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When we look at the events that have affected our country in the past two years, homeland security has been at the forefront of every American's mind. The possibility of even minor dangers or threats to our security lurks at the edges of our awareness. And yet, despite the heightened concern for our own safety, we at Wesleyan almost seem to believe that we are somehow impervious to the sometimes harsh threats of the outside world. We have a dedicated, hardworking security staff whose members guard the entrance to our campus, patrol the grounds, and respond to everything from lockouts to car troubles, perceived threats to crimes and vandalism.
And yet, despite the undeniable severity of some situations, our devoted security guards seem to sometimes find themselves outnumbered. An approximate ratio of 10 security guards to over 1,000 campus guests seems ludicrous in any situation wherein there exists the possibility of altercations within the crowd. Ultimately, in matters of security, numbers matter. We cannot conceivably expect a staff that is outmanned to be able to handle such situations without being concerned for the safety of those staff members, especially when they have no basic way of protecting themselves from attack, which would thereby place them at an advantage over any adversary.
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BEN RUEHLMANN |
Has anyone noticed something missing on campus lately? I know I have. There seems to be a lack of Marlin Wheels. “Maybe they’re that popular that they are all in use right now,” I naively thought. If only that were true. At work the next day, as I coasted around campus in search of bikes to fix, I noticed I couldn’t find any.
I checked behind all the dorm buildings, thinking that maybe someone had decided to go on the trails and leave the bikes there. But it was the same at the lake behind Blocker, where I tend to find multiple bikes thrown haphazardly around the picnic table-there were no bikes. Not even a loose wheel or random handlebar in the parking lot. There was not a single Marlin Wheel to be found. Finally, I found one out behind the baseball field, thrown into the drainage ditch.
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| Photo illustration by BEN RUEHLMANN |
My first thought was that people had begun to horde the bikes in their dorm rooms, which occurs quite often; however, as the days went by and I still could not find any Marlin Wheels to fix, I began to wonder if maybe the bikes had been taken off campus. I thought it was a well-known fact that the bikes were not to be taken off the campus grounds. After a week of finding no bikes to repair, I became very frustrated. I can tell you for a fact that I have seen progressively fewer Marlin Wheels coming into the shop for repair. If they are not around campus, then they are not in the shop, which leaves only a few options. Either a greedy few are holding them hostage in their dorm rooms, they are being taken off campus and left, or when they get broken, they are being tossed into the woods. None of these are good.
The Marlin Wheels are for everyone to use. Perhaps they are not the best of bikes, but they do come in handy when you only have five minutes to get across campus for class. Plus, they are Wesleyan property. If you are caught with one in your room or purposely vandalizing one of them, you will get into a world of trouble. Also, it gets very boring back in the Marlin Wheels cage when there is nothing to do. I like my job and would like to keep it. But if there are not any Marlin Wheels, then there is no use for a Marlin Wheels mechanic. So, if nothing else, help keep me employed. I don’t mind fixing the bikes when they are damaged; however, don’t take that as an open invitation to go out and trash the bikes, because it’s not. But I know that none of the Marlin Wheels mechanics like finding the bikes at the bottom of the lake, or in pieces in the parking lots. We put lots of hours in working on those bikes. Respect them as if they were your personal bikes, and remember that they are for everyone to use.
If a chain breaks off or something is wrong with the bike, please, please, please, just leave it somewhere in the open where one of the Marlin Wheel mechanics can find it and repair it. It doesn’t do anyone any good if they just disappear.
When I first heard I was going to be deployed, I had mixed emotions. I was happy because it meant that I was going to do a job that only a few people would step up and do. I’d also get to go out of the country and “visit” another. I really wouldn’t have to worry about clothes, because everyone dresses the same. I would be taking yet another break from school and the thought of getting away from papers, professors and classes would be a burden off of my shoulders; I could then focus on what would be important at hand. Not to mention I would be making money while away.
If there is one thing I learned about working in the field, it’s the little things that you will miss- watching television, sleeping in late, eating at restaurants, watching movies, just to name a few. Everything that I was ever able to do, whenever I wanted, would be placed on hold for a year. Of course, it wasn’t just the small things I’d miss. I’d also miss my good friends around campus and back at home. My family had a hard time accepting the situation, but they understand I’m not the only one being sent overseas. Some of my friends get the general understanding of what I do and why I do it, but most will never grasp the concept. Most of my friends and family don’t even want me going overseas, and if you happened to catch The Virginian-Pilot’s front-page header from last Sunday, you might say that, too.
I’m fortunate, though. I’m single with no girl, wife or children attached, unlike many other soldiers I know. I know it’s going to be harder on them. Most of them are like me, first-time deployed, and they’re also trying to learn the ropes of living in the field. The more I think about a few of my field experiences across the country, I think about that movie Mel Gibson was in, “We Were Soldiers.” I know it sounds odd, but it made sense to me. When everyone is out there, you really fight for the man next to you, so that you can all go home.
My mom still thinks I’m suicidal for joining the army. I guess I just wanted to be different. I wanted to be part of a profession that no one in my family had ever had. I wanted a job that was important, and I wanted to earn it. At all the small jobs I had worked in the past, along with the countless number of stories my friends and family gave me about their job, I heard of my friends and family getting laid off, favoritism in the workplace, doing the job right and when to slack, work experiences with other people. I guess that’s why I joined the army. No one in my family had ever been part of the military. I wanted a job that no one in my family could tell me about the “good” and “evil” of the job.
The exception was my grandfather. He had served as a tech sergeant in World War II, but it was different for him. My grandfather served in the army more as a scientist than a soldier. I know that getting accustomed to field life won’t be easy. I will be pulling guard duty, getting little sleep, sleeping on cots, eating the army’s version of a “Brown Bag Lunch,” maintaining radios, and the constant thought of always being cautious.
One of the scariest things I fear about being out there is becoming incompetent. Don’t get me wrong, though, the thought of being shot at isn’t fun, either. But if I couldn’t do my job, I know I’d be letting a lot of people down. I always work hard around my job, trying to learn the new equipment and the “know-how” of what to do in a bad situation. I’ve learned that it helps to get all the information down so it becomes second nature. It’s similar to driving. When you first learn, you naturally try and get a feel of how much to apply to the gas peddle and how to “cushion” the brake when stopping at a light. I know the overall tasks aren’t going to be easy, but I’m proud of what I do. Even though I’m only one person, I hope I can contribute and make a difference.
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