Student Sample Papers — English 1010 & 2010
Please remember that these essays are supplements to our sample essays in our textbook. Remember as well that these essays are meant to demonstrate, in varying degrees, both strengths and weaknesses--they are not, as they saying goes, "perfect." Thanks.
1010 Sample Student Essay: Describing a Person
MY GRANDFATHER
Coming up the dirt road, my thoughts were on why it was my fate to be the last of the grandsons to have worked on "The Place," as the family called it. Hopefully, this will be my last journey to this desolate, barren place. The corral gate was shut and chained. Little good it would do, half the lodge poles were missing and any horses that had been here have long since gone. There sat the big house. How majestic it might have been, but cobwebs, goats and sixty years of collected newspapers have made it nothing more than an oversized shanty. The barn, main house, ice house, school house and bunk house have all been moved twenty miles up off the river. The entire ranch had been resettled during the sixties to accommodate Flaming Gorge Dam. An old Ford. tractor has long ago lost its paint to mother nature's fury, leaving it brown, tattered and full of rust holes. The place is in such disarray that the book "'Guide to Utah's Ghost Towns" has the old man's place listed in it, but it also warned trespassers of an old hermit with a shotgun.
Here I was, fulfilling my mom's wish, bringing my younger brother to meet his grandfather. Why me? Even my mom hadn't returned to The Place or to see her father for the last forty years. I could feel my hands begin to get clammy as we approached the old, trailer house he now lived in. His white flowing hair was hanging in long greasy strands to the middle of his back. It should have been a grand white beard like his own father, but instead, it was stained with streaks of black by chewing tobacco that didn't quite make it to the floor. He had a crouched appearance due to a broken back, sustained from breaking horses at the age of 94. The Winchester over-under shotgun lay sitting on his lap. Boy did I know that winchester personally. And of course, those eyes, steel blue and as cold and thick as the ice that forms on the Gorge in January, glaring at me. Now within 100 yards I could feel those eyes penetrating right through the windshield. Thanks Mom!
Growing up in the city, I guess my mom and dad felt that their kids should know their country roots. So after school let out, my dad would load us up for the trip "out home" for a summer at my grandfather's or uncle's ranch, depending on who had the most work to be done---some vacation! I spent most of the summer feeding stock and chickens, bringing in the hay, rounding up stock from the summer range and riding fences. My uncle's place wasn't bad; at least you got two meals a day. But at grandfather's place, well, I guess he figured if he went without eating for a couple of days so could everybody else. From age ten to thirteen, I spent most of the summer at my grandfather's place in the fork of the Green River and Brownsfork river. It was green, quiet and a picture of what I think life in the Old West should have been like. Work started at five in the morning and lasted to seven at night, but the deer, jackrabbits, and prairie dogs seemed to make it go by quickly. As hard as the work was, it was an adventure for all of us grandkids. We weren't just watching Bonanza, we were living it.
My Grandfather worked right alongside ranch hands and grandkids, probably harder than any two of us. He would go weeks without saying a word to anyone except the foreman, and then only a few words to him a day. One of the summer hands told me that Grandpa had only said two words to him in eleven years, "You're hired." To this day, I wonder how he ran cattle in Montana, Wyoming, Utah, and Colorado without saying so much as a paragraph a year.
Every year, while rounding up cattle on the north slope of the Uintahs, he would open up a little bit and tell stories around the campfire (only if he had drunk enough Scotch whisky.) With his weathered gray cowboy hat on, he would tell stories of how his father had been murdered by outlaws and his body floated down the Green River in a dugout. With the soft spoken elegance of an east coast gentleman, he spoke of how he and his three brothers drew straws to see who would have to go after the killers, affectionately recanting how his younger brother hunted down the killers in Idaho, before being killed by them. There were stories about Butch Cassidy, Ann Bassett, Flat Nose Curry and other outlaws who roamed in and out of Browns Park. When he would speak, it was soft and memorizing as you felt the respect from the younger hands. Of course, if anybody interrupted him to ask a question, he wouldn't talk for the rest of the roundup. His life had been hard but full, and, after all, he was one of the richest men in Utah.
Everybody but my grandfather got Sundays off, a time for all the cousins to shoot rabbits or prairie dogs and try to get into trouble. For excitement, my cousin and I decided to paint the "back end" of a bull with turpentine. While I had the lasso around the bull pulling him tight to the fence, my cousin lifted up his tail and gave him a good paint job. (Needless to say, the Bull is probably still running to find a pool of water.) As we were having the laugh of our lives, the old man topped the ridge with his shotgun out and blaring. We sprang on our horses and galloped solidly for six hours to my uncle’s ranch, afraid to look back one. It wasn’t until later, when I realized that for a man who could nail a magpie at a hundred yards, he must have tried awfully hard to miss us at fifty yards.
I guess one of the hardest things I have had to do was to sit down with this man for the last time. His eyes weren’t as cold as when I last saw him five years earlier. He talked a lot, but every few minutes came the same question, "Now who did you say you were?" His face had always been tight and his posture was as straight as a board, even while riding his horse or digging for fence posts. But now the wrinkles showed through the thick white beard, and the bent over, crooked frame made we wonder who this was. For the first time, I could look into his eyes and not feel the chills run up my spine. While I was sitting there with him, I remembered seeing him during the summer the BLM moved his ranch and all his belongings up out of the peaceful pasture to the barren dry hill overlooking what was to become Flaming Gorge Lake. He was sitting on his horse beside the rising river and his eyes had lost a little of the hardness. All of the hardness in those eyes has seemed to disappear entirely.
They say that after you die, all that is left is memories and your family. Well, my mom hasn’t been back to the ranch since she ran away with my dad (the ranch foreman) at the age of sixteen. Her oldest brother had been the first traffic fatality in 1959, of course from drinking. Her younger brother hadn’t been back since he married a Mormon, an unforgivable sin to the old man. My grandmother finally divorced him at age sixty-five, and she hasn’t been back since either. The only ones left are just my two spinster aunts who had never left his side or the ranch. Aunt Ruth once told me, "I just saw how much the old man and lady fought and figured I didn't want anything to do with marriage."
After his funeral, the family met at a restaurant in Rock Springs for dinner---the first time I had ever seen all my uncles, aunts, grandmother and my mom and dad together. While we were eating, the waitress mentioned, "this is the liveliest funeral crowd I've ever seen." I guess the Old West, as hard and wild as it was, is slowly fading away, and maybe a newer, softer one is taking its place. For my family's sake I hope so.
1010 Sample Student Essay: Describing a Person
LIKE A RAINBOW
Megan has a monopoly on her name. Sometimes in life you will come across a rare individual with such a distinct and unique personality that you just assume everyone with that name will have the same personality. I’ve obviously met other Megans, but now they never seem like “real" Megans, as if they were switched at birth or simply given the wrong name by their parents. That’s possibly because of my best friend Bob and I. We sort of built an aura around her: funny, crazy, and yet at the same time dark and disturbed and uncontrollable. Her appearance goes along with this. Her hair is sometimes a strawberry blond, sometimes a deep brown. She has the smile of a medieval jester, passionately in love with life, but she also has the apathetic frown of a fifties beatnik existentialist. If you could take a black and white photograph of her face, the multitude of expressions she has would give the picture color. Her dress will reflect it as well: on down days she pulls her hair back and wears dark colors and looks exceedingly pale. On her comical days she will wear bright colors, often with vibrantly colored polka dot underwear which (in a successful attempt to be clownish) she will proceed to hike several inches out of the back of her pants.
She is a figure to be both admired and feared. It was as if she was King Kong and my friend Bob and I were the primitive islanders forced to share Skull Island with this awe and terror-inspiring creature. Tales of Megan and her acts of craziness and passionate but short-lived crusades are exchanged like war stories. “Were you there when she….?" Every time we went over to see her there were frequent arguments over who was going to call her and/or who was going to go up to the door first.
