Category — Site Authors

whoshewas

**It was the request of my interviewee that I keep their name anonymous in the writing of this project. To keep their identity private, I will use the name, Jackie Ross, in place of her real name. That is neither her first nor last name.**

Alcohol and drugs are often things that play a major role in the self-destruction of one’s life. The ability to overcome those types of addictions is amazing in itself and it is a feat that it is often extremely difficult for people to do. For my podcast, I will tell the story of my Aunt Jackie and how for a major part of her life she battled an addiction of both drugs and alcohol, but how that addiction has made her to be a better person today. This is a somewhat sensitive subject to her though, being that I have lived in the same house with her for eighteen years and even I had never heard about her story until this assignment was given.

Growing up as one of ten children in an Irish family, Jackie Ross didn’t always connect well with her family. She wasn’t one of the youngest in the family. She wasn’t one of the oldest. She was the fifth child born and often did her own thing in the household. She said how she was the quiet one in the family and at times was very insecure about herself. This led to her drinking at an early age. She had her first beer at the age of twelve and she immediately liked the feeling it gave her. She said that alcohol helped her cope with her insecurities with school and home. Around the age of fourteen, she started going to bars every weekend. The drinking age was eighteen back then. Her drinking habits got to a point where her life revolved around alcohol. She didn’t want to do anything if it meant she couldn’t drink. She compared her life to my life in Macaulay. She said that if her class ever went to Broadway shows back then, she wouldn’t have gone…because that would require her to be sober, and she didn’t see that as a possibility.

After a few years of drinking, my Aunt Jackie came upon drugs and became hooked on it. She said that cocaine eventually went hand in hand with alcohol. If she did one without the other, she wouldn’t feel complete. It was around this time when she started getting massive hangovers every morning. She said she would throw up a few times a week and be sick basically all the time. Jackie knew it was a problem but couldn’t find it in herself to quit. She tried multiple times to stop but it wouldn’t work. It just made her crave drugs and alcohol more.

It wasn’t until Jackie Ross went to Brooklyn College to get her Master’s Degree in 1987 where she eventually made a transformation. She was failing in school and had gotten fired from her part-time job at a corner grocery store. She came to a realization that she literally could not go on living like this anymore. She felt if she stuck with her drinking and drug abuse, she would end up dying at a very early age. That sudden self-actualization and I guess you can say, “epiphany”, changed her life. Jackie went to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings for several months afterward and eventually moved past her struggles and overcame them. She noticed a difference in her life right away. She became an overall happier person once she quit and became better for it. She ended up getting her Master’s degree and landing a good job at Baruch College where she remains today.

It was in 1989 where she finally quit all drugs and alcohol and hasn’t consumed any since. Jackie Ross described herself as being a selfish person at the earlier stages in her life. She almost lost her family and herself. But with her recovery and experiences, she says she is a better person for having gone through it all. And although she admits that these are mistakes in her life she is not happy about, she does not regret them. It has made her a much stronger person, both physically and mentally. She says how today she loves the feeling of not being tempted in the slightest to drink alcohol and she has her past to thank for that. My Aunt Jackie ended the interview humorously by saying how now when she goes out to restaurants and travels, she doesn’t have to buy $15 drinks that are being served. Plus, it keeps the calories away!

Podcast

I am going to tell you all a story about my mom, Anna Maria Isabella Theresa Gallo. Even though her life is full of meaningful, sometimes, historical events, like my birth, I chose the following story because it sums up what kind of person my mom really is. But, the only way I can tell you this particular story is if I first give you all a summary of who my Mom’s family are and what they are like.

My mom’s father, my grandpa, first came to America during World War II. He was part of the Italian Merchant Marines, when one day the ship he was on docked in NY harbor. After leaving the ship to explore New York he realized he never wanted to go back to Italy again. He never stepped back on that ship and soon found himself an illegal immigrant living in a strange new world. Eventually he found a Sicilian wife and they settled down in the Bronx. They had two children, the older one, Anna, my mom, while the younger one, Ralph, was my Uncle. Eventually they moved to Oakland Gardens, Queens. My mom and uncle always like to tell stories about how old fashioned my grandpa was. I do not know how true they are, all I know is that even if half of the stories are true I would never trade my parents for him. My grandpa had narrow views on marriage. According to them many of the backwards things he believed was that women should not go to college and that they were actually inferior to men.

