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Currents 

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1201159

contents 

Gaming the 

old-fashioned 

way · 6 

Malibu’s best 

acai bowls & 

breakfast 

burritos · 13 

it’s ok not to 

be ok · 10 

Meet miriam · 19 

top active 

lifestyles · 23

Field trippy · 27 

Pepperdine 

football: still 

undefeated · 37 

from farm to 

fork · 43 

our place · 49 

frustrated with 

focus · 55 

Literary 

corner · 58

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR 

MARIELLA RUDI 

Territorially, Malibu is where the spectrum of the California 

Dream ends. But what happens when you put a college in one 

of the most enviable real estate markets in the country? 

As cultural-ambassador Kendall Jenner tweeted back in January 

2012, “Malibu is the happiest place on earth lol.” 

According to Jenner, we have already peaked in terms of 

reaching the last frontier. This notion becomes truer the moment 

your eyes set on the cliffs dropping into the Pacific’s horizon 

from your perch on campus. As life-long Waves, the ocean 

forever will serve as metaphor for the future. It is impossible for 

us to ignore the tacit impact the ocean and the Pacific Coast 

Highway has had on our education and personal growth. 

In my application to Pepperdine, I wrote about Joan Didion’s 

“Slouching Toward Bethlehem,” as the archetypal Californian 

collection of essays, and its impact on my Angeleno adolescence. 

She remade the California that I’d always seen but never 

understood. She painted devastating and stylish portraits of 

Malibu, Los Angeles, and California, and in turn, commented on 

the modern-American condition. 

Didion, who lived with her writer-husband and daughter in 

Malibu in the ‘70s, reported on the people in Malibu and her 

experience with the fabled coastal town. 

While acknowledging some committable cardinal sin of letters 

from the editor, I will now quote my college application: “It’s special 

because California was a myth before it was a state. Millions 

of dreamers fled to my home: at first for land, later for gold, 

and eventually for fame. Every day I wake up I’m living someone 

else’s dream.” 

Pepperdine only amplified this notion of living the dream. 

Hashtags and Instagram posts alone can attest to this fantasy. 

In a journalistic compulsion to come full circle in my narratives, 

I want to bring my journey back to Didion. Like my literary idol, 

I used my homegrown skepticism as a way to not get sucked 

into the illusion. 

teeming suspicion that we will always be outsiders looking in. 

With our diploma comes a fluency in PCH’s roadside vernacular. 

Malibu, a 27-mile stretch of coast synonymous with fame, 

luxury, and affluence, belongs to the daily puns of the Reel Inn 

Fish Restaurant and Market, the Crazy California-style Mr. 

La Salsa, and the multi-million dollar homes we will never see 

behind great walls of shrub. A drive down PCH often felt like 

escape from a home that was never really ours. 

In preparation for this issue of Currents Magazine, I read every 

article of every issue I could find in the Morgue (the Pepperdine 

Graphic Media archives). From chronicling the day-to-day 

operations of a fledgling campus radio station and its ragtag 

group of operators to the sorority-indoctrinated Ring-by-Spring 

phenomenon to countless debates dedicated to “Pepperdine 

walking the line between academics and religion,” Currents has 

served as fodder to the student body’s creative ambition and 

curiosity. My research led to the conclusion that this magazine 

has one job: to capture the zeitgeist. 

For this issue, we hoped to do our job with an emphasis on the 

personal narrative. While still reporting on the local flavors and 

idiosyncrasies, we uncovered internal testimonies and stymied 

dialogues. We wanted to put a spin on the problems and conditions 

of the college student today. 

We let the outsiders do the writing. We captured images that 

express the paradoxes of fashion, art, and nature in Malibu. We 

had fun with every process, and we hope that shines through 

the pages. 

Unlike Kendall Jenner or Joan Didion, I haven’t figured out what 

Malibu means to me. I only have a host of memories and associations 

that hopefully this magazine helps to preserve. 

Mariella Rudi 

As Malibu transplants, Pepperdine students cannot escape the

Staff 

Mariella Rudi 

alexander hayes 

JB Maza 

Jill Amos 

Lauren Davila 

Shawn Jones 

Editor-in-Chief 

Creative Director 

Assistant Editor 

Photo Editor 

Currents Assistant/Social Media Correspondent 

Currents Assistant 

Advisors: Elizabeth Smith, Courtenay Stallings

GamInG 

the 

Old- 

Fashioned 

Way 

BY CHRISTOPHER CHEN 

ART BY GARRISON WRIGHT 

There are at least four decades worth of people who 

were practically raised on video games, since video 

games were popularized in the 1970s. For me, I remember 

a time when video games were just something 

that I talked about with friends on the playground. 

Video games in general were considered 

more of a childish past time than a serious medium. 

My parents did at one point or another ask me when 

my interest in video games would stop. I didn’t know 

back then to be honest, but I also had a feeling that 

my interest in video games would wane with time. 

As a child, I always viewed adulthood as being a sudden 

transition. I figured I would find video games and 

cartoons boring from the moment I became an adult. 

CURRENTS · 6

I was naive; my love for video games 

never left, even as I got older. And 

why should it? 

I would wonder when my collection 

of games would vanish. But with 

each new game on the shelf or review, 

I always found something new 

to hold over my obsession. Regardless 

of the end quality, I remember 

every time I put in a fresh disc and 

the first hour that followed, which I 

completely embraced. 

Unfortunately, I don’t think I can 

ever replicate that feeling ever 

again. Like an addict, I will forever 

search for that first high. I suddenly 

feel old, like I can no longer 

grasp the changes that are occurring 

around me. 

I stopped using an Xbox One, or 

Playstation 4, or Wii U, which is a 

sign that I have not aged beyond the 

previous console generation. 

It could just be that I don’t have the 

time to commit to amassing a collection 

for a new console. However, 

there is another reason why I decided 

to stop using Wii and Playstation 

3 — I didn’t want to depend on 

Internet connection just to be able 

to play games. 

Part of the reason is because my 

consoles are in a place that gets 

very slow Internet reception (in my 

dorm on campus). But there might 

be a more psychological reason to 

my problem. 

At this time, I am a minority. I still 

cling to my physical copies while 

others are more than willing to purchase 

codes to get downloadable 

content beamed directly into their 

systems. In an age where people 

amass huge backlogs of games from 

shopping sprees on the Playstation 

store, it’s easy to spend more time 

buying add-ons for your game than 

the actual game-playing. I haven’t 

bought a single game in two years, 

let alone from a network store. 

I have much less free time than I 

have in the past. 

The truth is, I generally 

dislike having 

to depend on something 

other than a physical store. 

We are living in an age in 

which physical stores are fading 

away, and the Internet is 

taking over as the place where 

everyone shops for everything. 

The closing and decreasing revenue 

in brick and mortar stores, like 

Borders and Best Buy, are evidence 

enough of the growing dominance 

of the online shopping industry. 

Furthermore, progressively more 

games are locking players out of 

full-access to game content, requiring 

additional payment just to 

get the whole experience. I became 

a gamer at a time when the entire 

game was available to me immediately. 

Expansions were reserved 

only for computer games at the 

time, which I felt I didn’t need to 

play. 

These days it feels like consoles are 

closer to being glorified PCs to the 

extent that I can barely make a distinction. 

For these new systems, an 

Internet connection matters more 

than ever to get the full experience 

out of any game. 

While everyone else around me has 

adapted to these changes with little 

issue, I feel that I can never fully 

adapt to this new era of technology. 

I just feel uncomfortable with the 

thought of physical discs eventually 

fading out of existence. 

And that is one of the reasons why I 

no longer make any real purchases. 

I know that I will no longer be able 

to get the full experience. Rather, I 

will be constantly bombarded with 

patches and updates for games that 

were shipped out before they were 

remotely polished. Most of all, I 

don’t want a console that prioritizes 

linking me to the Internet over 

doing its job and simply letting me 

play games. 

7 · CURRENTS

Call me sentimental, but similar to print 

books, I find more accomplishment in 

seeing my game physically handed to me 

rather than downloaded on my console. 

