Last Updated: 9:57 pm, July 28, 2010

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Published:

5/31
2010

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Finding a whole new world in rural Missouri

By noaheby

Take I-70 west to Highway 79 north for about an hour and a half and you will find yourself in the small town of Elsberry, Missouri.  For some reason, my summer baseball team scheduled a tournament at the rather decrepit field on the outskirts of downtown Elsberry, though it was hardly a metropolis, and I therefore spent most of my waking hours in rural Missouri this past weekend.  It was a painful, amusing, and enlightening experience.

I had an image of Elsberry in my mind before even setting out on Friday.  It was a tiny town surrounded by farmland, I thought, centered around a small cluster of run-down restaurants and businesses and occupied by a couple thousand rednecks with long hair and no teeth.  For the most part, I was right.  Downtown was little more than a general store, a gas station, and a small Italian restaurant.  The town has barely over 2000 residents, many of whom do indeed sport a grin with some missing pieces.

I had held a general disdain for rural Missouri before the trip, a preconceived notion that everyone living outside the suburbs was a hillbilly farmer who carried a concealed weapon and had a portrait of George W. Bush hanging right next to the picture of Jesus.  I was wrong, of course, and I knew I was wrong, but still I needed proof to change my mind.  I got in its simplest form after the first game of the tournament.

I was walking around the concession stand looking for a bag of ice for the team cooler.  I had no idea where to look, and it was apparent.  A man who had just pulled into the parking lot in his beat-up pick-up truck noticed me and asked what I was looking for.  I told him, and without hesitation he reached into his pocket, took a dollar out of his wallet, and told me to go down the road to the main building and buy a bag.  I thanked him and went, not thinking very much about his kindness.

I realize now that his generosity represents the general attitude of many, if not most, of the “rednecks” that I met in Elsberry.  They may not have degrees from prestigious colleges and they may not wear khaki shorts and collared shirts everywhere they go, but they know how to treat people.  They say “Excuse me” when they brush past you, they hold open doors, and they give you directions without having to be asked for them.  Even at the local Subway, where I ate lunch between games, the teenagers there had a respect that is hard to find in Clayton.

In this way, I learned that despite the swarms of gnats that were everywhere and the blistering heat, Elsberry isn’t that bad of a place.  My car wasn’t vandalized for having an Obama bumper sticker, I didn’t see anyone walking around with a shotgun, and I couldn’t find anyone wearing a Jesus t-shirt.  The townspeople were kind and warm, and despite the lack of modernity there was a certain homeliness about the town.  Plus, they know how to play their baseball – we lost the last game of the tournament 20 to 2.

Published:

5/18
2010

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Flight home eaches life lesson