By the time my mom was a senior at Cardozo High School it started to look like she would be the first person to graduate in her family. My grandpa wanted my uncle to continue his education after high school, but that dream was crushed when my uncle was expelled from school during his sophomore year. Every time I ask about how my uncle got expelled I get a different answer. These answers range from selling drugs to being involved in a race riot.

By the time my mom graduated high school in 1973, it looked as though her future was set in stone. She was attending Queens Community College and was only nineteen years old when a young man named Joseph Deluvio asked her to marry him. This man is not my father and my mom never married him. This man, my mom’s first fiancé was in line to own a pizzeria that his father owned, and according to my mom, his family was already well off. She even hinted to me that some of the money did not come from the pizza. My mom does not remember much from those lost years, but what she does remember is what happened afterwards.

During her junior year of college she dropped out so that she could plan her wedding. But, by the summer of that year my mom realized she did not want to marry this man. After her fiancé caught my mom in a “lie” she decided that she could not marry a man that checked up on her and worried about “things that were so petty.” She broke off the plans for the wedding and for the next six months spent her time in Europe in order to find herself. She told me that she learned two things during her time in Europe, “life is for the living,” and “Americans have better bathrooms, but Europeans have better chocolate.”

When she came back to America she moved out of her parents house and bought an apartment in Astoria. Back then Astoria was a cheap neighborhood, but it was not cheap enough for my mom to afford. Her ex-fiancé, in an act of goodwill helped my mother make her first steps on her own. She started to work for Morgan Stanley as an Administrative Assistant in order to make ends meet, and in the next year or two was back at school. She reenrolled at Hunter and worked nights to pay for the tuition.  My mom told me why she did not ask her father for the tuition, “I was on my own,” she said, “And it’s not like he cared about my education… He even had the nerve to ask me once why I was even going to college.” One year after reenrolling my mom became the first person in her family to graduate from college.

With no guidance counselor, precedence, or encouragement, my mom decided that a Bachelors degree was not good enough for what she wanted to be, it was then that she decided to get her Masters degree in Social Work at NYU. Even back then the price of admission to NYU would give people heart attacks. What was my mom thinking when she decided to take out large student loans and work long nights for a social work degree, a degree, considered by many to have no monetary value? The answer is that my mom wanted to be a psychotherapist and she was not going to let money get in her way. Even though a PhD. in Psychology was also an option, my mom decided that it was better for her to become a psychotherapist, and getting a Masters in social work would be the most economical and fastest way to start her career. Even though Psychologists get paid more my mom just wanted to treat and help people.

It was during her time in graduate school that she met my dad, who was a younger graduate student studying social work at Columbia. But, that is the beginning of another part of my mom’s life, something that would not fit into this essay and will have to be told on another day.

LINK: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ujgJ86R2vW8

For generations, Buddhism was taught on my mother’s side; my grandmother was brought up under a mother who was a very religious Buddhist. My great-grandmother made sure to raise her eight children, especially my grandmother and great uncle, to be kind to everyone around them, to not discriminate, to give back to the community, and to have good morals. Within her household, she would burn incense and pray to Buddha. She taught her children to help others in need and never ask for anything in return; she would set examples by helping fellow neighbors with their groceries and babysitting their children and having my great-grandfather help with mechanical repairs in their homes.

When she passed away, during her burial, my grandmother and my great uncle swore they witnessed a white light shoot out from the ground and into the sky. My great uncle had a revelation and knew that this sign was a calling to pursue Buddhism. Immediately, he gave up his career as a successful veterinarian and started attending meetings with other Buddhists and their master.

