• Reflections: Class of 2000
• Online Scrapbook: Class of 2002
• Reflections: Class of 2004

Bulldogs Class of 2000

Before I ever started Bulldogs in the Bluegrass (BITB), I heard repeatedly that BITB was equivalent with Rowan "the Rowdog" Claypool, and the Rowdog was equal to the program. In that light, let me tell you a little bit about BITB.

BITB will invite you golfing for your first time, bet you a quarter a hole, and then proceed to win 17 of the 18 holes and take $4.25 of your money (and then buy you a 50 cent hot dog to show that BITB is a good sport).

BITB will practice all year in a minor league softball league, pick up a softball bat like it is a foreign object, and then proceed to humiliate you in the annual softball game by spitting on the softball before throwing each pitch.

BITB will invite the media to report on your summer, arrive in a flashy starched shirt and see-your-own-reflection leather shoes, and woo the media to doing a report that only proclaims how great BITB is.

BITB will bring you delicious fried chicken and crispy watermelon and proceed to eat it all after conning you into "playing ping-pong" with BITB's son/partner-in-crime.

BITB will devote his summer to you.

BITB will worry about you.

BITB will bring out the best in you, your classmates, and the city of Louisville.

BITB will be a friend without considerations.

Thanks BITB.

-Adam Rein

Aubrey's Top 10 Reasons to be a Bulldog in the Bluegrass

10. You can eat a burrito as big as your head.
9. You might be able to sneak onto Rowan's stacked golf scramble team.
8. You can join Patrick O'Leary in his quest to take down the "Communist" US postal
system.
7. You can get a Kroger Plus card - for free!
6. You can send lots of silly and sometimes offensive email to your fellow bulldogs, then
send more email complaining about how silly and offensive their messages are.
5. You will learn lots of funny jokes about people from Indiana.
4. You will become excellent at picking which horses will NOT win the race.
3. You will learn to love, then hate microwavable foods.
2. You will become a ping pong stud.
1. You will have a good excuse for saying "y'all" all the time.

Big Dog

By Molly Worthen

Rowan Claypool is a block.
Solid, like he grew out of the earth.
His face is strong and friendly; high thoughtful forehead
Ripe like a peach from Kentucky sun
Pink cheeks advertise the weekends spent canoeing, hiking, playing catch with John
And smack in the middle of this lively clean-shaven Santa Claus face
Are two blue eyes
Sharp like those sun-catcher crystals grandmothers hang in their kitchen windows;
Fearless and creased into permanent smiles
Even when they are crying into his Life Is A Journey, Not A Guided Tour t-shirt
And his voice is wet and slow in the same sleepy Louisville sway, no matter his words--
Makes you smile when he's announcing the fried chicken dinner
And smile even harder when he's talking memories of Sam
Because his voice, like the rest of him, has no pretenses
That's his gut talking
That's a Southern Baptist preacher's boy telling you how he feels and what he thinks
Which are one and the same thing, really.
Every night, an hour visit, just to see how things are
With a box of warm Krispy Kremes or KFC
Or, at the very least, directions to something fun and quintessentially Kentucky to do that evening:
Nervous Melvin and the Mistakes at Cherokee Park,
A little swimming hole across the river,
Bluegrass Festival out in the Danville horse country.
We sit and bake in that bear hug gaze of his,
Smiling at his questions while we spit watermelon seeds into our napkins
"How's work going?"
"Great, Rowan"
"You know, if they stick you making copies or something, you just holler."
And then he'll launch into all the things bucking around in his head--
Sometimes his philosophy on love
Sometimes just hunks of Louisville sense and proud smiles
As summer's end produces a bunch of mint julep-drinking, Slugger-batting converts,
Shoulders copper with Bible Belt sunshine
Bellies starving for more grilled corn and burgoo
Feet bare and all grass-stained from afternoons of softball and Frisbee
Lips pronouncing "Looavull" without even thinking about it.
I watch him scoop some barbecue onto his bun and swallow it in time for volleyball with his Bulldogs
I watch him laugh like a friend and hug like a father
And I wonder if he knows half of what he's been for us
And somehow, I doubt it.
Because knowing that, and dwelling on that,
Is not Rowan.
Rowan is about cleaning your plate, looking smart, baiting your own hooks
Feeling the banjo jangle in your bones and making other folks happy.
Because all he really wants
Is to just jump outta someone's cake.

DORM LIFE

Ahhh (Brrrr?), Petrik. Living at Bellarmine was what I believe to be the most essential part of my Bulldogs experience. Through no other forum could I have gotten to know my fellow Bulldogs on so many different levels. Dorm life for me was one of desperate searches. Returning from work in the evenings, I would come home to find Brad at the mirror adjusting his new-found favorite article of clothing, the signature red bandana. After giving himself an approving nod, he'd turn to me with a meaningful look in his eyes. "Colin, I can't find Andy." Knowingly precisely the gravity of the situation, we would begin the usual run down of locations: "Have you checked the gym? The girls' room with the TV? Is he out with his GE harem? Is he just asleep in his room again?" If all these options failed to turn up Andy "Dolph" Graham, we would commence despairing: No basketball tonight. Finding him was cause for elation. The teams were complete. Pray that the gym is open.
Devin was also often my partner in people hunting, but for a different cause. On evenings when Werder was gallivanting about town with his empowering legitimate ID or Molly had too deeply immersed herself in recreating the history of obscure local politicians, Devin would "Meh" at me remorsefully. Another night without Diplomacy.
But somehow I wasn't usually too bored, even when these greatest of plans fell through. Someone was always around to talk to, often until much too late. Initial disappointments usually led to evenings that were certainly better than I could have planned. Supplements of "Survivor" didn't hurt either.
I came to know and enjoy the ins and outs of Louisville, and I had a fulfilling and challenging job. But in the end, I always looked forward to coming "home" to Petrik, despite hardly knowing any of my fellow participants before the program began. Someone, Molly I think, pointed out to me early in the summer why it seemed that we all meshed so well so quickly and easily. We all had personalities that lent us the necessary daring and enthusiasm that brought us to Louisville in the first place. "It's kind of a self selecting group of kids," she told me. And I think she is right. Regardless of whether I end up returning to this fair city in future years, I will certainly maintain the friendships I have made here. And I can't imagine a better place to have done it. Maybe it is something about the water down here, but just about everyone (not just the students) was someone I would want to get to know better.

