Essays

The Worst Poem About the Awe of Nature

2008-10-03T12:13:00.000-05:00

It isn't enough for me
to simply gaze in awe.
I must ask, "how is it done?"
I wonder, "how is it made?"
I think, "why is it built that way,
and not some other way?"

I glimpse a shooting star
streak, fleetingly across a black sky
and wonder, "how far did it travel
before being turned to dust?"
and think, "what was its impact velocity,
and what was its temperature,
and how much ash was produced
in that burning ball of fire?"

I see a towering oak tree
with countless leaves and peeling bark and random fingers of branches
and imagine the tons of earth that have been displaced
by the vast heirarchical network of roots
that spread unseen below me.
and ponder the volume of minerals and water it takes
to turn an acorn into a such a thing.

I watch a tiny black ant
crawl across the surface of my hand
and wonder, "where is it trying to go?
Does it know it's been lifted
out of its course? Is it conscious of itself
and does it fear for its life?
Or does it run on biomechanical instinct,
like a miniature robot, with no thoughts of its own,
except for it's living code, programmed by nature?

And then... I gaze in awe.

The Worst Poem About the Worst Poetry

2008-10-03T12:11:00.001-05:00

As I read the words of long dead poets
and try to suffuse their meanings
I conclude:
poetry is the anti-communication!

It is a jumble of words
that when initially read,
means nothing,
then when read again,
means one thing,
and then, upon rereading again,
means something else entirely!

Poetry is undisciplined thought!
Wandering and aimless,
incomplete sentences, with
no
sort of
useful
structure.
Poetry is nothing special.
It's just bad prose.

Poetry is the verbal vomit of the mind.
A stream of words that spatter upon impact.
Is it a wash of warmth over me?
Or a foul physically embodied belch
from the innards of a pretentious writer's mind?
If I examine the resulting mess, I can tell what It might have been
and I certainly don't want to consume it.

The Worst Poem About the Best Poetry

2008-10-03T12:10:00.000-05:00

True poetry...
Weilds the force and power
and lightning of words,
crafted to strike the soul.
My heart leaps, my eyes well up
A tone has been struck within me
and my whole being
...resonates.

The Worst Poem About Love

2008-10-03T12:09:00.002-05:00

Love isn't everything.
Love doesn't wash dishes, or do the laundry.
Love doesn't commute forty-five minutes to a thankless, underpaid job.
Love doesn't wake up at two-thirty in the morning to comfort a toothache.
Love doesn't stop the leak in the bank account.
Love doesn't fill the bank account back up again.
The work must be done.

I'll pay the bills
I'll prepare the meals
I'll go to work, day after day
I'll raise the children
I'll be by your side as I watch you fade
My heart breaking inside as I watch your slack expression
And as we converse, I ignore your slurring speech
But I try to be strong, and smile, and make corny jokes
And hold your hand as you lie in your hospital bed
And I try not to wonder if you'll ever come home.
Because I love you, I'll do whatever needs to be done.

Love isn't everything.
But without Love, there's nothing.

Summary of "The Negro Speaks of Rivers"

2008-06-26T11:57:00.001-05:00

I'll say it again... I don't like poetry, and this poem is a good example of why.

"The Negro Speaks of Rivers" vaguely conjures up images of the ancient Negroes living near the Euphrates, Congo, and Nile rivers and then tries to juxtapose them with the Mississippi at the time of Abraham Lincoln. I suppose Langston Hughes is trying to draw some line that connects together the people that surrounded these rivers, but it's unclear what that connection actually is, except for the fact that they lived by rivers. Then he somehow tries to tie The Negro's soul to these rivers. He states twice, "My soul has grown deep like the rivers"--once near the beginning and again at the finish--but never explains how the rivers are deep, nor how his soul is deep, nor even how his soul has *grown* deep. Does this imply that the soul of "The Negro" used to be shallow? Or that it only grows deep with the passing of centuries? (And what about the souls of Negroes who don't live by any rivers...?)

It also seems like he's trying to remind us that The Negro is an ancient race and has known these ancient rivers. But he doesn't say why he's telling us this, or why it's important. It's almost like the near-senile musings of an old man, reminiscing about old acquaintances. I'm simply left wondering what the purpose of this is...

It seems that he's also making a veiled statement about how the Mississippi river represents the condition of The Negro in America. He's "seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset," seeming to indicate that The Negro was muddied, and then, after Abe Lincoln emancipated the slaves, the filthiness has been replaced, now showing a beautiful and golden future. Or maybe he's saying something else.

I really can't tell for sure what Langston Hughes is trying to tell us. I sure hope his message here wasn't terribly important, because I can't understand it.

-------
The Negro Speaks of Rivers
by Langston Hughes

I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

1922

The "Real" Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge

2008-06-18T12:26:00.000-05:00

(The prompt was to discuss "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge" as an example of Literary Realism.)

Ambrose Bierce's "An Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge" is a good example of Literary Realism. Not only was it written during that American literary period, but also has the earmarks of a Realist work.

"The art of depicting nature as it is seen by toads," is how Bierce, with his biting wit, described Literary Realism in The Devil's Dictionary. Objectivity of the author is one of the characteristics of Realism. A Realist piece should consist of a detailed recounting of the people, places, things, and events, with no or limited commentary from the author. The entire Part I--the first seven paragraphs--of "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge" is just that. Events are not explained beyond the unemotional description of their details. In fact, the opening sentences describe a terribly emotional sight:

"A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down into the swift water twenty feet below. The man's hands were behind his back, the wrists bound with a cord. A rope closely encircled his neck."

This man is facing death by hanging! Death is among the most emotional and gripping situations that a reader can possibly be presented with, yet, in this Realist technique, it's described with an absolute emotional detachment--as if "seen by toads". The principal is that there is enough drama in these events by themselves that moralizing and judging commentary is not needed. These are stripped away to let the reader see drama in "real life" struggles. Additional artificial suspense, and other literary devices are also absent, again, to lay bare the human ordeal in it's "real" state.

Another signature, unique to Realism is that it "Renders reality closely and in comprehensive detail.... even at the expense of a well-made plot." (Campbell) The real story--the actual events that took place, not the fantasy in Peyton Farquhar's mind--is indeed rendered at the expense of a well-made plot. The author could have easily written the plot of Farquhar's dying hallucination as if it were the true story--the entire work is, after all, fiction. But, true to Realist form, the Romantic plot that would have made Peyton into a Hero of the South was sacrificed, and the pessimistic, more plausible--more "real"-- plot given in it's place.