By Ken Zheng

A fellow passenger on a f;ight home from a college visit shares a personal experience and offers advice.
“You interested in banging that girl across the aisle?” Keith asked.
“What?” I was shocked for I hadn’t known him for more than five minutes. I had also never seen this girl in my entire life.
“I can tell you’re interested in her. You’re shy? It’s fine, I’ll get you two introduced.”
I hurriedly tried to block her from his point of view. “No, it’s fine. Really,” I stammered, “I already have a girlfr-”
“Hi there, what’s your name?” Keith said in his gruff voice.
“Vera.”
“Oh that’s exotic, I like that,” he said. “And you are?” he said, indicating me.
I hesitated and introduced myself. In the dusky ambient light, I was practically incandescent. She thankfully had a guy traveling with her and turned back to converse with him excitedly.
He leaned in towards me, gave a chuckle and said “Too bad. It looks like she’s already interested in that guy. I like her though; she has spunk.”
Keith is 51.
“So what business did you have in Philadelphia?” he asked, completely ignoring the previous incident. By this time, we were ascending into the clear skies.
I told him I was heading home from Duke University and the school was a great fit overall.
“Don’t sugercoat it,” he said in a low growl. “Go on, tell me what you really thought—what was your name again?”
He gave the impression of a grandfather who knew a lot about how the world worked, and knew that he knew it. He cursed readily and was blunt with his statements, but I could see that he believed every word of what he was saying for he spoke loudly and with conviction. So loudly, in fact, that many people on the plane turned and stared at us.
I found out that he worked as a market salesman and told him that I was going into medicine. Initially, I thought he was being an ass, but he didn’t give a damn what I thought.
“These people around us probably want to cart me off in handcuffs, but I don’t care,” Keith said with a shrug. “You seem like you’re interested, and I hope I’m not boring you.”
Before I could agree with his statement, a flight stewardess gave him an overly sweet “Do you want anything to drink, sir?”
Keith asked for a shot of vodka.
“We don’t serve alcohol to those who are already drunk,” she responded, her voice becoming even more saccharine.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, murmuring an insult that I couldn’t catch. Ignoring her, he went on to say to me “You’re a total brainiac, aren’t you? Just looking at you, I can tell. So analytical and number-oriented. I mean, you go through school and just learn all the crap that they feed you. Not once do you hunker down and say ‘what if this isn’t right?’ Not once do you walk into a room and declare what you’re really thinking. People might not like you if you did that, but they will respect you.”
I nodded, taking a sip of my concentrate orange juice.
“Doctors these days, they don’t know how to deal with people anymore,” he went on. “You said you were thinking of becoming a doctor, right? Well, let me tell you, so many of them are too number-oriented. I don’t want to know the statistics when there are lives on the line. I want to be taken care of by a compassionate human being. I want to know that my loved ones are getting the same treatment.”
His face took on a somber appearance for the first time during our conversation.
“While I was surfing in Maui, I got a phone call,” he said quietly. “I got a phone call about how my dad had a heart aneurysm and I left straight away. When I saw him, he was hooked up to all these respirators. The doctors called me out, and told me I had to make a decision about whether to cut my father’s legs or not. I’m the oldest son.”
He swallowed with a loud gulp and took a deep breath to steady himself.
“The blood wasn’t going to his legs, and the doc said ‘if you don’t do this, there won’t be enough to keep his core alive.’ These guys were as cold as ice. I told him ‘if it’s going to keep him alive, cut them off.’ I flew back just feeling empty. There was no sympathy. Doctors know the science, the anatomy and physiology, but you guys don’t know the emotional side.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said simply, trying to put as much emotion as I could muster into those few words.
After a few moments of quiet, he abruptly began, “I think it’s the worst thing to go into your grave and not have asked any questions. That’s just a vapid life. Live it up, make a difference in other people’s lives and enjoy yourself. That’s why I wanted you to talk to Vera over there. You never know when your time will be up.”
Following his reminder of my inaction, we sat in silence, and I took the chance to slip away to the restroom, praying no turbulence would hit while I was relieving myself. The flight attendant who refused to serve Keith alcohol was near the restroom and asked me if I wanted to switch to another seat. I pondered the issue and told her I was fine and that she would know if I changed my mind.
When I came back, I decided to take a chance and start the conversation.
“You know, I’ve never taken an aspirin or Tylenol in my life.”
“Are you crapping me?” He gave a throaty laugh. “I’ve done everything there is to do out there, growing up in the 70s. If you can keep your body and mind clean, then don’t let anyone give you crap about it. You can go out and get messed up any day of the week, but people like me can’t turn back the clock.”
I agreed wholly with him, and we chatted on and off for the better part of the next hour before he finally said he had said all he could think of.
“I’m not really done, but I think I’m just bugging you now,” he said, coughing a few times. He stared out at the sunset and closed his eyes, a wry smile forming on his lips.
I didn’t wake him for the rest of the flight.
As I was getting off the plane, the same flight attendant looked at me with a glimmer in her eyes, saying “You should get a medal or something for enduring him.”
I smiled back at her in polite agreeability and coughed out a quiet “thanks” before stepping into the humid St. Louis air.
Keith was right. I needed to take chances. I needed to become a doctor who is concerned with patients instead of diseases, using my knowledge to comfort and care for people, not just counting and calculating statistics. In his words, I needed “to just grow a pair, look the world in the eye and put myself out there.”

