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."

Athens: glimpses of home/the ridges

Here is the latest in my series, about our beloved "Ridges", originally named Athens Lunatic Asylum.

Athens: Glimpses of Home
The Shape of Lunacy
By Jenaye Antonuccio

History is not quiet. It speaks in rotting fascia and deteriorating cupolas, in broken windowpanes and ripped screens, in worn divots of the front steps. It speaks in concrete ruins taken over by wild weeds and thorns, in rusting orchard water towers, in crumbling 18.5 million made-on-site bricks. It speaks in now-tall ornamental trees, in sidewalks that come to a crumbling end, in inoperative lampposts that have not given light for half a century. History’s voice is multi-faceted at The Ridges. It is a story of how the shape of a town, land, and its citizens was changed.
In the high end of the mid-1800s, land was getting crowded. Men were busy producing in farms, businesses, homes and families. War loomed. Stress increased, as did mental instability. “Lunatics” were often abused and locked away in barns or basements. A pressing need arose for proper alternative treatment for mentally challenged individuals.
“The simple claims of a common humanity, then, should induce every State to make a liberal provision for all its insane…” - Thomas Kirkbride, On the Construction, Organization and General Arrangements of Hospitals for the Insane
One man had a vision, a solution to a problem: housing the mentally ill in buildings he specifically designed for a cure. Thomas Kirkbride’s treatise proposed the state take responsibility, owing citizens proper custody, housing and treatment. The highly influential Kirkbride Plan of architecture had unwavering principles: plentiful natural light and fresh air; cultivated landscaping for calming and stimulating; and farmland for self-sufficiency, minimizing costs, and to provide patients with purpose, responsibility, and exercise.
“It is now well established that this class of hospitals should always be located in the country, not within less than two miles of a town of considerable size, and they should be easily accessible at all seasons.” – Thomas Kirkbride, On the Construction, Organization and General Arrangements of Hospitals for the Insane
Asylums in Kirkbride style began to appear across the nation. Post-war Athens was suffering from lack of financial prospects. Enrollment at Ohio University had declined. The community was abuzz with talk that a state hospital would be built in the region. Forces were rallied. Three Ohio trustees were appointed to select and purchase a site, and E.H. Moore from Athens was to take the place of a recently deceased member. Thirty towns competed for gaining the facility, but Athens prevailed in the end. In August 1867, the location was set. Funds were raised to purchase the former farm of Arthur Coates, whose own father had been one of the first settlers of Athens County and a ferry operator. The land was then donated to the state, with high expectation for the outcome.
New hope for Athens was awakened. 1867 marked the beginning of a relationship between the commodious Victorian-era batwing structure and the blossoming town. The cornerstone for the Athens Lunatic Asylum was laid at the old hillside farm overlooking the Hocking. Ceremoniously deposited inside were a Bible, constitutions of the State of Ohio and the United States, Cincinnati newspapers, a copy of the Athens messenger, coins, a program from the days’ events, a membership list of the Paramuthia Lodge number 25, and a list of the Masonic officers. Construction began soon after the ceremony, utilizing architect Levi T Scofield’s Kirkbride-influenced plans. Local craftsmen and contractors reaped benefits from the six-year work, as well as merchants in their ability to outfit the interior.
The grand opening for Athens’ soon-to-be largest employer was in winter 1874. One of 35 hospitals built according to Kirkbride’s elaborate plans, it was also the fifth mental hospital in Ohio. Employees lived on site with room and board. Day labor and trade solidified and strengthened the relationship between town and facility. Work was available as blacksmiths, brick-makers, preachers, tinners, cooks, bakers, and seamstresses. According to the Athens County Atlas of 1905, Charles Augustus Snow was contracted to supply the asylum with 150 gallons of milk a day. Butter, eggs, poultry and other produce were also purchased.
“There is no reason why an individual who has the misfortune to become insane, should, on that account, be deprived of any comfort or even luxury…” – Thomas Kirkbride, On the Construction…
The site was stunning. Historical photographs depict scenes of a luxuriant interior. Tile floors lead to the lavish staircases with wood-carved, curving banisters. Pressed tin ceilings overhung rooms with abundant plant-life. Rocking chairs beside tables with linen and lace cloths waited in the halls of the men and women’s wards. Every room provided a view of the beautiful grounds with ready access to fresh air. Prepared dining hall tables were laden with cloths, cutlery, and baskets of fresh bread, baked on site. Cooks held prepped turkeys for the Thanksgiving meal. Underground rails took food from the kitchens to the dumbwaiters beneath the dining halls. An alligator swam the waters of the front fountain. A chapel was nestled between the third and fourth floors of the main building.
“As much as fifty acres immediately around the buildings, should be appropriated as pleasure-grounds, and should be so arranged and enclosed as to give the patients the full benefit of them…” – Thomas Kirkbride, On the Construction…