But even in Farquhar's mental, heroic, Romantic journey, the Realist technique is at work. All the tiny details of life are noted:

"He felt the ripples upon his face and heard their separate sounds as they struck. He looked at the forest on the bank of the stream, saw the individual trees, the leaves and the veining of each leaf--saw the very insects upon them: the locusts, the brilliant-bodied flies, the grey spiders stretching their webs from twig to twig. He noted the prismatic colors in all the dewdrops upon a million blades of grass. The humming of the gnats that danced above the eddies of the stream, the beating of the dragon flies' wings, the strokes of the water-spiders' legs, like oars which had lifted their boat--all these made audible music. A fish slid along beneath his eyes and he heard the rush of its body parting the water."

This is a supreme example of close and comprehensive detail, and of faithfully representing "reality".

Bierce also seems to use this work as a demonstration of the distinction between Romanticism and Realism. The vivid visions that ran through the mind of Peyton Farquhar as he hanged in his noose are much like a fantastical plot of a traditional Romantic story. And even from inside his own visions, Peyton seems to be mimicking the traditional Romantic. He comments to himself, "What splendid effort!--what magnificent, what superhuman strength!," as he imagines his hands freeing their bonds, and then watching as "the cord fell away." These heroic, superhuman, feats are marks of a Romantic protagonist--the antithesis of a Realist character. But, outside of his mind, the depressing reality was that he "was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge." This seems to indicate the entire attitude of Realism against Romanticism: that Romantic notions are useless delusions, whereas Realism is the raw drama of life.

-----

Campbell, Donna M. "Realism in American Literature, 1860-1890." Literary Movements. Last Modified 02/06/2007. Accessed 6/17/2008. .

Bierce, Ambrose The Devil's Dictionary.

Summary of "Because I Could Not Stop for Death"

2008-06-13T12:01:00.000-05:00

This is the kind of poem that makes me hate poetry.

After reading this poem several times, I still had absolutely no idea what Dickinson was trying to communicate. All I gathered was that she was riding in a carriage, slowly, past a schoolyard, then through fields of grain, and eventually to a house that was buried up to it's roof. It was here in this house that she spent centuries, though it felt like less than a day.

So, after reading some interpretations of this poem, and a little bit about Emily Dickinson, I could grasp more of its meaning, but still not completely. Here's as much as I got:

I assume that Dickinson was beginning to be aware of her mortality at the time she wrote this. I imagine she's thinking that, when she gets old, she will still be working away, keeping busy, and not simply waiting to die, but Death will "kindly" come when it's time.

As Death arrives and takes her away, the carriage held "Ourselves"--she and Death--"And Immortality". Knowing that she attended a Seminary and was a devout Christian, I'm sure that this is a reflection of her faith. She recognizes that with Death, comes Immortality, so she has no reason to fear Death--but also no reason to seek it.

So, when Death arrives, she puts away her "labors" and "leisures"--the things of life--and gracefully goes without a struggle, on this new journey.

Now, I really don't know what she means when she describes Death taking her through the stages of life represented by the shool, the fields, and the setting sun. Is she seeing her own life pass before her eyes? Or is it a representation of her new immortal journey, with a new childhood, mid-life, and sunset?

And then why, if she's dead, is she getting cold? Maybe it's just a device for her to explain that she's wearing something like a wedding gown, indicating again that she's looking at death/immortality as a new life, rather than an end. (but then, if that's what she means, why doesn't she just say that?)

Then, finally she arrives at a house--a tomb? a sepulchre? (or is it a hobbit's hole?)--her final resting place. But this part I don't understand: Why is she then stuck in her grave for eternity if she's immortal? Why isn't her immortal soul off in a heaveny mansion, leaving her dead and useless body in the ground? Perhaps the specific doctrines of her faith would explain this? Maybe she is simply using the tomb::house metaphor to symbolize that she will be comfortable in her new existence--so comfortable that she didn't even notice when centuries have passed.

Now, while I'm sure that Emily Dickinson was trying to communicate something about accepting Death as an inevitable part of life, this communication is vague and limited by cramming these thoughts into a few lines of obscured language. If I have to try this hard to understand her message, perhaps the author has done a poor job of using language.

-------

Because I Could Not Stop for Death
by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –

Mistake University - An Education Like No Other

2007-06-18T22:27:00.000-05:00

This was a timed writing. The prompt was: "Write an essay of explanation (300 - 500 words)in which you explain to the reader your academic plans for the next two or three years. Be sure to include in your explanation not only your goals during this time, but the means or strategies you have of achieving those goals. Write your essay to an audience of prospective students who may benefit from your planning and motivation for achieving higher education."

I wanted to take it a different direction, but, because this was a school assignment, had to answer the prompt. So, here it is. I was given 4 hours to complete this; I did it in 2:39. I scored 92/100

When it comes to getting a college education, perhaps someone can learn more from my mistakes than from the things I've actually done right. I know many other twenty- and thirty-somethings, in my situation: Blessed with an aptitude for computers and technology, and thus have been able to build a fairly successful ten-year career without the aid of a post-secondary education. Until now.

Recently I've found that my career--and income potential--is limited from real advancement. What's holding me back? That rite of passage into the "professional" world: the Degree. Oh, sure, I can keep doing what I'm doing, and maybe, if I'm lucky, get a raise here and there, but more than likely, my value to employers will actually decrease as I age. I've finally figured out that in order for me to get ahead, I need to get an education.

At this point, I've only planned as far as obtaining an Associates of Science degree by the end of next year. I started taking online classes through the community college last fall, and I plan on continuing that pattern until I finish my A.S. A full load of twelve units per semester (four classes) is too big of a burden for this working student, but nine units is doable. With the few classes I've taken at other institutions included as transfer credits, I should easily be able to obtain my two-year degree early next year.

My long term educational "goals" can hardly be called goals--they've always been more like dreams. I have had the notion for many years that I would become a robotics engineer. To that end, I plan on getting a Bachelor's Degree in Electronic or Computer Engineering--or both. Also, because of my recent work as a technical instructor--truly the best and most enjoyable job I've ever had--I now want to get a Teaching Certificate as well. To advance in either field, robotics or education, I will need to earn at least a Bachelor's degree, and will probably also need to do some post-graduate work. I haven't yet figured out any details as to which university I will attend to attain such a degree--the "figuring-out" will probably come later this year. The B.S. will likely take me at least another two years to complete.

I wish that I had done all this long before now. It would have been easier to get a degree when I was younger, before I made too much money to qualify for grants, before I had a family, and before I had to worry about being a responsible adult. But, I can't turn back the clock. I've learned from my mistakes and I'm working now toward an education.

