Backstory: The Hungry Pigeon

How one of Philly’s best restaurants came to be

By Maeve Pascoe

The owner of the Hungry Pigeon restaurant in Philadelphia, Scott Schroeder, has mastered the art of cooking, running a business, and being sarcastic after many years in the food industry.

The Hungry Pigeon is the creation of two friends: Schroeder and Pat O’Malley. It was their dream project for 13 years, and now it is a well-run dinner and brunch spot that serves American food and pastries – critical praise.

Schroeder, who lived in Detroit until age 20, dreamt of becoming a rock star. “When I graduated high school I kind of fucked off for a summer and didn’t really do much of anything. I was playing music in, like, punk rock bands and stuff.”

Schroeder had never really thought about what he would do if his career in rock didn’t work out. But when his dad got him a job working for a highly celebrated Detroit chef, Brian Polson, Schroeder took it. “It was kind of the first time I ever saw what actually happened in real kitchens.”

After Schroeder worked for Polson for around three years, he still felt lost. “It was not love at first sight. I didn’t feel like it was something I was going to do,” he recalled.

Schroeder was directionless, so when his friends in Philly were looking for another roommate, he decided to move in with them. “I said ‘Sure, why not?’ I had just broken up with my girlfriend and a weird thing happened with my roommates so I had to move back in with my parents.”

When he got to Philadelphia, Schroeder had about $300 and a job interview. “I had to figure everything out. And so, my first job was working for Jack McDavid at Jack’s Firehouse.”

Chefs Scott Schroeder & Pat O’Malley of the Hungry Pigeon

After working there for about a month, Schroeder was fired, so he found another job at Caribou Café under a chef who had worked for McDavid. “She said don’t worry, he fires everybody. You just lost your cooking virginity in Philadelphia,” said Schroeder.

Schroeder liked working at the Caribou Café but didn’t find it exciting. After about a year and a half he went to work at Jake’s, a prestigious restaurant in Manayunk. “That was kind of where I fell in love with cooking,” said Schroeder.

The environment at Jake’s was highly competitive. “No one was over the age of 30,” said Schroeder. For him, it was the first time the creativity of food replaced the creativity of music. “I started really getting into it and taking it seriously,” he said.

Schroeder met his first wife at Jake’s, and the two got married and moved back out to Detroit. Schroeder worked as a baker at a catering company, but felt that Detroit didn’t have the same career options as Philly.

So, after just three years, Schroeder moved to Philly again. He worked for several chefs before becoming a sous chef for Georges Perrier and as Chef de Cuisine at a restaurant called Passio, where he met Pat O’Malley. “I wasn’t a very good sous chef,” said Schroeder. “I had trouble being like, half a boss versus being like the whole boss. I kind of have an authority problem I developed earlier in life.”

Schroeder and O’Malley talked about opening up a restaurant themselves, but they were young and had no money and no idea how to actually do it. Eventually, O’Malley moved to New York, but the two kept in touch. “We still hung out and I would see him in New York and he would come to visit Philly,” Schroeder said, “and we would always go spend a lot of time eating and drinking and talking about still opening a restaurant.”

In the meantime, Schroeder got his first job as a chef working at a restaurant called Juice. Eventually though, he got fired. “I got fired a lot, I guess,” said Schroeder.

He then went on to work at several different Philadelphia restaurants, such as the World Tavern, Madison, and Southwark. “I kind of like bopped around and helped my friends in their kitchens,” said Schroeder.

Schroeder feels that a job he had at the South Philly Tap was a big turning point in his career. It was a newer restaurant at the time, and Schroeder had great success working there.

“No one knew what it was but it was really trying to be a good beer bar,” he said. “The owner let me fully take over the kitchen and do whatever I wanted. He gave me no restrictions.”

After 10 years of working at the taproom, they opened a sardine bar. Schroeder got to design the menu, picking what was on it and what it looked like. “It gave me the confidence to realize I could open my own place,” said Schroeder.

O’Malley and Schroeder began to take the idea of opening their own restaurant more seriously. “We still didn’t have much money,” said Schroeder, “but we felt a little more resourceful, a little more equipped.”

The two found a place on South Fourth Street with a landlord who was willing to work with them. “So then we just did it,” said Schroeder.

O’Malley is a pastry chef baker and handles money, and Schroeder deals with savory foods and service. “But we kind of cross paths in those and neither of us are solely responsible for too much,” says Schroeder.

The Hungry Pigeon

Since the restaurant opened, Schroeder’s job has switched from being a line cook chef to behind the scenes orchestrating. He cooks less but is still very involved with the food. “I have two sous chefs and I direct things to them,” he said, “but I certainly try to stay out of the kitchen because one, I’m older and, two, it kind of puts the blinders on. If I’m in the kitchen that’s the only thing I’m doing.”

Schroeder has also become in charge of public relations at the Hungry Pigeon. “I do that stupid Instagram stuff,” he said. In addition, he runs events and communicates with employees and customers. “If we have an event, probably nine times out of ten I thought of it, promoted it, organized it, staffed it, prepped for it, and then ran it and went home afterwards.”

“And that’s where we’re at now,” said Schroeder. “It’s been a pretty successful endeavor. We’ve gotten many accolades and maintained business pretty well for four years.”

The two business partners are also working on expanding into a bakery and Schroeder is working on a separate bar project in Center City.

Although he has ultimate say in what goes on the menu, Schroeder leaves a lot of the planning to his employees as a way of encouraging them to do what they want.

“I think that’s a good way to train people and also get them to realize how to get an idea in your head into something that actually tastes good,” Schroeder said.

The menu at the Hungry Pigeon changes based on the time of year and what foods are available. In addition, the food at the Hungry Pigeon is all locally sourced except for citrus and herbs. “What is available is what is on the menu,” Schroeder said.

The wintertime can be difficult because food options are more limited. “You’re planning a menu and all of a sudden they’re just out of brussels sprouts and you’re not really left with anything but turnips, some beans and kale,” Schroeder said.

This time of year, the Hungry Pigeon sees a lot of potatoes, dried legumes, rice, and pickled things. Sometimes, they have to get creative and use what they have saved from other seasons. They keep containers of dried peppers and spices stacked on top of each other in the basement.

A lot of the foods in the walk-in refrigerator are also saved from previous seasons. Large jars of various pickled foods sit next to bottles of wine.

After an order is taken, a server will put it into an order screen located on the wall in the main dining area. The order will then immediately pop up in the kitchen where a printer system is located. Once the order is printed, the chefs will begin preparing the meal.

