Things happened recently that set the young barista on a very different path in life.
He earned his undergrad degree. He met a wonderful woman at church and they married. He started his first salaried job.
As a student he focused on writing and directing for movies and television. His university sends exceptional talents into that field but Jack has decided not to head off to Los Angeles or New York.
Filmmaking fame and fortune will have to come later. Read more…
Instead of movie stars and sports heroes, M’s role model is the guy who created Johnny Bravo.
M started coming into our coffee shop with his dad back during his preschool years. We see a bit less of him these days — he has things to do.
Few of us realized M’s fascinated by first responders — the firefighters, medics, hazmat and animal-protection teams who serve us all.
His parents have taken him to visit his heroes at their facilities. He downloads databases detailing emergency calls published by municipalities, absorbing everything he can get his hands on.
“I’m kind of different.” The thirteen-year-old director and animator has been staging live performances for years, at the same time developing videos with his friend Charlie.
Trying one technique after another, trapped in one dead-end after another, the resolute M has ended up creating a collection of animated videos.
He uses his iPhone to construct stop-motion animation — moving a fire truck across the screen takes 50 or 60 shots. His typical video is shorter than two minutes and takes roughly four hours to complete. There are no scripts or storyboards. M exploits accidents for all their worth
At his tender age, the kid already knows what an elevator pitch is and explains that his work’s about more than sirens and speeding vehicles — it’s about responders risking their lives to rescue others.
His YouTube channel currently has 14.2 thousand subscribers; a recent video has attracted more than three-million visits.
M thinks it’s important to keep a distance from his online popularity. In a world that is insane for celebrity, he has decided to stay anonymous.
Phantoms on the highways just outside of town.The unmistakable odor of ghouls in the cold air just before dawn.
The wails of banshees, inaudible to our ears, forcing birds by the billions to make their way south. Bats eyeing unattended children and household pets as days grow shorter and their feeding hours grow longer.
Those of us who still happen to be alive assemble here at our corner coffee shop to ward off the gloaming. We face the door waiting to see if Brooke Saucier will appear again and lead us in paying respect to those who have crossed into the Great Beyond.
To think of what Brooke is wearing as being a Halloween costume is an insult to our dearly departed. His apparel for “El Día de Los Muertos” is a reminder of the fact that each of us is allotted a certain, defined length of time. You and I and Brooke included.
A full moon was visible for a while last night, until it was eaten by puffy altostratus clouds which, when compared to an antibiotic-resistant intestinal parasite or a wood chipper, isn’t such a bad way to go.
The Age of Steam was ending just about the time the Age of Larry was beginning.Larry followed his father onto the railroads.
It wasn’t sorting mail for the post office that particularly interested them, it was the movement and the occasional sensation of weightlessness that being on the line affords.
Larry’s father would take him to visit mail cars, and each summer when they stayed with relatives in the eastern Ohio, Larry would sneak away to explore the train yards.
He worked the rails until aviation and technology revolutionized moving mail. It was a letdown to end up working in a suburban zip code.
A few years later a non-profit dedicated to the heritage of trains had formed and four years after joining as one of its first members, Larry became a fully licensed engineer.
The group rescues orphaned steam and diesel engines from auctions and scrapyards. They consult vintage manuals to repair and maintain abandoned technologies. They’ve leaned on the knowledge of old timers who had worked their farms using steam power.
You need to control steam, Larry will tell you. An engineer plays the throttle to keep for “spinning his wheels” and to guard against superheated backdrafts that play havoc with the all-important bed of coals. A mismanaged steam locomotive is a dangerous thing.
Curves, grades and ice pose problems for a 100-ton engine that rolls on smooth wheels over smooth rails. Even master engineers sometimes need to back up and charge hills again. The children’s book — “The Little Engine That Could” — is testimony to what railroading is about.
Reading the clanks and jerks and the inhaling and exhaling wheezes (which led to trains being called ‘choo choo’ trains) is critical to an engineer. He can see out to only one side while the fireman looks forward from the other. They constantly consult the ground to gauge velocity.
If takes several hours to prime a cold engine. Wood gets stoked first, then the fireman switches to coal to built a ‘head of steam.’ It’s necessary to take on water every 100 miles or so during a normal run.
Many nights Larry stays over in an industrial structure that serves as a bunkhouse for the crews. He’s right at home in the small town with its few cafes and stores.
His children and grandchildren, his lovely and good-humored wife, and anything having to do with Whitewater Valley Railroad vie equally for his affection.
Larry Shiplett is the oldest of three brothers, and is generally considered the most handsome.
Maya is the face of a generation.
Students I’ve studied with from Europe, Asia and South America — along with community-college classmates — are preparing for a future no one can exactly envision.
It’s said that the Mayas among us will pursue several careers, often as contractors without benefits, and may need to create their own jobs. They’ll start as unpaid interns while carrying serious debt.
Many of them believe that following a personal passion will serve them better than signing up for a traditional professional path — by dint of curiosity and dedication, they’ll find their way. They don’t worry about a steady income at the tender age their parents did.
Maya will enter the last year of an independent-study program. Her focus on Community Services includes English, Sociology, American Studies. She sees it as an insurance policy that her scholarships helped make happen.
Maya spends summers as a barista at our corner coffee shop. The encounter has made her more optimistic about life (a lift every undergrad could use).
She’s drawn to the precision, science and artistry of the craft; and the teamwork it requires. Hardest to master is the simple, elegant cortado. The espresso is to be just so. The milk needs to be exactly warm enough (never steaming) to lay down the right trace of foam.
Although the coffee shop adheres to Fair Trade Organic and Direct Trade practices, it’s not an underground or bohemian kind of joint. Maya brags on its homey quality.
She plans to continue as a barista after she graduates. It will give her breathing space and it may leave breadcrumbs she can follow along the way.
Does she worry about her future? “Not at all,” she’ll tell you, “but I do worry about ‘our’ future.”
Maya Crowe-Barnes is the face of a generation.