The Format War

2007-06-13T13:17:00.000-05:00

This isn't one of my better works, but I turned it in. I scored 92/100. I really wanted to go into much greater detail than 300-500 words would allow--I already hit over 900 words. This is by no means a comprehensive look at the current format war between Blu-ray and HD DVD. It is simply an explanation that there is a format war, and what it's about.

Nearly 25 years ago American consumers were first given the possibility of affordably keeping a library of movies and watching them at home. VCRs and video cassettes had become cheap enough that the average American household could start building a collection of video tapes containing major release movie titles. But they faced a decision whether to use VHS or Betamax video tape format. By the late 1980's the format war was over. Betamax was no longer a competitor and the VHS format had won by a landslide.

In 1996, the DVD was born (Taylor). The advantages that DVDs offered over the VHS video tapes were so great that in only five years DVD players were outselling VCRs (Equinox). Consumers replaced their prized collections of movies on VHS for the same titles--and more--on DVD.

With the recent advent of High-Definition television (Hi-Def or HD for short) came the demand for Hi-Def video discs. Hi-Def videos use anywhere between four and sixteen times the amount of data as Standard Definition video (the ordinary TV quality video we've been watching for decades). With the increased requirements from Hi-Def, our beloved DVDs won't be able to handle feature-length movies. Consumers are now being offered two competing discs to replace DVDs. As a result, we're facing the format war all over again, this time with two different discs: Blu-ray and HD-DVD.

In June 2007, we're still in the heat of the format war that began roughly five years ago. Sony, with the support of several other companies, created the Blu-ray Disc format (abbreviated BD), so named because of the blue laser used in reading the discs. The HD DVD format (which also uses a blue laser) was created primarily by Toshiba. The two companies are in a game of leapfrog, making improvements to their formats. In one example, the HD DVD format was first standardized with a maximum storage capacity of 15 Gigabytes (GB). Shortly thereafter, Sony touted that Blu-ray offered a capacity of 25 GB. Toshiba countered by doubling the capacity of the HD DVD format with new double-layer technology to 30 GB. Sony reacted and, using the same technology, doubled the Blu-ray format to 50GB, where it stands today. Recently, Toshiba retaliated by announcing triple-layer technology that will be used to push the HD DVD discs up to 51 GB. And on it goes.

Both sides know that the moment there is a clear leader, that lead will turn into a landslide. But, determining which format is winning is hotly debated. Each side spouts statistics trying to show the world that their format is the winner in this war, but the stats don't necessarily represent the truth. The numbers are handpicked and spin-doctored to give the impression of victory. One side will state that it's winning by the quantity of movie titles released under its format, and the other will show that it's leading with the number of discs purchased for their format. One side will proclaim itself the victor in the total number of players sold, and the other will counter with statistics showing more players sold for the current year. And the numbers are constantly changing from month to month, quarter to quarter.

An article by Martin Lynch in The Inquirer from June 7th, 2007 is a good example of how confusing and volatile this horse race is. "Figures from March estimate that Sony shipped 5.5 million [PlayStation 3] consoles [with Blu-ray players] by March, but has only sold over three million of them." (Lynch). Lynch goes on to explain that a recent announcement by a Toshiba exec has the potential to launch HD DVD ahead of Blu-ray: starting in "2008, every Toshiba laptop will sport a HD DVD drive as standard....IDC estimated that Toshiba sold 9.2 million laptops in 2006," (Lynch) which should equate to putting somewhere near 10 million HD DVD players in the hands of consumers by the end of 2008--just from Toshiba laptops, not counting stand alone HD DVD players. The article doesn't mention that Sony may return the blow and add Blu-ray drives as standard to Sony Vaio laptops.

It doesn't look like there will be a winner anytime soon. Early adopters and videophiles may want to pick their favorite format and root for their team, but it's risky at this date, for the average consumer to jump in on the side of one format or the other. Combo players (players that work with both formats) are available so that consumers can get the benefits of Hi-Def video now without waiting to see which disc format wins. Combo players, however, are still beyond the budget of most of us. The safe route is to wait and see who wins the format war before ditching your collection of DVDs for the next big thing. Who knows, the way it looks now, maybe these two sides will keep battling it out, and in a year or two there will be another upstart technology that beats them both.

Sources Cited:
Taylor, Jim DVD Demystified "DVD Frequently Asked Questions (and Answers)" Jan 2007. Viewed June 2007

Equinox (user alias) Movie-List "Movie-List Forums" “DVD: A Quick History and Facts” December 2002. Viewed June 2007

Lynch, Martin The Inquirer "HD DVD has a secret weapon: Toshiba drops a bomb" June 7, 2007

Self-Education in Digital Video Cameras

2007-06-10T09:42:00.000-05:00

The camcorder has come a long way in the last ten years. Unless you've been paying close attention to the technology's progress, it's easy to get lost. Even I, a self-proclaimed geek, found myself in over my head when I recently went shopping for a new video camera. I'm not usually the type to slap down a half grand on a whim--I need to know what sort of bang I'm getting for my buck. While I would have loved to take a semester of Digital Video Cameras 101, my school didn't seem to offer that class. So I started my own self-study. I set out on the web to learn the fundamentals of the new technologies, get some information on specific models, and figure out how much I would have to pay for one of these fancy new gadgets.

I first checked out easycamcorders.com, "your easy guide to reviews and ratings of camcorders". There are several tutorial pages on the site including a fantastic Beginners Guide. The guide covered the important aspects of digital camcorders, including important concepts, intended use, and useful featuers. Another helpful article on the site was "Top 10 Things You Should Know When Buying a Camcorder." It clearly explained many things I had not considered, but made sense. There were also other articles discussing the "how-to's" of specific features, but those wouldn't help me until after I had a video camera in my hands. I had learned the basics and was ready for the next step.

Easycamcorders.com also has a page for rating the digital video cameras they've tested. This served as a jumping-off point for researching specific models. There were links to exhaustive reviews that detailed the performance of the important features. The reviews were all well written and informative.

I was also interested in reading reviews from other owners of some of the specific camcorders that ranked well and were in my price range. So, I pointed my browser to Amazon.com, where there are many "amatuer" owner-reviewers posting thier experiences, commentaries, and recommendations. Some of the reviews brought up factors that had not been discussed in the "professional" review from easycamcorders. The combination of the "professional" reviews from easycamcorders and the "amatuer" reviews on amazon were helpful in narrowing down my list of candidates to just three models I would be happy with. The only remaining factor was price.

