Omnibus

By Jamey Cross

Nash Consing and Brianna Gilbert try not to let the 2,506 miles separating where they live come between them. Despite the physical distance, the two college sophomores have grown closer with the help of hours-long FaceTime calls and nonstop texting. 

“I love yous” written on gum wrappers and Post-its adorn the walls of the two college students battling time and space in their long-distance relationship.

Consing, a photojournalism and communications student at UNC-Chapel Hill, never saw himself in a long-distance relationship. Gilbert, a biology student at California State University in Fullerton, didn’t either. But that was before they found a relationship that made the inconveniences of long-distance romance worth it.

In January, Consing boarded a California-bound plane to meet a girl he’d fallen in love with over the internet. 

Finding each other

In 2014, Consing started posting his poetry on Instagram. By 2015, the account had more than 11,700 followers. Gilbert frequented her Instagram’s ‘Discover’ page, looking for inspiration and motivation. She found both in Consing’s poetry. 

“He wrote poetry in a way that kind of spoke my thoughts in a way I could never articulate,” she said.

Gilbert followed his journey as a poet, messaging him randomly over the years. When he announced that he would stop updating the page in January of 2018, she reached out to thank him for sharing his work for so long.

As the two returned to college for the spring semester, they casually kept in touch and grew to be close friends. They’d tag each other in dog-related memes on Instagram, Gilbert said, solidifying their relationship as “friendly acquaintances.”  

In May, they had their first FaceTime call, which lasted for 20 awkward minutes. Their second, the two took turns sharing details of their lives for over five hours. 

Consing had friendships grow as a result of his poetry account before, but felt something more with Gilbert. 

“With her it was different,” he said. “I had this gut feeling.” 

For the rest of the summer, they talked constantly. Without distractions, they talked for hours and learned more about one another every day. While the distance was a barrier, Consing said it did help them build a strong foundation for their relationship through honesty and openness. They had no reason to be anyone but themselves, because they had nothing to prove. 

When Gilbert realized she was having serious feelings for a guy who only existed to her through her cell phone screen, she was terrified. She had developed a close connection to Consing over the phone, so she knew she wanted to give it a chance. 

With school starting back in the fall and all the distractions that come with a new semester, they knew it would be a difficult transition for their budding relationship. But, Consing said, there was no hesitation.

“It was a question of how are we going to make this work, not if we were going to make it work,” he said. 

Gilbert fondly remembers the days when Consing’s former roommate referred to her as “Nash’s robot girlfriend.”

Up until that point, around August, they’d been taking their relationship one day at a time. Not putting too much hope into the idea that it would work out. 

Still, they decided they wanted more of a commitment. They dropped the “robot,” but Gilbert said Consing didn’t feel like her boyfriend. That word was too weak for what he meant to her. 

“He’s my person, that’s what I tell people,” she said. “He’s everything.”

New year, new state

In August, Consing decided to bite the bullet and buy a plane ticket to California. They’d been talking about trying to meet one another, but no concrete plans had been made. 

Consing said he remembered her getting home and just breaking down. She’d had a rough day. Her mom had been in a bad mood and work had been tough, so she confided in Consing, and he surprised her with the news. 

She kept crying, but now they were hopeful tears instead of woeful ones. It was real. 

The countdown began: his flight was Jan. 1, 2019. He booked the flight nearly four months early, with no hesitation or doubts in his mind. 

“Every day was a celebration, because we were one day closer to meeting,” he said. 

Overall, the days went by quickly, until around mid-December when Consing got home for the winter break. With no distractions, the anticipation nearly drove him crazy. 

As Gilbert’s final exams wrapped up, Christmas traditions with her large family started, so the nervous excitement didn’t hit her until the day of the flight.

She remembers pacing around her apartment, envying the calmness of her friends there with her. He remembers lugging his suitcase and camera equipment through airport after airport with sweaty hands.

He called her when he landed. She was already waiting by the terminal four exit at Los Angeles International Airport. Every time she saw a person in yellow, her heart would drop to her stomach. The second he saw her, his chest felt tight and his vision was shuttered. 

She watched, unable to control her wide smile, as he made his way to her. He wrapped his arms around her, finally holding his love in his arms.

“It was surreal,” they said. 

They hadn’t given much thought to the rest of his week-long trip, as most of their thoughts and anxiety had been focused on the moment in the airport. The busy parts of their week together were spent traveling across California, hiking in Yosemite and spending time with Gilbert’s family. 

Toward the end of the week, they got to slow down. They brushed their teeth and ate breakfast together—coffee, toast and peanut butter. Consing got to experience the compassionate, driven and open person he’d gotten to know online. 

“Nothing’s perfect, but that trip was perfect,” Gilbert said

With the intense joy they felt finally getting to be together, there was also a sadness in knowing he would have to leave soon. However, the recognition that he would be gone soon made them enjoy the small moments together even more. Gilbert said she made a point to remain present and experience their togetherness while she could.

“I just didn’t want to leave her,” Consing said. “It was never going to be enough time.” 

In a crowded LAX, they were forced to say their goodbyes.

Making it work

Edie Campbell is a licensed marriage and family therapist practicing in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Campbell primarily works with couples, helping them grow as individuals and ultimately strengthen their relationships with one another. 

Campbell said in any relationship, communication is key. While physical intimacy and togetherness is not the most important thing in a relationship, togetherness does allow connection that can be hard to replicate over the phone. 

“Relationships are difficult enough in the best of situations, so in a long distance relationship especially, you have to be 100 percent invested,” Campbell said.

According to a 2012 article in the American Psychological Association’s Journal of Counseling Psychology, as many as 75 percent of American students report having a long distance relationship at some point during college. In addition, at any given time, 35 percent of college students are in a long distance relationship. 