There is that sense of commitment to 

buying a game physically, as if I am now 

obligated to play it immediately. 

I can’t replicate the same joy that I had 

when I was a child. 

My attempts at sticking to physical releases 

are ultimately futile. Digital distribution 

is almost everyone else’s go-to 

method for purchasing video games. In 

the end, someone like me will never be 

able to experience the same kind of joy 

again. 

It just frightens me to think that the way 

of life I had grown so accustomed to will 

eventually fade away. And I feel like I’m 

the only one with these emotions. 

CURRENTS · 8

It’s ok 

ok. 

BY NATE BARTON 

PHOTOS BY ALEXANDER HAYES 

We are consumers of stability caught in a rabid 

evasion of dissonance. We blast party pop 

on full volume — hands lifted into the air we 

think we own and the darkness we refuse to fear. 

We smile and chirp about the shiniest celebrity 

amid the sunlit orb of our perfect lives, unable to 

recognize this vital and necessary reality: 

It is OK to not be OK. 

Based solely on Instagram posts and the talk of 

beaches and Lamborghinis, it would seem that 

Pepperdine has the uncanny ability to manufacture 

unending moral happiness. Perhaps it is 

cultural. Perhaps it is affected by the PR campaign 

designed to show prospective students 

that Pepperdine is a beachside Eden (where 

Adam has a $100 haircut) or to convince freshmen 

they should go abroad their sophomore 

year (“It ... will change ... your LIFE,” they say 

with no advertising schema whatsoever). But 

the fact is that 64 percent of Pepperdine students 

report being lonely, according to a 2011 

survey by the National College Health Assessment. 

That is seven percent above the national 

average. Perhaps there is more to the ocean than 

waves. 

It is high time we recognize that the sunniest 

fields have shadows too. When will we allow 

ourselves to experience the breadth of human 

CURRENTS · 10

The notion 

that students 

at Pepperdine 

should always 

be happy is a 

fallacy. It sets 

up expectations 

that dismiss 

real problems. 

It standardizes 

disappointment 

and sterilizes 

reality. 

11 · CURRENTS

emotion without this complex brew of anxiety 

and guilt? When will we realize that 

this life is not a commercial and that it is 

OK to be unhappy at Pepperdine? Why the 

denial? 

That is not to say we should be pathetic, ungrateful 

or scared while receiving a prestigious 

education in the hills of Malibu. Pepperdine 

truly is one of the most remarkable 

places on Earth. The purpose of this article 

is to validate the immense gravity of fear 

that pulls on the ribcage and fills, with bees, 

the thoughts of those faculty whose brain 

chemistry or relationships have betrayed 

them, those freshmen whose radiant sunbeams 

of excitement at the acceptance letter 

have fallen into the prism of alcohol abuse 

and depression, those law students whose 

tired compass whizzes in every direction, 

those transfer students whose mother just 

died, those staff members whose marriages 

curdle like old milk — those whose darkness 

is darker than the Malibu sun is bright. 

Do not settle. Do not arrive. 

The life-posture that accepts absolute, hurried 

stability at the probable death of empathy 

and depth is part of the knotty culture 

of shame we perpetuate. Some call it the 

“Pepperdine face,” in which real problems 

are shouldered in silence behind $600 sunglasses. 

In this way, the “Pepperdine face” is 

a performance for the sake of appearances, 

not a reflection of reality. 

How are we supposed to react to the idea 

that we should always be perfect, happy and 

indefatigable? How are we supposed to deal 

with real problems when they are pushed 

away like something shameful or dirty — a 

blip on our newsfeeds? 

Pepperdine cannot save you. The blueness 

of the ocean and the whiteness of the sand 

are not Amazon-packaged deliveries of 

contentment and joy. Yes, we live in Malibu, 

California. Yes, it is where they filmed Zoey 

one-oh-freaking-one. But we are still people 

and our faults and fears are just as real. 

Tell this to people back home in Ohio, 

China or Texas and you risk being labeled a 

thankless pessimist. They — whose crooked 

idea of joy relies on the sandbox in your 

backyard — may never understand that 

“paradise” has its graveyards and pretenses. 

A look at assumptions 

Gazing from the expansive vista of Hero’s 

Garden, the universe seems whole. Perhaps 

it’s the marbled romanticism of grace that 

sees rock faces and distant waves as the 

harmonious tinkerings of God. Look to the 

ground and tell the cannibalistic, half-eaten 

microcreatures that the world has order. 

Look to the sky and tell the stars — caught 

in the reverie of a supermassive black hole, 

draught in the cyclic tension of spacebits, 

aflame, — that nature has order, that the irreverent 

prejudice of God allows the death 

of star systems without eulogy. 

Happiness, constancy and peace are not 

built-in features. Only romantics assume 

fulfillment. To crave wholeness while recognizing 

fault is to transcend. Finding this 

tenuous intercourse of hydrogen and time 

— such terrible chaos ballasts a terrible 

peace. Catastrophe is in here: the gravity 

and melody of assumption and blind faith. 

The notion that students at Pepperdine 

should always be happy is a fallacy. It sets 

up expectations that dismiss real problems. 

It standardizes disappointment and sterilizes 

reality. 

But perhaps like Kafka, Cornel West and 

Hannah Montana, we should understand 

that every good narrative is dynamic in part 

because it begins with catastrophe. “Life’s 

what you make it.” It is what happens in the 

ashy gray of the bombsite that defines character. 

True joy requires an understanding of 

the hollow depths of pain and the brilliant 

intoxication of redemption. Constant happiness 

is torment. 

Art, said Rumi, is flirtation with surrender. 

Dying, therefore, plunges into the art 

of surrender — the one true mold. All art 

loves death and therefore transcends it. Art 

is when your lungs heave like an iPad in 

the dryer and, like a dying star, cave in on 

themselves — pulling you into the petroleum 

reverie of love. A tiny white strand of 

ego lost in a deep blue gaze. 

This is the radical appeal to our shared humanity. 

This is the tired belief in authenticity 

and truth: it is OK to not be OK. It is not 

your responsibility to be happy — it is your 

joy to be human. Now is that so cynical? 

CURRENTS · 12

acai bowls & breakfast burritos 

PHOTOS BY ALEXANDER HAYES 

13 · CURRENTS

CURRENTS · 14

MALIBU’S BEST 

AÇAÍ BOWLS 

SUN LIFE 

A blend of banana, 

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Housemade granola, 

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JOHN’S 

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acai, blueberries, 

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ALMOND DINNER 

SUN LIFE 

Malibu’s treasured Sun Life Organics took the cake in 

this competition because of the unique acai blend and 

the use of almond milk brought the bowl together. 

15 · CURRENTS

MALIBU’S BEST 

BREAFAST 

BURRITOS 

LAW 

SCHOOL 

CAFE 

Eggs, ham, potato, 

cheese, peppers & onions 

MALIBU 

COUNTRY 

KITCHEN 

Bacon, cheese, potato & 

Egg 

JACK-IN- 

THE-BOX 

Bacon, sausage, and 

ham, plus scrambled 

eggs and lots of shredded 

pepper jack and cheddar 

cheeses 

LILY’S 

CAFE 

Beans, cheese, bacon, 

and eggs & the famous 

Lily’s sauce 

#1 

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BACON DINNER 

MALIBU COUNTRY 

KITCHEN 

You’ll miss it if you blink while driving down PCH, but Malibu 

Country Kitchen stomps the competition. It’s something about 

how all the ingredients melt in your mouth. 

CURRENTS · 16

17 · CURRENTS

CURRENTS · 18

Meet 

Miriam 

BY JOAN DALY 

PHOTOS BY MARISA PADILLA 

It was about five minutes past midnight 

in the HAWC when Miriam 

rushed over to me. This was her 

lunch break. I tried my best to wipe 

the sleep from my eyes and appear 

just as perky and lively as the Sodexo 

employee was. I was about to interview 

the most enthusiastic, popular 

and beloved employee at Pepperdine 

and didn’t want to miss a beat. 

Miriam is stationed at the HAWC 

cafe, the late-night agora that serves 

as a campus watering hole, and as she 

sat down, she apologized for running 

a few minutes late — she had been 

catching up with a student. Miriam 

loves the students, and they love her. 

