For most college students, the phrase “money management” means buying just enough food for the week to stay alive and still have funds for beer.

For Paul Medica III, money management means keeping a watchful eye on the investment portfolio he’s grown since eighth grade. And unlike the average University student, who jumps for joy when his or her account balance has three digits, Medica is managing big-league money — a cool $2.25 million.

It’s his parents’ money, but the finance senior has been a guiding force in making investment decisions to keep the portfolio plump. And it seems Medica has made all the right moves, considering he began with $500,000 in 2004.

“That means that I’ve compounded a portfolio about four times, and that’s a big deal in finance,” he said.

MASTERING THE MARKET

It all started with Tasers.

Medica’s father had a good feeling about investing in the electroshock weapons company. The stocks were cheap at about $9 a share, so the family went forward.

Six months later, the price was climbing rapidly, and it eventually hit $100 a share. So the Medicas took the money they’d made and began diversifying their holdings with their son’s guidance.

It takes a lot of trust to let a teenager manage half a million dollars, but by 2004, Medica had been learning to master the market for years.

“Back in the summer of 2001, it was a typical summer day — I was just clicking around the TV. I ended up on CNBC and it just stuck with me from there,” he said. “I just wanted to know how all this worked. I would just start reading the ticker. If I didn’t know what a symbol meant, I’d be on the computer looking it up.”

Once his financial feet were wet, Medica got trading — in theory. He started out with $100,000 of imaginary money and kept track of his hypothetical investments in a notebook, choosing what stocks he’d buy if the cash was real. The practice paid off, and about three years later he was managing his parents’ portfolio.

But the family’s $2.25 million isn’t the only chunk of change for which Medica is responsible. He’s also one of 27 students handling more than $1 million for the LSU Foundation. That portfolio, called the Tiger Fund, is part of a University finance course called the Student Managed Investment Fund.

THE TIGER FUND

The LSU Foundation began the Tiger Fund in spring 2005, investing $1 million through two installments, according to George Moss, chief investment officer for the LSU Foundation.

And the students have grown that total each year. At the end of the 2010-2011 fiscal year, the portfolio was valued at $1,348,000, Moss said.

“It’s positive and in the right direction, particularly considering the market turmoil that we had at the end of 2008 and into 2009 and, in some degree, what we’re still going through,” Moss said.

Though managing big money isn’t new to Medica, he said his previous investment success doesn’t play into his choices with the Tiger Fund.

“It’s really irrelevant because your past performance isn’t indicative of what you’re going to do in the future,” he said. “It’s all relative. I could lose that whole $2 million back in the market. You just have to stick with what works at the time.”

Since many students don’t have experience managing money themselves, there is guidance every step of the way. The LSU Foundation has an agreement with the E.J. Ourso College of Business outlining how the money can and can’t be managed, which Moss said keeps the students on track and prevents excessive risk-taking.

The students can only invest in companies included in the Russell Top 200 Index, which lists 200 of the largest trading companies in the market.

“They’re only buying blue chip type companies — Apple, Coca Cola, GE, the list goes on,” he said. “Not necessarily does it mean they’re less risky, but they tend to be less volatile.”

The student’s choices are also monitored by course instructor Tish O’Connor, who strikes a careful balance between allowing them to make their own decisions and ensuring the portfolio is managed wisely. O’Connor said she’s careful not to draw conclusions for the students, but she’ll often ask questions to jump-start a discussion about something she feels they should consider.

For the most part, the class makes good investments, and students’ smart management experience pays off later, she said.

“More than once I’ve had students email or call and say, ‘I got my job because of the Tiger Fund,’” she said. “[Interviewers] want to know, ‘Tell me a time you did this.’ It’s very different to say, ‘When I was managing the fund, this is what we did,’ versus, ‘We did this assignment where we choose a company and monitor it.’”

The experience is as close to Wall Street as the students can get in Baton Rouge. The class takes place in the University’s SMART Lab, a simulated interactive trading floor.

On a campus filled with Tigers, the lab is home to a room of bulls and bears.

The 27 undergraduate and graduate students in the course are divided into groups to research and make decisions about nine different sectors of investments, including health care, energy and technology. The course involves learning about the different sectors and making predictions for what will happen within them.

“They’re researching their sectors, trying to understand what is happening in their sectors — what are the companies, what do they do, what drives growth?” O’Connor said. “We take advantage of what we think is going to be happening in the future.”

PLANNING IN THE NOW

Not every University student will get the chance to manage millions before graduation, but they can start improving their financial chops now to benefit themselves later in life.

Though planning for the future is important, the crucial first step is managing one’s cash flow in the present, according to Certified Financial Planner Tim Maurer.

“Even though this is not the sexiest part of financial planning — it doesn’t have as much appeal to it as investing, making a boatload of money and seeing the return — it’s the foundation of every single healthy financial situation,” he said.

And Maurer has seen tangible results from clients who are responsible with cash flow.

“I have clients who were, say, a teacher for their entire lifetime, not making a ton of money, but they managed cash flow well, and as a result of that they’re retiring as millionaires,” he said. “And I have clients who make $250,000 a year and are living paycheck to paycheck.”

But when students have mastered their cash flow and are ready to make investments, Maurer recommends getting educated about personal needs and desires before enlisting a financial adviser.