Published:

4/14
2010

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A focused vocational interest is a practical and understandable choice for college students

By Mary Blackwell

Grouped with critical and apprehensive parents joined by their high achieving high school aged scholars on a college campus tour, a rumbling went through the crowd as our guide announced her major: Classical Studies with a minor in Jewish History.

“What kind of job do you find with that?” whispered the concerned parent, and only statistics of job retention following graduation could assuage her nervous state.

It was experiences like these, my struggle in finding a summer job, the bombardment of information about the failing economy and threats from my parents concerning my college costs that led me to pursue a practical undergraduate education.

With over 90 percent of Clayton students attending college after graduation, almost all of us face a huge decision senior year. We choose our home for the next four years based not only on size, location, and reputation, but we also consider the types of studies offered.

This is why prospective journalists consider University of Missouri at Columbia and prospective doctors look at Johns Hopkins University. Though we may change our minds, switch majors, and discover new interests, when choosing a school we must consider potential course of study.

For most, education is not solely about the pursuit of academics; the end goal is a career derived from our studies. This is why every year some students choose to attend pharmacy school, schools of education and engineering programs, and other practical, vocational focused courses of study.

Yet others head off to liberal arts schools with hopes to pursue majors in the fields of History or English, with less practical degrees in African American Studies or Fine Arts—and herein lies the contrast, between the abstract and the concrete.

As a nursing student in a university with a liberal arts school, I believe that academic pursuit and exploration does not end with the decision to pursue a job oriented undergraduate education. I would never sacrifice academic freedom for practical purposes, and I don’t have to.

There exists a confident few who are sure of their desired career and enter six year medical or five year education programs, or other such fast paced and focused courses. On such an accelerated track, these student have little to no time for outside, optional classes.

Nonetheless, their choice should not be criticized because their path leads them to their end goal quicker, and for a focused student, this leads to earlier success in their field. They are willing to sacrifice a “normal” college experience in order to reach their academic goals. While more relaxed or directionless students may relish their freedom in exploration, the driven student savors the advantage of achieving before the rest of their peers.

In most schools, with exceptions such as pharmacy school, one can take courses of interest outside of one’s required courses.  Few schools limit students with a variety of interests. In fact taking a variety of courses, especially outside of the student’s area of expertise is often encouraged.

As Mark Twain so eloquently put it, “I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.”  Academic pursuits take place within specific courses of study as well as outside of the classroom. Some of the most personally meaningful literary works I’ve encountered were read outside of the classroom. Lectures, clubs, friends, plays—all provide for outside of the classroom academic exploration, and all are available regardless of major.

There’s no arguing that the University or College one attends largely affects an individual’s academic interests, however one’s major defines, but does not limit, one’s academic passions.

With few exceptions, higher education has been historically and currently enjoyed by the upper class, those with the financial means.  In an affluent school district like Clayton, we take for granted the fact that education is a privilege, and that few are able to experiment in their undergraduate studies, with no career goals in mind.

Practical undergraduate training is imperative for the financially challenged individual, and outside of Clayton I’m sure there are fewer high school graduates pursuing an Art History or Studio Arts major and more who must be guaranteed job opportunities after college graduation.

In addition to the choice to enter the work force after undergraduate graduation, there are far more scholarships devoted to luring high achieving students into practical undergraduate majors.

One must be at the financial liberty to pursue a more impractical degree and although the two types of education are equally valuable, the surety of a career path is more valuable to the financially unstable.

Choosing a vocational undergrad degree is not the end of academic pursuit, but a practical choice for the decisive senior, financially unstable, and academic focused.