Colin Reingold DC '02

Matthew Baldwin

A Summer Memory

"No juice I told her," reminding myself that the money I didn't spend now I could spend later. "Actually, waitress, I'd love a tall glass of cool orange juice."
As I sat in the Bristol Café, Bardstown Road, surrounded by Molly Worthen, Jessica Kadis, and Michael Taubman-my best friend from high school who that Sunday morning was spending his second day in Louisville-I tried to figure out what I wanted to eat for this buffet brunch. We listened to the sophisticated sounds coming from across the way, via a strings and brass band of six, and slumped into our chairs, anticipating the upcoming meal.
"I'm going to get some food," said Mike, grinning softly like an ex-convict who's just tricked the parole board into releasing him early. "I smell bacon." So Mike weaved his way through the neighboring tables and arrived at a long, maroon table whose contents we would soon discover.
And what a discovery. Waffles and bacon and sausage and eggs and salads and cheesecake and blueberries strawberries boysenberries pasta. Breakfast food plus lunch food equals brunch food, Molly quipped, to the enjoyment of her witty sidekicks who had now been awake long enough to appreciate the witty banter. I filled my plate with some eggs, some salad, a hunk of cheesecake, and bacon.
"Young man," another patron told me, "you can't have eggs and cheesecake at the same time." He laughed, revealing a small crinkle beneath his left collarbone and when I looked at his plate I chuckled knowingly in his direction: he was going to eat cheesecake and eggs, too.
Cheesecake and eggs, two foods that you don't usually see together. Sort of like me and Louisville. Except both worked. When I told my friends back east that I was coming to Kentucky this summer they looked at me like I had dried food stuck to my face. Fortunately, Louisville and I had more in common than anyone had thought, and the only dried food stuck to my face came from the Bristol buffet.
So we ate and ate and ate, food after food after food that shouldn't be on the same plate. But we loved every minute of it. You could almost say that this buffet was a metaphor for our entire summer in Louisville, a feast of new experiences that we'd either never before experienced or had just never experienced simultaneously. But then you'd be a dorky Yalie, explaining everything in figurative language. I'm happy just eating my eggs and cheesecake.

 Devin Caughey

As I see it, the greatest accomplishment of Bulldogs in the Bluegrass has been to give us younger Yalies a taste of what we could do with our lives. Most obviously, the program brings us to a part of the country with which most of us had no experience and perhaps never would. Louisville and Kentucky have achieved the status of "real" places, rather than mere names on a map with stereotypes and half-remembered facts associated with them. Although I have heard it many times here, I do think it is accurate to say that we now realize that we do not have to go New York or San Francisco or back to our hometowns to find jobs and start a family. Bulldogs in the Bluegrass has broadened our geographical horizons, and I am sure that many of my cohorts would agree that we feel as if we could go anywhere now.

I am also exceedingly grateful to have had the opportunity to work in the non-profit sector, an option that is a practical impossibility for most people my age. At Yale we are surrounded by future doctors and lawyers and investment bankers-students who are very clearly on the path to professional and financial success. This makes it very difficult for those of us who do not have a strict ten-year plan, except that it probably does not involve medicine, law, or Wall Street. The non-profit sector is seemingly reserved for those who cannot decide on anything else to do. The exposure to non-profit work that many students experienced this summer has made a career in that area a viable and legitimate alternative as opposed to just a fall-back option. At the same time, other Bulldogs had the opportunity to work in the corporate world, and this experience also shattered misconceptions and prejudices. Thus, in a professional as well as a geographical sense, this program has opened our eyes.

As important as this newly gained awareness is, it really means nothing on its own. What really affects people is a personal connection, and that is where Bulldogs in the Bluegrass really excels. The mentoring aspect of the program is absolutely integral to the success of the program as a whole, as were all the meetings we had with prominent alumni and other members of the community. I don't know how many times I heard on this trip, "Wow-So-and-so is really amazing. You should talk to them." Throughout the two months that we were in Louisville, we were constantly exposed to interesting and successful people, all of whom we could look up to in different ways. More than anything I have ever done, Bulldogs in the Bluegrass taught me what it was like to be an adult. Not all of what I learned was encouraging; I detected much loneliness and disappointment in the people I met. That was overshadowed, however, but the great strength, enterprise, and goodness I saw in so many different people. In my mentor, my boss, my co-workers, and my fellow Yalies, I saw people creating or struggling to create innovative and wonderful things in their everyday lives. Interestingly enough, Bulldogs in the Bluegrass itself is probably the best example of this. Frankly, I can't say enough how much I admire Rowan for conceiving of this program. Bulldogs began with an original idea, cultivated by hard work, planning, and collaboration with other talented people, that finally came to successful fruition years later. This summer has given me many heroes and has left me with the confidence that, with whatever I do in life, one day someone could look up to me in the same way.

Martha Gates

I am lucky. At the beginning of my freshman year at Yale, I was blessed with incredible friends. I have lived with or near them since our first day. I have spent a wonderful, enriching, inspiring three years with those people. They have been the center of the best three years of my life. But there has been one drawback: I am so happy with my fellow Piersonites that I rarely venture out to meet a Morsel or a Berkeleyite. Even next door in Davenport seems like a hike. In coming to Louisville this summer, my circle of friends has expanded and been dramatically energized. I have spent the days and nights of this summer with amazing people. If not for my experiences in the halls of Bellarmine I would most likely never have spoken to the majority of my fellow Bulldogs, some of whom I'm now confident will be life-long friends. It is for this opportunity that I am most indebted to you. But there are so many other reasons that this summer has been extremely special to me.
Driving around the city this last week, I've realized that I know people around every corner, that I could recommend any number of restaurants, that I know both sides of many stories that have unfolded in Louisville. I feel that when I come back to Louisville someday, I'll have friends here. Great friends. My mentors have been unbelievable. They alone have made me feel like an insider, a family member. With them I have felt at home. And they are not the only ones to welcome me, to open their home, their lives. Many people in this city have shown me unusual hospitality and incredible kindness. It is the people of this program and this city that have made this summer unforgettable. They have set me thinking about who I want to be, what I want to be, and where I want to be.
Thank you.

Meghan Smith

When I was a little girl, I read the Little House on the Prairie books. I don't remember much of them now, but the one passage that stuck in my mind was about watermelon. Pa loved watermelon and went down to the watering hole to get some. Ma told him not to go because she thought watermelon was nasty, that it caused disease. Pa didn't heed her advice and got some anyway. He relished it and ate the whole thing because Ma wouldn't let the girls eat it. The moral of the story: Watermelon is good, and it won't kill you.

I, too, learned this lesson. At home, we always had watermelon in the summer. It was a casual thing. Here, it's an institution. It's a gift, something to mull over while you shoot the breeze on a hot summer night. I learned this by watching Rowan all of the countless times that he brought a watermelon to Petrik. The melons were always good, and there were always plenty of them.

Watermelon became a reason to talk. "My God! Have you ever seen a watermelon that big before?" "Wow! That's a lot of watermelon." "Dear me, there's another watermelon. Does anyone have a knife?" These expressions became common around Petrik as we munched on sweet red juices late into the night. Even if the counter was filled with watermelon slices at 11 o'clock at night, by morning, they would all have disappeared into thankful Bulldog bellies.

