First Light

05 April 2005 ~02:30hrs (Raw Notes from the Garage)

I set-up a PC workstation in my garage; in the wee-hours of the morning the newspaper delivery personnel (or police for that matter) caught glimpse of a guy in his pajamas—with long-skullcap—doing an impression of Dr. John Nash, while observing the first sheet of paper print from the printer. One completed computer with printer—updated to Windows XP and Office 2000—ready to rock and roll! Amazing what one can accomplish when it’s not a Monday~

I took a break and worked on my grad-school admissions essay—due later that day—while the second computer for The Center for Drug-Free Living was formatting. I emailed Dr. Scolaro with the good news, but found that the next (and final) class would be held at Lake Eola to attend the Shakespeare Theater.


Update to the computer situation as of 25 April 2005:

Professor David Sutton will teach a Prometheus class over the summer at the Center for Drug-Free Living; I’m going to see about installing the computer there. I received the point of contact information, but will wait to establish communication links until after the Advisory Committee meeting this Thursday.

First Daylight Visit (Raw Notes)

04 April 2005 ~19:00hrs (Raw Notes from Coalition visit)

Arriving at the classroom early, computer in hand, I decided to observe my surroundings since it was locked. Experiencing the Coalition for the first time in the daylight, I took note of the children climbing on the playground equipment. It occurred to me—while watching one of the children conquer the mountain-of-swingset—that we sometimes have the same aspirations at the same ages; at six-years old we are egocentric (according to Piaget anyways) and what better embodiment of ego than Arnold Schwarzenegger? This notion became cemented in my head as I saw the child straddle the top-level of the monkey bars and declare, “I am the Terminator!” The child flexing his pecks shrieked down to his beaten friend.

The voice mixed with innocence and power (as in establishing self in context of the power hierarchy) drew a stark contrast to the teenaged boys sitting on the apex of a rock-climbing set. There was a whole system I was privy to . . . thanks to dark sunglasses. One on watch (though not very effective), one lighting (what looked like a cigarette at first) cone-shaped joint and puffing, the last of the group sat next to the joint-holder constantly rubbing his hands on his jeans to clear the thin film of anxiety from his palms. Each of them rotated around these positions until the cone-shaped marijuana cigarette was gone.

At first I gave them the benefit of the doubt, I saw myself in their eyes and actions—the sweet anticipation coupled with the fuzzy feeling in my guts—the rush of getting away with something I knew I wasn’t supposed to be doing, but back then it was a Marlboro Red, not a cone-shaped joint of ganja (discuss escapism in context of Shelter Blues). I continued to observe the boys as their session ended and they filed onto the basketball court. I cannot fathom how they did not see me . . . perhaps they didn’t care . . . with fix achieved.

Standing in front of the Headstart trailer where the Prometheus class is taught, one of the residence (or so I assumed) came up and asked me for a cigarette. He introduced himself as “Diangelo” and proceeded to ask me questions about the class. He informed me that Dr. Scolaro ran into him one Saturday at the Ripple Effect, and asked that he come sit-in on a class to see what he thought. Diangelo told me that he is currently pursuing an A.A. in filmmaking at Florida Metropolitan University (FMU). Dabbling in that field myself from time to time, I asked if he had any script ideas ready. Looking at the ground, manipulating his feet, he replied with a grin, “Black Swans Journal . . . it is about a Marine that survived three wars, only to meet an unfitting end . . . .” An end which Diangelo elected to withhold.

At this point I informed Diangelo of my role with the Prometheus Project, and we started an exchange of information. He asked me what exactly the humanities are and I gave him my “humanities major push-button answer.” “The humanities involve taking a look across several disciplines like art, music, philosophy, literature—we use each of them to try and understand the human condition at some given point in history.” Diangelo seemed intrigued, but I wished to learn more about him. “So, are you a veteran? Is there any of you in that script?” He answered as eloquently as any writer would, “each of those characters are a part of me, but yes . . . I was in the Marines.” Then I asked if he was homeless, to which he affirmed; this new prod in an old ache made me blurt out explicatives as acutely as a Tourettes Syndrome-sufferer.