Perhaps I am overdoing it. She is a very smart and intelligent person who knows a great deal about politics, religion, feminism, and life in general. But then again she does roll down her windows in the car to make a strange bird call at complete strangers, gets on the internet to search for pictures of mullets, quotes Seinfeld lines on a regular basis. Well, that in itself isn’t so strange, Bob and I did that at least as much as she did, but she tends to go for the ones we shied away from. If our world was an episode of Seinfeld, Megan would most definitely be Kramer.
In fact, Megan has been almost “one of the guys". She and her friends seem to have a personal obsession with thinking maturely but acting the complete opposite way. It was in the school musical that this became most apparent. I was teamed with Megan’s best friend Kristy, Bob with her, for the big dance number. Unfortunately, we were probably the worst two dance groups there because of my two left feet and Megan and Kristy’s constant habit of giving each other wedgies during rehearsals. Needless to say this basically fell apart into an outburst of laughter on numerous occasions; but a good, yet disturbing, time was had by all.
We took Megan golfing once, quite an honor since being invited to golf with Bob and Stone and I is to be brought into our innermost circle. She had the worst natural golf swing I’ve ever seen, and none of us knew how to teach her because of her left-handedness. None of us blamed her; she’d never played a real sport, all she’d ever played was soccer.
There was never any romantic interest between Megan and I. Megan would be too much of a challenge to my patience and sanity; I would be too boring and bland to her. Megan has the same last name as me although we are not related, and she often times will tease me saying “You and I should get married, Casey. That way I could both keep my maiden name and get a married name."
“No deal, you’re name would have to be Megan Sanders-Sanders if I ever allowed that to happen," I always counter. “Make you extra politically correct."
Megan and I have been there for each other a lot. I think that inside, we’re a lot a like, which is both a comforting and frightening prospect. There’s a cynic inside both of us who thinks the world is an evil and selfish place; a place not fit for the weak of heart. But there’s also a hopeless romantic who is swept up in the beauty of the world and is filled with fool idealistic hopes and dreams.
Megan has been the bench coach in the baseball game of my life. She’s never really actively helped me through anything. I wouldn’t want her to, I want more of a sounding board than anything else. Megan’s feedback is very detailed but small, and we almost always speak of our life problems in terms of Seinfeld. She’s unafraid to speak her mind, and she’s one of the few people I am unafraid to speak my mind with.
When my best friend Bob left on his mission to South America, I thought it was going to be a pretty tough ordeal, but Megan helped me. Her brother had been on a mission and growing up LDS, she had a great deal of experience with it. She made sure I didn’t get too down about it, but didn’t over sympathize. Megan never goes easy on anyone, and in doing so she made sure I didn’t get stuck in a rut. I could have just moped around and Megan made sure I didn’t. “I know it's hard and it may get harder but it's a good thing and that's just what you have to remember," she told me.
And I believe that is her greatest contribution to my life. She brings a level of depth and spice to my friends. There are times when her free spirit has been downright frustrating and made me quite angry, but I’m sure I’ve been the same way with her. Megan always has an interesting take on life and she is always willing to share that with me.
1010 Sample Student Essay: Proposing a Solution
MURDER By FLUORIDE
John, an avid runner returns from a five-mile jog on a blistering summer day. He is extremely thirsty, so he heads straight for the kitchen. Sitting on the table are two glasses of cold, refreshing water. There is one difference between them: the first was poured from a bottle and a trace of lead was added; the second is normal tap water. The runner will choose the tap water, right? It may be surprising to know that the bottled water could be safer, even with the added lead. Why?—the tap water is fluoridated.
Some legislators and advocates along the Wasatch Front have made a push to fluoridate drinking water in the past few years. They have heavily distorted many of the facts in this debate. Many communities’ drinking water is already fluoridated. Fluoride is important for the dental development of small children, but the harmful effects of ingestion outweigh the benefits. Instead of poisoning our drinking water, legislators should provide children with free fluoride tablets. These tablets are most effective when chewed and spit out. This topical application will be more efficient in strengthening teeth without the many harmful effects.
According to plan, distribution of the tablets will take place in public elementary schools through the school district's health department. The tablets will be part of an entire dental information campaign, including pamphlets and workshops for the children and their guardians. In these workshops children will be taught proper brushing and flossing techniques, as well as how to properly chew, swish, and spit out the tablets. The fluoride tablets will be available to any and every student at or below cost, depending on their families' financial situations. A parent or legal guardian will be required to come to the school and pick up their children's tablets.
There are three kinds of fluoride. Calcium fluoride is naturally occurring in ground water, and researchers believe it to be quite harmless; the only problem it causes is mottling (discoloration) of the teeth. Sodium fluoride is pharmaceutical grade fluoride; this is the fluoride used in fluoride tablets, toothpaste, and dental fluoride treatments. Sodium fluoride can be harmful if ingested, which is why toothpaste tubes carry the warning, “If you accidentally swallow more than used for brushing, seek professional help or contact a poison control center immediately." If that is not bad enough, fluorosilicic acid (silicofluoride), is the type of fluoride added to ninety percent of drinking water. Silicofluoride is a by-product of fertilizer production. It is contaminated with lead, arsenic, mercury, and other toxins. Therefore, it is more toxic than lead and slightly less toxic than arsenic. Silicofluoride, the most dangerous and even toxic form of fluoride, is being added to public water supplies.
Many health risks are associated with ingestion of fluoride. Fluoride kills enzymes in the body. Dr. Dean Burk, former chief chemist of the U.S. National Cancer Institute said, “Fluoride causes more human cancer death, and causes it faster, than any other chemical." Another issue of concern is the fact that mandatory fluoridation is forced medication. Many medical professionals are asking, “How far will it go?"
Fluoridation is fine for people who want it, but when fluoride is added to public water sources, everyone ingests it and everyone pays for it. Dr. Charles Gordon Heyd, past president of the American Medical Association said, “I am appalled at the prospect of using water as a vehicle for drugs. Fluoride is a corrosive poison that will produce serious effects on a long-range basis. Any attempt to use water in this way is deplorable."
Advocates of water fluoridation claim that many children are too poor to afford the chewable fluoride tablets, which are an integral part of a cavity prevention program. It is important to provide these tablets free of charge for small children, and through a fair distribution system such as public schools. They may also claim that parents may not be mindful enough to supervise their children to ensure the children chew these tablets carefully. This may be true, but ingestion of fluoride in drinking water will not provide greater or more prolonged direct contact between fluoride and teeth than chewing and swishing. Also, the children will be taught the proper method for using fluoride tablets during the workshops at their schools. Beyond that, parents must be held responsible for their own child/children.
Advocates also contend that prominent doctors and researchers recommend mandatory fluoridation. Dr. Richard Foulkes was one of the doctors who recommended fluoridation in 1973. However, science changes its mind. Just as studies from fifty years ago “proved" cigarette smoking did not cause cancer, Foulkes now states, “Fluoridation of community water supplies can no longer be held to be safe or effective in the reduction of tooth decay . . . Even in 1973, we should have known this was a dangerous chemical."
Proponents of fluoridation assert that water fluoridation has been common for many years, and that research shows it is safe. However, many prominent organizations throughout the country do not support water system fluoridation. Among these organizations are the American Cancer Society and the American Heart Association. Studies have shown a major causal link between fluoride intake and disease. The New Jersey Department of Health reports, “Bone cancer rates among young men are 200-300 percent higher in fluoridated areas."
Lastly, some proponents claim that fluoride can only be effective when ingested. However, Dr. John R. Featherstone, Professor and Chair of the Department of Preventative and Restorative Dental Sciences at the University of California stated, "Fluoride's preventative action is topical rather than systemic (ingested). Ingesting fluoride is ineffective in reducing cavities."
A team of scientists from the Environmental Protection Agency published, “As the professionals who are charged with assessing the safety of drinking water, we conclude that the health and welfare of the public is not served by the addition of this substance to the public water supply . . . Our members’ review of the body of evidence over the past eleven years, including animal and human epidemiology studies, indicates a causal link between fluoride/fluoridation and cancer, genetic damage, neurological impairment, and bone pathology. Of particular concern are recent epidemiology studies linking fluoride exposure to lowered IQ in children."