Aubrey Jennings

Everyone on this program will remember this summer differently. Here is what I will remember: eating Graeter's ice cream with Julia, dark showers, soccer with the kids at the Memorial Day BBQ, my birthday cake, playing Spades with my roommates, the GE parking lot, getting my cheeks pinched by Devin, making runs to Kroger, swimming in Stephen Reily's pool, listening to CCR in Colin's car, Rowan's grin, Sam's smile, dinners with Melissa (my mentor), Nashville, cheese in the salad, my boss, Kit Kincade, playing Mafia, Dance Party parts 1&2, Caroline's brownies, writing Top 5 lists with Adam, Bardstown Road, talking about that lunch with Matt, Churchill Downs, car rides with Andrew, the Ford plant, volleyball at John Hale's, Pete (the legend and the man), watching Survivor with everyone in our room, fried chicken, softball
Thanks for everything.

Alysoun Kegel

Loving Louisville

"Louisville
Is a good kisser,"
I thought, canoeing that first Saturday
And many times afterwards.
That air, soft and warm and gentle
Living, like my skin
The boundaries blurred
Between what was inside and outside of me.
So Louisville was a good kisser
And kissed me again
Running up countless hills in heat
I'd thought would be intolerable
But kissing air always inspired.
It being like my body, my body liked it.
Good, for the way it received me,
Not as alien or stranger
But every smile, like the air
Blurred boundaries between strange and familiar,
Making a strange home, a stranger at home,
And at work, smiles blurred boundaries again,
Between normal and strange, disabled and able,
And kissed by smiles and warm air,
I understood that we were all of the above,
And everything else, too.
So the kisser, with open arms,
Received me, in soft gentle warmth,
Slowly making me abandon all
Cold hard roughness.
Melted by kisses, I learned
To stroll, and slow my speech,
To kiss Louisville,
Soft and warm and gentle
Like Louisville kissed me.

Vivek Garg

To Rowan and Caroline, our surrogate parents,

In thinking about this past summer and sorting out my experiences, categorizing them into good or bad, worthwhile or meaningless, and various degrees between the two extremes, I have contemplated them all: my job, meeting my fellow Bulldogs, all of the events you and others have coordinated, "networking" with alumni and anyone else who happened to join us over a bucket of KFC. To find my thoughts on these matters, I refer you to my newly completed survey, although I think you can guess my answers.
I'd rather give you my feelings on a part of this summer that, try as I do, I can't shove neatly into a category. That part is Sam's death, and for me, his death and life are inextricably linked to my time in the Bulldogs and Louisville.
Know this: Sam's death is the closest I have been to death, both physically and emotionally. His is the first funeral I have been to. Yes, there have been a lot of I's so far, and there will be more. My ongoing mental rant on the futility of death has quieted, I have grieved, and I have been reminded of my place by the overwhelming immensity of the grief of Sam's family and closest friends when compared to mine. Now I am attempting to codify how being in this program, getting to know Sam and everyone else, and experiencing his loss, have changed my outlook on life, my own and in general. Perhaps in doing so, you will understand how you and the Bulldogs program have helped me to grow.
In gaining a new awareness of the fragility of life, I have examined my own. Whereas previously I was undecided about my career and life-after-Yale plans, now I am still undecided, but with some basic guidelines. I thought about what I want during my life and realized that I will choose a career through which I believe I can help other people, whether it is directly or indirectly. Vague, I know, but I've also narrowed down my ideas on what careers fit these criteria for me personally, and, because of my work experience, considered new paths that I previously had not (business and non-profit work being prime examples). I also realized that while I have not totally reversed course and become frantic to decide on a career or to stuff my life full of memories and experiences before I die, I am, at the least, committed to making decisions. Added to that, from talking with adults I have met here and learning about the winding roads they have taken to their present jobs and even their current thoughts, I am not be afraid to change my decisions.
I also have thought long about my relationship with other people, both personal and human relationships on a larger scale. I looked at my past efforts to stay close to my family and friends, and they didn't match up with my newly formed beliefs about their importance. Accordingly, I decided to place a much higher priority on maintaining personal ties: sending emails, returning phone calls, writing letters, and not worrying about missing one weekend of fun to spend time with relatives. Going beyond just individual relationships, Sam's funeral and the Bulldogs program have made it clear to me that the presence of a community consciousness is both potent and essential. In witnessing the outpouring of support for Sam's family at his funeral, I saw his home community fulfilling an emotional need of his family's that could not be satisfied by any other means. Similarly, you both have given of yourselves to work for the good of the Louisville community, creating an opportunity for residents to see the value of higher education and for Yale students to learn about all that Louisville has to offer. In looking at even just these two examples, I am convinced that one of the best things I can do to help others is become involved in the community I settle in.
So, I am leaving Louisville and the Bulldogs in approximately fifty-seven hours in a white Subaru station wagon on my way to New Jersey, but I hope you realize that Louisville and the Bulldogs aren't leaving me.

Melissa Buchanan

This summer I was asked to do things I'm not comfortable with- give blood and speak in public. One short summer, one great city, and two of my greatest fears. Perhaps the greatest credit you can give to the Bulldogs in the Bluegrass program is that it inspired me to attempt to overcome both. Attempt, mind you. During a time that the group was scheduled to have lunch with the mayor, the St. Matthew's Rotary Club was expecting two Yale students for their lunch program. As the sole returnee to the program, i had already seen the mayor. This made me a great candidate for the Rotary Luncheon. I obliged Rowan's request and joined Davender for my little nightmare. An experience that I was dreading as an "obligation" that came with being a Bulldog ended up being one of the most positive in my summer. Upon arrival at the lunch, I tried to attach my nametag and saw that it was fashioned to rest inside a male's dress shirt. My feminine dress had no place for the tag to rest. Then i noticed i was one of the few women in the room (aside from the caterer.) We were soon introduced to a member of the Rotary Club as the Yale students. He replied, "You both go to Yale?...Cause when i think Bulldog, I don't think female Bulldog." Oh. I don't get that very much! It was then that I saw that I was an ambassador for the "new" Yale... though i had to point out that it has been thirty years since women's admittance. I am thankful for Bulldogs in the Bluegrass for giving me an opportunity to expose what today's Yale is to those that still think of the old boys network AND for letting me chip away at my fear of public speaking. As far as the giving blood goes... gotta hand it to the program, it made me want to try. But it couldn't stop me from passing out when the nurse came at my ear for the iron test. Maybe next year? Thanks Rowan, Caroline, Kit, Denward, the mentors, the employers, Bellarmine, and all others who helped to bring a bunch of Yale kids to Louisville Kentucky.