She generously offered to share her 

dinner as we settled down, which I 

obliged, as it was a midnight snack 

for me. And we quickly eased into 

conversation. 

19 · CURRENTS

Currents: Miriam, you’ve been at Pepperdine for a few 

years now. Have you always worked this late-night 

shift in the HAWC? 

Miriam: Yes, I have. I’ve been here for three years. I 

usually work 6:30 p.m. to 3:30 a.m. 

C: How do you feel about working this night shift? 

M: I love it. It works out great for my schedule and me 

with my three kids Anthony, Carmen and Arturo. 

C: That’s amazing. In the years that you’ve worked 

here, do you have a standout, favorite memory from 

the HAWC? 

M: I don’t think I can pick just one. I would have to 

say that as a whole, its been incredible to watch the 

students here grow up. They come in as freshmen and 

learn a lot about themselves, and I see them year from 

year growing more mature. It’s so nice to see the same 

students every day, how they’ll come into the HAWC 

all stressed out from their day, and then leave relaxed 

after some food, some company, and some talking. 

C: And I’m positive that the students look forward 

to seeing you each night, too. Do you have a favorite 

thing about the HAWC and working here? 

M: Definitely customer service. I love being able to 

help the students out and be accommodating to them. 

Sometimes just being friendly and helpful can make 

their day. 

C: You probably see a lot of crazy things that students 

do go on in the HAWC. Do you have one memory 

that sticks out to you? 

M: Mmm, yes. One time, a girl dropped a glass bottle, 

and it went everywhere. I didn’t want her to feel bad 

about herself, so I helped her clean everything up, and 

CURRENTS · 20

I wasn’t angry. I think she was surprised. I sprayed some perfume to freshen 

the HAWC up and told her not to worry. 

As we chatted, a young man slid into the seat next to Miriam and hugged 

her, and I could tell that he was one of the students she was referring to 

when she said she loved watching us grow up. It was clear they had known 

each other for a while. He introduced himself as Jared Jackson, and I decided 

to involve him in our conversation as well. 

C: Jared, I can tell that you and Miriam are pretty close. How did this happen? 

Jared: I don’t know, I guess I would just stop by the HAWC a lot, especially 

during my freshman year. Just like, in the middle of the day to chat and to 

relieve stress. She’s comforting. 

C: Miriam, students here truly value your presence at Pepperdine; Jared is 

just one testament to that. How does that make you feel? 

M: Well, when kids come to college, they’re away from home. They’re homesick. 

I just act like a mom to these kids, when they come in late at night, tired 

and stressed. I talk to them and listen to what they have to say. I wouldn’t 

have a job if it weren’t for the students; I am thankful for them. 

C: How do you think Pepperdine would be without the HAWC? 

M: The kids would have no place to really hang out. There would be no place 

to get food at night and just be with your friends. Huge crowds of kids come 

during Greek Life rush weeks and Songfest season since they all have late 

nights. They would have nowhere to go and relax after a long day. We need 

the HAWC for their sake. 

C: Do you think that your time at Pepperdine has taught you anything? 

M: Definitely patience. Patience and tolerance. Everyone is coming from a 

different place with a different story; all of the students are away from home. 

I’ve also learned to not take any rude comments personally. I just ignore 

those things; again, you don’t know what that student is going through. 

C: Miriam, you are considered one of the most beloved members of the 

Pepperdine community. Everyone either knows you or wants to know you. 

Would you like to comment on that? 

M: Well, I just do my job, and that job involves being around people and 

being considerate of their wants and needs. I always say to treat people the 

way that you want to be treated. I use that philosophy here in the HAWC. 

C: And now, one last question for you Miriam; what is your favorite food at 

the HAWC? And what is the student favorite? 

M: Ahhh, well, I love the chicken ciabatta sandwich. It’s my favorite. But I 

think that students love the chicken tenders. We always run out of those on 

busy nights. 

21 · CURRENTS

Miriam had finished her dinner, and it 

was just about time for her to head back 

to work. She was beaming by the end of 

the interview. She told me to stop back in 

soon to chat. It might’ve been past midnight, 

but I could now see why students 

were crazy about the HAWC at hours 

like this: they had Miriam to brighten up 

their days (or rather, nights). Miriam was 

worth being a night owl for. 

CURRENTS · 22

TOP 

ACTIVE 

LIFESTYLES 

THE MALIBU WAY 

PHOTOS BY SAFEENA PADDER, SHAWN JONES & ALEXANDER HAYES 

23 · CURRENTS

CURRENTS · 24

ROCK 

CLIMBING 

SANTA 

MONICA 

RINGS 

25 · CURRENTS

PADDLE 

BOARDING 

TRAIL 

RUNNING 

CURRENTS 

· 26

27 · CURRENTS

A PHOTO STORY BY 

jill amos 

MODELS 

SAFEENA PADDER 

TALEA LISCHETZKI 

ALLISON HUBBARD 

CURRENTS · 28

29 · CURRENTS

CURRENTS · 30

31 · CURRENTS

CURRENTS · 32

33 · CURRENTS

CURRENTS · 34

35 · CURRENTS

CURRENTS · 36

PEPPERDINE FOOTBALL: 

STILL 

UNDEFEATED 

BY ALYSHA TSUJI 

PHOTOS COURTESY OF PEPPERDINE LIBRARIES 

37 · CURRENTS

No One Believed in Them 

Among the already established powerhouse football 

schools (USC, Loyola University, UCLA, 

Whittier), Pepperdine was nothing but a blip on 

the radar. 

The team started in March of 1946 with about 

15 guys, according to George Pepperdine College 

(GPC) alumnus Harry Nelson (’50). By August, 

the roster nearly tripled in size. Nelson said the 

increase in numbers was mostly because guys began 

walking over from nearby Washington High 

School — not because of any newfound popularity. 

When a friend first told him about Pepperdine, 

Nelson said, “Is that a disease or a sandwich?” 

As a 34-acre campus nestled a few miles south of 

Downtown, right around the heart of Los Angeles, 

George Pepperdine College didn’t have a 

stadium. With an enrollment of just over 1,000 

students, it didn’t have a huge fan base, either. 

Within that inaugural season, no one expected 

much. However, the team expected much out of 

themselves. The 1947 squad steamrolled the competition 

— even knocking out coveted Loyola 

University’s football team in the third game — 

and ran all the way to the Will Roger’s Bowl in 

Oklahoma City on Jan. 1, 1947. 

Following the shocking Loyola upset, one sportswriter 

wrote in his column, “Why We Downed 

Loyola’s Lions,” which was in “Pepperdine: The 

Football Years,” by Jay Roelen and Jerry Roelen: 

“Even the GPC coaching staff didn’t expect such 

CURRENTS · 38

a convincing outcome. The only one’s that 

were not too surprised were the team members 

themselves.” 

Pepperdine stands as the only college with 

a football program that advanced to a bowl 

game in its first year in existence. 

From then on, the team carried itself with 

pride. “We used football to prove that 

Christians weren’t sissies,” said John Skelly 

(’56) who played on the team from 1954- 

55. 

But Pepperdine’s athletics budget wasn’t 

limitless, and football fell to that reality. 

According to Dave Grenley’s four-volume 

publication, “The History of Pepperdine 

Football,” in 1961, “the Pepperdine College 

Board of Trustees conducted a detailed 

study on the feasibility of the football 

program moving forward. They found the 

heavy cost of continuing to field a competitive 

team was too great … The decision was 

not a reflection of the football team’s performance 

or popularity.” 

Although, the current lack of a football 

team doesn’t diminish the uplifting stories 

of former players. 

39 · CURRENTS 

“Thank You, Sir” 

From birth, 92-year-old Nelson said he 

has felt God’s hand guiding his life. He 

was born with pyelitis kidney disease, and 

the prognosis didn’t look good. His mother 

told him, “Doctors kept me alive by feeding 

me a teaspoon of what she called ‘whiskey’ 

two times a day for two weeks.” 

