Photos, Video and Editing by Cody Duty

Highly qualified and seriously dedicated to his job, there’s a new resident on campus this year. He goes by Cash, and he’s most often seen hard at work up and down the Hill.

Until he gets his paws on his favorite squeaky toy.

Cash is one of two dogs living in the dorms this year. Both are service dogs trained to provide assistance to people with disabilities.

This is the first year service dogs have lived on campus, said Kit Tolbert, director of housing operations.

He is to be treated as a resident and is not restricted from any area of our residence hall system, said Jennifer Ballard, the McLean Hall director.

“He is obviously very intelligent, and we look forward to learning from this experience,” Ballard said.

Cash, a 4-year-old black labrador, lives in McLean with Owensboro freshman Jennifer Franey.

Franey has spinal muscular atrophy type 3, which she describes as when “the muscles grow to a certain point and then stop growing.”

She’s a business major and chose to come to Western partly because the campus was easy to get around.

Cash has lived with Franey for two years and is trained to provide several forms of assistance, from pushing automatic door buttons to picking things up off the floor.

“He can also turn light switches on and off,” Franey said. “But I don’t have him do that often because he scratches the walls.”

One of Cash’s most useful abilities is to bring Franey things around her room.

“If I need my flip-flops, he can bring them to me, or if I’m doing homework and I drop a pen, Cash can get it,” she said.

Though most of Cash’s help for Franey is physical, he also provides social support.

“A lot of people are afraid to approach people in wheelchairs, so sometimes having a dog makes them feel more comfortable to come over,” Franey said.

Cash is a working dog, but he also knows how to have fun.

“He plays catch, and he can play dead,” Franey said. “He loves to chew on bones and play with his stuffed frog. The frog has a squeaker in it, so sometimes he wakes everyone up at night playing with it.”

Franey got Cash in Columbus, Ohio from Canine Companions for Independence. The application process took two years.

“There was a phone interview, a personal interview and then a one-year waiting list because of the number of people requesting a service dog,” she said.

Once Franey’s request was accepted, she and her mother attended a two-week training program.

“You have to learn how to handle him because you don’t just speak a command,” Franey said. “You have to say it with authority.”

She said learning to live with Cash was not all easy.

“This is kind of embarrassing,” she said with a laugh. “When I first got him I wasn’t used to taking him out to use the bathroom yet. One day we were in Target and he pooped right in the middle of the store.”

Before training to live with Franey, Cash went through two years of training on his own. Born in California, Cash was bred to be a service dog.

When ordered to sit down, Cash does so next to his partner and waits with complete concentration on his task, despite activity and distractions from passersby.

Cash also wears a vest that reminds people not to pet him.

“You should always ask before you pet a service dog,” Franey said, “because he is working.”

This work ethic and devotion of service dogs is what makes students’ lives more comfortable.

Jennifer Franey sits in the hallway at TCCW with her dog Cash, as she waits for  class to start on Monday, August 30th. Franey has a muscular disorder that limits her to a wheel chair. Cash makes Franey’s daily tasks such as opening doors and picking up things from the floor easier.  CODY DUTY/HERALD

Photos, video and production by Matt Fields-Johnson

Story by Mandy Simpson

Jayray Fiene pointed to a picture with yellow adhesive stains and smiled wide. A child with quick blue eyes gawked gleefully back through the years on the decomposing page.
The source of the child’s amusement appeared shining on the floor—a toy car.
“This is a kid who likes this toy,” Fiene said, raising his eyebrows matter-of-factly.
But his eyes shrunk quickly at the sight of another picture. He silently dissected the photo, stuck like an insect on fly paper.  “This is a kid who doesn’t like this outfit,” he said, nodding toward the photo where a child with heaving red checks twisted away from a striped dress—the source of the tantrum.
The child in photos was Fiene, but they called him Jean back then. They draped him in ruffles, wound his hair into curls and told him stories about princesses because, on the outside, he was unquestionably a girl.
Forty-eight years after young Fiene screamed in a dress, that changed.
Jeanne Rae Fiene began the sex-change process to become Jayray Freeman Fiene in June of 2008. His transition started at Western where Fiene is the director of the educational leadership doctoral program and department head of educational administration, leadership and research.
Weekly hormone shots administered at Health Services began sculpting biceps out of female flesh, dragging a high voice down and turning soft facial hair coarse 11 months ago. In April, Fiene underwent the first of two surgeries to complete his transformation.
But Fiene said an internal force acted against his femininity before the lens snapped on the next picture he pointed to in old photo album this November.