“Unfortunately, most financial planners are not putting brand new professionals and recent graduates on the top of the list they want to work with because they don’t have a lot of money,” he said.

The famous Wall Street mantra that it takes money to make money is a reality in the finance world, and Maurer doesn’t recommend investing in individual stocks with less than $50,000, “because otherwise you’re not going to get adequate diversification.” But students don’t need an extravagant sum like that to get started.

“What gets the job done is a monthly commitment in most cases,” he said.

Maurer suggested students begin by searching for a fee-only financial adviser — one that is paid for their time rather than through a commission or finder’s fee. That means the adviser has no stake in trying to sell products or policies and can give unbiased advice. The National Association of Personal Financial Advisors, or NAPFA, provides resources for locating fee-only advisers in one’s area.

If an investor starts early and adequately researches the best avenues for them, a monthly commitment of as little as $50 to $100 can be a sufficient investment, Maurer said.

The stakes — and the dollar signs — are much bigger for Medica and his high-value portfolio. But he plans carefully and sets lofty goals, which he recently discussed with his internship supervisor at Prescience Investment Group.

“I told him I want $50 million. He asked why.  I said, ‘It’s halfway to $100 million,’” Medica said. “I’m shooting for the stars.”

She secures its gears before taking a step back. The small audience is fixed on Dallagiacomo, who stands still with her hands clasped and her head lowered.

Two deep breaths later, she comes alive. “Schizophrenics, like factories,” she says, looking around the room, “can be humid

and fogged on the inside; their electrical wires are in castings that are not easily broken.” The petite, blond poet, clad in a leopard print cardigan and contrasting turquoise headband, moves with the rhythm of the poem, her body locking robotically while her

hands paint the scene. Her poem, “Factory Defect,” is her account of growing up with a mentally-ill

father. Line after line, she lures in the crowd with her diction, her movement, her emotion. “I’m six when I notice my father is not like neighborhood fathers,” she continues,

drawing the audience closer. And that’s what slam poetry is all about, says Dallagiacomo.

“Slam poetry,” which is gaining popularity in Baton Rouge, refers to any poetry designed to be recited in a competitive setting, commonly known as a “poetry slam.” It is not its own specific genre or style of poetry, Dallagiacomo stresses.

“The art of spoken word is original poetry that you write and perform,” the 20-year-old California native explains. “Slam is just the competition. It’s a big trick to get people to listen to poetry.”

THREE MINUTES, TWO TEAMS, ONE SLAM

A poetry slam is an event in which poets perform their work and are judged by five selected members of the audience, according to Poetry Slam, Inc., a non-profit organization designed to oversee the international coalition of poetry slams and promote spoken word. The judges give numerical scores, ranging from 0.0 to 10.0, based on the content and presentation. The slam teams, which vary in size, consist of a specific group of performers, usually divided by city.

“An adult team can have four to five team members,” Dallgiacomo says. “We typically have four.”

Usually, the slam is divided into rounds called “bouts.” The number of bouts differs from the local to national levels, but Dallagiacomo says there are usually four to five that take place, and the order of the performers changes with each.

“The cycle ensures that each team falls everywhere in the rotation,” she says. “Each round has four poems, so in a bout … you will see 16 poems.”

Currently, about 80 certified slam teams, including the Baton Rouge National Slam Team, compete in the National Poetry Slam each year. Dallagiacomo is one of four Baton Rouge poets who compete nationally with a team.

The first national poetry slam, sponsored by Poetry Slam, Inc., occurred in San Francisco in 1990, and the art has since diffused to cities around the world. Sue Weinstein, University English professor and poet, says the art has been evolving in Baton Rouge for the past decade.

“It originally happened on the LSU campus and then at Chelsea’s [Cafe], and now it’s at The M bar,” Weinstein says. “There has always been a core of people involved in spoken word.”

Weinstein says the core group is constantly recruiting up-and-coming poets to expand the scene.

“They want to bring others in to continue the art,” she says. “In bigger cities, you find groups, get into competition; but, in Baton Rouge, it’s ‘let’s get as many people together as we can.’”

Locally, performance opportunities can be found at a number of bars and cafes but are seldom. The only place to go for monthly poetry slams and open mic sessions is The M Bar, located off Third Street downtown.

THE M BAR

The atmosphere at The M Bar’s Slam Night is lax and welcoming, but far from the stereotypical vision of a poetry reading. The poet isn’t illuminated by a single stage spotlight, and there aren’t crowds of beatnik critics congregated in the corner. Instead, it’s a lively, close-knit crowd eager to watch the show and support the poet.

The interior is modern and displays shades of brown and terracotta under soft lights. Famous quotations from stars like Frank Sinatra and Muhammad Ali cover the North wall, the backdrop of the stage. Comfy leather lounge chairs are arranged near the bar, and visitors sip their favorite drinks while a guest DJ’s from his iPod.

A vivacious host welcomes everyone to the event, and the crowd applauds the start of the first reading. The energy remains high throughout the open session, inspiring both experienced poets and newcomers to take the open stage. Six poets recite their works, which range in content and style, and the audience treats each with respect. Some pieces address heavier topics like racism and abortion, while others discuss family life and fantasies.

During each performance, faint snaps and “mmhm’s” can be heard around the room. A “say it, poet!” and “amen” slip out during the climax of some acts, but the poet is never distracted. In fact, feedback is encouraged.

