The 3,000-year-old stone slabs sit in silence, mostly. Weighing in at almost 2,000 pounds each, it took a lot to get them here—a boat ride down the Tigris to Basra, a skip over to Bombay, then, via ship, onward to Brunswick, Maine.
It was midsummer and Franklin Taylor ’19 was at a crossroads. Back home in Oak Park, an urban suburb of Chicago, Ill., he stared at the blinking cursor on his computer screen. It hovered over his email inbox, pointing to the question that had been needling him all summer long: would he don jersey number 86 in the fall?
When Octavio Castro ’19 was accepted to Bowdoin, the words on his letter of admission boasted of the College’s enthusiastic community, one bound together by intellectual growth, friendship and new horizons.
So he flew from Miami, landed in Brunswick, met with his academic advisor and began class.
Ishani Agarwal ’20 says she came to Bowdoin “blind.” An international student from Mumbai, India, Ishani gleaned everything she knew about Bowdoin from pamphlets and the internet. Once transplanted to campus and settled in small-town Maine, Agarwal wondered about a lot of things.
Award-winning comic Jenny Yang was an organizer for over 85,000 labor union members when she decided to try her hand at professional joke-making. The Los Angeles-based comedian had made a career out of political activism when she took a risk and devoted herself to what she had always been good at: making people laugh.
Brooklyn-based lawyer Carrie Goldberg knew nothing about revenge porn—until she became the victim of it. The pawn of an ex-boyfriend’s online and offline sexual extortion, Goldberg says she started her own law firm to become the lawyer she needed when she was under attack.
Irfan Alam ’18 isn’t sure how to pronounce his first name. The confusion stems from the varied intonations of his friends at Bowdoin (air-fawn), his family (air-fawn) and his friends from his largely white private high school in Austin, Texas (urr-fawn).
Inside a well-lit warehouse somewhere between Portland’s East and West ends, five friends create. They make gestures on canvas, develop film, produce sound and cut video content. Sometimes they lie on the couch and scroll through Instagram, at others they gather around to critique one another’s art, like they did in college.
Raised in an immigrant household in North Carolina, George “G” Yamazawa was 17 years old when he decided to become a slam poet. Identifying as both Japanese and American, he often felt simultaneously at home and out of place.