“I never thought long distance was for me,” Gilbert said. “I guess I just had to find someone who made it worth it.”

Gilbert and Consing are making plans for her to visit North Carolina in May. Bojangles and barbeque are at the top of the agenda. 

Consing said he and Gilbert are investing in their relationship. They’re working hard every day to make it work. He knows communication is healthy for all relationships, but says it’s crucial for a long-distance relationship.

Until May, Consing will feel close to Gilbert while he has his breakfast—coffee, toast and peanut butter. Postcards and letters she’s sent him adorn the walls of his dorm room. The plane ticket hangs over his desk. A white United States Postal Service box with “Brianna” scribbled across one side sits on his shelf holding other notes and trinkets she’s sent him. 

“When you do long distance, I think it has to be all or nothing,” Consing said. And he is all in.

 

Edited by Spencer Carney.

By Molly K. Smith

Disco lights illuminate the dimly lit room, pulsing to the beat of a Mariah Carey anthem blaring from the television. An empty bin sits on the sticky kitchen table where used plastic cups lie dispiritedly, having served their purpose. Impassioned cheers drown out a drunken symphony of “doos” and “das” from Tar Heel Voices as the Walk-Ons gather in the center of the room for the next impromptu performance.

It’s 11:30 p.m. on Saturday, Feb. 2, and this is a college a cappella party.

There are 11 a cappella groups at UNC-Chapel Hill. Intergroup mingling, while generally celebrated, is a rarity. Saturday night’s shenanigans had at least five groups represented after the UNC Walk-Ons, the Loreleis and Tar Heel Voices competed in the International Championship of Collegiate A Cappella, or ICCA, at The Carolina Theatre in Durham.

The Results

Just an hour before the camaraderie commenced, the three groups were crowded among over 90 singers from other schools under hot stage lights, awaiting the South Quarterfinal competition results.

First, producers announced the special awards. Outstanding Soloist went to the Ramifications. Hearts fluttered. Awards for vocal percussion and song arrangement were given to Wolfgang A Cappella. Sweat dripped. No Ceiling took the prize for Outstanding Choreography. Faces fell.

Each announcement elicited shouts and whistles from families in the audience. They felt thunderous compared to the feeble smiles and scattered applause on stage.

Junior Faith Jones and sophomore Tyler Haugle of Tar Heel Voices exchanged defeated glances before the top three groups were called.

“Well, I think I can tell where this is heading,” Haugle said, his shoulder glued to students from No Ceiling as they prepared for a win by grasping hands and squeezing their eyes shut in anticipation.

Ten groups competed. Three groups placed. Those same three groups – from the College of William and Mary, North Carolina State University and Virginia Commonwealth University – won every special award. Zero groups from UNC earned enough points to advance to semifinals.

Final remarks gave way to a chorus of heel clacks on the stage floor as students rushed to greet loved ones. “Tar!” one UNC student yelled, laughing, in an effort to to instigate the college chant usually reserved for sporting events. “Heels!” others screamed back, locking eyes with one another in spontaneous solidarity.

The Camaraderie

The collective loss was the birth of the biggest UNC a cappella gathering in years and the resurrection of a long-forgotten bond.

“First of all, we were so hype to be invited to the after-party,” said Olivia Dunn, senior and Loreleis president. “But we thought it might be awkward if, like, one group placed in the competition and the others didn’t. While I was shocked that no UNC groups got recognition, it was nice that we were unified in thinking, ‘Hey, screw this.’”

By the time results were out, Dunn was so proud of her group she had forgotten there were winners and losers. When she expected to feel the competitive fire, she felt waves of relief.

“I wasn’t disappointed for our group – it had been six years since we did this thing, and we went into it with no expectations,” she said. “But I was surprised to feel frustrated that our school as a whole didn’t perform well by the judges’ standards.”

The judges score each group’s performance based on 16 factors, including rhythmic accuracy, visual cohesiveness and professionalism. With no cash reward, ICCA South producer Lindsay Howerton-Hastings said judge feedback is the main incentive for groups to compete.

“Our judges are all professional musicians or teachers, and they’re able to help groups develop who they are,” Howerton-Hastings said. “Good execution and originality always fare well with the judges, but no matter what, these kids are always grateful to perform, grow and love each other.”

Philip Riddick, senior and music director for the Walk-Ons, said the score sheets were not helpful.

“Most of the comments were incredibly arbitrary and nitpicky, and they had no artistic merit,” Riddick said.

While the UNC groups didn’t share their individual scores with one another after the competition to avoid further rivalry, they all agreed that the judges’ comments failed to spark concrete plans for improvement.

“It just seems like a shortcut to me,” said Emma Wilson, the ICCA coordinator of Tar Heel Voices. “We put hundreds of hours of work into this. Three people put 20 minutes into a discussion and get to decide we don’t deserve to be recognized.”

The Preparation

Hundreds of hours of preparation precede the 2-hour show, filled by 12-minute sets of animated choreography, full-throated background harmonies and powerful soloists.

ICCA, produced by Varsity Vocals, rose to the spotlight with its feature in the 2012 film “Pitch Perfect,” which shows the quirks and triumphs of fictitious college group performances. The actual competition is almost identical to the movie portrayal – minus the on-stage vomiting.

Students submit audition videos to be placed in regional competitions for quarterfinals, and the top two groups then advance to semifinals. Those who win each semifinal head to New York for the final competition, where one group is crowned the ICCA champion. Groups often incorporate sharp movements and daring song choices to edge out competitors.

“When I started this job, we sometimes had to cancel shows because groups wouldn’t show up,” Howerton-Hastings said. “Now we’ve grown in ways I don’t think anyone could’ve envisioned, and we’ll continue to expand. We thrive on inclusivity, not exclusivity.”

