Editor’s Note: This article and the above spread appears in the Spring 2026 edition of . See below for a web-friendly version.

David Omasombo ’26 and Chiwer Mayen ’26 have shared many basketball courts across their young lifetimes, including historic Alumni Gym, but the first one stands out in their memories for being the worst, in a technical sense. The surface was uneven, the rims inconsistent, and, most of the time, there were no nets.

“Terrible,” says Mayen. But at Lewiston’s Hillview apartment complex, it was a gathering place for the community, which made it a great place to be introduced to each other and develop a passion for hoops.

“Thirty kids on one court, 30 kids on the other court,” says Mayen, a sociology major.

“Just pack it and play basketball,” adds Omasombo, also a sociology major.

Omasombo would have been around 11 years old and Mayen 12 when their worlds first collided at the Hillview apartments, and both had already been on long journeys just to get to those basketball courts.

Omasombo was born to Congolese parents in a refugee camp in Tanzania. He arrived in the United States in 2010 via Indianapolis, as part of a church asylum program, and then lived in Nashville. Both American cities were tough on the young Omasombo.

“Back home, America is often described as the ‘promised land,’ like in the Bible,” Omasombo says. “But I didn’t know any English and I experienced a lot of bullying. It was hard to make friends as the little African kid in the group who dressed differently and spoke Swahili.” Omasombo spent long hours in Nashville working with his second-grade teacher Tee Hassold, learning English in one-on-one sessions after school.

Mayen was born in Jackson, Mississippi, to parents who had come to America from South Sudan. He lived in a house in Jackson built by Habitat for Humanity until he was in third grade. It was, he remembers, a great home, but not a great area. “The house had bars on the windows, and I mostly stayed inside,” Mayen says. “At the time I didn’t realize why, but it was for my own safety.” That’s when his father, who raised him and his sister mostly alone, moved the family to North Carolina. They stayed with family friends for about a year. Then Mayen’s father heard about opportunities in Lewiston, where there was a growing South Sudanese community. His family drove north to Maine and eventually moved into the Hillview complex.

In Nashville, Omasombo’s father had also heard about the growing community of African refugees in Maine and felt Lewiston would be a better fit for his family. That kind second grade teacher, Tee Hassold, helped Omasombo’s family raise funds to move north. “All 10 of us drove to Maine in 2012 in a 16-passenger van with all of our belongings,” Omasombo says. “Thanks to my teacher and the generosity of the community, we were able to move to Lewiston. I still keep in touch with Mr. Hassold. He is such an amazing human being.”

He was 10 when he arrived in Lewiston. After his first year at Longley Elementary, the Omasombo family moved to the Hillview apartments, and he enrolled at McMahon Elementary. That’s when the two boys met on the basketball court. The memory is fuzzy but Omasombo is pretty sure about one thing.

“I think my first impression of Chiwer was that he was a giant,” says Omasombo.

Mayen’s parents’ South Sudanese heritage is in the Dinka tribe, some of the tallest people in the world, and he is no exception. Today he is the tallest player on the Bobcats, standing at 6 feet 9 inches. Omasombo is the shortest player on the team, a full foot shorter than Mayen. But Omasombo had an edge in terms of basketball experience when they met. Growing up in the refugee camp in Tanzania, Omasombo only knew soccer and laughs about how when he first encountered basketball in America he tried to kick the ball through the hoop. Mayen was even newer to basketball. He hadn’t really liked sports growing up, but basketball started to grow on him.

“I was so bad at first,” Mayen says. “All I could do was pass the ball. In basketball, height is height, but you really need to have other attributes as well, such as strength. But I love the journey of getting better every day.”

The duo didn’t share the court in an organized setting until they attended Lewiston High School and started playing on the junior varsity team.

They both made varsity the next year and, under the leadership of then head coach Ronnie Turner, helped lead Lewiston boys basketball to one of their best seasons in recent memory. “I was tough on them, but Chiwer was great about taking my coaching to heart, and David would text me to open the gym for extra shots at night after games, and then again in the early morning,” says Turner. “He would be working on his game at 5 a.m.”

“Ronnie was the perfect role model that we needed to hear from,” Omasombo says. “He had grown up in Lewiston and knew what we were going through.”

Turner, whose mother, Tonya Bailey, is the director of �ֲ���ý’ Student Center for Belonging and Community, also had a sense, a belief, about where this hardworking pair with so much behind them might go next. Men’s basketball head coach Jon Furbush ’05 hired Turner as an assistant coach in 2021, and Turner made sure to alert him to the duo. “I had never had any players from Lewiston High School so I am grateful to Ronnie for helping me get in front of those guys,” Furbush says. “I remember watching both of them play and thinking to myself, ‘Maybe we have something here.’”

Mayen played one post-grad season at The Woodstock Academy in Connecticut, so he and Omasombo both enrolled at �ֲ���ý in fall 2022. They are the first Lewiston High School alumni to play men’s basketball at �ֲ���ý in five decades, since Bruce Campbell ’76.

Not that �ֲ���ý was a completely new environment for either of them when they arrived, as Omasombo and Mayen often snuck into Alumni Gym as kids to get shots up. They’d play pick-up with �ֲ���ý students. “Alumni Gym is where I threw down my first real dunk,” Mayen says. But when they first met, the notion of �ֲ���ý as a future alma mater was far from their minds.

Now, Omasombo and Mayen are recent �ֲ���ý grads, after making the most (and then some) of their time on campus. After four years steeped in academics, basketball, internships, community service, jobs, and further friendship, Omasombo and Mayen are well-aware of the example they set for future generations. Mayen was raised by an immigrant father, trying to care for his son and daughter on his own. Omasombo spent the first eight years of his life in the refugee camp before moving to America. “I didn’t have the privilege or opportunity to go to school and there were very few resources,” Omasombo says. “All we had was family. But that kept us alive.”

What might not seem possible is possible. It’s been done. Here they are.

And yet, when you look at what both of them do in the Lewiston community on top of their athletic and academic pursuits at �ֲ���ý, it definitely seems impossible for anyone to achieve as much as they do. There just don’t seem to be enough hours in the day.

“They redefine the meaning of hard work,” Furbush says. “Some people think they’re working hard, but if they actually spent some time with either of those guys they would quickly realize, ‘Oh, I am not maximizing my day.’”

For starters, both serve as substitute teachers in the Lewiston Public Schools.

“I’ve really enjoyed my time with the students and seeing my old teachers,” Mayen says. “I try to put myself in the kids’ shoes and try to have an impact on their psyche in a positive way.”

Mayen enjoys working with elementary school kids, while Omasombo has worked more with the middle and high schoolers. It’s not always easy, given the challenges in the aftermath of the pandemic, particularly behavioral issues. “I think it helps that the teachers can point to us as examples of people from the Lewiston Public Schools who are doing well. You don’t have to misbehave or fall into the wrong crowd,” Omasombo says.

Omasombo remembers what it felt like when he was in high school.

Violence in the community was a problem. So when he was a senior at LHS, Omasombo and a friend of his started an after-school club where young men could discuss issues impacting their lives and how to address them.

“Our goal was not to fix everything. We just wanted to give the boys in our community something we didn’t have growing up,” Omasombo says. “We talked about leadership and not following the crowd. Most importantly, we focused on staying away from potentially dangerous situations that could alter people’s lives forever.”

