For a long time she had been noticing that Seattle was lacking an African-American arts scene. She saw interest, and talent, but no action.

“Back then there didn’t seem to be any black arts outside of February, black history month,” said Ellis-Smith. “I saw all these performers across the country and thought, ‘They need to come to Seattle.’ People are hungry for this stuff here.”

She founded the Central District Art Forum that year, and kicked it off with a dipping one toe in the water with a three year trial run, checking for obstacles.

“I wanted to see if there was a reason it just hasn’t been there,” she said.

But there weren’t any, and people ate it up.

“People had a clear idea of what they wanted to see,” said Ellis-Smith. “They had very specific suggestions and they have helped shape where we are today.”

For the past ten years the CD Art Forum has been growing. They have been connecting the Seattle arts scene to local and national artists. They have been fulfilling their mission to challenge assumptions about the black community through their support of speakers and performing artists.

Locally, they support African-American performing artists and they hold discussion panels oan subjects important to the African-American community, many of which seat high school students as panelists.

Last year they held the first ever Black Sci-Fi Festival and held a Sci-Fi writing workshop specifically at Garfield. The participants published a magazine called Read On and created a corresponding online mag.

“All our programs are intergenerational,” said Program Director Denee McCloud. “A lot of organizations try to separate, but we don’t see why youth can’t be part of the discussion.”

In the vein of youth involvement, they bring in an artist from outside of the state three times a year, and after an initial performance the artist does a workshop specifically for teens.

The first artist of this year, is jazz musician Guillermo E. Brown, traditionally a jazz musician, is breaking out in a mix of music, video and genre in his performance, “Shuffle Mode”, named after the iPod setting. In this Seattle premiere he moves to a new level in his musical career and explores his influences in music.

His premiere performance will be on January 30th at the Broadway Theater. The next day he will head up a workshop at Seattle Art Museum where teens will create their own music, clapping and stomping to create beats.

Through these programs the CD Art Forum has earned respect within the art community, but pushing out further has been hard without their own theater space.

“We don’t have our own home, so it’s hard for people to know about us,” said Ellis-Smith.

They’re looking at purchasing the historic Washington Hall in the Central District and the opportunities it would give the organization.

“We would stand out so much more and be able to show what we can do,” said Ellis-Smith. “We would be able to bring the resources of artists from around the country in to the community. We could be more spontaneous, have gatherings, readings. Local events with folks, parties,; we love to party.”

But while Washington Hall may be the dream, according to Ellis-Smith, they are most focused on staying “solid and solvent” through the economic downturn. Even though they surpassed their fundraising goal for the year, they’ve watched other organizations begin to crumble and finding a new space may have to sit on the back burner.

Another concern for the future is staying consistent through a leadership change when Ellis-Smith steps down this June after ten years leading the CD Art Forum. Aside from wanting to spend time with her kids, Ellis-Smith says she’s stepping down to allow a change in style.

“It’s been along time,” she said. “I see an opportunity in the 10th year. It’s a good time for founders members to move on. It’s time to bring in a new leader to take it to the next level.”

There’s the weary artist who sits in the middle of the store, surreptitiously sketching the other patrons in light charcoal. And the group of men, who look as though they popped out of an older, more genteel era, doffing their fedoras at the door before gathering at a certain table in the corner.

The store seems to be in a constant state of hubbub, and back and forth, people calling out names and greetings, all against the background of the bright greens, blues, yellows, and pinks of a jazz mural that covers the curved back wall. It’s a tribute to the store’s long history of live music.

Manager Kristopher Palma, a Garfield alum, says that of the many Starbucks stores he has worked in over the past nine years, 23rd and Jackson is the most community oriented.

“We do a lot more events for the community, and we serve a lot more coffee,” he said.

The employees, known as partners, regularly participate in community service. During the holidays they serve coffee at Christmas dinner with Rise and Shine, a group that helps kids who have been affected by AIDS. They also work with New Year, a group that mentors high school students about their futures.

Palma himself went to a manager conference last year in New Orleans.

“We did a full day of community service,” Palma said. “We painted houses, all 10,000 of us out there working.”

This particular Starbucks also brings in the community. They have a long history of live jazz performances and just up until recently members of the Washington Middle School band performed every Tuesday, bringing their families while Starbucks served free drinks.

It makes sense that the 23rd and Jackson shop is so connected to the surrounding neighborhood because it was the community that fought to get it into the Central District.

The space was built with a coffee shop in mind, because leaders in the area were looking for a place for gathering as well as a business that would jump start their local economy.

But for a long time big coffee brands like Starbucks and Tully’s weren’t buying that a store at that intersection would be a good investment. The building on the corner stood empty as the community leaders tried to tempt them. Eventually, Starbucks took the bait.