Under Jayray Fiene’s finger, a red newborn gazed from under a hospital blanket. A nurse took the photo before Fiene’s mother, Esther Fiene, held her child for the first time, he said.
The birth incapacitated Esther Fiene for about two weeks, Jayray Fiene said.
He said this left his father, Raymond Fiene, to make the choice that would affect Jayray Fiene the rest of his life.
Jayray Fiene believes that his father decided his inter-sexed child would become a girl.
“He wanted a boy,” Esther Fiene, a resident of Downers Grove, Ill., said about her late husband. “He was really disappointed that it was another girl, but little did we know that she had the tendency not to be girly.”
Jayray Fiene has no medical proof that he was born with male and female sex organs, and he didn’t ask his father to confirm those suspicions before he died in 1990.
He said his childhood was proof enough.
“She never liked frilly things,” Esther Fiene said. “She liked marbles and baseball and G.I. Joe and that sort of thing.”
Jayray Fiene played easily with the boys in Downers Grove. He gravitated to his father’s world of Chicago Bears baseball and patriarchal duty, he said.
“If I thought about knights and princesses and things, it was about me saving her, not about him saving me,” Jayray Fiene said.
Boys in Jayray Fiene’s teenage years didn’t seem to mind his gallantry, and dates came easily in high school.
“I kissed … but anytime it came down to actually getting anywhere close to appendages, I was like ‘Oh my God, never,’” he said.
But his early discomfort with intimacy didn’t stop him from becoming engaged twice.
Jayray Fiene said both relationships were hopeless, but his determination to fit the female mold remained even when the form began to take the shape of a wedding dress during his undergraduate career.
He said the failed attempts hurled him into a confused state marked by a rejection of female expectations he couldn’t meet.
Toni Jo Croxton, one of Jayray Fiene’s roomates during his undergraduate career at Pittsburgh State University, said she remembered his masculine dress and mannerisms, which reached beyond the boundaries of “tomboy.”
Croxton, a resident of Wakefield, Kan., also remembered the moments when Jayray Fiene’s inner battle surfaced.
“She never seemed comfortable in her own skin,” she said. “When people would talk about relationships, every once in a while, there would be a sense of not quite knowing how she fit in.”
But Jayray Fiene found his a place as hero to a princess when he met his first girlfriend as an undergraduate. He said he jumped at the chance to assume a masculine role.
“We played house,” he said. “She wanted kids so I bought her a cabbage patch.”
But a man from Jayray Fiene’s girlfriend’s past entered their game and ended it with wedding ring and the promise of children grown in a womb instead of purchased in aisle four.
Jayray Fiene began to move past the relationship when he started teaching at Wheaton High School outside of Branson, Mo., in 1986.
But there, after years of attempting to forget his own femininity, he experienced a violent reminder.
At 26, Jayray Fiene was raped and became pregnant.
“When I realized I was pregnant, I said, ‘Wow, I guess I really am a female,’” he said.
Thoughts of future questions from his unborn child haunted Jayray Fiene in the first weeks of pregnancy, he said.
He paused from telling his story. His eyes got lost out a window.
“I couldn’t fathom in my wildest imagination how to tell a child who finds you years later and asks you why you didn’t keep them, ‘You weren’t born out of love. You were born out of violence,’” he said.
Jayray Fiene terminated his pregnancy.
He drowned his pain in a new, sexually irrelevant role—workaholic.
Jayray Fiene said he became principal of Wheaton at 27, and in three years the average ACT score of students rose significantly. But whispers in the hallway didn’t focus on his success.
“There had been rumors or thoughts that I was a guy,” he said. “I watched my students try and decide if they should still like and respect me, or hate me because I might be a guy.”
Softly spoken words began to hit too hard for Jayray Fiene, and he left the school to pursue his doctorate degree in 1992.
“My biggest regret—I copped out when I should have stood up,” he said. “I should have fought that one, but I didn’t have it in me then.”
After 13 years at Western, though, he said he was ready.

Jayray Fiene flipped the pages of early childhood rhythmically, but flicks turned to slower thuds when his adolescent years appeared. The dresses, tire-tread imprints of feminine posturing, remained in the photos before him.
“The older I got the more unhappy I look,” he said, grimacing at a teenage version of himself stuffed in a pink dress before a high school dance. “I mean, dear God! Does this look like a happy person to you?”
But those were easy years, he said. They were years when friends came easily and menstruation didn’t start until age 17.
A new kind of puberty pulled at Fiene’s 48-year-old body now, an adult adolescence spurred by injected testosterone.