Katrina Shockley

One of the first Sundays of the summer, Rowan suggested an outdoor concert at Cherokee Park, tempting us with free food. Since it was a beautiful evening, I decided this would be nice ending to the weekend. Although I was not a huge fan of the music, this turned out to be one of the most enjoyable evenings of the summer. Upon the announcement of lemonade and cookies across the street for a quarter, Martha and I decided we needed those cookies. We ended up spending the rest of the evening chatting with the people who lived there. Although I don't remember what we talked about or how the conversation even started, I remember they knew Lindsey, and this random connection fascinated me. This interaction, along with many others throughout the summer, has made me realize that Louisville is very much a community. Even though one million people, by most standards, exceeds the definition of "community," it is not uncommon to run into friends and acquaintances at the mall or a grocery store on the other side of town. I have only been here for two months, and I have run into people I know. This sense of community, more than anything, is the most attractive part of Louisville.

I have eaten enough KFC and watermelon to last a lifetime.

Adam S. Werder

I've had a great deal of difficulty deciding on how to best express the remarkable experience I've had this summer. To recapitulate memories like the Elkhorn Canoe Trip or speak upon how wonderful my employment proved to be could not possibly capture just how unique and rewarding the BITB is. The program itself is an entity that reaches far beyond a summer job, a place to stay, making new friends, and some cash to spend at Toad's. Becoming completely enveloped by Louisvillian culture and coalescing as a family, BITB became a part of me.
While summer pals come and go, I'll always have a place in my heart for this dynamic collection of travelers. I had worried about spending my last collegiate summer with new people in a strange place, but I ended up receiving an incredible gift. I will always cherish the time I had the pleasure of passing with these bulldogs and I consider myself lucky to have laughed, cried, danced, and shared with them.
I anticipated my first summer away from home would be difficult, but having a surrogate father made a tremendous difference. Rowan, you provided everything the most caring parent can. You showed me the way while I learned to walk through Louisville, you comforted me when I needed to be held, you fed me when you could see I was hungry, you kicked my butt in softball and ping-pong when I needed kicking, you've given me guidance in making career decisions, you even gave me money to lose at the track. You truly made this experience feel like I had a father with me. Rowan, I know of no way to express my gratitude. Thank you.

Claire Woolston

Note to future bulldogs: no matter how innocent he looks or how sincere he appears, Viv is mafia.

A Day at the Races

I drove down Limekiln towards the River. The beautiful old houses stood cool among the old walnut and oak trees. The road wound its way down to River Road, where I turned into Captain's Quarters. John and Debbie waved to me from the boat as I walked down the pier. "How are you doing?" asked John, with his deep Irish accent. "I think there'll be some wind today." We rigged up and motored out to the race course, teasing and challenging the other boats as we went. The air was cooler than on the mainland, and the sun filled the water with golden light. The wind IS strong, I remarked to myself, as I put on my gloves. From the boat, I could seethe majestic river banks, the stately bridges, and far away, the now familiar outline of the city - the Aegon building and the Humana building and all the rest.

In between races, John, Debbie and I joked about things - John, not impressed with my winching, asked me with his lilting voice, "Didn't you eat your Wheaties for breakfast, Claire?" We talked about Louisville and Kentucky, and Red River Gorge. We pondered the lifestyle of the people who live smack against the river, and how they don't get discouraged by the flooding.

Despite the teasing and the competition of the race, I was deeply relaxed and happy. I realized right then what an incredible summer I had. I took a deep breath, smiled at my friends, and tried to memorize this exact moment -- for times like this are seldom had.

Hannah Chang

I have always been wary of using words like "love" and "hate" because they describe extremes of emotion that I'm not sure I have truly experienced. After all, who can define an extreme? As soon as you do, you limit yourself-you don't leave open the possibility that this extreme can be surpassed tomorrow.

When I first arrived at Yale in the fall of my freshman year, I was not only taken aback by the upperclassmen's constant gushing about Yale but also by my fellow freshmen's highly disturbing tendencies to exclaim (rather cheesily, I thought), "I luuuuv Yale!" All throughout freshman year, I steered clear of using the word "love" when referring to Yale. Of course, I eventually had to admit that I did indeed love Yale. But, it wasn't Yale in its most encompassing sense-its intellectual atmosphere and amazing people. The love I gradually acknowledged was very much visceral; I loved the trees lining Hillhouse Avenue, Science Hill, Chapel Street, Vanderbilt Hall, my room. Even in May of a great freshman year, I could say that I loved the school itself, but I still doubted that I could say I genuinely loved being at Yale and a part of the Yale community.

Then, I came here to Louisville to spend the summer after freshman year with forty other Yale students in a program organized and coordinated by Yale alumni. While I already felt that the idea and concept behind the program was innovative and exciting, experiencing the program itself surpassed all expectations. What was most incredible to me was the generosity and hospitality of all the adults I met. The constant emails we received before we even arrived hinted at a depth of excitement and warmth of welcome that surprised me. Meeting Caroline and Rowan in person only magnified my disbelief at how much these people, whom I had only just met, truly cared.

The rest of this summer has passed by in the same vein. The more adults I meet here, the more I am convinced that I have a long way to go in building character and learning how to become an active, engaged member of a community. However, it is not only the adults involved in this program that impress and inspire me; the other Yale students I have met here also amaze me with their talent, humor, character, and intelligence. At Sam's memorial service, my grief was accompanied by a rejuvenating sense of awe at my fellow Bulldogs as they rose one by one to speak of their thoughts and memories. Everyday, I find myself feeling so lucky to be surrounded by such incredible people.

The Bulldogs in the Bluegrass program is intended to bring Yale students to Kentucky-to make them fall in love with Louisville. While I am, as usual, hesitant to say that I love anything, it is ironic that being in Kentucky for ten weeks has convinced me more than nine months at school has that I do indeed love Yale. If the other students and alumni are any indication of the value of a Yale education, then I have so much to look forward to at Yale and after Yale. And while life after college remains a mystery, the idea of ending up in Louisville is very plausible. I know now that it is possible to fall in love with a place-not only for its buildings and streets, but for its people and atmosphere. Thank you, Rowan, Caroline, and everybody else who made this summer happen for us.

Andrea Johns

The very first story I told my parents when I called home was about a bus driver. This bus driver was different, not a beefy old man with fat fingers, or an abrasive middle age woman with thick glasses and wiry hair. This bus driver was a young African-American woman who came all the way to Bellarmine to help a bunch of hopeless Yalies learn how to read bus schedules. Yes, despite all the "life skills" courses that Yale offers, I was at a total loss when it came to deciphering a simple bus map. Anyway, instead of mocking me or questioning my affiliation with the Ivy League, this incredibly generous woman gave me both her home phone number and her pager number, saying "Just give me a call. I'd be happy to ride the bus with you on your first day." I was stunned. Maybe if I had taken her up on the offer I could have gotten to know her story.