In addition to working in the heart of the city, Omasombo is an organic farmer. His dad, whose first name is Omasombo, grew up farming with his father in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The elder Omasombo was able to secure a parcel of land in Lisbon designated for refugees and started OK Community Farm. “My dad is an inspiration, getting up at 4 a.m. every day to work on the farm and support our family,”Omasombo says. “We sell our vegetables down by Kennedy Park. I really look forward to the days that I can go to the farm and help out, working side-by-side with my dad.” Omasombo is entrepreneurial, giving haircuts and starting a pressure-washing business with his girlfriend. Since eighth grade, when he traveled to Texas with his church group to help with hurricane relief, he’s been deeply vested in community service.

Being there for others makes him feel closer to God. He jumps at every opportunity to pay forward the assistance he’s gotten through the years. “I know what it feels like to need help, and not know how to ask,” Omasombo says. “I know what it feels like to feel lost and alone, especially as a kid. I had people step into my life when they didn’t have to, so I feel the responsibility to be that for someone else.”

Mayen is a direct support professional, providing caregiving services to people with disabilities, working in a group home in Augusta. There is also a national shortage in this field, so it’s a job that provides Mayen with a lot of opportunities. As a junior at �ֲ���ý, he worked overnights, sometimes going directly from basketball games to the group home. He isn’t doing that anymore, but still works long hours.

He doesn’t mind. “Working as a direct support professional can be hard but it is amazing, eye-opening work,” Mayen says. “I love the individuals I work with. One client I work with is a huge fan of Walker, Texas Ranger, so we watch that a lot together.” Mayen also connected with the Harward Center for Community Partnerships at �ֲ���ý, where the mission is “to weave together campus and community for the enrichment of both student learning and public life.”

Through Harward’s community work-study program, which gives students who receive Federal Work-Study funds the chance to work off-campus and engage with the community, Mayen secured an internship with The Third Place, a network that connects Maine’s Black professionals, students, and entrepreneurs to both professional and social opportunities. Mayen collects data on Black professionals in Maine and helps plan various events. It’s a job that allows him to work remotely, critical when one is as busy as Mayen is every day at �ֲ���ý and beyond. “My schedule is very hectic, so it was great to find such a flexible internship through them,” Mayen says.

“David and Chiwer are prime examples of what Lewiston is capable of,” says Mohamed Awil, associate director of volunteer programs and community partnerships at the Harward Center and leader of the community work-study program. Like Omasombo and Mayen, he is a Lewiston High School alumnus, having graduated in 2014. He coached track and cross country at LHS while Mayen and Omasombo were there as students. “I hope they inspire people to stay in the community,” Awil says. “Or come back to help uplift us all. I am excited to see the �ֲ���ý and Lewiston connection continue to grow.”

Mayen is driven by the desire to help his dad and his sister. “My father raised us as a single dad, and I want to give him all the props in the world,” Mayen says. “I work so much because I want to provide for him back in South Sudan, and also my sister, who is figuring things out as a young adult in Mobile, Alabama.”

Their coach, Furbush, is in awe of Mayen and Omasombo’s values.

“Chiwer and David are maybe the most unselfish people I’ve ever met, not just at �ֲ���ý, but in my life. They rarely put themselves first. They’re always thinking, ‘How can we give back?’”

After graduation, Omasombo’s plan is to go into commercial real estate, while Mayen’s goal is to continue playing basketball after college. He’s never been to South Sudan and would like to go in the near future and meet members of his extended family. Likewise, Omasombo hopes to one day be able to go to the Congo for the first time. But for now they are making it in America, despite facing obstacles along the way that most people can’t imagine.

“This country provides a lot of opportunities,” Mayen says. “America is great at times, and it’s terrible at times. But the goal is always upward mobility. Struggle and perseverance is a great teacher. You need to go through difficult times to succeed in this world.”

When Trinity Monstwillo ‘26 made her way across the country from Oregon as an incoming student at �ֲ���ý, she was anticipating the unexpected. But seeing another student hand-wash and hang dry their clothes to save the $3 that each on campus load of laundry cost wasn’t just unexpected. It was unwelcome. 

“It made me sad that he was hand-washing his clothes,” said Monstwillo. She’d perceived �ֲ���ý as progressive. Why wasn’t laundry free, particularly for students on financial aid? “That would have been a great way to make the space more equitable.”

Before long, she realized that laundry mattered to a lot of students and she connected with Aleisha Martinez Sandoval ’26 of Mexico City on the issue. When they began asking questions to see if this change might happen, the two came to understand some of the challenges of simply making laundry free for the entire campus. Encouraged by Kim Trauceniek, senior associate dean of students for campus life, Monstwillo, a politics major, and Martinez Sandoval, a biochemistry and politics double major, continued to gather information. Eventually they created a proposal and prepared a presentation for senior leadership. 

“We got to learn a lot about �ֲ���ý and just how many students pay full tuition, how many students don’t pay full tuition, and how we could potentially work out a plan,” said Martinez Sandoval. 

While their proposal was well-received and they appreciated being heard, they were told that free laundry was not possible. Laundry would continue to cost $3 a load through a contract with a third-party provider, CSC ServiceWorks.

But momentum continued to build around the issue. New students like Mohammad Zayd ’27, of the Bronx, N.Y., arrived on campus and experienced their own frustrations around laundry. When Martinez Sandoval returned from study abroad, she found that there was renewed energy around an issue. And she wanted to do what she could for the students who came after her.

“I am someone who is very grateful to the �ֲ���ý financial aid department, just because I would have never been able to attend this school without it,” said Martinez Sandoval. She wanted to be sure the accessibility efforts were thorough and reflected student need. “I really wanted to bring those opportunities to other students.”

Zayd, a neuroscience major with a double minor in physics and chemistry, came to understand the context and complexity around this one issue, and when he ran for student government co-president with Zach Richards ’26 of Princeton, Mass., free laundry was on their minds.

“Free laundry matters because it addresses a fundamental need of all students,” said Richards, a politics and economics double major. “The price of laundry services has long been among the hidden costs of life at �ֲ���ý, posing a financial barrier to the well-being of many students on campus.”

Zayd and Richards reached out to Monstwillo and Martinez Sandoval to see what could be learned from their initial outreach. The four students began working together to see what might have been missing. They deepened their research, they clarified their arguments, and they tried again. 

The new proposal offered three tiers for senior leadership to consider: free laundry for those with an estimated family contribution of less than $15K, free laundry for Pell-grant eligible students (and international students with similar financial needs), and free laundry for those on full aid. They gave their presentation and shared their proposal and this time, the answer was yes. Free laundry for all �ֲ���ý students.

“This milestone is the result of a great collaborative effort with our student government leaders, whose dedication and partnership were instrumental in making this a reality,” said Rosanna Ferro, vice president for student affairs. “It presents a wonderful opportunity for us to remove a practical daily barrier and continue building a more supportive campus environment where every Bobcat can thrive.” 

�ֲ���ý students will certainly feel the impact of this decision in $3 increments across future semesters. The success of this work will also linger for those involved in this collaboration. 