Unfortunately it was right next to the playground where the children were running around, so I apologized openly and freely to anyone offended, but no one listened or took note. “Don’t sweat it man,” Diangelo said as he pointed in the general area of the children, “they could teach you things.” I replied, “and I believe it! I jut saw two kids smoking a joint over there earlier.” Shaking his head, “see, that’s just the Coalition man, that’s why I don’t stay here . . . I’d rather have my space out there [pointing toward the gate] under the bridge.” Dr. Scolaro arrived with one of the staff and they opened the door. I started working on getting the computer set-up.

I took note of the attendance after discovering that I was knee-deep in yet another foiled attempt to get a computer installed—the new PC had no USB port to plug the printer into. Dr. Scolaro grinned and let fly a verbal-spear, “A small . . . oversight, ehh?” I took both PC’s out to my truck and contemplated kicking them around the parking lot, but instead I started exchanging parts, determined . . .but denied nonetheless. I decided to throw everything into the truck and work on it when I got home. I decided to relax and enjoy the lecture; figuring that if I waited until past midnight to work on them . . . it wouldn’t technically be Monday anymore.

The class was having an engaging conversation on Plato’s Theory of the Divided Line in context of Michelangelo’s Neo-Platonist depiction of a drunken Noah. The hierarchy of man’s choices in regard to freewill (per the blackboard): Intellectual is at the top of the hierarchy, considered angelic; next is Rational, associated with man; next is Appetitive, associated with beast-like behavior; finally, Vegetative is at the bottom of the hierarchy, associated with the worm.

This lecture was presented in context of Noah’s drunkenness—he was living as a hedonist in the Appetitive realm, dipping into Vegetative when he consumed so much he passed out. I found myself grateful that I did not dip into the Appetitive realm earlier by kicking computers around the parking lot.

I left at the break to head home and complete one computer from all outdated PC’s I collected from PTK members; I would not fail if it took me all night. While walking down the planked ramp leading from the classroom/trailer to the parking lot, I noticed a fire truck and then heard the blaring wail of an ambulance. I overheard one resident ask another, “What happened?” The man repacking his car replied, “Another goddamn overdose . . . man, fuck this . . . [slamming trunk shut] I’m going back to Maryland.”

I went home where four computers lie between me, and sleep.

Advisory Committee Acceptance

1 April 2005 (email correspondence from Dr. John Scolaro):

Colleagues, Partners, Friends, and Advisory Committee Members of the Prometheus Project:

Yesterday, our Advisory Committee approved Issac Stolzenbach as the newest member of our project committee. Please review the e-mail below as regards this matter. What you may not know is that Issac is a student at Rollins College. His graduation from Rollins is imminent. He also works at Valencia's Winter Park Campus in student services. Issac, as several of you already know, has been very connected to the project in different ways. He has, for example, installed a computer, console, and printer for use by our Coalition for the Homeless students. He has also created a web site on the project called Prometheus Rising... You may access this site off of the project's Home Page Reference Links. We welcome Issac, and know that his input over the remaining months of our current grant year will be greatly appreciated by all of us! You would be very impressed by him! I wanted you to know as much! All the best! Sincerely, John Scolaro, Director of the Prometheus Project at http://valenciacc.edu/clemente.

>>> John Scolaro 03/31/05 5:15 PM >>>
Issac:

Our Prometheus Project Advisory Committee would like to invite you to join us as our newest member at our next meeting on Thursday, April 26, 2005 at the Well'Built Museum of African American History and Culture in Parramore near the intersection of South Street and Division Avenue. As you already know our meetings, under the conditions of our Florida Humanities Council (FHC) Grant, are held monthly. The day, time, and location of our meetings may change, but you, along with other members of our committee, will be duly informed before the date of each meeting. We would also like to discuss the inclusion of your bio and e-mail address as part of our project's Advisory Committee link ASAP. I am looking forward to your response to this invitation. We think that you will add substantially to our work with the 'underserved' of Orlando and Central Florida. All the best! Sincerely, John Scolaro, Director of the Prometheus Project at http://valenciacc.edu/clemente.

“Welcome the induction ceremony of . . .