He attended weekly meetings and started to pray, and soon he was a devout Buddhist. He stopped spending money in excess and increased his volunteering time at his local hospital and soup kitchens. Every time he passed by a non-profit organization that was fundraising, such as the Salvation Army or the American Cancer Society, he donated whatever money he had in his wallet. He was taught that giving and expecting nothing in return was the way his life should be, for his mother taught him that that was the correct path to being useful in the world. He met many other followers of Buddha and networked all over the world. He followed his master wherever he went to teach Buddhism. Soon, he became almost like his master’s shadow because he gained so much knowledge.

Over time, he grew in rank and knowledge and was elected and won title of master and took over the position of teaching his followers the way of Buddhism. It became my great uncle’s mission in life to spread the religion and values of Buddhism. He sacrificed his social life, and kept his wife and children at home while he travelled the world to enlighten people about Buddhism. He sincerely believes his association with Buddhism has helped his family: previous business investments have prospered and his followers all have good fortune and comfortable lives.

When he travels he does not preach for people to convert to Buddhism, but instead stresses the importance of doing good for others; Buddhists believe that giving to others will result in good returns. He encourages people to become vegetarian because he believes that animals who are killed for their meat have done nothing wrong to cause their deaths and that it is sinful to deprive anything of its life. He chose to become vegetarian and now avoids meat, as well as garlic and scallion in the belief that they have contents that make people’s tempers irritable.

My great uncle believed that the light coming from his mother’s grave was the turning point in his life because he completely changed the direction he was going in. As a veterinarian, he still felt as if he did not serve great enough purpose, and wanted a chance to help people on a greater scale than merely taking care of their pets. He would volunteer at places such as hospitals and soup kitchens, but he wanted to do more. By converting to Buddhism, he believes his life is more meaningful, and he wishes to spread not just the religion of Buddhism, but the act of giving and helping out other people not for the sake of good fortune but for the sake of being selfless and philanthropic. He has taught families to be strict on teaching their children the values of respect to others and treating others the way they want to be treated in order for them to grow up to be good people.

Image Credits:

https://anitagrant.com/images/stories/Blog/GivingBackjpgTxt.jpg

http://mhtgifts.com/zencart/images/38697.jpg

http://www.sitepoint.com/blogs/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/volunteer.jpg

http://kingdomofstyle.typepad.co.uk/my_weblog/images/2008/02/24/dsc03478.jpg

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3534/3910881987_715bda3c78_z.jpg

http://coloring.thecolor.com/color/images/Veterinarian.gif

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t73/amerbud/The_Sangha.jpg

http://cdn.wn.com/pd/e4/83/90aca8140974e45d2b3b7976e67f_grande.jpg

http://www.dagamite.com/images/small%20world%20travel%20logo.jpg

http://top-10-list.org/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/Buddhism.jpg

http://www.criticalbench.com/images/muscle-vegetarian1.jpg

http://yeahthatskosher.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/no-meat.jpg

http://azahar-sevilla.com/sevilletapas/wp-content/uploads/2007/10/vegetables.jpg

http://images.fanpop.com/images/image_uploads/Vegetarian-vegetarians-572517_800_285.gif

http://middlepath.com.au/qol/img/happiness09_help-others.jpg

http://library.geneseo.edu/~kdhoffman/Critical_Thinking.jpg

http://www.tranquilitytrail.org/images/volunteer_clip_art_v3bi.gif

http://religions.iloveindia.com/images/buddhism.jpg

http://worldreligion.nielsonpi.com/media/buddhism.jpg

http://www.writespirit.net/image/kedar/golden-buddha

http://i.ehow.com/images/a04/jl/t5/raise-polite-child-200X200.jpg

http://graphics8.nytimes.com/packages/flash/Lens/2010/05/20100517-NS-Showcase-Krulwich/20100517_NS_Showcase_Krulwich_embed1_190px.jpg

As Sara Krulwich walked toward the first row of students to show how close we should get to our subjects when taking photos, I could tell that she had a very outgoing and fearless personality.  She wasn’t concerned about getting close, and about doing something outside of the norm.  She was also able to connect with the class and create a comfortable environment, as she treated us photographers, and even complimented some of our works. Never in my life have I ever been complimented for my artwork, so when Sarah Krulwich, a renowned photographer for the New York Times complemented some of my photography I was both happy and surprised.  It is this personality that allowed Sara Krulwich to have a successful career as a photographer, as she took huge strides for women in what was at the time, a prominently male field.

