Associated Press Assignment

Groovy journalism gig: Last week I was contacted by the Associated Press VT Bureau Chief, who gave me an assignment to cover a major criminal sentencing hearing, which could ultimately influence Federal law. First time I've sat in a courtroom for hours, taking copious notes, then calling in core verdict/case details (just like in the movies, but I used my cell phone instead of a phone booth!) before pounding out the full piece on my laptop and filing it just before the news hour. Though I've been writing for ages, it's great to be able to add the AP to my resume and to be covering important hard news items for the Vermont Bureau!

Songs that unite past, present and future: Samirah Evans jazzes up weekend celebrations of Dr. King and the inauguration

Hope. Change. Possibility.

For a very long while, these words were largely missing from our collective lexicon in regards to the sociopolitical climate in this country and, since November, it's been clear that we were desperate to expand both our expectations and our vernacular.

One of the most eloquent and powerful indicators of any major shift in societal sensibilities is the arts. Artists not only record change but, by definition, they are agents of it as well, by virtue of the simple fact that they create. Painters realize the impossible with brushes and canvas. Writers conjure characters and situations with paper and ink. And musicians invent concepts and emotions with instruments and lyrics.

History has been documented by artists throughout the centuries and landmark moments, in particular, have provided inspiration for informative, galvanizing work that's filled museums, libraries and record stores with extraordinarily potent forms of creative expression.

So when jazz luminary Samirah Evans was asked by the good people at the Old Tavern at Grafton if she'd like to do a concert there this weekend and if she might have a particular concept for the show, it was a no-brainer like no other.

"'Do I have a concept?," she recalls thinking, "Yes, I have a concept!'"

With the show taking place a day before Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and two days prior to Barack Obama's inauguration to the United States presidency, Evans quickly came up with the perfect title — "A Vision Realized" — and began putting together a song list that would exemplify the values and vision shared by these remarkable men.

Speaking by phone in between rehearsing and hearing from colleagues eager to join in, Evans talks about her motivation behind organizing this momentous celebration.

Pointing out the connection between Obama's humanistic sensibilities and Dr. King's dream of a country where children would not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character, she explains, "Most people think you can fight it out but MLK put his life on the line for what he believed."

"And now there's Obama's willingness to feel that dialogue can make a difference," she adds. "Regardless of whether he's black or white, it's his impeccable character that's important."

The concert will celebrate present-day triumphs as well as reflect on struggles in the past. With a song list that includes impassioned comments on the Civil Rights Movement, such as Nina Simone's "Mississippi Goddam" and Sam Cooke's "A Change Is Gonna Come," Evans has planned a concert that will give voice to the evolution of America's conscience on the issue of race up to the pivotal event that takes place on Tuesday.

"I want to sing songs that deal with social injustice and lead to the idea of hope and moving forward and possibility," says Evans. "Like 'Imagine' and 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow.' It's so hopeful: 'If birds can fly so can I.' You know, we shall overcome."

Having started her singing career when, fresh out of college, she took the stage at the legendary New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival (this woman seems to do everything big and bold), Evans went on to become an acclaimed fixture in the New Orleans jazz scene. She has toured Europe, Asia and North and South America, playing alongside greats like B.B. King, James Brown and Irma Thomas, and has two exhilarating CDs out, including the freshly pressed, deliciously melodic and profoundly moving, "My Little Bodhisattva."

Listen to one bar of a Samirah Evans tune and her great success and stature in the jazz world instantly makes sense. With phrasing that inventively sculpts each line, whether she's singing a familiar standard or one of her many original compositions, and a timbre that ranges from sonorous to silken to sandy, Evans imprints her endearingly buoyant charm and palpable emotional depth onto every tune. Add to it a Klieg-light smile, a ready laugh and the energy of a kid in a candy shop and her lives shows are enigmatic and invigorating.

Considering that she hails from a place known for its vibrant energy, soulful style and robust appetite for pure, unadulterated fun, jazz is the obvious medium for someone like Ms. Evans and we Vermonters should count our lucky stars she's brought that mojo to our fair state.

After Hurricane Katrina, Evans and her husband Chris Lenois moved to his native Brattleboro and she has been building a new and enthusiastic fan base here ever since. Having bestowed her exuberant presence upon numerous clubs in the region, last September Evans kicked off the Vermont Jazz Center's concert season with a sold-out evening that featured saxophone maestro Charles Neville. She is clearly on the same sort of trajectory she experienced in New Orleans, making this concert — which takes place in the White Church across from the Old Tavern in Grafton at 3 p.m. Sunday — even more of a coup for local jazz fans.

With a dynamic, intuitive band comprised of bassist George Kaye, Bob Wiener on drums, pianist Miro Sprague and Dia Silverstein playing sax, along with special guests including indie-folk songstress Lisa McCormick, gospel-soul singer Moonlight and singer/guitar duo Cindy and Greg Hellmann, this event will pack a powerful punch, both musically and politically.