Published:

3/30
2010

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Olympic excitement draws CHS student

By madelinebullard

I anticipate the winter Olympics when they come around every four years. The Olympics provide a wonderful opportunity to watch athletes at the top of their game compete to earn the world’s highest honor–a gold medal in their sport. This year’s olympics have not disappointed, especially in the arena of both heart-wrenching and uplifting stories from a variety of Olympic athletes.
Two of these stories in particular stand out to me. One is the tragic, freak accident of a Georgian athlete who was killed in a luge crash during a training run in Vancouver just hours before his chance to fulfill his Olympic dream. The second is the inspiring story of the Chinese skating duo, Zhao Hongbo and Shen Xue, the first team in their country’s history to win the gold medal in their event, pairs figure skating.
I didn’t see the crash that took Nodar Kumaritashvili’s life, nor do I want to. The 21-year-old’s death is an event that will be remembered in the back of audiences’ minds for many Olympics to come. It has overshadowed the joyous emotion of these Olympics with a reminder of the risk that is sometimes involved in many of these extreme, hazardous sports.
Some blame the luge track in Whistler for the accident. After all, it was widely known to be one of the most treacherous in the world even before these Vancouver Olympics. The luge competitors reached record speeds of over 90 miles per hour as they careened down this steep, slippery, often out-of-control track in pursuit of a gold medal. Were these risks necessary? Was the track too much for even these Olympic athletes to handle? Fans of the Olympics will continue to disagree on these questions.
Meanwhile, changes were made to the track to hopefully secure athletes’ safety from any further accidents. The mens’ starting position was moved down to the former women’s start, while the women’s start was moved down further still. This cut off more than two football fields of length from the men’s track, and significantly flattened the beginning of the track, which helped to reduce overall speeds. Still, as I continued to watch the athletes, in their small, seemingly unstable sleds, hurtle down the track, occasionally flying dangerously close to the edge, I couldn’t help but remember the young man who lost his life to this dangerous but exhilarating sport.
The second event I will remember about these Olympics so far is the pairs skating competition. I expected another clean, crisp and fundamentally calculated performance from the Chinese skaters as Shen and Zhao, the pairs skaters, stepped out onto the ice. As the first competitors in the pairs short program, I wasn’t expecting to take a second glance at their performance. But as the music began, I found myself drawn to watch their artistry. Their short program was absolutely flawless to my untrained eye. Thankfully, the judges appreciated the program as well, and gave it a record-breaking score. But more than its technical precision, the program was bursting with emotion and pure beauty. The enthusiasm and love that shone through with Shen and Zhao’s performance was remarkable.
For me, the story of these athletes became even more remarkable when I learned of their past. These two skaters have been committed to the sport from a young age, like many other skaters. What was truly fascinating to me was their commitment to one another. The pair has been skating together since 1992–that’s 18 years. That’s nearly as long as my parents have been married. Not only that, but the couple plans to wed soon after celebrating their Olympic gold this winter. The commitment these two skaters have shown to their craft is admirable and extraordinary.
Naturally, I planted myself firmly in front of the TV to watch the pairs free skate. I was glued to my seat as Shen and Zhao entered the rink. I leaned forward and watched as the pair flew across the ice. Each shift in the music brought new suspense as the next jump, twist or throw approached. I willed the athletes to land their jumps, coordinate their spins and perform to their best abilities. I emerged from the free skate with an elevated heartbeat but a smile on my face. I knew as well as these skaters did that they had just won gold.
It is moments like these that bring me back to watch the Olympics year after year. I don’t watch for the medal counts or the records broken or even for the awards ceremonies. No, I watch for the athletes and for their stories. The most gratifying experience for me, as a viewer, is to watch a deserving, hardworking Olympic athlete earn a well-earned reward.

Published:

3/29
2010

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10 ways to start off second semester right

By biancavannucci

1. Turn in any late work, make up any quizzes, get your act together before winter break. As you probably know, the last few days of first semester are not good ones to miss.