Schroeder believes that in order for the restaurant to run smoothly, every person has to work hard. “Everyone works hard or no one works hard. If one person doesn’t work hard then everyone is screwed,” he says.

Schroeder recalled the time he turned 21 and burned carrots working in a restaurant. “I couldn’t go out with the guys and drink beer that night. I was removed from the group,” he laughed.

The kitchen at the Hungry Pigeon is consistently busy. There are five workers and not much room to move around. One chef uses a flat top grill to flip brussels sprouts so they are cooked evenly. Another sautés onion slices in oil. “Everyone who works here is a worker bee and if you’re not then it won’t work out,” says Schroeder.

Schroeder’s job on a Thursday night consists mainly of picking up the slack and filling in where he needs to. He runs some orders out to their tables and stops to talk to a bartender, who is using a machine to crush ice for a mojito.

The bar, in the main dining area at the front of the house, has a wall lined with alcohol bottles and coffee mugs on wooden shelves.

The most popular dish that Schroeder runs that night is the Sweet Amalia oyster dish — $18 of eastern oysters from a New Jersey farm served with a ginger sauce. He describes it as “\the best oyster on planet earth.”

The twice-baked squash also seems to be a popular option, with breadcrumbs and Birchrun Hills Farm Red Cat, a mild, rich cheese.

Schroeder runs a tortilla Española out to another table. It’s shrimp and mayonnaise, butter, and potatoes.

“Holey smokes!” Schroeder exclaimed as he put the food down on the table. His old friend from a restaurant job was there and had ordered the food with his wife and parents.

The five of them had been talking for a while when Schroeder was asked about how they came up with the name for the Hungry Pigeon. “There are two stories,” he said. “One of them is gross and inappropriate. I’ll spare you the details, but it involves Urban Dictionary, breadcrumbs, and a sexual act.”

After talking with them, Schroeder gave a mini restaurant tour. There is just one dining area, with lots of tables for two or four people as well as one long, communal table in the back.

The walls are baby blue, except for behind the bar, which is brick. The communal table is surrounded by pigeon art. Schroeder commissioned various artists to create pigeon-themed art for the wall in exchange for a dinner and VIP status for life. “I don’t know what VIP status is,” he said. “I just made that up.”

Lightbulbs hang in bird cages above the communal table. Schroeder says they get many compliments on them, but the reason they chose the birdcages as light fixtures was actually to save money.

Schroeder’s wife and O’Malley’s girlfriend helped with the design of the space, although they get the final say as the owners. “I don’t have any taste whatsoever,” Schroeder laughed.

The business has lots of moving parts, but the Hungry Pigeon runs smoothly. And Schroeder likes being the boss. “There are times that it’s demanding, but there is a lot of freedom in it,” he said.

Schroeder doesn’t really see himself as ever retiring, although he wants to get to a point where he is more removed from the day-to-day operations at the Hungry Pigeon. In 10 years, he hopes to own a few more places but still be mentoring people.

“I would like to get to a point where I just walk in and taste a couple things and maybe have a glass of wine,” he said. “And you know, I don’t want to work 60-hour weeks forever.”

For now, the Hungry Pigeon is Schroeder’s success story and a dream come true that Schroeder runs with hard work and a sense of humor.

Maeve Pascoe covers food topics in Philadelphia.

 

An Interfaith Chaplain at a Non Religious School?

It can be done Chaplain Nora Wood believes, even at Bryn Mawr

By Katelyn Schlefke             

Religious is not the first word that anyone would use to describe Bryn Mawr College. Chances are it isn’t the second or third either.

The image that comes to mind for many students when asked to imagine the stereotypical Bryn Mawr student is a young, liberal, progressive woman dedicated to feminism and social justice.

Most people would say that religion has no place in that picture, but according to the college’s Interfaith Chaplain Nora Woods, this isn’t necessarily the case. Many Americans view religious beliefs and political beliefs as things that go hand in hand: if you’re a liberal, you’re not religious, and if you’re a conservative, you are religious.

Woods has a very different opinion. “I don’t think the story that religiosity and conservatism have always gone together is even remotely true.” said Woods, “I think it’s an American story of the most recent decades.”

Nora Woods

Woods doesn’t fit the stereotypical idea of a religious administrator at an American college. She’s a fairly young Jewish woman, a self-proclaimed progressive, and a member of the LGBT community.

According to Bryn Mawr College’s website, Woods is currently in her final year of study at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College and will be ordained as a Reconstructionist Rabbi in June.

Woods summed up her job on Bryn Mawr’s campus with the following three roles: “Pastoral care, support person, multi-faith community.”

The first role, provider of pastoral care, consists of providing support to individual members of Bryn Mawr’s community.

For Woods, “Spiritual care is about helping people think through: what is it you believe in? How do you make sense of the world? But in a more meta way.”

Her belief is that many people have religious ideals, but that they don’t always live their everyday lives in perfect accordance with those ideals. Her job in this regard is to help students to practice whatever religious traditions they follow in a way that is more authentic and true to themselves.

“If a student tells me, ‘What I believe in is Islam,’” said Woods, “my job is to help them be a more rooted and strong Muslim.”

Her role as a support person is in regards to student-run religious organizations on campus.

“Due to the fact that we do self-government here, I’m not the one running those groups.” said Woods, referring to religious life organizations run by students, “But if they need help organizing or with resources, I’m here for them.”

Her final role as the facilitator of a multi-faith community is both the most difficult to fulfill and one of the most important.

For Woods, organizing a multi-faith community is about forming relationships between the different faith groups present on campus and hopefully creating some friendships in order to open a healthy dialogue on controversial issues that doesn’t lead to pointless arguments.

Woods acknowledges, however, that this won’t be an easy goal to accomplish.

“A thing people do is say ‘I want to have friendships across differences,’ then seek out someone different from them and then try to talk about the things they don’t have in common.” said Woods, “And shockingly that doesn’t go well.”

The solution, according to Woods, is to form relationships that have nothing to do with the topics these groups disagree about before trying to discuss their differences.

Woods believes the way to do this is to have members of different religious life organizations perform some sort of “outward facing service work” together to serve the larger community in order to encourage them to see each other as humans rather than as the enemy.

“All these religious groups on campus believe that everybody ought to have access to food and housing,” said Woods, “So we’re going to go to a soup kitchen and work as a team, and they can chat together, and have the experience of serving people who are experiencing something really devastating at the moment.”