Ordinarily, I would scour the web for the lowest possible price and order online. I usually use nextag.com, and froogle.com, two different product and price search engines. I also compare prices for electronics on amazon.com, newegg.com, tigerdirect.com, and ebay.com. But in this particular instance, time was of the essence and I needed to get the device in the same weekend. This time I headed to the local Fry's Electronics to purchase the video camera. My final bit if research was pacing up and down the aisles, trying to find any of the models on my list, and then comparing prices. I found two of the three, and purchased the cheaper one.

There were no textbooks or quizzes for my self-study Digital video Camera course, but there was a final exam: purchase a camcorder that you can be happy with. My grade? I got an A.

Improving Public Schools

2007-05-27T11:14:00.000-05:00

This was another essay required by my English Comp course. It was a problem solving essay--define a problem and offer (a) solution(s). I scored 100/100

Educational institutions aren't educating our children as well as they should. Many public high schools pass our children from grade to grade and finally graduating them without ever having delivered an education. According to the National Center for Education Statistics, 28% of entering students take remedial courses in math, reading, or writing before starting core curriculum course work. The number is far higher, at 42% for 2-year public schools, like junior and community colleges. (NCES)

Teachers of children are wonderful. They do a job with an enormous responsibility. I have had teachers that have changed my life by the education they gave me. From kindergarten through college, I can recall teachers that have made a positive impact on my life. On the other hand, I've also had teachers that did nothing—or worse, actually discouraged my educational advancement. After taking Algebra II—or rather sitting through a class by that name—in high school, I knew I had learned nothing that would prepare me for the next level of math, so I didn't progress. There are some teachers who merely show up to work to collect a paycheck and perform with barely enough competence to avoid getting fired—just as there are in any other line of work.

Many of us have stories about a particular teacher that, because of that teacher's passion for the subject, a spark was ignited within ourselves and we, too, became impassioned for that subject. Conversely, many of us have also experienced the opposite: that certain teacher that, instead of teaching, maybe hurled the subject at us with such force and difficulty that it knocked us on our backs, and we learned to despise the subject . What does it help if students sit through class with that “fun” history teacher, but are never taught history? How is anyone benefited when a lazy teacher gives out good grades to those students who bring donuts? Too much is at stake. We can't afford to keep bad teachers or those who only pretend to teach. But what can be done about it?

Teachers need to be graded. We need our teachers to have meaningful performance reviews, and if they earn too many F's, they need to be fired. Maybe this sounds harsh, but it's no more terrible than what the rest of us face. If you or I fail to accomplish the job for which we've been hired, we too may face termination. I've determined that teachers must be evaluated with a composite of several different sources: student scores, supervisor reviews, and student reviews. An average of student scores would be used to determine whether the teacher is effectively delivering the required curriculum. Supervisor reviews would act as a means of evaluating goals and achievements. Most importantly, but handled very carefully, would be student reviews. I envision student surveys being conducted at 4 different times: halfway through the class, at the end of the class, and then one year after the class, and four years after the class. This would provide a comprehensive view of how effective the teacher was in reaching the students, and what sort of lasting effect was left by the teacher. These, taken together, would be able to provide a clear picture of how well a teacher is doing his or her job.

Teachers also need to be rewarded according to their performance. If a teacher is good at motivating students to learn and skilled at helping them do so—as reflected in their performance reviews—then they need to be paid accordingly. Hopefully this may also be an incentive to keep the best teachers working in the classrooms for a very long time.

Starting salaries need to be raised in order to attract ambitious and talented people. Many bright, sharp and gifted people I know have considered the career path of a teacher, only to find that the pay is too low for their them. Yes, there are intrinsic rewards that come from being an educator, and knowing that your work is making a difference in peoples lives. But those rewards don't pay the bills. The American Federation of Teachers, National Education Association, and the US Department of Labor all report that the national average for teacher salary is below $50,000 (AFT, NEA, US Labor Dept), with an average starting salary of less than $32,000 (US Labor Dept)—based on the typical 40-hour work week, that's roughly $15/hour. If starting salary was raised to a level commensurate with the difficulty of the job, there would be more competition for teaching jobs, allowing schools to pick only the best and brightest.

Lastly, if a student isn't performing well under the guidance of a particular teacher, he or she needs be given the opportunity to have a different teacher. Sometimes, no matter how good the teacher is, it's not the right teacher for that student. In these cases, students need to be offered the same course from a different teacher, or even from a different school.

If these things can be done, our public high schools will see immediate and long lasting improvements. Quality of education will rise, enriching the lives of students and their families.

Works Cited
Wirt, J., Choy, S., Rooney, P., Provasnik, S., Sen, A., and Tobin, R. (2004). The Condition of Education 2004 (NCES 2004-077). U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office.

George Jackson. “AFT Salary Survey: Teachers Need 30 Percent Raise Teacher Pay Insufficient To Meet Rising Debt, Housing Costs in Many Areas” March 2007. American Federation of Teachers

“neatoday” “Teacher Salaries” May 2007

Occupational Outlook Handbook. “Teachers—Preschool, Kindergarten, Elementary, Middle, and Secondary” section “Earnings” May 2007 U.S. Department of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics

The Everyday Laptop

2007-05-23T15:57:00.000-05:00

This was another essay required by my English Composition course. This was an 'evaluation' essay in with I had to choose a subject and evaluate it. I picked something easy...

When people find out that I know a thing or two about computers, the most common question I get is "what's a good computer to buy?" Recognizing that most people who ask this question aren't what would be described as "power users", I found a computer that I can recommend to almost everyone who asks. The Compaq Presario V6000 notebook is an inexpensive and all-around well functioning laptop that will meet the computing needs of most students and consumers. It's no high-performance gaming machine, nor is it a super slim, ultra portable traveler's dream, but it certainly has the important components in the right places for the right price. In fact, I liked it so much, I bought one.

The specific model I found, the Presario V6110US, has adequate computing power with a modest processor, sufficient memory, and a spacious hard drive. To start off, it is built with a mid-grade processor, an AMD 1.6 GHz Dual-Core. If that means nothing to you, let me briefly explain. The processor determines “how fast” the computer is, and is measured in Hertz (usually gigahertz or GHz). The relatively new multi-core processors work as if there are multiple separate CPU's working together—like a team of horses pulling a load instead of a single horse—and effectively multiplies the speed. So, this 1.6 GHz Dual-Core processor (1.6 x 2) works like a 3.2 GHz processor. The cutting edge processors available in laptops today (May 2007) are 2.3 GHz dual-core chips, which is equivalent to 4.6 GHz, and the low end laptops run at 1.6 GHz. So, the effective 3.2 GHz offered by this laptop is neither weakly nor musclebound, but modest and capable.