Landscape was key in Kirkbride plans: the more beautiful, more likely affecting a cure. The county’s Genealogy and History records that the asylum site was “faultless.” It was ready to be changed. Frederick Law Olmstead, who designed such greats as Central Park, Niagara Reservation at Niagara Falls, and Boston’s Emerald Necklace, influenced the designs of Herman Haerlin of Cincinnati. Haerlin hired George Link to oversee the transformation of the property. Link moved to Athens from Cincinnati, spending the next thirty years of his life following the plans according to Kirkbride’s original vision. Patients labored as part of a curative measure on the grounds with grading, gardening, planting, and creating roads and paths.
“While the hospital itself should be retired, and its privacy fully secured, the views from it if possible, should exhibit life in its active forms, and on this account stirring objects at a little distance are desirable…” – Thomas Kirkbride, On the Construction…
Ornamental trees and shrubs were planted and rare birds were imported, all to encourage visitors. Various bouts of community entertainment were taken at the man-made lakes. Walkways were built from the town to the lakes and asylum land, “Lover’s Lane” being one of the favorites. Ice-skating was a favorite in winter, as were strolling the paths, Sunday afternoon rides and picnics, boating in the summer, and feeding the ducks. Intermingled were monitored patients “taking air” in exercising strolls.
Grounds expanded according to plans, and new buildings were erected, eventually eliminating need for outside farmer’s support. Soon, the facility boasted a large agricultural operation. The institution became nearly self-sufficient. Added to the grounds were a greenhouse, a dairy, orchards, gardens, vineyards, piggery, huts for chickens, and outbuildings and barns for other farm animals. Patients were encouraged to labor. Most items no longer needed purchasing from outside, sometimes selling off surplus became necessary. The dairy’s twin barns was home for the area’s championship herd of Holsteins. Lotta Fayne Klondyke reportedly produced the best milk and butterfat. Ice was carved from the lakes for refrigeration. Water was gathered from springs, and when patient numbers increased, wells were dug.
“A very large proportion of all the insane are treated more effectively and far more economically among strangers, and in well-managed institutions specially provided for their treatment, than at their homes, and surrounded by their families, and by familiar scenes and associations…” – Thomas Kirkbride, On the Construction…
Kirkbride asylums enjoyed popularity and fame for quite some time. But soon, it was clear that this system carried no evidence of long-term cure and induced no decline in mental illness. The height of patient population climbed to 2000. Patient to staff ratio was at some points 50 to 1. Previous methods became obsolete in an understaffed, overpopulated hospital. Inhumane counter measures unintended by Kirkbride were more practical. New methods were tried, including psychoanalysis, and later, tranquilizers. The lobotomy, a practice made famous by Dr. Walter Freeman, was performed in the mid 1950s, two hundred at the Athens site.
Deinstitutionalization, a controversial and unpopular process that began in the latter half of the twentieth century, sought to reduce overpopulation of facilities. The principle of thought was that patients would benefit from the least restrictive setting. Many public hospitals were forced to close, transferring patients to community-based mental health services, or simply left to fend for themselves without care or medications on the city streets.
“All are to remember that insanity is often more clearly shown by what an individual does, than by what he says…” – Thomas Kirkbride, On the Construction…
Constant destructive flooding of the Hocking River called for a 1969 reroute. By saving the town and campus, the once-enjoyed lakes, grounds and paths were destroyed. Route 682 was constructed to run parallel to the river, cutting across the already-scarred grounds. Patient rights were capitalized upon, and in the early 1970s, federal courts ruled that patients who perform tasks in state institutions must be paid minimum wage.
By 1981, the Athens asylum’s patient population was less than 300, with a marked decline each year thereafter. Link’s landscaping was let go, gardens left fallow, deteriorating outbuildings razed. Cost cutting measures in 1981 forced the heat to be turned off in the greenhouse. All exotic plants froze and therapy programs were cancelled. The doors were closed in 1993, patients transferred to a newly constructed facility across the river.
What do we, as residents of this town, behold now as we look upon the building that rises up tall and mighty from the hillside, altering our view of the horizon? We tread upon the earth that was once tilled and fertile, producing abundance. We glance at the enormous ginkgo, marveling at its girth. We play upon the old carriage steps in front, grip the rails as we enter the old administration building to view local art.
The names of the building have changed: Athens Lunatic Asylum, 1868; Athens Asylum for the Insane, 1911; Athens State Hospital, 1944; Southeastern Ohio Mental Health Center, 1968; Athens Mental Health Center, 1969; Southeastern Ohio Mental Health and Retardation Center, 1975; Athens Mental Health and Development Center, 1980; Athens Mental Health Center, 1981. In 1993 after passing into Ohio University’s ownership, the facility was henceforth known as the Ridges.
Fifteen years later, the voice of history is the same. One must be quiet to hear it. It is not the ghosts or mystery that should haunt us, rather it is the fact that one vision could alter the lives of many. Our 45701 stories would be different without it. It becomes etched on the minds of all who live here or visit.