2. Clean out your binders. Stash away anything you won’t need, but don’t throw anything away. Most teachers wouldn’t want you to do that, and some finals are accumulative!

3. Clean out your lockers. Turn in accumulated old books to your English teacher. Throw away things you won’t need. It’s liberating.

4. Is your schedule changing? Are you signed up for the classes you want to be taking? Figure this stuff out now so you can make any schedule changes if necessary.

5. Re-stock on school supplies. Your colored gels pens have probably run out by now. Get new lead, mini-staplers; try to stop borrowing loose-leaf paper from your neighbor.

6. Start (or keep) writing down your homework, and then do it: all of it. Near the end of first semester it’s easy to get caught behind, but find your planner, start writing it all down again.

7. Figure out what sports, clubs or activities you are interested in doing and find out the schedules. Write times and dates down and put them on your fridge.

8. Look at your grades and make realistic goals for second semester. Chances are there’s room for improvement.

9. Get a lot of sleep over winter break, though this rule goes for any time of the year: sleep as much as you can, cause spring break isn’t for a while, and chances are you won’t get to catch up until then.

10. If there’s anything you can get done over winter break, do it. If you are assigned, for example, to start reading a book, don’t put it off to January. It’s only going to make getting back into school-mood that much worse.

Published:

3/29
2010

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Video Games Do Not Cause Violence

By jakelee

Jake Lee

Cause of death: murdered by a person influenced from violent video games. Already this idea sounds exaggerated. However, it is possible according to article writer Grace Shin. How can video games be the sole cause to make people more violent and aggressive?
Shin’s sole support is the assault on Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado. On April 20, 1999, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold murdered 13 and wounded 23 before killing themselves. Shin says the reason why they committed the act is because they had customized their own shooting game a month earlier.
However, there could be many different reason of why they killed students in their school. Stress from schoolwork and being bullied are just a couple of the many different possible reasons. It is said that Harris’s and Klebold’s victims were all school athletes, so it is possible that they may have been bullied by them.
Clearly there is not enough evidence that teenage murderers are caused from violent video games.
Though not all people have game systems, most people have at least seen video games before at friends’ houses even if they have not played them. If everyone is associated with video games, how can it be fair to say that the cause of a killer’s blood lust was from video games?
Even if murder is not involved, aggression from violent video games is still a bold accusation. It is human nature to get angry. Anything that gives a surge of adrenaline and testosterone gives one the same effects of aggression or violence, especially in teenage boys.
Intense sports like football, a TV show, and even a scary movie raises adrenaline levels and makes humans more aggressive from the excitement of the stimulus. From being excited, the stimulus raises testosterone levels, which make people more aggressive.
Though video games may be one factor in humans becoming more violent, it is at least not the sole cause of aggression. Video games can be avoided to become “less aggressive”, but there is no point if humans are already surrounded by things that cause the same aggression as video games do.
Also, people easily realize the difference between killing a person in real life compared to killing in a video game. The line between what is acceptable in real life and in video games is obvious to anyone who is mentally stable.
To have the will to hurt someone else needs a motive. Though video games may stimulate aggression, there would be no reason to hurt someone solely from playing video games. People turn to violent and verbal abuse when they believe it is necessary, even though it may not be logical.
Perhaps violence from video games can be justified with male behavior, but one should understand females are also aggressive. Females who have never played a violent video game still show the same aggression levels as males, according to professor Cheryl Dellasega at Pennsylvania State University. Verbal abuse is more likely in females over physical abuse, but point being, there is still aggressive behavior involved without the influence of video games.
Violence has been steadily increasing. According to PBS, big city violence crime has increased by 40% over the past 30 years. Though violence has been increasing over years, other factors have also increased. Education is more important than ever and parents push kids to study hard to a point where it can be taken unbearable. Media also interacts with the general population more. The list goes on. There are more things that cause stress in the present than the past. These new stress levels can cause people to not bear with them and finally give up and release their frustration through violence and aggression.
Another interesting view of why people think that video games do cause violence is because the government promotes it. By being against violent video games, the government can be seen as opposed to crime and appear supportive to peace. Just because the government says something is true does not mean it is. Plus, there is no proof that video games cause violence, despite studies on it.
From my own experience, video games are addicting and can be competitive when playing with other people, but never does it lead to someone hurt in the end.
The only pain caused from violent video games is the pain of one’s virtual character.