It worked, and other big-name brands followed so that the 23rd and Jackson intersection is now a thriving retail strip. Just one year after moving in to the intersection, Starbucks began a program, called Urban Coffee Opportunities, that essentially does what those community members had been fighting for.

The UCO operations manager, Kimberley Thompson, has been with the organization since the beginning. She has worked with Starbucks’ UCO division for the past 3 years, and before that she worked with the partnering organization, the Magic Johnson Foundation, for six. “I saw it grow from one store to what it is today,” she said.

According to Thompson, the mission of UCO is to “bring the Starbucks experience into underserved neighborhoods. The Starbucks experience, meaning that third place experience: home, work, and Starbucks. And underserved meaning that the community is underserved in retail, there aren’t a lot of big names. So, we serve as a catalyst for growth.”

This organization capitalizes on a power unique to business goliaths such as Starbucks: to risk money by building stores in economically risky neighborhoods.

There are now 101 UCO stores across the US. “Where ever Starbucks has a presence, Urban Coffee Opportunity is there too,” said Thompson.

The store on Jackson is one of the places where Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz was beginning to work with the ideas behind UCO. “Howard recognized that his customers were across the board,” said Thompson. “And he had the forethought to recognize that this was an important market to go after.”

But a look inside the shop on the corner of 23rd and Jackson doesn’t give any clues that it was fought over, that it was the cornerstone in both a local and a national movement.

It’s a place where people take a break and sit. They sip hot coffee and talk. The painted musicians are always playing on the walls and people greet each other like old friends.

Palma, for one, is happy to see Bulldogs back in the Central District. “It’s nice to have students back in the neighborhood and teachers you haven’t seen in a couple years,” he said. “It’s just nice to see people again.”

The light goes out. The two boys creep quickly through the kitchen and through the back door, and in a matter of seconds the cool fall air stings their cheeks as they make a break for the street.

Clutching the paper bag of paint, they suck in the intoxicating smell of the city at two a.m. Their tennis shoes strike the pavement in a swaggering rhythm. They’re already mentally sketching out tags as the car lights flick on and the engine rumbles.

Halfway across town, Jerry* is trying to play video games. With each sleepy blink he’s losing the battle. The joystick slips from his limp hand.

That morning, he’d had late-night plans too. He’d meant to sleep over at a friends house. They would have slipped out around midnight to plant art in the streets. He was prepared to shimmy up a phone pole to hang a cardboard question box—ala Mario 64 —in the sky with fishing line.

But his plans must wait. His parent decided around 12:30 that afternoon to go to some art event. Jerry doesn’t concern himself with the particulars. He knows it boils down to him at home with the kids, his two younger siblings.

An art scene divided

The two Garfield juniors discovered this outlawed art scene last year. They are from essentially the same demographic: white, upper-middle class boys in Advanced Placement classes. But they came at the art medium from separate angles and settled into two subtly distinct factions: street art and graffiti.

There are two key separations between the forms. The first is the motivation behind the piece. Street art is about expression and individualism, while graffiti is a rebellion.

The second is culture. Many street artists buy $30 cans of Montana, professional-grade spray paint. Travis, however, is proud to be able to walk out of a Tru-Value with six cans of Krylon hidden in his oversized army jacket.

When Jerry got serious about street art, about a year ago, he drew on aspects of his parent’s art culture for inspiration, looking at the work of artists that his parents introduced him to and reading books he found around the house.

“I thought, ‘Oh gee, this is really cool,’” Jerry says. “I needed a jumping-off point. I think this is how any artist should start.”

He began using diverse media within the confines of street art. He might stencil a portrait of Barack Obama one night, and the next paste a paper man to a bus stop using a powerful, homemade adhesive called wheat paste.

According to Jerry this variety is what separates his work from graffiti and makes it art.

“Tagging is a good place to start but if that’s all you do, it’s not cool. You should put in some effort,” he says, his face serious for the first time since he’s started talking. Without creativity it’s not worth it. You can’t just do the same thing over and over. You’ve got to buckle down and work at it, and if you don’t become great? Well, then at least it’s fun.”

The negative stigma around street art is weaker than for tagging and graffiti. Jerry was able to come clean to his parents about his late night escapades. And if they aren’t totally behind him, at least the only thing they do to stop it is demand babysitting at the last minute.

Late at night, he bikes through sleeping streets with a can of paint, a new stencil, and a standard painters’ gas mask to protect himself from fumes. The mask slung around his neck is a secret badge of membership, earning him nods of recognition as he wanders the streets.

Meanwhile, Travis explores the seedier side of street art: the grimy world of graffiti.