The V6110US is configured with 512 MB (Megabytes)--or half of a Gigabyte--of memory, or RAM. This is minimal, yet sufficient for all but the most demanding tasks. To understand memory, think of it as the workspace where all tasks are performed. With more memory, there's more room to open up heftier programs and bigger projects. The majority of what I, and most other users, do on a computer can be easily managed within half a "gig" of memory. Some people have a need for more memory because of certain school assignments which require more memory to run the way they're supposed to, such as computer aided drafting, or graphic design. Others have a preference for graphically intensive games, which also perform better with a greater quantity of memory. If you require more memory to handle these weightier applications, the laptop can be upgraded up to 2 GB--something I am considering, but haven't yet had the need.

Packed inside is also a 100 GB hard drive, which provides more than enough storage capacity for most people's needs. Unless you are an MP3 junkie or video pack rat, this hard drive will likely never be filled up.

This Compaq has plenty of computing power for web surfing, emailing, instant messaging, word processing, photo editing, movie watching, and even some modest video editing and gaming.

Beyond the raw numbers of processor speed, memory quantity, and hard drive capacity, this notebook also integrates many other features that take it from merely functional to versatile and . The display is a strikingly crisp and clear, 15.4 inch widescreen. This makes the laptop great for watching movies and DVDs on the go. The built-in combo DVD/CD drive reads and writes DVDs and CDs. This enables the user to create music CDs, make backup copies of DVDs, and back up irreplaceable homework assignments and other data. Integrated Wi-Fi (802.11g standard) provides wireless Internet connection at Wi-Fi hotspots or a home wireless router. Additionally, a built in Ethernet network jack is present for LAN connections, and there's a modem for dial-up Internet access. If you need connection to devices like a digital camera, MP3 player, printer, or external hard drive, this notebook includes two USB ports for expandability. These extra features, especially the widescreen display, DVD burner, and Wi-Fi connection, combine to add real usability to this computer.

Of course the primary reason to choose a laptop over a desktop computer is portability. This 6.6 pound computer—lighter than some textbooks—is light enough to carry in a briefcase, in a bag over the shoulder, or in a backpack. Again, it's not ultra-light, but it is portable.

My only real complaint is from the poor battery life. From day one, I haven't been able to get more than an hour of usage from it. This leads me to believe that mine may be defective, but I haven't yet called support about it. One other small complaint, also with regards to portability, is that because of the width of the screen, it turns out to be a bit wider than most laptops--and therefore, doesn't fit in the padded laptop pocket in my laptop bag. I guess this is the trade-off for the widescreen. While both of these drawbacks impact portability, it hasn't stopped me from taking it to work and back, and using it on my daily train commute.

I had been pricing laptops for several months before purchasing this one, and most of the ones I considered were selling between $750 and $1200. I picked this up on a sale at Fry's electronics in Dallas, Texas, in November 2006 for $699--after which there was a $30 mail-in rebate that almost covered sales tax. For all the features and power I was looking for, and the invaluable freedom provided by a portable computer, this laptop was--and is--a great value at less than $750.

In short, if you are looking for a laptop that can work where you go, provide the power you need for probably all of your computing needs, and has some of the nice extras, the Compaq Presario V6110US, and likely any of the Presario V6000 series, will be a good pick.

Response to "Beauty and Violence"

2007-05-22T00:40:00.000-05:00

Again, can't find a link to this essay, but here's my response to it.

Fool Me Once, Shame on You; Fool me Twice...

In "Beauty and Violence", Adam Forest responds to an ad from TIGI, makers of hair and makeup products. In his essay, he describes some truly awful imagery of violence against women. After reading his response, I pointed my web browser to the company's website, and after a few clicks I found a prominent warning label resembling something that would come from the Surgeon General. It stated, in big bold letters, "WARNING: You Must Have a Sense of Humour to Use Our Products" (http://www.tigihaircare.com/uk/products/). That message explained a lot that Mr. Forest must have missed. If this is what passes for humor at this British cosmetic company, it is sick humor, indeed. But it certainly changes the lenses through which I see this company and their ad, as well as Forest's review of it.

The name of the product line itself, "Bed Head", is the exact malady that we all try to cure with haircare products every morning. TIGI named these products with extreme irony. Likewise, Forest completely misses the point of the ad when he describes it as "the beautification of violence." What could be uglier than a black eye and a fat lip? They could have just called their new line, "Ugly", but that would have been far too obvious. Instead they chose something to embody the essence of ugliness, and again applied the irony. Unfortunately, their ad was in poor taste, as well as badly misunderstood.

While I applaud Forest's outrage at the displayed violence against women, and I agree that it is a serious problem, his efforts ought to be directed at real violence, not poor attempts at humor.

Response to "Teach Diversity--with a Smile"

2007-05-22T00:31:00.000-05:00

You will need to read Barbara Ehrenreich, "Teach Diversity - With a Smile". I can't find a link to it, but if you do, please post it in the comments. When I get to it, I'll post it here.

In "Teach Diversity--with a Smile", Barbara Ehrenreich's main point seems to be that multiculturalism and political correctness are being marketed poorly, but despite that, they are improvements over the preexisting philosophy of Western monoculturalism. Or, in other words, she seems to say "multiculturalism isn't as bad as what I had when I was growing up." This is no ringing endorsement by any means, but to make it worse, she makes weak arguments to support her thesis.

Ehrenreich opens by indicating that conservative critics are outrageously overreacting. She sites no sources, but makes vague references to "the media," and "a flock of tenured conservative scholars." It appears as though she's creating 'straw men' critics that don't really exist so that she can put words into their mouths, and then discredit them for having said such things. By this tactic, she writes-off the argument that freedom of speech is under fire by the promoters of "verbal purification."

Replacing one well-intentioned, yet inadequate system for another one doesn't necessarily make the replacement better than the old one. This, however, is exactly the argument that Ehrenreich uses to try to persuade the reader that, multiculturalism, by virtue of by throwing out monoculturalism, must be better. Ehrenreich flashes back to her experiences growing up under the "opression" and "deprivation" of monoculturalism, to illustrate that that it was indeed inadequate. While this may be true--the age she describes was before my time--she does nothing to explain how multiculturalism actually fixes any of the problems she describes.

In the same argument, as if deliberately trying to weaken her point, she claims to be a "victim" of of white educated-class privileges. This simply doesn't carry any weight when compared to real discrimination based on physical disablity, race, religion, or gender.

She DOES, however, recognize that the advocates of political correctness and multiculturalism seem more interested in "fashionable phrases" than taking action. Perhaps she, herself, is actively involved in helping people in disadvantaged statuses, but if such is the case she doesn't indicate it. All she seems to prove is that she is capable of spewing flowery support of multiculturalism.