Published:

3/17
2010

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Xbox Live interest leads to obsession

By nathanieltownsend

My rating is 38.  I carry a TAR-21 assault rifle, a .357 Magnum revolver, a smoke grenade, and a Claymore mine. I rack in most of my kills on the level “Highrise” in the underground tunnels by crouching under a staircase. I just reached my thousandth kill with my TAR-21 and my kill to death ratio is .823. My name is Nate Townsend and I think that I literally have an addiction to Xbox Live.

For years, my friends have played everything from Halo to FIFA Soccer on Xbox Live, an extra component for Xbox that allows users to challenge each other online. Not until two weeks ago, after purchasing the hit game, Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, did I jump on the Xbox Live bandwagon.

The setup proved to be a little bit difficult, and I just about gave up on the whole thing. I almost wish that I did. The day that I joined the other six million users online was also the day that I sat in my basement for eight straight hours. The sounds of ringing cell phones and calls from my parents at the top of the stairs fell on deaf ears. As far as I was concerned, I was protecting my country from the Russians on the streets of Suburban America.

I had no time for such distractions. I was in trouble, but didn’t know it yet.

Now you may be reading this and thinking, “This kid needs help,” but I can tell you that this has gone long past the poit where I can vbe helped. I, as well as most of my male classmates, am stuck in an Avatar-like parallel universe that I don’t want to leave for anything. These last couple of weeks, I have lived for the hope that once or twice a day I could talk smack via a plastic headset and then shoot, stab, and blow up total strangers.

This didn’t seem abnormal to me at all until the other day, when senior Scott Morrison announced to our friends that he would be selling his Xbox to pay for his spring break trip. He might as well have announced that he had finally found a girlfriend. We were absolutely shocked.

After a long moment of silence, I admitted that, if I were ever in his shoes, I would rather sell my kidney into the black market than give up my Xbox. However, it wasn’t this asinine comment that was an eye-opener for me, it was the fact that all of my friends agreed.

Since then, my cries of desperation have been internal. I still find myself sitting on my Lovesac in front of my TV for hours at a time. I realize that I have signed up to be a part of the epidemic that infects our youth. Unlike drugs and alcohol, where I have been warned of the negative side effects, no one mentioned that Xbox Live would take over my brain like a horse tranquilizer.

Ladies and gentleman of Clayton High School: I write this letter as a means to stop those who are considering getting Xbox Live. It’s a trap. Some argue that it has benefited our society by providing a source of social networking and communication. Well, I can assure you that it does the very opposite.

You don’t know what alone feels like until you’ve experienced Xbox Live. My unsullied personality is now hollow with empty thoughts of a digitally programmed world. ⎫

Published:

3/17
2010

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AP Biology cat dissection proves to be memorable

By madelinebullard

The smell coming from room 204 was difficult to describe. A hint of mothball, a waft of chemicals, and the stench of rotting flesh emanated from the biology room.

Despite the off-putting odor, I smiled and quickened my step.

Today was the day I had been waiting for.

Today was the day when I would dissect a cat.

I’m sure many students would be puzzled if they heard my reaction to this unique, albeit morbid, educational opportunity. Some cringe, grimace, or even feel sick at the mention of slicing into a furry friend in the name of science. But not me. I was more than ready to take the plunge and let my cat out of its tightly sealed, chemical-filled plastic bag.

I carefully carried my cat over to the sink and washed off its formaldehyde-soaked fur.  Its looked as if it had been electrocuted: legs splayed at odd angles, eyes squinted shut, and teeth bared.