“I used to think tagging was dumb,” he says. “I never thought about it until last year. One of my friends started doing it and I just started paying attention.”

There’s something in the heady late-night rebellion that Travis couldn’t resist. “Basically, I was eased into it knowing what it was about, and then trying it out. I can’t really describe the paradigm shift.” Travis said. “It was just opening up and paying attention that increased its value.”

“It’s so hard to explain to someone who doesn’t get it. How could it not be awesome to walk down the street the next morning and see a giant piece because you went and painted it?”

In this world, making your mark is quick and dirty. He has to walk the streets later and quieter, constantly on the lookout, and not just for the cops. When you’re working as late—or early—as Travis is, the rules get twisted. He has to protect his stuff—his weed, his paint, his backpack—from other late-night wanderers.

“People paint in sketchy areas; it’s part of the culture. You have to be able to do it quick and get away from it,” he says. “So it’s removed, and s**t can go down.”

Graffiti’s association with the sketchy activities in this part of town attracts police attention. Tag gangs—groups of guys who all put up the same tag—contribute to this connection. Aside from painting together, these groups are also often involved in violence and drug trafficking. All taggers pay the price when the police get involved.

The scrawling nature of graffiti—it’s sketchy and everywhere—along with its gang connotations, earns it less respect from outside society than street art. Jerry has had only one run-in with the police. He was pasting up a three-by-six-foot jukebox when a cop pulled over, rolled down the window and said, “Hey, kid, whatta ya doin’?”

“I was scared as hell,” Jerry remembers, “but the cop just said, ‘It looks good,’ and drove off. To be honest, I almost peed my pants.”

Though he doesn’t have to worry about the police, Jerry protects his identity for artistic reasons.

“The connotation of an artist is placed on his work,” he says. “I don’t want people to think of my work differently because of who I am. I want them to make their own interpretation of it.”

Travis is more worried about juvie. He and Otis walk carefully, pausing casually at the corner before scampering across the street. They look like kids playing war.

The clacks of shaking pens and cans of paint ricochet off the silent buildings. Mostly they use paint pen, scrawling their three– and four-letter tags on every surface they pass.

After half an hour the boys pause to talk. Otis wants to do a throw-up—a more complicated, filled-in piece that takes more time. They come shoulder to shoulder and mutter under their breath.

Otis sketches his piece behind a plywood wall in quick silver lines while Travis shifts his weight inthe shadows, watching where the passing cars can’t see him.

In minutes Otis fills in the sketch with stripes of purple. He gives Travis a nod and they take off, looking for another spot.

These quick tags may look like an eyesore, but it’s all about practice. Tagging is to a finished piece of graffiti as an artist’s sketch book is to his master work. These sketches lead to more smooth and intricate pieces.

“Most people don’t get graffiti, especially people who say they like graffiti, but not tagging,” says Travis. “You can’t have one without the other. “

The two boys climb a roof to paint a wall. You can’t see the piece unless you’re across the street, but the police can’t see the painters either. A passerby would only hear the tinkling of the cans and the hiss of the paint.

Travis says that the street is not the best place for street artists’ work. Because of the differences in culture and motive, graffiti is really the medium that is tied to the street.

“I don’t have beef with street art,” he says. “It would just be taken a lot more seriously if it was in a gallery. Graffiti…is about expression.”

But Jerry sees working in the street as a way to connect to an audience in an urban setting.. “A lot of artists see it as a way to be part of a changing city, to engage in the environment they are in,” he said. “When you put something up in a museum it’s there and it’s done. When it’s on the street it changes, evolves; people add to it, it wears.”

The students are members of the Link program, an organization dedicated to serving youth in the arts. Once a month, Link connects a local, successful artist with aspiring teenagers. This week Laura Marks an abstract expressionist, was teaching how to show emotion, in paintings, without using recognizable shapes.

Garfield senior Amy Deng sat facing the window, working her brush to stroke, splat and scrape paint across her canvas. She carefully splatted drops of white on the array of color before turning the canvas vertical and letting the paint drip across yellow, orange and red.

Amy has plans. With some hard work and a healthy dose of luck she’s headed for Arts Center College in California next year. With a drop of luck after that she’s on track for a career in illustration and design. Link is helping her get the cogs turning.

A group of young artists started Link in 1994 when a shooting at Franklin left the student body angry and mourning. Link was built around a need to express this rage and fear, to act out in a productive way. “The idea was to just get students to think about emotions and express them positively,” said former art store owner and Link program director Donna Varetto.

At first the program mainly consisted of a reluctant group of students, forced into attending by their teachers, but it would grow to become an organization dedicated to opportunity and support.

For Amy this support is instrumental to her future in art. Her family does not support the hopes she harbors or the choices she is making for her future.