One of the most controversial songs slated is "Strange Fruit," a poetically ominous account of an Indiana lynching written by Abel Meeropol and made famous by Billie Holiday who first performed it at the Greenwich Village venue, Café Society, in 1939. House rules there were that when Miss Holiday performed this tune, with which she always ended each set, the entire staff was to remain motionless and silent, in reverence for the gravity of its message. At Sunday's performance we all will be, unquestionably, similarly attentive, particularly considering the monumental symbology to be found in the strides and struggles that have brought this nation from those somber days of oppression and hatred to Tuesday's awe-inspiring, unparalleled event on the steps of the Capitol.

Amidst her immense reverence for the sociocultural hardship and endurance that her concert is honoring, Evans emphasizes that joy is at its core. "I'll be singing New Orleans classics and choice standards as well," she attests. "I want it to be a show where everyone is welcome, an all-inclusive celebration of King's legacy and Obama's inauguration. They're songs that will leave people feeling really full and energized."

Tickets are $10 for adults (kids under 12 free), are tax deductible and benefit the Windham Foundation's Grafton Fund, which supports cultural programs in the area.

On a personal note: Due to an increase in other journalistic commitments, Sover Scene will appear on an intermittent basis going forward. I encourage everyone to stay in touch via the archive blog and by reading this phenomenal paper, Vermont's oldest, most eloquent and fearless family-run daily.

Change is good and, as with Ms. Evans' concert on Sunday, I too celebrate what I predict is a new chapter of hope and possibility for everyone!

Online: www.samirahevans.com
www.oldtavern.com
Annie: annieguyoncommunications.com

Goblins, witches and politicians: Tricks and treats of every variety abound

As my kids fill the front window with ghoulish drawings in anticipation of tomorrow night's sugary festivities, I find myself haunted by the ghost of one particular Halloween past.

The United States was submerged in a costly, increasingly questionable war and there was a fierce presidential campaign under way that had become mired in nonstop volleys of divisive accusations and cookie-cutter rhetoric. Hmm ... sound familiar?

It was 1972 and as a budding political junkie, thanks to an activist older sister, even at age 10 I sensed that the escapist fun of Halloween was mightily diluted by what was happening on the political stage. Though parents probably assumed national politics didn't distract us kids from visions of bubble gum and mini Hershey bars, it managed to infiltrate even grade school psyches, casting an ominous cloud over the whimsical proceedings.

Conversations about costumes were peppered with discussions of whose parents were Nixon supporters and whose folks were voting for McGovern. I remember one little girl who proudly wore a Nixon button on her Cinderella outfit during the Halloween parade, telling me that my hippie costume and peace-sign necklace were stupid.

Thanks to a diplomatic and politically engaged teacher, we held mock debates during history class, though I wondered if anyone else had noticed the McGovern bumper sticker on her brown Pinto.

The beginning of that school year was steeped in heavy issues of the day and yet, as Hallow's Eve approached, most kids focused on the pumpkin-carving and sweet loot to come. I had my orange UNICEF boxes folded and at the ready, as well, anticipating plenty of coinage.

My 15-year-old sister, Dale, however, was a bit distracted from all the faux-suspense of Halloween by a very real sense of anticipation that held the nation in its grip. She and her best friend Karen had been volunteering in the McGovern-Shriver campaign and were planning to go out before sundown on Halloween to canvass the neighborhood. I remember thinking how unfair it was that I got to go out and collect candy and she had to pass out fliers and talk about politics. For some reason, I had it in my head that all teenagers had to go door-to-door before elections, the way young adults go to college and grownups go to work — just part of the job description.

At the end of a bountiful night, as I was examining my mountain of Charleston Chews and Sugar Babies — and while Mum confiscated any apples, which in those days were common but regarded as nefarious objects of suspicion, much to the delight of children everywhere — the political activists were sprawled on the couch, exhausted, brooding and seemingly oblivious to my treat-induced rapture.

A week later, while my candy supply prevailed, their hope for the future did not. Nixon won, by a landslide, and my sister was devastated. I remember thinking, as she cried in her room and the adults spoke in somber tones in the kitchen, that we probably wouldn't even have Halloween anymore, since everyone seemed so upset. If the whole family was this distraught, it must mean everything was going to change, as if something apocalyptic had happened that would alter life as I knew it.

But lo, Halloween arrived the next year as per usual and costumed kids went house-to-house with their sacks and flashlights collecting that autumnal windfall of individually wrapped goodies.

Years later, when I became a parent, I was reminded of the joys of this annual costume-candy cocktail, but it wasn't until we experienced Halloween in a tiny rural village that I learned for the first that it can actually be a galvanizing event in terms of community.

In the big city, Halloween is all too anonymous and laced with parental trepidation. Moms and Dads walk their kids right up to every door, later examining their spoils with a metal detector and a klieg light, and it's unheard of to accept anything homemade.

So on our first Halloween in Vermont, when my kids were 4 and 6 years old, it felt a bit like walking into a scene from "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown," with its tacit atmosphere of safety and familiarity. In our little village, a sweet, informal parade forms in front of the elementary school and winds its way through a few streets before returning to the gym where the PTO puts on a supper of soup and sandwiches.

Afterwards, flocks of kids criss-cross roads that are blocked off from traffic, with parents strolling casually behind, chatting, or Moms convening on a front porch to give out candy while the Dads are out with the little ones before trading shifts.