All information was gathered from sources at the Athens County Historical Society; the Mahn Center for Archives and Special Collections in Alden Library; and from Getting to Know Athens County by Beatty and Stone; www.KirkbrideBuildings.com; and Katherine Ziff’s 2004 Ph. D. dissertation entitled Asylum and Community: Connections between the Athens Lunatic Asylum and the Village of Athens 1867 – 1893

Wendy McVicker for Athens: Glimpses of Home

Through movement and words, one woman makes the world more beautiful
By Jenaye Antonuccio

Some have called her a “Warrior Poet”.
Having earned a fourth degree black belt in karate, Wendy McVicker affably confesses that she enjoys both a good spar and the richness of words.
But for McVicker, poet-in-residence for the Ohio Arts Council, karate teacher, and Quaker, the title is just a tease. “I don’t think of myself as someone who impacts the world,” McVicker says. “I’m a small person. I’m shy.”
She adds, “The things that I do I hope tend towards peace, good relations, community. and preservation of the natural world. I would like to walk through the world in such a way that I leave growing behind me instead of destruction. I would really rather move and touch people with words.”
McVicker loves teaching the craft of poetry with this philosophy in mind – inviting her students to write, and encouragement along the way. K - 12 schoolchildren and community members have benefited from her residencies at ARTS/West, the Dairy Barn, the Kennedy Museum, libraries, the Circle Round the Square program, and the Power of Poetry festival in Logan. Since 2000, The Ohio Arts Council has commissioned McVicker, believing in her abilities to inspire the community with a further appreciation of the art.
“It gives (people) a chance to experience the whole process of making art: coming up with ideas, experimenting, making things happen, as well as getting disappointed and starting again,” McVicker says.
She is passionate about sharing her love of words. “I am delighted and amazed by what happens with kids,” says McVicker. “Once, I did a two week, six-session poetry unit, and we made an anthology. Those kids are in their twenties now, and they come up to me and say, ‘I still have my anthology!’”
McVicker is recognized for her petite frame and lengthy locks, but she insists that karate allows her to confront her limitations and become bigger. “Studying karate can build self-confidence and calm focus,” she says, “Body, mind, and spirit all work together.”
She recalls being shocked when her eldest son requested to take classes. As a Quaker committed to pacifism, she was horrified and only thought of the violence it would entail.
“I let him try it and it was wonderful for him,” says McVicker. “It looked like fun and good exercise. Karate is not about being violent, it is the opposite.”
Now she teaches the skill of karate to 7 – 12 year olds. “My intention was to be with the boys and get exercise, but here I am sixteen years later.” She keeps these goals in mind for herself and her students: seek perfection of character, be faithful, endeavor, respect others, and refrain from violent behavior.
In her life, poetry and karate are not opposites, but different ways to communicate. “Poetry comes out of the body,” she says, “calling on all our senses and emotions. Karate is like another language, and yet beautiful as well.”
She acknowledges that she needs variety in order to think creatively. “While I love reading and writing, I need to move. I can’t do (just) reading and writing all day. I have to have both.”
Her love of words came to her at a young age. From the time she learned to read, she wanted to write. In her adult life, she moved for a time to French-speaking Switzerland where her communicating was mostly hand motions for meaning.
Upon returning to the states, her love for the richness and subtleties of the English language was rekindled. Her children’s naptime brought re-discovery of her voice on paper. “Because the only time I ever had to write was this hour, I could sketch out a full poem. If I were trying to write out stories, I would be insanely frustrated. I didn’t want to be insanely frustrated around my children.”
Now that her children are in their twenties, she reflects on her continual return to poetry. “My mind doesn’t work narratively, it tends to leap around more. My mother used to say, ‘I can’t follow your conversation. You are just jumping around.’ Making those jumps is something that poets and poems can do.”
Athens was not always home for McVicker.
“I arrived grieving for the place I had just left,” says McVicker. “My husband had already rented a place here and came back with pictures of a magnificent maple tree. But when we arrived, it had been cut down. The sun was blazing through the window and here was this raw stump and sawdust everywhere.”
They stayed in Athens a lonely six months before moving again. In 1988, they were slated to return to Athens, but she was apprehensive. Community and connection were important to her, so she was determined to find the positive.
“Any place you go there are good things and I was going to find them,” she says. “I reconnected with the Quaker meeting as a source of love and energy.” They’ve been here ever since. “Athens is home,” says McVicker. “We’ve put down roots. We feel really connected to people here.”
She laments that Athens is transitory in nature, a stopping point for people before they move on. “It can very much be a revolving door,” she says.
When she first arrived, East State Street only housed the Athens Mall and a few car dealerships. Though the town has grown, and some of it is exciting, she would like to see Athens keep uptown alive as a mainly pedestrian social center. “I wish the Athens vision could be other than just the usual sprawl that one sees everywhere. It forces me to get in the car.”
Yet, she loves the homegrown businesses and the familiar faces. Says McVicker, “At Kroger you can go and have five conversations. The farmers market is (also) like this.”
She happily raised her children here, and they are now grown. She and her husband have considered moving on. “My husband said, ‘If you want your children to visit you, live where they grew up so they are happy to come back and reconnect. Or live somewhere exotic where anyone would want to visit.’”
She pauses and smiles, adding, “But I don’t picture leaving Athens.”