Fluoride’s purpose, to prevent dental cavities, is best obtained when applied topically rather than systemically. Many local communities already have fluoridated water; however, there are still many more communities who can be saved from buying into this plan. Mandatory fluoridation of public drinking water does little good, and a lot of harm.
1010 Sample Student Essay: The Interview-Profile
ALL MARLBORO MEN DON'T SMOKE
As I sped down the road, I passed a sign that said, "Aurora, Utah 2 miles ahead." I knew that I would be late for my interview and wished that I had some means of calling ahead and letting him know of my delay. However, I realized my arrival had already been announced by the cloud of dust that followed my car as I drove down the road leading to my destination.
As I stepped out of my car, I saw the silhouette of a tall, slender man wearing a cowboy hat that had more character than most people I know. I heard the jingle of spurs as Duane Rose walked toward me. Duane is a cowboy working as a cowhand on a large cattle ranch in central Utah. As I looked at this modern day cowboy, I thought it almost a clich6 when I noticed his long, bowed legs and his large silver belt buckle. The dust from the road coated his boots, and when he removed his hat to wipe his brow, I noticed his white forehead contrasted with his deeply tanned face and arms. He reminded me of the Marlboro Man in the magazine ads.
His greeting was kind, but to-the-point-this cowboy didn't waste time on embellishing his conversation. I would come to realize his greeting was much like everything here-functional, to-the-point, having a defined purpose. The buildings and vehicles here were not the shiny, chrome-plated, "keep-up-with-the-Jones' " fare I commonly saw in the city. Rather, their trucks were well-worn tools, and the buildings were functional shelters for either man or animal.
We began walking toward his truck to retrieve wire for a fence repair. I noticed his old Ford flat-bed truck was well used, if not somewhat abused. The door on the driver's side had a large indentation. I asked if he had been in a car accident. He chuckled and said, "More like a cow accident."
This "cow accident" happened one day when a wild cow was tethered to the truck's hitch located in the center of the flat-bed. They were trying to catch the cow in order to vaccinate it. The cow, bellowing madly, ran to the end of the rope. As the cow reached the end of the rope, it turned and headed back toward the front of the truck. Duane was near the driver's door trying to get the cow to go to the back of the truck. The cow turned, lowered its head and hit Duane square in the chest, slamming Duane into the truck's door. When I asked Duane if he had been injured, his only reply was, "It only hurts when I look at my truck."
Although he was a man of few words, Duane had plenty to say about his job as a cow-hand on a large cattle ranch. As we talked, we walked around his "office"-at least part of it, since his "office" sometimes spanned into adjoining counties. Duane doesn't really go by a title-all he knows is that he is responsible for keeping 5,000 to 6,000 head of cattle healthy. As one of several hands on the ranch, his main responsibility is to tend to the sick cattle, which consists of everything from medicating/vaccinating to assisting in calving (birthing of calves).
To me, every cow is the same-they are big, dirty, and they bellow. Duane assures me, however, that cows can speak volumes through their body language. A good cowhand knows cattle and can read their actions as easily as one would read a book. A sick cow's head will hang, its ears will droop, and its throat will swell. Moreover, as the cows move in a group, a cowhand must read their movements correctly in order to skillfully separate each sick cow from the herd.
This skill, though it may appear simple, separates the "real" cowboys from the "wannabee" cowboys. The "real" cowboys quickly interpret the body language of the cattle and gain control; the "wannabee" cowboys quickly lose control of the cattle as they circle about him rendering every attempt at separating an individual cow useless.
"Reading" the cow is essential when it comes to calving. During the winter the cows give birth and a 24-hour vigil is established. Duane and another hand will take shifts staying overnight in a cabin on the mountain where the pregnant cows are kept. As a cow goes into labor, sometimes its bag will tighten, its navel swells, and some discharge may occur. Angus cows usually have an easier birth process because their calves are smaller boned, whereas other breeds, such as Holsteins, produce large boned calves that can be difficult to birth (particularly if it is a cow's first calf). During a cow's pregnancy, the cow must not be overfed, otherwise, the calf will grow too large resulting in a difficult birth.
During birth, a calf will come out front hooves and nose first. Should the calf be too large to pass through the birth canal, "calf-pulling" will be necessary. During calf-pulling the cow's head is locked into the stall and a chain is wrapped around the front hooves of the calf while still inside the mother. The chain is then winched slowly, literally pulling the calf out of the mother. Duane cautioned me this system has its risks-sometimes a calf can be pulled apart in the process. Although this sounds barbaric, calf-pulling is one of the only means of getting a large calf out before it dies inside of the mother and begins to decompose in the womb.
I was a little shocked at Duane's candor in describing this scenario of life and death. He seemed somewhat detached from it, but I realized that he deals with this life or death drama every day in his job while working with these animals. It takes a thick skin doctoring these animals.
More than a thick skin, sometimes it takes down-right creativity. Every cowhand must be able to herd an ornery, wild cow into the shoot for vaccination-the last place an angry cow wants to go. Duane has found a way to solve this challenge-get the cow mad enough to chase you as you run into the shoot, and then quickly jump the fence before the cow can gore you with its horns.
Other creative measures seem to have been passed down from one generation to the next. For example, should a calf die, the cattle ranchers will purchase a newborn Holstein calf to take the place of the calf that died. (Holstein calves are taken away from the mother cow soon after birth so the mother's milk can be collected and sold.) A cow recognizes her own calf by smell and will' kick away any other calves. In order to get a cow to take a Holstein calf as her own, the skin of the dead calf will be tied onto the Holstein calf for a couple of days. Once the Holstein calf has nursed from the cow and milk has passed through the calf's system, the calf will develop a smell that the cow will recognize and accept the calf as her own.
Many days can be routine-fixing cattle pens/fences, cutting hay for the cattle, and, as always, looking for sick cattle. As I soon realized, everything that is done on the ranch is for the cattle-from mending fences, to irrigating the hay fields, to feeding the cows. Somehow, each task relates to the benefit and welfare of the cattle.
True cowboys may indeed be a dying breed. Not many men nowadays view riding a horse all day, working outside in all kinds of weather, and handling large, ornery animals as benefits of a job. The cowboys' way of life may seem remote from our supposedly "civilized" existence, but it was refreshing to talk to this tall, quiet cowboy who didn't boast of himself in his speech, his dress, or his mannerisms. He, like the ranch itself, was there for the cattle, had a purpose, and found joy in a hard, demanding day's work.
1010 Sample Student Essay: The Interview-Profile
LIKE A SURGEON!
It was barely 8 a.m. last Friday morning when doctor Jeffrey Swenson's digital pager went off. As the University Hospital's director of cardiothoracic anesthesia, he had just finished helping with an open heart surgery, where a patient was receiving an aortic valve replacement. Dr. Swenson’s job was to carefully sedate the patient and keep him alive throughout the duration of the nine-hour operation. He had just finished up and was congratulating his team members before he exited the operating room.
The last thing he needed was for his beeper to go off and rush him into another intense surgery. Dr. Swenson checked the letters on his pager's digital screen. It was from the hospital lobby. Within a few minutes he arrived at the front desk, and I saw a slow smile spread across his face as he recognized me. I stood to shake Dr. Swenson’s hand. Mine felt like a child’s hand in his powerful clasp. We began to walk out of the carpeted lobby towards the elevators. I was slightly nervous, full of anticipation and wonder all at the same time.
As we stepped into the elevator I took a good look at Dr. Swenson. He was a tall man, with a large muscular build and a physique that reminded me more of a construction worker than that of a doctor. For some reason, I expected him to be dressed in a long white lab coat, fully equipped with a stethoscope and perhaps a briefcase. I was a bit surprised to see him with a white surgical mask pulled around his neck, wearing only blue scrubs and carrying nothing at all. He looked as though he had stepped right out of a surgery.