When it's my turn to man the fort, I'm always amazed at how many kids I know personally, if I can recognize them behind their masks and make-up, that is.

There's one house up the road that always makes me pinch myself yet again that I am so fortunate to be raising my children in Vermont.

Instead of bearing a vat of store-bought candy, the woman of the house stands at the door holding a bowl brimming with warm, freshly made doughnut holes. It's the most popular stop in town and every year I joke that next time I'm bringing a Thermos of coffee to go with her scrumptious treats.

This year my Mum's cousin Dutchy will be here visiting from England and, as he usually makes his yearly sojourn during the summer, it'll be his first encounter with a proper Hallow's Eve. Some kids trick-or-treat in the UK but it's a very Americanesque holiday that went over on the Hallmark boat, no doubt. They might have their Guy Fawkes Day, with the bonfires and everyone running around saying "Penny for the guy," but there is nothing like an authentic American Halloween to make kids of any age appreciate the chill and expectancy of autumn, not to mention elections.

Dutchy had decided that this year he'd come over to finally experience not only New England foliage, but the American electoral process as well. Little did he know that about a week before the vote-counting, he'd be stationed on my porch handing out candies to 2-foot-high ghosts and diminutive fairies. He'll be equally amused by the big guys as well, since every Halloween at least one teenager seems to show up in one of those rubbery Nixon masks, though this year a few other visages might be in the mix.

And though I will not be taking down my daughter's colorful Obama sign that she made — of her own volition, I might add — that hangs in the window among cut-out pumpkins and squiggly spectres, I do plan to bring in my lawn signs tomorrow night.

Don't want the little tykes tripping over my political activism, no matter who their parents are supporting.

Annie: www.annieguyoncommunications.com

Art that unites, heals and teaches: Lauri Richardson's message is her medium

"It's beautiful and ugly simultaneously."

Not a common assessment of art, but it's how Lauri Richardson feels about her "Flags of Freedom, Cost of War" project. First displayed on the Fourth of July in 2005 as a memorial to the men and women in the American military who have perished in Iraq, the installation is comprised of 5-inch by 8-inch hand-painted flags strung together and hung in dozens upon dozens of rows on village greens, in public spaces and warehouse-size interiors.

Through July 27 — and as part of the 16th annual Rock River Artists Open Studios Tour which takes place this weekend throughout Newfane, Williamsville and Marlboro — "Flags of Freedom, Cost of War" will be displayed on the Newfane Commons.

Each flag represents a person who died. The beauty Richardson sees in them is not only in the symbology of the lives these people sacrificed, but the compassion and common goal in the hands that made them, for this is a collaborative piece created by hundreds of people who have been compelled to make the flags for their own reasons.

Along with vibrant mosaic sculptures, some of which continue on the theme of war and others that explore animal and human survival instincts, Richardson will have at her studio the painting table she often brings to the flag installations. Studio tour attendees can create new flags to be added to the piece and she appreciates any and all involvement, for the piece is rarely — with apologies for bluntness — caught up. And the ever-increasing numbers of military losses is the ugly part.

When she first started making flags, nearly 2,500 American soldiers had died in Iraq. Even then Richardson knew she'd need the help of others to realize her vision for the installation, which was always intended to be a neutral, nonpolitical memorial.

During a recent conversation, Richardson was brimming with reflections on the evolution, lessons and impact of the project. "Whenever the flags are installed, I'm aware when an American death occurs in Iraq," she explained. "Like today, a 19-year-old man died."

As the mother of a 20-year-old son, Richardson finds that the issue resonates for her as an artist, a mother and a citizen, though the piece has always had a singular purpose. "It's not anti- or pro-war. It's strictly flags, with no names and no images. I have my personal opinions, but the flag project is not the place. I designed it to be interpretive."

This nonpolemic stance has been embraced by nearly every participant and viewer, though there have been a couple of uncomfortable moments.

"I always have a sign in front of the flags with the total of American fatalities in Iraq and one person was offended by the number. Another person took me to task because I wouldn't hang a flag that had a peace sign on it."

Throughout the project, Richardson has felt honored to learn about the views of participants and how their personal situations have informed their own perception of the American flag.

"During community painting sessions, I hear conversations between moms of kids fighting in Iraq and peace activists," she marvels. "What's neat was that they get to know each other as people working toward the same goal so there's always a respect established. It seems to have enabled people to start talking and one lesson I've learned is that it's good for both sides of the issue."

This healing influence was nothing Richardson could have predicted, as her hope was only to create a memorial for those killed in action and that as many people as possible would see it. Despite her singular vision for the project and the positive dialogues and alliances that have emerged from it, even the best laid, simple and sincere plans can run into obstacles.

"Originally, the concept was just for it to be public: I wanted it to be unavoidable. I initially pursued universities, since it's young people who really need to be engaged. It's their peers who are often over there in Iraq. But university after university turned me down."

Likewise, of the 12 local schools she approached, with the belief that kids would enjoy being involved in the project, all but one deemed the flags "too political."

