more than they're cracked up to be....

ATHENS: GLIMPSES OF HOME

Seed hulls thickly cover the ground near the brick retaining wall at Wilson Hall. A few chipmunks pepper the scene, cheeks bulging. But the squirrels steal the show: nearly ten sit in a row atop the wall, devouring and mussing the neat piles of black oil sunflower seeds and unshelled peanuts that Vicky Butcher has laid. “Nineteen squirrels are the most I’ve seen,” says Butcher, an Administrative Assistant in the College of Arts and Sciences Dean's Office. For nearly forty-five years, someone has fed the squirrels at Wilson Hall. Ms. Butcher has done so for eighteen and a half. “I have no idea how much I spend. If I knew I would probably stop,” Butcher says. “During the winter, I go through six 25- pound bags each. When it’s really bad, I also put out birdseed.” Over long weekends or breaks, a Guardian Angel takes her place. “He watches,” she says. “If I haven't put food out for a couple of days, he feeds them.”

It was 1908. Ohio University’s President Allston Ellis, reputedly showy and vain yet an able administrator, had recently had a major confrontation with the former University President, Charles Super. Ellis, having held office for seven years and would until his untimely fatal heart attack in 1920, was careworn. A series of unfavorable public criticisms had triggered a mandatory Presidential four-week vacation. He was slated to tour and observe eastern Normal Schools, which trained students to become teachers. Harvard was one of his stops. While being entertained by Professor Albert Bushnell Hart, something frolicking on Harvard’s Yard caught the eye of the man with a propensity for display. From a November 1902 edition of Harvard Illustrated Magazine, an article by George Allan England notes: “Every morning at seven our almoner fills the green boxes about the Yard, which serve as arboreal pantries. There is also a certain tin pan whither the squirrels come to drink; they are quite at home with us and know it.” On the fateful day of June 18, 1908, a committee was formed. From the Board of Trustees minutes: "A motion by Boyd, seconded by Kinnison, was unanimously adopted appointing Ellis, Welch, O'Bleness, Wood, Biddle, and Jones a committee to consider the advisability of securing squirrels for the campus. Said committee to report at a subsequent meeting of the board.”

Going out to sweep the chaff at the end of the day, they start to appear. “They recognize the sound of the broom,” Ms. Butcher says. They know her: she knickers, coaxing them with peanuts. ”The first few years I named them, got to know them. Then they would disappear and it hurt.” She holds her white bucket full of peanuts, smiling proudly, talking to them, worrying over one’s muddied nose. “Last summer’s drought drove them to water,” says Butcher. “When they came back I didn’t have as many of the old squirrels. I’ve had to retrain a new generation to trust me.”

It was the early 1990’s. President Charles Ping and President Kazuo Yamada continued to deepen the twenty-year-old rich bond between Ohio University and Chubu University in Japan. Numerous gift exchanges were made. Most notable: receiving cherry trees for the banks of the Hocking River near the Convocation Center, and giving a replica of Cutler Hall’s cupola, which was placed on a raised surface in a Japanese city park equivalent of our green. But less renowned is the gift of grey squirrels. Ping said, “The City Council came to Athens and were quite taken with the squirrels. They asked if we would ship some to them so they could release them at a new city park. As it turned out, it was very complicated to ship live animals.” Dr. James Bryant, then Vice President for Regional Higher Education, said, “When talking with the city council, the squirrels would come in through the open window of my Cutler Hall office and run around on my desk. The Japanese fell in love with them.” They specifically requested twenty-three squirrels, no more and no less. “You cannot put more than one squirrel in a cage, especially stressed ones,” said Dr. Bryant. “We had to have twenty-three cages, each with appropriate food and water receptacles and use a licensed breeder to capture them. We had to get confirmation and an export license. We took all the seats out of an O.U. plane and flew to Chicago, then to Tokyo. From there it was a two-hour drive in busses to get to Komaki City, which is on an island.” The Japanese were waiting for the squirrels as the centerpiece display at an International Fair. There were no other squirrels on the island so releasing them was not advised. “They had constructed an enormous, circus-wagon like cage with wheels to move to the park where they would be kept afterwards,” said Dr. Bryant. “It was one of the most interesting undertakings in all my years.” One squirrel died a few days later. A squirrel’s life expectancy is little more than a year. One year later, there were only fourteen left.
Dr. Robert Lilley was a visiting professor to Chubu from April to June in 1997. From his journal entry, June 19, 1997: “Tohru Washizu, Director and chief of the Komaki International Affairs Division met with us. We hiked up the hill to a park where the Gray Squirrels given by Ohio University are kept. It was very hot and muggy, and most of the squirrels were hiding, but the ones we saw looked in good repair.” On a sign at the park, the header at the top said: “Cute International Ambassadors of Friendship, American Eastern Grey Squirrels.” The rest reads: “These eastern gray squirrels are a gift from the people of Ohio to the people of the City of Komaki as a symbol of the friendship between the City of Komaki and Ohio University. You can see these squirrels in all corners of the rich green University of Ohio campus." Josep Rota, Associate Provost for International Affairs said, “Unfortunately there is no squirrel left on the campus of Chubu University. I am inclined to believe they died because of the environmental conditions. The climate and similar factors were just too different.”