Amy’s father has always loved art, and when she was little, he introduced her to watercolors and they would paint together. When the family had to start over after they moved here from China, when Amy was two, he seized the chance to open a gallery. “He was able to do what he did because it was something he really loved,” she said, “and he was able to support his family.”

But it has been hard work, and her parents don’t want the same thing for her. “I told them I am going to art school and they say to look at other schools,” said Amy, “They ask, ‘Can you really do this?’. They’re ok as long as it’s a hobby. As a career it’s not good because you struggle.”

But she’s set her sights on a career she loves. “I have this vision that I am going to art school, this drive, so stuck in my mind that I can’t think of doing anything else.” she said. And the volunteers at Link provide inspiration and support, “They’re kind of role-models, people to look up to who pursued the same thing and succeeded. They can tell me their story and it’s like a guide.”

She swirls the paint in what looks like random patches of color. Slowly, with every stroke or splat, they begin to fit into one another, a perfect composition of color.

After several years at Franklin, Link expanded to create and effect in the larger community. “We wanted to be able to serve other students,” said Varetto, “at schools like Garfield, Sealth, and Rainier Beach.”

As the students at Franklin healed, the Link program turned from a necessary outlet of emotion to a place that widened the horizons for engaged students. “It changed from filling this need to express,” said Varetto, “to providing an opportunity students would not necessarily have in school.”

Garfield senior Lauren Davidson, who was sitting next to Amy, spinning out magenta, blue and black shapes, began drawing when she was little at her dad’s basketball games. Buoyed by the support of teachers and fellow students, she decided this is what she wants to do with her life.

“I definitely see art in my future.” Lauren said, “Art is hot right now in business, for logos and design concepts. I really want to go to the Art Institute of Chicago.”

Lauren has an advantage, since her parents are completely on board. “My mom once said, ‘anything for art’ when we were shopping for supplies,” she said.

For the most part, Link is just broadening her range of style. “It’s cool to learn a bunch of different techniques and use them in my other pieces. We had a class on figure drawing and I’ve started doing figure drawing a lot now. I want to do more pieces.”

The program model has been taken up across the United States. Recently a branch of Link sprang up in San Diego, based on Seattle’s program. “We’ve created a model,” said Varetto proudly, “We’re a gold standard. Our goal for the future is keeping what we’ve created consistent.”

Amy spatters the last drop on her second piece and Lauren adds a final stroke before they step into the circle to critique their work with their peers.

“Every time I go I meet someone new and hear their story,” Amy said. “People come from all these different schools and bring their experiences with art. All these stories are coming together for one goal.”

Under Laura’s direction, the students pored over their pieces, presenting, and mingling, supporting each other with their ideas and culture in a way no one else could.

But when the mugger saw the wallet, he tried to take the whole thing. This was too much. Raymond started walking away when a branch struck him full in the back. He turned, saw the boy brandishing the branch, and ran.

But he didn’t get far. In about a block he was trapped. They took the cash they’d originally asked for and were trying to take his phone when a woman came running out of a daycare to chase them off. Raymond snatched back his stuff before fleeing to his mom’s office.

It seems to some that experiences like Raymond’s have increased since Garfield’s return to the Central District.

While there is no consensus on the causes of this situation, ASB Vice President Mario Buty says that ASB has been discussing a theory: “Most of the people who are holding people up do not go to Garfield,” he says. “Some of them used to live in the Central District, but were forced out due to high-priced real estate, and come back feeling a certain sense of entitlement.”

He also suggests that students were coming back from Lincoln unprepared for the differences in the neighborhoods. “Kids are used to Lincoln, which is in a safer neighborhood than Garfield,” says Buty. “Kids could walk around with iPods near Lincoln with a reasonable assumption that they would not get jacked. So, a lot of kids feel something like that would not happen to them, but this situation is happening with surprising regularity.”

Especially, he says, at Medgar Evars Pool, which is where freshman Will* came running from when he burst into the Garfield gym where his brother, junior Charlie* was watching a volleyball game. Finding his brother in the crowd, he started babbling about being mugged.

According to Charlie, Will and his friends were hanging out by Medgar Evars Pool when a group of jostling, laughing boys surrounded them. The boys asked for money, and when Will and his friend Fred* said no, they started beating them up. As they began to run away, one of the muggers snatched Fred’s wallet.

After hearing the story, Charlie said that he grabbed his friend John* and they went looking to get Fred’s wallet back. They found two of the kids outside the gym, but the boys started running, and Charlie and John chased them past a police car, when the cop intervened.

That should have been the end of it, but even though Fred did not press charges on his stolen wallet, the muggers were arrested on separate offenses.