During her classroom visit she showed us many of her photographs that she had taken or had been take of her.  One of the photos that stuck out to me was of her at the Michigan football game, where she is the lone woman on the field.  She was trying to take photos for the college paper, and in order to do so, she had disregarded the rules, which stated that women weren’t allowed on the football field.  This photo exhibited her as both brave and progressive. What I found most interesting about her was her ability to make the most of her opportunities.  When she first started off as a photographer, she was assigned to photograph sporting events.  She talked about the difficulties she dealt with in photographing sports, which included the lack of sports knowledge, and the criticality of timing.  If you are early or late, even by a split second, you will not be able to capture the moment you are looking for.  Although it was tough, she learned the ins and outs of photographing the fast paced action of sports.  Later in her career, she was able to bring this same style to theatrical photography, which has resulted in some fantastic, action-packed photographs.

Podcast

Hey everyone, this is Leon Baburov and today, I traveled through the depths of the Internet and plunged into the hacking world. My interview was done on a hacker who preferred to be called “Johnny Quest.” I came across Quest in my search for a hacker to interview. He was by far the nicest person on the mass-internet-relay-chat server that the hacker channels were hosted on. I later found out that the server actually belonged to him.

My first question to Quest was a simple one: “At what age were you drawn to hacking?”
Quest said that it depends on my definition of hacking, so it was when he was either 12 or 16 years old.

This begged the follow-up question: “What do you define as hacking?” I asked this because everyone has their own, personal definition. Quest replied: “What is commonly referred to as ‘hacking,’ would be more accurately classified as ‘computer hacking.’ Social engineering is a type of hacking too, but it’s ‘people hacking.’ If you’re a really good mechanic, and can do crazy things with a car’s engine, perhaps you’d be an ‘auto hacker.’ What I would define as hacking very roughly is the search for a way to use things in unexpected or unplanned ways.”
Quest then proceeded to answer what drew him to hacking in the first place, especially at such a young age.

He really likes knowing how things work, and takes things apart in search of this knowledge. He likes puzzles and the reason what computers and computer hacking appealed to him so much was because they allowed him to do most of what he wanted for free, because it was all online. He could also work at his own pace, and wasn’t held back by a slow teacher or class.
When asked what he saw himself doing in five years, he replied very vaguely “probably more of the same: working and playing with my computers at home.” I politely asked him to elaborate, even though he was clearly trying to keep most of his personal life a secret to maintain his anonymous identity. He replied that he spends a lot of time on the computer – who could’ve guessed! He has around twelve computers and they require a lot of maintenance. He writes a lot of code just for fun, doesn’t play video games, and spends most of his time just experimenting. “I like puzzles.” He repeated again. “It’s like those kids who play with rubix cubes all day… all four of them. Writing code is like building with LEGOs though, and since I’m not doing it for school/work, I can do whatever I want: games, apps for personal stuff, hacking experiments. My biggest problem is that I don’t have enough time to do all that.”

Well, Johnny Quest was certainly an interesting individual, and one who I learned much more about from this interview. It gave me, and hopefully you guys as well, a different perspective into what hacking is about. Thank you all, and thank you, Johnny Quest for the new insights!

Who He_She Was

In 1978 China passed a policy that would change the way families and males are seen in the Chinese family. It was a policy aimed at the controlling the population of China, and it is a policy that is still in affect to this day. The One Child Policy officially restricted families to one child and any family with more than one would be exempt from many privileges and taxed heavily. My mom recalls the affects that this policy had on surrounding families in her province. She was born in Wen Zhou, a small farming province that recently has undergone urbanization. Her family was not directly affected by this policy because she and her siblings were born before the one child policy took affect; however, later on in her life she would be directly faced with the consequences of the one child policy.