“I’m really proud of my assembly and the executive board,” Zayd said. “I’m really proud of the research that was put into it. I think it’s going to be a very beneficial thing for all of us.” 

Martinez Sandoval, Monstwillo, and Richards got the news just as they were about to graduate. It was a good note to end on, and to carry forward. “Something that I will definitely take with me is the ability to communicate with different groups of people for a shared common purpose,” said Martinez Sandoval. Another takeaway, even though she knows it to be kind of a cliché, is that “good things take time.” 

The experience was intended for the public good but for Monstwillo, there was a personal benefit as well. “The overall process of recognizing a problem, compiling tons and tons of research and putting it into this really nice, neat proposal is a skill that’s really valuable for my future endeavors,” she said.

Persistence, revision, and collaboration led to a small but critical change at �ֲ���ý. As these student leaders make their mark, the shift reflects something important about �ֲ���ý as well. 

“Seeing �ֲ���ý make this change shows that the college’s leaders follow up their words with actions,” Richards said. “As a leader in student government, I see the success of this initiative both as a result of the thoughtfulness of the �ֲ���ý administration and of the power of student advocacy. The process of working on our most recent laundry proposal highlighted to me what a collaborative place �ֲ���ý is and the sincerity with which faculty and staff seek to elevate student voices.”

Throughout his time at �ֲ���ý, biochemistry major Sebenele Lukhele ’26 of Manzini, Eswatini, has been a researcher. But he’s also been a dancer. And a club volleyball player. And a track and field athlete. And a tutor, and a tour guide, and a member of student government. To sum it up, he was able to be “whatever I wanted to be.”

As he will explain when he delivers the Senior Address at Commencement, Lukhele believes this was possible because of the environment that �ֲ���ý cultivates — one that encourages exploration and discourages judgement. It is an environment that follows through on the college’s promise to be defined by inclusivity, community, and support, coupled with academic rigor. 

This promise, outlined in the �ֲ���ý mission statement and emphasized by Admission representatives, resonated so deeply with Lukhele that he enrolled at �ֲ���ý having never visited campus. He had a feeling he would love the place — and he was right.

�ֲ���ý’ belief in “the transformative power of our differences” is not just about helping students thrive on campus, Lukhele will explain, but also teaching them to be unabatedly curious members of a global society. 

Alexandra DeMarco of �ֲ���ý Communications and Marketing spoke recently with Lukhele. The following is a condensed and edited version of their conversation.

Students who are interested in delivering the Senior Address submit a speech and are selected by a committee. Why did you want to give the Senior Address?

As an international student and a person of color, I came to �ֲ���ý because it promised a community, a place where I can be myself without needing to assimilate or be someone different. I wanted to present a speech on Commencement as a way to show my gratitude for �ֲ���ý giving me that space to explore. I’ve grown so much as a person, and I feel like the community here has been supportive of me in many ways, and I’ve also contributed my support in different ways.

What is the theme of your speech?

Difference and diversity. I have perspectives, or lived experiences, that are very different from my colleagues here. We all have traits that make us different. My speech is highlighting that those differences are our strengths rather than our weaknesses because those are the things that bring us together as a community, if we celebrate them and appreciate them.

At �ֲ���ý, I feel like I was able to be whatever I wanted to be and express myself in whatever way I wanted without needing to be someone different. The speech does try to address a very complex issue of diversity and differences amongst people and how you can approach being a global community that accepts or appreciates each other — coexistence, in a sense.

Could you share an example of a time where you felt like differences were really being celebrated at �ֲ���ý?

Dancing in the 2026 Cultural Showcase, “Here to Stay: Rhythms that Raised Us.” I prepared a piece with one of my friends, Mohamed Al-jabry ’28 from Shinyanga, Tanzania, and we wanted to showcase an African style of dancing. We didn’t feel that we had to do something that was going to be “accepted” by the community, but we felt like we could do something to express ourselves as we are. The crowd was very, very excited. 

People here at �ֲ���ý take anything as long as it’s good and it’s full of energy. No one is looking like, “Oh, this is not something that I’m used to, so I’m going to criticize or judge.” People accept or appreciate those kinds of expressions. That was a very heartwarming moment, and those very small moments are the things that accumulate to make this community what it is. 

I’ve experienced a lot of these moments where people will sit down and listen to you when you have something to say. It also gives you the responsibility to listen to others because when people appreciate and accept you like that, you have a natural instinct to be appreciative of others. 

In my major, biochemistry, professors are able to build a space for differences as things that don’t really affect the way you are viewed in the major. The differences themselves are something that makes it even more interesting, in a sense, because it allows for different perspectives that push research forward. 

You have completed a lot of research during your time at �ֲ���ý, both on campus and during an internship in the summer of 2025 at the Mount Desert Island Biological Laboratory. How has research shaped your career plans?

It actually has shaped my career so much because I came here as a pre-med student from a typical African household. When I was young, I was talented in the sciences. With that came a lot of pressure to become a doctor, and that propelled me toward a medical career. I wanted to come to liberal arts school because I wanted to really discover myself and make sure that I’m in a career that gives me purpose.

Being a biochemistry major gave me a very different perspective into what I can do with my passion for science. As time went on, I felt like I would have a greater impact being a researcher. I felt like that would be, at least for me, an approach to science that serves a greater community.

I really like the fact that �ֲ���ý changed my perspective on what my career could be and provided me with options that I didn’t know existed. There were people who were also able to talk to me through that — the Center for Purposeful Work, advisors, research supervisors. 

You did a senior thesis project. What was it about and how did you choose your subject?

I’m very curious about the impact of changes in cells at the molecular level and how those things drive how cells behave and how everything ends up working in the body of a person. This kind of research, even though it sounds very abstract and not very applicable to the real world, drives a lot of the efforts that end up being very impactful to society itself because they end up making new treatments for very threatening diseases. 

I was very interested in the overarching topic of the research, which was manipulation of sphingolipid metabolism in cells by common cold coronaviruses. That basically is analyzing how viruses affect the structure of a cell, specifically the membrane of the cell. My experience involved a lot of method development, which was very different from the research experiences that I’ve had before. My advisor, Assistant Professor of Chemistry and Biochemistry Scotty Farley, was also there to support me. Other students were doing similar projects, and we were able to talk about different things and discuss how our data is working and help each other through the process.

What on-campus support have you found as you’ve balanced your various interests — biochemistry, dance, global engagement?

�ֲ���ý is very academically rigorous, and, at the same time, there’s a lot of effort by the institution to support students to make sure that they are succeeding both as people and also as students. I have really explored that and took advantage of those support systems. 

The relationships that professors build with students at �ֲ���ý was something that was very substantial to me in balancing things. I also used to be on the track and field team, and I appreciated Curtis Johnson, head coach of men’s and women’s track and field, so much. He’s a very great guy who goes beyond viewing students just as athletes and is concerned about what is going on in your academic life and your personal life, if you so wish to talk about that. 

I want to give a shout out to James Reese, who was the dean of international students and is now the associate dean of students. People say he’s the “father of international students” because he’s supportive in many different ways. 

Also, being part of student government and working with Campus Life on many things, like organizing TEDx�ֲ���ý last fall, opened a window where I could know a lot of the support systems that existed — from major advisors to student advisors and the deans who are waiting for you to talk to them about anything that you need.