Finally, after failing to come up with anything actually positive or beneficial that has come from multiculturalism or P.C.-ness, the best Ehrenreich can offer is that both sides of this heavily charged issue of clashing global cultures, is to "lighten up" because it's "livelier and ultimately more fun." These are words that are used to convince friends and roommates to go to a late night party when there's schoolwork to be done. This cannot be held up as a serious argument. To paraphrase Barbara Ehrenreich: Um...like, monoculturalism TOTALLY sucked when I was growing up, but multiculturalism is, like, WAY better, because it's more funner.

I believe Ms. Ehrenreich will indeed continue to "teach diversity--with a smile" of blissful ignorance. As much as she bought into the preching of monoculturalism without critical thought while growing up, she seems to have also swallowed the new doctrine of multiculturalism with equal consideration.

-Wes Larson

A Million Goodbyes

2007-05-21T00:27:00.000-05:00

It's dark, but my eyes are well adjusted to it. I've been up, getting showered and dressed for thirty-five minutes, and it's now time to leave. I look down to see my wife lying asleep on her side of the bed, her brown hair covering her face. I push it back, exposing her soft, rosy cheek, and give it a gentle kiss. "Goodbye" I whisper. She doesn't respond, but exhales softly. A few moments later I'm locking the front door behind me and then driving to work.

As I drive, I think back to all of the goodbyes, I've said to my wife. None of them have ever been permanent--I've never not seen her again. Every time we part, there's a goodbye. Sometime later--usually hours, but sometimes weeks, and occasionally months, but always-- we're together again. I begin to wonder, just how many times we've said goodbye to each other. Then I think back to the first big goodbye.

It was a sunny, warm day--not yet into the full blasting heat of Texas summer, but still very warm. I stood next to my little red car, which was was parked in the driveway of Misty's tiny house. There was barely room for a driver and a passenger--every cubic inch of that Ford Focus hatchback was crammed with nearly all my earthly possessions. We didn't know when we'd see each other next, but it had to be soon. We had only been engaged for three months when I was offered a job fifteen hundred miles away in California--a job that was just too good to turn down. So, there I was, leaving my beloved fiancée and her two little girls behind. Suddenly it was time to say goodbye. We stood there for a moment, looking into each other's eyes, holding each other's hands. We spoke, but I don't remember the words. We kissed. And we kissed again. It was time to leave. I hugged and kissed each of the little girls on the cheeks and climbed into my car. I put my arm out the window to squeeze Misty's hand again. She leaned in for one last kiss. Again, we said our goodbyes, and I promised to call as soon as I got to my destination. I started the engine and drove off, watching in my rear view mirrors to see her waving, and then returning indoors.

We had countless telephone conversations, with just as many goodbyes over the following ten weeks, but the next time we parted was not long after the first.

I was driving on a cool, gray morning. Misty sat in the passenger seat. I was filled with irrepressible happiness, and yet gloom hung just ahead. I gave her hand a squeeze. We had just eloped to Las Vegas after being apart for two and a half months, and had just ended an amazing and wonderful--and far too short--one-night honeymoon. Now she was flying back to her job and her children in Texas, and I was driving back to my job in California. I made the turns into the unfamiliar Las Vegas airport and eventually found a parking spot. I unloaded Misty's luggage from the back of the car and carried it to the terminal.

I don't remember the conversation, but I know we chatted as we walked. After checking in, we didn't have to wait long for her boarding call. I wished the wait was longer. I wanted the minutes to stretch on so I could just stay in the presence of my new bride. I didn't want her to go. Again, suddenly it was time for goodbyes. Again, we didn't know when we'd see each other next. We embraced. We kissed as passionately as we could in a public place. I then watched as she walked through the gate, and out of site.

As I drive in the early morning twilight, I think to myself, that was almost seven years ago. There were another two years of daily goodbyes, before our next long separation.

All three kids were asleep in the back of the van. It wasn't terribly late, but after a day at Disneyland, we were all tired. My flight was in one and a half hours, which should have given us just enough time to make it to the Los Angeles airport. I was about to take a two month business trip to India to train some technical support agents. "Sure, it would be tough to be away from each other," we told each other, "but we had been apart for this long before and it only strengthened our relationship."

POP! thup-thup-thup-thup-thup.

"Oh no!" Misty exclaimed. "We have a flat!"

She pulled the van to the side of the freeway, making sure to stop under a streetlight. Changing a tire is usually no problem for me, but this was going to be a challenge. I hadn't changed a tire on this vehicle before, and so had to discover the secret hiding places where the jack and lug wrench were stashed. My luggage was covering the the spare tire and had to be completely unloaded to gain access to it. And, it was dark. As fast as I could possibly work, I jacked up the van and removed the deflated full-sized tire and replaced it with a fully functional spare "donut". Finally, after roughly forty-five minutes, we were driving again. But now we were in mad rush to get me to the airport on time. Misty drove as fast as the little spare could take us without blowing out.

Thirteen minutes before my flight, we arrived at the airport. She pulled up to the curb, and Misty and I jumped out and unloaded my suitcases. There was hardly a second to spare for a quick peck of a kiss. "I-love-you-goodbye!" I hollered behind me, as I ran with my bags into the airport. It was a terrible goodbye. I would be totally out of contact for the next twenty-two hours as I flew halfway around the world. I wouldn't even know whether my wife and children made it home alright, let alone be able to do anything to help. But at least I made the flight.

My cellphone rings, bringing me out of my memories on my morning commute. "Hi, babe," I answer, seeing that it's Misty. "You're up early."

"I don't remember you giving me a kiss and telling me goodbye this morning," she pouts over the phone.

"Of course I did," I assure her. "You were sound asleep. You didn't even move."

"Oh." She sounds disappointed that she missed it. "Well, I just wanted to say I love you."

"I love you, too," I respond.

"Okay." She yawns. "I'll talk to you later."

"Promise?"

"Promise," she responds. "Bye," she says sleepily.

"Goodbye," and the call is disconnected.

One more goodbye. May there be a million more. And even then, someday, when one of us departs this world, it will only be a matter of time--maybe months, maybe years--before we are joined together in the eternities, forever connected, with no more goodbyes.

This essay was written as part of an English Composition course. It was a timed essay, to be completed in 4 hours (or less; it took me roughly 3 1/2 hours). I scored 92/100.

Disconnected Sardines

2007-05-18T00:22:00.000-05:00

I notice the behavior of complete strangers packed together in public places. The funny thing is that, with people encroaching on each others' personal space, there's so little interaction—so little human contact. I see this often on the morning commuter train.