We inferred that most of these cats had been euthanized at animal shelters.  This gave me pause; I wondered about the cat’s life. Had it been a house cat? A street cat? Had it enjoyed life, or had it grown bitter from a lack of love?

A formaldehyde-soaked cat awaits dissection from a CHS biology student.

A formaldehyde-soaked cat awaits dissection from a CHS biology student (Dawn Androphy).

But I soon put these thoughts out of my mind. After all, the cat was already dead. I was merely using the body practically, seeking a learning opportunity.

So I began the dissection with enthusiasm. I unwrapped my small razor, my tweezers, and my scissors. I pulled up the skin and made the first cut.

I soon realized that it would be tough going. The cat was not simple or straightforward. The organs were layered together, one on top of the next. At first I was overwhelmed; how would I distinguish spleen from kidney, liver from lung?

But then I took a closer look. I began to recognize the familiar structures we had studied in biology. The lungs were a dark magenta, buried deep in the cavity between the ribs. The heart was surprisingly small and hard, encased in layers of fat and slimy tissues. The stomach was round and smooth, the intestines wrapped and folded together, and a pair of matching kidneys near the back of the abdomen.

It’s hard to picture the inside of an animal’s body, unless you’ve seen it for yourself. Dissecting this cat gave me a truly unique opportunity to verify that what the biology and anatomy books teach is actually true.

I cut out each organ from its connective tissue and laid it out on a plastic bag.  I cut open each body part. The veins and arteries of the cat had been stained with dyes so that the arteries stood out in shades of pink and red, while the veins were colored a deep blue. The intricacies of an animal body were amazing to observe, from the chambers of the heart to the cortex and medulla of the kidneys.

When I was finished, I wrapped up the sliced organs in the plastic and threw them away. I replaced the fur of the cat around its soggy body and put it back in its plastic bag. It had been the best biology lesson of the year. I was satisfied.

After class, I thought about the ethics of what I had just done. After all, this is the sort of thing that convinces some people to become vegetarians. But I considered what an interesting and stimulating experience it had been for me.

I had seen firsthand the remarkable interdependency and connectedness of body systems.

I had done what I set out to do.

I went over the class in my head as I drove home after school. As I pulled out of the parking lot, the familiar, yet strange, mix of scents wafted towards my nostrils, and I realized that I wasn’t ever going to forget this adventure. ⎫

Published:

3/12
2010

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Complaints over Center of Clayton ID system shouldn’t focus on employee

By Anat Gross

Over the past year getting into the Center of Clayton has become quite a hassle. And I have heard many students attributing this difficulty to one of the center’s employees who sits by the door and requests to see IDs. However, is it right to blame this man, when in fact he is simply doing his job?

This is the typical scenario: A student, whether he or she is going to class, to workout, or to eat, enters the double doors. He attempts to walk by unnoticed, but then the dreadful “Excuse me” rings in his ears. He is asked to show his ID.

Now this is where the situation may take many different paths: The student may dig through his backpack, present the card, and continue towards his destination. Or the student reveals that he does not have his ID with him, which is where things may get ugly.

I have seen students without their IDs understandingly turn around and walk around to the front entrance of the Center, but then there are those who choose to argue. Some continue walking despite the man’s request; others attempt persuasion, but worst of all some curse, complain, and become hostile to the man who in turn may be hostile back.

I have heard students curse and complain about him when he tells them they must go through the front desk of the Center as opposed to the convenient entrance connecting to the school. I too have had this experience, grudgingly making the trek from Stuber Gym to the Center’s front entrance.

From my experience and what I have witnessed, the man is simply doing his job, yet students still believe they are in the right when they complain about him. It is not the man we should be complaining about, but the system.

What is the likelihood that a student coming through those doors in the middle of the day does not attend the high school? How often do you see Ladue, MICDs, or Burroughs students coming through those doors? Probably never.