The sincerity of the people in this community has made a strong impression on me. Just today, the security guard at Family Place brought me chocolates. No, this wasn't a going away gift and he wasn't hitting on me. Mel is quiet. He is unobtrusive. He has a daughter my age, and his wife died a few years ago. Every afternoon he sets down the newspaper, steps out of his closet-like office and visits us. Yesterday he asked me if I'd caught any more fish. Today I told him about Yale. Our conversations are simple, spontaneous, and refreshing.

Louisville is quirky. It's off the coastal map, and it's a great place to get lost. Spending the summer here has made me appreciate my affiliation with Yale in new ways. I've experienced how belonging to a community can make grief bearable, how adults really do have valuable insights, how work doesn't have to be draining, and how much I need people. When I sit back and reflect on my bluegrass summer I'll smile about Kit mispronouncing "Colin" like the unfriendly body part, or that "Ohia" means bush. I'll laugh about the debate over whether or not Jamie is really related to the Subway guy, and whether or not KFC uses chicken or just chicken product. I'll remember warnings to "watch out for the root ball" and "stay in the vans, UPS workers are like carnies, remember when you were a kid and your mom told you not to make eye contact with the ferris wheel operator?" I'll wish I were teasing Katrina for watching countless 90210 reruns, or embarrassing myself at a game of golf. I'm so grateful for my time here and I feel like something in me has truly expanded.

Katy Sharp

There are so many things to say and feelings to express, but I fear my communication skills will prove grossly inadequate. So I'll try and make it short, sweet and somewhat focused, and trust that my talented peers will compensate for my weaknesses.

At the Vincenzo's luncheon, I had the pleasure of sitting next to Mr. David Jones, Sr. It was what he said in his quiet yet commanding way that made me realize what Louisville has taught me. In the ten minutes that we spoke, of all the details from his amazing life, Mr. Jones chose to talk about the importance of community involvement. I was in awe as this man, whose incredible success in business is well known, told me that what really matters is what you contribute to your city. It was then that I realized that the people of Louisville have taught me what it means to be PART of a community.

This is what I learned: A community is made up of people who don't know the meaning of the word "stranger" and challenge you to feel lonely in a foreign place. A community steps in at a time of crisis and sweeps you off the floor into loving arms that will hold you for as long as you need to cry. A community remembers the small things like food and unknowing bosses at times when you are too emotionally drained to remember them yourself. A community provides guidance and support while also embracing the diverse way each person chooses to grieve. A community is Rowan's long hugs and Caroline's ability to be both a mother and a friend. A community opens their homes, refrigerators and hearts to you as they lead you trekking in the woods or fossil-hunting by the river.

So maybe this wasn't so short, and sadly, it fell far from conveying all the gratitude I feel for being given this wonderful experience. Just know that you have inspired me with your generosity, sincerity, trust and respect. After being surrounded by people who measure success in dollars, it was refreshing to be in a place where it's measured in smiles. Heck, I'm not even convinced that Rowan has a "real" job, and yet his ability to inspire people to better themselves makes him one of the most successful people I know.

Jocelyn Smith

"She came from Pennsylvania to meet the boys..."

Meeting, teaching, and learning from children in a residential psychiatric treatment facility was absolutely amazing. But even more amazing than meeting these boys was meeting the people who work with them full time. Especially those that work directly with the boys. Being an employee in a place like Brooklawn is challenging and probably one of the most difficult things a person can do. The employees are essentially the parents of children whom nobody else wants and probably will never be wanted at any point in their lives. They are responsible for correcting others serious mistakes and get paid a little more than minimum wage to do so. The staff member that I worked most closely with has an incredible way of balancing the necessary authority and affection in his interactions with the kids. Seeing his patience and concern and thought for these boys showed me that even though most of these institutions are unable to attract talented, qualified, and intelligent people to these positions, there are exceptions where wonderful people do this work purely for the children although it doesn't happen as much as it should. Even though I know now that this is not the position for me, I enjoyed the experience immensely, and know that I want to work to make sure that non-profit organizations- especially those dealing with children- have the types of workers they (and the children)deserve. Meeting John has given me hope for the children in these institutions. I hope to ensure that someday all children will have someone like John in their lives. Thank you for letting me meet John and the boys and learn more about my career and personal goals in the meantime.

Lindsey Tucker

Rowan. Although I can distinctly remember most of my first impressions this summer, I cannot remember meeting you. Louisville, Petrik, Caroline, Martha, the Science Center-all of these initial memories remain intact, whether or not my opinion of them has changed in the past ten weeks. But of you, I have no initial image.

I remember your speech at the Filson Club. You talked about leadership, about the possibilities of our finding role models in the Louisville adults surrounding us. You glowed as you stood in front of your thirty-eight Bulldogs and the Yale alumni who share enough of your passion (or at least trust and respect you enough) to fund the program. You filled the room with your excitement, dedication, and passion for the project. And your words were infectious. Regardless of my belief in our ability to promote higher education or in the plausibility in our returning to Louisville as young career professionals, your conviction in our intelligence, motivation, and skill was inspiring in itself. You worked to arrange numerous other activities for us through which we could meet Louisville leaders. But perhaps you don't realize that I learned more about leadership-strength, innovation, diplomacy-through the informal daily interactions with my peers.

I remember watching you stand over Sam at Lakeside. You were praying. I stood hip-deep in the water, shivering, my arms wrapped around my waist. My chest began to hurt, not from the pain of losing Sam, but from watching you in distress. Your faith is astounding to me. Friday morning when you asked us to stand together in a circle and pray, I almost felt angry that you would presume a persuasion on us. Yet uniting with my near-friends in song was perfect. I left that circle to go to work. Blindly, I showered, dressed, spoke with a counselor and left the building. You intercepted me on the way to my car, and I sobbed into your shirt, crying for the first time. You give good hugs.

I remember driving with you to Red River Gorge. Grinning, you asked about couples within the group. We talked about Sticky and Sonia, Colin and Cole. If only you'd asked twenty-four hours later, I'd have had much more interesting news for you. You introduced me to your newest baby: Grads in the Bluegrass. Perhaps if Katie had been in the front seat with you, and I had been in the back watching the scenery, I would not be spending my last week here networking. "What can I do? How can I help you?" You are frustratingly persevering, compelling me to push myself farther and in ways I am perhaps not prepared for. Your networking on my behalf is so generous and endearing that it has allowed me to see the educational benefits of socializing and politicking, rather than the obnoxious, self-serving side I have always perceived. I am more grateful for these opportunities than I can possibly express (through gritted teeth when you tell me about yet another meeting..."I don't want to push too much...I'll try to stop now"). This past week of introductions has been amazingly productive, practical, and effective. Your charm and insistence serve you well. I turned 21 this summer; thanks for helping me grow up a little.

I remember talking with you about my mom-a couple of times. It's a gift to read people as well as you do, and to breach unnecessary walls of social conduct to talk about what you think and how you feel. Your hospitality, generosity, and sensitivity have spoiled us. How could we not fall in love with this city while you are our guide? You are the unorthodox leader, embodying the vitality, power, and hope of this program. My images of you are clear: you not only fill whatever space you occupy, you inflate it. I hope you realize how much we appreciate you. God bless, Rowan - - - with love from the Jewish agnostic.