“The community we have built separates us from the others — this alliance controls the culture of the slam,” said Branton Montiffe, a performer and physics graduate student at Southern University Baton Rouge. “You never know what will come out of a writer. Some of the topics are really taboo. We want to provide a culture that assures it’s a safe space.”

It’s very secure, says Molly Adams, University English and sociology sophomore.

“It’s a really touching, wholesome thing,” Adams says. “I was so scared my first time, but no one booed me. It was really supportive, so I kept coming.”

Adams was introduced to slam poetry through the city’s WordPlay Teen Writing Program in eighth grade and fell in love with the art. She was later a member of the McKinley High School slam team. She attends The M Bar regularly to watch and perform.

Weinstein, who also frequents the events, says it is rewarding to watch her peers.

“LSU is poised to become a place where people are known for spoken word,” she says. “It’s powerful.”

She says she hopes to see the University recreate a student slam team, as the previous organization was inconsistent.

“One thing about Baton Rouge is the quality of poetry is extremely high,” Dallagiacomo says. “We have about 10 nationally-recognized poets from the area, and no two writers sound the same. We have distinct styles and are unique in what we do.”

OFF THE STAGE, IN THE CLASSROOM

But not just the writers of Baton Rouge are unique, Dallagiacomo says. The city’s grasp of spoken word is also special to the nation, as Baton Rouge aims to engage young people in the craft.

The city’s WordPlay Teen Writing Project, a branch of the Big Buddy Program, aims to build literary culture through poetry and the spoken word. Through educators, referred to as “teaching artists,” young adults are able to learn about poetry and self-expression and apply it. Dallagiacomo, who moved to Baton Rouge to work as a tutor for the volunteer-based, non-profit organization CityYear two years ago, is one of four teaching artists in East Baton Rouge Parish.

Dallagiacomo says each class she teaches is different and she tries to make learning fun.

“The English language is terrifying, let alone poetry. You think ‘Who the hell is Robert Frost and why is he telling me about this road?’” she jokes. “We make it cool.”

Dallagiacomo says the best part is watching the students grow as artists.

“It’s interesting to see the young people we work with,” she says. “Some of them have never been exposed to spoken word poetry. You expose this art form to them. We get to be rock stars.”

Dallagiacomo also coaches a teen slam team and teaches spoken word at an after-school program at the Arts and Leadership Institute. She laughs as she says, “Slam has become my life and it’s awesome.”

LIFE OF A POET

Dallagiacomo says she spends 40-50 hours per week teaching the craft, with the remaining hours spent on her personal development as an artist. She says her free time is devoted to reading and improving her writing.

“I try to practice each of my poems about five times a day,” she says.” I’ll end up spitting a poem when I wake up, drive to work or I’m in the shower. You want to know your poem like the back of your hand. You want to be able to spit your poem anytime, anywhere.”

Dallagiacomo says writing poetry for slam pushes you to “hone your craft.”

She says it forces you to work on your vocals, your movement and your writing, as all three are vital in a performance.

“Your body is your instrument,” she says, quoting her favorite poet, Rachel McKibben. “Your poem plays your body. You have to ask your poem questions –—who is this for? Who needs to hear this? Why is this on stage? You have to get yourself there mentally to put it on stage.”

Dallagiacomo says there is no feeling comparable to reciting your works before an audience. She says it’s a combination of vulnerability, empowerment and fear; She describes it as a “flood of feeling.”

“The emotion you felt when you wrote the poem comes back 100-fold,” she continues. “It’s hard to explain … You have this adrenaline and momentum, and you just go for it.”

She laughs as she recalls how she has progressed since her first time participating in an open mic session as a 17-year-old in California.

“The beauty in spoken word is that  …  you have a painting where the artwork is the painting; you have a photograph where the artwork is the photograph. In slam and in performance poetry, the artwork is you, your poem and your audience. What’s better is, that piece of art is never going to be the same.”

Run a marathon. It is a neat, quantifiable accomplishment.

— Eric Norman

Associate Dean of Students & Director of Student Advocacy and Accountability

The thing that I am glad I did before I was 25 is to have participated in the LSU in Italy program. I actually swam in the Blue Grotto in Capri and rode a Vespa around the Tuscan countryside.  I learned art history … in the actual homeland of Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci. If any students are fortunate enough to have the opportunity to study abroad, do it! They will undoubtedly have a fantastic adventure they won’t soon forget.

— Kathy Scherer

deputy director, Arts Council of Greater Baton Rouge

In 1966, when I was 19 and a sophomore in college, a good friend and I did the “grand tour” of Europe in a rented Citroen Deux Chevaux: London, Paris, Pamplona (I slept through the running of the bulls), Monte Carlo, Florence, Rome, Athens, Mykonos, Thessalonica, Belgrade, Vienna, Munich, and back to Paris. … We were far away, seeing the wonders of Europe for the first time, living on $5 a day, and truly on our own. The trip took about six weeks. I still remember almost every detail.

— Jack Weiss

chancellor, Paul M. Hebert Law Center

My wife and I just got back from a nine-day trip to Hong Kong. It was fantastic! Everyone should take a trip to an exotic location with someone you love!

— Roy M. King

Associate Director of Bands

I’m glad I lived in Mexico before I was 25.

— Susan Hamilton

Recycling Director, East Baton Rouge Parish

Without a doubt, sky diving.