Bark is peeled off of the trees in strips. Squirrels carry old used tissues or bits of fluff. They are nesting. In the pre-spring barren trees, the nests, or drays, stand out like blots of ink on blank paper. All over the grass, little holes have been dug, evidence of a search. “Our grounds people do a wonderful job keeping the grounds looking good. They use those big leaf vacuums,” says Ms. Butcher. “The squirrels don’t bury the nuts deeply, they just find a tuft of grass. When the grounds are cleared, most of the peanuts that they have hoarded get ground up and shipped out somewhere else.”

Whether our squirrels carry Harvard genes, or suffer the loss of their Chubu-bound relatives, some things have not changed: squirrels like to make their homes on campus greens. Keeping safe from predators, they prefer traveling in groves of trees rather than ground travel. The eastern gray squirrel, Sciurus carolinensis, officially classified as a rodent, can weigh up to 1.5 pounds, measure 16- 20 inches long, and always flash a white belly that stands out amongst the speckled grey. Characteristically bushy tails can be used as a parachute, an umbrella, a blanket, and a cushion for falls, and for balance and communication. A squirrel must habitually gnaw with its constantly growing teeth in order to prevent the puncturing of their own skull.
Typically hoarding more food than it can eat, a grey squirrel practices singular burying, called “scatter hoarding”. Most nuts are forgotten and not recovered, which leads to the inadvertent planting of a tree. Once rampant in the area, droves of squirrels would migrate in waves up to half a billion in size, disturbing efforts of agricultural production. Ohio law required a quota of squirrel skins to be turned in with tax payments. Chestnuts were a major foraging choice, until the blight obliterated nearly all chestnut trees, reducing squirrel populations. Increasing human settlement also pushed out the tree planters, which brought about another law: only six squirrels per bag during hunting season.
Do they seem more intelligent, these creature we view every day? Does their chirruping have a slight Bostonian accent? Do they aspire for more, or pine for things lost? Whatever the case, they have made their home with us, with no intention of ever leaving.

They leap with soundless grace, lilting on air. A crow caws suddenly, and they scatter, prone to instinct. One lets out a screeching alarm, warning the others. It carries, message conveyed from tree to tree. “They are still wild creatures,” Ms. Butcher says, “but I do think the squirrels add a lot to the campus. To see the students so thoroughly delighted (about) these critters running around, that gives me a thrill, too.” After a few minutes, one hesitantly approaches, freezes, paws poised in question. She tosses a peanut. Within 5 seconds, it has chewed through the shell, corn-on-the-cob style, going for the gold.

Special thanks to: Bill Kimok, Susan Knoer, Judy Connick and Doug McCabe of the University Archives; Kelee Riesbeck and Joanne Prisley of Athens County Historical Society; Dick Piccard, Josep Rota, Dr. Robert Lilley, Dr. James Bryant, Dr. Charles Ping; Betty Hollow, Mariel M. Jungkunz, Sally Linder, and Vicky Butcher. Translation by eric@jcastle.info.

Rachael Ritchie

Riding the ebb and flow of a transient town

Athens: Glimpses of home

By Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)
March 13, 2008

Habitually setting her expectations low, she’s hardly ever disappointed. Instead, each day carries a pleasant surprise. Tall and sunny with a broad smile, Rachael Ritchie doesn’t let much get her down.

But she does worry.

Ritchie, who with her husband, Shawn, owns Goodfellas Pizza and Lucky’s Sports Tavern, worries about the price of cheese.

And if her kids will have school.

And if people will undergo a change in the way they socialize.