Fred and Will started getting threats in the hubbub of the hallways. “I’m bringing heat tomorrow,” said one kid in the hallway.

Finally, they had to tell the administration, but it turns out they have limited power in this situation. “[The mugging] is not happening on school grounds or during school time, so there’s not much we can do,” said Principal Ted Howard. “We have been working with the police.”

In the meantime, measures are being taken to help kids adjust. Garfield’s Black Parent Association and the PTSA held a student safety forum last Wednesday. Also, Buty suggests that “kids avoid walking alone or with iPods.”

*Name has been changed.

At about eight o’clock I was in the street, the cheers and woops of my neighbors bouncing off the houses. At eight o’clock Queen Anne Hill was peppered with light as we sent fireworks whizzing into the sky kicking off a blazing call and response.

At about eight o’clock, so I hear, families cried joyful tears and perfect strangers embraced on the street. I hear marching band walked the streets downtown amidst falling confetti, people leaned screaming out of cars and the massive election watching party at the Westin erupted.

Barack Obama, our first black President, had been elected by a landslide.

But you all know that. The halls the next morning were filled with “Yes we did” and “I heard we could”. But I, for one, dropped into a peaceful sleep after the last fuse ran out, and missed the results for all the other races.

So here, to save all my fellow people with one track minds from having to piece the results together like I did, I give you a survey of all the big, important local races, and a few of the little not so significant ones.

Disclaimer: I will be biased, so take it with a grain of salt, if you have to.

Christine Gregoire – Governor
Thank God. Chris won with a slightly larger margin than she had last time around, which is impressive considering she is the incumbent in a crappy time for the economy. Ouch, Dino, that’s gotta hurt.

Reuven Carlyle – 36th legislative district
The most impressive thing about this race was its signage. There was a sign at nearly every house in the 36th LD. The most impressive thing for me was that we were the only house in a sea of John Burbank with a Carlyle sign. BOOOOM!

Initiative 1
(The One With the Pig about Pike Place) – Passed
Apparently Rachel the pig has been slackin’ in her collection duties. The catacombs of Pike Place are falling apart, there are places where grime is all that is holding the pipes together, and you just have to peek in the bathrooms to know that the market is low on funds. Thankfully, people love Pike Place enough to spend forty bucks a year on it surviving.

Initiative 985
(The One with Tim Eyman about Transportation) – Rejected
This one looked really good on the ballot itself. Synchronized traffic lights? I am on board. But if you dig just a little deeper, it’s a whole bunch of wasted money on roads taking away from alternative transportation like bike trails. So, voters, as the NO on 985 website says, “Give yourself a pat on the back” for resisting watching all those pretty lights switching together.

Initiative 1000
(The One with the Screaming Petitioners about Death with Dignity) – Passed
Although I was not super happy with being yelled at by petitioners about this issue all summer, apparently it worked. Plus Oregon’s been doing it for ten years, and we always end up trying to do what Oregon does.

Proposition 8
(The One with California about Gay Marriage) – Passed
This one is in California, but it has national implications. The state with the highest gay population rejects an amendment to its constitution allowing gay marriage. Thousands of gay marriages are annulled. There’s really nothing cute to say about this. It just sucks.

Those three hours would feel like an eternity if I could stop the blank static of my brain, blink the fuzz from my eyes and focus. But it’s not about to happen. Complete thoughts don’t seem to form in my brain like a normal person’s.

If the buzzing stops the pressure crowds in. I didn’t get to my Latin homework yet. I still need to memorize the periodic table. Oh, it’s Tuesday, isn’t it? I better not forget to take out the trash.

I’ve always heard that junior year is the hardest in high school and I’m no stranger to all-nighters, but so far I’ve been up until the wee hours at least once a week. It’s too much, and I’m starting to get a little worried.

This year is supposed to be about meeting challenges, taking on as much as you can before you burst. But if this is the first few weeks, what have I signed myself up for?

Two hours left and I’m staring at one paragraph now. Arranging and rearranging in my head. One irritating sentence stuck where it doesn’t belong and unsure of where it’s headed. Two more hours before it’s over; I’d go to sleep now if I wasn’t so trapped.

I’m starting to get a little bit angry.

I’ve been set up for failure. With so many classes, as soon as I figure out a concept, some new idea will come swooping down to push it out. There’s too much work and not enough time to solidly learn anything.

But the really scary part is that countless juniors have gone through this before. If I can’t meet this standard, what does that say about me?

The anger fizzles out as I realize exactly where the blame falls. On the kid who spent the weekend the way she always has. Saturday stretched out on a friend’s couch and Sunday futzing around the house, halfheartedly throwing in some work in evening. It falls on the kid who has always worked best in the final moments, always thought that last-minute work would cut it.