— Dave Anderson

accounting instructor

Swim with whale sharks!

— D-D Breaux

Gymnastics coach

I moved to Colorado and worked at a ski resort for a winter.

— Danny Wilson

owner, Frankie’s Dawg House

Start a business.

— Jared Loftus

owner, Tiger District/ Taco de Paco/ Ninja Snowballs

Go abroad! Take a summer, semester or entire year and travel in a foreign land, either with an academic program or on your own. Remember: When you graduate you’ll soon be tied into a job, then you’ll get married, then you’ll have a mortgage, then you’ll have children, then you’ll have kids’ tuition, then you’ll be too old to travel except with other sixty-year-olds. It all happens faster than you think. If you say you can’t afford to do it now, I say that you in fact can’t afford NOT to do it now.

— Bill Demastes

Alumni Professor of English

Adopt a cat or dog from an animal shelter. Pets are good for your soul.

— Catherine M. Hopkins

Director, LSU Women’s Center

That’s an easy one. I’m glad I got my heart broken before I was 25! Definitely try to do this before you graduate!  It’s much more difficult to deal with once you’re in the real world.

— David Young

physics professor

My recommendation would be for any and every LSU student to travel to the top of the Louisiana State Capitol and [get] the 360-degree view of the city of Baton Rouge.

— Whitney Breaux

Director of PR and social media, Wright Feigley; LSU graduate

Make Me Beautiful

These three words script the theme music for the Emmy-nominated series Nip/Tuck, and some might say they reflect the nature of today’s Hollywood-centric popular culture.

Nip/Tuck, the controversial series in which doctors asked patients to “tell me what you don’t like about yourself” in each of its 100 episodes, opened the floodgates of cosmetic-surgery obsession.

The soapy drama inspired E!’s Dr. 90210, which premiered in 2004 and featured real-life patients undergoing cosmetic operations. The series went off the air in 2008, but E! is now reaching out to the same target audience with Bridalplasty, in which brides-to-be compete to win their dream body in time to tie the knot.

And with every celebrity under the sun appearing in a tabloid headline regarding his or her facelift, boob job or tummy tuck, and stars like Joan Rivers and Elizabeth Taylor — who has reportedly had more than 100 operations — serving as poster children for the craze, it seems cosmetic surgery is rampant in American culture.

Now the trend is becoming more youthful as more young adults seek operations.

In 1999, 19- to 34-year-olds made up 26.4 percent of the total surgical and non-surgical (think Botox, for example) procedures done, according to annual statistics published by the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery.

Ten years later, the age group comprised 30.3 percent of surgical procedures alone, meaning college students are seeking out more operations and patients are starting their plastic-surgery experiences at younger ages.

Julie,* for example, is a business senior who elected to have breast implants when she turned 20 after struggling for years to fill shirts with her small bust.

“I’ve always wanted it since I was young,” Julie said. “I was so flat, and I always wanted boobs but obviously didn’t have the finances. I decided if I wanted to do it when I was older, I would.”

Julie used money from her grandmother’s inheritance to fulfill her aesthetic dreams. She went to a doctor in Gulf Port who gave her careful advice, warning her he would only perform the augmentation if she agreed to select medically appropriate sizes based on her relatively young age. Julie said she ended up choosing “a small C” size.

“He wouldn’t do any larger than what he showed me,” Julie explained. “ He said, ‘If you were older, I would let you make all the decisions yourself, but as a doctor I won’t do bigger.’ Ultimately, he still let me choose and have a decision, but it did affect him that I was younger.”

Julie said her surgeon would also only allow her to get saline implants, rather than silicone, because it was a healthier choice for her age. (In the early 1990s, it was reported that silicone implants cause some connective-tissue diseases in women. The FDA pulled them from the market, but a healthier model has since been released under the recommendation that no one younger than 25 receive silicone implants.)

“No surgical procedure comes without both early and long-term health risks,” said Gary Cox, a doctor who works at Associates in Plastic Surgery on Cumberland Place. “Any procedure will carry those. They are relatively minimal, and the benefits of the procedures when we perform them outweigh those risks.”

While Julie was confident in her decision to pursue the boob job, her parents provided mixed reactions.

“My mom and I are very close. She backed me up and said she always wanted one but never got it. But I had to pay for it,” she said. “I don’t really talk to my dad that much, but I do know that he wasn’t happy.”

Julie is just one example of a twenty-something seeking an operation while in college. Cox, who has practiced plastic surgery in Baton Rouge for 16 years, said he sees a “significant amount” of patients between the ages of 18 and 24. He said he has even treated patients as young as 15 and 16.

“A lot of young people come in for breast-reduction operations,” Cox said. “We have to consult with those patients and really try to establish their motivations.”

And it’s not just young women receiving operations. Cox said he also regularly treats young men, most of whom seek liposuction.

But despite the youthful statistics and amplified media attention given to cosmetic surgery, the field has seen recent   fluctuations in the actual number of operations.

According to the ASAPS statistics, plastic surgery took a slight hit through the late 2000s as the country’s economic climate grew murkier. Predictions for 2011, however, find the organization saying demands for facelifts and other facial-rejuvenation surgeries will increase as people who were holding out on operations regain their financial flexibility. Body-contouring procedures are also expected to see a spike as more information is released regarding the dangers of obesity.