Thus far, the installation has hung in about a dozen locations, in unobtrusive rows along the bridge railing in downtown Brattleboro, as a massive expanse filling the Pawtucket Armory in Rhode Island and in one long, sobering string tracing the path from Richardson's home studio down the hill to the main road.

Richardson hopes to find the funding that will allow her to take it to more expansive settings where its meaning might be yet more potent. "I'd like to show it at airports to greet returning soldiers or hang it across bridges," she said. "I've also thought about taking it to Washington, D.C., and maybe organizing volunteers to hold the strings, as human poles."

Though exposure of the flags to the public has been relatively limited, its impact has been deeply felt by people on all sides of the political fence.

"Two guys who were about to be deployed felt that it honored soldiers, that they wouldn't be forgotten," said Richardson, who, after a moment of silence, added solemnly, "I'm feeling that the country is not as divided as the media would have us believe."

As for her very central role in this time-consuming endeavor, I asked whether it's emotionally taxing, considering the profoundly sorrowful meaning of the installation's seemingly unending expansion.

"The first few times I put it up, I cried," Richardson admitted. "Now I notice I'm starting to get more hardened. I was running on adrenaline at the beginning, but this is the third year."

Being an urban refugee, I also wondered if the installation had ever been defaced or damaged when exhibited outside. "It has not been vandalized," she marveled. "Nobody has touched it. I think the flag is sacred to everyone, especially with this meaning of loss."

This veneration is, to be sure, universal. As an immigrant — whose road to United States citizenship was a circuitous, seven-year trudge through bureaucratic mud — I'm quite sure that when my kids and I sit down to paint our own flags during the Rock River Open Studios this weekend, it's going to be a cathartic experience.

An equally powerful offshoot of this project will be on display as well: 10 mosaic flags that Richardson created in response to comments overheard during the making and exhibition of the painted flags, with quotes from supporters and detractors of the war scribed along the white stripes of broken glass and ceramic constructions.

"I had no intention of doing the mosaics, but I became saturated with these stories and when someone said something that knocked my socks off I'd write it down in a notebook," she recalled. "They're all different and they all contain something that's a little offensive, derogatory, a mix of emotions and words. I became fascinated with the way people say things and their personal stories."

"This is a heart-wrenching, sad project that has brought me so much connection with different people. It has been a truly awesome teacher and I've learned things about myself that I didn't expect."

An especially moving and unanticipated benefit has been the great generosity of spirit in the project's participants, one of whom is veteran Terry Ward of Townsend. "He is so sweet and became very interested in the project," Richardson said. "He's painted at least a couple of hundred flags."

This galvanizing influence, particularly in the context of a dominant socio-political issue that fills headlines every day and roils with meaning for every American citizen, is also something Richardson couldn't have predicted.

"Hundreds of people feel ownership for this project. And it compels everyone to confront both sides of the flag."

When I asked Richardson if she knows what will define the end of the "Flags of Freedom, Cost of War" project, her response — like her art itself — was heartfelt and forthright.

"You know, Annie, I'm a marathoner and I've ridden my bike across the country and what I tend to do is not look too far ahead."

Online: rockriverartists.com

Annie: annieguyoncommunications.com

Speaking out for art education's sake: Community goes to the mat and wins

"Art is the Queen of all sciences communicating knowledge to all the generations of the world."

— Leonardo da Vinci

It started out looking like any other school board meeting. Administrators, board members, a local reporter and a few parents were settling into chairs in a small classroom at the Bellows Falls Middle School on a quiet January weeknight. But on this particular evening, things started seeming out of the ordinary fairly quickly. The room began filling with more parents and community members than usual, excited chatter grew, administrators looked solemn and a couple of board members seemed tense.

The school janitor started bringing in more chairs and tables were nudged to make space for the growing crowd, with earnest tête-à-têtes, broad smiles and a lot of surprised expressions emerging around the room. Suddenly, someone announced that we were moving to the auditorium, which fueled the commotion further.

Me? I was positively giddy.

Word had traveled through the community earlier in the week that the School Board was poised to make cuts to art, music and physical education at the school that night, so a few of us had done our best to alert fellow parents, neighbors and art advocates with the hopes that a strong presence at the meeting might dissuade the School Board from making proposed reductions.

Though we knew these are hard times and budgets are thin, this is a community that prides itself on a thriving art scene, having built a widespread reputation as an eminent, vibrant epicenter of fine arts, music, literature and theater with wonderful venues, events and festivals that draw patrons from near and far.

Cutting art programs here would be like reducing computer classes in Silicon Valley or Little League in Boston. Art is part of the bedrock of this community, yet here we were facing the possibility of our own children having this crucial element of their education reduced.

I'd hoped for 20 attendees or so, 30 tops, but as people kept streaming down the aisles and into seats it became clear that this was no little flurry of artsy parental protest. The chair called the meeting to order and, as the board discussed other business on the agenda, I went to the back of the room and did a head count: A full 162 people were in attendance. Even better, a remarkable 60 of them had signed up to speak.

