Hokie Hauntings

What do you write when a place you've visited, an atmosphere you've embraced, and people you've met have been ripped apart at the very soul?

Today it's been one week since the tragedy at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg and I still hardly know how to process it all. The images on TV and the Internet are eerie because I was just there last fall. This is a campus I visited, a town whose streets I walked, whose Huckleberry Trail I jogged day after day, whose odd fiberglass Hokie Bird sculptures I surveyed, and those are students and teachers I may have passed without knowing they'd be victim to the worst mass shooting in U.S. history just a few months later. Was it only just October I was there?

One of my sisters has lived in Blackburg nearly two years, working with college students through a young, dynamic, outside-the-box church that meets on campus. Her apartment is about one mile off campus on a street that runs straight toward school buildings and athletic fields. Within hours of arrival, I was tailgating with undergrads and grad students, we'd bartered with a friendly alumnus for $10 football game tickets, and we traipsed across what felt like half the campus to the stadium. We clambered up on steel bleachers set up behind the end zone, the student section, where nobody, but nobody sits down. I still have pictures on my cell phone of the fireworks, the foam fingers, the semi-frozen fun.

The marching band filled out a few tiers below and led the whole section in the catcalls, chants and trademark rituals of a Hokie game, like shaking your car keys on a "key" play. I wonder now if marching captain Ryan "Stack" Clark, a victim from the first shooting, in the doorm that morning, was down there anywhere. Probably. I wonder too, if anyone I passed on the steps, on the sidewalks, near the gates, at the concesson stand -- were any of those nameless faces later named on the list of the dead or injured?

There's a photo online, one of thousands of images taken in the last week in Blacksburg. It's a movie marquee, with a message for the students that reads: "Our hearts are with you VT." There isn't a street sign to be seen in the picture, and very little else for clues to where it was found. But I know exactly where that marquee is. I can tell that photo was taken from the west side of its entrance, and I'm almost certain which of the nearby shops the photographer would have had to have been standing in front of when the image was captured. I know it's the Lyric Theatre, that not only is it the only independent arthouse cinema and playhouse in town, it's the only cinema in town, and I could describe the classic ambience inside. I know all this because I've been there, and because yes, Blacksburg really is that small (despite a campus of 26,000 students.)

That same chilling sense of recognition hits again when I see footage from inside the War Memorial Chapel, where some of the students my sister works with met to pray. I can literally hear the echo of footfalls, even if there's no audio of the corpsman's march. The wooden altar at the front is thick, heavy, golden-hued, the lectern off to the right is mounted on wheels, and despite its weight, rolls smoth and quiet, even with an accidental nudge. The steps up from the pews to the raised floor that runs around the side of the chapel are slick and wide. The chapel is not very big either. The drillfield, on the other hand? The one where students held a candlelight vigil for their fallen friends? Massive.

In the past week, numerous leaders and members of that campus church, my sister among them, have been written up in newspapers, photographed, interviewed by news anchors and filmed by network and cable affiliates. In the few minutes she has had time to call or email, we hear details that nearly defy comprehension. The scale of the sorrow is bigger than all of them. I know she's barely sleeping, of course -- too many students need her help, and she will willingly lend a hand, a listening ear, a shoulder, a hug. But I wonder, and I worry whether she's had any time to grieve herself.

Last Friday, the nation, it seemed, wore Hokie colors and adopted the Hokies as their own. Maybe it rubbed off from my sister, or the trip down there, or the combination of both, but embracing the Hokies in spirit wasn't hard for me. They've already haunted my thoughts.

A Whole Latte Love

While they've yet to grind the first beans at the Starbucks coffee houses coming soon to Canandaigua or Victor, I find myself falling under the spell of the "green" giant. And my reasons actually have little to do with all the mochas I've been drinking lately.

Don't get me wrong. Starbucks makes "Tasting Christmas" complete with their Peppermint Mochas and Cranberry Bliss Bar -- alas! limited editions -- and their in-house bookstore cafe concept is nothing short of genius. But in recent days, I've found more to love about the company than Pumpkin Spice Lattes and black-bottom cupcakes. This is a crush that goes beyond coffee.