18 March 2005, ~18:00hrs

I swallowed hard and dove deep into the task at hand, clearing my throat . . . “Welcome the induction ceremony of the Beta Iota Mu Chapter of Phi Theta Kappa, International Honors Society . . . “

The induction script, finished but untested, added to the stress of the production. I obtained a new addition to my wardrobe in hopes of correcting my persistent hobbling: a cane. Dressed in all black—the theme for the evening—I was identified as looking professorial with my suit-jacket and limp; a compliment that kept my waning energy from plummeting. Perhaps the German axiom holds true . . . the mileage is what you wear, not your age.

Dr. Scolaro arrived about a half-hour before the event. We went over blocking briefly, but our conversation digressed into the events of last week. He explained that he had also been in two motorcycle accidents, and emphasized/hinted/alluded to the fact that he sold his bike after the second. I replied, “I know, and I’m a big believer in the whole ‘third time’s a charm’ mantra. I understand everyone’s concern and I think this time I’m going to have to comply . . . my guardian angels are feeling overworked and under paid. [laughing] And the ladies in the office have made their intentions clear: one brought the used car section of the Sentinel; one scolded me for a good ten minutes; one brought in an Auto Trader; one gave me her son’s number who is selling his truck.”

After presenting the gist of the coming event, I brought Dr. Scolaro to the pseudo-Green Room and proceeded to greet the inductees and guests. We were running a bit behind, but all advisors agreed that we should wait a few minutes to give two missing inductees the benefit of the doubt.

Once the production started, the script (for the most part) went out the window, and I continued from memory. Dr. Scolaro received a warm welcome from the audience, I introduced him as one of the jewels of Valencia, and the crowd’s reaction confirmed this notion. He gave us the history of our organization and introduced facts that I was unawares. PTK was originally started as a female-only organization established in 1910, he asked us to take note of how forward-thinking it was for there to be an honor’s society for females almost 100 years ago. It was a sight to see . . . Dr. Scolaro’s lecture style.

The ebb and flow of pain waving through my leg kept me fading in and out of coherence, but I was determined to show our speaker his gift. When he finished speaking I got up to thank the good doctor and present him with his gift. I exhibited a bit of dramatic flare in suddenly revealing the PC from under a cape, and briefly explained to the audience the trials and tribulations involved in getting a computer down to the Coalition for the Homeless. Dr. Scolaro looked thrilled.

We wrapped things up later that evening, and Dr. Scolaro and I ‘touched base’ that we would ‘touch base’ over break . . . spring break began after the closing remarks, and I could see that we were both in need of respite. Tentatively, I will get the new PC in there the first class after break.

Oops~

One of the members of the organization I am an advisor for, Phi Theta Kappa, gifted two computers to me to donate to the Coalition For the Homeless. Rita Thomas, enjoying her last semester at Valencia Community College, later will receive an honor stole and tassels to wear as part of her regalia for graduation in May during the next induction ceremony, as a reward for this, and many of her other exemplarily efforts with PTK.

Digging into the computers I found that one was used as a server, thus it did not have a keyboard and mouse port. I gutted the two computers and affixed the Pentium Socket 7 motherboard on the chassis of the computer I would install at the Coalition. The PC’s were installed with Windows ’95 (but I refused to waiver, or twitch from past nightmares for that matter) so after assembling the best parts I could gather between the two, I brought the software needed to upgrade it to Windows ’98 . . . so that I could install the printer drivers (stop me if you’ve heard this one) . . . so that the computer would communicate with the printer . . . so that students of the Coalition may type and printer their reports.

Success! All parts installed and the PC took the upgrade without a hitch. I did run into a problem however when I went to install the printer drivers, a warning message came up stating that the processor wasn’t fast enough to work with the printer. This may or may not be the case; only way to find out for sure is to plug it in. I boxed the computer away and began plotting . . . .

I got into my second motorcycle accident in the past six-months on Friday, March 11th (I’ve been riding for 15 years, but it seems that as of late I am unable to protect myself from random [insert explicative] dissident-drivers) preventing me from delivering the computer for class on the 14th; again I thought of the myth of Prometheus.

But I had a backup plan that might prove to work out even better; Dr. Scolaro was gracious enough to accept my invitation to be the guest speaker at our March 18th induction ceremony for Phi Theta Kappa. It is customary for our organization to find something unique as a gift for our guest speaker; what better gift than a computer that we’ve been trying to get together for the past month or so?

Now it was time to produce a script for the induction ceremony. Luckily, since I am writing it, I can reduce my participation while recovering. I huddled back to lick my wounds, hoping that this computer would work.