How have those experiences and campus activities helped you build community, especially a diverse and inclusive one, at �ֲ���ý? 

TEDx�ֲ���ý started off with a conversation in Commons with my friends about how diverse communities can be truly diverse and what kinds of things are never talked about that make communities less practically diverse than they should be. You can have statistics, but what we want really with diversity is people to interact and be part of an active community — talk to each other and collaborate, which is what the �ֲ���ý mission statement is all about. 

Our motivation was to bring the topic of diversity to a place where a lot of people can interact with it and not at a professional level, but at a very lowkey, chill level. We called Tedx�ֲ���ý “Unasked Questions,” which basically speaks to the questions that we never ask as communities and the things that we don’t really talk about that would have a great impact in making us a strong community.

I wanted a team full of leaders who think in diverse perspectives and see things that I didn’t see myself. Something I learned being part of leadership roles is that you don’t know everything. Being able to see who can help you in different ways is a great skill. 

I was involved in the Africana Club this past semester, as a community liaison on the executive board. I was not just making a community for myself but also building a community for a lot of people and showcasing my identity as an African person. This allowed me to meet new people that I never thought I would interact with on campus. I was able to have conversations with people and have discussions, which were eye-opening in different ways.

I participated in club volleyball, and that was a way to meet new people through a very different platform, and enjoy the sport.

I was also an officer with student government’s Funding and Activities Board. That perspective made me appreciate the efforts and resources that are put into making sure that clubs thrive, there is equity being achieved, and every club has the chance to express their interest and identities in campus life. 

�ֲ���ý students are very intentional people who care about the things that they do, who care about the work that they do. They don’t just do it for the sake of doing it. That’s something that I’ve really, really appreciated about the people here. 

That’s built by the community that exists at �ֲ���ý — the support and the size of the community and the way the place is structured. We have one dining hall, for example, and that allows people to interact and be part of a community every day. That creates a space where people get more and more comfortable to step out of their comfort zone and become the most purposeful and genuine, happy versions of what they could be. 

What are your post-graduate plans?

I’m going to be a research associate at the UMass Chan Medical School in a lab that researches autoimmunity. There are two �ֲ���ý alumni (Olivia Dekker ’24 and Aurora Beaumont ’24) that also work there. They were really excited to see me come into the interview, and I had a lot of �ֲ���ýie conversations with them. 

I’m very excited about that both at the professional level —  it’s going to give me a chance to explore my research career even more and refine topics I really want to get into — and also being able to embody the characteristics that �ֲ���ý has built in me and taking that in the world out there. That’s my next chapter.

Every other week, an open space in the Student Center for Community and Belonging (SCBC) used by students for studying, gaming, and just spending time together transforms. Furniture is repositioned. Speakers are connected and music plays. Ring lights are placed. On the windowsills, light filters through containers filled with Barbasol and combs. Barber chairs are wheeled into their spots. For a few hours, the SCBC becomes a barbershop. 

Faded Lines, as the program is known, emerged from need and evolved out of desire. Tonya Bailey, associate dean and director of the SCBC, knows that a trip to the barbershop is about more than a trim.

“Men in my family have always gone to a barbershop every Saturday, but they spend all day there,” Bailey said. “It’s not just because they’re getting a haircut, it’s because they’re in community there.”

A hairstylist or barber can be hard to find in any new place. Those who come to �ֲ���ý for Faded Lines specialize in ethnic hair, filling an important need for many �ֲ���ý students. 

“We are literally able to witness students relaxing their shoulders as they sit in the chair,” Bailey said. “Seeing a barber that looks like you, can make you feel safer and trust that you will get a cut that feels familiar and makes you feel confident. And if something that small can make that big of a difference, then I think that we’re doing good work.”

As accepted students are visiting campus to finalize their choices, Assistant Director of LGBTQ+ Programs Anthony Del Real has noticed that Faded Lines stands out as a program to facilitate that belonging. He talked with students at �ֲ���ý Beginnings, a program for admitted students held on days in March and April, where the barbers and stylists seemed to be a highlight for several prospective students. 

“A lot of people are not so used to having that as an accessible thing on campus,” Del Real said, “so they were really surprised and excited to learn about Faded Lines.”

It can be difficult to manage tasks like getting a haircut while juggling classwork, activities and campus jobs. Having the haircut come to you eases that stress. Students pop in for a trim or come with friends ready to try out a whole new style. The barbers and stylists are available for all students, regardless of identity or need. 

Bailey, who also worked as a stylist, understands that these students are looking for more than a haircut when they walk into the SCBC on Faded Lines days. 

“Folks tend to ask me how we are able to have a space that truly is for everyone with so many moving parts. And hair care is just central to that for many cultures, but I think speaking really culturally, for Black and brown communities, hair has always been an area of expression. And when you are surrounded by folks that may not look and express themselves in the way that you do, and then you don’t see yourself when you look in the mirror, it is hard to feel that you belong in that environment. So when we think about identity, we think about how closely we can help you feel that you are all of who you are. And part of that is how you visually present.”

When Mekkawy Mohamed ’29 of Alexandria, Egypt, came to �ֲ���ý, it wasn’t long before he gravitated toward the SCBC. “I met my best friends here at �ֲ���ý in the SCBC. It’s a place that makes you feel at home. I told my mom, ‘There’s a place that you can go play games, relax, read, study, and just be with your friends.’ As an international student, I was really surprised to learn how hard it was to get basic things done here in the U.S.” Basic things, he said, like “just getting a haircut.” Mohamed couldn’t believe that �ֲ���ý had thought of that. 

“An inclusive environment,” Mohamed said, “means that everyone is welcome and that people have thought about ways to welcome them without students having to tell them what they need. Somebody actually thought about stuff like that before we asked. They thought about us.”

Part of the beauty of the project is the community that is forming beyond the chair. Students are building relationships and extending their circles beyond �ֲ���ý. Kenny “Free” Scales is one of the two barbers who offers haircuts on these packed days. An independent barber, he has been working in the field for 21 years. He keeps showing up because he sees that he is meeting a need.

“It’s a great program,” Scales said. “I was in Maine when they didn’t have Black barbers or Black barbershops. I know what it feels like to need something.”

The second barber who is also crucial to the success of Faded Lines is Tyrone “Rome” Jones, who understands giving haircuts as a way of “giving back to the students who can’t go back home. The look on their faces when they leave the chair — that’s the best feeling,” he said. Jones has been working for six years as an independent barber. 

Scales and Jones work with clippers, and although they are fully-booked, they still try to make space for students who walk in. Cindy Storer-Blazer, who owns Taboo Hair Design in Lewiston and has been a stylist for 40 years, uses shears for her cuts. 

Collectively, the two barbers and the stylist give about 50 haircuts every two weeks. What’s unique at Faded Lines is the collaboration that sometimes happens between these three. 

“They’re not in competition with one another at all and they just really value the fact that what they’re doing is so appreciated by who they’re doing it for,” Bailey said. Even at �ֲ���ý, collaboration from campus partners enables the work. This program has been jointly sponsored by the Office of Equity and Inclusion, the Center for Purposeful Work, Campus Life, the Office of Residence Life, and the Center for Global Education. “It’s about a collective ownership of the purpose. And to me, that’s the quintessential part of the program. And why it needs to be widespread.”