To the various other people reading this piece-I can't thank you enough for your support, whether it was financial, emotional, or edible. Rowan gets a page of babble only because he had a key to Petrik and could force his company on us all summer. As a group, we truly appreciate your interest and involvement. And personally, I thank you for a wonderful ten weeks. I have been impressed, educated, and pampered by the depth and sincerity of your hospitality. I don't know when I will have another chance to experience so much of a city and to meet so many inspiring people in so short a time. Life will never again be this good. Until, of course, I return. Thank you for your interest, your concern, and your openness.

Best,
Lindsey

Devon Williamson

Thursday, 9:30 am, I just put the coffee on to brew downstairs and I've been flipping through the New York Times online for a while. This morning I got two whistles as I walked past the mechanic shop after parking the car. It's going to be a good day.

For the last few weeks I've been trying to think of something to do for those boys. There's a whistle for every woman in the office taking the long walk from the company parking lot, under the interstate bridge, over the line dividing the East side from the West side, the line dividing the safe side from the "dangerous" side, and into our corner building on Main. I've wanted to wave or to blow a kiss or to say something saucy and rash that would make them nudge each other and grunt for days. When I got "Shake that thang baby, you know you like it when I whistle at you" Ben suggested I yell back, with a twist in my neck and maybe some finger snapping, "Shuga . . . you wouldn't know what to do with it if you haaaadit." Not quite my style, though, especially considering the office wide fear of being attacked on the way to and from the "mug" lot.

Truth be told, I love the serenade. I get this silly grin every time and wobble even more on my high heels in a valiant attempt to swing my hips. When Kamie and I have to run an errand we always slow down, giggle a bit, and strut along like nobody's business. Kind of like a fashion show with a sidewalk runway full of cracks and grass, the blaring sun sweating through our yuppie clothes, and a small, but vocal audience. We've played this game almost every morning for ten weeks. Tomorrow is my last day and even though I've said thank you and goodbye and let's keep in touch to everyone at Rowland Design I still don't know how to say fare well to my roadside knights in greasy armor. Oddly enough I find that attention on the isolated stretch of the somewhat frightening street quite comforting -- someone else is out there working all day long, watching for anything female to walk by, and they don't even have air conditioning. I also have a feeling that if I ever was mugged a wrench swinging boy would come to my rescue. So that's my anecdote, my Louisville memory that I'll carry home with me from this summer and roll over when I think of the Bluegrass - the humid heat, a desert of pavement, and a whistle making its way through the heavy air.

Davender Khera

From day one, Louisville was touted as a great place to raise a family by almost everyone who spoke to the Bulldogs. This point became real and true to me when I visited my mentor's house in Anchorage and saw how happy and content his family was. This became even more evident when I visited the house of my good friend, saw the lush forest that his house is nestled in, and met his hospitable family. Finally, gliding by the park in my employer's car one evening, I saw Louisville's park system teeming with activity. I saw teenagers playing soccer, adults playing softball, families taking walks. The air was crisp with hospitality, festivity, and energy.
When I first got to Louisville, raising a family was still such a distant thought. I cringed at the thought of having a family, not because I wouldn't love having a family, but because getting married and having children embodies taking on many responsibilities and, to me, signifies the loss of youth.

In early July, Katy e-mailed the entire group about an opportunity to spend the day taking care of children at a Visually Impaired Preschool Services (VIPS) retreat. Erica, Fei, Katy, and I went to Otter Creek Park on July 8th weekend. We arrived there early Saturday morning, and soon after, the kids were getting dropped off for the day. At first, I just watched the kids play with the toys on the couch, floor, and table. But after a while, I was on the ground holding the smaller children and running around with the bigger ones.
I have never spent an entire day surrounded by children with the sole purpose of entertaining and playing with them. I blew bubbles with them, told stories to some of them, picked them up and hugged them, pecked them on the cheek, or bounced them on my lap. Both the kids and I started getting attached to each other. In the evening, some of them ran up to me on their own and hugged me.
This was the first time that I have ever felt like a father and have truly yearned to work with kids in my future job. When I came home that night, my heart was heavy. In some ways, my life completely changed.

The point of all of this is that coming to Louisville has given me more dreams and a charge of inspiration. Meeting such welcoming and wonderful people has convinced me that Louisville is the type of place that I want to settle. I want a couch of friends to be comfortable sitting on, I want a community that enjoys the arts, that doesn't just focus on work and the bottom-line. Louisville has clearly demonstrated that it is such a community.
Raising a family was so distant until experiences like the VIPS retreat. Everyone in Bulldogs was given the opportunity to do things like VIPS, things they wouldn't normally get the chance to do, things that are potentially life-changing. I think that we are all thankful just for having been given this chance.

Thanh-Tam Ho

Louisville Memories

After 10 weeks in Louisville, I suppose you'd expect a virtual barrage of anecdotes to come spurting out of my mouth (and that of every Bulldog) whenever asked about memories from Bulldogs in the Bluegrass. But to be truthful, it's been a long, hot (except perhaps, on the artic circle that is the first floor) summer and my brain is thoroughly fried. So, faced with pen and paper, I can really only convey one lasting impression right now. Here is my attempt to string it together into a cohesive paragraph:

It's late May and I've just finished a hellish 2 _ weeks of working custodial for Yale- carrying out discarded senior sofas and lamps and trashing unopened cleaning supplies gathered from freshmen bathrooms. I was tired, cranky and feeling very not ready for a summer of Yalie bonding and intellectual internship. Trying to make the best of my _ day of rest before departure, I fled to Chinatown and gorged myself silly on Vietnamese food- disregarding the pungent odor it would imprint on my clothing as I boarded the plane to sit in close quarters for 2 _ hours. Full tummied, I looked out the window and tried to pretend I was a fluffy cloud, without success, and thought about how much I wanted to spend the summer at home.
Still disgruntled with my newfound inability to pretend, I trudged my way out of the gate, only to be trampled by ecstatic relatives rushing to embrace their prodigal college sons and daughters who were, finally, returning to the Louisville fold. Full of thoughts about how much I wanted my own mommy, I struggled with my three bags to the taxi stand and caught a cab to Bellarmine.
After we had pulled into the parking lot, I hauled my luggage out onto the sidewalk and took a short breather. I sturdied myself for what looked like a long stair-climbing ordeal. But before I could hoist even one inhumanely large bag onto my shoulder, I was distracted by the sound of knocking. It was coming from the inside of the entrance to Petrik. I looked over and saw a small, blonde pony-tailed girl waving at me wildly. It was Sarah Heine, closely followed by Kiernan, Caroline and Katie Maras. They rushed out and surrounded me, and pretty soon it was all I could do to keep up with Sarah and Kiernan's cheerful chatter and rapid-fire questions. They carried my luggage up to my room for me and helped me get settled- all the while expressing how genuinely thrilled they were to meet me and the wonderful summer that was to come. There was no way I could help but believe them. It was the warmest welcome I've ever received from strangers.