Bah, Foiled Again!

07 March 2005 ~19:00hrs

I have always been a lot like Garfield; I dig lasagna, I don’t do mornings, and I really detest Mondays. The similarities between the cartoon-cat and myself that carried the most weight (for this entry at least) manifested on March 7th—the hallmark of hatred toward Mondays.

All the equipment needed to complete the task at hand was within reach; I had all my gear ready to install a CD-ROM drive . . . to update the archaic PC to Windows ’98 . . . to install the print drivers . . . to enable to Coalition students to print their work out instead of having to handwrite all of it.

My frustrations can only be blamed on Mondays because I find no other explanation for not getting the Coalition PC up to par. I suspect that “Mondays” are to blame because everything that could go wrong does when I work on the FHC (Florida Humanities Council) computers on Mondays.

I decided to scrap trying to bring the old computers back to life and go back to the drawing board; I figured I had enough parts floating around to put together a respectable unit. Breathing deeply, I took note of my frustrations, and eventually released them by way of a growling exhale. I stepped outside in the brisk night to observe the moment.
When I reentered the trailer, I noticed one of the students playing Solitaire; in my over-analytical way, I wondered about the individuals’ desire to be left alone, to be entertained, perhaps to escape the moment . . . I was probably projecting more than observing here. The PC would stay so that students can get used to having access to it. It works well as a basic computer and word processor, but because of its age getting it to print with the printer I have is impossible.

The view from within the compound pulses with exclusion: patrol cars speed-by, lines of would-be servitude staggering & switching just beyond the closed gate, and symbols of progress loom overhead . . . seemingly, just out of reach; three cranes sleeping, nestled in the pillow-fluffy fog of night. Just above the entrance to the Coalition, a see one of the cranes dangling above the gate . . . seeming almost close enough to pull oneself out . . . but just outside arms’ length.

I went back inside the trailer where classes are taught and took note of the reduced class-size; it shrank from twenty-five plus to about ten. Professor Sutton went down the role, I noticed the circle of students breaking eye contact and fidgeting when he asked where the missing students might be. I hoped for the best—perhaps a call or message came through placing them under a roof out of town—but I secretly wished they could have finished the course.

Class began and I was engaged from the firsts marks on the board, “Hubris- as in excess, the Greeks did not have ‘sin’ they had ‘excess.’” I did my senior humanities project (Hubris Rising) on the evolution of excessive pride in Napoleon Bonaparte, so I was on the edge of my seat longing to engage in the conversation, but I felt caged by my self-inflicted tenet of “fly on the wall” status. Other Greek works were put on the board and explained (Arete- as in excellence; Sophosyne- moderation / self-control; Kalokagothia- as in balance).

We then watched a post-modern interpretation of Sophocles’ Antigony; my mind wondered to the text we are reading in my class (Sheltered Blues by: Robert Desjarlais). I had many different questions and ideas swimming through my head that I wanted to voice, to either confirm or deny Desjarlais’ claims. Do the facilitators make life harder on the people to try to get them to accept that this is a “transient” institution? I wondered how I could swing admitting myself over spring break to get more honest answers from the residence; to see how they and myself would be treated. A combination of having to work, and the question over ethics made me refrain, but there will be other opportunities.

I stepped outside to take in one final observation for the evening. I noticed the Wachovia building within view of the front gate. I wondered if the residence here knew that there was a broadcast of the Western world on the opposite side of the building, from lack of bulbs: Wacho (pronounced wacko).

Victory! . . . well, sort of . . . .

28 February 2005 ~13:00hrs

I thought of Prometheus as I cruised down I-4 on my way to see the Program Director, Dr. John Scolaro, with a large printer across my lap—the balancing act of riding a motorcycle with something that bulky was precarious to say the least: it was like a half-hour-long abdominal crunch while I blasted down the highway with a white-knuckle grip.

