the long run, he hopes to work in law enforcement, and he is counting on the five extra points -- "veterans' preference points" -- that military service will add to his civil service exam score.
He considered joining the Air Force when a recruiter contacted him as a junior in high school, but
he said he got scared when the war in Iraq started. After graduation, he enrolled at Adirondack Community College with a major in criminal justice, and he took out a student loan to pay the $3,000 annual tuition.
Not long into his first semester, he received a recruitment postcard from the Army.
It's a typical introduction to the military: Under the terms of the No Child Left Behind Act that President Bush signed into law two years ago, any high school or college that accepts federal funding is required to provide military recruiters with the names and contact information of all students 17 and older.
"When I was a young recruiter, we didn't have that rule. We had to find people by going through school yearbooks and the telephone book," said Sgt. 1st Class William Harvey, commander of the Queensbury recruiting station. "It helps a lot. That's how we find a lot of these guys."
In 2003, almost 68,000 people enlisted in the Army, according to Pentagon statistics. Half of them were teenagers ages 17 to 19. Combining those statistics with census data, as the National Priorities Project did last year, shows that military recruitment rates tend to mirror poverty rates in most regions.
Harvey, though, said he doesn't see the link.
"Sure, there's poor places here and there, but I can't see where we've benefited from it," he said. "Lake George is certainly not a poverty-stricken area, and we've put a lot of kids in from there."
The Queensbury station covers a 4,200-square-mile territory in Warren, Washington, Essex, Saratoga and Hamilton counties. Each month, the station receives a target number of new recruits -- "a mission" -- from its battalion.
The current mission, which ends Monday, is seven full-time soldiers and two reservists. Each of the five recruiters is expected to sign up two people a month, although the less experienced ones get some slack.
Beausoleil had already enlisted two soldiers by the first week of February, marking the eighth month in a row he has met his mission. The office was about halfway to its recruitment goal by then, with two full-time members and two reservists signed up.
"It's pretty consistent throughout the year," Harvey said. "I don't see that it's getting tougher because of the war."
He noted that his station recruited 24 people during the October to December quarter -- six more than the same period a year earlier.
"When it comes down to it, if a young man or woman wants to join the Army, they're going to join regardless of what's going on in the world," he said.
The reasons for joining, Harvey said, are different for each individual.
"Some people want college money, some people want to travel, some want special training," he said. "When I joined 15 years ago, I think the biggest reason was just wanting to do my part for my country."
TRUMAN, PART TWO
Allen came out of the testing room and perched on the edge of a black chair embroidered in gold with the words "ARMY." He wore a red hoodie, baggy jeans, glasses and a blue ball cap cocked sideways.
"I'm not quite sure what I want to do -- whatever they want me to, I guess," he said. "I'm pretty sure I want to join the Reserves, not the full-time Army, because I don't want to be sent far away from home."
When the score printed out, Sgt. Beausoleil glanced at the paper and let out a whoop of delight.
"Dude! You got an 88! The national average is a 44! You did better than I did on mine!" he exclaimed, grinning.
Allen smiled, but he didn't look surprised.
"It was pretty easy," he said. "I was a smart kid in high school, I just didn't do my homework."
Beausoleil sat down across from Allen and took out a chart and a pencil. He calculated the pay and benefits that Allen would earn in the Reserves, compared to the full-time Army, drawing an exaggerated zero in all of the benefit categories for the Reserves.
"In the Army, you get a free place to stay," he said, pulling out a color brochure of the barracks to show Allen. "Where did you say you're living now? A motel?"
Allen laughed and looked embarrassed.
"It's an efficiency apartment," he said. "You're making it sound bad."
Sgt. 1st Class Allen Ford, who handles the Reserves recruiting, looked the young man in the eye.
"It doesn't matter to us whether you go full or part-time, but we're trying to figure out what's best for you. What would hold you back from going full-time?" Ford asked.
Allen hesitated a moment.
"Um ... the dangers," he said quietly.
'Do a greater good'
Beausoleil said later that he doesn't think most people understand what the Army is.
"They think they'll join, get a weapon, and go to war. It doesn't work like that," he said. "There's no guarantee that you will or you won't go to war. It depends on if your unit is called up, and a lot of them aren't."
In his 10 years of service, Beausoleil has never gone to war. He spent one year touring South Korea as part of a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, and his most recent post was in Hawaii.
He enlisted at age 22 because the Army offered him a job as a paramedic, fulfilling a lifelong dream.
"I was anti-military as a kid. I wouldn't even talk to my recruiter," he said. "When I joined, it was because I walked into the office and got the job I wanted."