The hope is that exercises such as this will be a bonding experience that will build bridges between groups that otherwise would never have reason to communicate.

In the midst of all this discussion about connecting various religious groups together arises the original issue: Bryn Mawr College, on the surface level, doesn’t appear to have much religious life at all.

On an institutional level, Woods believes this is the result of historical precedent.

“A lot of this came from the explicit, anti-religious polemic of M. Carey Thomas,” said Woods, with a sarcastic tone, “She had a lot of ideas. Many good, a lot not so great.”

Thomas, Bryn Mawr’s second president, held many racist and anti-Semitic views, which Woods knows all too well as a Jewish woman herself.

However, this anti-religious attitude is not just a Bryn Mawr problem, but rather something that affects many institutions of higher learning.

Bryn Mawr was conceived early on as a non-religious school, and according to Woods, “That then put the school on a trajectory that was more concerned with a particular type of academia that often scoffed at religiosity as being unscientific or soft, and that’s not specific to Bryn Mawr, I think that’s kind of a thing.”

However, Woods also believes that academia as a whole has recently become more open to religious beliefs as a component of intellectual life. To her, religion and an academically rigorous life don’t have to be mutually exclusive.

“I think there’s culturally a moment, now, where people can understand that you can be both religious and academically rigorous, religious and scientific,” said Woods.

This still leaves the original issue, however: how can a community of young liberal women integrate religion into their lives?

To Woods, this is a non-issue. One that reveals both America’s Christian-centric systems of thought and the religious right’s success at claiming religion as something that is only for them.

“I think the religious right, a very particular brand of conservative Christianity, have been incredibly successful in the last three or four decades of their campaign saying that to be religious is to then be a certain kind of conservative.” said Woods, with a gesture of emphasis.

In Woods’ opinion, this is not the case. She pointed out that there are and have been many liberals and progressives who have held very strong religious beliefs.

“If you look at many social justice movements and progressive movements, religions have been at the center,” said Woods, “The standard example is the civil rights movement, a movement that was largely organized through church based communities.”

Even the Catholic Church, which many view as one of the most conservative organizations in America due to its stance on gay marriage and abortion, can be seen as historically liberal in some ways, such as economic policy.

“You have the Catholic Workers party, which has for years done incredibly ground breaking work when it comes to economic policy and immigration policy,” said Woods, “so even within those conservative blocks there is some complexity and nuance.”

This is just within the Christian world. Thinking outside the American tendency to treat “religion” and “Christianity” as synonyms, there is even more of a basis for liberal politics within religious groups.

“There have been very politically active, liberal and progressive Rabbis in religious and Jewish communities forever,” said Woods, “and I think that’s also true in a number of other faith traditions as well.”

Given all of this, combined with her personal experience as a Jewish woman, Woods has never had an issue with living as both religious and progressive. Nor has she felt any conflict between her religion and her sexuality.

“I believe the most significant forces of the world are about compassion, empathy, and love, and that draws me to the conclusions of radical acceptance in general and generosity, and I see that best reflected in more progressive political causes,” said Woods, “I don’t have to do work of reconciliation, for me these things naturally flow together.”

However, while it’s all well and good to acknowledge that religion has been an integral part of many liberal movements, this does not erase the fact that religion has also been used to justify many horrible actions and policies in the past.

Woods also acknowledges that those who follow certain religious traditions have to recognize and be aware of the damage that has been done in the name of their faith.

To her, this is just part of being a responsible citizen of the modern world.

However, this doesn’t mean that a religion should be defined by the bad rather than the good. Woods uses a reality TV trope as an analogy to explain this particular idea.

“There’s this really common trope of reality TV where there will be people living together, and someone will have a moment of weakness where they’ll say something really awful, and everyone will say, ‘she showed her true colors,’” explained Woods, “and I’m always like ‘This is so disconnected. Why is it that someone’s worst moment is what we take as the true reflection of who they are?’”

According to Woods, the way to reconcile these two concepts is for each person to follow the religious tradition that feels authentic to them, while remembering to acknowledge the bad that goes along with it.

Woods also believes that incorporating spirituality into one’s life doesn’t necessarily have to involve an organized religion. Instead what it’s about is finding the things that make an individual person feel more connected to themselves and the world.

“If someone wants to have a spiritual practice that works for them, but organized religion just isn’t, I would say, ‘Great, tell me about the times that you have felt connected to something bigger than yourself, tell me about the times that you have felt awe. Tell me about the times that you have felt small in a way that is comforting and not diminishing,’” said Woods.

The idea is to use these moments of awe and connection to create a spiritual practice that is personalized and adapted to the things that cause this person to feel that way.

Woods is also not overly concerned with putting specific labels on people’s religious beliefs.

“It’s not my job to assign labels to people, it’s not my job to decide for people what they are,” said Woods, “It’s my job to make people feel connected and heard.”

Ideas like these are specifically prevalent in liberal communities like Bryn Mawr’s, which are generally less committed to following precedent without question.

After justifying the idea that liberals can also be religious, Woods pointed out that even though they’re not as visible as they could be, there are religious life organizations on campus.

The problem is that each of these organizations keeps to themselves and therefore religion as a whole isn’t recognized as a big part of the Bryn Mawr community, even though in some ways, it already is.

“As it is now, people are really siloed and a bit myopic, so they only see, ‘I know the 20 other Jews’ or ‘I know the five other Seventh Day Adventists’ or ‘the 12 other Muslims’ or whatever, that come to meetings.” said Woods, “So they don’t realize ‘Ooh, actually there are a couple hundred students who are actively involved with their faith tradition.’”

The problem is not a lack of religion, it’s a lack of an integrated religious community.

It’s Woods’s belief that the way to fix this invisibility of religion is to create relationships that allow faith groups to stand together. Which returns to the idea of a multi-faith community.

Woods believes that creating a multi-faith community is the way to bring religious life back to the center of Bryn Mawr’s community. She hopes the program she’s creating now to allow different faith groups to perform community service activities together will do just that.

“If I have peeled potatoes with you, and we’ve helped each other, then when you and I disagree about gay marriage, then we have some degree of trust and mutual respect where we can have that conversation.” said Woods, “when you see me as a person, then I can really talk to you.”

Woods’ hope is that once these relationships have been formed and different groups are better able to communicate with each other respectfully and in full view of the community, Bryn Mawr can show the world that young, liberal, feminist women can be religious, too.