Julia S. Powell

We all have goals. Tangible or ethereal, fragile or solid, they can consume us or tap us on the shoulder from time to time. Some goals are important, some are difficult to attain, and some are just stupid. I had several goals at the beginning of the summer, most of which seemed to flutter away as soon as reality reminded me of their impossibility (stealing cilantro from the world and burning it, buying the courier-journal and turning it into a vehicle of my own propaganda, waking up on time). But there were a few pesky and persistent ones which bothered me for the entire summer. Here's a sample of these goals: First and foremost there was making sense of the phenomena known as Brad Shy. Who was he, really? And why did he mumble gibberish from time to time? Then there was beating Adam's right hand in Ping-Pong. What can I say, his right hand is simply more coordinated. Knowing all of the gossip, couples, matchings, kissy kisses and more, seconds, okay, minutes after they occurred, that was a third goal. A crucial fourth goal involved making sure the bed-board in the President's (Bellarmine) mansion was removed, destroyed, and replaced. Crate & Barrel, p. 52, pine. Pottery Barn, p. 37, blond wood with a touch of shine. An important clandestine goal throughout the first few weeks of Bulldogs was convincing my roommates I was sane, sanitary and sweet. Lastly, there was my job at Maryhurst, which, as many of you know, offered me a mentally challenging and physically exhausting environment in which to learn about myself, the world, and the idea of a "healthy perspective". This contrived sentence sounds like BS, I know, and some of it actually is a little glossed over. But even though "mentally challenging" is a synonym for name-calling, screaming, cursing, spitting and threatening, and "physically exhausting" is a euphemism for punching, kicking, biting, scratching, and clawing, this job has truly been the most rewarding job in my entire life. I never knew such extremes of violence and kindness could exist in individuals, and I never imagined that potentially life-threatening situations could arise so quickly and without warning. But such has been my experience this summer, and for this I am very thankful.

Thanks to everyone, fellow Bulldogs, Rowan, Caroline, Maryhurst staff, the Tuckers, and the town of Louisville.

Jamie Schuman

After my first few days at Brooklawn Youth Services I started second-guessing myself about my summer job choice. I thought that maybe I should have signed up for an office job, a "dress-up job" like the Humana or GE people. After all, I'd been a camp counselor for three summers, and I thought maybe I needed a change--that I'd learned all I could from kids. I thought wrong. I'd come back to Petrik Hall each day unable to shake from my thoughts all that I'd seen, heard and did at work. This job was the first experience that constantly pulled on my emotions in so many intense and differing ways. In this way a summer working with kids - like I'd done for the past three summers - became different, meaningful and challenging. I broadened my understanding of why people may act the way they do, and I also learned more about myself - how to think on my feet, how to communicate better, and how to balance a nurturing/friendship role with that of a disciplinarian/authority figure.
I came home sad after one of my boys told me about how his mom abandoned him in a park and about the different placements he had been in before Brooklawn. I came home tired after getting whooped in game after game after game of 21 with the boys on a sunny afternoon at one of the basketball courts on campus. I came home energized after getting and keeping the attention of a classroom full of 8 and 9 year-olds (most of whom had ADD or anger management problems or something else) as I taught them how to do an art project. I came home frazzled and disturbed when in a hectic 10 minutes in the social studies classroom one kid attacked another kid and pushed over a table, and another kid got angry and threw three shoeboxes filled with colored pencils, crayons, and markers all over the floor. But after I had been home for a while the thought of all of those art supplies strewn across the floor was pretty funny. I came home still in awe after chaperoning the boys on a hiking trip to a cave that put Mammoth to shame.
Whereas Mammoth Cave was certainly big, this cave was so tiny and narrow that I had to contort my body in different positions just to get through. I was an adventurer exploring this cave. I even had to wear a hat with a little flashlight on it to see where I was going, and to check out the spotted, red salamander that one of the boys found lurking on a cave wall. When I came out after crawling through the puddles of mud, I was, well, muddy and wet. When I came out, I also felt better than when I came in because I experienced something that I never had experienced before, and I challenged myself. That can be said of my whole work experience at Brooklawn this summer.

Fei Liu

Carolyn Reed from GLI took me to White Castle during our lunch break yesterday. She said it was a Louisville tradition that I must try. She was absolutely right. Between the two of us, we downed nearly a dozen hamburgers - I felt like an extremely satisfied vainglorious glut. We pondered upon the secret ingredient - onion - of the White Castle hamburger, and lingered in our booth, watching people in business suits and muscle shirts walk in and out. Carolyn and I talked about the hamburgers that cost only a nickel in the good old days, about Louisville's labor market, and about the merits of a pedicure.
To me, the soul of Louisville is in the conversations held here, the friendships solidly established, and the people, truly, with hearts warmer than the pavement on a July afternoon. The words seem inadequate, but thank you for bringing me here.

Brad Shy

This is your twentieth, and penultimate, true summer. You have only to live out your twenty-first and you will cross forever into adulthood, relegating your adolescence into the type of thing you can really only revisit via syrupy Bruce Springsteen lyrics. It is as melancholy as it is inevitable.

So you anticipate the tack. You find a good summer job working for the Alzheimer's Association. You spend weeknights, as all upstanding adults do, buying groceries. You feel mature, if not old, and soon you even start shaving-every other day. But then there are those times when you find yourself standing among friends in a crowded Cherokee Park on a balmy Sunday evening with a giant rind bridging your two hands. In the spirit of Rita Hayworth, you pucker your lips together tightly-then tighter still-as you arch backwards. Suddenly, in a single, fluid burst of youth, you lever your torso forward spitting out the watermelon seed. You marvel. Eight feet, nine feet, ten. Though inescapable, you hope it can fly on just a little longer.

Ohia Amadi

To begin things, the mere fact that I, being the bastion of cynicism, was unable to find someone to dislike sets this program apart from others in which I have had the opportunity to participate. Although I can't point to one specific event or time as being particularly funny or touching etc., I am still convinced that Bulldogs in the Bluegrass has helped me move towards being a more complete and fulfilled individual. I have found over the course of the summer that my attitude towards fellow Yalies has been drastically reshaped by the fraternal spirit that was pervasive in all interpersonal interactions. To better put my opinions and prejudices in perspective I must say that my first experience with Yale people led me to believe that no action was performed for its sake alone. There was always some ulterior motive whether it be for personal gain or the downfall of a peer. Yet here in Louisville I found otherwise. Here, try though I did, I was unable to detect any hint of pretense. The willingness with which people volunteered their time and resources for no other reason than to help was something that I feel privileged to have witnessed. It has struck a chord within me that is rarely felt, and for the chance to spend time with these people here, and to see that Yale is not the completely self serving rat race that I believed it to be, I am truly thankful.