Most soldiers become recruiters by assignment, but Beausoleil volunteered for the job in 2004.
"I felt like I could do a greater good for the community by being here," he said. "My goal is to put in 76 people in three years."
He pulled out a letter from a soldier in training and pointed to the last sentence.
"Just from asking around, I know for a fact that you are the most honest recruiter ever," the soldier had written from boot camp.
Beausoleil beamed with satisfaction as he read the words out loud.
"That's the biggest honor I've ever received," he said.
TRUMAN, PART THREE
The next day, recruiters picked Allen up at his apartment and brought him to the military entrance processing station in Albany, where he took the full-fledged aptitude test.
"I'm probably willing to sign up immediately if I pass, because if I don't, I'm probably going to back out and I don't want to," he said. "It would open up a lot of doors for me."
He said he would rather be a professional juggler than a soldier, but he feels trapped right now.
"I say a lot that I'm not afraid to die, I'm just afraid not to live. And right now, I don't feel like I'm really living. I'm stuck," he said. "I haven't really asked anyone for help, because it's humiliating, you know?"
Allen said Beausoleil told him that the chances of getting deployed are small, although that can change at any time.
"I think he's honest," he said.
He paused for a moment, thinking.
"Then again, I thought that about the guy who sold me the knives, too. ... Maybe it's an act, I don't know. But it feels real to me," he said.
Allen's score came back later that day, and it was good -- 90 points out of 99. That meant he could sign up anytime, if he passed a physical and background check. The recruiters brought him home and told him to sleep on it.
"I think he needs some time to think about it. He's confused about whether he should join the Reserves or the full-time, and we don't want to hound him," Harvey said.
Harvey said he's frustrated with the stereotype of recruiters who use high-pressure, deceptive tactics to sign up naive kids and ship them off to war as soon as possible.
"I just wish people would realize this is a job we have to do. We're not here to badger people," he said. "We're doing our job the same way they do theirs."
After hesitating for a few days, Allen went back to the MEPS for his physical last Thursday. He passed.
The same day, he took the Army oath of enlistment and committed to six years. He chose a job as an "information systems operator analyst," building computers and networks, a vacancy recruiters told him is fairly rare.
"I've always liked computers, and they're going to train me, so I'm excited," he said. "It's what I want."
His starting pay, according to Sgt. Harvey, will be $1,178 a month with free room and board, plus $988 a month for college and free tuition while he remains in the full-time service.
He leaves on March 22 for nine weeks of basic training at Fort Jackson in South Carolina, followed by 20 weeks of advanced training in Georgia. Although he doesn't know where he will be stationed after that, he decided that the guarantee of a good job was worth the possibility of leaving this area.
"I had to take a risk," he said.
#
2/12/06
Staff Sgt. Paul Beausoleil put on his black beret and stepped out of his U.S. government car into the Aviation Mall parking lot. He smoothed the front of his uniform -- a new "digital camouflage" pattern that recently replaced the more familiar Army uniforms -- and strode purposefully through the glass doors of the mall.
"I try to make eye contact with people first, to see if they're interested in talking to me," he explained. "You can usually tell a lot just from the way they greet you."
In the jargon of recruiters, this type of "face-to-face prospecting" is called "P3" time. Beausoleil, a gregarious guy with a ready smile, prefers this to "P1" -- trying to reach potential recruits by phone. Some days, his calls net him nothing more than an earful of angry words from parents or the beeps of answering machines.
"You've got to have a thick skin in this job," he said. "Parents, know this: I can't take your child off the list until they tell me directly that they want to be off the list."
It's the rare conversations that keep him going.
"As long as I can talk about the Army, I'm OK," he said, then laughed. "Heck, as long as I can talk, I'm OK."
On this weekday afternoon in the post-Christmas lull, there were only a handful of shoppers at the mall. No one wanted to talk, but Beausoleil was still upbeat and smiling as he drove back to his recruiting station in Queensbury about an hour later.
He said it can take a long time for some people to make up their mind about joining, and he's been working on a few of the mall employees.
Some of them have already enlisted, like Ashley Harris, the 19-year-old girl staffing the sunglasses kiosk. Harris leaves for basic training next month and is looking forward to it. She didn't need a recruiter to convince her -- she has wanted to be in the military all her life -- but she enjoys chatting with Beausoleil.
"Sometimes, you're just there to say hello, be a presence," Beausoleil said. "People know who I am; they see my uniform. If they want to talk to me, they will. And you never know when they might want to."