As the elevator opened a strong sterile scent filled my nose. A small sign on the wall across from us read: "3rd FLOOR. SURGERY.". I followed Dr. Swenson as he led me through several nicely furnished hospital corridors. He was able to greet by name almost every person we walked past, despite the fact that they were all wearing surgical masks. I felt slightly out of place in my street clothes as we strolled past doctors and medical personnel. This section of the hospital was huge, and reminded me of a cross between a classy hotel hallway and an airport lounge. The wide walkways and elegant floor-to-ceiling windows accentuated the hustle and bustle feeling that I felt from being there.
"They stuck my office right next to the operating rooms and ICU," he explained to me as we walked side by side. "When problems arise it's crucial to for us to be in a close proximity to the action. A half minute could end up being critical to a patient's survival."
As we stepped into the well lit office, my eyes were drawn like a magnet to the cluttered walls. The framed plaques, certificates and diplomas left hardly any white space. I felt slightly intimidated as I stared at this collage of achievement. Even more impressive to me was the one wall directly in front of his desk and computer. It was covered with pictures of his wife and children. The collection of family pictures and drawings from his kids really stood out and somehow reassured me. I immediately felt comfortable in his office.
Dr. Swenson was happy to answer every one of my questions. He began by stressing the importance of his profession. Basically, he must be ready to combat anything. He used yesterday’s shift as an example. He had started by answering a digital page to help with a gunshot trauma. At 2 a.m. he answered another call to reinject a bone surgery patient whose pain drug was starting to wear off. This was followed by a massive brain surgery, a craniotomy where doctors had to remove a cancerous tumor. "We ought to get you in here during a busy day," he told me with a sly grin. "We do so many different types of surgeries that you never know what you are going to get. Maybe we have to do an emergency cesarean section, or perhaps somebody suddenly can’t breathe up in the intensive care unit. A number of complications can occur in any given moment at a hospital. We just have to always be on the ball." Today Dr. Swenson will be on the ball for over fourteen hours.
I quickly learned that my preconceptions just barely touched the surface of his job’s description. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Swenson told me, will immediately diagnose and treat any medical problems on the spot, as they arise during the surgery or recovery period. In the operating room, the anesthesiologist has to manage vital life functions, including breathing, body temperature, heart rhythm and blood pressure. In addition to this, the anesthesiologist is responsible for all fluid and blood replacement, when necessary.
Dr. Swenson also works in the intensive care unit to help restore critically ill patients to stable condition. During childbirth, anesthesiologists manage the care of two people, providing pain relief for the mother while at the same time managing the life functions of the new baby. As he continued to describe the numerous tasks that he is certified and capable of performing, I was able to see that there is more to anesthesia that than just playing the role of a Dr. Feelgood and doping up people before their surgery. His thorough knowledge of the medical field completely blew me away. The skills and capabilities that doctors possess clearly reflect the years of rigorous training they undergo as medical students.
"It ends up being about 12 to 13 years after high school," Dr. Swenson explained to me. "Four years of undergrad, 4 years in med school, and four more years in anesthesiology residency. After that, there are several different sub specialties that you can do in anesthesia." He tilted his head and bit his lower lip as he named off several of them to me. Dr. Swenson chose to spend an additional year on a cardiac fellowship.
Specializing in the heart and lungs portion of anesthesia, cardiothoracics has since become Dr. Swenson’s area of expertise. During the cardiac fellowship, students are trained to perform many risky procedures, such as placing pacemakers, or conducting echocardiograms. I was ushered to a chair next to his computer. Dr. Swenson showed me an image that came from an echocardiogram. "It’s an ultrasound probe that goes in the patient’s esophagus. You stick it in and you can see their heart working." I stared into the computer screen at a black and white image. At first glance, it looked like a normal ultrasound, and I expected to see a faint image of a baby in the middle. However, upon closer inspection, I realized it was not a picture of a baby, but a life sized image of a heart, and it was beating! "You can see how well we can see the heart with these," said Dr. Swenson as he pointed out the various chambers and valves to me.
He uses the echocardiogram machine several times each day to gather information about the patient’s heart. "This tool is so useful because we can confirm everything we need to know, like how the valves are working, how full the heart is, how strong the heart is pumping or what the blood pressure is like." He recently did an echocardiography seminar at the University for cardiologists all over the western United States.
Because he works at the university and deals with academics, Dr. Swenson is able to devote up to thirty percent of his time on research. Although he has gotten a few grants, Dr. Swenson said he usually funds his own research. He explained one of his recent endeavors to me. "We have always had trouble blocking the sciatic nerve; it’s a very technically difficult block to do. Doctors have attempted to simplify the procedure for many years. After several years of experimenting I was able to develop a needle that now makes peripheral nerve blocks in the leg ridiculously easy." He explained to me that as you stick this needle through the leg, it automatically finds the space where the nerve lives. They can inject the local anesthetic directly into that space without affecting the surrounding muscle. Dr. Swenson has sold the manufacturing rights to a major medical company. I was shown some slightly gruesome pictures that were gathered during the research phase. I was even more shocked when he fumbled through a desk drawer, and pulled out the prototype, which was wrapped loosely in a bluish cloth. "The official name for it is the IMD Peripheral Nerve Block Needle," he told me, and casually handed me the seven inch needle. I saw the tiny holes up and down the length of this needle on all sides. It was truly remarkable to think that only several decades ago, the most common form of anesthesia for medical procedures was gas from ether.
We finished up in his office; it was time to take a tour of the operating rooms. I quickly changed into the hospital scrubs and pulled my surgical mask over my mouth and nose and we began to walk down the white hallway. All but three of the hospital’s 27 operating rooms are located on the third floor and border the same sterile supply room, known as the central core.
On hectic days almost every operating room can fill up, and the core is swarming with busy nurses and doctors. We briefly visited an empty operating room, the one where Dr. Swenson had just finished with the heart surgery prior to my arrival that morning. I stopped to examine a tray on which partially empty needles were casually strewn about. Dr. Swenson explained the purposes of the various drugs that are used to anesthetize a patient. He also told me how he calibrates the dosage in each individual case. Each patient has continuous monitoring of heart rate, blood pressure, exhaled carbon dioxide, and blood oxygen saturation. Doctors can use this information as well as the patient's age and weight to determine how much anesthetic to administer. They are given oxygen to breathe for about two or three minutes after which the anesthetic is intravenously administered. A potent narcotic is followed by an aesthetic hypnotic. After that, a neuromuscular block paralyzes them. As we moved to a different area, I was shown the cooling units where they kept some of the drugs refrigerated. I was surprised to see a heating unit for warming up blankets used by the patients.
Dr. Swenson turned to me and smiled. "Let’s see if we can’t get you into one of these surgeries here," he said with a grin. I followed him out of the central core and right into an operating room where a live surgery was taking place. I saw the patient laying belly up on an operating table, his internal organs bulging from the dinner plate sized opening in his abdomen. The rest of his body was covered with a sterile blue material, leaving only his head and face exposed at the other end of the table. I was taken aback to hear the surgeons listening to music as they operated. It seemed ironic to listen as the beeping of the patient’s pulse was drowned out by the music on the radio. I cautiously approached one of the unoccupied surgeons to find out what they were doing. He explained softly that the patient had cancer, and the surgeons were cutting out the infected bits of his colon. "This is the surgery that could end up saving this man’s life," he told me. "If we can successfully remove all of the tumor than the patient will be cured."
It was miraculous for me to witness this life-saving operation. "The metal clamp thing that is holding the guy’s stomach open __ the gash, what is that called?" I asked out loud. Dr. Swenson laughed so loudly that one surgeon turned his head to smile back at us. "It’s called a retractor," he said between hoarse laughter. "And that gash â€"," he could hardly contain himself and was doubling over by now, "It’s called an incision!" Dr. Swenson burst into laughter, causing the whole medical team to laugh with him.
The doctors were very nice, and took several minutes to give me a mini walkthrough of the abdominal region. "If you’d like I can tell you what exactly you are looking at here," a nice surgeon said to me. "Let’s just check to see if that is alright with our patient, first," joked Dr. Swenson from behind me. He leaned down and put his ear next to the patient’s. "Okay, go ahead, he said it’s fine," he said sarcastically as he turned back to smile at us. The nurses were not amused, and continued quietly stitching.