Katelyn Schlefke writes about diversity issues at Bryn Mawr

 

The Passion of Stephen Fried

The journalist and author has spent a lifetime pursuing stories about people

By Colin Battis 

“I stayed by the phone that entire time, just waiting to be sued. A week, maybe ten days later, I got a call from the main source, who was a medical examiner. He told me she had confessed, and nobody else knew. I remember I fell on the ground in my office crying, because I realized at that point how worried I was, ‘cause we hadn’t heard anything, that we had gotten some major thing wrong.”

Stephen Fried speaks casually about solving the largest-ever case involving children killed by their own mother, sitting in an office that seems like that of a stereotypical professor or academic. Every available surface of desk, shelf, or windowsill seems weighed down by books, magazines, or sticky notes.

Some of that material relates to Fried’s latest project: a foray into history to write an acclaimed biography of Dr. Benjamin Rush, a signer of the Declaration of Independence and important figure in treating mental illness.

As he leans back in his chair, Fried’s face is accidentally framed next to a bobblehead figure of himself, which does a great job of capturing his shock of curly white hair and the eyebrows that arch sternly above his glasses.

Author and Journalist Stephen Fried

There are a few concessions to the accomplishments of his 40-year career in journalism- framed newspaper articles and magazine covers, copies of his own books, and a cluster of awards. One of those awards is a medal from the Vidocq Society, an organization of forensic professionals specializing in cold cases, given to him for his investigation of a woman who had killed eight of her ten children and had gotten away with it, fooling authorities into believing it was a tragic case of SIDS.

This is the story Fried is currently caught up in telling, having passed the part where he turned over his material to the police and just now caught up to when the killer confessed to her crimes.

“People always said that this woman is either the most sympathetic woman in history and we were reopening every one of her wounds, 30 years later,” Fried said. “Or this is the worst unsolved crime in the history of being a mom, in which case you are saving the memories of the most kids ever killed by the person who gave birth to them…”

Though he might look perfectly suited to the stereotype of a ‘writer’, Fried is harder to pin down in person, leaning back in his office chair and seeming to enjoy each question that comes his way as an exercise in dissecting his own career. He pivots from decade to decade, jumping from high to low points as he questions or looks back fondly on his own decisions and strokes of luck.

To one side, a table of signed basketballs and other souvenirs hints at the game of half-court he and a group of friends have been playing three times a week for 27 years. Like everything else in his life, including marriage to novelist Diane Ayres and “playing the cool uncle” to his numerous nieces and nephews, the half-court tradition has at one time or another been fed into Fried’s passion. His writing.

“When you write for newspapers or magazines, you write so many stories you can’t even remember the ones people don’t still talk about… This is personal work, its hand work. There’s nothing machine made about it, and there’s a lot of different places where things could have been better or different.”

Fried isn’t being unnecessarily modest, it’s more that he’s matter-of-fact. When something touches every aspect of your life like writing does for the Philadelphia journalist, it becomes a natural extension of yourself. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Fried, who often refers to people as “characters” and who describes major events in his life in terms of what stories he was working on at the time, is driven to capture reality on the page.

“Mostly what I’m looking for are pieces that are long, character driven, and that feel like you’re watching a movie but it’s all in words,” Fried says. “I’m a very nosy person. I wanted to tell stories that looked at characters in all their depth.”

That interest in people is what led him early on to begin writing stories that examined mental illness, a journalistic focus that has been present throughout his career.

“It’s very clear that mental illness and addiction are so much a part of the landscape, and a part of it that people don’t know how to report on,” he said. “From the very beginning, all I was looking for was to be accurate to that.”

Fried encountered this reality with his first magazine story to gain major attention. “Over the Edge,” published in 1984, dove into the lives of five Bucks County teenagers, three of whom killed themselves over a short span of time.

Fried now speaks with a mixture of admiration and relief for his younger self when remembering his time investigating those events. During his reporting, he gained access to the tape two teenage boys had made of the hours leading up to their mutual suicide — though at 26, “I didn’t realize I’d basically been handed a holy grail… [That] story is always going to be the best thing I ever did, just because I was so young and so impossibly in over my head… and it still matters today. There aren’t that many stories that really go inside a set of suicides.”

With the reader response to the stories on mental health he continued to pursue, “I started viewing myself as a writer of cautionary tales about mental illness and addiction, tales that would engross readers but also have a really good reason for being retold,” Fried said.

Just last spring, he taught his own course at Penn on writing about mental health- a personal goal throughout the many years he has spent teaching journalism and mentoring graduate students at Columbia and Penn, an aspect of his career he has maintained for nearly 20 years, though he does play modest about it.

“I never wanted to be a full time teacher. I feel like I’m a decent teacher who comes from industry, and can offer certain kinds of teaching for certain kinds of people,” he said. ”I’m interested in trying to teach other people to do this journalism in a way that doesn’t overburden it, but takes it seriously.”

 

Colin Battis is a Haverford College student covering literary Philadelphia.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To Be the First

The first to enter a world no one in your family has entered before.

By Kathryn Gonzales 

Ana Fuentes, 17, will be the first in her family to graduate high school, but instead of pride she feels the pressure of success that has been growing as she has achieved more than her parents ever could.

A senior at Furness High School in South Philadelphia, Fuentes was raised by Honduran immigrant parents and is the oldest of her three siblings. At a young age, Fuentes had to become her own teacher when it came to navigate the world of academics.

“I needed to get the grades in middle school and high school in order to show myself I can do it, but also my parents”, she said. “I realized I was weighed down by the pressure to show my parents and my little brothers that it can be done.”

Fuentes is one of many first-generation students from immigrant families to continue the educational journey despite the challenges that are in their way. A 2011 report from the Higher Educational Research Institute at UCLA found that within four years, only 27 percent of the first-generation students earned a bachelor’s degree; in comparison, 42 percent of their non-first-generation peers had received their degrees.

College students who have the shared status of being first-generation and an immigrant are burdened with navigating the college process, finding resources and balancing their dream and goals with those of their family to name a few. These students pursue higher education to improve their family’s socioeconomic status, which makes choosing a career path an important decision.

“It is already hard enough being first-gen but when my parents don’t know what I am going through with the college process then it’s kind of lonely,” Fuentes explained.

For many first-generation immigrant students, it is there sole responsibility to make sure they are on track to academic success, while still providing support for their family.