When our item came up on the agenda, speakers were asked to stand, state their name and say their piece. Parents, grandparents, teachers, former teachers, staff members, community members and business owners spoke with passion, eloquence and occasionally palpable disdain for the very notion of eroding the schools' art programs in a culturally rich community such as ours. Some told stories of students whose difficult home lives were assuaged by their immersion into art projects at school, while others insisted that if it weren't for music their child would never have discovered a remarkable talent.

At one point I recited a list of factoids that I thought might resonate with board members concerned about student performance in standardized testing. One report, from the College Entrance Examination Board, found that "students who studied art scored significantly higher than the national average on SATs" and that "visual arts education greatly contributes to reading persistence and organization as well as reasoning skills required for success in math and science."

The U.S. Dept. of Education also published "Schools, Communities and the Arts: A Research Compendium," which shows, according to more than 3,000 studies, "music education specifically fosters stronger spatial reasoning necessary for solving mathematical problems, creative scientific processes and developing general planning skills."

And, according to "Effects of Physical Education and Activity Levels on Academic Achievement in Children," published by the American College of Sports Medicine, "Numerous studies have shown positive relationships between academic achievement and both physical activity and sports participation." Though it might be assumed physical education simply means sports, it also includes creative movement and allows kids to explore dance in a way they might never be able to otherwise.

Far more powerful than any adults' stories or stats, however, were the students themselves. It was obvious that most had never spoken in front of such a large group, much less held a big microphone, but one by one, and sometimes in groups, they stood and spoke. One trio of girls read a poem they'd written based on John Lennon's "Imagine," about what their lives would be like with no art programs. Then a quiet boy explained that his coach had become an important mentor to him and that he couldn't make it through school without having gym class to look forward to.

Perhaps the most moving moment was when a shy, pale girl gingerly took the mic, her spiky pink hair falling into teary, heavily mascaraed eyes and choked that if it wasn't for band she wouldn't want to come to school at all and that music was her motivation for doing everything else.

In the end, enough members of the board heeded the heartfelt accounts of student engagement and success being intrinsically connected to art programs, and figured out how to avoid making cuts to art and music, though the physical education program was unfortunately reduced. It meant that the school's principal, Cheryl McDaniel-Thomas, was going to have to do some mighty creative budget management, but she was ready for the challenge and has been amazing us with her innovative vision and resourcefulness ever since.

This pragmatic ingenuity and commitment to creativity permeates the entire district staff and was on beautiful display recently when the Saxtons River Elementary School put on its spring concert. With the direction of music teacher Alissa Daigneault, beautiful sets painted by students with the guidance of art teacher Colleen Grout and inventive choreography by gym teacher Mary Lou Smith — who was named the 2007 Vermont Elementary Physical Education Teacher of the Year — the kids seemed to take everything that was said to the School Board that night in January and put it into colorful, expressive motion.

They played rousing tunes on recorder, performed complex dances, put on a death-defying jump rope display and sang delightful songs, including one that put the name of every state to the tune of "Turkey In the Straw." How's that for augmenting academics through art?

When I asked Smith her opinion on the value of the arts, she was enthusiastic and direct. "The arts give students the opportunity to be creative - a fast disappearing skill in this age of reliance on test scores. Often I will give students a piece of equipment and say 'Show me what you can do with this' and they come up with things I never would have thought of. When students are given the opportunity to think and explore on their own they come up with the most amazing ideas."

Art instructor extraordinaire Colleen Grout believes her curriculum manual, based on the National Standards for Arts Education, says it all. "Arts education benefits the student because it cultivates the whole child, gradually building many kinds of literacy while developing intuition, reasoning, imagination and dexterity into unique forms of expression and communication. An education in the arts benefits society because students of the arts gain powerful tools for understanding human experiences, past and present. They learn to respect the often very different ways others have of thinking, working and expressing themselves. They learn to make decisions in situations where there are no standard answers. By studying the arts, students stimulate their natural creativity and learn to develop it to meet the needs of a complex and competitive society. And, as study and competence in the arts reinforce one other, the joy of learning becomes real, tangible and powerful."

Amen.

To support arts education in Vermont, contact the Vermont Alliance For Arts Education at www.vaae.org.

Annie: annieguyoncommunications.com

Astute performances from future leaders: Volume of Our Voices puts humanity in the spotlight

On the wall behind my computer hangs a bulletin board that's layered with colorful flotsam and jetsam from the past few decades, including postcards from around the globe, a Scottish pound note, my Japanese I.D. card, a Zippy gem, photos of friends and sundry ticket stubs from concerts by The Who, The Stones, the Pretenders and Nada Surf.

In amongst this visual cacophony are buttons I've collected over the years, with slogans ranging from "ERA Yes" and "Iggy Pop Fan Club" to "Question Authority" and a cow thinking "No Nukes," along with a row of badges from SF AIDS Walks.

At the center of it all is a large, faded button that reads "Feminism Is Humanism."

Of everything tacked to my vertical scrapbook, this particular specimen holds the most meaning for me, perhaps because it's the first political anything I ever acquired, launching a lifetime of buttons, bumper stickers, activism and awareness.

I got it in 1978 when my dear friend Daphne and I went to our first N.O.W. rally, held on the Stanford campus across the street from our high school. I remember the intriguing phrase — "Feminism Is Humanism" — standing out from all the other buttons, T-shirts and signs, knowing that it captured my particular philosophy more accurately than anything else.