“The past 10 years have brought change in technology,” she said. “It is crazy to think that things are going to be the same in five more years. What happens if no one goes out anymore, don’t meet face to face in a social setting, and (instead) stay in and play online?”

For Ritchie, all these things affect the security of her job. But for today, she loves what she does. To prove it, she has calluses on her hands from constantly rolling out dough. And she brings her girls to work on snow and flood days for extra help, modeling a true family business.

When Ritchie’s husband was given the opportunity to purchase Goodfellas three and a half years ago, she had stipulations.

“I said ‘If we are really going to do this,’” remembered Ritchie, “’then I’d like to have my hand in it.’”

She and her husband trade time with the girls and spend evenings together. She believes working outside the house makes her a better mother.

“Becoming a mother changed so much,” she said. “It completely puts you on the backburner.”

She works at Goodfellas during the day, preparing for and serving the lunch crowd.

“I like the people,” said Ritchie, “I have my people that come in all the time. Everyone likes to come back to Athens. Students visit, tell me what’s going on.”

Ritchie, turning 30 this year, is often mistaken as a student, but she soon proves them wrong.

“The older customers say, ‘You have midterms?’ The younger people know that I’m not their age. They are just starting to realize that I actually do run the place.”

Filling the needs of students who don’t call Athens home is a different type of commerce.

“We are not affiliated with the university,” said Ritchie, “but we are on the university schedule, have the late hours at night.”

It is tempting to feel ostracized.

“Uptown business owners are different,” Ritchie explained. “It seems like neither group (the university nor the students) really gets you. I really identify with the other bar owners and the other uptown business owners. We have our little get-together we can be (stronger) in.”

Since coming here to Athens 12 years ago, Ritchie is recovering from being a people pleaser.

“I was green and naïve,” said Ritchie. “Some people are just looking out for themselves. In a lot of ways, I’m still very green but I believe in the goodness of people.”

Priorities are different now with a family and bills to pay. Though customer satisfaction is key, business decisions are weighed carefully.

“Did I make people mad? Yes, I did,” she said. “Did I make the best decision? I still believe I did.”

She is committed to relationships.

“Different vendors will promise me this, that, or the other, but if I have established a relationship with another vendor, I can’t just jump ship and go.”

The price of flour has skyrocketed since three years ago. Less acreage is devoted to wheat crops and is instead given up for corn, which is used in ethanol production. The farmer must pay more for limited supplies of grass and grain to feed cows.

Subsequently, the costs of dairy products are rising. The main cost in pizza making is cheese, and flour is a close second. Bakeries across the nation have been affected by the increase. This worries Ritchie, but she is genuinely undaunted about her future.

“I’d like to think that I usually have a smile on my face,” said Ritchie. “And if I ask you how you are doing, I’m not expecting a ‘fine’ in return. If you ask me how I’m doing, I’m going to tell you, ‘You know, I’m a bit tired today.”

She said she values seeing things through from start to finish, just like adding yeast, flour and water together to make dough. Softball, soccer and bowling keep her active all year round.

For cerebral stimulation, she loves sitting down with a good crossword puzzle. Becoming a nurse is a challenge she aspires to meet someday.

Ritchie said she believes the compact coziness of Athens allows for success of the individual.

“If I wanted to go out and change something I could,” she said. “If I were somewhere else, it would be like a drop in the bucket. Your voice can be heard in this town; you can get on your soapbox and scream it out. Everyone is so visible. If you want to make a difference, you can in a good way or a bad way.”

The ebb and flow, the full-swing rush of the quarters, and the calm of the breaks work well for her family.

“It is always changing, always evolving. Customers change every four or five years,” said Ritchie.

She believes this is a cure for the restlessness and boredom befalling many Americans.

It spares her from being stuck in a rut. Every August before fall quarter begins again, she’s ready.

“Athens has its quirks, flaws and idiosyncrasies, but this is definitely a community,” said Ritchie. “I’m not leaving. I don’t entertain the thought.”

get out zine

I had a recent book review published in the new online outdoor adventure zine for the Ohio River Valley, Get Out! Zine (www.getoutzine.com). The book was Allan Eckert's That Dark and Bloody River, chronicling the rich history of the Ohio River. A good read. http://getoutzine.com/node/165

Name change

Due to a pre-existing website and T.V. show called "45701", my series for the Athens News will now be called "Athens: Glimpses of home."

