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Former Augustan eyes scholarship
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Shanda Ball
From Fort Knox Public Affairs Office
A Fort Knox High School
student has been selected as a
semifinalist in the 21st annual
National Achievement Scholarship
Program for Outstanding Negro
Students.
Shanda Ball, a senior at Fort
Knox High School, is one of the
only 11 Kentucky students to be
selected. She is the daughter of
Johnny and Shirley Ball, formerly
of Augusta.
The program identifies and
honors promising Black students,
and encourages them to continue
their formal education. The
program also brings sucn students
to the attention of colleges and
universities in an effort to broaden
their admission and financial aid
opportunities.
“I couldn’t believe the scholar
ship offers I’ve received because of
this,” said Ball. Most of the offers
have come from schools in Ken-
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tucky, .but she hopes to attend
Emory University in Atlanta.
“I think of Atlanta as ‘back
home.’ I lived there for the first 15
years of my life. We never lived on
post before. It was like my father
was in the Army but we weren’t.’”
Ball has been at Fort Knox for 2
'/z years.
“When I first got here I had a
negative attitude because I missed
home. I like it now, though. It’s
nice being around people who have
traveled a lot.”
Ball’s scholarly activities have
led to some travel for her, too.
Last summer she participated in
the Governor’s Scholars Program
at Eastern Kentucky University in
Richmond.
“I was nervous about going at
first because I’d never been away
from home like that before. But
now I think it was the best five
weeks of my life. It was like going
to school because we learned, but
it was fun too, being around all
those talented people,” she said.
Ball, who plans to major in
biolbgy or pre-med in college,
studied drama during the summer
program.
“People wanted to know why I
didn’t study chemistry or biology,
but I’m going to do that for the
rest of my life. I figured that
might be my last chance to do
drama seriously.
“It’s my most important hob
by.”
That hobby isn’t the only claim
on her time. She is a member of
the flag-twirling K-dettes who per
fornt With the school band at spor
ts events, and is the president of
the speech and debate club which
competes all over the state. She
also works one hour daily as an
aide in the school library.
“I fit it all in because I have to.
I made a schedule and stick to it. I
told myslef a long time ago ‘Let’s
get it organized and we can live.’”
When Ball talks, her hands flut
ter in time with her animated
voice. But when she turned to the
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Superstar Stevie Wonder, pictured in a rare photo with his
mother, Lula Mae Hardaway, is the feature of an article by
Joy Duckett Cain in the December issue of Essence.
The Great Migration Exhibition to
schedule 86’ opening
For the first time in recent
United States history, an exhibit
depicting Black Americans will be
introduced at the Smithsonian In
stitution’s National Museum of
American History in Washington,
D.C.
Dr. Spencer Crew, a
Smithsonian Historian, has been
spearheading this project for over
two years. He has interviewed
noted historians and collected ar
tifacts imperative to the
illustration of the exhibit “Field to
Factory: Afro-American
Migration 1915-1940.” The
exhibit portrays individual migran
ts’ experiences through
photographs, tools and machines,
oral histories and other objects. It
depicts the concepts of change and
adaptation migrants had in s‘tar-
G/ VE THE GIFT TH A T
LASTS ALL
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future, her gestures became more
subdued.
“Senior year is a happy time,
full of activities, but it’s kind of
sad, too. I’m excited about goifig
to college, but I’m sad about
leaving high school. I’m afraid I
won’t be seeing anyone here
anymore.”
“If I had moved around more,
like other Army families, maybe I
wouldn’t have formed such strong
friendships here. Then maybe it
wouldn’t be so hard to leave.”
ting a new life in a new environ
ment when they moved from the
South to Northern states.
A number of minority
associations and private sector
executives have been solicited to
donate much needed revenues to
insure the fruition of the exhibit.
Letters asking for contributions on
behalf of Dr. Crew and the
Smithsonian’s National Museum
of American History have been
sent to over 500 organizations and
individuals by Smith, Jones and
Associates, the nation’s only
association management firm ex
clusively servicing minority
organizations.
“This exhibit is of dramatic
social significance not only to
Black Americans, says Smith,
Jones and Associates’ President,
T’ i-?a December 15,
On Marriage
By Cynthia Butler Omololu
I had the most interesting ex
perience. A friend of mine whom I
ten years ran in-
had known for
to my house
and said,
“Glory be,
heaven help
me, I have
beendeserted”.
This is the
story she
repeated....
For two years, I fought, the
evidence. It was a constant bloody
battle. My husband and I were not
computable. It is ridiculous, I told
myself. In fact, I pleaded with
myself, I begged myself. It does
not matter that we are not com
patible. What is compatibility
anyway.
After all, I told myself, 1 am the
same person I was when I married
him. He is the exact replica of the
person he was when I married him.
He was all I wanted in a husband
... a fast rising executive. So what
is with incompatibility. With a
fast rising executive, I could live
forever.