The seats are uncomfortable and cramped. They are made of stainless steel and a thin pad of upholstery—more to give the appearance of two separate seats, than to provide comfort. My knees ache, pressed against the hard metal of the seat in front of me, and I try to keep my elbows tucked in front of me, since I'm jammed up against the wall to my left and someone else in the seat to my right. The woman seated next to me seems to be tired--after all, it is 6:17 AM. She is of African decent, and looks to be mid-40's, but I'm never good at judging ages. I don't stare at her, but notice that she's professionally dressed in a light tan overcoat and her hair is nicely styled in wide curls that cascade just below her shoulders. Her large black purse rests in her lap, the strap still over her shoulder.

The swaying of the train jostles us side to side and we can't help but bump elbows. Her voice cracks as if she hasn't spoken since waking. "Pardon me" she says politely, in a husky, contralto voice, though there is no fault to be pardoned.

The woman sitting in front of me has blond hair--it's not natural; I can see the dark regrowth beneath the yellow-blond twists of hair--done up in that modern fashion, randomly sticking out in different directions. From the back it's hard to assess her age, but I would guess she's younger than the woman sitting next to me. She's reading through a copy of Quick, a free newspaper. I can only make out a headline about American Idol. I try to read over her shoulder but the train is swaying too much at the moment, making it difficult. She turns the page, but the flimsy paper doesn't cooperate and folds and wrinkles in the wrong places, resulting in a battle of wills between the woman and the pages. After much crinkling and rustling, the fight is over, the page successfully turned. The people around her are unphased by the struggle.

I perceive the faint scent of shampoo or soap from the woman next to me. I try not to smell. Being this close to so many people with so many different hygiene habits (or lack thereof), I'm afraid of what might fill my nostrils. Thankfully it's pleasant this time, and I can, literally, breathe easier. I'd be more worried if I were sitting next to that guy sitting two rows up across the aisle. He's wearing workman's blue jeans--the kind that, even when they're clean they're stained with the residue of work--and a green T-shirt with a slightly faded company logo printed across the back. His dark, dark brown hair has grown long, like he hasn't had a haircut for a few too many weeks. Though I can't see his face, his body shows he's a relatively young, strong man—probably in his late 20's or early 30's. To be fair, he looks showered and shaven and ready for work, but later today, after a long day's labor in the Texas heat, whoever sits next to him will probably have their eyes watering from the stink of sweat.

The train slows. People shuffle positions, anticipating their stop at the nearing station. There is very little speaking; a few excuse me's. The doors at the front and the back of the train car give an angry hiss as they open. A few get off and more get on, filling up more of the scarcely available seats. Some decide taking a seat isn't worth the trouble and remain standing. The voice of the conductor squawks over the intercom, supposedly informing the passengers about the next stop and final destination, but it comes across as complete gibberish--more closely resembling the wa-waa-wa-waa speech of the adults in the Charlie Brown cartoons.

"Ding-Ding" and the train accelerates. The humming engines increase in pitch and the rushing sound of the wheels on the rails gets just loud enough to make conversation difficult. “Hrrrnnn, hrrrnnnn,” the train whines its warning to cars stopped at railroad crossings.

“Hiya,” says a woman's voice somewhere behind me. I don't turn around to see who's there; I know she's not speaking to me. “Ah know—Ah paid that yesterday,” she drawls impatiently into her mobile phone. She lowers her voice and I can't make out the rest of the conversation, which ends shortly.

I watch the man standing at the front of the train. He's older, probably in his 50's, with gray, thinning hair and a neatly trimmed gray mustache. His black (or is that dark brown? I can't tell in the dim florescent light) briefcase is tucked between his feet. He holds on to a handrail to steady himself against the movement of the train. He is slim, dressed in light blue polo shirt tucked into tan khakis—the business-casual “uniform”. He, like me, is looking around at the people on the train. Staring for a moment, then glancing down at the floor, then looking around again. Our eyes meet, and a hint of a smile crosses his face before he shifts his eyes away to look at nobody. There was almost a connection, broken off before before it could become human interaction.

We all sit (or stand) together in each others' silence. A few resting their eyes, some reading, some just bored, waiting for their destination. All together, each in solitude. We are disconnected sardines, tightly packed into a steel can, but politely and deliberately ignoring each other.

This essay was written as part of a college English Composition course. This is an essay submitted to show "observation". I scored 98/100.

The Church That Made My History

2006-11-27T04:05:00.000-06:00

I wrote this paper for an American History course I took. It was a broad assignment to write a paper that discussed something significant in my family's history--especially if it relates to immigration to this country. Much of it is plagiarized from other documents, published and unpublished, in my family history. I didn't cite any of them because my professor didn't require it for this project. I may, at some point in the future, cite my sources.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has had an enormous effect on the history of my family. From its establishment in Fayette, New York in 1830, the Latter-day Saints shared and preached their message as far as they could reach. When this message reached my ancestors, it changed their lives—and my history—forever.

Job Pitcher Hall and Mary Elizabeth Jones. Job Pitcher Hall of Belmont, Maine, was baptized and officially joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on April 6, 1844. His ancestry traces back to some of the first English immigrants to inhabit Massachusetts. Job Pitcher Hall is one of my Great-Great-Great Grandfathers. At the time he joined the Church, Job was 24 years old and still unmarried.

The Latter-day Saints, as the members of the Church are called, were called upon to assemble together, and the new headquarters of the Church at that time was in Nauvoo, Illinois, a peninsula overlooking the Mississippi River. Job obeyed and moved to Nauvoo. By 1846, religious intolerance of the Latter-day Saints had gotten to the point of brutal persecution in Nauvoo, as had happened in Ohio and Missouri. The Saints fled again to where they could freely practice their religion and live in peace. Under the direction of Brigham Young, the President of the Church, thousands of men, women, and children, including Job Pitcher Hall, again headed west. After traveling for over four months and over three hundred miles, the downtrodden Latter-day Saints stopped and built settlements along the trail through Iowa territory to ride out the winter and prepare for the longer journey to the Rocky Mountains. Job helped to build the largest of these settlements, Winter Quarters (near present day Council Bluffs, Nebraska). While in these winter settlements, the thousands of emigrants were organized into companies, and once the winter had passed, many of the companies began again to journey across the plains. Job stayed in Winter Quarters for another year and then, shortly before leaving Winter Quarters in February 1848, he married Mary Elizabeth Jones, another convert on the trek west, originally from New York City. Acting on council from Brigham Young, as indicated by an entry in his journal, Job traveled south along the Mississippi River to St. Joseph, Missouri. While there, in December, 1848, Job Pitcher and Mary Elizabeth Hall's first child was born. Two years later, in 1850, the young family began to make their way toward Salt Lake City. On that journey, their second child was born.