Andrew Singer

I once was in Kentucky. A little different from last summer, when I was living it up in the NYC. Of course, last summer was mad expensive, with rent and city expenses, plus I didn't even have a job for a month. That summer (the summer after my freshman year), I didn't secure a job until July. This year, I had a job in February.

I hadn't thought that I'd be working for General Electric, but I applied just for the heck of it, and within three or four days, I had interviewed over the phone with Mary Nuss and been presented with an internship and a quite competitive salary, much more than I'd made in my previous jobs.

Louisville was much more than a job, even though that alone was quite amazing. I got a chance to fall in love with an entirely new locale, what with Bardstown Road, Joe Creason Park, GE Appliance Park, Kroger (the grocery store monopoly), Burritos as Big as Your Head, the Fifth Third Bank, Q-Doba (formerly known as Z-Teca), Higgs Riverview Cafe and much more. It was tough since I didn't have a car, but I eventually got to recognize the grid consisting of Hurstbourne Lane, Newburg, Baxter, Pee Wee Reese, Eastern Parkway, Taylorsville, Broadway, 1st - 5th..., the Watterson Expressway, 65, 264, 265, Poplar Level... I got an amazing $6 haircut at Two Lanes Barbers on Hikes Lane. I was told how to get there by one of my cool co-workers, Todd McIntyre.

From exploring downtown Louisville at night w/ Katy S. (a bit dangerous but really fun), to jogs and discussion sessions with Al, to endless bouts of ping pong with Vivek and Ross, to chilling in Rory's room to listen to a CD of live G 'n F'n R with like five other people, to all the CDs I listened to while at work and checking my email in Petrik, to a killer game of Taboo, to football, basketball, soccer, tennis, fishing, golf...there were just so many memories, it doesn't seem fair unless I try to mention them all, even if briefly.

Bonding with Aubrey as she drove me to and from work every day. NPR made me feel so worldly knowledgeable. This trip was amazing because I had been feeling a bit bummed out by the end of sophomore year, so the perfect medicine was for me to be able to meet an entirely different group of Yalies. Probably the funniest thing was becoming pretty good friends with a group of kids who were friends with a kid I didn't really like but not telling them. That'll be weird when I see them all together, but probably not a big deal. Although I didn't become super close with a ton of kids on this trip, there are some who I would like to try to get together with at times this year at Yale. Others it will be really exciting whenever I see them, even if we don't hang out much.

Well, yeah. I've had a great time here this summer, and I'm extremely thankful for the numerous efforts put in by everyone to ensure that I stay entertained and happy. Thank you (x 1million)! Anyone unsure about this program should definitely do it. Anyone who's been on this program knows how amazing it's been. Peace I'm out.

Jessica Kadis

LOUISVILLE

I am easily intimidated. I know it's a poor excuse, but I attribute this character flaw to my stature. In any situation, it's a pretty safe bet that I'm shorter and younger than just about everyone else. A towering 5'2'' doesn't command much respect. Neither does a birth date in 1982.

Regardless of the reason, I was intimidated about coming to Louisville this summer. A week before my departure, I was in serious panic-mode. There were red lights flashing and sirens ringing in my brain. Naturally, I was worried about my job ("I'm not qualified to do interviews ­ I've never even worked on the school paper! What if they hate my photography?"). And about the other Bulldogs ("What if I don't like them? Or they don't like me? We're going to be stuck together, 24 hours a day, for 10 whole weeks!"). But mostly I was panicked about the city itself. My preconceptions about Louisville were different than most people's. Instead of fearing boredom in Hicksville, USA, I feared getting lost in a metropolis bigger than I could handle. Yes, I knew this was somewhat illogical, but my gut kept telling me that I was going to be alone in a completely foreign place, trying to figure out new friendships and a real job and who-knew-what-else all on my own.

As it turns out, I had no reason to worry.

I've never felt as comfortable in any geographic location as I do in Louisville. This feels like my city. I've been all over, from the west end to the south side and, of course, east to St. Matthews. I know my way around. If you stopped me on the street, I could give you directions or a restaurant recommendation or my opinion about local politics (sure, a merger sounds great).

And as for being alone? Not hardly. We've been cocooned here by the protection and caring of Rowan and Caroline. Add to that the contributions of people like Chris, Kit, Denward, and all the mentors, and there's no way you could ever lack for enjoyable adult contact. I also love the group of Bulldogs that has ended up here this summer. Perhaps wanting to spend ten weeks in Kentucky is somehow self-selective, but I think we've got a pretty cool bunch of kids.

I don't feel intimidated here. Louisville has been a safe and welcoming place for me. There's something about Bulldogs in the Bluegrass ­ maybe it's the city, maybe it's the people ­ that seems designed for someone just my size.

Andy Graham

TOO BIG FOR A PICTURE

For your rock solid dedication,

More worthy of a shrine,

Our summer here has been so pleasant,

This city of yours, devine.

You gave us an entire community,

Like a Rambo to open doors,

We gladly accept to share ,

What before this season was yours.

One may be worth a thousand
But for this, no picture will do.
A pair of words to sum our appreciation,
They're simple, and you know them . . . .
. . . . .but we mean them. -- Thank you.

For me, the most beautiful thing about Louisville has been that it feels young. Not Old Louisville brick building young. Not glaciers carved me Red River Gorge young. And certainly not Falls of the Ohio plastered into a fossil young. But young in spirit.
Young as in the eyes of Rowan on the first day type young. Young as in Caroline's acceptance of us as children numbers 3 through 39 type young. Young as in the alumni's solid softball performance type young. Young as in the city's dedication towards the future and growing type young. . . . Much like us as we made our way down here this summer...

I've always loved mornings. I think it's the stillness of the air, the freshness of the ground, and the rising of a promising sun that makes them so personally admired.
When I think about it, the memories of Louisville will probably be like one of these mornings; a pause in our habitual cycles, an arrangement previously unexperienced, and an expansion of light into a setting of great potential. . .(1)

I realize this connection might be a stretch; I'm not sure if I've done justice to the subject by trying to put it into words.(2) I could do other things of limited pseudo-coolness, such as put it up on the internet or maybe even spell in on the wall with my laser pointer key chain(3), but I'm not sure if what I'm trying to draw between the two ideas is something that is meant for words to begin with. But I can see it. And I think I understand it. And it looks really good. For all of you who have been here this summer, and especially to those who have helped us get here, thank you.

--PS

1. I know what you're thinking --> "and maybe we can get Jewel to do the soundtrack?" right? ha ha, but just hang on

2. Devin, after all, is the English major . . .

3. Yes, I just worked the laser pointer into a paragraph about B in the B memories. ha.