Jayray Fiene sat at his desk in October pressing his hands curiously into his arms, examining new muscles. Gray window light hit his silvering hair, slicked back and barely reaching the nape of his neck. He smirked as his hands moved to slide down his tie.
His new body was emerging.
Jayray Fiene thought back to the first part of the unusual adolescence. He dealt with hallway rumors before they could become campus gossip.
“In my mind, I could have lost my career,” he said about the moment in August when he decided to tell Western administrators about his transformation. “I could have lost my family, my friends.”
Jayray Fiene’s family found out after his first hormone shot.
This summer, one of his sisters asked offhandedly what he wanted for his birthday, he said.
“I want something that’s going to cost you more than it ever has, but it’s not going to cost you any money,” he said he told his family. “I want unconditional love and an open mind.”
Esther Fiene said a stunned silence hit the room first, but not one tear fell as Jayray Fiene explained.
“I had no idea at all,” she said. “Even as a parent I didn’t see it. I never thought about those things.”
Jayray Fiene’s sister Janice Osowski, a resident of Westmont, Ill., said she couldn’t have predicted his birthday wish either.
“She’d been my sister from the day she was born and it was hard to think about it and say that she would be my brother,” Osowski said.
But she said her mother and other two sisters had no problem granting the birthday wish. In their eyes, nothing had changed.
“I feel unconditional love from my family for the first time,” Jayray Fiene said. “I suspect it was always there. I just wasn’t open to it. If I couldn’t give it to myself, how could I get it from others?”
In August he began explaining his transformation to people in his professional world, including President Gary Ransdell.
Jayray Fiene said that Ransdell immediately had a question.
“He said, ‘Isn’t that going to hurt?’” Jayray Fiene said. “I said, ‘Yes it does—it does hurt, but the amazing thing is you recover, and it doesn’t hurt anymore.’”
Ransdell said he supports Jayray Fiene in his transformation but declined to comment further for the story.
Jayray Fiene said his co-workers in the education department astounded him with their similar support.
He said he informed about 50 people including Western and public school employees about the transformation, and not one responded negatively .
Jayray Fiene’s eyelids dropped, releasing a slow tear, when he recalled this unlikely statistic. No other recollection had made him cry.
After creating open lines of communication, Jayray Fiene said he ventured into one of the most dreaded parts of the awkward transformation years—the locker room.
In November, deciding which locker room to use in the gym presented a problem.
Jayray Fiene said his suits, strong jaw and short hair offended women who believed a man had entered their private quarters, and the tight clothing concealing a female chest concerned the men who wondered if a woman had entered their locker room.
Discouraged by constant stares, Jayray Fiene said he stopped going to the gym.
But he didn’t lose the opportunity for male bonding presented in the dressing room.
“Some of my colleagues now are coaching me like a big brother or big guy in the locker room, much like you do for one another as younger men,” he said last fall.
Bud Schlinker, associate professor of education administration, leadership and research, was one of those men.
“She didn’t know you could buy pants and jackets separately,” he said about the first time he discussed masculine dress with Jayray Fiene.
Schlinker gave Jayray Fiene a few ties and told him about best places in town to buy menswear.
“It’s not like you women think,” he said. “You don’t need nine sports coats. You just need two.”
Jayray Fiene said his fashion transition went as smoothly as his new morning shaves, but sharp cracks in his slowly changing voice made Sunday mornings more difficult.
He said his high soprano voice used to stand out clearly in his church choir as he experienced his faith through song.
But late this fall Jayray Fiene could no longer beg his tenor voice to hit soprano notes.
“Several people came up and expressed how much they missed my voice,” he said. “While I knew people meant it flatteringly, it was painful.”
This was the first change to catch Jayray Fiene off guard, he said. He squinted his eyes as he remembered the feeling of loss, looking like a high school basketball player after his final game.
“This is not a choice,” he said. “It’s an action, and I was ready to accept the consequences.”
It wasn’t the first religious sacrifice Jayray Fiene made for his choice to undergo a sex change, he said.
He and the pastor of Holy Trinity Lutheran Church, the Rev. Robert Weldon, decided he should step down from his church leadership roles, including his position on the church’s school board, Weldon said.
He said Jayray Fiene’s situation is different than most transgender people because Jayray Fiene believes he is correcting the human decision of his father rather than changing his God-given sex.
“Normally it would have been something that was seen as sinful behavior in need of repentance, but, in this case, it was more of a counseling situation than a condemnation,” Weldon said.
He said he welcomed Jayray Fiene to stay and worship with the church. But, because transsexuality is ultimately against church doctrine, he can’t have leadership roles.
“If there’s something that appears to be inappropriate or contrary to the confession of the church, then, for the sake of the church and those that do not understand, there needs to be a stepping aside,” he said.
Jayray Fiene continued attending the church, repeating the same prayer at every mass.
“Your will, your way,” he said he prayed in January, placing his transformation in the hands of God.
Jayray Fiene had recently selected the surgeon to perform the first part of his transformation.
Dr. Gary Alter’s tight schedule and Beverly Hills location, however, stalled Jayray Fiene’s hopes of completing surgery before the summer.
“Your will, your way,” he repeated.
Four months later, Jayray Fiene’s phone rang. Alter had a cancellation and called him to fill the spot.