TRUMAN, PART ONE
Eighteen-year-old Truman Allen had no interest in talking to a recruiter when his best friend Joseph Clement dragged him into the Queensbury recruiting station last summer.
Both young men had just graduated from South Glens Falls high school, and Allen wasn't sure what he wanted to do next. He had recently moved out of his parents' house, but life didn't seem so hard, at first.
Allen got a summer job at the Magic Forest amusement park, cleaning toilets and performing a juggling act, but he quit in August when he grew tired of the long hours.
Then he spent more than $100 on kitchen knives that a direct-marketing company promised to help him sell at a profit. The "guaranteed sales appointments" didn't pan out, however, and he lost his investment.
Allen thought his luck had changed when he got a full-time job at a Target warehouse in late October. A month later, he was fired for getting into an accident with some of the loading equipment.
By that point, his brother Vernison, 19, was also without a steady job or place to stay, and they were running out of options.
For six days in late November, the brothers slept in Truman's 1994 Chevy Beretta, a small two-door model with a busted window on the passenger's side. They ended up at the Mountainview Motel in Wilton, where $175 a week gets them a one-room "efficiency apartment" -- what Allen calls "a cave with wood around it." He sleeps on the floor, and his brother sleeps on the couch.
"Right now my life is going nowhere," Allen said recently. "I need to get moving."
Clement, who enlisted in the Reserves last November, gave Allen a ride to the Queensbury recruiting station a few weeks ago. On Allen's third visit, he agreed to take a practice version of the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery to see what type of jobs he might qualify for if he joined.
"I think this could really help him," Clement said.
The recruiting effort
As Clement waited for his friend, he discussed his own decision to enlist. For him, he said, it came down to the money.
"I'm going into the Army to kind of get stuff on track," he said. "Right now, I'm the typical college kid, still living at home. I want to get financial stability, get my own apartment."
In the long run, he hopes to work in law enforcement, and he is counting on the five extra points -- "veterans' preference points" -- that military service will add to his civil service exam score.
He considered joining the Air Force when a recruiter contacted him as a junior in high school, but
he said he got scared when the war in Iraq started. After graduation, he enrolled at Adirondack Community College with a major in criminal justice, and he took out a student loan to pay the $3,000 annual tuition.
Not long into his first semester, he received a recruitment postcard from the Army.
It's a typical introduction to the military: Under the terms of the No Child Left Behind Act that President Bush signed into law two years ago, any high school or college that accepts federal funding is required to provide military recruiters with the names and contact information of all students 17 and older.
"When I was a young recruiter, we didn't have that rule. We had to find people by going through school yearbooks and the telephone book," said Sgt. 1st Class William Harvey, commander of the Queensbury recruiting station. "It helps a lot. That's how we find a lot of these guys."
In 2003, almost 68,000 people enlisted in the Army, according to Pentagon statistics. Half of them were teenagers ages 17 to 19. Combining those statistics with census data, as the National Priorities Project did last year, shows that military recruitment rates tend to mirror poverty rates in most regions.
Harvey, though, said he doesn't see the link.
"Sure, there's poor places here and there, but I can't see where we've benefited from it," he said. "Lake George is certainly not a poverty-stricken area, and we've put a lot of kids in from there."
The Queensbury station covers a 4,200-square-mile territory in Warren, Washington, Essex, Saratoga and Hamilton counties. Each month, the station receives a target number of new recruits -- "a mission" -- from its battalion.
The current mission, which ends Monday, is seven full-time soldiers and two reservists. Each of the five recruiters is expected to sign up two people a month, although the less experienced ones get some slack.
Beausoleil had already enlisted two soldiers by the first week of February, marking the eighth month in a row he has met his mission. The office was about halfway to its recruitment goal by then, with two full-time members and two reservists signed up.
"It's pretty consistent throughout the year," Harvey said. "I don't see that it's getting tougher because of the war."
He noted that his station recruited 24 people during the October to December quarter -- six more than the same period a year earlier.
"When it comes down to it, if a young man or woman wants to join the Army, they're going to join regardless of what's going on in the world," he said.
The reasons for joining, Harvey said, are different for each individual.
"Some people want college money, some people want to travel, some want special training," he said. "When I joined 15 years ago, I think the biggest reason was just wanting to do my part for my country."
TRUMAN, PART TWO
Allen came out of the testing room and perched on the edge of a black chair embroidered in gold with the words "ARMY." He wore a red hoodie, baggy jeans, glasses and a blue ball cap cocked sideways.
"I'm not quite sure what I want to do -- whatever they want me to, I guess," he said. "I'm pretty sure I want to join the Reserves, not the full-time Army, because I don't want to be sent far away from home."