The popularity of Faded Lines has created what Bailey calls “a good problem.” The barbers are booked solid, but there are more students who need and want haircuts. It’s “brutal” to see them turned away, Bailey said, although the students adapted to make sure they get a spot in the next session, booking early.

She has two longer term hopes for Faded Lines: to expand the program and to make it a permanent offering. Additional funding is needed to make those hopes a reality, but Bailey is sure of one thing. “What is happening on these afternoons matters,” Bailey said.

�ֲ���ý Intramural Sports has once again brought together a wide mix of students for this dodgeball season, with 23 teams and over 200 players participating. 

At �ֲ���ý, excitement about intramural dodgeball begins building in mid-February. One person acts as a team captain and gathers players to join them. From there, teams form in all kinds of ways. Some are built from friendships, or friends-of-friendships, others from clubs or teams trying to spend more time together outside their main activity; some are strangers looking for a team through the �ֲ���ý recreation page. This year’s Multifaith Chaplaincy Fellows have formed a team called “Springfellows,” �ֲ���ý men’s tennis plays under the simple name “Team BMT,” and the “Page Ballerz” all reside in Page Hall. 

The flexibility of the teams is what makes it work. Players can skip a game if they have to study for a test or go to play rehearsal, and it’s easy for students to sub in when they’re registered with Intramural Sports. Some players return to teams they already know, while others join entirely new groups. 

Delphine Mailhot ’28, of Brooklyn, N.Y., was part of a team last year that was “just made up of people who the captain or other people on the team knew.” She was recruited through her club ski team, but met a range of players from other settings. Last season, her experience reflected what a lot of players feel.

“I was a little weird and felt awkward with these people who I knew only tangentially,” she says. “But it was honestly so normal and good. I love to show up and try and that’s all we did.” By the end of the season, that same group had made it all the way to the semifinals.

This year, despite being invited back to last year’s team, she opted to play for “Sailor? I Hardly Know Her,” a team consisting of members of the sailing club for which Delphine serves as a social chair. “It’s going to be a good way to build more team camaraderie within sailing, and that’s something that we’re working on.”

The team names and the shared identity that comes with them are a large part of the fun. “Dodgenomics is somewhat like a cult,” says Jillian Pastore ’26 of Ridgefield, Conn., founder and captain of the team. “Tenured members even have customized T-shirts with normal distributions and cash signs drawn on them. Throughout Dodgenomics’ career, people have graduated, so we are now mostly a crew of friends with no major specification required for entry.” Members of the team “Forfeit” like to tell about when the opposing team didn’t show up to their first game because they assumed the name meant the game was already canceled. 

Even in this fun, low-stress, environment, the games can still deliver high-stakes moments. Henry Cea ’29 of Metuchen, N.J., a “We Huck Dots” player says, “In one of our games, when we were playing the rowers, we were down to one person against five. Shoutout to ‘Walk-Em Down’ Will McLean [’29]! Our last person held out and finished off the five rowers!” 

Pastore, whose team made it to the finals this year, says that things can get theatrical. “People screaming at each other, presenting long-winded debates with the student referees over a call, jumping up and down like lunatics when their teammate lands a hit on their opponent. That is what makes these higher-stakes intramural rounds so memorable for me. They’re a testament to how much people love competition and sports, regardless of the level.” 

From inside of her dorm room, Grace Thomas ’26 of Bethesda, Md., heard a clinking outside of her door. She peeked into the hallway to find a trash bag dumped on her doorstep. A fragrance drifted up from the bag, which was full of empty metal cans.

They were exactly what she needed.

For months, Thomas and Annie Robinson ’26 of Atlanta, Ga., had been campaigning friends — and friends of friends — across campus for their leftover cans and metal bottle caps. This latest delivery comprised leftovers from a birthday party for a friend’s boyfriend’s football teammate.

After meticulously washing out each can in an Olin Arts Center sink, Robinson and Thomas combined the cans with several other kinds of waste to form their winning design for the 20th annual Trashion Show, held on Nov. 19 in Alumni Gymnasium. The show takes place annually after Dining, Conferences, and Campus Events’ Harvest Dinner, a fall-themed meal in Commons open to the public and featuring live music and horse-drawn carriage rides across campus. 

Trashion invites �ֲ���ý students, faculty, and staff to construct runway pieces out of trash with the goal of bringing awareness to the amount of waste produced on a college campus — even one that prides itself on having achieved a carbon neutral standard of sustainability in 2019, when �ֲ���ý was only one of seven colleges in the country to have achieved that standard. 

The �ֲ���ý student EcoReps organize the show. All designers provide a brief description of and backstory for their pieces, which student emcees read aloud to the audience during the show. A panel of judges — this year made up of Associate Director of Culinary & Retail Operations and Executive Chef Michael Staffenski, Associate Professor of German Jakub Kazecki, Campus Safety Supervisor Mark Cayer, Assistant Professor of Environmental Studies Christine Martinez, and Associate Dean for International Student Programs James Reese from Global Education — generate some light competition among entrants. 

Thomas and Robinson went into the event as defending champions, having won last year with a ballgown made of rolled-up paper from academic readings, co-designed by both students and modeled by Thomas.

“Now there’s expectations for ourselves,” Thomas said two days before the competition, as the two were crushing cans and cutting strips of cardboard for this year’s design. “The pressure is on.”

The designers started thinking about this year’s entry the day after last year’s Trashion Show. They wanted to make something completely different from last year’s ballgown, which was monochromatic and chic, so they spent hours scrolling Pinterest and sketching possible designs. Thomas suggested incorporating metal bottle caps, and the outline of the outfit formed around that medium.

The final design featured a denim skirt made of old blue jeans, overlaid with ribbons of paper and strips of turquoise hammock fabric strung through about one hundred crushed cans, all held up by a belt also made from the hammock. The top was made from multicolor cardboard, plastic, and fabric woven together and adorned with bottle caps. They completed the look with a wig made from strips of cardboard and hammock fabric and a necklace of bottle caps. The plan was that Thomas would model, but they made Robinson a pair of matching bottle cap earrings to wear backstage.

Each material tells the story of a relationship: a friend’s torn jeans in the skirt, fabric pulled from another friend’s ripped hammock that hung outside Page Hall their freshman year, cans from the football team, and more. 

“We’ve had so many people’s trash and help,” Robinson said. “I’ll get texts like, ‘Oh, do you still need bottle caps from people?’ I don’t remember talking to them about this, but they’re happy to help.”

Many of the bottle caps came from a surprising secret stash. Robinson was visiting a craft-loving friend who lives in Turner Hall and happened to ask if she had any spare caps sitting around. The friend pointed Robinson to the crevice between the heater and the wall, where a collection of bottle caps had apparently been growing for years. Previous occupants had created the cache, Robinson’s friend said, for no apparent reason except amusement.

“What is this pile for, if not for Trashion?” Robinson thought to herself. She grabbed chopsticks and scissors to get into the space, which was too small for her hand, and dug out every bottle cap.