Jayray Fiene reached the pictures in the album of himself after completing his doctorate.
His sisters had suggested he take glamour shots to celebrate his achievement. He sat under bright lights with his hands daintily curled under his chin and sequins reflecting on his rouged checks.
“God, they really look like drag queen photos,” Jayray Fiene said. “I really never liked them but I always thought it was because my teeth were crooked.”
He said he didn’t take many pictures after those and few pages remained in his book.
But there was space for a few future photos.

Jayray Fiene said he had been attending therapy sessions with Lisa Beavers, a certified sex therapist and gender specialist, since January 2008 to prepare for his transition.
All transgendered people must attend therapy and live as their chosen sex for a year before a surgeon will perform genital reassignment surgery, Beavers said.
After that point, she allows patients to determine when they are ready, she said.
“They are driving the bus, and I’m on the journey with them,” Beavers said. “It’s not my job to give anyone permission.”
Jayray Fiene’s first surgery, a double mastectomy, removed breast tissue and sculpted his chest into a more masculine physique, he said.
The second surgery, a metaidoioplasty, will reshape his female genitalia by creating a small penis and inserting testicular implants, he said.
He recalled the prayer that had become his mantra before he boarded a plane to California where Alter performed the first operation on April 10, he said.
Alter, assistant clinical professor of plastic surgery at UCLA, said he performs about 45 female to male transsexual surgeries each year.
Jayray Fiene emerged from surgery one mostly painless step further in his transformation.
“The reality is it’s surface,” he said. “It’s just skin and tissue.”
But what Jayray Fiene saw when he looked in the mirror for the first time after surgery went much deeper than skin and tissue, he said.
“I started to tear up,” he said about looking at his bruised body. “My sister asked what was wrong, and I said ‘I see me.’ For the first time since I was 12 or 13 years old I can look at me.”

Jayray Fiene pointed to one of the last pictures in the album. His father stood smiling and looking remarkably like the son he never knew he had.
Jayray Fiene didn’t know then that this summer he will close his album, throw away his remaining female clothes, pack less than nine sports jackets and take a position at California State University, San Bernardino.
There, no one will struggle with pronouns, he said. He won’t have to wonder what bathroom to use or what people will think of his new suit.
Western allowed Jayray Fiene to transform into himself, but California will allow him to live as himself, he said.
Jayray Fiene considered the picture of his father one more time before tucking away the photos of himself as a female.
“There’s my dad looking really goofy in a bow-tie,” he said, smiling wide. Then he considered the fashion statement more seriously. “I don’t think I’ll ever wear a bow-tie.”

When Jayray Fiene looks back on his life at ages 13 and 19, he knows that the reason for the awkward smiles lies deep within. For his entire life Fiene said he has felt like a man trapped in a woman's body. Now, he has the opportunity to become who he has always been as he undergoes gender transformation surgery and hormone therapy, so the physical can match the spirit within. Matt Fields-Johnosn/Herald

Louisville freshmen Precious Sheckles, 19, and her fiance Leon Dillingham live together with their 5 month old Noel Dillingham in the Bowling Green Scholar house. The couple met in High School and applied to all of the same colleges together. Living in the Scholar House allows them to focus on attending their classes at Western and raising their child.  “Scholar House should be at every college, because were not the only ones going through this,” Dillingham said.