As readers here learned last year when I wrote about the Brattleboro Women's Film Festival, I'm not your average feminist. I'm the kind who thinks our collective might becomes far more abundant, effective and lasting when attained through more inclusive means, particularly when those means fit under the aegis of art.

Though it's often felt like swimming upstream, I still believe feminism is humanism and that we serve the greater good by welcoming everyone to the discussion, with no labels, monikers or categories that might risk dissuading potential supporters from becoming involved.

During this, the final weekend of Women's History Month, a group of diverse and multitalented students and faculty members at World Learning's SIT Graduate School in Brattleboro are sharing a stage in precisely that type of event.

On Friday and Saturday night, more than two dozen performers will express their views through song, movement and spoken word, in "Volume of Our Voices," an evening of creative expression on the topics of gender, identity and sexuality, benefiting the Women's Crisis Center in Brattleboro.

Original monologues, poems, dances, music and even martial arts will illustrate stories that are personal, if not intimate, yet universal in relevance to the larger human experience and the common societal messages that can misrepresent, misinform, isolate and stereotype different factions of society.

In speaking with a few of the students participating — all of whom are working toward master's degrees in SIT's renowned international education program — I was impressed by the breadth of their experiences and the unique challenges each will voice in their respective performances.

Jon Woods, an organization management candidate, will be exploring issues of race, belonging and disenfranchisement through poetry, song and the martial art known as Capoeira, a muscular type of competitive dance that originated in Angola and found larger cultural roots in Brazil centuries ago within the slave community.

Naming his piece, "If I Had Wings I Could Fly," after a line from the song "Regulate" by rappers Warren G. and Nate Dogg, Woods takes us on his journey from anguish to understanding with remarkable perspicuity and grace.

"The poem itself goes from despair, hopelessness and rage to being lost and then trying to find guidance as a black man," he explained. "It touches on the issue that in black culture there's a disconnection between parenthood and the next generation, a prevalence of no role models existing and having to look at historical references and not necessarily in your household, whether it's a book or music that you respond to."

Though Woods' personal and intellectual path has been paved by the work of legends such as Malcolm X, Martin Luther King and civil rights activist and scholar, W.E.B. Du Bois, he also absorbed profound life lessons much closer to home.

"I learned a lot from my father and his struggle in the corporate world," reflected Woods. "Being a black manager he had to deal with a lot of conflict, internal mainly, and the struggle to assimilate but also be himself."

"When I wrote my poem, I was having a really bad day," he confided. "I'm the only black man at SIT and that's fine because I'm used to white schools but sometimes I just want to talk to someone I can connect with on that.

"The way that Capoeira is incorporated is a release of energy; if you're angry sometimes the tension just needs to be released. It's a martial art that's powerful but you play it against yourself."

For Cole Kovac, who is working toward a master of art in teaching, an equally formidable frustration with society emerges in his monologue titled, "Pushing Boundaries: One Man's Reality," which challenges the widely accepted pejorative term that often pigeonholes people like him as having a "gender identity disorder."

As a person born female but who identifies male, Kovac investigates his own perspective from several compelling angles.

"The first part of the monologue is about the medical world's view of transgendered people," he explains. "The second half is about my story and feelings and struggles and why I'm on stage."

When I asked him about this latter question, he replied, "At this point I'm the only transgendered person on campus and I felt like my voice needed to be heard, especially since the performance isn't geared only towards women. And SIT is a very supportive community — it's a good place to be."

Conflict transformation major Rachel Unkovic possesses a similar wealth of wisdom, particularly having learned in her studies that peace-building is more productive than conflict management or resolution.

"It's the idea that conflict never goes away and that it can open the door to dialogue and new ideas," she asserted. "It can be changed from violence into something more productive."

In "Magic Mirror," which includes inventive vignettes such as "Sleeping Beau," Unkovic and classmates Scarlett Shaffer and Victoria Der use shadow puppets to retell classic fairy tales. "We explore old stories that we're all told growing up and the impact those messages have on kids. We're looking at the idea of gender roles and roles that you're forced to take."

That the show is a benefit for one of the region's most crucial social service organizations — providing shelter along with emotional, legal and crisis support for survivors of abuse — is all the more reason to come out and support these visionary young people who are working hard to create a future that is informed by expansive, global perspectives and a reverence for the power of the human spirit.

The Women's Crisis Center views these issues through a similarly humanistic lens, as evidenced in their thanks to SIT for donating proceeds from the show to their cause: "It takes a dynamic, unified force to address the war waged on the bodies of women and children every day in this community and all over the world. Women still live with the daily reality of physical and sexual violence, still live with the systems which protect them imperfectly, at best, and sometimes not at all. We both honor and rely on our allies in ending men's violence against women and children."

The unified force behind "Volume of Our Voices" exemplifies this inclusive approach to solving the global scourge of discrimination, disrespect and brutality. As Woods' commanding poem implores, "Let your voice be heard, preach the word, because no matter your gender or race, the struggle always continues."