True, there were gnawings in the
bottom of my stomach, and puffs
of heavy air in my chest. Together
they gave out an aroma of a
painless ache in my soul. Have
you ever suffered a painless ache
that you try to think away? Well,
sometimes I succeeded. I would
feel great. I had to keep my image.
And I was not going to give that
up just because of a gnawing in my
stomach or silly puffs of heavy air
in my chest with a painless ache.
When I met my prospective
husband, I was ready to get
married. He was not necessarily
Lafayette Jones, “but will show all
Amercians the dramatic role Black
citizens have played in building
this country”.
The exhibition opening is
scheduled for February of 1986 in
Washington, D.C. in observnee of
Black History Month. After a six
month showing at the Smithsonian,
the exhibit will travel to museums
around the nation.
For more information or to
make a contribution, contact: Dr.
Spencer Crew, Smithsonian In
stitution, National Museum of
American History, Washington,
D.C. 20560, (202) 357-1991 or
Melanie Jones, Director of
Operations, Smith, Jones and
Associates, 111 E. Wacker Drive,
Suite 600, Chicago, 11l 60601 (312)
644-6610.
my dream man, but he fit into the
image of a marriage. My goal, I
suppose was to have a marriage.
Marriage, for me, existed indepen
dently of the people in it. Os cour
se, the man needed to be a fast
rising executive.
Well, I got that; it was the
growing part of the marriage that I
missed. 1 did not know anything
about growth of a marriage or
growth of the people in the
marriage. So there was nothing I
could do about that, was it?
I guess growth has something to
do with the fit of two people.
Their flowing natures. My
husband and I were like two people
plastered on the wall with glue ...
so tight that we could not move
either together or apart. We were
splattered into place.
There was no progress. There
was no room for it. There was no
time for it, and so what! We had a
marriage. Admittedly, it was a bit
stiff, but we were there together.
For me, it seemed to be a lot better
than dating a lot of dishonest in
secure men. Boy, I hated dating.
But the gnawing in my stomach
would not listen to my arguments,
they kept getting louder and
louder. The puffs of empty air
were getting louder. It was taking
more and more energy for me to
put them in the back of my mind.
I could not think away the painless
ache in my head. I was losing con
trol.
I was frightened. For the first
time in my life at the age of thirty
five, I was scared. I had always
been in control For exams, you
study. I studied and passed exams.
For friendship, I worked on them
and they flourished. For marriage,
you just be in it, or at least that is
what I thought. For marriage, I
was there. That was not enough,
or at least that is what the
gnawings in my gut said and the
painless ache in my head
whispered.
I honestly believed that if I did
not talk about these things, my
husband would never guess that
the marriage had fallen apart. I
had a secret to keep.
But this gnawing, these puffs of
empty air and the painless ache
conspired and forced me to admit
that I treasured the image of the
marriage. They threatened to bur
st out if I did not admit to my
SELF that I only wanted the
presence of a husband, not a
being.
I fought them. I cried out for
the image. 1 had to have it. I
would lie for it. 1 had tried.
Honestly. One day I had wim
pered to my husband, “I need to
know you. I am getting lost in the
marriage. I am losing MYSELF.
We have got to find each other.”
He laughed. He laughed and
laughed and said, “You are so cute
when you behave like that.”
He did not sense my
desperation, and I could not find a
way to communicate it. I could
not ask him if it were his anxiety
that made him laugh OR if it were
really the expression on my face
and my words.
I was scared to ask, because I
was afraid that we would probe in
to the marriage.
To control the gnawing and the
painless ache, I started taking
valium, smoking cigarettes and
drinking beer. I was determined to
be in control. Valium made me
feel happy.
But valium did not control
husband’s behaviour. He was
staying away from home until late
at night. I could not talk to him. I
did not know him. I could not tell
my family and friends because 1
had painted a beautiful picture. I
could not smear it.
But the process of life took over,
I came home from shopping one
day. It was 1 p.m. I saw the note
lying on the table. It read, “Dear
Barbara, I am not unhappy with
you, but I am not happy. I have
met Pam. It looks like we are in
volved. Sorry that I took your
marriage away or did I take only
half of it? Sincerely, Ron.
The gnawing, the heavy empty
air and the painless ache were
pounding. I lost control. They
were swirling in a black mass of
cloud-like substance choking me.
For one minute, 1 lost con
sciousnes. There was a blank
space and restless peace.
I came out of that stupor
screaming, “0.K., 0.K., I cannot
force it. I do not have the power to
force life to blend to my needs.
Forgive me SELF. I sat down and*
wrote a note to Ron.” *
Dear Ron, Thank you for
leaving me. I am glad you met
Pam. The gnawing in my
stomach, the heavy empty air, and
the painless ache have gone away.
Thanks, Ron.
I promise you SELF. I shall
never do that to me agian. I am on
my knees.
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