Audio and photos by Kohl Threlkeld, produced by Matt Fields-johnson

By Josh Moore
news@chherald.com

Bowling Green sophomore Brittney Wilson and her 15-month-old son Jeremiah McCombs moved into the Bowling Green Scholar House from Regency Park Apartments about two months ago.
It came at a good time for Wilson, who works at Wal-Mart.
“With my job, my hours got cut down a lot,” she said.
She said utility costs kept going up.
Wilson pays a lower rent and no utility costs at the Scholar House.
The 56-apartment complex provides affordable housing for single parents or couples in college and their children. It also offers a Little Scholars day care.
Residents pay 30 percent of their total income in rent.
The facility is one of several in the state that help parents pursue an education and provide a better future for their families. But the economy is making it more difficult to fund future projects.
Scholar Houses in Louisville and Owensboro have opened within the last year, said Tammy Stansbury, director of housing, finance and construction for the Kentucky Housing Corporation.
Another will be built in Louisville, she said.
“We’ve got several different colleges coming to us now wanting to provide one in their area,” Stansbury said.
Deborah Williams, executive director for Housing Assistance and Development Services, said the Scholar Houses are funded through special low income housing tax credits set aside by the Kentucky Housing Corporation.
Tax credits allow companies to not pay taxes on their profits by investing it, she said. Non-profit companies can also purchase tax credits.
But only a certain number of tax credits were set aside for the Scholar Houses, Williams said.
“Once those are gone, they’re gone,” she said.
Stansbury said officials will have to find other investors for future projects. There are no more tax credits set aside for the projects after the Scholar House in Louisville is complete.
Officials are having trouble finding investors because of the economy, she said.
Stansbury said Scholar Houses help people better themselves through education.
“It’s giving people a chance to pursue their education, to get off of welfare and to make a change not only in their lives but in their child’s life,” she said.
The opportunity is an especially good one in the current economy, Stansbury said.
“Overall, you’re going to see people come out of poverty just for this reason,” she said.
Louisville senior Alise Royles said going to class and taking care of her two-and-a-half-month-old son Bryce Royles means she can’t work much.
The difference between living at the Scholar House and having a regular apartment is hundreds of dollars a month, she said.
“It would have been a lot harder,” she said.
But instead of worrying about paying more for rent, Royles said she can focus on being a better mom to Bryce.
“I have a lot more time to spend with him,” she said.
Officials have been happy with the success of the Bowling Green Scholar House so far.
The complex opened in January and was full by mid-March, Williams said.
Residents had to go through a 15 to 30 minute interview with an advisory council before moving in.
There are 20 people on the waiting list to move in, she said.
Williams said there are 53 children enrolled in the day care center, which opened in February.
“There’s no question that Scholar House has been a success,” she said.
But Williams said the true success will be measured in the success of the children and the residents as parents and students.
“There’s really no one way you can measure it,” she said. “The truest way is if all elements meet.”
Williams said the Scholar House offers parenting, financial management and other classes to help residents.
Louisville freshman Precious Sheckles said the Scholar House allows her to be independent while still going to college.
“I don’t need my mom,” she said. “I’m able to take care of my responsibilities on my own.”
Sheckles said if she had to work and take care of her 5-month-old son Noel Dillingham she probably wouldn’t be able to go to school.
The Scholar House program is modeled after Virginia Place in Lexington, Stansbury said.
Virginia Place opened in 1986, said Janet Clark, Virginia Place office manager.
She said it was the only program of it’s kind when she started ten years ago. But she’s excited about its growth.
“I think there’s a definite need out there, and I’m just glad these programs are available,” Clark said.

Louisville freshmen Precious Sheckles, 19, and her fiance Leon Dillingham live together with their 5 month old Noel Dillingham in the Bowling Green Scholar house. The couple met in High School and applied to all of the same colleges together. Living in the Scholar House allows them to focus on attending their classes at Western and raising their child. "Scholar House should be at every college, because were not the only ones going through this," Dillingham said. KOHL THRELKELD/HERALD

From 8 a.m. Friday, April 24 to 8 a.m. Saturday, April 25 Herald and Talisman photographers set out to capture events and moments in the lives of people at Western as a part of the special section “24 Hours.”

Left: Kenny Perry reacts after making a birdie putt on four during the third round of the Masters Golf Tournament at the Augusta National Golf Club on Saturday. ANNETTE DROWLETTE/THE AUGUSTA CHRONICLE Right: Ken Perry watches hos son compete in the final round of the Masters Golf Tournament from his home in Franklin Ky., on Sunday. Photo by Armando Sanchez/Herald

Click here to hear Ken Perry’s reactions

Story by Jonathan Lintner
sports@chherald.com

Greg Nugent paced the Country Creek Golf Course clubhouse Sunday in Franklin, trading between his position as general manager of the course designed by the Masters’ second-place finisher Kenny Perry and supporter of a close friend.

Perry’s quest to become the oldest Masters champion in the 75-year history of golf’s magical major tournament was winding down.

“We’ve been on pins and needles these past four days,” Nugent said. “It’s very close.”

At the time, the 48-year old Perry had taken a one-stroke lead over competitor Angel Cabrera.

Hours later, the Western Hall of Famer that lettered on the golf team from 1979-82 would bogey two straight holes, lose the lead and finish second to Cabrera in a two-hole playoff that left Perry short of his father’s constant request.

“Dad has always said, ‘You need to win that green jacket,’” Perry said on Friday at the Masters. “He always calls me and tells me.”

Perry attributes much of his success to the push his father Ken gave him as a child, growing as a person. It’s positioned Perry to fill the “good guy” role in the community and on the course.

The pushing, Perry says, is what makes him the man he is today.

“He was relentless. He was ruthless. He was a smart man,” Perry said. “He was knew it was going to make me tough. That’s all he was trying to do.”