While some social commentary labels cosmetic surgery as superficial, Cox said he hasn’t seen any patients who claim to want to look like the celebrities they see in magazines or on television.

“I see patients on a regular basis who are self-motivated, unhappy with some part of their body, and there’s an option that’s relatively safe to do and can correct that,” he said. “I see it transform lives quite regularly. Patients feel better about themselves. They act differently, and it shows.”

Julie understands the perception of it being superficial but said the pros outweigh the cons to her.

“All that matters is that I know why I got [the implants] and that I’m enjoying myself,” she said. “People do make the mistake of doing it too early or going too big, but if you think about it and know what you want, it’s fine.”

* Julie’s name was changed for anonymity.

Photo Illustration by Tabitha Austin

Eric Guiffreda kisses his fiancé, Caitlyn Turner, in the Highland Coffee patio. Photograph by Grant Gutierrez

Sex. Everyone talks about it, but not everyone is doing it. Tales of post-bar sexcapades may seem commonplace on our campus, but some LSU students are eliminating the three-letter word from their physical vocabulary. Abstinent students aim to enhance trust, communication and even spirituality in their current relationships without doing “The Deed.”

Abstinence is the decision to refrain from sex, including vaginal, oral and anal intercourse. The University’s Wellness Education Coordinator Ashley Granger says abstinence has a plethora of perks. It’s free. It’s safe. It’s practical. Anyone can practice abstinence — virgins and seasoned sex veterans alike.

“You don’t have to spend money on condoms and testing,” Granger said. “You don’t have to set that alarm to take your birth control.”

Communication about personal sexual limitations is essential for healthy relationships, Geanger said. Failure to communicate could confuse sexual boundaries and strain the relationship.

“If you want to abstain, you have to make sure your partner’s definition is the same,” Granger said. “You don’t want your partner to say, ‘I won’t have penile [intercourse], but you’re going down on me tonight.“

Mass communication senior Caitlyn Turner, 21, said abstinence keeps her romance with fiancé Eric Guiffreda focused on communication and emotional growth. Guiffreda, 25, is a full-time firefighter in St. Tammany Parish. The couple plans to wait until their wedding night on June 26 to have sex for the first time.

“We’re human and we may struggle, but we focus on building our relationship,” Turner said. “We are constantly learning about each other.

Turner said sharing views on abstinence was one of the couple’s first conversations. After that initial talk, Turner and Guiffreda said the pressure was off.

“I know our relationship is solid and genuine, not based on anything physical,” Guiffreda said. “She really likes to be with me because of who I am — on a deeper level.”

Although the Health Center does not emphasize abstinence, Granger said abstinence is included in health seminars as an alternative to risky sexual lifestyles.

“I don’t think we’re oversexed, we’re just talking about it more,” Granger said.

Testing for infection and disease is necessary for sexually active students, Granger said. The Health Center recommends people in monogamous relationships be tested for STIs, or sexually transmitted infections, every six months. Students with additional sexual partners are encouraged to get tested every three months. Left untreated, STIs that develop symptoms become diseases, or STDs.

Wellness Education Coordinator Ashley Granger explains the handouts in the safe sex and abstinence packets. Photograph by Grant Gutierrez

Spending on the Health Center’s low-cost testing can add up. Chlamydia and gonorrhea tests cost $14 while a syphilis test is $4. HIV testing is $15, but can be obtained for free at locations in Baton Rouge, Granger said. Prices vary each semester.

“It’s a manageable cost, but you have to keep up with it,” Granger said. She emphasized that cost of contraceptives, condoms and testing might topple a student’s budget.

Granger cited various reasons for choosing abstinence, such as religion or meditation, lack of time for sexual commitment or inability to balance the responsibility of a sexual relationship. Some students want to focus on academics, while others are waiting for a committed relationship.

However, Granger said students do not have to sacrifice affection for abstinence.

“Healthy intimacy does not have to include sex,” Granger said.

Marketing freshman Madeleine Ricks said she has chosen to remain abstinent in college because she is saving sex for someone she truly loves. Ricks said there is not enough time in college to find her perfect match, and achieving a meaningful emotional connection is easier while being abstinent.

“Love has to play a big role no matter what,” Ricks said. “Sex is not trendy, especially when it’s done out of a loving relationship.”

Ricks said her decision to remain abstinent has not been religiously motivated, but reflects her self-respect and personal values.

“I have morals for myself and I want to uphold that,” Ricks said. “I am not for sure waiting for marriage but it isn’t something I am going to give away.”

Turner, however, said she has always known she would be abstinent until marriage. She received her promise ring — a simple gold band — from her mother in high school to symbolize her commitment to abstinence. Although Turner’s abstinence ring has been replaced by her engagement ring, the meaning is unchanged.

“The ring represents my commitment to my future husband and my commitment to God,” Turner said.

Guiffreda, who also wears a promise ring, said he chose abstinence his sophomore year of high school after participating in “True Love Waits” at his church, a program that encourages youth to save sex until marriage.

“I know putting it off is going to be better,” Guiffreda said. “It’s not going to be just another night.”

Madeleine Ricks waits in her dorm room for paint to dry on her costume. Photograph by Grant Gutierrez

He said abstaining is difficult. Despite initial disbelief from friends, Guiffreda said some have confessed they would postpone sex if they had a second chance.