My mom gave birth to my brother in 1986 in Hong Kong and I would be born five years later in 1992. From the beginning my mom knew this would create many problems for our family. My mother’s family was never a rich family and was struggling to keep their farm. She decided to send me to my grandmother’s farm for her take care of me, as my mom decided what to do. My earliest memories were of my grandmother and it was not until I was three years old that I met my direct family. The encounter was abrupt as my mom snatched me from my grandmother’s arm and dragged me to the airport to quickly board the plane, this was my first encounter with my mom. I thought she was a cruel woman to steal me away from my grandparents. The plane was heading for the United States and for most of my life I had believed that the move to the United States was a curt decision.

It was only recently in this interview with my mom did I discover the true decision for sudden change in my life. My mom said that her family was negatively affected by the one child policy. The government had exempt our family from many privileges such as higher education and increased our taxes dramatically. At the family’s current state they could not afford to have a second child. In fact she had claimed that she never intended to have another son and had in fact wanted to stop at one child. At the time Hong Kong was exempt from the one child policy and she told me that our family moved to Hong Kong briefly. During my stay with my grandmother my mom formulated a plan to move to the United States to avoid the one child policy. It was a decision that would dramatically change her life and our family’s life as well. Her life was based in China and her entire family was there as well. For her to move would be a huge sacrifice. It truly takes a large amount of character for anyone to agree to throw away more than thirty years of his or her life to start a new one in a foreign land. My mom told me this was an about face moment, where she pushed herself to do something she never had the courage to do. For much of her life she had been a traditional person that relied on the bond of family to help her thrive in life. During the moment of her decision to move, she said that she felt a new courage she did not know existed in her. She said when she got on the plane she pushed our family to quickly go on and not look back because our family would be starting a new life.

Even during her stay in the United States her courage stayed with her. My said adjusting to an American life style was difficult and often she felt like people were mocking her because she could not speak English. My mom said she had to deal with people that simply did not care where she came from. But in the end she kept on searching for a place to settle. She eventually came to settle down in Flushing, where she was able to build a tight nit Chinese community. My mom claims that she brought a bit of China with her and turned the neighborhood all yellow- that was my mom’s attempt at joking. It was quite difficult for her to move away, but if it was not for her sudden change in character our family could be in the streets by this point.

Before going to the Museum of Modern Art on Thursday, the last time I went to an art museum was with my parents, when I was just eight years old. I remember my Dad commenting on how me and my twin sister were so anxious about getting it over with that we would run through all the exhibits without really looking at anything in order to get the trip over with as soon as possible. I do not know where my parents got the bright idea to bring two eight year olds to an art museum, but the events that unfolded that day might have something to do with the fact that my Mom has never asked or shown interest in going to a Museum ever again. My Dad, on the other hand, has always wanted me to experience culture and when he found out that I was going to MOMA with my class he could not have been more ecstatic. I, on the other hand, was cautious before seeing the exhibits at the MOMA, since I was told that some of the art was mind-boggling.

The day of the trip I arrived at the museum around forty-five minutes early, allowing me to walk around the gift shop and lobby area. The only way I can give a review of MOMA is if I include my first impressions, even if the stuff in the gift shop were not what some people would consider art, they interested me enough so that I remember them almost as well as the paintings. After entering the museum’s doors I immediately thought that any museum with big flat couches and plants in elaborate glass containers jutting out of the wall should be an interesting experience. I was also intrigued the witty assortment of interesting paraphernalia I saw in the gift shop. This included wind up feet, a metal Rubik’s cube which changed shapes, and cups with the Piet Mondrian pattern on it. After being impressed with my initial surroundings I could not be any more excited to see the rest of the museum

The first exhibit we saw was a piece by a man who hated museums and hated mainstream art. The exhibit consisted of all the food he ate for an entire year. It was interesting, but if I did not really know if it was actually art, and it did to interest me enough to even debate the matter. My problem was that if someone is going to take something that most people do not consider art and then call it art, in my opinion it has to be at least interesting enough to spark some sort of debate. All this exhibit did was make me feel sorry for a guy who seemed to live off of lemonade and asthma medication for a year.