While these students are climbing the ladder of academic achievement in their families, they are faced with dealing with family obligations, which may create tension as students are torn between the demands of their home and family versus those of their academics.

Bernadette Sánchez, a psychology professor at DePaul University, in a 2010 study looks at the role of family obligation but through an economic context, looking at 32 high school seniors’ transition from high school to young adult life. She found in the interviews that less assimilated Latinos tend to place the needs of their immediate and extended family before themselves, focus on providing support to and spending time with family, and have interdependent relations with family members.

The less assimilated Latino students exhibit a difference between first and second generation with a difference in generation in migrant families and how that correlates to family responsibility. First generation students had more family and financial responsibilities, such as taking care of children, providing rides, and paying household bills, while second and third generation only had fewer responsibilities.

Th experience of being a first generation academically and in the immigrant family is different from the second-generation experience. “I am the one who is the first to go through graduating high school, so I have to be the one to pave the way for my little brothers,” Fuentes said. “They won’t have to face the same issues I experienced.”

First generation students are setting a trajectory for their loved ones to follow, creating a system of connection that they did not have beforehand. Fuentes is that connection between worlds that were foreign to her but do not have to be foreign to her siblings in the way it was for her.

Along with being a senior in high school, Fuentes is also working part-time in McDonalds in order to save money for college, but also to provide financial support to her family. “I started working to help my family when I was 15, so that added to the stress of trying to be there financially for my family, while also trying to get good grades in school.”

While there are pressures of family obligation, it can also act as a motivator for first-generation students. High school students will be motivated by the family obligation in their Latino households to aspire to achieve more in their education in order to pay back to their families the sacrifices they have made for them. Fuentes says, “While it’s hard, I know that I am making my family proud, especially my mom and dad because they did so much for me and my brothers.”

Being a first-generation student, you are establishing a path that no one in your family has walked. At times, it can be a lonely and confusing path, but it is possible. Fuentes along with many others has proved that the educational journey can be achieved despite the challenges.

Kathryn Gonzales covers issues involving immigrants

A Stitch in Time

The craft of embroidery is alive and well at Bryn Mawr College

An embroidery design circa 1760

By Meagan Thomas 

At Bryn Mawr College, the art of embroidery is a secret trend.

“I just don’t think people do it in groups” said senior Margaret O’Hare, 21, speaking to the trend. Each embroiderer seems to know a few others, but there doesn’t seem to be any way to do it collectively the way students might with knitting circles or other clubs.

“It’s harder to do in public,” said senior Beckie Bull, 21.

O’Hare said she hadn’t seen anyone collectively embroider at all.

“Except when my friends wanted to learn and I taught them,” she said. Seeing it makes other students want to try it, which O’Hare used as an opportunity to teach her friends. Most of the people she knew who embroidered have graduated, but she still sees it around.

As to why it might be less visible, Bull offered a potential reason.

“I actually once got in trouble for embroidering in a French class,” said Bull, “Because in sewing you have to look at your work and so the teacher thinks you’re not paying attention.”

Fifteen of the most popular stitches used in embroidery

If it’s hard to see, one might ask how anyone knows where to find it at all. Each embroiderer knows a few other links in the chain, like an underground network about which no one has all the information.

“I do know other people here who do embroidery,” said Bull, though she agrees that it’s not as collective.

“A supervisor at [the dining hall] would bring embroidery to our meetings,” said O’Hare of her on-campus job. It would give her something to do while she listened. There are students who brave practicing it in class. They make door signs, samplers, and other projects.

Social media is another way to spot the patterns, no pun intended.

“I’ve seen people who do it on Instagram,” said O’Hare. “People post pictures of it.”

There is social encouragement for the work, though it’s not as outward. Bryn Mawr has a knitting club, which encourages participants to bring any handicraft they choose.

“People are allowed to bring it to the knitting club,” said O’Hare, though she doesn’t participate often. She prefers to work on her embroidery when the inspiration strikes her.

Bull also brought up the knitting club, but seemed less certain about its opportunities for embroiderers.

“I heard there was another club for sewing stuff,” said Bull.

Both students came to embroidery in very different ways.

“I think it’s just something that I remember seeing people do,” said O’Hare. “I thought it was cool.” She started in high school, and would practice little flowers, and, once, a phallic pattern for a friend who requested it.

Bull started even earlier.

“I think somebody must have given me… those little kits that you see at Michaels,” said Bull. “I basically only did kits like that until this year, and then started designing my own stuff.”

She uses an online tool to make patterns, and then hand-embroiders them. Currently, she’s working on a project making bookmarks to sell at the College’s Staff Appreciation Holiday Fair.

“When I was in Jordan this summer, I saw embroidered bookmarks in one of the shops I was at and I was like ’Hey, I could do that,” said Bull.

The bookmarks come in two patterns, an owl or a lantern, symbols of Bryn Mawr, and say “Mawrtyr” on them. Bull made them in students’ class colors. The work is intricate and even, yielding uniform creations of someone who spends a long time practicing.

“It takes longer than even I anticipated,” said Bull. “I’ll probably have 30 by the time we get to the fair”

With different origins for their interest in embroidery, it presents an interesting question about why so many Bryn Mawr students practice it. It could be that Bryn Mawr students see a link in the chain and forge a new one, learning from each other. It could also be that Bryn Mawr has an environment that attracts people who are already crafty.

It could even be that since embroidery is traditionally a women’s art, it has more of a foothold in a historically women’s college.

What’s clear is that the students who do it are excited about it.

“You can just kind of do whatever you want with embroidery,” said O’Hare. She likes the freedom of making her own designs without the pressure to be good at it.

“I do it for fun,” said Bull. She started her bookmark project because she knew she was going to be doing it anyway, and thought she may as well make a project out of it.

O’Hare also uses her talents to spread her craft.

“I usually make them as gifts for other people,” said O’Hare. “Embroidery is a good personalized gift you can give someone.”

When Bull was mentioned to O’Hare, she was surprised.

“I didn’t know she did embroidery,” said O’Hare.

Meagan Thomas covers arts (and, in this case, crafts)

Poke on the Rise

 The popular spin on a traditional Hawaiian dish   

By Maeve Pascoe

The Hawaiian poke bowl, served at Tsaocaa on Chestnut Street in Philadelphia, is customizable but typically comes with cubed salmon, fresh mangoes, warm rice, and vegetables that are topped with spicy mayonnaise, a drizzle of siracha, and crispy onions.