But before the competition, UNC’s a cappella groups grew more isolated from one another as the students prepared. Sets had to be a secret. Rehearsals were private. Even speaking with someone from a competing group created tension.

“Because it’s UNC and we’re all type A people, things get a little competitive with a cappella – and unnecessarily so,” Riddick said. “We don’t actually compete with each other on campus, so it doesn’t have to be this weird. We could all benefit from exchanging ideas.”

Coed groups, like the Walk-Ons and Tar Heel Voices, tend to clash with one another more often than other groups. Their similarities become battles, and their talents become weapons.

“I honestly feel like I’ve never interacted with any Walk-Ons,” Wilson said. “But after walking off that stage and bonding over our letdown, I feel like I know them better. We all went through the same thing.”

Dunn, leading the school’s oldest all-female group, believes the lack of interaction is primarily a scheduling issue. Maybe if there were fewer groups or students had emptier schedules, it would all work out.

“But I feel more connected to the community than I did in my first or second year, so I hope that growth continues,” she said.

For Riddick, future get-togethers may spring from a newfound appreciation for one another. When a cappella groups see each other on campus, it’s often in unrehearsed performances in the Pit or recruitment efforts outside first-year dorms.

“We don’t really get to see other groups performing at their best,” he said. “ICCA showed me that we’re not only all incredibly gifted, but we’re driven as hell.”

Edited by Bailey Aldridge 

 

 

 

 

By Laura Brummett

“I can’t. I can’t open it I’m too scared,” Jamil Kadoura, 19, said. The embassy in Jerusalem had rejected him at least a dozen times before. This time, he had traveled to the consulate in Tel Aviv. This was his last chance.

His friend took the papers from him and ripped them open. He slowly turned back to Kadoura, shocked.

“You got it,” the friend said. “You got the visa.”

After waiting for eight hours in a chair outside the consulate’s office, Kadoura saw a beautiful eagle staring back at him from the colorful documents.

It was 5 p.m., and he returned to his home for the past 11 years, a refugee camp in Israel. Kadoura was on a flight leaving the country by 7:30 p.m. He was leaving behind his entire family, all of his friends and the close-knit community where he had grown up.

Yet, he was lucky. Most Palestinian boys his age had dreamt of this opportunity ever since the first time “Charlie’s Angels” aired on their TV. Kadoura was going to America.

When he was 8 years old, Kadoura and his older brothers were playing with marbles on his father’s citrus farm. He had grown up on his father’s 100 acres of land with his two mothers and multiple brothers and sisters.

His “first mom” married his dad and had four sons and four daughters. Once most of the children had grown up and moved out, his dad married Kadoura’s biological mom.

His father was 41 at the time, and his mother was not quite 16. She had four more sons and four more daughters.

Just as the marbles game began to intensify, his mothers came running toward the boys, yelling.

“We have to go, we have to go right now,” his mother said.

The Israeli-Arab Conflict had reached them. It was 1968, and Kadoura’s family farm was located in Qalqilya, an area that the Israelis called the West Bank of Jordan. The Israelis were coming to claim the area as their own.

Kadoura’s family joined the line of Palestinian people escaping through the mountains with their belongings. Kadoura’s job was to carry the radio. He was young, so he didn’t have much to carry.

After about a day of walking, they stopped to rest in a cave for the night. When entering the cave, Kadoura stepped over a sleeping man’s body.

When he awoke the next morning, the man had not moved.

“Is he still sleeping?” Kadoura asked his older brother.

“Yes. Just let him be,” his brother said.

The sleeping man was actually dead. Kadoura would vividly remember seeing the man’s limp body lying on the ground for the rest of his life.

After one more day of walking, they made it to a United Nations refugee camp. The Israeli occupation was fully underway and Kadoura’s life would never be the same.

“Look how nice these people are, and we caused this”

Kadoura lived in the refugee camp until getting a student visa at 19.

The opportunity to move to the United States was a dream come true for Kadoura, which most Americans don’t understand.

“You have the freedom. Forget the finances and the money because not everyone that comes here does well, but you have America,” Kadoura said. “The America I came to was the most beautiful country in the world.”

Even though he had big expectations for what life in the United States would look like, Kadoura was never disappointed. In fact, he was shocked that the society was even nicer than he thought.

Kadoura, now 58, lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina with his wife and three children. Together, they own three restaurant locations, a market and a catering business.

The flagship restaurant, Mediterranean Deli, has won countless awards, including being named Business of the Year in 2012 by the Chapel Hill-Carrboro Chamber of Commerce.

“I’m 100 percent sure that it’s because of my background and what I went through,” Kadoura said of his success.

His oldest daughter, Ambara Kadoura, started working in the restaurant five years ago when she was 15 because she wanted to be around what he had built.

“I felt like I needed to be a part of that because of how much he’s been through,” she said. “How could I be selfish?”

A few years after the deli opened in 1991, Kadoura experienced a drastic spike in business. The month of September 2001 brought the most sales the deli had seen to the date.

The community was coming to support Kadoura after the terrorist attacks, now known as 9/11. He was struggling with not only hurting for America, but also feeling guilty.

Kadoura tried to eject himself from American society, feeling like he didn’t belong. He referred to the attack as being done by “us” despite his friends reminding him that he was nothing like the terrorists.

As more people in the community showed support for Kadoura, he felt even guiltier.

“Look how nice these people are, and we caused this,” he said.

Kadoura’s close friends, along with his wife, worked to make sure he knew he was not to blame just because of his ethnicity.

“A lot of people didn’t realize we also went through difficult times because we’re Middle Easterners,” Kadoura said. “We were agonized, we were broken, but it made us love America more.”

You can have nothing and come back from it without hate

Kadoura wanted his children to have a good understanding of both his Middle Eastern heritage and their mother’s American heritage.