Athens:glimpses of home: Renard Phillips

the latest in the Athens series in the Athens News:

Eyes that have seen the world find simplicity in Athens

Athens: glimpses of home

By Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)
March 3, 2008

He has witnessed the tearing down of the Berlin Wall, been the recipient of the only meal in the house while others go hungry, and stood upon a Finland floor that lifted to reveal an ice hole for fishing.

Yet, he has chosen to settle in rural southeast Ohio, working as a librarian at the Athens Public Library. But for Renard Phillips, context is like a flashlight beam, shining onto the dark shapes of before and after. Without knowledge of surrounding words and circumstances, discovering meaning is difficult.

“Context is one of my favorite words, and we rarely give the effort to provide it,” Phillips said.

He maintains that out of fairness and respect, a person’s context should be explored. “People out of laziness want to put people in a box, reducing to a one-dimensional type of category. For example, my context is not just, ‘I was born in Georgia.’”

Phillips’ pre-Athens life is extensive and fascinating. After the death of his mother, and that of his father a few years later, he was forced to become secure without family ties.

“Home is where I am. It’s about applying me to where I am,” said Phillips. “My sense of home has not evolved as most people’s would.”

He began traveling, initially with Up With People, an organization designed to help build bridges of understanding between cultures for foundations of world peace. Months turned into years of rich experiences in numerous places. He returned to the United States directly after time spent in Senegal. Homecoming was less than positive.

“It was culture shock to be in the U.S. and in southeast Ohio,” he said. “I came here and all of a sudden I became intensely aware that I was black person. I wasn’t prepared for that. Our society is very ‘yes/no,’ ‘on/off,’ and ‘black/white.’ There is a whole range of things in between.”

Before Senegal, he had met a group of Afro-Germans in Berlin and realized his own ignorance about his roots.

“They really opened my eyes to how ignorant I was of Africa,” said Phillips. “I couldn’t rely on my own society to give me a healthy context of Africa, because here in the U.S., the context is negative. And if I thought so negatively about Africa, what did I think of myself?”

This prompted his visit to Senegal, where seven separate languages are spoken, to gather his own frame of reference.

“Most of us didn’t make a conscious decision what color we would be, what gender, what nationality, what ethnicity,” Phillips said. “That’s just what we were born into. We are merely products of our environment versus products of ourselves.”

Traveling was stimulating and profound for him.

“I’ve experienced the beauty in people, profound grace in people,” he said. “Two days from now I could be in another place, but still they choose to share.”

But he began to feel the down-side of a nomadic existence, and returned to the states to find closure with issues concerning his parents’ deaths.

He came to Ohio University for graduate school in international studies, but his present context is his employment at the public library. Before he was hired, he thought about the type of work atmosphere where he’d feel good about what he was doing.

“It’s a place where people want to go; no one is forcing them,” Phillips said.

Interaction with the diverse public of Athens is a given.

“You see the whole gamut of the community: from newborns for ‘lap-sit,’ to people who are well into retirement, to teens,” Phillips said. “You see kids develop from walking to talking, watch them grow up.”

Interacting with this microcosm of Athens, he said he treats everyone the same.

“I treat people with dignity regardless of their socioeconomic background, appreciating them,” he said.

Simplicity narrows a person’s context. To Phillips, Athens is a place to be simple.

“That’s the foundation of my appreciation of Athens. You can be simple here with not a lot of money, but still have a relatively good style of living,” he said. “You shouldn’t need to be wealthy to have basic things: good air, good water, good nutrition.”

Phillips appreciates Athens’ lack as opposed to its luster.

He said, “Athens does not provide all my needs, of course not, but what place would? There are things to keep you distracted in other cities.”

After seeing so much in his lifetime, Phillips views this town as a source of solace. “Athens has provided a great place for me to synthesize. Being simple allowed me to bring some order to all the input I had.”

Here in America, stimulation and materialism are rampant. Genuineness is not easy to come by.

Said Phillips, “Here a friendship is about social convenience. Most of us are not required to leave our comfort zone. You learn to appreciate what people volunteer to share with you and the way they choose to share it.”

Since 1993, Phillips has called Athens home. It is the alternatives of Athens – straw bale houses, slow food and organic venues, the focus on solar power – that appeal to him. But it is Athens’ simplistic uniqueness that roots him.

“It is not quite yet one of those places where one town after another looks the same,” he said. “Athens is a microcosm of essentials. I see it as a luxury to live here."