Or, as Kovac puts it, with equal sagacity, "Our identities are always evolving."

Independent radio cultivates community

Today's column is dedicated to the memory of
Bill "The Human" Sheridan  
July 24, 1957 - August 19, 2007

Thomas Carlyle said, "The Hero can be Poet, Prophet, King, Priest or what you will, according to the kind of world he finds himself born into." To this illustrious list I would add "DJ" and Charles David Herrold was one of them.

Having been raised by a farmer — whose use of the term "broadcasting" (as in seeds) seemed an ideal way to describe the transmission of audio entertainment to the masses in 1909 — Herrold is credited with being the first person to propagate regular musical broadcasts on the airwaves. For that reason alone, he's a full-fledged hero in my book, as are the visionaries before him — Edison, Tesla, Marconi, etc. — whose inventions allowed Herrold to become an avid Victrola-wielding disc jockey.

Another hero of mine was one of independent radio's most staunch supporters who, in his words, "always felt that the radio provided an intimacy that one simply doesn't get from television" and whose dulcet tones as a delightfully engaging DJ anointed the airwaves for far too short a time: Bill Sheridan, lifelong champion of radio, astute social commentator and a dear friend who recently and very unexpectedly passed away.

Bill personified the philosophy upon which so many independent radio stations seem to be founded. He was sagacious, inquisitive, informative and forward-thinking, with a sharp wit, an understated savvy and a respectful, gentle delivery — not to mention a steadfast love for music that was informed by both a veneration of vintage sounds and a zeal for trailblazing genres.

Bill's passion for soaking up and disseminating pivotal information began at a young age, and radio played a central role. In a letter he wrote just a few months ago, he expounded on his formative years as a radio fan.

"My boyhood home in Hollywood was just a few blocks away from the KHJ broadcast studios on Melrose Avenue. If you had been standing outside the studio on a Wednesday afternoon at about 3:10 p.m. on a school day in 1966 or 1967, you most likely would have seen little Billy Sheridan pull up and hop off his Schwinn stingray bicycle long enough to run in and grab a copy of the Top 30 at the receptionist's counter. Then I would peddle home and spend the afternoon memorizing the list."

Years later Bill became a DJ at a small station on Catalina Island, spinning gems by R&B gods like James Brown, Otis Redding, Van Morrison and Stevie Wonder, with new-wave faves such as Tom Tom Club and The Motels thrown in. I was tickled to hear him say on the air one night, "This one's for our good friend Annie in Vermont, who listens online."

Bill's unwavering commitment to exposing his listeners to high-caliber tunes and informative dispatches that encouraged civic participation was representative of everything I cherish about small, community radio and here in Southern Vermont we're lucky enough to have a handful of top-notch, hands-on stations that similarly enrich our lives both musically and socially, every day.

Brattleboro's WTSA, owned by Bill Corbeil, is one of a very few privately run stations in the state and it offers that same refreshing brand of self-governing, community-minded broadcasting. Corbeil's professional philosophy is grounded in innovation and involvement, with neighborhood pride and experiential roots that go plenty deep.

"I was born and raised in Brattleboro," he said during a recent conversation, "and after high school I interned at WTSA and got the radio bug. Then after college I worked at WIZN for 10 years and when I returned down here, WTSA became available for purchase."

Armed with new programming ideas — including adult contemporary music as well as local and national news, sports and weather — along with a fervent focus on giving back to his hometown, he bought WTSA 96.7 FM and 1450 AM, and began putting his own enthusiastic imprint on the station.

"We have a full-time news team because we really saw a need for community reporting," Corbeil said. "Nine times out of 10, we're breaking stories before the newspapers can, so we have a huge commitment to local news. Not many stations that aren't all news talk have local coverage."

WTSA also provides an unbiased forum wherein elected officials can discuss pertinent political topics. "Bernie Sanders, Leahy, the governor, they all have a direct line to our studios and they use it because they know we're the voice of Windham County."

On the entertainment side, WTSA plays a broad range of rock, from Barenaked Ladies, Keane and No Doubt to Prince, The Police and Smash Mouth, according to the tastes of each particular DJ.

"We choose our own music," asserted Corbeil. "There's no corporation that comes in here and dictates the playlist as you'll find in the Clear Channels or Sagas of the world. It's a dream for me. I've worked for Clear Channel and some of the larger groups and have had the benefit of seeing the pros and cons of both."

While music and local news are core programming for WTSA, Corbeil is just as dedicated to investing in the betterment of his community through various charitable and incentive programs. To that end, WTSA sponsors Project Feed the Thousands as well as a Student of the Month, a Community Person of the Month and a bulletin board that lists events benefiting the community on every front from blood drives and youth programs to computer classes and art walks.

"In independent radio you can be so much more flexible," he attests. "If there's a local charity event, everything is at my discretion and that really benefits the community. There's a real neat local weave of this basket here. We all see each other at Little League games and in the grocery store and we have personal relationships with listeners."

Those connective threads will soon be weaving WTSA with a bit of its own past, as the station is poised to be moving from its current Western Avenue site back to Putney Road where it was originally located. Corbeil is thrilled about the new digs.