“I think the good Lord up there looked 

down on me and said, ‘Oh, no, no, no, it’s 

not his time yet. We’re going to have to 

make things up for him,’” Nelson said. 

He told the story of how he ended up in 

the Coast Guard by chance. At the service 

recruitment office, he happened to walk 

down certain hallways and turn into an office 

that saved him from spending service 

time in more dangerous positions. 

Then, while serving his three years in the 

Coast Guard, he recalled several instances 

in which they shot down Japanese kamikaze 

planes in close proximity, or in which 

he witnessed German underwater missiles 

narrowly miss hitting their ship. 

Each time he recalls one of those moments 

in his life, he glances upwards, points to the 

sky and softly says, “Thank you, sir.” 

In 1946, as a war veteran, Nelson wanted 

to gain the experience of playing for a 

collegiate football team. He said he first 

approached the football coach at Whittier. 

The second he revealed he had no prior 

football experience, the coach said, “We 

can’t use you.” Undeterred, Nelson went to 

USC, but he said the campus overwhelmed 

him and caused him to feel out of place. 

In his final attempt, Nelson entered the 

Pepperdine administration building early 

one morning. Upon arrival, Nelson could 

tell the dean wasn’t impressed with his academic 

background. However, for whatever 

reason, the dean decided to let Nelson 

prove himself. 

“About a week before starting [the quarter], 

he told me to enroll in a full load of classes, 

and if you can prove you can do the work, 

we’ll allow you to continue,” Nelson said. 

“I never studied so hard in my life, but I 

made it.” 

That happened to be a commonality among 

GPC football players: The jocks extended 

their passion for sports to an appreciation 

for education.

Dale Miller (‘50) said when he first got to 

Pepperdine his academic mindset was to do 

just enough to stay eligible for football. He 

ended up transferring to a community college 

because of an injury, but he said that 

attending Pepperdine taught him “to reach 

down inside myself and see something that 

was of interest to me.” 

Miller went on to find a career in higher 

education. Positions on his resume include 

taking part in the creation of Golden West 

College as the Dean of Students in 1965, 

and serving as the President of Shasta College 

for eight years. 

Skelly said he “had no business going 

to Pepperdine. [They] gave me a break. 

Throughout my life, I passed it on. I passed 

it forward.” 

On the football team, Skelly said he became 

the unofficial team chaplain, leading 

prayers and discussing God with his teammates. 

On campus, Skelly served as the 

Vice President of SGA his senior year. 

After graduating, Skelly went on to earn his 

doctorate in the Science of Theology. Over 

the years, he has been a Presbyterian minis- 

CURRENTS · 40

ter, the Vice President for Public Relations 

and Development for Pikeville College 

and the President of the nonprofit Pacific 

Homes Foundation. 

“Without Pepperdine, I would not be me,” 

Skelly said. 

From One Battlefield to Another 

While today’s college football teams are 

packed with kids who have grown up striving 

to secure scholarships and maybe push 

to the NFL, the mid-20th century football 

teams painted an entirely different story. 

In 1947, two years out of World War II, the 

GPC football roster was stacked with war 

veterans, some as old as 27. Alongside the 

basic information of height, weight, position 

and year, the roster sheets included a 

column for “war service.” 

Nelson emotionally recalled how special 

GPC’s football team’s situation was — they 

were a brand new team made up of men 

freshly out of the service. “It’s just an honor 

that we have,” he said. “Everything turned 

out nice. It’s a reflection on the school.” 

Pepperdine’s football teams were consistently 

a ragtag bunch of players. Skelly, 

the team leader and chaplain who had 

spent two years in the service but was still 

a younger one at 19 years old, remembered 

praying for his teammates and building relationships 

with them: “It was a precious 

group. These guys were married and worked 

at night at the bakery … there were longshoremen 

with families … a lot of these 

guys were veterans.” 

The Legacy Lives On 

Although the program itself has died, the 

former players continue to carry on its legacy. 

As one of the 38 from the 1947 National 

Championship team, Nelson joined 

together with several other football alumni 

to pool funds for a Football Players Scholarship 

Fund. 

“We wanted to let later students know that 

we had a football team and it did achieve a 

few things,” Nelson said. 

In addition to winning, as Skelly said, 

“Football was more than football. Football 

was my anchor.” 

Jay Roelen (‘58) who played QB from 

1954-57 said he learned many life lessons 

from being on the team about chaos, control, 

discipline, teamwork and “all those 

valuable traits you get from participating in 

athletics.” 

Roelen went on to teach Physical Education 

for 45 years. He and his wife also put 

together four volumes of books filled with 

roster sheets, photos, game programs and 

newspaper clippings, titled, “Pepperdine: 

The Football Years.” 

The books can be found at and checked out 

of Payson Library. 

In the same capacity that the former players 

hope students remember and learn about 

the golden years of GPC football, they hold 

onto a hope that the football will make a 

return — from South LA to Malibu. 

Miller said his only regret is that Pepperdine 

gave up football. Many former players 

expressed sadness at its nonexistence. 

“Let’s get it back,” Roelen said. 

The 1947 small college championship banner 

hangs in Firestone Fieldhouse. While 

Title IX, budget constraints and other 

issues may prevent another Pepperdine 

football team from being snapped into existence, 

the banner is permanent. And the 

impact the players had on Pepperdine’s 

campus and beyond is perpetual. 

41 · CURRENTS

farm 

fork 

to 

From 

BY CHIRAG PATEL 

PHOTOS BY CHIRAG PATEL MALIBU FARM 

& SHAWN JONES JUNE LOUKS’ GARDEN 

It’s a brisk morning as I walk upon the storied wooden planks 

of the Malibu Pier, overlooking a striking emerald-blue 

ocean full of choppy waves courtesy of the Santa Ana winds 

from the previous night. I pass by giggling children and lazy 

fishermen toward the twin structures that adorn the end of 

the pier, in particular the quaint eatery on the right with the 

extraordinary ocean view. 

I’m here to meet purveyor Helene Henderson, and as I enter 

the building full of boisterous patrons enjoying their breakfast 

I find her tucked away to the side working on a laptop. 

She greets me with a smile and we sit to chat about how her 

restaurant, Malibu Farm, has come to occupy the prime real 

estate that is the Malibu Pier. 

Henderson was born in the north of Sweden, 

where she grew up learning about farming 

and foraging in the surrounding forests 

near her family cottage. Her mother 

was a waitress, and Henderson became 

familiar with working in a 

professional kitchen at an early age. 

“I knew about cooking, but I didn’t think of cooking as a 

professional path,” said Henderson, who after moving to the 

United States “with a one-way ticket and only $500,” worked 

in design before moving back into the kitchen purely by accident. 

Filling in for an injured friend who was cooking for a 

private party, Henderson made a strong impression with her 

dishes and was invited to cook again. 

“Other people from other places wanted me to cook and 

then all of a sudden I had a catering company,” laughed 

Henderson, who would go on to run her own company for 

nearly 15 years, in addition to spending time as a personal 

chef. Henderson admitted she didn’t have a clear vision for 

what she was doing and was unable to explore her culinary 

creativity when forced to tailor her dishes to clients who had 

a stringent set of needs. 

Henderson would eventually purchase a home in the Point 

Dume area that needed a lot of work, a property that would 

43 · CURRENTS

ecome her own private farm. She bought some 

goats to clear the land, planted some vegetable beds, 

added a vineyard and a chicken coup, restored a hidden 

fruit orchard and brought in a pet pig named 

Arnold. 

As her private farm grew, friends would ask her to 

host cooking classes where they would pick fresh 

fruits and vegetables from the property to make a 

unique farm-to-fork meal. 

“My cooking class had a rule … it had to be fun for 

me,” said Henderson, who developed the class into 

a unique exploration of simple, organic meals. She 

shunned developing recipes beforehand and instead 

looked for in-the-moment inspiration in the garden 

to create the meal for the day, blogging about it afterward 

for those interested in recreating what they 

learned. 

“Everything just grew from that point on, and suddenly 

it was 20 people taking the class, then 100 

people taking the class, then people calling in saying 

they’re coming in from New York asking how they 

can take the class,” Henderson said. 