One hour to go and the keys practically press themselves. Letters are falling into place in the hustle of the final moments, faster and more organized than they ever would without that gripping desperation. I’m almost done when I sink my throbbing head to the keyboard. One line of F’s trail across the screen.

What feels like an instant later, my dog is barking, someone’s knocking on the door, the carpool is idling out front and I’m still in my Superman PJ pants. I scramble like a madwoman.

I bust out the front door in record time with almost no sleep and a finished paper clutched in my hand, realizing as I trip down the steps that this night was just an affirmation of what I already knew.

This year is a meat grinder. This is where we push ourselves to wit’s end and find the ugly limits to our capabilities. This is where we first meet more work than we can handle and hopefully we learn how to overcome it.

Assignment upon assignment may keep me constantly tired and brain-dead. It may mean the sacrifice of quality and deep thought, but hopefully only for a little while.

With luck, we learn focus, balance and how to use time, so that we can think faster and deeper than we could before; with luck, this desperation will drive us to new heights. I can only hope that as soon as next semester, if working this hard isn’t easy, it won’t feel impossible anymore.

I slide into a wonderfully solid seat and buckle myself in. As we pull away from the curb, I brace myself for another day. We’re a mile away before I realize I forgot to take out the trash.

By the time Principal Ted Howard II cut through the happy babble of the crowd to begin the first round of speeches, the sense of pride and ownership was palpable. One ’74 alumnus said it all: “The community came together to build this lovely school and we have deserved it for a long time.”

After Howard kicked off the ceremony, the cheer team and marching band performed. Three members of the Duwamish tribe, one of whom graduated from Garfield in 1954, blessed the building with a traditional chant and drumbeat.

Notable members of the community, including Mayor Greg Nickels and Seattle Schools Superintendent Maria Goodloe-Johnson, spoke until Associated Student Body President Zawdie Stephens-Terry took the floor. He wrapped up the speeches with a dedication to his fellow students, whom he called “the life and blood of this school.”

Later, he predicted that the new building will have a multi-faceted effect on the student body. In terms of academic performance, Stephens-Terry said the improved facilities will “set expectations” and “inspire” students. He said it’s the spirit, though, that is really going to change.

He described how coming back to the Central District will bring back some of the pride and community that Garfield lost at Lincoln. “At Lincoln spirit dropped. But now we have our own building. It’s like having a home. Lincoln was a foster home. It’s a great building but it wasn’t ours.”

And a lot of that change is going to come from the surrounding community, which has been with this project since day one. “I think it’s like having a relative return,” said Stephens-Terry, “I feel the community welcomes us home.”

When the speeches were over and the ribbon was cut, bulldogs poured across the steps and through the historic front doors. Stephens-Terry said to “look forward to big changes,” and the smell of change was in the air; fresh plaster and wet paint.

The building was big; it was beautiful; it was filled with the chatter of a hundred cheery voices; and it wasn’t finished. The front hall and commons were glowingly prepared, but the back hallways and upper floors were littered with bowxes, carts and guys on ladders painting, ripping and plastering.

However, the superintendent of the project, Tony Johnson, whose son graduated from Garfield twenty years ago, said things aren’t as bad as they look; the building is basically done. All that remains are small projects and “mechanical pieces that need to be tested and balanced.”

But, he does say they will probably need to stay at least through October, and that you can blame paperwork and confusion for the delay. “There needed to be some clarification on exactly what they wanted us to build,” Johnson said. “Plus, you have to have all this paper in place before you can do anything, so that slowed us down.”

For the most part, people did not seem to mind the little messes throughout the school. Maybe they knew about the delays from participating in the project. Johnson said he has “never worked on a project where the community has been so involved the whole time.”

Some students, however, were shocked. “It needs to be done,” said Junior Adriana Williams, who looked a little frantic over the size of the school, worrying that she couldn’t find her classes.

The chaos particularly dampened the homecoming for teachers who didn’t have what they needed by the first day. Math teacher Jeffery Nomura lost ninety percent of his materials when a moving truck was stolen from the construction site. This left him with bare walls and only one class set of textbooks, not to mention the loss of his chess library and the chess team’s trophies.

For the most part he’s just hoping to “see the stuff again,” especially an irreplaceable chess book signed by chess master Samuel Reshevsky. But he’s also worried about not being ready for the year. His lesson plans were also stolen and he only has enough for a few weeks.

History teacher Hersh Mandelman, however, isn’t worried. “It’s definitely a new opportunity. We have to deal with breakdowns. There are always breakdowns. The nice thing is it gives us a chance to make breakthroughs. We’re back at home.”

“Tell me,” she said, “What are some of the biggest moments of the past century?”

