Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, July 30, 1994 TAG: 9408010019
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: By RON BROWN STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LEXINGTON LENGTH: Long
John Jordan, a shy teen-ager from the hard side of Richmond, COLLEGE wasn't about to be conquered by a rope on a Virginia Military Institute obstacle course.
For more than a week, he struggled to climb to the top, but failed. Last week, he succeeded.
``I was mad,'' Jordan said. ``When I got up there, I was happy.''
Little successes and building self-esteem are what the College Orientation Workshop is all about. COW, as the program is affectionately known, challenges minority teen-agers to take control of their futures with a combination of stringent academics and demanding physical training.
In the beginning, Jordan, 18, appeared sullen and uninterested. The victory over the rope gave him hope for a while, but he was dismissed from the program when his old attitude returned.
Tough love is something that separates COW from other pre-college orientation programs. It guarantees nothing but opportunity.
Gene Williams, founder of the program and a 1974 VMI graduate, says what happened to Jordan is in keeping with the program's goal of pushing students beyond their comfort level. Skills learned here can serve them well later on in the college classroom or the workplace.
Williams says the program is designed to reach minority youths missed by government educational programs that seek out very talented students or those whose home environment makes it virtually impossible to learn.
COW students come from a variety of backgrounds. Some come from broken homes; others live with both parents. Some come from rural areas; others from the urban core.
These are more-or-less average kids whose parents are strapped for money. The three-week program, which ends today, is free.
Not all make it through. Three of the 29 in the program this year have gone home.
Jordan lives on a quiet street in a deteriorating Richmond neighborhood. He hears gunfire in the distance. Drug dealers frequent the nearby basketball court.
``I used to be scared,'' he said. ``I'm used to it now.''
What these students aren't used to are the spartan confines of the VMI barracks. The demands of their classes - an abundance of college-level homework - force them to study or fail.
As long as Jordan was striving, he was in sync with what Williams wanted him to do. When he didn't, he was out.
Williams makes decisions on who gets into the program primarily on his gut instinct as to who exhibits unrealized potential.
``As long as you're steady and feel you have something to offer,'' he says, ``you can.''
Williams says the guiding principles of the program are grounded in his own experience at VMI.
``They expected more from you than you could do in a day,'' he says. ``You had to show up every day.''
During his four-year tenure, he starred on the football team, and returned to his native Florida after his senior year to participate in the All-American Bowl. He achieved the rank of lieutenant in the corps and was appointed to the school's Board of Visitors at age 25 by Gov. John Dalton.
As a mover in VMI's inner circle, he knew how to get things done. He started floating the idea of involving inner-city kids in a college preparatory program.
He got nothing but support from VMI, which bolsters the program with its staff, faculty and facilities. Alumni help him recruit the students, who this year came from six states and Washington, D.C.
``I think I had a good reputation,'' Williams said. ``I think people saw it could do a lot of good.''
Good intentions aside, the program required money. Tom Wright, a 1954 graduate, put Williams in touch with Jerry Asch, a 1943 alumnus, who made a contribution to help get the program off the ground.
In 1987, the program's first year, the budget was about $10,000, enough for 15 students to attend. Contributions, many from VMI graduates, have helped the program serve more teens.
Williams plans to keep the program free from government money.
``We really don't want strings attached,'' he said. ``This program is from the grass roots.''
Williams believes that the students he wants defy the guidelines that bureaucrats can draw. He looks for heart in a way the government never could. His decisions are made with the intuition of a father's eye.
Each year, he takes a week's vacation from his job at Bell Atlantic in New Jersey to spend time with the students he recruits. He fights the obstacle course with them and teaches them computer skills in the classroom.
He is impressed more by perseverance than skill, and he reviles potential unfulfilled.
His students climb House Mountain, battle the James River in canoes and struggle in the classroom. The experience often draws them together.
Williams' lessons were learned from his mother, who taught him respect for people, and his father, who taught him to relinquish ego for hard work. He brings those lessons to the COW program.
Kelvin Hawkins, 17, a second-year COW student, is among his disciples.
``I'm just an average student,'' said Hawkins, who lives in the rough edges of Augusta, Ga. ``You learn from your mistakes.''
Hawkins said he once was tempted to fall in with some rough people, but thought better of it.
``A lot of people say it's peer pressure,'' Hawkins said. ``It's really the character of the person. You don't have to follow the crowd.''
Hawkins said he once considered going into the military following graduation. Now, he plans to go to college. He credits COW with his new ambition.
``They pile on the work, and don't accept excuses,'' he said. ``In high school, they baby you. I've learned a better sense of independence.''
Each night, as they prepare for bed, the COW graduates gather in the courtyard to discuss the day's accomplishments.
``MOOOOO!!!'' they yell before turning in. It's a matter of pride.
by CNB