And before anyone accuses me of being a few chocolate-covered espresso beans short of a whole bag, yes, I am aware that some folks out there despise Starbucks. I'm sure I'm not the only one who has heard the company is on some sort of capitalistic blitzkrieg to create millions of caffeine addicts who don't realize they're paying through the nose for coffee that supposedly tastes like dirt. But before those folks dismiss Starbucks out of hand, I would like to point out a few corporate strategies I find downright endearing:

1) Starbucks recycles more than its cups.
Looking around Canandaigua in particular, I am disgusted at the gut-and-go expansions of major corporate franchises. We have enough empty commercial footage to string together more than a few plazas and yet local planning board members giddy at commercial tax prospects haphazardly approve NEW construction with nary a second thought. (And people think I'm the one under a spell?)
Meanwhile, here comes Starbucks with perfectly sensible plans to move into vacant property, fix it up, put on a few coats of paint, change the sign and open in less than six months. In Victor, a historic cobblestone house is going to retain its charming character when Starbucks opens inside. In Canandaigua, the former Wendy's fast-food restaurant looks much the same from the outside -- just a few minor modifications to the drive-thru lane and replacement of two roof panels for the new signs to hang from. I'll be surprised if Starbucks bothers to paint the red bricks the supposedly "standard" beige color so many customers associate with the chain.
The Wal-Mart heirs ought to start taking lessons.

2) Starbucks looks out for the little guy.
Unlike some corporate giants already named, Starbucks employees, even those working part-time, can get health care through the company. I know this because one of my sisters used to be a Starbucks barista. She didn't opt for the coverage at the time, but her respect for the company was significantly higher than other prospective employers specifically because of that. Suffice to say, it rubbed off on me.


3) Starbucks isn't kidding about creating -- and supporting -- communities.
Sure, most of us are aware Starbucks is trying to create a "home away from home" customers will gravitate to, even if they aren't college co-eds. The nay-sayers will say it's all a ploy to sell more coffee, and maybe so. However, when I popped into the Brighton Starbucks recently late on a Wednesday night, I was pleasantly suprised by two things. First, a large sign hung in the window announcing the town's regular board meeting. Goodness knows, I've written enough stories about public bodies failing to publicize their operational meetings. So, for a retailer to let their prime window-dressing space serve the public interest, well, that's a concept I can get behind. Not to mention, odds are good more community members will actually read a sign in their local coffee shop than say, a flashing billboard set back from the road.
Second, I spied a group of knitters ensconced in a good-sized back room. The baristas said they met there often. I didn't ask, but I'd be willing to bet that "back" room is considered the "community" room.
Works for me.

4) Starbucks seems serious about charitable work.
I just learned Starbucks has a tradition of raising money for a local charity or volunteer at all ribbon-cuttings, by inviting $5 donations to that organization or individual during an open house at which the registers are closed, but the coffee and pastries are still being served. In Brighton, that same Starbucks moved a few doors down in the plaza last week, and for its re-opening, a plucky teenager's literacy outreach trip to Peru was the charity of choice.
The manager told me literacy was a company-wide focus and it carries over to the company's work in the Third World countries from which they import their coffee beans. But if the local managers can't find literacy or environmental efforts to promote at the ribbon-cuttings, they'll look for another worthy cause, he said.
After that assignment, I'm eager to see who the lucky ducks are for the Victor and Canandaigua ribbon-cuttings.
Another little-known fact I discovered in a hunt for a particular mug Starbucks had discounted? After their merchandise goes through its sale cycle, and shelves must be cleared to make way for new lines, the "old" mugs, for example, are returned to the warehouse, then donated to non-profit organizations, like shelters.

After all that, wouldn't you be smitten too?

Someday soon, I hope to be writing one of these posts from an alcove in the corner of my new neighborhood Starbucks. You shouldn't have any trouble spotting me.

I'll be the one with the sip and the sigh.