Thomas and Robinson constructed their design in Olin Arts Center’s room 321, the same number, coincidentally, as the duo’s freshman year dorm room in Parker Hall. As new �ֲ���ýies, they bonded over making arts and crafts and had a shared wall between their beds that they decorated with art and ephemera from “anything that happened together,” Robinson said.

When Robinson, who is a double major in economics and gender and sexuality studies, learned about the Trashion Show, she knew that she and Thomas, a studio art major, would make a great team.

This year, even though they’re both swamped with thesis projects, they still made time to meet in Olin to craft, their miscellaneous cardboard and fabric scraps spread out across the studio floor as they transformed trash into �ֲ���ý couture.

“Do I look like a little kid playing dress up?” Thomas asked as she tried on the cardboard base she had constructed for the wig. She was engineering a way to create bangs that would hold their shape and not fall in her face. She landed on little strips of cardboard that curled upward so that she could safely see the Trashion stage.

“Visibility is crucial,” Thomas said.

Two days later, against the backdrop of colorful lights, Thomas modeled the outfit to a cheering crowd of Trashion attendees. The clink of the dozens of cans adorning her skirt complemented the music played by student DJ Djibril Diaw ’27 of Mount Hernon, Mass. For the second year in a row, Thomas and Robinson won first place for their design, earning a $75 gift card to Forage Market in Lewiston.

Students from Professor of French and Francophone Studies Kirk Read’s first-year seminar “Family Stories” earned third place honors at the Trashion Show for their design featuring paper birds, fans, snowflakes, and airplanes, constructed with recycled paper from paper mills in central Maine and modeled by Finn Merrick ’29 of Easton, Md.

In second place was Read himself, who modeled an academic gown made from an antique table cloth and adorned with fallen yellow leaves from the beloved ginkgo tree outside of Carnegie Science Hall. Read and his longtime partner in Trashion creations, Kerry O’Brien, retired assistant dean in the Dean of the Faculty office, co-designed the piece. As he walked, Read threw ginkgo leaves into the air and around the runway. 

Among the other elaborate designs was another leafy piece by seniors Elle Stogel, Caroline Mayer, Vyshu Viju, and Ellie Millard, and modeled by Millard. That dress was constructed from shredded paper, tissues, and real maple leaves. The designers aimed to draw awareness to key environmental issues in Maine, including recycling bottles and cans, but most crucial to the dress itself, the ways in which climate change is already threatening the state’s maple sugar industry. 

“We knew that this is something big that’s going on in Maine right now, and we wanted to advertise it,” Millard said.

After most of the audience had left, ginkgo leaves from Read’s costume lingered on the stage. They fit in nicely with the autumn decor around Alumni Gym, including a fall-themed photo backdrop behind pumpkins and a stationary four-wheeler — where a few students sat to watch the show — and tables laden with desserts like Baked Alaska and red velvet cupcakes. 

Gazing across the ginkgo leaves after the show, Robinson reflected on her final fall at �ֲ���ý.

“It’s fall confetti,” Robinson said. “It’s a great final celebration of the last time I’m going to see that ginkgo tree outside of Carnegie.”

Additional student designers and models comprised:

• Mary Parker ’27, Hazel Krinsky ’27, Arnav Panigrahi ’27, and Surta Shah ’28, who modeled pieces crafted from surgical blue wrap by Partners for World Health
• Shay Campolongo ’26, who designed and modeled a skirt and shirt made with over 200 film slides
• Campbell MacDonald ’27 who modeled and designed a cardboard suit
• Ava Teleki ’29 who modeled and designed an outfit from yogurt and milk containers
• Alessandra Williams ’29, who co-designed and modeled the �ֲ���ý Environmental Coalition’s design made from a Halloween costume and candy wrappers
• Sophia Lebeau Toung ’28, who modeled an outfit fashioned from candy and snack wrappers, co-designed with Ella Albright ’28
• Daisy O’Dwyer ’26, who modeled and designed an outfit featuring a shirt of Dum Dum lollipop wrappers and a skirt from a trash bag
• Mikayla Ferguson ’28, who designed and modeled a dress from scraps of old t-shirts
• Erik Lindholm ’27, who modeled and co-designed an outfit by the �ֲ���ý EcoReps, made of materials including compost bags, newspapers, and a bike tube

Watch the full Trashion video below:

At their sold-out show at Portland’s State Theatre on Oct. 20, Big Thief, a Brooklyn-based indie-folk band, had a message for �ֲ���ý: “Thanks for all the love,” said Buck Meek, guitarist and vocalist. “Sorry we couldn’t make it yesterday.”

This was followed by an explosive cheer from the audience, which included a lot of �ֲ���ý students. Then lead vocalist Adrianne Lenker chimed in. “It’s been amazing to watch what you’ve been doing,” she said. “Thanks for playing our songs.”

What led up to this moment? It was the result of more than a year of student creativity, community, and persistence that began as a simple solution to a problem in �ֲ���ý’ music scene. 

During the fall of 2024, Audrey Cole ’26 of Minneapolis, Minn., Jonah Yaffe ’26 of Dallas, and Stella Gould ’25 were looking for a way to showcase musicians on campus who weren’t part of existing bands. Cole and Yaffe are the co-presidents (or “emperors,” as they call themselves) of the �ֲ���ý Musicians’ Union this year. BMU is an active and large organization; they regularly put on concerts, connect musicians, and collaborate with the student-run radio station and literary magazine, snaggletooth. If you ask most �ֲ���ý students, they can likely rattle off a list of BMU founded bands. Blue Razz Sassafras, Don’t Teller, Cole and Yaffe’s own band, The Lot Lizards, often perform in house basements, in local bars, and even at school-run events, like last year’s Gala. These bands are the club’s bread and butter, but Cole knew there were more musicians at �ֲ���ý, with a lot to offer, but no regular band to play with. She’s met some at BMU general meetings and encountered others socially.

“There are so many people I talk to who don’t even go to the meetings but who want to perform and play with a band and just don’t have the capacity,” says Cole.

Here was the solution: a one-night-only collaborative concert, where anyone could sign up to join a band for a day and take part in an all-day outdoor show. There had been single bands playing on Mount David before, but this time they were looking for it to expand to a collective concert They needed something to capture the essence of �ֲ���ý and get people excited. 

Enter Big Thief, a Brooklyn-based indie-folk band, fronted by hyper-specific and poetic lyricist Adrianne Lenker, with an extensive acoustic and electric catalog. The band had played Portland’s State Theatre in Feb. 2023, drawing a packed crowd that included �ֲ���ý students and alumni. “�ֲ���ý has a big crunch element,” Cole says, referring to the large sector of the campus population who can be seen on any given day wearing Blundstones as they carry their cross-country ski bags to their environmental justice class. “So people are definitely listening to Big Thief. I went to see them freshman year, and a million �ֲ���ý kids and �ֲ���ý grads living in Portland were at that concert. So it was evident they were big here.” 

The first Big Thief tribute concert at �ֲ���ý took place in October 2024 on Mount David. It was a cold October afternoon, but dozens of students showed up in puffer coats and beanies, staying past sunset to sing along to the songs they knew so well, their phone flashlights waving in their hands. “It was so special,” Yaffe says, “People still tell me it was their favorite night of the year. And then this summer I was looking back on photos and really wanted to commemorate it somehow. It just felt like something that should keep happening.”