Contrary to what I had expected, I did not faint or even feel the slightest bit queasy as I climbed a step ladder to get a better view of the patient’s insides. I watched as the doctor’s hands probed nonchalantly through the patient’s guts, showing me each organ and it’s constituent parts. It reminded me of a kid searching through a large bowl of pink balloons, pulling and stretching them as he dug deeper. Even when they took out a pulsing heap of entrails and set it on the patient’s lap to give me a better view of the colon, I didn’t feel the slightest bit uneasy. I was surprised to see hardly any blood. Dr. Swenson said that the surgeons know exactly which planes of tissue to cut through before they operate. He also said that all of the major blood vessels had been cauterized off with a laser so that the patient would not be bleeding throughout the surgery.
As one of the doctors dropped the heaping pile back inside the patient, I asked if there was a special way that you had to pack the organs before you stitched everything up. The doctor slowly faced me. "No," he replied with a puzzled frown. "You just kind of stuff it all back in there." He turned back and dumped a full pitcher of water inside the patient’s stomach, and a nurse quickly sucked up the foggy liquid with a long tube.
Dr. Swenson led me to another room. We walked in on a young man who was undergoing spinal surgery. The doctors were crowded around the operating table, laboring tediously over the unconscious patient. Their gazes were aimed at two large TV screens mounted on the walls above them, that showed up close what they were doing. Without averting their gaze they explained that the patient had a herniated disk, which caused him tremendous pain as it repeatedly stabbed his spinal cord. I suddenly felt helpless as I considered the pain that we as humans would be constantly enduring were it not for surgery. The size of the incision in the patient’s back was no bigger than the size of a small pocket watch. Doctor Swenson took this opportunity to briefly explain the procedure for anesthetizing his patients.
Dr. Swenson revealed why he chose to specialize in anesthesiology. "Because it is exciting," he explained passionately. "It’s really a white knuckle job. There’s a lot of life and death stuff. I like the way drugs work and the way the body works. If you appreciate heart and lung physiology and are fascinated with how drugs operate inside the body, then anesthesia is what you should be doing." Anesthesiologists that work for a private practice can rack in anywhere between three hundred and four hundred thousand dollars a year.
We were interrupted by the sound of his digital pager, and we stepped out of the operating room. I thanked the doctors as Dr. Swenson ran down the hall and started to disappear behind a corner. I began to follow him, but stopped as he quickly pivoted to face me. "Have a seat in my office, Daniel," he yelled from across the hall, "I’ll be there in about fifteen
I was sitting in his office, processing interview questions when Dr. Swenson returned about twenty minutes later. When I asked him what had happened, he forced a bland smile. An elderly lady had been in an auto accident, and an echocardiogram was needed immediately to see whether or not her aorta was ruptured. According to Dr. Swenson, she was pretty badly mangled, with multiple facial fractions, a ruptured spleen, head trauma and abdominal trauma.
My senses were jarred by yet another loud page from his beeper. I watched him grab the phone and dial an extension he knew all too well: the ER operator. He spoke briefly to the person at the other end of the line, quickly telling them to get a room ready and that he would be right down. Even though he did not say so, I could see that Dr. Swenson simply had no more time for me __ a healthy, living, breathing individual __ when just down the hall several others wavered between life and death, in dire need of his expertise. I was reminded of something he had said to me earlier. "Whenever there is a disaster or somebody’s dying in the hospital, we get called. I have to deal with some of the hairiest situations in this entire place." I heard his pager go off once more as he rushed out the door, leaving me startled and alone to reflect in his office.
Ever since I was young, I have been fascinated by the mysteries of the human body. Although it seems intimidating, I have spent a lot of time considering the benefits of going into medicine. I truly enjoyed my experience at the hospital and can’t think of a more exciting or rewarding profession. Although being an anesthesiologist is one of the most demanding jobs I can think of, I had to ask myself if is worth the privilege of saving lives. After seeing Dr. Swenson in action and feeling his influence, there is no doubt in my mind that it is.
1010 Sample Student Essay: Writing on Film
Extraordinary Love in I Am Sam
"Mental capacity has no bearing on one’s ability to love." Is what Lawyer Rita said in the movieI Am Sam(directed by Jessie Nelson and written by Brenda Wachel and Kristine Johnson) true? What makes a person a good parent? Is it that they just provide for the child’s physical needs? Or does the parent also need to love, support, and cherish the child?
Sam, Lucy’s mentally-challenged father, provides all of these things for his daughter. When social workers start getting concerned, stating that "His mental delay raises serious questions about whether he can properly care for his child," serious problems start to occur. They think that he is not capable to care for his child; therefore, they order his daughter to be detained and placed in foster care until a hearing can be held to determine where his daughter should live. Despite his mental limitations, it is clear throughout the movie that Sam was able to provide the basic needs for his daughter, and it was in her best interest that she stay with him.
Sam is forced to raise his child alone after the abandonment of the mother. He devotes his time and energy to caring for his daughter. As shown in the grocery store scene, the unstable, handheld camera movement displays the chaotic event that is occurring for Sam and how things get challenging for him from time to time. Yet, Sam conquers and never gives up. Not only does he provide for her physical needs, he provides the complete love that every little girl needs. He devotes his time to her willingly every day. It is also evident how much Lucy loves her father and expresses this love by the way that she treats him. She is one of the few people that truly understands him and is very sensitive toward him and his needs.
In one particular shot, Lucy and her father are at a restaurant ordering some food. The restaurant doesn’t have what Sam wants so he gets very frustrated and upset, causing a lot of commotion. This scene, along with others, creates questions in people’s minds as to whether or not Sam is capable of raising his little girl.
As Lucy grows older, her abilities and intelligence start to exceed those of her father’s. In one specific scene, Sam is reading a book to Lucy and can’t read one of the words. Lucy refuses to read it, telling her father, "I don’t want to if you can’t." Lucy’s teacher at school starts to get concerned and decides to contact a social worker. The teacher claims that, because of her father, Lucy is afraid to learn. This only adds to the concerns that have evolved on questioning Sam’s capabilities as a father. The social worker places Lucy in a foster home until a hearing can be held to determine if Sam is capable of caring for her.
Throughout the movie, the lighting is cast in a blueish hue as to set the mood and feeling of the show; toning down the regularly bright colors to establish a somber atmosphere. In addition, the music is also a vital element in setting the tone; many emotions are portrayed through its effects. Though it is shown throughout the entire show, the blueish lighting is especially noticeable in the scenes where something very deplorable or sad is occurring.
Sam is determined to get his daughter back and is willing to do whatever it takes. He decides to go to a lawyer for help with the case. His lawyer, Rita, is a married woman who has a child of her own and is very concerned with her social reputation. In the scene at Rita’s office, Sam’s good fathering characteristics are brought out yet again. Rita’s secretary tells her that her son is on the phone and wants to speak with her. Rita is so caught up in her work that she forgets about the call. Rita starts getting right down to business, but Sam reminds her about the her son’s phone call. As Rita talks to her son on the phone, you can clearly see that she does not spend time with her son nor does she have a good relationship with him.
The lawyer, who is dubbed as the better parent in society, may provide her son with his basic physical needs, but does she show him love? Does she show she cares by spending time with him and by building her relationship with him? Later on in the shot, Rita loses control of herself after running into the coffee table. This scene parallels with the scene in the restaurant where Sam also loses control. Just because of Sam’s mental delay, society is more critical on his behavior while they overlook Rita’s behavior, which was the exact same as Sam’s.
Throughout the rest of the film, this parallel between the parenting skills of Sam and the lawyer is deeply emphasized and becomes one of the main themes of the film. Through working with Sam, Rita learns many important lessons. Sam tells her, "What makes a good parent is constancy, patience, listening, pretending to listen even if you can’t listen at the time, love." He tells her that his home isn’t perfect, but that he tries to make it the best that he can. Rita soon sees that her own child is very unhappy.