The classes turned into hosted 

dinner events around Malibu, 

allowing guests to try a number of 

dishes tied in to local organic foods — 

dishes designed around fresh produce found at 

a number of farms in the community. The growing 

popularity of these events brought Henderson to 

the attention of the master 

concessionaire for the Malibu 

Pier, who offered Henderson 

the opportunity to host a 

pop-up style dining experience 

in the historic space. 

“It required a lot of work,” said Henderson, 

who had to redesign the entire location and reacquire 

the necessary permits to get the old structure 

at the end of the pier in working condition. “It was 

me and two Pepperdine students and two line cooks 

who we hired … people were laughing. The rent was 

super low because even the landlord was laughing,” 

Henderson admitted. 

But it worked. Henderson brought in produce 

picked fresh from her own farm to cook the meals. 

As business grew, she partnered with local growers 

to supply the demand, sticking to her belief in only 

sourcing local, fresh and organic foods. 

“My philosophy for any food is just to keep it as simple 

as possible,” Henderson said. “I don’t like things 

that are over thought … my basic thought is to just 

get a really good piece of chicken … or a really good 

tomato and do nothing to it.” 

Henderson is a strong believer in producing quality 

food, allowing natural flavors to take center stage. 

No additives, no processing, no freezing — just real, 

fresh food. 

CURRENTS · 44

“The worse the product you get, the more you have to do to it. 

The better the product you get, the less you have to do to it,” 

Henderson said. 

What was once envisioned as a temporary pop-up is shaping 

into a permanent cafe on the pier, with Henderson working on 

expanding the reach of the business with longer hours, an online 

blog at www.malibu-farm.com and future events to showcase 

her unique and healthy dishes. 

I leave the pier and head north on PCH to a quiet ocean-side 

neighborhood near Paradise Cove. I arrive at a beautifully designed 

rustic home and am greeted by my host, who takes me 

around back to explore the hidden garden on the other side. 

She walks barefooted through an ocean of green, as she guides 

me nimbly past vegetable beds, a green house, compost heaps, a 

lively chicken coop and a bee colony surrounded by the sweet 

aroma of natural honey. There are bananas and guavas and mangos, 

an assortment of growing herbs and berries, citrus fruits and 

vegetables. It’s a forager’s paradise full of color, mouth-watering 

scents and the sounds of chirping birds. 

We stop at a tree bearing an odd looking bud, a large and fuzzy 

green pod that my host picks off and begins to tear open. The 

inside of the pod houses a ghost white fruit that is soft, watery, 

sweet and incredibly delicious. The Inga tree has been growing 

for nearly three years now, and we have just taken the first ever 

taste of its fruit, referred to as the “ice cream bean.” 

The quarter-acre sized garden is full of similarly exotic foods 

alongside more traditional American staples, and we continue to 

pick and eat fresh produce as we explore. The garden is the work 

of my host June Louks, a local supporter of organic living in 

Malibu and the author of “A Malibu Mom’s Manifesto On Fresh 

Whole Foods,” a cookbook and healthy lifestyle guide. 

Louks suffered a health crisis a few years back and made a shift 

in her life to eat healthier and live better, an example she shares 

with her four daughters and other interested members of the 

Malibu community. 

“I had no interest in growing my own food. This was supposed 

to be a paddle tennis court,” said Louks. “But then I had this 

health crisis which was very humbling. I came face to face with 

death, and when you have those moments you look at the larger 

picture.” 

Louks started to look into healthier eating, and began to learn 

about the benefits of eating organically while simultaneously 

learning about the struggles associated with procuring and producing 

organic foods. 

She learned about the importance of soil cultivation and com- 

45 · CURRENTS

CURRENTS · 46

posting when she first started to build her garden, and of the damaging 

effects of pesticides in the growth process. Even more surprising 

was the mis-handling of the term “organic” itself, where Louks discovered 

that products labeled as organic are often times misleading 

and flat out false. 

“Anytime food is grown for profit, it’s not going to have the value, 

the love, the nourishment as something that we can grow in our own 

backyard,” Louks said. 

Over the course of six years, Louks has continued to grow and diversify 

her backyard garden, creating a truly unique and wholly sustainable 

environment from which she can grow quality foods to make 

healthier meals. 

“This is a total labor of love,” Louks said. “We play every day out 

here. We craft and we are having a blast. But it’s definitely an investment 

of time.” 

Her book came about from her desire to impart her health habits 

onto her kids, a struggle in and of itself. It’s a guide for other families 

who are looking at developing better eating habits based on the 

experiences of her own family. 

“Getting the kids to eat [healthy food] in comparison to a Snickers 

or an Oreo cookie … those hydrogenated fats that are so addictive 

… I had to figure out how to sell it to my kids,” Louks said. “It was 

out of that passion, that love for them that got me to figure out great 

recipes from a ton of research on all these great, healthy, traditional 

foods.” 

In addition to her book, Louks has founded the Malibu Agricultural 

Society, an organization of like-minded local farmers and organic 

health advocates who meet once a month to discuss their experiences 

and share their expertise on sustainable living. 

“It’s been a venue for anyone who moves to Malibu and is interested 

in growing their own food,” Louks said. Many of the members have 

also been involved in advocating for local community and health ordinances, 

including labeling GMO’s, marine protection, rodenticide 

bans and moderating chain stores in the community. 

It’s a wondrous undertaking that Louks seems to hold dear, and 

one that she hopes will continue to grow as the local community 

becomes more invested in healthier eating. Her garden is a unique 

example of how a little ingenuity and hard work can make a huge 

difference in the way we approach our eating habits. 

“There is an incredible joy that comes from being in the garden and 

working in connection with nature that money can’t buy,” Louks 

said. “I think that is important for people to know.” 


It’s past mid-day when I take my leave of the garden and my host. 

It’s been an interesting adventure meeting these two unique individuals 

who embody the farm-to-fork movement to the fullest. It’s a 

modest endeavor with a massive payout, and a small taste of the full 

plate that is Malibu’s food culture.

OUR place 

A PHOTO STORY BY 

JB Maza 

BASED ON 

E.E. CUMMINGS’ 

“LOVE IS A PLACE” 

ART DIRECTION BY ALEXANDER HAYES 

love is a place 

& through this place of 

love move 

(with brightness of peace) 

all places 

49 · CURRENTS

CURRENTS · 50

51 · CURRENTS

yes is a world 

& in this world of 

yes live 

(skilfully curled) 

all worlds 

CURRENTS · 52

53 · CURRENTS

Go to pepperdine-graphic.com and 

apply for jobs under the contacts tabs


BY JB MAZA 

ART BY GARRISON WRIGHT

Focus. 

The one word in the English language 

that causes smoke to come out of my ears. 

Even typing the word causes me angst. 

Due to my attention deficit disorder, or 

ADD, I struggle with focusing, which affects 

my everyday life. Everything takes 

me two times, three times or even ten 

times longer than the average person. 

And by everything, I mean everything. 

From household chores to completing 

homework assignments. It takes me up to 

six hours to clean my dorm room, which 

is a mess due to forgetting to carve out 

time to clean. Frustration is an emotion 

I am all too familiar with. A simple fivepage 

paper can take up to 12 drafts to ensure 

clarity and flow. I constantly forget 

things. I forget to do assignments, where 

I parked my car, if I ate breakfast or what 

someone just said to me five seconds before. 

Frustration. 

Growing up with ADD led me to be 

an angry person who was lost in her 

own thoughts. The tangled web of my 

thoughts get stuck into a bind of confusion 

because my brain tries to process 

everything at the speed of light. There is 

a sense of guilt and anxiety when dealing 

with others who don’t have ADD. Conversation 

and social interactions can be 

extremely difficult. I can look you right 

in the face, give you eye contact and even 

nod like I’m listening and not get a single 

word you just said. Conversations go in 

one ear and out the other. I always feel 

like I’m being rude asking people to repeat 

themselves. 

Some people are not very patient and 

take serious offense to my lack of attention. 

What they do not understand is the 

guilt I feel asking them to accommodate 

this thing my brain does without my 

control. I live with that constant guilt for 

my learning disability causes anxiety and 

worry. 