When planning this year’s show, they considered other groups, like maybe a Beatles or Wilco night, but nothing seemed like it could quite capture the same energy. So Yaffe decided to take things a step further. He created an Instagram account () dedicated to the project, posting photos and video of last year’s performance every day, along with hoping to catch the band’s attention, and maybe get them to show up to campus. They even offered some food recommendations from Commons, glimpses of a logo for the event, and a video from Mount Katahdin.

“Buck Meek ended up following me, and I actually got in contact with their team,” Yaffe says. “They gave us special permission to listen to their new album early, sent us signed vinyl and posters, and I was emailing with their manager for a while.”

This year’s Big Thief tribute concert  was scheduled for October 19, the day before the band’s tour date in Portland, and it was even bigger than last year’s. “People we had never met before showed up,” Cole said, “Like so many people.”

People showed up to Big Thief’s show the next day, too. About 2,000 of them. So it was very rewarding to hear Meek shout out �ֲ���ý live on stage, but Yaffe says that the Instagram account means a lot more to him than a connection to the band. “I like that I can scroll back on it and see all these absolutely amazing memories from this amazing night,” he says, “It’s like a public scrapbook. It’s great.” 

Like @bates_plays_big_thief, the new tradition of Big Thief night has gone beyond just a love for the band. It’s a chance to come together, meeting with friends and strangers on Mount David to create something. It is a marker of community, and a reminder that even during midterms, and the time when days get shorter, there is still space for spontaneity and joy in the outdoors. It’s about the feeling of being in a crowd where everyone is singing the same words. It’s the type of evening that makes �ֲ���ý feel small in the best way.  

Her electric violin at the ready on her right shoulder, Mavy Ho-Le ’26 started to slowly tap her foot on the stage at Olin Arts Center. It was Saturday Oct. 25 and the first strains of Radiohead’s 2016 song “Daydreaming,” were beginning to emerge from Fitter Happier, a Radiohead tribute band based in Portland. Ho-Le, of Gorham, Maine, was one of five �ֲ���ý students and community members with string instruments grouped stage left, ready to join in on cue.

There was at least one aficionado of Radiohead among the �ֲ���ý musicians, Xucheng Zheng ’27 of Shanghai, China. Sitting in front of Ho-Le, Zheng likely recognized the song before lead singer Jeff Beam sang a single melancholy note on that Saturday night. Zheng, who is used to playing with an orchestra, was particularly eager to play “Daydreaming,” a favorite Radiohead song. 

But Ho-Le, a neuroscience major who has been playing electric violin professionally for years, had to feel her way into the song. She’d had less than a day with the sheet music to practice, and even though she works regularly as a professional musician when she’s not focused on her neuroscience major, it was almost all new to her. “I only know ‘Creep,’” she said later, referring to Radiohead’s breakthrough single from 1992.

That didn’t matter; the beauty of the event was that Radiohead expertise wasn’t required to be swept up in what happened on stage at Olin between Fitter Happier, made up of Beam, Sam Peisner, Scott Nebel, Elliot Heeschen, Rob Cimitile, and Pete Dugas, and the �ֲ���ý musicians. “It was electric,” Ho-Le said afterward.

The audience of more than 100 seemed to agree, from the little boy dancing wildly on his mother’s lap to the young person who shouted “you guys sound amazing” after Beam expressed his pleasure at playing in Olin, saying “it’s kind of the Carnegie Hall of Lewiston.” 

The collaboration was put together by Stuart Gurley, who manages both Olin Arts and the applied music program at �ֲ���ý. His goal was to give �ֲ���ý students a taste of the life of a professional musician as well as a chance to “take their skills that they learn in their lessons and their ensembles, and see how active working musicians utilize those in different professional environments,” Gurley says. Artists come to �ֲ���ý regularly, and work with students in master classes, Gurley said. “But this is different. It puts them on a more equal footing with the artists themselves.” And in perhaps a different genre. 

He’d done something similar before, bringing Beatles Night with Spencer Albee to �ֲ���ý in early 2020. Albee is known regionally (and) for his Beatles tribute band, Spencer and the Walrus, which for the last two decades has been selling out two and sometimes even three nights at the State Theater in Portland each Thanksgiving. Ever since Gurley coordinated with Albee to bring that Beatles experience, backed by student musicians, to �ֲ���ý, he’d been looking for opportunities to do something similar.

Gurley understands that the ensembles and coursework and lessons that happen at �ֲ���ý are essential, but he also knows what it means to work in the music industry in 2025. It’s not easy, but it might be easier if he can help students find intersecting commonalities between academia and the music industry.

“You can have all your experience here at �ֲ���ý and go out and get a gig in an orchestra or, if you’re really lucky, in a jazz band,” he said. “But there are unfortunately just fewer and fewer of those opportunities these days.” The best chances to make a living playing live music are in the realm of popular music, he explained. “And there’s a lot of groups from Radiohead right on down to very small acts that need violins and horns to tour with them.”

The genesis for bringing Fitter Happier to �ֲ���ý actually took place at one of his own musical gigs. As Gurley told the audience in Olin as he was introducing Fitter Happier, he’d been talking to a good friend and musician he was working with at a wedding gig. Long breaks (and waits) are typical of such gigs, Gurley said. And during one of those breaks, the friend made the argument that Radiohead was the most significant and important band out there.

Gurley had his doubts, but pondered this, considering his own past as a teenaged fan, and the band’s use of electronica. “They were one of the first bands to really integrate electronica in modern production ways, with new technologies, and new modalities of thinking,” he said. “And now it’s everywhere.” Radiohead easily fits into the spectrum of music studied at �ֲ���ý, he said. 

Moreover, a lot of students might already have the band on their playlist. TikTok has played a role in the resurgence of Radiohead and other musical acts, including Sade and Kate Bush, often leading to chart-topping hits years (even decades) after the initial release of the song. In the case of Radiohead, the Hulu series The Bear used “Let Down,” a Radiohead song from OK Computer, in the show’s Season 1 finale. In August of this year, 28 years after its release, the song charted on the Billboard Top 100 for the first time. 

Zheng, who described herself as a Radiohead fan before the concert, was energized by the collaborative nature of the opportunity. “Now I really want to try playing with a band,” Zheng said. 

Aidan Buck ’29 of Arlington, Mass., said he was only a “moderate” Radiohead fan before the Fitter Happier concert. “I haven’t listened to their catalogue in full, but what I’ve heard I really enjoy. I’m a big fan of experimental music as a whole.” Most of his musical training came by ear or was based in improvisation, he said.

“I wanted to be part of this concert because it sounded like a cool opportunity to play experimental music at �ֲ���ý with peers, faculty, and the greater L/A community.” 

He’s played instruments his whole life, from the trumpet in his middle school’s jazz band to bass in a rock band in high school. Typically he plays string instruments, but for the Fitter Happier show, he played the flugelhorn.

“I didn’t know much going into the first and only rehearsal on Saturday afternoon,” Buck said. “And as someone who can’t sight read music very well, I turned to my ear training and figured out my flugelhorn parts by listening to the original recordings of my assigned songs. Once I was able to get my parts down pat, I think the horn and string sections sounded really nice and made a great addition to the already awesome band.”