Nearby, Wiki Poke serves a Nacho Poke- a poke bowl with salmon and tuna that substitutes the usual rice with chips.

These two dishes only represent two variations on the traditional Hawaiian meal. Today, poke consumption in the United States has skyrocketed, allowing for the success of restaurants serving their modern take on the fish salad. Hawaiian poke typically only consists of seafood, seasoning, oil, and vegetables, but the version most popular among Americans today is called the poke bowl.

There were only two poke restaurants in Philadelphia in 2016. Today, there are over a dozen poke restaurants in Philly and others on the Main Line.

“It’s a buzz right now,” said the manager of The Pokespot on Chestnut Street. “We are so new we just opened last year. We were really busy around then,” she added. Even now she said they get over 100 customers per day.

An array of the dishes offered at Wiki Poke in Philadelphia

According to Yelp, worldwide there were 67 poke restaurants outside of Hawaii in 2012. In 2018, there were over 1,900 poke restaurants in the United States. In a blog post, yelp said poke businesses opened at a rate outpacing other restaurant categories such as ramen and coffee roasteries.

In addition, the food-ordering service Grubhub reported a 91 percent increase in average monthly popularity of poke bowl orders in 2018. A catering company, ZeroCater, reported a 78 percent increase in poke deliveries in major U.S. cities.

According to Foursquare data, the number of Hawaiian restaurants, including those that serve poke, doubled from 2014 to 2016 in the United States, meaning 700 Hawaiian restaurants on Foursquare in August 2016.

Poke bowls, such as those served at Tsaocaa, The Pokespot, or Wiki Poke, differ from traditional poke because they contain rice and grouped toppings. Instead of being marinated with sauce or oil, the sauces in modern poke are customizable because they are added last.

And it’s not just the sauces that are customizable; many poke places today have a build-your-own poke bowl on the menu. Customers can choose from a list of seafood, toppings and rice to create their favorite combinations.

Genevieve Altman, a sophomore at Bryn Mawr College, loves how she can choose exactly what she wants to put on her poke bowl. “I usually get shrimp and edamame, cucumber, spicy aioli, and avocado and then top it with tempura flakes”, she said. “That’s kind of like my basic staple and then I’ll switch things out according to what I’m feeling”.

And it’s true- the concept of a healthy build-your-own fast food meal isn’t new. “Think Chipotle,” said Andrew Hu, the man behind Chinatown’s Philly Poke restaurant, in an interview with the Inquirer. “You pick white rice, brown rice, salad. Instead of chicken or pork, you will choose fresh tuna, salmon, shrimp, scallops, or even Spam. Add vegetables, pick a homemade sauce, and add condiments – maybe fish eggs or sesame seeds.”

The manager of Poke-man, another poke restaurant on Chestnut street that opened around two years ago, says his favorite thing about poke is the quality and convenience.

Mike Li, co-owner of Wiki Poke, adds that the many variations of protein and rice combinations is just one of the reasons for the multitude of poke shops that have opened in Philly. “It’s part of the health food craze,” he said. “And they’re following the sushi trend.”

Although poke can come with spicy mayonnaise, fried onions, or other toppings that aren’t typically seen as healthy, poke is certainly different typical fast food dishes. The fact remains that poke contains many omega-3 fatty acids while being a relatively low-fat dish. If a customer chooses to build their own bowl, they have the option of also adding the vegetables and sauce they want. Some restaurants even offer the option of white or brown rice.

Dana Caldwell, a Bryn Mawr sophomore, likes how poke bowls can easily be turned into a delicious but healthy vegan meal. She recently fell in love with poke after trying a poke bowl that swapped fish for tofu. “A lot of the toppings and sauces are already vegan”, she said. “So, I got tofu and a bunch of vegetables like edamame, ginger, onions, and carrots with a vegan sauce”.

The poke bowl’s easy customizability is also one of her favorite things about the modern dish. “When I got poke again a few weeks later, I was able to customize it again and get different toppings and a different sauce, so it was like I was eating a whole new meal.”

Maeve Pascoe covers food in Philadelphia.

Finding a Home at Lupita’s

A man’s journey to bring a piece of Mexico to the streets of South Philly

By Kathryn Gonzales     

When Ernesto Atrisco walks into his storefront on 9th Street, it feels like home.

Atrisco, 50, and his family opened Lupita’s Grocery in 2003, offering everything from cornhusks for tamales to glass bottles of Coca Cola. The small grocery shop is filled with bright, colorful packages carrying spices, sauces and various Mexican kitchen staples.

The South Philadelphia grocery was not only a way to make a living, but also a testament to the life Atrisco and his family left behind in Mexico.

“You start to remember home. It makes you feel like you are closer to where you were born and raised,” he said. “I want to show Philadelphia locals and even all people food they’ve never seen before. They can come and experience my culture.”

Atrisco hails from Acapulco, Mexico where he lived in a low socioeconomic class in a house that could barely fit all his family members. “It was the hardest decision for my Dad to let me go, but it was what he had to do,” he says.

While acknowledging the physical and emotional risks that came with going up North, he says asserts that “I never thought about the bad things that could happen to me because I knew if I did I would not go; you just go until you are there.”

Settling in South Philadelphia, an 18-year-old Atrisco started out delivering pizzas for a Greek-owned restaurant but he felt alienated and alone. By his mid-20s, though, he had married and gained citizenship in the U.S., creating a life for himself where he could make a living for his family in the States and for his family in Mexico

There was something missing for Atrisco; a piece of culture that he wanted to add to his community.

“I wanted to own a store that sold products that I remember from home,” he says. “Where I can provide a space for people who look like me that could come and not feel as alone as I did when I came to the U.S for the first time.”

Inside Lupita’s

As his wife, Lourdes Atrisco, 45, recalls: “I thought he was crazy, I mean who wakes up one morning wanting to open up a grocery store” but understood that the need was there in her, too.

It began as a modest operation, a sparse, dull small store with little in the way of structural logic. Walls were discolored with shelves that were disorganized and cluttered, while Atrisco and his family members, traded shifts between 8 a.m. and 9 p.m. Soon, through the assistance of community members, Lupita’s Grocery became a regular stop for many locals, adding to the growing multicultural experience in 9th Street.

Walking into the grocery store, you are met with the smell of nostalgia. You’ll see Mexican soccer jerseys, luchador masks [fighter masks], candies and many other products that not only come from Mexico but other Latin American countries.