Sam does anything and everything for his daughter and always places her as his number-one priority. Lucy, in return, loves her father with a great passion and wants to stay with him. Yes, he may have some mental disabilities, but that doesn’t affect his abilities to provide for what Lucy really needs: a loving father.
In the many court hearings, numerous issues are brought up about Sam’s capabilities. One issue in particular was that he would not be able to help her with her school work because he had the mental capacity of a seven-year-old. His lawyer finds a free tutoring program where Lucy would be able to receive educational help, if needed. Sam also has a huge support system from his work, friends, Annie, to name just a few.
In the final court hearing, the opposing attorney asks Sam, "If you love your daughter as much as you say you do, don’t you think she deserves better?" All the opposing side is looking at is the issue of his intellectual level. That is something that his support group, Lucy’s teachers, and so on, can help him with. He has everything else that his daughter needs. But despite all this, they lose the case, and Lucy is taken away to live with a foster family.
In the good-bye scene, no words are spoken. The music creates a strong, emotional effect as to what is happening. This scene leaves the viewer with a sense of wrongness as to what the court is doing. Lucy should be able to stay with her father.
Sam starts to believe that Lucy really doesn’t need him. Rita jumps in and gets angry with Sam for giving up. She tells him, "I worry that I have gotten more out of this relationship than you." Rita realized that Sam had truly changed her outlook on life. She pushes and motivates Sam to keep fighting for his daughter.
The foster parents of Lucy soon want to adopt her; therefore, another hearing is scheduled. Throughout the time that Lucy lives with the foster family, she constantly sneaks out to go be with her father. The foster mother is upset about this at first, but soon realizes that Sam really does have the capability and, more importantly, the love that Lucy needs. The foster mother joins Sam’ s side in the court hearing, and the court’s decision is to let Sam have his daughter back.
The movie ends showing the happy and joyous occasion of Sam playing baseball with Lucy and also Rita and her newly developed relationship with her son. So in the end, the court saw that despite his mental limitations, Sam was able to provide the basic needs for his daughter, and it was in her best interest that she stay with him. The extraordinary love between father and daughter conquered all.
1010 Sample Student Essay: Writing on Film
Good Night and Good Luck to Television!
Good Night, And Good Luck, is a brilliant film written and directed by George Clooney. This film is based on the true story of television news broadcaster Edward R. Murrow and his co-employees who work at CBS television. They work together to speak out against Senator McCarthy. During the 1950’s, McCarthy accused many people of being associated with communists. Few people in the press were willing to speak out against McCarthy because of the fear they had that they will be his next target.
Clooney sets the mood of the movie by making it black and white. In the fifties, people only had black and white televisions and so the choice of color (or lack thereof) gives the story a much more realistic appeal. Clooney also doesn’t use a lot of camera movement and action. The camera is usually very still and just focused on the main person of the scene. The movie has very little action in it, and by some accounts the film could be seen as boring and unengaging. However, if watched and listened to closely, the film has a powerful political message that everyone needs to hear.
By using the story of how Murrow was able to help the people speak out against McCarthy, Clooney shows how television has turned into an object of entertainment, when it could be used for educational purposes. Even though Murrow has helped bring down McCarthy, CBS executives change his show to a slot in a less popular night because, they claim, it is not as exciting as it should be. Murrow is a wise man and knows that the news needs to show more facts and help the people of our country (or most democratic countries, for that matter), even if that means cutting back on amusement.
In the film, Murrow does a broadcast about a certain Milo, a man who has been kicked out of the Air Force because he has been accused of being a security risk. Of course, the only evidence the military has is allegedly contained in a sealed envelope, which nobody knows who has seen or read the contents it contains. Right after this show, Clooney’s character, Fred Friendly, states that they are going to do their next show about McCarthy. They need to target McCarthy before he attacks Murrow for doing the show about Milo. In the middle of getting everything ready for the McCarthy show, Mr. Paley, Murrow’s boss, asks Murrow if he would like to go to a game, front row seats. Murrow replies by saying, "I’m a little busy bringing down the network." This statement clearly states that Murrow is aware of the damage he can do to the network by doing this story on Senator McCarthy, but he runs with is anyway.
Another scene shows how, even though Murrow’s shows are telling the complete truth, the network does not agree with him. Right after McCarthy is investigated by the Senate, because of reactions that have come from the shows Murrow has done, Mr. Paley is not happy with Murrow. The network loses its sponsor. Mr. Paley says, "I’ve got Tuesday night programming that’s number one. People want to enjoy themselves. They don’t want a civics lesson." Murrow replies by saying that he knows that the content in his stories are more important, but Mr. Paley completely disagrees. Even though Mr. Paley has seen the great effects the honesty of the story has had on the people of America, he cares more about how his network is doing.
Murrow’s news show is changed to Sunday afternoons and will only do five episodes. Not only that, his boss states that he "will not like the subject matter." All this happens just because he told the complete truth about McCarthy, he didn’t tell the truth because he was worried about whether Americans would like the story, but to inform them of what’s going on and to get people to start speaking out about McCarthy. They needed to stop McCarthy before he gained too much power.
Murrow walks out and the Fred Friendly says, "Let’s do our next show about the downfall of television… we might as well go down swingin.’"
All of these examples show how even though Edward Murrow was telling the truth and being honest with his audience, it is not what his network wanted. The network wasn’t realizing the good that Murrow was doing; they only focused on how his show was not fun to watch.
This situation can be related to television today. Most of the shows on regular television networks are drama or reality shows, most of which are not beneficial to viewers in any other way but to amuse. But the one show that Clooney is talking about is the news. So often the news has very little facts about situations Americans needs to know about, but they use entertainment to get around that. They make their shows exciting and fun to watch, but they really aren’t getting all the details out. Television, if used properly, Good Night and Good Lucksuggests, can be used as a great educational tool. It can make a huge difference in people’s lives and have a huge influence on America. As Murrow says, "Our future is what we make it."
At the end of the show, the Murrow in the movie acts out a speech that the real Edward Murrow gave at an event where he is honored for the work he has done. He says that it won’t do any harm to put an educational show on once in a while, instead of the usual entertainment. He simply says, "Would anything happen other than a few million people would have received a little illumination on subjects that may well determine the future of this country?" If he had not done the story on McCarthy, who knows how long it would have taken for someone else in America to speak out against him and how many more people would have been accused of being communist. McCarthy could have gained more power. It just shows how, if the news contains more honesty and gets all the facts out to the public, what a huge difference television can make.
Murrow goes on in his speech to say, "To those who say people wouldn’t look, they wouldn’t be interested, they’re too complacent, indifferent, and isolated…. There is considerable evidence against that contention, but even if they are right, what have they got to lose because if they are right and this instrument is good for nothing but to entertain, amuse, and insulate, then the tube is flickering now and we will soon see that the whole struggle is lost. This instrument can teach, it can illuminate, and, yes, is can even inspire, but it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it…. Other wise it is merely wires and lights in a box."
Clooney did a fantastic job with this movie. Not only did he show the story of Murrow vs. McCarthy, he also showed how television networks care more about being entertaining and care less about being beneficial to its audience. Even if it is only once in a while, television needs to get the facts out, not just part of them, all of them in complete detail. The people need to know what’s going on in their country, not just always entertained.
1010 Sample Student Essay: Writing on Film
“October Sky" Takes Off
Director: Joe Johnston
Homer Hickham: Jake Gyllenhaal
John Hickam: Chris Cooper
Miss Riley: Laura Dern
It is October 1957. The radio has been buzzing the last few days with the news that the Red Menace had won the race into space. The Russian-launched spy satellite Sputnik streaks through the stars and the residents of Coalwood, West Virginia, watch it pass overhead with amazement and anxiety in their eyes.
Coalwood is a small community built and owned by the Olga Mining Company. All the folks living there are in some way part of the mine. They dig up the coal in underground tunnels; they run the store that supplies the mine workers and their families; they teach the miners’ children. The boys of the town mostly just wait. They wait until they become men. Then they work the black seam, just like their fathers have.
After Sputnik passes out of sight, the crowd disperses to get back down to earth and to their lives. But one young man-Homer-stares up at the stars for a bit longer.