Tom Fiocchi for Athens: Glimpses of Home

Props specialist points out his love for Athens
By Jenaye Antonuccio

It started with a pile of wood behind his father’s garage.
Frustrated by an unfulfilled dream to fly planes in World War II, Tom Fiocchi decided to build a lunar module with a friend. It was 1969. He was 8.
This was the first evidence of the skill and artisanship that would eventually bring Fiocchi to Athens 11 years ago, as the props technology specialist in the School of Theater at Ohio University. Considered a master at his craft, Fiocchi says of his job, “It’s really the best job in the world. I never wake up and dread going to work.”
New plays and students each quarter are what keep him feeling like he’s still 25. “I watch the students and the lights go on in their head when they learn,” he says. “They weld something, and step back and say, ‘I just welded. I’ve got to go tell my dad.’”
Fiocchi is proud of his department, which is catching more limelight due to the Arts for Ohio program. Students can now attend any eligible School of Fine Arts play, program, or exhibit free of charge, with reduced prices for community members. Before, the expectation was for only 20 percent of the seats to be filled. Now performances are often given to a nearly full house.
Fiocchi says he never had a chance to fly a plane in a war. Instead, he helped build one. And a tank. And a baby grand piano.
An entire university-owned building is filled with props from the many plays he and his students have helped outfit. There isn’t much he wouldn’t try. As project manager overseeing the student’s work, each project is just as thrilling as if it was his own.
Many people are involved in every performance, collaborating together as a team. He says he sees his job as serving the designer of the show. He does not consider his work ‘art’. “I’m really just an artisan, serving the designer’s vision,” he says. “An artist has to have something in their head. I’m just building stuff, copying with a flourish.”
One of the first things Fiocchi tells his students about this career is that it is an alternative lifestyle.
“I tell them, ‘You’re not going to be rich. But depending on what your priorities are, you might really enjoy going to work every day. It will always be different and you get to meet really interesting people, maybe even famous people.’”
His work and acting also filter into the community. The Ohio Valley Summer Theater, based in Athens, provides opportunity for community members and the university to meet in their art.
“It is such a community,” Fiocchi says. “The lines really cross between OU and the town.” Fiocchi stunned the audience with his stellar performance as Captain Hook in last year’s OVST production of Peter Pan.
Since the late 1980s, a side business as a sword cutler has also kept him busy. No two of his custom-made stage combat swords are alike. He designs and constructs exquisite hilts for previously finished blades. His website, www.fiocchisword.net, displays his wares and philosophy in sword making. He moved his business here with him.
“I’m an Athenian,” he says. “We’ve found our family here.”
Coming from D. C., small town life grew on him quickly. “People complain of traffic on Richland (Avenue), and I just want to say, ‘You don’t even know.’”
Living in a metropolis, people tend to get lost, never getting connected. “The people you see here every day,” Fiocchi says, “whether or not you know them deeply, you still trust them. Even the total strangers I see in Athens, I still know them.” He waves to a lot of cars as they pass him on the street.
Because of the university, Fiocchi feels the town benefits from a value on education and exposure to diversity. “At my daughter’s eighth grade graduation, I was cheering for all the kids she’s gone to school with,” Fiocchi says. “The teachers,” he says, “are quality people doing quality things.”
He relishes the beauty of the area, the architecture of this town. He loves the farmers market, the emphasis on sustainability, and the option for alternative commuting on the bike path. “There’s always something brewing here,” he says. “The atlatl champion of the world lives in Athens, and I’m throwing atlatls at the Paw Paw festival. Where else can you do that?” he muses.
He ends with a memory. “I was flying home looking out the window 35,000 feet. And there was Parkersburg. I followed route 50 along and there was Athens, there was the Convo.”
He cites Bruce Springsteen’s song, My Hometown, where the father takes his child on his lap in the car, showing him their town.
“On route 50, you come around the corner in the car, and it’s like a portrait. And I can’t help but saying, ‘Hey, kids, there’s your hometown. There it is.’”