“I tell them to be proud of both cultures,” he said. “They’re very Middle Eastern but they’re very American at the same time.”

Two summers ago, the family visited Jerusalem to see Kadoura’s homeland.

“I miss everything about it. I miss the togetherness. I miss that people are close, not for financial reasons. It’s a very simple society,” he said. “Here it’s like life is on the run, but I wouldn’t change it for the world, being here.”

Kadoura’s childhood farm was never the same after the occupation began, and is now mostly a Jewish settlement.

Despite watching his father lose the land he had worked so hard for, Kadoura holds no bitterness in his heart toward the Israelis.

“Jerusalem belongs to everyone. I hope one day they make it a United Nations city where everyone can visit,” he said.

As the conflict around Jerusalem escalated over the past year, Kadoura has worked to share his experience with the community.

Ambara admires her father’s ability not to show hatred to any Jewish or Israeli people, despite the occupation. Kadoura uses his struggles as a learning experience, instead of a source for pain.

“Sometimes I don’t think like that. I get mad and think it’s not fair,” she said. “It’s a really hard thing to do.”

Ambara uses her dad as a role model for her own life. He’s taught her that you can have nothing and come back from it without hate.

“He has an impact on anyone he knows or comes across in life,” she said. “Everyone I know says how lucky I am to have him as a dad.”

Edited by: Madeleine Fraley and Jack Gallop

By Natalia Bartkowiak

In a small, rented house in Durham, Shawna Barito has been hard at work for the last seven months, putting together a program she’s spent most of her life developing. It’s undeniable that Barito has been through a lot. She’s faced trauma, poverty, cancer and the health issues of her two children. But after all that, Barito finally knows what she wants to do in life: be a life coach.

Barito continuously claims that unlike all the other career aspirations in her life, this one finally feels right. That notion seems to be plastered all over her home office. On her desk there is a picture frame with photos of her son and daughter. The photos face at her at all times, as if to remind her why she’s on this path. A large whiteboard details pricing information and a rebranding plan. Inspirational handwritten messages are taped on a wall: “Be Visible, Give Value, Make Offers,” “Speak your truth. Speak your value. Show your passion. Live you.”

‘I wanted to leave a legacy’

The Shatterproof program was originally built for Chancler, Barito’s son and eldest child, who is now 24. When he was 3 years old, Chancler was diagnosed with autism. His doctors weren’t sure if he was going to be low-functioning or high-functioning.

“I decided that I was going to have a hand in helping him be the best ‘him’ he could,” Barito said. “I started educating myself on figuring out how to help him navigate while being super different.”

Barito wanted Chancler to be able to own his choices. She wanted him to be in control of his life and own what direction he was going to go from there. And it worked; Chancler grew up to be a respectable young man with a job, a girlfriend and a great future. As she observed his evolution, she came to a realization.

“Women in my employment situation had some of the same struggles: they were different and they didn’t know how to stand up for themselves, and they didn’t know how to own their choices,” Barito said. “I realized that I could teach them the same skills that I was teaching my son.”

About a year ago, Barito began turning what she had taught her son into a life coaching program.

“After surviving cancer, I wasn’t going to go back to corporate America. I wanted to do more, I wanted to leave a legacy,” Barito said. “I decided I wanted to start my own coaching business to help show women how to have unbreakable self-confidence, which is what the Shatterproof program is all about.”

Becoming Shatterproof

The Shatterproof program consists of five disciplines, Barito explained: embracing one’s evolution, owning what is one’s to own, being in integrity with oneself, honoring one’s virtues and values, and practicing self-compassion.

“The more I talk to people, the more I realize that the program is super easy to learn,” Barito said. “The program is so easy to adapt and use, that my own husband – who doesn’t do counseling – was able to start picking it up and using it.”

“So that’s a long story short on this program,” Barito said and laughed, realizing that she had been talking for fifteen minutes.

In the other room, her daughter, Ciarra, who had been sitting on the couch, also laughed. Ciarra has heard the summary of her mother’s coaching program many times. Too many, she claims.

“She’s told me about the program so many times, I know the whole thing by heart,” Ciarra said. “She’s so excited about it. I’ve never seen her so invested in something before.”

Barito and her family aren’t the most well-off people. They rent a house and essentially live paycheck to paycheck.

“To be honest,” Barito said, “we could totally be okay if I went back to project management work.”

However, she knows that it wouldn’t be right. Going back to project management would send her tumbling back to square one. She’s decided to live her program every day, so she can keep improving it and show that it actually works.

“I’d rather have a quality life than have the same stress level and the same broken home as before,” Barito said, “Family, love – I don’t want to sound like ‘love, light and laugh’ and all that other stuff – it’s serious, it’s super important. It’s the quality of your life over the quantity of things that is more important – that’s what I’ve learned the most.”

‘I was facing ghosts’

Of course, Barito’s life wasn’t always like this. Before cancer, before she was forced to apply the program to herself, she was a completely different person.

“I was a very cold, very driven, very narrow-minded individual before I was diagnosed with cancer,” Barito said. “I didn’t focus on my family; I put everybody on the backburner. I blamed a lot of people outside of myself, I was never at fault. Ever. I wasn’t a nice person. At all.”

When asked what she had been facing at the time that made her feel like she had to be like that, Barito’s eyes became unfocused. Up until that point, her blue eyes were piercing, making her seem intimidating, confident. Now, she was only half there. Her voice became smaller. Her response was short, but she knew it by heart.

“Ghosts,” Barito said. “I was facing ghosts. I felt like I had to be this cold, hard, calculating person and I realized, when I almost lost everything, including my life… that was wrong. You don’t have to be a monster to have a great life, because it’s all about perspective. It’s all about what’s important to you.”