The next exhibit was a showcase of how modernism has evolved over the years from abstract images of real things to the complete and total simplicity. I really did enjoy learning and seeing for myself how modernism evolved. I was impressed by how the curators set the show rooms up, allowing us to, not only see individual artists works in one room, but also the evolution of modernism, and the different forms modernism took. From the perfectly smooth paintings with only a line going through it, to multi-textured works with layers of seemingly random and chaotic brush strokes, it was all quite a spectacle. I could only guess as to what each individual artist was trying to prove, but it was still very pretty and always fascinating.

I was most intrigued by the last exhibit we saw, the one that that examined lines. Even though the theme and ideas that were displayed went way over my head, it was still interesting to see the way artists used lines in different ways. Some of my favorite pieces from that exhibit were the box made out of barbed wire, as well as the quirky way the curators made a line around the exhibit using every day items like duck tape, combs and rulers. The pieces on display varied from grandiose displays covering entire walls to small little photographs one could easily miss. It was fun looking at all the art and finding new and interesting pieces every time we entered a room. I thought that the idea of having small and medium sized rooms with only fragments of the exhibit in each one was a brilliantly idea. The way the exhibits are laid out really makes you want to see what is in the next room and stops you from trying to see everything at once by just walking down a long corridor like in other museums.

Overall, I was pleasantly surprised with what was presented at the MOMA. Even though almost all the art was too abstract for me to comprehend the curators made it so that even people who know nothing about modern art can enjoy the pretty paintings and sculptures, as well as some of the more quirky and interesting stuff they have. Even though most people associate MOMA with abstract art that can only be understood by New York intellectuals, I still felt that the museum welcomed someone like me, who did not know what to expect or how to appreciate it.  Whether it’s two fans blowing a round metal wire back and forth, classic works of modern art, or cool toys at the gift shop, MOMA seems to have something for everyone.

After going through my blog posts, it occurred to me that I am one cultural encounter short of the required number. Very easily I could draft up a summation of the semester, or describe my transition to the city; yet I would ultimately kick myself if I did not write just once on my favorite time of the year, Christmas. In the past, my ‘encounters’ have pondered serious questions and I had attempted to write them with the utmost eloquence and significance, what follows is quite different from what I have already written about, as I find it fitting to end the year on a lighter note. (If you so desire eloquence or gravitas, feel free to peruse my archives.)

In addition to the obvious religious importance, to me the Christmas season has come to typify all that is good in the world. The music, the giving, the lights, the atmosphere in the city, the smiles on people’s faces, the weather (yes, I said it), the happier attitudes, the decorations, the Santas on street corners, the trees, the wreaths, the candy canes, the stockings, the presents, the looks on people’s faces when they open the presents, the poems, the movies, ‘Yes, Virginia’ (my favorite!), the food, the family, the friends, the fireplace, you name it; I have come to love it all.

In fact, this past Saturday, I found myself risking both life and limb setting up lights on my roof (a la ‘Christmas Vacation’, best non-stop-action Christmas movie out there). Its funny to consider then that my favorite part of the season has nothing to do with decorations or gifts or songs, rather what I have come to love the most is that most everybody seems to be a little happier this time of the year, and if you come to know me, you will learn, there is nothing I enjoy more than seeing people happy.

That being said, there is one particular song that without fail signals to me that it is Christmas (it’s not “Last Christmas” by Wham!), the song happens to be from the Charlie Brown Christmas Special and I have attached it for your listening pleasure. If you have heard it before, you will instinctively recognize its Christmas-sy Goodness: Christmas Time Is Here . Enjoy.