“It’s a natural desire, but many have fed that desire and found emptiness,” Guiffreda said. “[Abstinence] is seen as a kill-joy, but you see the [negative] effects of those who don’t wait.”

Ricks said her desire to remain abstinent contributed to a recent break-up. Although she cared about her long-term boyfriend, she said she was not ready for a physical commitment. However, Ricks said most of the pressure to have sex has come from her female friends, not from men she has dated.

“I can’t just jump into conversations [about sex],” Ricks said. “People give weird looks if I haven’t done it.”

Guiffreda said the couple’s pledge to remain abstinent enhances their trust.

He said he has heard people argue sex is necessary to ensure a couple is a perfect “fit.” However, he said having sex too soon is not a valid way to discover compatibility.

“If I’m a guy and she’s a girl, I know it’s going to fit,” Guiffreda said. “Our relationship is built on love, not on the physical.”

Even if the lovemaking isn’t the best at first, Guiffreda said that waiting for marriage is worthwhile.

“We can learn [from] each other,” Guiffreda said. “I’m not going to compare her to any other women.”

Abstinence, or no sexual contact, is the only form of “safe sex.” “Safer sex” is any contraceptive or barrier method, such as a condom, that diminishes but does not eliminate risks. STIs and STDs are still a danger when condoms or other barriers are used as primary preventatives.

Granger said the Health Center urges students to take measures for safe sexual relationships, and abstinence is among these choices. Although abstinence is the only proven method to completely protect from pregnancy, Granger said condoms and other methods of birth control can be effective if used correctly.

“Our main job is to provide you with the knowledge to make the best decision when it comes to health and wellness,” Granger said.

Granger said abstinent couples should be prepared in case the “heat of the moment” leads to intercourse.

Guiffreda and Turner said they have to consciously decide how they spend their alone time. They uphold their pledge of abstinence by refraining from excessive drinking or sleeping in the same bed.

“We don’t allow ourselves to get in that situation,” Guiffreda said.

Although people may believe students are having more sex with more partners, 32 percent of students stated they had no sexual partners for the school year, according to a sample of 715 LSU students who participated in the American College Health Association National College Health Assessment conducted in 2008.

Additionally, 46 percent indicated they had one sexual partner and only six percent reported having four or more partners within the school year.

Turner, Guiffreda and Ricks said they believe they are the minority in their decision. Ricks said she has questioned her decision, but not enough to give in.

“There have definitely been times when I thought, ‘What if I’m missing out? What if I need to get it over with?’” Ricks said. “But I do believe it’s worth waiting for.”

Ricks said students from any background can choose abstinence in college and still find fulfillment.

“[Abstinence] ultimately builds a stronger bond with the person you’re with,” Ricks said. “If they are going to stay with you without the physical side of the relationship, then they are really going to care about you.”

“Would you like to dance?” asked the older gentleman with the tanned face covered in laugh lines. Completely flabbergasted, I accepted and was soon swept up in a whirl of lights, Creole music and the pounding of hundreds of feet stomping the dance floor.

In an effort to discover what the Cajuns of south Louisiana – specifically in the Atchafalaya Basin area – were like, I had come to Angelle’s Whiskey River Landing in Henderson. It’s just a short 45 minute drive west of Baton Rouge to the largest swamp in the United States. On my journey I met an array of people whose culture was far more multifaceted than I realized. I barely scratched the surface of a way of life that has survived the best and the worst of south Louisiana with a grin and a hearty appetite for good times, good friends and family.

My dance partner disappeared before I could ask his name, but I did ask him why he lived in his nearby hometown of New Iberia his entire life. His answer was probably the best – and the most accurate – of any I received in my time in Henderson and the surrounding area.

“If you ain’t happy here [in south Louisina], you ain’t gonna be happy anywhere else.”

The Bandito

The first night my coworkers and I ventured to Henderson, some misguided directions led us to a rather unfortunate situation in which our car became stuck in thick clay on top of a levee in freezing December rain.

Dirk Angelle, member of the towing team that rescued us, was the first of several business owners I talked to. He immediately referred us to some relatives who owned a houseboat marina. Angelle was large, loud and not the least bit shy about his membership in the Banditos, a notorious motorcycle gang known for its forays into organized crime. Angelle provided the first glimpse of a trait all the locals seem to possess: everyone either knew one another or knew about one another.

Despite Angelle’s tough exterior, the gang member couldn’t have been more accommodating. He offered my crew a place to stay in his spare trailer on his property, but we politely declined. Meeting Angelle proved to be the starting point of a long chain of connections between a dynamic and engaging community.

The Jack of All Trades

After surviving the fiasco on the levee the night before, we made our way to Atchafalaya Basin Landing. The owner, Tucker Friedman, embodied the classic Cajun. Decked out in a camouflage jacket, worn jeans and work boots, Friedman has lived on a handmade, two story houseboat at the marina for the past decade.

“It’s a unique life. It’s not a prosperous one – there’s one disaster after another,” Friedman said with a grin. “But it’s a good life. Being on the [Atchafalaya] basin and having the ability to just jump in a boat and do whatever you like is a great thing.”

Friedman has lived in the Henderson area his entire life and has been involved in local business for the past 35 years. Having owned a Chevron station, a supermarket, a wholesale ice company, a houseboat refurbishing business and finally a bar and marina, he is ready to take it easy and enjoy his life on the Atchafalaya Basin. After I asked why he stayed all those years, Freidman said he sometimes gets frustrated living there but could never leave the lifestyle and the people.