Answers flooded from every perspective in the room, from Martin Luther King’s “I have a Dream” speech to the Dalai Lama’s exile in 1959. Jennifer nodded in encouragement, after each response, her dark hair swinging around her ears. “Exactly, exactly,” she said, “‘Seeds of Compassion’ is trying to be the same thing. Essentially they’re trying to jumpstart a movement.”

Geist, the school program director for an organization called Bridges to Understanding, helped bring together student journalists from all over the world for Seeds of Compassion, a massive five-day event intended to inspire kindness and global thinking in the next generation. Crowds filled Key Arena and Quest Field from April 12th through the 18th, drawn by celebrities like Dave Matthews and icons like the Dalai Lama, who spoke about how kindness could fit into everyday life.

The Tuesday before the start of the event, the building buzzed with Geist’s enthusiasm as the students prepared for something amazing.

But six days later on Seeds’ “Children’s Day” at Key Arena, kids from across Washington state were not getting the message. A parade of men in suits had already welcomed the Dalai Lama to Seattle, and when Mayor Nichols stood up to talk, Garfield freshman Ajalee Pulley tucked a fist under her chin and prepared to drift off to sleep.

“Let me know when the Dalai Lama starts talking,” she mumbled as an afterthought to fellow freshman Brandon Jimerson, “in case there’s an assignment.” But as he watched another performer take the stage, Jimerson’s mind went blank, and he rested his chin on the top of Pulley’s head and let his eyes close.

Sophomores Nina Pascucci and Haley Adams sat in a pack of sleepy first graders, their feet against the seats in front of them, leaning back and squinting to make out what was happening on stage. “When I first heard about Seeds I thought it would be a really amazing experience,” she says, “but when I got there it was a show.”

The Dalai Lama fidgeted in an armchair onstage as people sang his praises, watching as students fell back behind a wall of idolatry. The most powerful piece of the Dalai Lama’s persona, his humanity, was being sucked away. When was it finally his turn, his Holiness the Dalai Lama became just another distant speaker; the students settled back as waves of long words and complicated concepts washed over them.

“I was really excited to go, and the messages were important…” Jimerson said.” His voice trailed off, as though trying to remember what exactly was important about them.

“But what did the Dalai Lama do to break it down?” Pulley cut in, “I had no idea what he was saying—and how many of the little kids in the front even knew who he was?”

The first-graders that Pascucci and Adams were sitting with, from West Seattle’s Cooper Elementary, who curled up in the corner of their plush red seats and blew absentmindedly on silver pinwheels, knew exactly who the Dalai Lama was. Their teacher, Lillian Woo-Adams, has been telling them all year.

Teaching kindness and respect has been a way for Woo-Adams to handle the behavior of students who often come from unstable homes. The kids are angry when they get to school; they’ll hit someone for looking at them funny. “All these kids are good, they just need to be valued and respected,” she said. “They haven’t been dealt a lot of compassion, and they can’t give what they haven’t received.”

On the playground of Cooper Elementary, a boy fell down and his playmate stopped to help him up. “Ms. Woo! Ms. Woo!” a girl named Caitlin cried, pointing to the boys. “I just saw Elijah do an act of compassion!”

Woo-Adams nodded, and when they returned to the classroom Caitlin painstakingly wrote what Elijah had done on a Post-It. Carefully, she placed it under his name on the compassion chart on the bulletin board. Elijah smiled when he saw, and, Caitlin scampered back to her seat.

“Compassion” has become a popular word in Woo-Adams’ class since she discovered the Seeds curriculum online a few months before the event. She uses the word as a way to combine the messages of sharing kindness and respect she has taught the kids all year.

Using a mixture of her own lessons and suggestions from Seeds, she taught her students about the Dalai Lama, they role-played actions of compassion and identified feelings of empathy in books. Most of all, Woo-Adams made sure they knew they had the power to help.

When a girl dropped a box of crayons and her tablemates immediately jumped up to help, Woo-Adams jumped on the chance to make a point. “See? Look, that’s compassion; you guys do it all the time.” She told the class, “It doesn’t matter how old you are, everyone is capable.”

The ring of Woo-Adams’ bell cut through the shrill chatter in her classroom on the morning of “Children’s Day.” Wearing matching white t-shirts, the kids wriggled with excitement in their seats as their teacher sped through the rules and reminders, anxious to see the man they’d heard so much about. But when the Dalai Lama finally spoke, they couldn’t connect. “It was way over their heads; it was boring,” Woo-Adams said. “They were sitting way up, far away from him. They should have let kids onstage and had them sit around the Dalai Lama and ask him questions. Then even the kids who couldn’t be onstage could watch people their age.”