If I am wearing a CHS shirt, with a CHS gym bag around my shoulder is it really necessary to question my school attendance? And in most cases I am not questioned. I have been to the Center so many times that the man knows me, even has conversations with me. This I found true with many other students who simply show kindness to a man enforcing the rules which he did not create. We may hate the rules, but we should not hate and complain about a man who is simply doing his job.

Published:

3/12
2010

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Poor planning has ruined I-64 project

By dylanschultz

On Dec. 7, 2009 the new highway 40 opened after about two years of construction. The construction spanned about 10 miles east to west, from Kingshighway to Ballas Road. The opening of the new highway excited St. Louisans because it was closed for so long. Commuters had to rely on city streets greatly lengthening the daily trip.

The construction also made for confusing and often absurdly extensive detours. Any highway would have seemed better than the previous situation, but when properly analyzed one should be able to see the faults of the thoroughfare. The design flaws appear specifically around the portion that crosses Hanley Road.

Hanley, which is right near my house, is a major North-South road that a plethora of commuters and shoppers use most days if not every day of the year. It is relatively close to many neighborhoods right near the new highway plus it is next to a popular shopping area on Eager Road that includes stores such as Best Buy, Target, Sports Authority, Trader Joes, and many other supermarket and specialized shops. Pre-construction, Hanley had an east and west exit and entrance for 40.

The problem with this was the heavy Eager road traffic mixing with other cars coming off of the highway from the west. Enough people complained and the city decided to include the Hanley road overpass and intersection into the construction. This project closed this portion of Hanley, cutting off the connection between Clayton and Richmond Heights.

The drive to get to the Eager Road shops used to take me an average of around five to ten minutes. The detours resulted in a near 20 minute drive just to access a facility a mere quarter mile away. A year passed and finally the bridge reopened. It looked new and useful, but problems arose when people realized that Hanley was no longer directly connected to the highway in some directions.

There was an exit onto Hanley for cars traveling west and a ramp onto 40 to travel south. However, to get onto 40 going west, there is a new connecter road with an exactly one minute and 12 second light at the end before a car could finally traverse onto the new road. This connector has a 40 mile per hour speed limit which several people have been caught violating most likely in a feeble and dangerous attempt to catch the light.

Adding about a minute or two to a commute doesn’t sound too bad. But if someone were to do this for the 261 business days in a year, that is nearly four hours per year spent – no – wasted on a forced change after two years of not having the highway at all. There is also a lack of an exit ramp for people coming from the west to get onto Hanley. I understand this move as to limit the masses of Eager Road traffic plus highway departures, but apparently the city has decided to get rid of the highway travelers all together.

Did anyone think to perhaps simply place an exit strategically so that cars would empty onto a different portion of the road? A cloverleaf ramp was built for the Eager traffic heading to Hanley which was a terrible decision. This caused for a one way Eager-Hanley connection and resulted in a detour for shoppers heading in the opposite direction.

The cloverleaf ramp should have been reserved for the highway as an exit and the Eager traffic could have a direct link as they did before. Sadly even the best of city planners couldn’t solve this simple puzzle. The greatest frustration people should have with the planners is that they purposely covered up the plan for Hanley. They knew that their design was poor and unpopular.

According to an article in the St Louis Post Dispatch on December 14, 2009, the Missouri Department of Transportation (MoDOT) spokeswoman Linda Wilson said that they hid the plan from the public because they thought people would forget about the changes if they were aware of them too many months in advance. That answer is both offensive to the intelligence of the public and purely illogical.

The only reason I can imagine for the botched design of the roadways there is laziness and haste so the construction would be finished quicker. The new design has made traveling around St. Louis more difficult and frustrating to hopeful citizens expecting a better highway.

As with every issue, some citizens may be satisfied with the changes and others infuriated. However, the goal of the planners should have been to try to make everybody happy and they dramatically failed that task. Unfortunately people such as myself are stuck with the horrible highway and don’t really want more years of construction to correct it.