My pediatrician first introduced the idea 

of ADD to my parents when I was in 

middle school. My mom wanted to try 

more natural approaches to my ADD. I 

took fish oils and a variety of vitamins. 

Lactose milk and all dairy were removed 

from my diet. I still struggled to put away 

a basket of clean clothes in fewer than 

four hours. Homework that was supposed 

to be only two hours would take 

seven hours. My typical day growing 

up was wake up at 7 a.m., go to school, 

participate in sports, come home, then 

start homework immediately. It was always 

me against the clock. I could handle 

shooting a free throw that would decide 

the basketball game better than I could 

the hours of homework I was forced to 

endure. I hated sitting at the kitchen table 

doing work. I was under my mother’s 

careful eye to make sure I focused (there’s 

that word again). To this day, I cannot do 

homework at a desk. It just brings back 

memories of frustrations and tears. Yes, I 

cried over homework. 

I didn’t learn to read until third grade 

due to my ADD. My teachers didn’t have 

the time or energy to sit down with me 

and force me to focus on the words. I 

struggled with my own native language 

English. It is embarrassing sometimes to 

try to formulate a cohesive sentence in a 

language I’ve spoken since the age of 3. 

I had various tutors. I remember specifically 

my writing tutor who was actually a 

speech therapist. He created this booklet 

about how to write a paper and organize 

your ideas. He introduced me to the software 

Inspiration, which is basically like 

spider-webbing essay planning on your 

computer. But that’s not all. I completed 

the whole Hooked on Phonics program. 

My mom forced me to read a chapter 

from any book and write in my journal 

every night. She always made sure to say 

that she would never read my journal, but 

merely flip through the pages to see that 

I had written. I hated this with a burning 

passion. I thought books were torture devices 

meant to teach children to sit still 

for long periods of time. I despised the 

written word and everything associated 

with it. I just wanted to watch TV and 

be left alone. 

After years of this punishment, I looked 

back at some of my old journals. I noticed 

a change, the sophistication of my writing 

style. I was completely shocked. The 

concept of progression was new to me. I 

was used to trying so hard and straining 

every last brain cell to just make it by. It 

changed my view of language. I saw that 

I had power. I possessed an ability to 

CURRENTS · 56

grow and ultimately be successful. I knew 

it would be an uphill battle, but there was 

now an actual possibility. 

For those who may not quite understand, 

here’s the metaphor I use to explain. Imagine 

you are trying to run a mile in fewer 

than seven minutes. Every day you try. Every 

day you fail. Each day you go by, you try 

harder. More effort is exerted. But everyday 

you are 10 seconds slower. No matter what 

you do or who encourages you, it seems like 

an impossible task. Imagine experiencing 

drive, hope, struggle and failure for years. 

People tell you to just try harder. They yell, 

“Focus! Just Focus!” Imagine there are other 

people on the track who just whiz right 

past you without skipping a beat. There is 

no sweat on their brow nor are they out of 

breath. All hope of success is lost. This was 

my struggle until the clearest day of my life. 

The Clearest Moment 

Success was a concept introduced to me 

when I was 16. My mom and I agreed to try 

ADD medication to help me. My frustration 

and anxiety was getting exponentially 

worse. The thought of going to college 

was completely crippling. If I struggled so 

much on a daily basis, how could I move 

away from home and be successful? How 

could I be worth the investment my parents 

would have to make? 


The very first day I took my 

medication was the clearest 

moment of my life thus far. 

I will never forget that day. I 

remember every single detail 

of that day, which is an accomplishment 

in itself. 

I remember getting up on that 

morning looking at the pill 

bottle of Concerta. I thought, 

“Well, here it goes.” Then I went 

to school and about my daily life. It 

wasn’t until lunch, that I had already 

finished a homework assignment during 

my free period. An entire assignment was 

completed in just 55 minutes. Never before 

had I experienced this feeling, a feeling 

of accomplishment. At the time, I just 

thought it was a fluke until I got home that 

day. I got home and changed as I always did. 

But then I sat down and did my homework. 

I actually did my homework. I finished a 

three-page reflection paper, answered some 

science questions after reading the whole 

chapter and began to study for an English 

test I had the following week. All of this 

happened in two hours. Two hours. In 120 

minutes, I accomplished more than ever in 

my entire life. My eyes began to fill with 

tears. 

A huge weight had been lifted. I realized I 

had time to work on my Girl Scout Gold 

Award, which had fallen to the wayside due 

to my lack of time. At this same moment, 

my mom walked through the front door, 

ready to tell me to focus on my homework. 

She saw my project and scolded me for not 

working on my homework. 

“It’s done,” I told her. 

“What do you mean done? I know you 

have a test next week ...” 

“I already started studying for it. It’s done. 

I’m working on my Gold Award project.” 

Her brow furrowed and jaw dropped. This 

concept of sitting down and accomplishing 

a task was completely new to her, too. I 

then remember asking, “Is this what it’s like 

to be like everyone else?” 

Even after the clearest moment, I still 

struggle with ADD. It is something that I 

will struggle with for the rest of my life. I 

will have to ask people to accommodate me 

while learning to structure my life around 

my learning disability. The difference from 

then and now is I own my ADD. I share it 

willing with others. It is not some hidden 

secret that should degrade my intelligence. 

It doesn’t define me. It is just a part of me 

just like my brown hair. 

For those who believe that ADD medication 

is addictive due to its ability to change 

a person’s state of mind, I say it can be. But 

it’s not the drug that is addictive, it’s the 

sense of achievement. Being able to accomplish 

tasks in a reasonable amount of time 

is a serious boost to self-confidence and 

sense of worth. However, with all medications 

there are side-effects. 

Some of the side-effects of Concerta are 

drowsiness, loss of appetite, dizziness, 

nausea, fast heartbeat and chronic trouble 

sleeping. I have experienced each of these. 

The more severe side-effects are joint pain, 

excessive sweating and even heart attack. 

But in my experience, the side-effects of 

life without medications are much worst. 

Loss of motivation, depression and a decline 

in self-confidence can become your 

whole world. It becomes easy, without the 

medication, to get lost in your own jumbled 

train of thought. Trying not to forget assignments 

or meet up with a friends cause 

severe anxiety. Loosing a few hours of sleep 

and keeping a pack of saltines on me is a 

better trade off than the latter. 

Today, I have a system for basically everything 

I do. I have a teacher’s style planner 

that is huge, but I wouldn’t be able to survive 

without it. I learned that I just have to 

do things differently than others, but that 

doesn’t limit my abilities. It is what just 

works for me. I color code my classes. 

My notebooks, folders and even how I 

write them in my planner are each a specific 

color. I keep important things in the same 

place. I always put my keys in my purse or 

on my kitchen table. I set my coffeemaker 

up the night before. I pack my bag for 

school the night before so I don’t forget 

anything. I set everything up so I can be 

successful. I struggle with focusing. Now, I 

know to push through that. 

It is my limitation. Life has caused it to be a 

focus in my life, but it doesn’t consume my 

life or define The building blocks and tools 

I have learned from my ADD have taught 

me that I will be successful in anything I 

strive for.

The Eagles Nest 

BY STASIA DEMICK 

Laced up boots ready to walk 

Ascent upon compact dust 

No physical struggle wrought 

From curiosity intoxication 

[she][he] 

BY LAUREN DAVILA 

Hills rise without slopes 

Thighs burn in dull fervor 

No reprieve until the top 

A perch aware of solitude 

plucked eyebrows 

perfectly groomed. 

gold glitter brightens 

lapis lazuli irises 

set above apple pink cheeks. 

Rock surface sustained in full 

Shrubbery guard thinnest path 

Hands meant to feel stone firm 

Rest upon rigid edges old stone 

Reprieve in dark beyond home 

Eagles nest away from strife 

Gaze upon the city lights 

To recall grandness forgotten 

rollers out of curled hair for 

frizz doesn’t have a home near 

her sea-foam dress — 

white — 

teeth fire lip stain. 

winged eyeliner 

so on point it could cut. 

twirling, giggling, 

bubblegum 

pops. 