There was also something in the collaborative experience for Fitter Happier. As Beam, who considers Radiohead “the Beatles of this generation,” explained before the show, the �ֲ���ý musicians allowed Fitter Happier, which was touring in Vermont and New Hampshire, to do some songs they couldn’t do as a five-person band, including the many songs that Radiohead recorded with strings and horns.

“Not full orchestra stuff,” Beam says, “but songs that we can’t necessarily replicate without extra players.” After the accompanying horns and strings left the stage of Olin for the last time, Beam asked the audience to give the students a hand. And then paid them a high compliment: “I wish we could have them out here the whole time.” 

When he was still in high school, Misa Beltran-Guzman, director of first-generation programs at �ֲ���ý, had a preview of many of the culture shocks experienced by first-gen college students.

A first-gen American from a working class neighborhood in Toledo, Ohio, Beltran-Guzman attended a private college preparatory high school. As a low-income student of color in a predominantly white and affluent setting, it was an adjustment, even with the support of his parents, immigrants from Mexico who had always impressed upon him the importance of education.

“I felt very out of place the first couple years of high school,” Beltran-Guzman says. “Sometimes when I think back, I felt like a ghost when I navigated that first year of high school.”

School was no longer just about making good grades, he realized. His peers were already preparing for college applications by joining extracurricular activities and taking on extra scholastic work. It felt to Beltran-Guzman like everyone else knew how to navigate the world beyond high school already. 

With time and support from his teachers, Beltran-Guzman developed confidence. He became more involved, excelled academically, and went on to attend Colby as a first-gen college student, double majoring in Latin American studies and education. As a sophomore, he became a fellow in a student success program at Colby aimed at first-gen and low income students. That positive experience, along with lessons learned from the challenges of high school, motivated his career choice.  

“I knew I wanted to do something to increase access to the type of schooling I was getting,” Beltran-Guzman says.

As the new director of the multi-pronged first-gen programs at �ֲ���ý — he started in March — he’s doing just that, and at a time when the college is deepening its efforts to reach more promising first-generation students. 

�ֲ���ý recently partnered with QuestBridge, a national program that matches high achieving, low income high school students, who are frequently first-gen, with full scholarships to elite universities and colleges and mentors them throughout their college careers. When the first class of QuestBridge students arrives at �ֲ���ý in the fall of 2026, Beltran-Guzman, himself a QuestBridge alumnus, will be there to help with their transition to college life

In his role at �ֲ���ý, he also oversees two first-gen mentorship programs, Kessler Scholars and Bobcat First, which currently have 90 and 92 student participants, respectively, across all four classes. �ֲ���ý joined the Kessler Scholars initiative in 2022 when the Bloomberg Philanthropies and the Judy and Fred Wilpon Family Foundation awarded the college a $1 million, five-year grant to participate in the collaborative. Earlier this year, the foundation extended its grant to �ֲ���ý to continue through the 2030-2031 academic year with an additional $1.1 million. 

Over the past decade, more and more institutions of higher education have established programs for first-gen students, Beltran-Guzman explains, but �ֲ���ý was leading the curve when it established the Bobcat First Program in 2016. First-gen students at �ֲ���ý are engaged by Bobcat First as soon as they are admitted to the college with a warm welcome, informative communications, and virtual webinars designed to help with the college transition.

“We want you to be able to be your full self here with what you would consider your flaws and areas for growth, and what you would consider your assets and your strengths and your superpowers.”

Misa Beltran-Guzman, director of first-generation student programs

Bobcat First provides key support for first-gen students across all years on all fronts, from academic success workshops to community building events. First-gen programs are key in ensuring that students whose parents or guardians have not obtained a bachelor’s degree are able to feel at home at �ֲ���ý, complete their degrees, and go on to fulfilling careers.

First-gen programs also remove barriers, such as unfamiliar terminology or confusing processes, which can create major hurdles for students and families trying to navigate college. Demystifying college-specific terms and providing accessible guidance not only helps first-gen students excel, but also makes a college experience more inclusive for all, Beltran-Guzman explains.

“Creating a foundation for first-gen students to succeed will benefit everyone who attends the college,” Beltran-Guzman says. “When we make explicit things like hidden curriculum and unspoken language, it just makes a better experience for everyone.”

Beltran-Guzman is using his expertise to help students fully embrace their time in college — and prepare for life after �ֲ���ý — through identifying their motivations and passions.

“The ability to know your story, know your ‘why,’ and then communicate that to other people is tremendously powerful, impactful, influential for you to get where you feel you need to go,” Beltran-Guzman says.

At the center of Beltran-Guzman’s work is his deep love for people and helping them to approach one another without preconceived notions. 

“You don’t have to be perfect, and you don’t have to be only one dimension of yourself that you think is presentable,” Beltran-Guzman says. “We want you to be able to be your full self here with what you would consider your flaws and areas for growth, and what you would consider your assets and your strengths and your superpowers.”

One of Beltran-Guzman’s main goals is to continue strengthening a first-gen niche within �ֲ���ý’ already-existing strong community. 

“I’ve been on a lot of college campuses, but very few have had the salient community and shared sense of culture that I think �ֲ���ý has,” Beltran-Guzman says. “Even just walking around campus, if you look lost, people will stop and help you out. People help each other out.”

Beltran-Guzman hosts weekly First-Generation Snacking Chats, which are popular with students, and co-leads monthly First-Gen Chats that invite all first-gen campus community members to gather for conversation with Sarah Lynch, an assistant professor of classical and medieval studies who was a first-gen college student herself and launched the chat series last semester.

Beltran-Guzman’s personal experience informs much of his work. In college, he was eager to support his peers as a fellow with Colby’s then newly established first-gen, low income student support program.

“I felt able to turn around and help other first-year, first-gen students in navigating their own experience because I was familiar with the culture shock,” Beltran-Guzman says. After graduating in 2022, he stayed at Colby as the DEI co-curricular programs coordinator, then as the assistant director of DEI within the Pugh Center, which hosts Colby’s multicultural and first-gen student programming. 

Kimberly Walton-Trajkovski, the associate dean and director of the Pugh Center, met Beltran-Guzman when he was a senior. 

“As a student within the program, he knew at the time just what students needed and the resources that would be beneficial, and he did not forget that as he transitioned into the professional role,” Walton-Trajkovski says.

Beltran-Guzman embodies what it means to support a first-gen community, she explains.

“He lives the mission every day, whether he’s on the clock or not on the clock,” Walton-Trajkovski says.

And he remains in learning mode. This summer, �ֲ���ý joined the FirstGen Forward Network, a community of institutions and professionals working with first-gen students around the country. While he’ll be proud to share how things work at �ֲ���ý, he’s also looking forward to the two-way aspect of the information exchange 

“There’s value in seeing what’s working in other contexts and learning from them,” Beltran-Guzman says.

He’s looking forward to that full circle moment when he will welcome, and work with, �ֲ���ý’ first cohort of QuestBridge Scholars in the Class of 2030 next fall. 

“I feel really proud of my first-gen identity, and I sense that �ֲ���ý is a place where students can be proud of being first-gen,” Beltran-Guzman says. “And that’s really important to me.”