Ken and Kenny’s relationship blossomed on the golf course, where Kenny can remember his dad teeing balls up one after another while plumes of smoke billowed from his father’s cigar. The course was where son and insurance salesman bonded the most.

“I still smell the cigar, the grass,” Perry said. “Any time I catch a whiff of that, my dad instantly comes to me.”

Now, Nugent said, their father-son relationship has grown and matured.

“His dad doesn’t push him any more, but he does motivate him,” Nugent said. “Kenny wants to do well for his father.”
And well he has done.

Perry took it upon himself to qualify for last year’s Ryder Cup, skipping the majority of the major tournaments to participate in events where he typically performed well. Although he was criticized, Perry’s strategy worked out, as he brought the President’s Cup back to the United States in his home state of Kentucky.

Ken and Kenny are slated to be grand marshals during the week of the Kentucky Derby — more for his hometown victory at the Ryder Cup than the second-place finish at Augusta last weekend.

Perry has taken a role as a community leader and representative for residents of Franklin, Dave Kitchens said. Kitchens was one of the many coming and going from the Country Creek clubhouse Sunday.

“Kenny gives a lot to charity. He’s a role model to all the kids,” Kitchens said. “When Kenny is winning or if he’s close to the top, everyone’s always flying in and asking for an update,” Kitchens said.

The Kentucky Derby runs on the first Saturday in May, and although Perry won’t have a green jacket to wear, he’ll be representing Franklin, Western and his family.

At 48, he’s not looking to stop any time soon.

“I love the game,” Perry said. “You just keep going.”

Even after losing, Perry said he expected to have a good conversation with his father on Sunday night.

“You know what? He just feels sorry for me,” Perry said. “He just wanted me to win. I know it with all his heart — he wants the best for me just like I want the best for my kids.”

Swinging in the sunshine, dirt digging and petunia planting fill the weekend of Skyler Winters, 4, while he visits Grandma Chery at her yellow house.

“My grandson loves to garden with me,” Cheryl Obright said. “It’s kind of like magic for kids because they put a little seed or a little plant in the ground, and then a few weeks later they see it coming up and they say ‘Wow! That’s magic!’ and so that makes them feel good.”

Obright, 60, moved to Bowling Green a few years ago to be closer to her children and grandchildren. Obright brought up her son and two daughters on a farm where they grew trees, vegetables, and raised animals.

Now, a flower garden and vegetable patch are plenty for Obright.

“It gets me out there,” she said. “You’re up and down, you’re on your knees, you’re crawlin’ around. For a person my age it’s very important to get exercise and fresh air. It’s a very calming and peaceful thing to do.”

Photo by Kayla Diamond

Audio and photos by Armando Sanchez and Kohl Threlkeld, produced by Kohl Threlkeld

Story by Colleen Stewart
diversions@chherald.com

The assembly lines of the Corvette plant are still.

Silence reigns over 175,000 square feet of machinery where every Corvette and XLR in the world made since 1981 was crafted.

Bowling Green’s treasure boasts in its brochure: “No other sports car has carried the dreams of a nation like the Corvette. No other car has had a richer or more fascinating history, and none has a brighter future.”

But the plant hasn’t escaped the effects of national economic recession.

Production is down 50-60 percent since last year according to the Corporate Scheduling Committee.

Of 730 employees, 130 were laid off indefinitely in March and the number is expected to reach 240 by 2010.

Grant Wilson of Smiths Grove, who takes an English class at Western, took a buyout from the plant in April and isn’t looking back.

“I wanted to work for myself and almost eight years there set me up for life,” Wilson said.

He said the buyout will help him build a contracting company, but he realized most of his co-workers feel differently.

“A lot of people lose their job and don’t get nothing, I feel fortunate,” Wilson said.
“My co-workers were almost in tears.”

Like most fathers, he worries about providing for his wife and two small children, and recently purchased life insurance.

“Its scary, it puts a lot on my shoulders,” Wilson said.

The manufacturing level has gone from 18.5 cars per hour to 11 and the plant will cease production of the Cadillac XLR this month.

The plant, which used to operate 50 hours a week in 10-hour shifts, is amid a series of shutdowns. After closing in late December of 2008, the plant reopened and has been back in operation for five weeks.

“We have a unique plant, we have a unique product,” said Andrea Hales, communications director. “I would hate to see a Bowling Green or a Kentucky without the Corvette.”

No Corvette is made until it is specifically ordered and designed, according to Kayla Fugate, a Franklin junior who works at the Corvette Museum next to the plant.

Just inside the museum is a line of glistening Corvettes waiting for their owners to drive them off the showcase floor.

“We call this the nursery,” Fugate said. “If the buyer chooses the $490 option they get a special tour and are treated like princes and princesses for the day.”