Everything changed when a six-letter word came crashing into Barito’s life. Her entire world came to a screeching halt as she heard it. Cancer.

“When I was first diagnosed, it rocked my world, and not in a good way,” Barito said.

With that remark, she laughed. Unlike her previous laughter, it was almost humorless. It wasn’t clear if this was the kind of laughter others should join in.

“I lost who I was,” Barito said. “Which is the best thing that ever happened to me, but I literally lost who I was. I had wrapped myself up so tightly in what my career was and what direction I was going to go that when I realized I could no longer do that, then who was I? That was the hardest part for me: getting out of the victim mindset of ‘why me, why did I have cancer.’”

Barito slowly realized that the question wasn’t “why.” It was “what.” What now? So Barito did exactly what she had been teaching her friends and family to do: Apply the program.

“That’s been the last two and a half years. It’s been about taking myself apart, dismantling my entire (life): how I think, how I show up in life, how I feel. And there’ve been a lot of moments of, ‘wow, I really was an asshole.’”

She laughed a little, and the tension in the room lifted. She paused for a moment and her eyes darkened a bit.

“If I didn’t have this program I don’t know where I would’ve been because I certainly wouldn’t be where I am right now.” Barito said.

Barito is writing a book, The Art of Being Shatterproof, which will detail her program and how it works. She plans to have the book completed and published by 2020.

“I’m really excited about this. I fought this for a long time, but I realized that this is what I’m being called to do,” Barito said.

It’s clear that an empire is being born in that Durham home office. Barito is ready for the world, and the world should get ready for her.

Edited by Rachel Jones

By Allison Miszewski

Chances are that one wouldn’t notice Wake Zone Coffee House without actually looking for it. Within one of the smallest plazas in Apex, N.C., Wake Zone is nestled alongside a gas station, a nail salon and two permanently closed restaurants. If you know about it, it’s likely because someone has told you about it.

Or it’s because you’re low on fuel and have swerved down the plaza’s steep entrance to fill up the tank. Perhaps the two aquamarine beach chairs gracing its entrance at the end of the shopping strip have caught your eye.

Brightly colored posters alert that there are warm mochas inside, the perfect remedy for an abnormally chilly afternoon. As you walk in, a smiling barista greets you.

A taste of paradise

The loud buzzing of espresso machines competes cheerfully with Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” playing on the speakers. A warm breeze wafts from the large ceiling fan that resembles the spinning motor of a boat.  An eclectic collection of quotes and objects adorns the turquoise walls. Among the décor are ocean sunset paintings by local artists, a large Cuban flag, a string of baseball hats from places like Bass Pro Shops and Atlantic Beach, and a painted scroll of Jimmy Buffett lyrics.

The lamps resemble swaying palm trees.

You must be by the sea.

Paul Peterson, the owner of this tiny getaway, rushes from the drive-thru window to the front register with three iced hot chocolates in his hands. Despite the crowded environment, he remains collected in his jeans, leather sandals and Bob Ross t-shirt that endorses the painting of “happy, little trees.”

“It’s always nice when people say that they like your coffee,” Peterson said. “But lots of people can make coffee that tastes good. However, not a lot of people can make someone feel comfortable, not every place can make someone feel special. We want to be that third place, in between home and work, that makes people feel welcomed and like they can be themselves.”

Peterson is not an island native, far from it. After completing a bachelor’s degree at Illinois State University, he went on to earn a master’s degree in urban planning at the University of Louisville. After living in Maryland for a decade, he worked in Washington D.C. for a division of the where he managed construction programs. Only three years ago did he move to North Carolina as director of facilities for the Kenan-Flager Business School at UNC-Chapel Hill.

Peterson ultimately wanted a more “chill” occupation that was a closer commute from his family’s home in Apex. So, on Oct. 1, 2017, he purchased Wake Zone from its original owners.

“I always enjoyed the vibe and theme of the place, and I felt like it matched my personality,” Peterson said. “It was coffee without pretention. Here, our customers get to have fun with it.”

He also added that there would be no “looking down upon” people who like to make specialty drinks; flavor creativity would be welcomed at Wake Zone.

Coffee connecting community

Harriet Scott, a girl with a tie-dye bandana pulling her curly brown hair away from her face, places a blended mocha with a marshmallow shot onto the seashell-covered counter. Her cheeks are sprinkled with freckles and her persona radiates sunshine.

Originally, Scott didn’t see herself working at a coffee shop after graduating from a small, Catholic college in Rhode Island with a bachelor’s degree in religious studies.

“Ministry doesn’t always pay the big bills,” Scott said. “So, I looked for a job that had similar values, one of them being building community.”

Wake Zone, with its dedication to making customers like family, was the perfect fit. Her favorite moment working as a barista so far has been when one customer became a close friend through “divine intervention.”

“This girl randomly came up to me, saying that she had been coming in everyday and that God put it on her heart to make a connection with me,” Scott said.

Such connections seem to develop often at Wake Zone. Maybe this is a byproduct of the café’s intentional engagement with the local community. It sells homemade products, ranging from jewelry to knitted hats to keychains, crafted by artisans all across the Triangle.

“The idea was to make the ‘craft stand’ a focal point for the community,” Peterson said. “It is about giving small vendors, crafters and college kids trying to work their way through school an opportunity to make money doing what they love.”

Local and loved

Rose and Dave Weitzel, known as The Laser People, have been supplying customized tumblers for Wake Zone since August 2017. Residents of Cary, North Carolina for 25 years, they acquired a laser cutter for their home from China. Why? In the beginning, they planned just to create birthday and anniversary gifts for people they knew, but soon their hobby evolved into a real business.

“By word of mouth, we started being asked to make things for people outside of the family,” said Rose Weitzel. “We can engrave or etch on just about everything. We have done cutting boards, signs, glasses, pocket knives — the list is endless!”