I set-up my work station in the middle of the hallway and commenced to installing a CD-ROM drive in one of the computers (so that I could load the printer’s device drivers). After tearing the computer apart and reassembling it with the new CD-ROM drive, I soon discovered that the drive did not want to cooperate; for lack of a hammer, I skipped it down the hall to ease my frustrations. I then tried to download the device drivers for the printer from the internet onto my flashdrive: foiled again! The only drivers offered from the HP website were for Windows ‘98 and above, which were of no use to a computer with a Windows ’95 operating system. Thus, I admitted defeat for the day in getting the printer to communicate with the archaic PC, but the game wasn’t over yet. I figured I could at least get the floppy drive to work (which was discovered to be inop last week) the students could save their work to a disk and either print from another PC, or save it until I could get the printer to work. Finally, success! By switching parts around from two different PC’s I was able to get one computer up and running. Dr. Scolaro and I wheeled the PC, monitor, and printer out to his truck for installation at the Coalition for the Homeless.

At the end of the day, I determined that I still needed to acquire an operational CD-ROM drive, and I could use my old Windows ’98 disc to update the computer at least to the point it would recognize the printer. Thus, the students at the Coalition will now be able to type-out their reports rather than handwriting them all, but being able to print them out from the computer we put together would have to wait until next week.

21 Feb 05--Computer Installation and Committee Recommendation

21 February 2005 ~14:00hrs

Today I languish apart from my responsibilities due to the introspective hell brought about by the death of my favorite author and journalist, Hunter S. Thompson; he took his own life with a handgun blast to the head. Most would think that my reaction was extreme, but I’m finding it harder to find solace in the death of those I admire.

I was running behind for everything, and in a half-hurried rush I fell upon a note on Dr. Scolaro’s door referring me to the Learning Resources Center on Valencia’s West Campus. I found where I was supposed to be and examined the equipment intended for use at the Coalition: a Gateway computer with 133Mhz Pentium processor, 32 megs of RAM, with Windows 95 installed as its operating system. Due to the fact that Win95 operated on an NTCS disk format, and now we are on FAT32, I came to the conclusion that we would not be able to use the computer to its potential. Students would be unable to save files to a floppy-disk that they could keep with them. But it was decided to get the PC to the Coalition to see how well it fairs with the residence. If nothing else, the students will be able to word process their reports for class—which will serve to teach them an additional skill. Dr. Scolaro and I made a quick inventory to figure out what exactly we needed to make this work: 2 power cords, a keyboard and mouse, and a printer. We ‘acquired’ the cords and keyboard, and I remembered that I had an old printer that they could use.

Dr. Scolaro was very appreciative of my efforts to get a computer to the Coalition. To me it only made sense, if one of the principles hanging in the backdrop of the project was to get the Coalition residence acclimated to academia, we should try to give them as many tools as we can. Putting a computer within their reach will have a two-prong effect: first, it will help them to chisel-out college level writing assignments; secondly it will secretly teach them new skills—word processing and computer operation.

Dr. Scolaro them approached me with a question that has troubled me for awhile, “. . . so you are graduating at the end of this term? Then what?” I rattled off my options without committing to any of them and he asked me flat-out, “are you going to be here for the next year?” I told him that I would be here at least another year. Dr. Scolaro has something about him where he can make individuals actually *feel* the question he is asking them, “This may be a bit premature, but what do you think about being a member of the Advisory Committee for the Prometheus Project?” I was dumbfounded that I could be seen in that light, especially after viewing the biographies of the current members http://valenciacc.edu/clemente/AdvisoryCommittee.htm. Dr. Scolaro continued to explain to me that a shifting of members would take place in the near future, which could allot a position for me. He said he would present it to the board at the next meeting to measure their reaction.

First Advisory Committee Meeting (Raw Notes)

Raw Notes: Advisory Committee Meeting 17 February 2005 ~14:00hrs

THE GRANT—about an inch and a half of bureaucracy stacked in front of Dr. Scolaro.
This is the third and last time that the FHC is granting this grant!

One of the project’s professors, Dr. Elizabeth Eschbach’s son passed away and the members discussed the memorial service last Saturday.

I spoke with Dr. Ronald I. Habin, Ph.D., Applied Anthropologist. He regarded himself as a cultural anthropologist. He was very insightful in regards to the project, “ . . . cultural anthropologists would have a problem with Prometheus because it focuses on low-income society.” He also mentioned that there would be an issue with anthropologists regarding the Prometheus Project as an opportunity to do anthropological study; they would regard it as sociology. This began a discussion on the differences between the two. Dr. Habin said that in his view the difference between anthropology and sociology is that sociologists sit in the classroom trying to gather as much information as they can, and then go out to the field and apply what they have learned; whereas, in anthropology, we dive into the field and get our hands dirty, then bring the information back to the classroom for review. This statement brought about goose bumps on my skin, and it looked as though the Professor and I were about to engage in an active lecture, but there was a table of Advisory Committee members that wished to get the meeting started.