Lupita’s is one of the many Mexican-owned businesses that have brought new vitality to what is known historically as the Italian Market, after the immigrant street vendors who first set up business on 9th Street beginning in the 1880’s.

“We go to the supermarket to get what we need. But our needs are determined by who we are and how we feed our obsessions” Atrisco explains. “At the grocery store, our needs are not simply material. These are selfish, soulful wants, and they come from pits deeper than our stomachs.”

The community surrounding the Lupita’s Grocery is filled with migrants coming from countries far away; knowing that there is a small chance of being able to go back to their homes.  As they seek to maintain this relationship with their motherland, making the visit to the market is offers the opportunity not just to remember, but also to recreate.

The Italian Market in the 1930’s

Maria Martinez, 35, a regular customer at Atrisco’s store says “My son asked me to make him and his friends a pozole [pork and hominy stew]. Some of his friends have never tried pozole before. I wanted to come to Lupita’s Grocery because, here, I think the chilies are authentic and fresher. When I make pozole with chilies bought at the supermarket, something is wrong with the flavor. It doesn’t taste as it tastes there in Mexico. Here I found a provider from Zacatecas that sells very tasty chilies.”

Memories accompany flavors that people have recorded in their memory. Atrisco has created a memory bank in the form of Lupita’s Grocery where customers can reproduce their culture again and again. He hopes that by entering his store, people can be transported or at least reminded of their homes.

The impact this man made on his family and his community is apparent based on the regulars that come in his store with a sense of belonging, yet he seems nonchalant about it all. “There are many others who have gone through the same struggles as I, always remember that and never forget,” he said.

Kathryn Gonzales has a beat focusing on Latino Philadelphia

The Traditions Mistress

Liz Marchini is a keeper of Bryn Mawr’s many, many traditions

Lantern Night in 2014

By Chloe Vilkin         

Liz Marchini is a big fan of “mugging” first years. Just days before the rest of the student body arrived at school Marchini could be seen confidently crossing the auditorium’s stage, long nails catching the light as lead the new students through the first school tradition of receiving mugs in their class colors.

Marchini is a junior at Bryn Mawr College, a Political Science major with a concentration in Middle Eastern Studies and a minor in Global Asian Studies.

She is also a Traditions Mistress.

Traditions are a large part of the Bryn Mawr College experience, as they often are with colleges and universities, but Bryn Mawr takes more pride than most in their traditions, using them to advertise for the school’s tight-knit community.

This sense of community is exactly what drew Marchini to Bryn Mawr in the first place, and what lead to her becoming a Traditions Mistress.

Traditions Mistresses are exactly what they sound like: two students elected for the academic year to organize the four major—and some minor—traditions at Bryn Mawr College. The position seemed interesting to Marchini from the time that she applied, but she had to be sure she was ready.

“I’d kind of sit with myself and be like, do I have the resources, do I have the capabilities, do I have the capacity to do this” Marchini said. She sat comfortably in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other, her bright white sneakers nearly matched her manicure.

As a former ballerina of 11 years and a musical theater performer of several years, Marchini does not shy away from commitment, which is exactly what being a Traditions Mistress demands.

“There’s not an hour that goes by that I’m not working on traditions,” said

-Liz Marchini

Marchini, later saying she was working even while in Singapore for break. “It’s kind of like just constantly diving for loose balls.”

Despite the sometimes-hectic nature of the position, Marchini went into it with a goal: make people feel at home. Traditions are like open arms to Marchini, welcoming everyone into a community where what you look like, where you’re from, or what you can do doesn’t matter.

Marchini wanted to help maintain and even improve that sense of community for everyone by being as inclusive and transparent as possible in her role as Traditions Mistress, “because I want everyone to feel they belong on this campus.”

What Marchini called the “all-encompassing” culture of Bryn Mawr College created by traditions felt familiar to Marchini, as her high school had a similar community.

In a story on Marchini during her senior year of high school, she said the amaraderie between students was her favorite thing about being a Maroon, the mascot of Ridgewood High School in Marchini’s hometown of Ridgewood, New Jersey.

But not every part of Ridgewood’s community was so nice. “I grew up in a very privileged, upper-middle class, white town, very toxic,” said Marchini, repeating the word “upper” three times.

Marchini said she wanted to “change the pace,” and experience something different. So, Bryn Mawr College it was.

Since declaring her major in Political Science, Marchini said the most important lesson it has taught her is “I’m never going to please everyone all the time,” as she ate a crisp, green apple.

Marchini at the May Day celebration

Marchini is a self-described people pleaser, saying this lesson has been a huge learning curve for her. Another challenge has been hearing people criticize decisions she has made.

The first of the four major traditions at Bryn Mawr College is called Parade Night, when the new students are showered with confetti as they walk through Pembroke Arch towards the center of campus.

In previous years rose petals were mixed with the confetti, but they became slippery on the ground. Because of the safety hazard the Traditions Mistresses decided to remove the petals from the tradition even though they agreed they were beautiful, said Marchini.

She used this example to show what sort of decisions might be criticized by other students, criticisms like “that was such a dumb idea, I can’t believe they did that” she sometimes overhears in passing.

While she said it was hard in the beginning, Marchini seemed confident in her abilities.

Of all the traditions at the college, Marchini’s favorite is Welcome-The-First-Years Week, or WTF week.

WTF Week is the third of the four major traditions, and if a first year participates they become a “Bud” and must ask an upperclassman to be their “Rose.” The Rose creates a schedule of fun and funny tasks for the Bud, entirely optional, for the three days of WTF Week.

“I really like WTF Week, especially the end of it,” Marchini said, a smile on her face. “WTF Week is like your week; you can do it how you see fit.”

Marchini is also a tour guide for the college, saying “I always call Bryn Mawr a D.I.Y. experience, and that’s like the most D.I.Y. you can get.”

Cloe Vilkin is Bryn Mawr senior whose beat is the college’s traditions.

Making Sense of Squiggly Lines

Poet Dee Matthews on the art and craft of poetry

By Meagan R. Thomas

“You should turn this into a contrapuntal.” Dee Matthews asks me to hand over her laptop and starts to move words of my poem around on the screen. When she shows me the result, I’m floored. She has moved the words into two columns, and triplicated their meanings. As a poet and professor, this is day-to-day for Matthews, who teaches at Bryn Mawr College.

As we work, she tapes my poems to the blackboard like we’re arranging an elaborate conspiracy. She sees the connections, the art of it all, even where I can’t. She gives all the poetry she touches new life.