The best product that the husband-wife team got asked to create was a marriage proposal on a tumbler. They loved being able to be a part of that special moment, they said.

“Our customers are very involved in the design process, which makes the final product even more meaningful,” said Rose Weitzel.

The staff at Wake Zone and the artisans they support clearly seem to believe that customers are more than what the contents of their wallets can purchase.

The secret syrup

A caffeinated beverage, paired with a staff that knows customers by name, seems to have brewed a tranquil, poetic atmosphere.

Looking around, one can’t help but notice the pleasant, wide variety of visitors Wake Zone attracts. Two older gentlemen with long, white beards are discussing the news. There’s a group of high school students clicking away in unison on their sticker-covered laptops. There’s also young couple laughing nervously on what seems to be their first date.

“As soon as you walk in, it feels like you’re in Wilmington,” said Natalie Hoffman, a loyal customer and social work major at the Franciscan University of Steubenville. “Meeting friends there is like going to the beach, if it were feasible by a cup of great coffee and only five minutes down the street.”

After taking a last sip of mocha, you pack up your things to head back into the frigid sleet. You feel warmer than expected. Maybe it was the tropical atmosphere. Maybe it was the genuine kindness shown by the employees.

Regardless, you’ll never want to simply pass by this hidden gem from paradise ever again.

Edited by MaryRachel Bulkeley

By Chris Cotillo

CHAPEL HILL, N.C. – Among the hundreds gathered to rally for gun control in Polk Place on Thursday afternoon, dozens held signs.

“I don’t hate guns, I just like kids more,” one read. Another noted that “math is the only thing students should fear in school.” Some were simple (“Enough.”), some were personal (“I vote in one year. Be ready.”), and some were a bit more radical (“Disarm the police!”).

But one sign, held by a young African-American man who would only identify himself as a UNC Chapel Hill sophomore named Jimmy, got the most attention with his sign. It read, “Gun control equals slavery. F*** that.”

At first, Jimmy stood in the back of a large crowd gathered to listen to local politicians, student leaders and survivors of last month’s shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. Then he realized he wasn’t being seen enough. So about midway through the two-hour speech, he went toward the South Building, turned around, and made his message visible to a crowd that had spent the last hour shifting back and forth between sobbing at emotional testimonies and chanting for change.

As it turned out, Jimmy’s sign served as a provocative prop designed to cause discussions and arguments with other rallygoers. And as Jimmy soon proved with the dozen or so gun control advocates who approached him, it worked.

“Honestly, I don’t care about the sign,” Jimmy said. “I don’t even care about the argument on the sign. The thing that I came here to do is to let people know that most gun owners don’t value bullets more than people’s lives. We want to find a solution as well.”

Curiosity over sign creates thought-provoking conversations

Andrew Bryant and Connor Schorer, two freshmen at UNC-CH, attended the rally for the same reason as almost everyone else in attendance: to advocate for stricter gun laws in the wake of the Parkland shooting. They were surprised to see someone holding a sign like Jimmy’s and decided to approach him.

“The sign did its job,” Parker said. “It was provocative and encouraged me to go over and ask him what the hell he was talking about.”

Parker and Schorer were among a group of seven arguing with Jimmy, who had by that point gained a couple of supporters himself. Both said that their conversation was intellectually stimulating, but criticized Jimmy for not being able to support his claims.

“He went back on himself a lot,” Schorer said. “At one point he said opposing stricter gun control laws would save lives but that it wouldn’t stop anything. Later he said that if it saved any lives, he’d give his gun up.”

Jimmy set up shop to the left of the speakers at the South Building, with rallygoers confronting him every couple of minutes. While he said some protestors had gotten “heated” during their conversations, he said that the arguments were generally productive.

“Not everyone is going to agree all the time,” Jimmy said. “There are going to be situations where some people just don’t see a potential solution until after it’s enacted and works. I do think that, in an age where people are becoming more and more isolated and separated, it’s valuable to have one-on-one conversations. It can break down a lot of things you wouldn’t be able to break down on YouTube or Twitter.”

Bryant seemed to find the conversations helpful as well.

“It’s very hard to think of an answer [about guns] because it requires so much knowledge and research that not all of us have the time to devote to that,” Bryant said. “I like that I actually got to talk it out with someone I disagreed with. I think that’s a productive way to deal with this problem.”

Shootings in America far too common in comparison to some countries

For students like Jimmy, Bryant and Schorer, the debate on gun control has always been a part of life in America. College students today have been alive for seven of the 10 deadliest mass shootings in U.S. history, with current seniors at the school having been in college for five shootings that have killed a total of 163 people over the last four years.

But for UNC-CH senior Shubhang Mehta, who was raised in Melbourne, Australia, the thought of a school shooter never crossed his mind.

“Never, mate. Never,” Mehta said. “You come to a country like America and come to a university and hear these other shooters at different universities and different high schools. It’s scary to think that any one day, someone could come shoot up where you go to school.”

Australia has some of the strictest gun laws in the world, largely due to legislation introduced after the 1996 Port Arthur massacre that restricted the private ownership of semi-automatic and pump-action weapons. Some have suggested that the U.S. enact similar strict legislation, an argument that Mehta agrees with despite the large difference in population size between the two nations.

“I think there’s truth in the argument that gun control works,” Mehta said. “To any Australian, it’s second nature to say you shouldn’t have guns.”

Now in his third year at UNC-CH, Mehta is subject to the ongoing gun debate just like those who grew up in the U.S. He said his friends at home would be shocked to see how much of a hot-button issue guns are here.

“They’d honestly react the same way as me,” Mehta said. The fact that people have to have this discussion and that it’s such a lively discussion with such equal sides…it’s just ridiculous.”