“When I leave I can’t wait to get back home,” Friedman said. “I’m an outdoors person, so being able to just walk out the back door and hunt and fish is important to me. The people that frequent here are generous and friendly. They’re always lending a hand whether I ask for it or not. They don’t expect anything in return.”

I spoke to Friedman as he was about to leave to restock the marina’s supply of Crown Royal Whisky. A good life, indeed.

The Bridge Tender

When I ran into Gerry Birard on a bridge next to the levee, I wasn’t entirely sure of what he was doing. He was leaning over the side of the bridge, staring intently at a large clump of plant matter lodged next to the support columns of the bridge. Birard, an older man who looked a little rough around the edges, was working on clearing the plants out from under the bridge with the assistance of a tugboat, a task he has dutifully done for the past 20 years.

Birard was once a soybean farmer, a job he said ended when he went bankrupt after “Reganomics” hit the area farmers hard.

Birard said he stays in the area because of the warm and inviting nature of the people in the Atchafalaya Basin.

The Bilingualist

“French is my first language. In school, we weren’t taught French; there was no French immersion program,” Debbie Savoi said in a heavy Cajun accent, in which words containing “th” are replaced with “d” and speech is peppered with francophone words. “To this day, there are certain people I walk up to that I automatically speak French to.”

I met Savoi at the Longfellow-Evangeline Park, a Cajun culture educational museum near St. Martinville, a town about 18 miles south of Henderson. Savoi is an older woman, who looks somewhat world-weary. She works at the museum as a guide, and informed me she was a “real deal” Cajun.

Savoi was slightly more guarded than other people in the area with whom I had spoken, but didn’t hesitate to tell me why she’s never moved from the area.

“I haven’t traveled that much in my lifetime, but when I do go away from here I miss the friendliness of the people. People here are open. They’re more willing to accept and they’re willing to take people in.”

Savoi told me something that seemed the most succinct way of describing the people in the Atchafalaya Basin area: “It’s just the way we are. It’s the joie de vivre.” The joy of life.

The Possum

Savoi recommended I go to a restaurant where she worked for about 15 years, a place by the name of Possum’s. Ignoring the seemingly cliché name, I ended up meeting Possum, otherwise known as Larry Bertrand Jr., after a late lunch. Possum, it turns out, was named so because his grandfather apparently thought Possum looked like an opossum when he was a baby.

Possum fully embodied the joie de vivre Savoi spoke about. A tall, weathered bald man, Possum ambled over to the table and proceeded to talk about everything from hypnotism (or “hypmotism”) to why St. Martinville struggled on even after the devastating loss of an industrial plant that had once supported 3,500 jobs in the area.

“St. Martinville’s changed a lot because the industry closed down,” Possum said matter-of-factly. “Wal-Mart left St. Martinville. Now, all the small Mom-and-Pop places are here. It’s constant evolution. St. Martinville is trying to become a bedroom community.”

Possum, like so many other residents in the area, has lived in St. Martinville almost his entire life, always returning to the area even after he left to work odd jobs.

“I stay here because of family. Everybody around here has large family,” Possum said. “Everybody that leaves eventually comes back.”

Back at whiskey river landing, the dancers left the floor as the Saints game that would determine their shot at the Super Bowl went into overtime. The bar erupted into shouts of exuberance as the Saints kicked the game-winning field goal to win the NFC Championship. I celebrated along with the bar’s patrons and couldn’t help but notice how willing they had been to talk to me about any detail of their lives. Their ability to completely open up to a stranger was the most remarkable thing about any of the people I met throughout the Atchafalaya Basin, a place that seems so far removed from anywhere I had been yet only a short drive from Baton Rouge.

From Dirk Angelle to the dancers at Whiskey River, the residents of the Atchafalaya Basin are a dynamic people whose accepting and easygoing nature is well worth the trip.

See a slideshow of photos from this story >>

I guess the nickname makes sense: He only stays at the bar for about 10 minutes at a time. All he drinks is Coca-Cola. He sticks his hands in his armpits sometimes.

Mood pending, he usually wears some configuration of a solid red shirt, LSU jersey, camouflage shorts or white carpenter overalls. He complements it with and a bucket hat a la Gilligan’s Island. He has a gray beard with a few brown hairs still remaining and big amber glasses. His teeth aren’t in order, but he doesn’t really smile anyway.

He isn’t always great with names at the pizzeria, calling Kelly “Lauren,” Katie “Christie,” and so on in that fashion. But Mellow’s bartenders are cordial to him — that is, they exchange pleasantries and serve him only the finest Coke products.

I watched the routine unfold for a year behind the veil of a kitchen window, where I worked making pizzas. He does the same thing at Bogie’s, a bar just down the street from Mellow, only the crowd there isn’t so accommodating.

“They threatened to blow me away,” Ricky said of the students who frequent Bogie’s. “They say, ‘Why you come in here? You don’t drink, you just stay for a little while, and you try to take our girls home.’ They think I’m a letch and a weirdo. I wouldn’t do that.”

Bogie’s bartender Alden Settoon hasn’t had a problem with Ricky and isn’t too worried about him becoming one.