CURRENTS · 58

preconceived notions. 

for her batman shirt under the bed 

says what the words floating through her head 

can’t as they strain to burst through society’s glass ceiling. 

but for now, hanging on his every word. 

she feels. 

he longs to feel more than 

eyebrows raised in derision. 

he feels only heat. 

the wandering in a desert, 

can’t breathe it’s so hot 

hellfire is better than this 

kind of heat. 

Heat glazed eyes behind opaque windows 

he concentrates on 

anything but her tittering, 

counting the flames licking 

his toes and fingers 

until they melt off like 

candle wax 

dripping, dripping, dripping. 

there is no cold no heat 

no ice nor fire 

no love nor desire 

not her laugh nor her light 

as he falls, sinks 

melts further into the 

unfeelingness. 


18 

BY CAROL ALBAN 

There’s something ominous about 18. 

Maybe it’s the way the loops curve, 

Making a prison of infinity; 

Maybe it’s the stark contrast 

Between the strictness of soldier one 

And the playfulness of juvenile eight; 

Or maybe it’s that 

I don’t know what I’m doing. 

I’ve spent eighteen years 

Watching, learning, growing, 

But there’s no rulebook in the game of life, 

There’s no manual to fix a broken-down soul. 

And yet I keep on trying. 

Because one day 

Something’s got to stop the crying 

And the dying and the lying 

And the tear-filled goodbying. 

There must be some connection I always skip 

Or a switch I forget to flip. 

If only I could patch all the holes and tighten each screw, 

Then the world would have a brand new view 

On hunger, on pain, 

On illnesss, and selfish gain. 

But my hands are too small 

For all my best intentions 

And I’m much too short to reach 

To pull down the North star 

To give to the lost souls 

Searching for its light. 

And I’ve yet to learn that some things 

Just don’t want to be made whole, 

That I can never fix 

What doesn’t want to heal. 

So while I may be an adult 

In the eyes of the world, 

In my eyes of a child, 

I’m still a little girl. 

I still don’t have the answers 

To all the questions posed, 

And I’ve yet to find the windows 

That opened when some doors closed. 

18 marks the end of innocence and second chances 

But looking back, 

That happened long ago, 

So there must be some things I already know, 

Like the warmth of sunlight 

And the beauty of snow, 

The power of laughter 

To chase dark clouds away 

And the strength it takes 

To face another day, 

Hugs and mugs (of tea, that is) 

With books, curled in nooks create peacefulness 

But still comes the call: 

“World Peace! Fight Hunger!” 

The greatest lesson I’ve yet to learn 

Is that I don’t have to do it all. 

So come 18 with paradoxes and parodies, 

Perhaps another year will answer all of these.

Support Group 

A man sat on his plastic chair waiting 

for the group to arrive. He twiddled his 

fingers, crossed his legs, uncrossed them. 

The man often facilitated these kinds of 

support groups but never had he been so 

fortunate to work with such important 

people before. That is why he twiddled 

his fingers so vigorously and couldn’t sit 

still for more than a few seconds. 

The room was in the basement of an old, 

forgotten bar and just as easily could have 

been the location for one of those illegal 

gambling operations you see so often in 

the movies. For the support group’s particular 

needs however, the man had the 

room touched up a bit — to give it a 

more comfortable feel of sorts. The lone 

dangling light bulb in the middle of the 

small square room, for instance, had been 

removed entirely and replaced with a 

simple tabletop lamp placed in the middle 

of the desk they were to congregate 

around. Where there were cracks in the 

wall, the man covered them with abstractly 

inspirational paintings and posters 

of birds, flowers and the like. Instead 

of the old, decaying wooden chairs that 

had been there for years apparently, the 

man brought in five plastic, red chairs. It 

was all rather simple and slightly familiar 

but of course, that was the goal — to 

give these great men a space where they 

could share their stories and frustrations 

without thrusting them into a forced 

spotlighted space. 

The man took a good, long look at the 

clock on the wall. The hands indicated 

that it was four minutes to 9 p.m. His 

anxiety was beginning to lift as he looked 

around the quaint room and concluded 

silently to himself that this would more 

than suffice these men’s worldly needs. 

Some coffee and donuts were carefully 

laid out on the desk in the middle of 

the red chairs. The man went to grab for 

the lone jelly-filled donut when the door 

to the room swung open and the first 

member of this exclusive support group 

walked in. 

He was a darker man and the support 

BY ELLIOT BASSILE 

group leader immediately recognized 

him. As he slowly unraveled his turban, 

Muhammad opened his mouth to speak. 

“Damn, there’s nothing like taking this 

thing off at the end of a long day man.” 

The support group facilitator jumped up 

to welcome the prophet. 

“Hello, my name is Ron. It is an absolute 

pleasure and honor to meet you and work 

with you tonight Muhammad. I can call 

you Muhammad right?” 

Muhammad gave a short, corner-of-themouth 

smile as he shook Ron’s hand. 

“Of course you can, surely you wouldn’t 

be able to pronounce the whole thing 

now, would you, Ronald?” 

Ron nodded his head, half in agreement, 

half in shame. This Muhammad guy really 

is as intense as they say, he thought 

to himself. 

“Yes … yes you’re right about that. Well 

take a seat please, Muhammad. Grab 

a donut, a cup of coffee, make yourself 

comfortable, and we’ll give the others 

some more time to show up.” 

At this, Muhammad picked up the final 

jelly donut and devoured it as he stared 

Ronald in the eyes, as if he knew of the 

minor torment he was causing his host. 

Mere seconds later, and to Ronald’s utter 

relief, the next man walked through 

the door. Again, there was no mistaking 

him for anyone else, it was Shiva. He had 

a snake draped around his neck and was 

wearing a tank top one could find at Urban 

Outfitters. Ronald, half expecting the 

snake, was more taken aback by the tank 

top. 

Shiva wears wife beaters, Ronald thought 

to himself incredulously. As if reading the 

slight shock on Ron’s face but mistaking 

its source for something else, Shiva addressed 

Ron in a soft, apologetic tone. 

“Good evening, I am Shiva, and this is my 

snake Vasuki. I hope he does not frighten 

you too much. Parvati, my wife, is out 

with her friends tonight and couldn’t care 

for him as she usually does, and we only 

had enough money for the kids’ babysitter. 

I could not find a snake sitter at an 

affordable price.” 

He paused as if waiting for a reaction 

from Ron and Muhammad but they just 

stared. Then Shiva broke down laughing 

at his own joke, sputtering about how ridiculous 

an idea a snake sitter was. Ron 

joined in to make the mood slightly more 

bearable, but Muhammad kept eating his 

donut, eyeing Shiva up and down. 

“What’s with the tank top, bro?” Muhammad 

finally said, jelly stuck in the 

corner of his lips and all. 

“What do you mean?” Shiva answered 

somewhat taken aback. 

Before anything could escalate though, 

Ron stepped in. 

“Um, I believe that Muhammad was only 

inquiring about its brand, Shiva.” 

Muhammad shot Ron a dirty look but 

did not press the matter. Instead, he 

reached for a napkin and cleaned his face 

of the jelly that had so generously been 

spread across it. 

“Damn, that’s a great f------ donut,” he 

finally said. 

Meanwhile, Shiva was beginning to address 

the subject of his tank top but was 

interrupted by Jesus’ arrival. 

Ron, a fervent fan of his work, jumped 

up when he caught sight of the illustrious 

bearded man. 

“Wow, what a pleasure! I wasn’t sure if 

your schedule was going to allow you to 

make it, Jesus, but welcome. And I must 

say it is quite the honor meeting you.” 

CURRENTS · 60

Jesus was wearing dark blue slacks and a plain 

white dress shirt with a tie just barely hanging 

off it. He almost looked like an intern returning 

home from another difficult day at the office. 

Ron struggled with his next words, 

“You are much more…” he began but quickly 

ended, realizing the somewhat boorish words 

that were about to come out of his mouth. 

“Brown?” Jesus finished his thought for him. 

Ron’s face lit up red as shame engulfed his body. 

“I’m so sorry, Jesus, that was inconsiderate of me, 

I …” Ron began. 