As school shootings continue to increase throughout the years, so do the amount of people standing up for stricter gun control, creating a movement for change.

“You are making a difference,” Chapel Hill Mayor Pam Hemminger told the gathered crowd Thursday. “Now keep going.”

Edited by Brittney Robinson

 

 

 

 

By Jess Gaul

It is the height of World War I, and tensions have risen in North Carolina.

The future of UNC-Chapel Hill is uncertain as students receive on-campus military training. It hardly seems to be the time for major campus investments, let alone the construction of a permanent building.

But UNC-CH President Edward Kidder Graham is resolute — now is not the time to ignore the university’s higher purpose of learning, and classrooms are needed to meet this mission.

At his insistent pleading, the North Carolina General Assembly gives UNC-CH $500,000 toward permanent improvements at the university. The first building to appear is Phillips Hall with a bill of $138,589.78.

And with this act, the enigma of Phillips Hall begins.

Something about Phillips attracts feelings of distress among university students. Perhaps it is due to the presence of the building’s math and physics departments or the confusing navigational experience the building provides.

Designed by Charles Christian Hook, a renowned architect based in Charlotte, Phillips is a building on the cusp of collegiate gothic architecture. Its regal face and arched entryway give it a look of importance and mystery.

Phillips is named after three men in one family who each taught at the university — James, Charles and William Battle Phillips.

Exploring the interior

Throughout the dim hallways of Phillips Hall, bright red signs alerting “DANGER” cover doors and warn entrants to the possibility of hazardous materials.

Teal tiles line the tops of the hallways of the biomedical engineering labs and seem to mark the place of a time passed.

Completed in 1919, the basic structure of Phillips Hall has stood through almost 100 years of campus transformation, from racial integration to the full inclusion of women in the student body. It was home to UNC-CH’s first computer in the early 1960s.

In many ways, it feels like an old gentleman who has been shuffling slowly for way too long. Many students think it’s about time for that the old guy to take a breather.

In his calculus recitation, sophomore Evan Grimes experienced an uncomfortable atmosphere.

“It would either be ridiculously hot or ridiculously cold,” Grimes said. “It was like 85 or 87 degrees in this room. And the teacher was visibly sweating.”

“(Phillips is) an old man in the final stages of life in the nursing home.”

Phillips used to be the pinnacle of modern architecture. In its prime, it was home to male students of applied science, engineering and physics.

All in all, the face of the building is not objectively ugly. Made of stable brick and limestone, the university would likely pay millions to construct Phillips today.

Clara Schwamm, a junior math minor, first encountered Phillips Hall while on a tour of UNC-CH before entering college. Knowing her interest in math, she decided to explore the building.

She was immediately intimidated by the arched front stairway and the prominent entryway sign silencing hall dwellers – “QUIET WHILE CLASSES ARE IN SESSION.”

“It didn’t feel super welcoming,” she said.

Schwamm said she found herself questioning if she really wanted to pursue math in college.

“You walk in, and it’s immediately bleak in there,” she said. “Math is not a subject that people tend to be excited about.” And the moody vibes of the interior may not be helping things.

The not-so-modern interior of Phillips stands in stark contrast with newer, brighter buildings such as the FedEx Global Education Center on campus.

Despite its physical attributes, sophomore math major Stanley Sun has positive feelings about Phillips based on his personal experience.

“The building physically is kind of a wreck, but I love it just the same,” he said.

A native of Portland, Oregon, Sun struggled to adjust to North Carolina during his first semester. He thought of home often and was trying to make connections in his new environment

“One of my friends remarked to me that (Phillips) looked like an Oregon high school in the 50s, and that’s when I really fell in love with it,” Sun said.

After declaring his major, Sun began to make friends with people in his department and see improvements in his social and academic life.

“At that time, I felt like Phillips was my only home away from home,” he said.

A building of its time

In 1919, many students lived in north campus dorms such as Old East, Vance and Steele. Much of what is located on today’s central and south campus did not exist.

“(Student life was) just much more central in terms of the experience of the campus,” Wendy Hillis, a former historic preservation officer for UNC-CH, said. “Campus kind of ended on Cameron Avenue.” Cameron Avenue is the street that runs in front of the Old Well.

Hillis, now the university architect at Tulane University, said that it is important to understand what campus life was like in the early 20th century in evaluating Phillips’ character.

“For 100 plus years of the university’s founding … so much of the early development was on the Franklin Street quad,” she said. “It took so long to build that out.”

Across Cameron Avenue, students had meals at Swain Dining Hall, cheekily nicknamed “Swine Hall.” Education students flocked to Peabody Hall to the west of Phillips and attended commencement at the original Memorial Hall just steps to the east.

Hillis also emphasized the importance of considering the time in which Phillips was built and the transformations its walls have witnessed. It was the early 20th century when women were still not allowed to fully enroll in the university, personal computers were an unknown concept and modern comforts like air conditioning were not included.

“The way students work now and the way students learn is so different than when these buildings were built,” Hillis said.

David Owens, chair of the building and grounds committee, sat in math class on a Saturday afternoon in Phillips Hall, watching people walk to football games.

Owens said that Phillips is an older building that probably needs renovation.

“It’s just a very old building that has good bones in the sense that the basics of the building are in good shape, but the interior space is very old and tired and probably needs a significant rehab,” Owens said.

The building and grounds committee is a faculty advisory group appointed by Chancellor Folt that makes recommendations to the Chancellor about when to construct or demolish a building.

Owens said that sometimes a decision is made to keep a building due to its architectural significance, such as the Campus Y. It doesn’t match the symmetry of the rest of Polk Place, but it is important enough to the community to keep it.

“We try to renovate, rehabilitate, restore where possible,” Owens said.