This is a defining moment in Homer’s life. It is the moment he decides that he will not wait around to dig holes in the ground. Too many of his friends’ fathers have died down in that mine. His own father has acquired black lung disease from all the coal dust. It is the moment he sees that he could escape the mine and soar into orbit instead, by building a rocket. Inspired by his teacher, and with the help of some friends from school, Homer eventually enters the county science fair with the hopes that his rocket designs might be his ticket to the outside world.
The film “October Sky," which is based on the book “The Rocket Boys," is an autobiographical look back at the events that led Homer J. Hickam out of Coalwood and into the engineering department of NASA. It is an inspirational tale of a young man stepping away from the expectations of a small town, stepping away from his father’s footsteps, and following his own dreams to the path they will make instead.
Jake Gyllenhaal is a talented young actor. He infuses Homer with character, charm, and believable determination that is evident from the beginning of the film at the high school football tryouts. After watching Homer get knocked flat numerous times, the coach gives him a helping hand up: “You’ve got guts son, but you’ve got to know when to quit." This seems to be a mantra for nearly everyone in Coalwood. Homer must use his determination throughout the entire film to battle this attitude after he decides he will go to college-something unheard of in this small town. As the high school principal puts it at one point, “College is for the lucky ones who get out (of Coalwood) on a football scholarship."
Homer and his friends eventually win over the hearts and help of the townspeople with their persistence. Welders in the machine shop, the general store manager and even some moonshiners lend their talents to helping them realize their quest. But one man will not embrace Homer’s odyssey: his father John, the mine supervisor and very much a company man. Chris Cooper does an excellent job of showing the depth and the different facets of the character. Mr. Hickam is a good man, but a hard man. He has very strong ethics and treats everyone with strictness, but fairness. He believes in his work (“…coal makes steel. And if steel fails, this country fails…"). He is also shown to be a brave man, risking his own life to save the lives of his workers. But he can see Homer’s desire to do something other than mine coal as nothing more than folly. His unwavering practicality creates a rift between himself and his son. He considers Homer’s dream to be just that; plus, unacceptable rebellion.
After one of Homer’s early experiments turns from rocket to misguided missile and crashes through the office at the mine, John comes out, obviously angered by Homer’s carelessness. The camera moves in for a close-up of John’s hand and we see Homer come into the frame in the background. As John summons him silently, with just a finger pointing down, one can sense something less of “come, boy," and more of “down, boy."
The director of the picture, Joe Johnston (Jumanji), gives us visual representations of themes and ideas like this several times during the movie. An accident at the mine causes the death of a miner and a debilitating injury to his father. As his father is being carried away we close in on Homer, steam rising behind him. Homer turns and we cut to the source of the steam-the elevator into the mine shaft. With rain pouring down Homer’s face, there is fear and loathing in his eyes as he gazes upon this dark image.
With his father in the hospital, Homer is forced to quit high school and work in the mine. His first shift starts early in the morning. He follows the other workers into the cage that is the mine shaft elevator and the doors are closed around him. We see the still-dark morning sky, as if we were Homer gazing through the metal fencing that makes the roof of the elevator, and there is Sputnik racing through the stars. We can sense the dream speeding away, unreachable. Then, looking down at Homer as if we were the stars, we see him sink into the earth, and with him his hopes of something more.
Another poignant image is of Homer and friends ready to demolish their launch site with a super-sized Molotov cocktail. The wick is lit; the large glass jar is hurled at the control center. Shattered dreams are echoed by shattered glass; aspirations are brought down in flames with nothing but black soot remaining.
At the end of the film, Homer, having won the national science fair, returns to the launch pad for one final show of his work for the townspeople. In the middle of giving thanks to all those that had helped him, his voice cracks with emotion as John emerges from the crowd. This is the first time his father has come to one of Homer’s launches. We get one more close-up of John’s hand, this time moving up to rest proudly on his son’s shoulder.
The soundtrack in the movie is used effectively to enhance various themes. The music hints of wonder and possibilities when Homer first sees Sputnik. The same music is revisited during his first successful launch. The movie is also flavored songs from the era in which the film is set. The songs’ lyrics often reflect events that are occurring; sometimes in a humorous way. We are treated to “Yakkety Yak" (don’t talk back) in the beginning of the film, echoing the small-town attitude. Chubby Checker’s “Ain’t That a Shame" plays while we watch Homer’s early attempts at reaching the atmosphere explode into smoking, twisted metal. And “Let the Good Times Roll" runs during the successes.
Like the light-hearted music, this film gives us a glimpse into a fondly-remembered time in our country’s history. The story is, itself, a metaphor for following our dreams and reaching for the stars. Homer’s rise from the coal dust is also not unlike the nation’s rise from the Great Depression and World War II into prosperity and victory. We can look back, reminisce, and let our hearts soar into the clouds-Homer has lit the fuse for us.
1010 Sample Student Essay: Writing A Short Story
STOLEN INNOCENCE
You woulda thought that we'd be the happiest group of kids in New York. We had all the things most kids spent day after day workin' away for. We had good food, clean clothes and a warm bed to sleep in every night. I gotta admit, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven my first week in here. I'd never ate so good in my life, the only thing I noticed wrong with the place was how nobody ever said nothin'.
All but us new kids just walked around with their eyes wide open and their mouths shut tight. We asked 'em all sorts of questions but never got an answer. I tried talkin' to the older ladies there but it was like they couldn' even hear me. I thought they was all crazy and that's why they couldn't talk. I never woulda guessed what the real reason was why they all looked like zombies. I don' think I coulda come up with anything that scary in my head.
Even though I've tried to forget my first trip to "The Doctor" (that's what we all called him) I don' think I'll ever be able to. I see him every night in my dreams and every night it gets worse, but never comes close to what really happened.
It was a real nice day outside and I was so excited when the big man came in and told me we was going for a ride up to the country. He was a monster of a man, he seemed to me like a walkin' mountain. His fingers were like the giant sausages they gave us for breakfast on Sunday mornings. If he had a neck, I couldn't see it from where I stood. He didn't look too scary, but was definitely not the friendliest sort.
I'd never been farther out of the city than 75th street and couldn' wait to see all the trees I heard were up there in the country. After breakfast we went outside and got in a big carriage, the big guy locked us in and told us to enjoy the ride. I was so excited I could hardly stand it. I couldn' figure out why the girl sitting across from me was crying, I just thought she was scared of horses or somethin'.
We rode along in the carriage for a long time, I loved watching the buildings turn into bushes and the bushes turn into trees. Soon we were so surrounded by the trees, I felt like I was back in the city. I was just tallin' asleep to the steady clip clop of the horses hooves when suddenly we stopped. I looked outside to see what was wrong but all I could see was a big lake with cement walls on one side of it. I thought we was goin' fishin' and so I got even more excited.
The giant came and let us outta the carriage and told us to follow him. He walked over to the cement wall by the water and opened a door. We all walked in and then followed him through a bunch of tunnels to a small room with many doors. He looked right at me and told me to follow him into one of the doors. I went in the room and saw a big table with straps on it and weird machines everywhere. The giant lifted me up onto the table and strapped me in. I was too afraid to fight back, it woulda been useless anyway, the man was huge.
After he was done tying me down, the giant left the room. My eyes darted from comer to comer. I saw weird glass cups with numbers and lines on the sides that had different colored stuff in them. There were strange machines that I've never seen before. Besides the weird equipment the room was very bare. Suddenly a man in a long white coat came in.. He didn' say much, but when he did he talked real ftinny, definitely not from New York. He opened a drawer and pulled out a big needle. I was so scared I couldn't even scream as he shoved the thing in my arm.
The next thing I remember I was waking up from a nap. I felt so tired and weak that I couldn' even move my head. My arm hurt so bad I thought it was on fire, when I looked down at it, it was wrapped in a big white bandage. It felt like someone had ripped my bones out. I laid there for what seemed like forever when the giant came back in the room. He didn't say anything, just picked me up and carried me through some different tunnels, out the door and put me back in the carriage.