Dr. Flick 1973-79 member of the predecessor program Florida Endowment for the Humanities, will serve this year as our independent evaluator, attended the FHC workshop down in Tampa, FL. There were representatives from various projects throughout Florida. Susan Lockwood presided over the meeting in Tampa, and explained the grants requirements, “stressing the importance of making the presentations open to the public . . . telling what the program is about . . . it has to someway engaged the public.”

Dr. Scolaro-- Sunday March 6^th Sunday 10:30am at the Unitarian Congregation (UUUS?) on Raush and Alafa, 11648 Muchulla Road. Dr. Flick is presenting. Dr. Scolaro asked if we can think if any organizations that we could do this presentation at. I asked if it could be presented at Rollins, Dr. Scolaro said to send him the details. (note: I thought later that Dr. Scolaro could present at the next induction ceremony of Phi Theta Kappa as our Guest Speaker. Unfortunately, he had to decline because the ceremony is the same day as his wedding anniversary.)

We need humanities scholars- Udit Greenberg, professor of religion and women’s studies (and first evaluator) at Rollins has been approached, along with Ben Bromarko (former evaluator), and Wendi Schweam.

(Note to self: ASK Dr. Levis if he would be willing to present) Dr. Habin asked if anthropologists could present—Terri said that it was probably possible, John said that he would check it out.

Valencia Television to play project special 18 times throughout the year.

Date of the next meeting: March 31^st, 2pm here at the Wells’ Built.

I posed the question about the students’ access to word processing computers, John stated that he had a few that could be put together in his office that were very old. I stated that I would get with him about putting the computers together, and seeing if I could get some old parts donated to build a few to donate to the Coalition.

Dr. Romano is asking the Program Director, Dr. Scolaro, to provide a memo stating that they have verified/certified that the students are indeed residence of Coalition—thus verifying their Florida residency and providing evidence to waive their tuition fees.

Project Patent Request—It is going to cost about $2000 to get a patent on The Prometheus Project. The focus of this is to make this project Valencia’s own. We need to find a Pro Bono attorney.

Meeting adjourned at ~15:00hrs.

. . . it hit the fan when I . . .

(This is an article I submitted to The Sandspur for the Opinions section.)

. . . it hit the fan when I . . .

Asked the homeless guy, “How you doin’?”

By: Issac P. Stolzenbach, Assist. Opinions Editor

Last Monday, for my Anthropology and Global Problem-Solving class, I had my first visit in a humanities course taught through Valencia Community College entitled, HUM 2390 Special Topics in the Humanities: The Prometheus Project; aiming at restoring the self-esteem of the homeless, underserved, and working poor; empowering them to take the helm of their own destiny.

In Dr. Rachel Newcomb’s anthropology class we were tasked with engaging in a service-learning project. I chose Valencia Community College’s The Prometheus Project, a non-profit organization that teaches the humanities (art, literature, philosophy, etc.) to transient, underserved, and the working-poor citizens of the Orlando area. According to Dr. Newcomb’s course curriculum, we are to utilize applied anthropology by engaging our service-learning project as participant-observers. As we are working, we are to develop an ethnography, and prepare recommendations on how anthropological principles might benefit the organization. The project I’m working with received the coveted Florida Humanities Council (FHC) grant last week, which runs from February 1 to January 31, 2006; the grant will be instrumental to the organization while it undergoes institutionalization. The real story lies in the question some have posed regarding the organization’s utility (myself and the students included): Why would we teach the humanities to the homeless; couldn’t those energies be better spent? Last Tuesday night I found out why the organization exists, and discovered that the energy generated exceeds the energy spent.