The “Abstract Expressionist New York” exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) held a wide variety of different forms of abstract art, some more impressive than others. Some of the first paintings I saw consisted of a uniform colored background with a strip of a different color running down the middle. This is exactly the kind of art I always poke fun at for not being real art. Perhaps you need to have knowledge in the technical aspects of art in order to appreciate such work but I believe that the average individual has a limited appreciation of such simple design. I frequently heard the people around me saying things like, “My dog could make that!” Art is generally perceived as a product of someone with a unique talent for creating beautiful work and some of the art in this exhibition did not give off that impression.

I personally think that for something to be considered art, it has to hold some meaning for its viewers. Therefore art has different significance depending on who is observing it. A piece that may be considered art by some people can be considered worthless by others.

I found myself drawn to the less abstract and more detailed pieces in the exhibit. One of these paintings was “Gladiators” by Philip Guston. It depicts four children and a dog playfully fighting each other. The most interesting aspect of the painting is the fact that all the children’s heads are covered so that you cannot see their faces. Though I was not sure what the message of the piece was it captured my attention with its bright colors and missing faces. The description of the piece mentioned that much of Guston’s early art focused on the Ku Klux Klan, which may explain the covered heads of the children. The possibility of a story behind this painting intrigued me.

http://www.moma.org/collection/browse_results.php?criteria=O%3ATA%3AE%3Aex4692&page_number=2&template_id=1&sort_order=1&template_folder=abex

Another piece of art that caught my attention was “Washington Crossing the Delaware,” by Larry Rivers. This was based on its namesake, a more well known painting by Emanuel Leutze. Larry Rivers used similar shades of brown, red, and blue to recreate the same scene, however he did this in a very original way in which everything in the painting seems to blend together. The hazy figure of George Washington is the most prominent person in this painting, staring out into the museum.

http://www.larryriversfoundation.org/whats_new.html

One piece of art that completely confounded me was “Abstract Painting,” by Ad Reinhardt. It featured a square canvas painted black. On close inspection you could see that there were three slightly different shades of black, which did not really alter my opinion of the painting in any way. It simply remained a black square, devoid of any meaning.

http://www.moma.org/collection/object.php?object_id=78976

There are many different forms of expression in art, as well as many different ways to interpret these forms. The “Abstract Expressionist New York” exhibition displays many different kinds of art and holds something appealing to everyone. Even if you do not like anything you see, you are exposed to pieces that can at the very least be called interesting.

Over the course of World War II, the United States’ Selective Service drafted and inducted over eleven million men into the various armed forces; my grandpa, Stephen J. Drag is not included in that figure and yet in 1944 he found himself in the deadliest battle of the war…by his own choosing. This short narrative, while structured around events of the war in reality has little to do with it; instead, this about a decision that was made, some unlikely circumstances, and a choice’s ultimate consequence. It is by mere coincidence that the end result takes us into war, though its importance cannot be overstated. As Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces, Dwight Eisenhower once stated, one’s history is “never really written by chance but by choice;” with all luck, this will be an honest recount of a choice made a young man over sixty years ago.

Today, his decision can seem particularly befuddling, in recent memory, war is something that many run away from, not towards; it’s worth pointing out thought that the world has changed in more ways than one since then though, for better and for worse. Beside the point, the youngest son of Polish immigrants, Steve Drag grew up in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn and was in the last graduating class of Alexander Hamilton High School in 1942. Just some three weeks before he was to turn eighteen, America was attacked at Pearl Harbor and in time for his birthday, the United States had commit to the largest war that the world had ever seen. Within his group of friends, Drag was one of the youngest, his two older brothers had both been drafted into the Air Force and most of his friends had been inducted as well. One can only imagine the anxiety that the draft lottery process created; yet my grandpa knew that his name would never be called no matter how many lotteries were held. He had not ‘lucked out’ with the lottery system and he didn’t know some loophole, rather upon examination by the draft board, he was classified as a ‘4-F,’ or thanks to his eyesight, ‘not acceptable for military service.’

Most people today would be relieved at hearing such news; things were different then though and to my grandpa, the classification was a disappointment. While on one hand it assured him of a (comparatively speaking) more comfortable job and left him in a Brooklyn with more young women than young men (an enviable situation); on the other, the classification still felt like a rejection, and not many can handle them too well. So, following high school, he left to work for a war goods contractor and he joined the National Guard. Now, the National Guard itself only offered training in preparation for a call out to war, but at least it was something, thought my grandpa. Yet, even that wasn’t enough and with war efforts heating up, in September of 1943, he submitted his name to the Army voluntarily.