“Be calm my child, you did me no harm. I am 

pretty brown. It can be a little shocking if you 

grew up with the pictures of me with the fair 

skin and blue eyes and all that. You are forgiven,” 

he declared as he made the sign of the cross over 

Ron’s face. 

Jesus continued, 

“I bumped into Siddhartha on my way in here. 

He’s sitting below that big tree outside with his 

eyes closed. Says he needs ‘to be in a compassionate 

state of mind before sitting down with 

everyone.’ I really love that guy.” 

Almost on cue, the door opened one more time 

to reveal the chubby, smiling man known as the 

Buddha. 

“Speaking of the devil,” Ron exclaimed. He was 

finding it more and more difficult to conceal his 

excitement. 

The Buddha spoke, 

“Oh, please don’t tell me the Devil is coming. 

I’ve tried leveling with that guy a few times, but 

he’s such a downer.” 

“No, no, I only meant it in a manner of speech. 

This is everyone for tonight’s session,” Ron clarified. 

The men sat quietly for a few minutes. Through 

the shuffling of feet and the mild uneasiness 

however, these strong leaders slowly ramped 

up the volume as they exchanged pleasantries, 

while others caught up after years of not talking. 

Eventually, after taking the time to watch and 

gauge the situation, Ron spoke up, 

“Hello everyone, once again, I am Ron, and I’m 

so happy to see all of your brave faces here tonight. 

I’m sure you are all well aware but I just 

wanted to reassure you that this is a safe space. 

I want you guys to feel comfortable in sharing 

whatever needs sharing. Tonight, you no longer 

support everyone else, you now get to support 

yourselves!” 

For some reason, Ron had expected an explosion 

of applause and howls of unity but the men 

just looked around at each other in mild dismay. 

Hampered yet motivated, Ron continued, 

“OK, that sounded a lot better in my head, but 

you guys get it. It can get tiring carrying the 

weight of the world on your shoulders, so tonight 

we can chill out and discuss your own issues.” 

A hand shot up. 

“Yes Jesus, go ahead,” Ron said. 

Jesus wet his lips before speaking. 

“My biggest issue recently might seem simple or 

a tad ‘meh’ to everyone, but I feel like I’ve reached 

my limit with it. People really need to stop using 

my name as a curse word or as a way to verbalize 

their bewilderment. Whatever happened to 

‘never use the Lord’s name in vain’? I mean, I 

may not be the Lord, but I am his son after all.” 

Before Ron or anyone else could answer with 

some kind of advice or comfort, Jesus continued. 

“Like … Ron what’s your last name?” 

Ron opened his mouth. 

“OK, so you are Ronald Howard,” Jesus continued 

without waiting for an answer he already 

had. Ron kept his mouth closed despite Jesus 

getting his name slightly wrong. “Imagine if 

every time someone got caught in traffic they 

shouted ‘Ronald Howard!’ with so much venom 

mind you. It’s unsettling to say the least.” 

Muhammad spoke up. 

“I second that!” 

“What do you mean,” Shiva replied “I’ve never 

heard anyone shout ‘Muhammad!’ while in traffic.” 

Muhammad eyed Shiva up and down again, 

pausing at the tank top that, so visibly to the rest 

61 · CURRENTS

of the room, grated at his sensibilities. 

“Yes … I know this Shiva but my issue is 

similar. I’m tired of people taking property 

over my name and image.” 

“Yeah. Those ‘South Park’ guys were so 

mean,” Buddha calmly commented. Sitting 

next to Muhammad, Buddha reached his 

arm out to pat him on the shoulder. 

“Actually, I was talking about the people 

who complained about that. It’s flattering 

to even be on TV; I feel like a pop culture 

icon for once and I gotta say, it feels nice. 

I mean, look at Jesus and Buddha, ‘Family 

Guy’ has you,” Muhammad pointed at 

Jesus, “performing magic tricks and adventuring 

with Peter Griffin while Buddha’s 

brand has exploded in recent years. With 

this New Age boom in the West, no offense 

Buddha, but a fat, bald guy from India is 

now practically a sex symbol for thousands 

and thousands of beautiful, flexible yoga 

practicing ladies.” 

The Buddha gave a wry smile, 

“No offense taken” he said. 

“I don’t know. It’s just frustrating, man. To 

be this famous Last Prophet and only get 

mentioned when discussing fatwas and jihadists 

is really depressing.” 

“On that same token,” Shiva began “why 

does Buddha get all this reverence for the 

yoga craze? I mean I was doing yoga before 

he was even born. And — and … while you 

were growing up a prince and screwing all 

the women in your kingdom, you know indulging 

the senses, I was still doing yoga. 

No offense by the way.” 

“None taken whatsoever” Buddha said once 

more with a cheeky smile on his face. Ron 

noticed that he seemed to be enjoying this 

meeting more than the others. 

“Thank you three for sharing your complaints. 

As you can all tell, you share similar 

struggles but now you can stand up and say 

‘No more!’ No more supporting the people 

of the world only to be marginalized, 

simplified or ignored. In this space, we love 

ourselves, we support ourselves. You are 

beautiful and fantastic religious leaders.” 

“Here, heres” could be heard around the 

room. Though it was only the first meeting, 

Ron thought this was going splendidly. He 

was actually helping these amazing men 

who had helped so many others. He turned 

his attention to Buddha. 

“Buddha, do you have anything you’d like 

to share or discuss?” 

The Buddha began, 

“Well, I would just like to thank Muhammad 

and Shiva for the kind words.” For the 

first time, Muhammad and Shiva seemed 

to connect on a decent level as their eyes 

met while they simply shook their heads 

“and to you Jesus — bravo! I am a fan of 

your work. We should collaborate sometime. 

With your preachings on forgiveness 

and my expertise in compassion, we could 

be the next Bert and Ernie!” 

“… interesting comparison, to say the least, 

but I thank you all the same, o’ enlightened 

one,” Jesus kindly replied. 

Ron felt the need to interject once more, 

“I am sure everyone here appreciates the 

kind words, Buddha. Do you have any issues 

though that you’d like to discuss?” 

“Well, I hope this doesn’t offend, but what 

the hell were you thinking with that tank 

top, Shiva? It’s just incredibly difficult to 

take you seriously with your chest hair 

crawling out from beneath what little you 

have on and staring me in the face.” 

A “here, here” could be heard from Muhammad’s 

side of the room. 

Buddha continued, 

“I mean we’ve all been known to don a good 

robe now and again but this is supposed to 

be a comfortable space for everyone. Not 

just for you and your incredible chest hair.” 

Shiva, somewhat taken aback, replied, 

“To be honest everyone, I thought I was 

making a solid fashion statement that just 

went hand in hand with what we are trying 

to achieve here, but I get it, point taken. 

Vasuki tried to warn me before we left 

tonight, but I just said, ‘You’re just a snake, 

what do you know?’ I guess he knows more 

than I thought.” 

Vasuki, now sunning himself by the lamp 

in the middle of the table, simply hissed in 

delight. 

Jesus consoled the Hindu god, 

“Don’t fret my child, you are forgiven.” 

For the final time of the night, Ron spoke 

up. 

“Thank you, Buddha, for bringing your 

issue to the rest of us. While not exactly 

what I was intending when I said ‘issue,’ 

it’s good to see that you all can air out your 

differences in a kind, gentle manner. Now 

to wrap up our first session, I’d like to go 

around the table and have everyone give us 

one word to take away from this meeting, 

something that will hopefully help us stay 

strong until next week’s gathering. Shiva, 

we’ll start with you.” 

Still a little shaken but sitting proudly he 

said, 

“Modesty” 

Buddha said, 

“Pride” 

Jesus said, 

“Unity” 

And Muhammad said, 

“Understanding.” 

With that, the group split. Ron was happy 

with the first session and felt a certain confidence. 

He believed that, with continued 

meetings, he could get them all to follow 

his own Church. 

L. Ron Hubbard chuckled to himself as 

he climbed into his spaceship and thought 

about Jesus mistaking him for a successful 

filmmaker. 

CURRENTS · 62

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