Job Pitcher Hall and his small family arrived in Salt Lake City in late 1850. But their journey was not yet over. Brigham Young called for one hundred men to settle Little Salt Lake Valley (in present day Iron County, Utah, near the southwest corner of the state). Job volunteered. Job arrived in late 1850 and helped to establish the settlement. He is credited with helping to build the first log cabin in Iron County. Mary and their two small children arrived a few months later in May, 1851.

Job Pitcher Hall lived the rest of his life helping to settle new towns in that area. He fathered twenty children from three wives. He worked hard all his life—even after becoming crippled from rheumatoid arthritis. He maintained a conviction to his faith until death, and left a legacy of that faith for generations. He faced hardships like all early settlers, but, according to his oldest daughter, he did not complain, and often praised his Heavenly Father for his blessings. Job made sacrifices, met challenges, and lived in a way that, without the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, he never would have done.

Samuel Barnhurst and Ane Marie Jensen. Samuel Barnhurst is another one of my Great-Great-Great Grandfathers. Shortly before his birth, his family immigrated from England to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where they became established and attained some measure of wealth and prestige. In 1857, Samuel was thirty years old and married with two children. He was enjoying the benefits of his family's status and earning a very good living working in the family business.

Samuel was working on a research paper on religion. He was writing about the changes that happened to long established European churches when they moved to America. Soon after he started his research, he heard about an American church that believed in angels and had a new bible written in gold. He became very interested and discovered more about it. He found it a very practical church, and a very workable religion. He began to talk about this new and interesting church to his associates who kidded and teased him about it. Despite the ribbing, they listened to what he had to say.

His wife and one of his sisters heard about the discussions with his friends and wanted to know what he was learning, asking him to explain it all to them. They told him not to bother with those friends who thought it was funny, but to tell only them about it. They assured him that they would listen any time—and they did. He was delighted to explain this new Gospel to his wife and sister, and even had plans for them all to be baptized soon and join the new church.

One evening he came home a little early and, not wanting to disturb his butler at a busy time, came quietly around to the side door and entered with his key. The door to the music room was ajar and he could hear conversation. He stopped to listen to find out whether he should prepare to be a host to guests and who they might be. What he heard changed his life. Speaking, was his wife, his sister and the minister of the Anglican Church. They were all very concerned about his studies of the American church. The Barnhursts were very concerned about their social position in relation to this new church, its members, its beliefs and the reputation of its founder, Joseph Smith. They could not bear the stigma of it all.

As they discussed their designs to put an end to Samuel's conversion, Samuel listened in. The plan was that when Samuel rang the front door bell that evening, the butler would come to take his coat. Before it could be completely unbuttoned, the butler would jerk the coat down and around him, using the coat to pin his arms to his sides. His wife and sister would rush to each side of him to immobilize his arms and the minister would gag, blindfold and tie him up. They would then carry him out the back door where a carriage was waiting to take him to incarcerate him in an insane asylum. It was much less disgraceful to have a family member known to be insane than known to be a Mormon! Hearing this, he silently went upstairs, kissed his two sleeping children good-bye, then went out to the stable for his horse and left.

He went to join the Saints and arrived at Salt Lake City August 7, 1857. Soon after he arrived in Salt Lake City, Bishop Peterson came to see him. Bishop Peterson, who spoke Danish and English, was the leader of a Danish-speaking congregation. They talked a bit and the bishop said to him, "You are a fine healthy young man. You should marry and raise a family". Samuel told him his story. He said he already had a wife and children in Philadelphia and didn't have the heart to go courting. The bishop told him, "You can take a second wife." The bishop then asked, "If I can find you a good, decent young lady, will you marry her and have a righteous family with her"?

Ane Marie Jensen was born in Denmark in 1833. By the time she was twenty-one years old, she was apprenticed to a fine sewing house in Copenhagen, Denmark in 1854. Ane lived with her parents and their other children, but was engaged to be married. While living and working in Copenhagen, she met the missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who were proselyting in the area. At first, Ane Marie was merely curious as she listened to the missionaries. Then, as she listened more, she began to deeply value the principles she was learning. She started to talk to her fiancé and her family about the things she was learning.

They listened and asked questions, but they were not happy about the idea of leaving their Lutheran church and joining this very strange American church. Her fiancé felt it was a disadvantage for a young couple to saddle themselves with, and even told her that he could not marry her if she joined that church! Her parents said it would shame them and the whole extended family if she joined. Ane made the decision that she would do as her family felt was best and went to the meetings no more. She still worked for the house and made clothes for nobility, but no longer felt the joy she had before.

As the months went on, she began to feel very cold. First her feet wouldn't stay warm, then her fingers never got warm and finally they became so cold she couldn't hold her needle. She took this as a sign to her that God was not pleased with her choice. So she made an arrangement to be baptized on July 20, 1854. Winter was over, bu the ice on the river that runs through Copenhagen was still breaking up and ice floes were floating by on it. Despite the cold, she was going to be baptized. When she went into the water it caught her breath, but said it was no colder than her hands and feet. When she came out of the water, her hands and feet were warm and she used her hands to warm her face. She was not chattering with cold, but felt warm all over. She took this as a sign that not only was God pleased with her choice to be baptized but that it was a sign that she was a part of the true church.

Three years later, Ane Marie had earned enough money to travel to America to join the Latter-day Saints. Once she reached land, she traveled by wagon and then on foot to Salt Lake City. She reached her destination on September 18, 1857.

At Salt Lake City she worshiped with a Danish congregation. Soon after she settled, the bishop, Brother Peterson, called to see her. "You are strong and healthy and young,” he said. “You should be married and raising children," he told her. "I don't have the heart to be courted,” she said and then told him about her broken engagement in Denmark and about a man on the wagon train who wanted her to be his second wife. "Well, in that case", he said, "If I find a fine decent young man for you, will you marry him?" She knew it was her duty and desire to raise up a righteous generation, so, "Yes, I will", she said.

Ane Marie Jensen and Samuel Barnhurst met November 29, 1857 and were married the same day. She knew no English and he had never heard any Danish, but with the help of Bishop Petersen, they would each learn Danish and English.

My ancestry is tied to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When these people crossed paths with the Church, the course of their lives were changed. No longer could they stay in comfortable ignorance of the Gospel truths they heard. They each felt an obligation to make sacrifices for their faith. Were it not for their sacrifices or faith, my history would be very different than what it is.