Today, building plans prioritize open space, natural light and large gathering spaces. Phillips doesn’t have a lot of these characteristics because they simply weren’t a priority when it was designed.

Urban legend proclaims a blueprint mix-up between UNC-CH and another school is behind its confusing design. It is unclear whether this is true, and Owens said it is likely not the case.

The survival of Phillips

In March 2016, The Daily Tar Heel reported that a committee met to discuss the closing of Phillips based on constant complaints.

Owens says, however, that this meeting was separate from the building and grounds committee and was likely part of updates for the campus-wide master plan. The lack of word over the two years following this meeting indicates that these suggestions were not incorporated into the official university grounds plans.

Despite its physical problems, recent improvements such as new math and physics help rooms show the potential of Phillips’ interior.

Schwamm compared Phillips to Lots-o, the antagonist stuffed bear from Toy Story 3.

“It was abandoned and then became evil,” Schwamm said. “But it can be redeemed!”

Edited by Megan Cain

 

By Heather Prizmich

A group of seven Duke University students gathered inside a room designed as a study from the late 19^th century. A tall man walked into the room wearing a deerstalker, which is commonly associated with Sherlock Holmes. In a fake Cockney accent he said, “Dun Dun Duuunn!”

He continued after a pause, “Billionaire Chester Covington has been murdered and the police need help solving the homicide. You all have 60 minutes to figure out who the murderer is and escape the room. Good luck.”

Hetherton walked out of the room, slammed the door and locked it.

Just yards away from Duke University’s East Campus is Bull City Escape, an escape room business owned and operated by Alice Cheung.

The business, currently ranked No.1 in “Fun and Games” in Durham on TripAdvisor, is giving people a chance to exercise their minds through thematic puzzle solving.

“We provide real life escape rooms, where a small group of people are locked in a room,” Cheung said. “They need to search the room for clues, they need to solve a series of puzzles, riddles, combination locks. And their ultimate goal is to unlock the door and let themselves out.”

The rooms are all themed and given different difficulty ratings. The current rooms are (in order of easiest to most difficult): Lunar Lockdown, Enchanted Kingdom and A Study in Murder.

Cheung is a native of Long Island, New York, and graduated from Stanford University with a bachelor’s degree and a master’s in education. She became an escape room enthusiast while traveling across the country when she worked in marketing and recruiting at the University of Pennsylvania and then Duke University.

“I traveled a lot, so I would see if there was an escape room around, and the more I played the more I grew to love this concept, and I knew that Durham and the Triangle at large would just eat it up and love the idea of an escape room,” Cheung said.

Grant Hetherton, the British imposter from the Study in Murder escape room, said he applauds Cheung for her dedication, because she takes on a lot of tasks to keep the business going strong.

“Well, I think you have to be a sort of nexus of an interesting Venn diagram to own a business like this,” Hetherton said. “Not only is she a boss, not only is she the owner of the business, but she’s designing all the games, too. I know I couldn’t do it. I’m not sure how she does.”

The room where it happens

“We need our first clue,” said the student in charge of the walkie-talkie helping the group communicate with Hetherton, who was watching their progress on a monitor in a back room.

He cleared his throat, preparing his character’s accent, and talked into his walkie-talkie.

“Time is precious,” he said. “You have 35 minutes left.”

From the monitor, the group could be seen looking at one another and talking out what the clue meant. There were multiple forms of time—a clock, pocket watch and an hour glass filled with sand—and they seem confused as to which item they should look at.

Outside looking in

Hetherton chuckled at the monitor.

“They were just so close to their next clue, but the person it seems they’ve made their leader just pointed them to the wrong part of the room,” he explained. He’s waiting for them to ask for their second clue.

The place grew noticeably noisier as more customers came in. The next appointment was a birthday party for a 12-year-old girl. The sitting area was filled with purple balloons, presents, preteens and their parents, who were waiting for the go-ahead to leave.

Cheung’s other employee, Sheryl Howell, went into the cramped sitting area to talk to the kids. She seemed to have a hard time drawing their attention away from their smart phones, but after one kid after the next nudged one another, Howell finally had their attention.

She told them what to expect in Lunar Lockdown and then handed the lucky parent, who needed to supervise them, a walkie-talkie.

Cheung said that they allow anyone 12 years old and older to participate, but they need at least one adult with them until they’re 15 years old.

“These puzzles were created by me with adults in mind,” Cheung said.” I test all puzzles on my employees, so if it’s hard for them to solve, then it might be too hard for young teenagers. Only about a third of people are able to escape the rooms, and not one of the all-teenager groups have escaped successfully yet.”

Running out of time

With 15 minutes left to escape, the Duke students asked Hetherton for a second clue.

“Set up another case bartender,” Hetherton said, quoting comedic actor W.C. Fields. “The best thing for a case of nerves is a case of scotch,”

“Thanks,” replied the student.

“It’s going to be close, but I think they might just get it,” Hetherton said. “They’re on a good pace.”

Cheung, passing by, looked at the monitor, too, to see which clue they were on.

“I give them another five minutes,” she said.

First, they solved who the murderer was and then, with just 90 seconds left, they managed to escape the room.

Some of them walked out with their hands over their head like they had just finished a race. Hetherton had said that the rooms are like a mental marathon.

The group took signs off the wall that said “We escaped!” and “Yay!” before scrunching up together in the sitting area and taking their victorious group picture.

Bull City Escape, located at 711 Iredell Street, is opened Thursday and Friday nights and on Saturday and Sunday. Games are $25 plus tax per person with a minimum ticket purchase requirement to book a room. Enchanted Kingdom and Lunar Lockdown each require a minimum of three people to book and A Study in Murder requires a minimum of four. To book an appointment, click here.

 

Edited by Allison Tate