For two Guatemalan middle-school girls named Daisy and Holly, this made all the difference. As part of a cultural parade from Bridges to Understanding, the girls carried a scarf, woven and embroidered by the mothers of their village, to the Dalai Lama. “It was amazing to be in his presence,” Holly said. “It was like the rest of the stadium dropped away.”

Geist says that human interaction was what was missing from Seeds, and what made it fall short of expectations. She found more in the smaller workshops that surrounded Seeds’ big events. “The inter-group dialogue is where it got very personal,” she said. “This is where people began to see other people as humans they could be, this is where the sparks you go out and use later come from.”

For students who could not make it to the little workshops, the massive events were not enough. When they did not get the message at an important event it caused many students to doubt themselves. “Maybe we need to be older,” freshman Brianna Ross said, frowning. “Maybe we’ll look back when we’re older and are making decisions and use it then.”

With this attitude, many students are giving up on understanding the basic messages. “It’s over,” said another freshman, Marcel Davis, “And no one has said ‘Dalai Lama’ in this school since.”

This is what worries Pascucci. “The Dalai Lama isn’t saying he’s going to make the change for us. He’s giving us ideas on how to live our lives, and after that it’s up to each individual person.”

To hear the Dalai Lama’s message, kids had to be prepped with background and supported with follow-up. “Just to take the metaphor way too far,” Geist joked, “a seed in the sand is not going to grow. Hopefully the international students will take back what they learned,” Geist said. As for the American students, “It’s really important that teachers don’t let it drop.” It’s going to be up to them to use the message on a personal level.

The next morning, cheerful chatter filled the room as Woo-Adams tried to get her class under control. She rang her bell three times, “I’m going to start class,” she called. “Come on guys, show me some compassion.”

It’s the Northwest Folklife Festival and everywhere Garfield is sunk deep into the festival’s past and present, from the young violinist, in ripped and faded jeans, who woos the crowd year after year, to an eye catching, feathered, sparkled woman decked out in every color of the rainbow.

Garfield art teacher Bonnie Hungate-Hawk has made a twenty eight year mark on Folklife, starting out by helping her brother with a recycling campaign in the early 1980’s, where she hand sorted garbage and recycling. Since then she’s moved up through the volunteer ranks and now she’s in charge of the crafts walkway. “I make sure that the people are all happy,” said Hungate-Hawk. “The festival goer has a better time when they’re not meeting up with cranky crabby people.”

“[Folklife] brings the whole world together,” she said. “When I sit [at Folklife] and watch the world go by, I see all different ethnicities, all different cultures, all different ages, everybody goes by. Everybody’s together and appreciating the arts and each other. That’s the way I think the whole world should be.”

As she watched the world go by, she may have noticed Garfield Sophomore Caleb Raible-Clark’s, grandmother, Edy Rainbow. She’s pretty hard to miss, dressed to the nines in every color she can get her hands on. “Whatever comes my way, I decorate,” Said Rainbow, who even dressed up her walking stick in rainbow feathers and sparkles.

Rainbow’s been coming to Folklife “since the beginning” and her brightly colored face has become an expected piece of the festival atmosphere. “People always wait for me to come over to the blues stage,” said Rainbow. “I always dance up a storm over there, usually with my rainbow umbrella.” She’s made a family of the festival. “[I keep coming back] because it’s all the things I love, people, art, music. You know, all the fun things. “

As Rainbow struts past the international fountain her stick might clack harder on the bricks as her feet pick up the rhythm of sophomore Isis Rush’s quick violin as it works the crowd. “People always stop and listen,” said Rush, who made two hundred dollars by busking in eighth grade.

“It’s one of my favorite times of the year,” she said. “Everybody’s just friendly. It’s not weird to start conversations with people you don’t know. People will come up and talk to us after we play. I’ve met people that way that I still keep in touch with.”

The First Line, a three-person band of two Garfield seniors, was busking the streets, with two guitars and a hand drum, while Rush was making those two hundred bucks. They’ve since moved up to playing on stage, but drummer, Jake Linde recalls busking fondly. “There’s so many different people. Some would just pass us by, but some would stay and do a little hippie dance.”

Not that playing on stage is any disappointment. “Everybody’s willing to have a good time, so they do, and we do too,” said Linde. “You want Folklife to be every weekend, it brings everybody together. For that weekend everybody’s so full of peace and happiness.”

As the boys head home, they might wave to Hungate-Hawk as she watches the rich colors of Folklife pass by, growing muter as twilight sets in, as the music trails off, as the crazy, messy, magical world of Folklife settles down for it’s 362 day doze until it bursts forth again, foot stomping and pan clanging it’s way back into existence next Memorial Day weekend.