The number of people who chose the option has decreased; her hours have been cut.

“They expect us to pay for our coffee now,” she said.

The Corvette Museum is filed as a 501(c)3 nonprofit, funded by patrons and donations. Every car in the museum is donated or loaned, including the only Corvette made in 1983, when the plant came here from St. Louis, Mo.

“Like other attractions across the U.S., tourism is down, but we feel good about having a lot of folks visiting the Museum,” said Bobbie Jo Lee, museum marketing and communications manager.

More than 130,000 people from around the world visit each year.

Bowling Green senior, Ashley Gabbard, is an intern at the Corvette plant who gives tours and writes for the newsletter among other things. Her workload has reduced since the layoffs.

“I clean a lot of storage closets lately and file a lot of papers,” she said.

Despite the drop in sales of the Corvette, the company’s market shares are rising and Hales said community leaders understand, beyond raw numbers, how important the Corvette is to this area.

Wilson said the economy suffers in part from a lack of support for American cars.

“People need to realize when they purchase an automobile, they are affecting a lot of American jobs,” he said.

Kohl Threlkeld contributed to this story.

Grant Wilson, 35, of Smiths Grove spends time with his six week old daughter Addysen, after coming home from a long day of working construction. Wilson was laid off from his job at the Corvette plant and recently took a buyout. He plans on using the buyout to pursue his goal to own his own construction company. "I wanted to work for myself and I feel like almost eight years there set me up for life," Wilson said. KOHL THRELKELD/HERALD

Audio and photos by Armando Sanchez

By Mandy Simpson
news@chherald.com

Jessica Gad traded her sorority letters and pearls for a waitress apron and a bow-tie last week. Her free time transformed into a time card and she took on a title her dad lost in January —employee.

“Both my parents were really secure in their jobs,” the freshman from Hendersonville, Tenn., said. “At least, we thought they were.”

After 20 years of working for Keystone Automotive, Gad’s father found himself unemployed, leaving Gad’s return to Western after winter break uncertain, she said.

The struggles of students like Gad to fund their education in the face of economic recession could impact enrollment in positive or negative ways, Assistant Economics Professor Alexander Lebedinsky said.

Gad’s parents warned her that she might have to attend a community college for a few years while her family recovered, she said. But after finding scholarships, quitting her sorority and vowing to make her education worth every cent, she returned to Western.

“My parents told me they can’t afford for me to slack,” Gad said.
She said the members of Kappa Delta still call her “sister” and her new Steak ‘n Shake uniform suits her just fine.

Other students might not make it through their financial woes as well as Gad.

Western’s enrollment declined for six consecutive years during the American economic recession in the early 1980s, according to registrar records. Enrollment dropped by over 2,000 students from fall of 1979 to fall of 1985.

But President Gary Ransdell said he doesn’t expect a similar enrollment decrease this time around.

He said officials are working to continually increase Western’s enrollment by creating new degree programs relevant to today’s society and job market.

Officials are also developing and marketing more online programs and making physical campus improvements to attract students, he said.

Western’s enrollment has increased for the past 12 years, and Ransdell expects that trend persist, he said.

“I think we will continue to be a destination point for a growing applicant pool,” he said.

More student loans are available to that applicant pool now than during the 1980s recession, and this may lessen the effects of the current economic downturn, Associate Economics Professor Brian Strow said.

Banks are raising interest rates and approving fewer loan candidates, he said. But more federal student loans with reasonable interest rates and borrower requirements exist.

Federal financial aid increased in the late 1980s, coinciding with enrollment increases at Western, Stow said.

“I’m saying that’s not an accident,” he said.

But students relying on private loans may feel the effects of tighter lending practices, Lebedinsky said.

“If you simply cannot afford to borrow money at a reasonable rate then you can’t afford to go to college,” he said.

When Bardstown sophomore Lindsey Filiatreau’s mother lost her job last month, she learned she would have to rely entirely on student loans to pay for medical school, she said.

“It’s scary because, while I’ve always planned to pay for med school, It’s always been nice to know my family could support me if need be,” she said.

Filiatreau began using her peer tutoring and baby-sitting money to cover expenses such as car insurance, which her parents previously paid, she said.

Some students, like Filiatreau, may have to get jobs to support themselves despite rising unemployment rates.

The unemployment rate in Bowling Green was 10.3 percent in February, 1.4 percent higher than the national average of 8.9 percent, according to a report from Kentucky’s Office of Employment and Training.

Kentucky’s unemployment rate is above the national average as well at 10.2 percent, according to the report.

Rising unemployment rates could decrease enrollment because fewer students can pay tuition, Lebedinsky said. But the rates could raise enrollment as well.