Matthews has a soft face and wide eyes that achieve a soul-searching intensity. Her hair is twisted into tight rows, and falls gently unnoticed across her face when she concentrates on a page. She often wears statement jewelry, including elaborate gold bangles and cuff bracelets for a regal touch.

– Dee Matthews

In the classroom, Matthews is slow and methodical. She eases the knots out of poetry, highlighting the smallest insights into the language, form, and images. She speaks in a low, mesmerizing voice that makes her students lean in to listen with an intensity of which most college professors could only dream.

Teaching is a big chunk of the work Matthews does. “Much of my time during the academic year is devoted to trying to give my students my attention” She says. “It’s actually hard to concentrate on my own [work] from September through May.”

That devotion is clear. Matthews works personally with each of her students. She has them call her Dee, and is insistent that everyone is equal in a workshop. Everyone is an artist.

“I’m one of those people who wants to share what I’ve learned, and I encourage my students to teach me what they’ve learned.” Matthews says. “My classrooms are symbiotic environments.”

When she’s not teaching, Matthews is writing like her life depends on it.

When asked to characterize her process, Matthews replies: “I think and obsess until I can’t obsess anymore and then I wildly write for months.” She can edit the same poem for months, or even years.

Her process pays off. Matthews’s first book, Simulacra, was published by Yale University Press in 2017. It won the Yale Younger Poets Prize. Her style is often Dionysian. She pushes back against traditional form in favor of unrestrained energy.

Matthews journey to poetry was long. Her first degree was in economics, and she worked a corporate job for almost a decade. It wasn’t what she wanted, so she went back to school for public policy. That didn’t fit either.

“I couldn’t shake how much I wanted to write.” Matthews says.

But the hardest point to reconcile for many artists is the idea of making money with writing. Matthews was no exception. The idea of making ends meet had long made writing seem off the table as a career.

“As life crept in, I found myself getting farther and farther away from desire for the sake of stability.” She says. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make ends meet with just ‘words.’”

But when the placeholders weren’t working, she turned back to it.

“At some point, I gave myself permission to think about my happiness and deepest desires.” Matthews says.  “Writing was at the top of that list and I went for it.”

Matthews started teaching after her first graduate degree. She lived in Detroit at the time and started as a teaching artist for a nonprofit. The goal was to provide arts education for students, and get young people interested in art and poetry.

“I loved working with kids and making ideas of art palatable for youth.” Matthews says.

After that, she got an MFA in creative writing at the University of Michigan, and started teaching at the college level, where she came to realize how gifted she was at teaching. She kept doing it, expanding the programs she taught and putting more and more energy into her students. Her newest endeavor is teaching an MFA herself, working with the next batch of professional poets to unleash into the world.

When asked what makes poetry so important, Matthews says: “What’s most important are people.”

“I believe that poetry is the voice and history of people and I’m all ears.” She says. “And as a person with chameleon tendencies, that’s vital.”

“As a pre-literate kid, I would write squiggly lines on paper and ask my sister if they made any sense” Matthews says. While they usually wouldn’t make sense then, she soon found words.

“I found writing, poetry in particular, to be a way to feel the world while not being overwhelmed by it.” She says.

Matthews’s words ring true. Working with her feels like writing squiggly lines and asking her if they make sense. But for Matthews, they do make sense.

Meagan Thomas is a Byrn Mawr junior whose beat is the arts.

The Problem with Student Wages

Haverford and Bryn Mawr students speak out about campus jobs

By Amana Abdurrezak

There are two types of students at Bryn Mawr and Haverford Colleges: those who do work, and those must also go to work.

For the former, work requires setting aside time outside of lectures and lab sessions to finish papers and problem sets. But for almost 1,500 Bryn Mawr and Haverford students, work is more than classwork—it’s also attached to the on-campus job they have.

On both campuses, students spend an average of six-to-eight hours per week managing front desks, helping fellow students with class assignments, ensuring smooth operation of the dining halls, and attracting prospective students to the Bi-College community. The list of student jobs is a long one.

Based on their home campus, the type of job they have and their experience level, students are paid between $9 and $11.15 an hour. What do they think of their jobs and their wages?

To find out, our News and Feature Writing class interviewed over 85 students on both campuses to understand the nature of student jobs in the Bi-Co and find out if students believe they are paid fairly for the work they do. Here are our findings:

  • Since many jobs on-campus allow students to only work up to a certain number of hours, it’s very common for students to sidestep that restriction by having multiple jobs.
  • Students who use their earnings for smaller purchases like food, clothing or setting aside money for savings accounts are generally satisfied with their pay. However, many recognized that they are satisfied because they don’t have to worry about bigger costs like tuition. The students who use their earnings to pay for tuition, room and board, bills, or even sending money to family back home, wish their wages were higher. Their money is not used for extras but for the basics.
  • Opinions on pay depended on how demanding the student’s job was. Those who work low-pressure jobs were satisfied with their wage. Those who felt their jobs were more laborious or required more expertise were also generally satisfied with their pay, but felt that they should be paid more.
  • The fact that both campuses’ baseline pay is higher than Pennsylvania’s minimum wage of $7.25 an hour factored into many students’ opinions. This trend remained consistent with out-of-state students who compared their wages on-campus to their home states.

We also noticed that Haverford’s baseline pay of $9 an hour is a dollar lower than Bryn Mawr’s baseline of $10 an hour, despite having most of the same jobs across both campuses.

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Bills, Bills, Bills

For many in the Bi-Co, juggling multiple jobs on top of classes is the norm, but many can justify adding a job or two to their schedule if it means they can enjoy nights out in Philadelphia with friends or a new pair of boots when the weather gets chillier.

However, some students have to use their earnings to pay for larger expenses.

Princess Jefferson, a Bryn Mawr College junior, juggles supervisory positions at two dining service establishments. At Haffner Dining Hall and Wyndham Alumnae House, she delegates duties to workers, oversees the desert bar, and drives Wyndham’s catering van. When she isn’t in class or working in dining services, she’s at the Civic Engagement Office prepping ACT/SAT test-prep curricula or driving a Bryn Mawr van for student programs. At all of her jobs, she makes $10.95 an hour, working a total of 36 hours a week.

“For all of my jobs except one, I think I get a fair wage,” said Jefferson. She puts all of her earnings towards tuition, food, her phone, and transportation.

“If I take into account the management at Wyndham & how my back feels after work, then I think we should get paid at least $12 an hour,” she said.

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