When the score printed out, Sgt. Beausoleil glanced at the paper and let out a whoop of delight.
"Dude! You got an 88! The national average is a 44! You did better than I did on mine!" he exclaimed, grinning.
Allen smiled, but he didn't look surprised.
"It was pretty easy," he said. "I was a smart kid in high school, I just didn't do my homework."
Beausoleil sat down across from Allen and took out a chart and a pencil. He calculated the pay and benefits that Allen would earn in the Reserves, compared to the full-time Army, drawing an exaggerated zero in all of the benefit categories for the Reserves.
"In the Army, you get a free place to stay," he said, pulling out a color brochure of the barracks to show Allen. "Where did you say you're living now? A motel?"
Allen laughed and looked embarrassed.
"It's an efficiency apartment," he said. "You're making it sound bad."
Sgt. 1st Class Allen Ford, who handles the Reserves recruiting, looked the young man in the eye.
"It doesn't matter to us whether you go full or part-time, but we're trying to figure out what's best for you. What would hold you back from going full-time?" Ford asked.
Allen hesitated a moment.
"Um ... the dangers," he said quietly.
'Do a greater good'
Beausoleil said later that he doesn't think most people understand what the Army is.
"They think they'll join, get a weapon, and go to war. It doesn't work like that," he said. "There's no guarantee that you will or you won't go to war. It depends on if your unit is called up, and a lot of them aren't."
In his 10 years of service, Beausoleil has never gone to war. He spent one year touring South Korea as part of a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, and his most recent post was in Hawaii.
He enlisted at age 22 because the Army offered him a job as a paramedic, fulfilling a lifelong dream.
"I was anti-military as a kid. I wouldn't even talk to my recruiter," he said. "When I joined, it was because I walked into the office and got the job I wanted."
Most soldiers become recruiters by assignment, but Beausoleil volunteered for the job in 2004.
"I felt like I could do a greater good for the community by being here," he said. "My goal is to put in 76 people in three years."
He pulled out a letter from a soldier in training and pointed to the last sentence.
"Just from asking around, I know for a fact that you are the most honest recruiter ever," the soldier had written from boot camp.
Beausoleil beamed with satisfaction as he read the words out loud.
"That's the biggest honor I've ever received," he said.
TRUMAN, PART THREE
The next day, recruiters picked Allen up at his apartment and brought him to the military entrance processing station in Albany, where he took the full-fledged aptitude test.
"I'm probably willing to sign up immediately if I pass, because if I don't, I'm probably going to back out and I don't want to," he said. "It would open up a lot of doors for me."
He said he would rather be a professional juggler than a soldier, but he feels trapped right now.
"I say a lot that I'm not afraid to die, I'm just afraid not to live. And right now, I don't feel like I'm really living. I'm stuck," he said. "I haven't really asked anyone for help, because it's humiliating, you know?"
Allen said Beausoleil told him that the chances of getting deployed are small, although that can change at any time.
"I think he's honest," he said.
He paused for a moment, thinking.
"Then again, I thought that about the guy who sold me the knives, too. ... Maybe it's an act, I don't know. But it feels real to me," he said.
Allen's score came back later that day, and it was good -- 90 points out of 99. That meant he could sign up anytime, if he passed a physical and background check. The recruiters brought him home and told him to sleep on it.
"I think he needs some time to think about it. He's confused about whether he should join the Reserves or the full-time, and we don't want to hound him," Harvey said.
Harvey said he's frustrated with the stereotype of recruiters who use high-pressure, deceptive tactics to sign up naive kids and ship them off to war as soon as possible.
"I just wish people would realize this is a job we have to do. We're not here to badger people," he said. "We're doing our job the same way they do theirs."
After hesitating for a few days, Allen went back to the MEPS for his physical last Thursday. He passed.
The same day, he took the Army oath of enlistment and committed to six years. He chose a job as an "information systems operator analyst," building computers and networks, a vacancy recruiters told him is fairly rare.
"I've always liked computers, and they're going to train me, so I'm excited," he said. "It's what I want."
His starting pay, according to Sgt. Harvey, will be $1,178 a month with free room and board, plus $988 a month for college and free tuition while he remains in the full-time service.
He leaves on March 22 for nine weeks of basic training at Fort Jackson in South Carolina, followed by 20 weeks of advanced training in Georgia. Although he doesn't know where he will be stationed after that, he decided that the guarantee of a good job was worth the possibility of leaving this area.
"I had to take a risk," he said.
#
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