People may choose to postpone college in good economic times because well-paying jobs are available, he said. Few such jobs exist now.

“The opportunity cost of going to college is low in terms of the jobs you are giving up because there are no jobs,” Lebedinsky said.

This may explain why enrollment is up from last year, Ransdell said.

The need for financial support increased along with enrollment, said Cindy Burnett, director of student financial assistance.

Financially struggling students should first fill out the Free Application for Federal Student Aid to determine how much need-based funding they can receive, she said.

Many students may have to follow Gad’s lead and start working, she said. Burnett recommended on-campus jobs listed on the financial aid Web site.

Burnett encourages students to check the list regularly because campus jobs are as rare as jobs in the rest of the nation, she said.

“We have more students looking for jobs than jobs available, so it helps to be aggressive,” she said.

photo by Armando Sanchez/Herald

Story by Magen McCrarey
diversions@chherald.com

Swarms of students gathered in Jaycees Pavilion Friday night as the scent of beer and anticipation filled the air.

Greek fighters filed out of a doorway shrouded in black focused and ready as “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor roared through the room.

Knuckles were clenched into tight fists as the fifth annual Sigma Chi Battle of the Greeks went into its championship rounds.

All proceeds were donated to the Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City, Utah, Sigma Chi’s primary national philanthropic organization along with the Children’s Miracle Network.

Sigma Chi President Reece Schenkenfelder estimated that they raised more money than in the past, though the exact count has not been calculated.

“Nothing else compares to this Greek event,” said Duke Laha, a Virginia Beach, Va., junior.

About 300 people attended the fights last Thursday and Friday, Schenkenfelder said.

As the night progressed and fights became more intense the crowds did too, cheering even through the thick heat inside the dome.

“Everybody is well behaved,” said Fredie Boges of the ring crew. “I know college kids want to have fun and we don’t have to tell them more than twice.”

The ring crew is hired to make sure the event is safe and no one gets hurt, Boges said.

“We make sure all the rules are the same for the fighters,” he said.

The most anticipated fight was the middleweight division fight between Pike’s Evan Goddard and Sigma Nu’s Dane Rodriguez, Schenkenfelder said.

They opposed each other last year in the same competition. This year Goddard took the title of middleweight champion.

Other champions of the night were featherweight Josh Smith of Pi Kappa Alpha, lightweight Clay Goodman of Sigma Chi and heavyweight Larry Taugher of Sigma Chi.

Kaitlin Gardner and Whitney Allen of Alpha Omicron Pi won first division. This was the first year sororities participated as boxers.

“I was really pleased with how everything turned out,” Schenkenfelder said. “(We were) left with a great event for a good cause.”

Audio, photos and editing by Kohl Threlkeld, produced by Matt Fields-Johnson

Story by Kohl Threlkeld

When the judge announced that Christy Brock and her husband, Rick Brock, were awarded temporary guardianship of Ethan Coots, 7, and Tatum Coots, 9, last December, it was hard to find a dry eye in the room.

“I guess we were their last hope, or they were going to remain in foster home or put in some group home somewhere,” Rick Brock said.

After Social Services removed Ethan and Tatum from their home, the children’s future was uncertain.

There were no family members that could take them, and Ethan’s cerebral palsy meant that he needed to be in a medical home within the foster care system. The closest one was in Owensboro, Christy and Rick Brock said.

Christy Brock has been Ethan’s personal aid at Cumberland trace elementary school for three years. This experience meant she knew how to care for Ethan’s medical condition.

She was aware of the rough home life the children were exposed to, she said.

She said she knew their father struggled with addiction, and the children were witness to things no child should be.
This made her reach out and help, Christy Brock said.

“I remember telling him that ‘I’ll do anything I can to help you, but if I ever know that the kids are in harm, I will be your worst enemy,’” Christy Brock said.

The Brocks and their five other children helped out however they could for several years.

As their time together grew more frequent, so did their love for the children. So when the time came to step up and take care of the children full time, there was no hesitation, Christy Brock said.

“We just knew that our home was the home for them — we had to get them,” she said.

Christy Brock’s relationship with Ethan had been unique from the beginning. They began to develop their own form of communication because Ethan is non-verbal and has trouble using sign language, she said.

“We just clicked — it was like it was meant to be,” Christy Brock said.

The Brocks soon realized that the effects from the children’s previous home were much greater than they had imagined.

Crucial medical appointments were never made for Ethan, leaving his development neglected.

Tatum had such severe dental hygiene neglect that she needed to be hospitalized to have work done.

“To be able to provide a safe and happy, healthy home for them right now is an honor,” Christy Brock said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen from this, but I know we would be willing to take these children forever.”

photo by Kohl Threlkeld/Herald