No one said anything the whole way back to the orphanage. I now knew the look in all the other kids' eyes. It was fear; they were scared 'cause they didn' know when their next trip to the doctor would be.
I don' know how long I was in that place and it doesn't really matter. After a while I just stopped caring. Every so often the giant would come and tell me it was time to go for a ride to the doctor and I'd walk out to the carriage, ride up to the country and go through the same thing. Sometimes it hurt worse than others, but I didn' care.
Today it was my turn again. I think it was a nice morning, but I really don' remember. I went and got in the carriage just as usual. We started off and then something wasn' right. The carriage stopped real sudden and then there was a lot of yelling. Police were attacking the giant with their clubs and he was fighting them off. It looked like he was gonna win until I heard someone climbing on the roof of the carriage and all of a sudden I heard a crack and saw him fall on the street.
Soon the police came and opened the door of the carriage. I didn' even have to think, I jumped out and ran as fast as I could up a hill. I still felt weak from the last trip to the doctor but I still kept running as fast as I could. I heard loud footsteps of someone chasing me but I never looked back, I just kept running and soon they went away.
I don' remember how I got here but now I'm sittin' in an alley. I think I'm somewhere around 50th and Broadway but I'm not sure. I don' know where to go from here. I guess I could go back to bein' a newsie, that wasn't so bad. Maybe then I could find a place to sleep tonight besides this old garbage can I'm hidin' in.
I guess this is a new start for me, if I ever had a name I don' remember it. I seem to remember once bein' called Adam. I like that name, I think that's what I'll call myself. I'll tell ya one thing though, even though I don' have a place to sleep tonight, I don' even know if I'll get to eat today; I wouldn' go back to that place for a million bucks. I don' know why they did what they did but I'll never forget the look in the doctor's eyes. When he looked at me it was like I wasn' even a person to him, just some dumb little thing to stick needles in. I guess I'll never know what that was all about.
1010 Student Sample Essay: Interpreting a Text
THE SEARCH AND THE SUPERNATURAL
The Waterworks, by E.L. Doctorow, vividly shows the process of ordinary men reaching for impossible aspirations, and how it can go pathetically wrong. Each person in this story is searching for something. Martin is searching for his father, McIlvaine is searching for a story. Mr. Pemberton is searching for immortality, and Doctor Sartorious is searching for Godhood.
The most pronounced of all these examples is Dr. Sartorious. He has a strange fascination with the human body. He spent many years perfecting his techniques and striving to understand how the body works. He dedicated all of his time, intelligence and passion to it. Martin described his dedication like this, " He is fluent in several languages. The scientific journals and papers lay in piles on the floor where he threw them ... He knows everything going on in the sciences, in medicine, but he reads impatiently, looking always for something he doesn't know, something to surprise him... His library is not a collector's. He doesn't read for pleasure. He read the philosophers, the historians, the natural scientists, and even the novelists, without differentiating their disciplines in his mind. Looking, always looking, for what he would recognize as true and useful to him. Something to get him past whatever it was that confounded him, past the point on his work where his own mind had been ... stopped." Dr. Sartorius's devotion to science is a strange struggle to see how God works; he is a slave to a God he doesn't recognize.
In the entire book there is an underlying sense of dissatisfaction with God. To the doctor, God was a poetic conceit, something that unaspiring people invented to explain their world. " This is what we know of our biological history... It is accidental. When we have the structure and the function of this, it will still be a journey to the truth. We will find the formulae, and perhaps the numeration to match God." When Mcllvaine asked him if God could not supply the answers, Sartorius replied, "not as he is now composed." From this statement, the reader can deduce that the doctor was making his own composition of God. He was making it out of himself, and others easily believed him.
Boss Tweed was in control of almost every aspect of New York City, and yet, was catering to this divine doctor. When Mcllvaine pondered this perplexity, he said, "He was a holy man, he commanded belief." Immortality is perhaps the most fundamental trait that God possess. Humans worship Him in hopes that they too might reach an eternal existence. Tweed believed that in return for the service he had rendered, that Sartorius would turn his benevolent attention to him and grant him immortality.
Inscrutable, difficult and critical Martin Pemberton was easily won over by doctor Sartorius. "The doctor I find difficult to represent to you. He has no vanity that can be appealed to or flattered or insulted," Martin said of him, "The doctor is not an immoralist. He never attempted to justify himself to me. Or to lie. Or indicated in any way that he felt culpable." In other words, Dr.Sartorius had none of the characteristics that made most people objectionable to Martin. He lacked those fundamental human traits. He answered to no one. In Martin's mind he was a god.
Wizened old men handed over their bodies, their minds, and most difficult, their money to a man they didn't know. Mcllvaine was left to puzzle how these men could be "so unsatisfied with the ways of their God as to take their immortal souls into their own hands." The answer to that is simple. Those old men didn't abandon God, they simply replaced him in the form of the divine doctor Sartorius.
God is inexplicably linked to paradise. Dr. Sartorius created his own sick sort of paradise. When McIlvaine first stumbled upon it he was awe struck, "The greenish light from the conservatory roof seemed to descend, it sifted down, it had a motion, it seemed to pulse. Gradually I became aware that I was hearing music. First I felt it as the pulse of the air... but when I realized it was music, it broke over me, swelling and filling the vaulted place... It was as if I had stepped into another universe, a Creation, like... an obverse Eden."
Sartorius's attempt at Godhood was something straight out of Hell. The plants were green is his perverse garden, and the music was always playing, but the lack of emotion was astonishing to the trespassers. " The nurses waltzed slowly around. Their faces were immeasurably sad. I thought their cheeks were wet with tears, but as I looked more closely I saw this was the humid atmosphere on their skin," the narrator noted. Life was absent. Yes, there was breathing, but it was the mindless sort that rattles in the chest, far from memory or feeling.
The first glimpse of the experiments was shocking. "The old men were shrunken, unnaturally darkened and sunken in on themselves, like vegetable husks." The old prunes had been granted an extended mortality, but even if it had continued forever, those silly old men had lost their lives and their dignity. That is as far from immortality and paradise as one can get.
Dr.Sartorius was sentenced to an institution for the criminally insane, but even through that he was secure in his celestial air. Dr. Summer Hamilton, who was heading the commission that tried Sartorius, felt intimidated by him. "Put me in my place, I can tell you. He was impressive... he hadn't been permitted to shave ... But it didn't matter. He had this upright horseman's posture. He didn't plead, needless to say, or attempt to sway us one way or another. He didn't choose to demonstrate to us, however, subtly -and I know how subtle some of these maniacs can be -- that he was sane, or for that matter, insane," he said. Gods do not plea or beg, nor would Sartorius.
In a strange bit of irony, Sartorius never knew he wasn't divine. His brains were smashed in before the thought of his impending death could ever enter into his mind. He was saved the horrific contemplation of a slow, or supremely frightening death that his patients and victims suffered. It was quick and perhaps more merciful than he deserved, but then again, gods do not need mercy.
Other characters in the novel aspired for things beyond their grasps, but were far more successful than Sartorius. Reaching physical immortality was futile for Augustus Pemberton, and yet, he continued to live. With every breath that Young Pemberton took, Old Pemberton was watching and looming. Martin was bitter that his father had, "given [him] this life of endless contemplation of his hideous being." For as long as Martin was alive his father would continue to live. That is why Martin never wrote his story. He didn't want his father to continue to survive in memory, or in any other form.
McIlavaine's reach for immortality in this book was subtle and understated. He lived for the story. It required all of his time, passion, and talents. He was a bachelor, and he had no one that would remember him when he was gone. He needed to leave some sort of mark on the world. So McIlvaine, as an old man, perhaps on his deathbed, tells the tale in an attempt to live beyond the grave. If this story could live on he could too.
For all their reaching and grasping, these characters have little to show for their efforts. It has been said that death is the great equalizer. No matter how far above the dust of a humble beginning a mortal may rise, he must again return to the ground from which he arose. If he is to breathe and partake in the exquisiteness of existence, then he must also, with each breath, draw closer to the last one. It is the greatest human mystery, it is the only human certainty.