My first night on the bedraggled-side of downtown Orlando was the experience of a lifetime because I discovered that you learn a lot about yourself when you help others, which is a priceless education. What I've learned thus far from the Buddha holds true—you have to step-up to the challenge of surrendering your ego, stepping out from behind yourself, and truly engage the people you are trying to reach. During the course of working with others, you relive things from your own life that caused you to choose a particular project. I learned that I wanted to work with the project for a couple of reasons. One was because I had a feeling other people thought the same way I did, and the way I thought was wrong. When I actually looked at what my eyes were seeing, it made me sick to my stomach—there are people that fought for this country—veterans living in the streets! Yet another example of knowledge I sometimes wish I did not have access to. The other reason was much more personal.

What lies at the foundation of my desire to be involved with a project that teaches the humanities to the underserved is the fact that college was never considered an option for me when I was in high school, much like the majority of the people attending class in the Prometheus Project. I was considered immature and plainly stupid because I was not good at standardized tests; my guidance counselor, one Brad Martin, told my parents that I would be voted most likely to become part of a federal institution. So I went through life thinking I wasn't worthy of an education, until someone believed in me. The only difference between you, me, and the person living on the streets is that someone believes in us; somewhere along the way the man on the street lost that luxury--the Prometheus Project, with the assistance of the FHC grant, aims to bring that luxury back into these peoples' lives. Sometimes you can experience a cathartic moment from an external source. All it takes is someone believing in you, sometimes that is all it takes for us to break-free of our bonds, and take that courageous walk out of Plato's Cave.

But if one were bright, one would take the time to think about what setting he is about to immerse himself into when preparing for his fieldwork. A layman would show-up among the dark of night in one of the seedier parts of downtown Orlando, park their motorcycle, while jamming out to some tunes on their headphones, whip-out some chopsticks, conduct a drum solo, then eat their sushi-dinner right there on their bike. Little did the layman know that corner had probably seen more homicide reports than traffic tickets. After shaking off a wasabi-induced endorphin rush, I (yeah, it was me) jotted my observations down in my notepad and walked around trying to find the entrance to the Coalition for the Homeless where the class was being held. I tried to smile when passing people on the street; they however, did not feel so inclined to return the gesture. And when I was dumb enough to actually greet a passerby with, “How’s it goin’?” the fellow was so distraught with my comment, he swore on his mother’s grave that he, “. . .would kill me if I said that to his face.” Along with other obscenities I won't pollute your eyes or minds with here, but take note, he continued to yell at me, asking if I would say it to his face, which somehow elevated my ambulation. Makes you think twice about asking someone how it’s going, doesn’t it? That is, unless you have some sort of fetish for vehement vituperation. This experience really tweaked my perspective on how people interact with each other. Alles verrückt!

Perhaps the thing that struck me as most notable was the stark contrast between Church Street, and—two streets over—Central Boulevard (more specifically, the corner of Central Boulevard and Terry Avenue) where the scene went from brightly-lit faux gas lamps and ‘Beemers of Church Street, to what reminded me of East Berlin, Germany: everywhere it was gray, even the graffiti looked gray; posters parading events that the local residents and transients could not afford to see. The only purpose the posters serve is to mask the broken windows and doors. The breeze stung my septum, reeking of Black-n-Mild cigars, stale beer, and diabetic urine. Church Street looked as though the city groomed it weekly with pride, whereas Central looked as though the city was trying to forget it ever existed. The only music to be heard was the cacophony of sirens in the background, which were unnerving to some, omnipresent to others. Not a cigarette butt to be found on one; missing water meter covers (that could swallow your foot and break your leg) on the latter. Here you get down to the pith of life, Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs in action.

The synergistic environment, developed from the dialectic of question-answer, chance-validation, student-teacher, pulses with life in that classroom; you can feel the energy in the room, and all it takes to start the flow is a little bit of belief in your fellow man. This is what the Prometheus Project gives its students: validation, the thirst for knowledge, self-esteem. Once they achieve the fourth-tier on Maslow’s pyramid, self-actualization is a breath away. The most valuable lesson extracted from service-learning thus far is that we are all capable—that double-edged sword—of being human: to err and to achieve. The most important lesson we can all extract from this is to believe in each other, and then our potentials will be limitless.

For tutoring and/or volunteer opportunities, please contact the Prometheus Project Program Director, Dr. John Scolaro at www.valenciacc.edu/clemente. If you would like to learn more about my endeavors with the project, feel free to access and make comments on my blog at www.prometheusproject.blogspot.com.