"We're building a whole new facility next to the Marina Restaurant," he enthused, "with a beautiful view of the Marina which has become such a hub of activity. Engineers are installing all new technology equipment this week and we're increasing our work space to four studios."

Corbeil said they'll start broadcasting from the new location next month and are planning a grand opening in the spring.

"Our programming will maintain the adult contemporary musical format and we'll also be enhancing news and sports coverage on AM."

Clearly, even amidst the station's expansion, Corbeil is maintaining his original vision for WTSA, including his own multitasking role.

"It's a small market station," he reflected, "so we all wear many hats. I'm a DJ, too."

My old pal Bill would heartily applaud WTSA for continuing to cultivate an independent radio station that plays great music, encourages civic participation and which provides a regular forum for local politicians — particularly Bernie Sanders, who was one of his heroes.

And Bill Sheridan was one of mine.

Note: No Sover next week as I'll be on the left coast for a three-day, R&B-filled memorial celebration of his life.

Online: www.wtsa.net

Annie: annieguyoncommunications.com

Franken offers pop-culture jujitsu on film

Alfred Hitchcock once said, "In feature films, the director is God; in documentary films, God is the director." Somehow I feel sure the subject of the recently released documentary, "Al Franken: God Spoke," would beg to differ. Regardless of one's spiritual or partisan leanings, it's fairly evident to anyone who knows the difference between a scud and a chad that Franken - pundit, comedic craftsman and potential 2008 U.S. Senate candidate - has a strong calling to scrutinize and satirize the inner workings of the political process.

"God Spoke" is the result of filmmakers Nick Doob and Chris Hegedus' intrepid shadowing of Franken as he trekked through a two-year period from book signings to rallies to forays into enemy territory, such as the 2004 Republican convention and the Bill O'Reilly show.

Since Franken is known for being an irreverent and outspoken champion of independent thought, it makes perfect sense that "God Spoke" is being screened as a benefit for another bastion of unconventional aplomb, WOOL 100.1 FM Black Sheep Radio, a delightfully eclectic indie station in Bellows Falls.

The event, which takes place Nov. 9 at the Bellows Falls Opera House, kicks off WOOL's annual capital campaign and dovetails with its membership drive, both of which will further develop the station's technology and train more members of the community to be DJs.

"WOOL is almost entirely funded by its membership and the occasional additional fund-raising effort like this gives us a real shot in the arm," said WOOL board member Gary Smith. "In addition, Franken's stint on Air America radio is now very popular, so the tie-in with community radio is a natural."

Known for a colorful comedic career that includes "Saturday Night Live" stardom and several top-selling books, including "Lies and the Lying Liars That Tell Them," Franken has immersed himself in the political realm as commentator, critic and, according to his Web site, potential future senator representing his home state of Minnesota.

Election hopes notwithstanding, his plainspoken humor has usually elicited bipartisan appreciation.

One of Franken's more memorable television triumphs was an ongoing skit with self-described former right-winger Arianna Huffington on Bill Maher's controversial television show "Politically Incorrect," in which he and Huffington literally became political bedfellows, covering the 1996 presidential campaign from a huge red, white and blue bed.

He, the scholarly liberal, and she, the erudite conservative, engaged in a pointed and astute faux-adversarial repartee, though Huffington has since gone over to what she describes as compassionate progressive populism.

Franken himself has always been firmly planted on the far left side of the mattress and has explained his current crusade with simple defiance. "I take what they say and use it against them. What I do is jujitsu. They say something ridiculous and I subject them to scorn and ridicule. That's my job."

Bold stuff from the same guy who created the endearingly fey, ceaselessly self-helping Stuart Smalley on SNL, who would gaze wide-eyed into his enabling mirror and tentatively declare "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and gosh-darn it, people like me."

His creation of Smalley helped put Franken on the pop-culture map and that character continues to enjoy his own loyal, though probably woefully co-dependent, fan base.

With some heavy-hitting, creative industry clout behind it, "God Spoke" is likely to add to Franken's distinction as a politcult phenomenon.

Its executive producer is D.A. Pennebaker who, along with Hegedus, co-directed "The War Room," a brutally honest documentary on Clinton's 1992 campaign, but who more famously made "Don't Look Back," the compelling documentary that followed Bob Dylan on his 1965 tour of England.

Just about every side of the political spectrum is represented in "God Spoke" - from Walter Mondale, Henry Kissinger and Ann Coulter to Michael Moore, Al Gore and Stuart Smalley himself - pretty much guaranteeing that it'll be, if nothing else, thought-provoking.

Considering that the film is being shown on a very limited basis around the country, in venues such as NYC's Lincoln Center Cinema and San Francisco's Opera House Theatre, WOOL-FM has scored a major coup by bringing this film to Vermont.

As you pass through the lobby on the ninth, look for their information table and consider becoming a member, buying a cool black sheep T-shirt or just making a donation to help them continue their admirable advocacy of Vermont's innovative thought and independent ears.

Tickets are $10 and available at Bulls Eye Music and Village Square Booksellers in Bellows Falls and online at www.wool.fm.

Contact Anne Lawrence Guyon at [email protected].