Considering the enormity of the war, volunteers are people that you generally don’t turn down without good reason, and so my grandpa was accepted, his eyesight and all. Due to his classification however, he was told that he would never see any action, and only serve at posts within the United States, never mind Europe; okay he thought, at least I’m doing something. His first stop was a Camp Upton in Farmingdale, New York, not too far from his Brooklyn home. While there he was offered a chance to stay and overlook the kitchen operations. Kitchen duty though was not enough to entice my grandpa to stay and so he next headed out to Camp Grant in Illinois. After spending a good amount of time there, he was offered the choice to become either a dental or surgical technician; he chose the latter and was no sooner shipped off to Lawson General Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia for training. For someone not leaving the country, things sure seemed to be moving fast, and with good reason, shortly after America’s landing at Normandy, my grandpa found himself with countless others on a ship destined for England, he was off to war, 4-F and all.

Upon arrival and subsequent shuffle to France, he was told informed at some point that he was a ‘replacement troop.’ Yet, he was replacing no ordinary soldier, instead he had the distinction of being a combat medic, and the luxury of having to carry one less thing, a gun. And so, at some point in July of 1944, he was assigned to the ‘Anti Tank Company’ of the 120^th Infantry Regiment of the 30^th Infantry Division, with which he would spend the remainder of the war. The 30^th had earned the nickname of ‘FDR’s SS,’ as it had twice decimated Hitler’s ‘elite’ SS troops, my grandpa unarmed for most of the campaign made his impact known in other ways; with a red cross affixed to his helmet and sleeve, instead of ammunition and firearms, he carried a bag full of “bandages…morphine, and some sulfanilamide powder.”

By December, his division had been rerouted from Germany back to Belgium as the Battle of the Bulge began. More than half a million American soldiers participated in the battle and while its significance within the war itself was immense, for the purpose of this narrative, no further detail is necessary. Instead more important to the story of my grandpa is that during the time of the battle, he and his company were stationed in Malmedy, a relatively small town in Belgium. They stayed there through Christmas, and while there the Air Force mistakenly proceeded to bomb the town on the 23^rd, 24^th, and 25^th, when all the while it had been in American control. The Christmas of 1944 is one that has stuck with my grandpa ever since, at the time he was still only nineteen. Further research into released military documents reveals that on a bright and clear Christmas Eve day, at 2:30pm, Air Force B-52’s directly hit several companies specifically the Anti Tank Co. to which my grandpa was assigned. (In an army transcript from 12/24, one soldier signaled: “They have bombed us two or three times today. Isn’t there something you can do to stop them?,” the response to which stated: “Colonel — is doing everything he can.” Four minutes later, more bombs were dropped.) It’s amazing to consider that in a war that was as devastating as it was, soldiers and civilians alike were both killed and injured by mistake. For his immediate relief actions, my grandpa was awarded two bronze stars; his regiment was later on bestowed ‘Croix de Guerre’ medals from the French, though my grandpa seemingly never physically received his.

The Battle of the Bulge did not mark the end of his military action, as my grandpa was involved in several other campaigns throughout Europe until the war (at least on the European front) was won; yet for the sake of this short paper, I feel it is an apropos place to bring the story to an end. By the age of twenty, he had returned home having seen the horrors and atrocities that war could produce, however he also undoubtedly saw the positive effects that can still be seen today. Looking back today, it is quite clear that his initial choice to serve is one that he would have made again.

Author’s Note: I realize it is particularly difficult to do justice to my grandpa’s story in such a short amount of time; hundreds of thousands of pages have been written on the very same topic, having no intention to understate my grandpa’s experience, simply consider this as fleetingly brief excerpt of what actually occurred. Hopefully, it is one that you can appreciate -peter s dantonio

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