“The guy’s pretty harmless,” Settoon said. “He comes here every Thursday on Ladies’ Night. He said that’s why he dropped out [of LSU]: The girls were too distracting.”

In a college town, Crazy Ricky stands out like … well … a carpenter in camo shorts. He’s a local legend in this five-mile radius. He just doesn’t realize it.

“That guy’s cool, man,” said F.J. Eastman, Pitch and Putt Pro Shop assistant director. “[You’ve] got to love those camo shorts.”

I eventually caught up with Ricky one night after a short shift at Mellow, and soon thereafter we became friends. He introduced himself:

“Ricky Pellerin, Vietnam veteran,” he said as he shook my fingers more than my hand.

We talked for a bit before Ricky, 53, said he was a good golfer.

“I got 19 hole-in-ones at LSU’s golf course in the last seven years. That’s the record,” Ricky boasted.

He would later show me the scorecards he saved, signed and verified. But former Mellow manager, Kyle Wilkinson tapped the brakes on that story.

“Ricky doesn’t actually play big golf. He just does the LSU Pitch & Putt,” he said.

Pitch & Putt is a par-3 course that allows golfers to practice their short game. It’s good for older folks like Ricky, who’ve lost the strength to drive the ball long distances. Still, I wanted to learn more about Ricky. I got my chance when he invited me to play golf with him. But first, I was to meet him at his apartment.

An Unexpected Welcome

His unit is tucked in the corner of the Camelot Apartment Complex on Jim Taylor Drive, the final stop on a dead-end sidewalk. He was expecting me, so I knocked softly.

“Just a minute!” he yelled.

It took about 20 seconds for him to get the door unlocked. I assumed he’d just been sleeping. He was wearing his trademark overalls with no shirt underneath. Only one strap was fastened, and his underwear was pulled above his belly button.

The place looked like he’d just moved in, but he said he’d been there six months. There were boxes everywhere and a mattress on the floor with a nightstand next to it. The apartment didn’t have lamps, just sunlight peering through the blinds. It smelled horrible, like a rancid cigarette. It burned your nostrils until you finally got used to it.

If he sleeps, I asked him, what’s the first thing he does upon waking?

“Smoke a reefer,” he responded. “[But] the stuff today isn’t as good as we used to get.”

I asked him where they used to get it.

“Oh, this guy, Barry Seal’s brother. So it was from Colombia,” he responded.

Seal was an alleged CIA informant with a renowned stake in the drug game and ties to Columbian drug lord Pablo Escobar. Of course there’s no way to verify whether Ricky got his drugs in a trickledown, but it’s interesting to note that Seal was born and murdered in Baton Rouge, where Ricky has spent most of his life.

Doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch now.

Ricky had a lot of stacks on the floor. One stack was of old records from the ’70s, another was a pile of books. One stack in particular caught my eye: a pile of Manila papers about 2 feet high.

“Are these drawings?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he responded. “I used to draw with markers a lot back when I had an imagination.”

The papers were filled with almost every Division I college football helmet in the country, along with their mascot and logo. They weren’t remarkable, but they weren’t bad at all — somewhere right in the middle.

Florida: a vibrant orange Gator helmet. A Michigan State Spartan, labeled with the appropriate font. Cats littered the album: Kentucky Wildcats, Northwestern Wildcats, Pittsburgh Panthers, Auburn Tigers, Clemson Tigers, LSU Tigers and more LSU Tigers.

“I was gonna do Vanderbilt, but I wasn’t really in the mood,” he said.

I’m not sure what that meant, but coincidentally LSU played Vanderbilt that week in football. Ricky had no idea the two were set to meet in Tiger Stadium.

“I don’t even know what a commodore is,” he said.

Next he flipped to an actual grid of helmets he had drawn. Probably 40 filled the page — this thing was detailed. At the bottom, a caption:

“I proved to myself I could do it, as this one clearly shows. — Ricky”

On Course

We finally met at the golf course. Ricky pulled up in his tattered, 2000 Honda Accord. It was like Ricky: a gift from his mother; lots of mileage but loyal; a little beat up and off white; stuck in Baton Rouge but still able to get from A to B. Ricky popped the trunk to get his clubs, and the leaky taillight dripped onto his golf bag. Ricky just stood there.

“Uh … Rick, you’re getting some water on your nice leather bag,” I told him.

“I know. There’s nothin’ I can do about it. That’s the way it’s been,” he responded as he let the water pour out.

Ricky has a way of unintentionally using poetic phrases. For example: Ricky has two pairs of Chuck Taylor’s. One pair are navy, the other are white.

“I only wear the Blues when it rains,” he says.

You’d swear he was lying if you saw what was left of the “white” pair.

The Cat’s Meow

We moved on to other drawings. He drew the Sunkist raisin girl. I could see it once he explained what it was. Next were a series of German shepherds — it was his old dog.

As he was flipping through sketches, a woman’s face appeared, clearly a portrait. I noticed her long hair, and that’s all I saw before Ricky quickly shut the book, not saying anything. It had to be his ex-wife.

“I used to be married for a few days,” he told me at once. “I didn’t even know her real name ’till we went to the courthouse for the paperwork. Her name was Johnny.”

They were together for four days before she found someone else, he said.

“I met her at a party. Her friends told her I was rich so she married me a few months later,” he added. “When she found out I didn’t have any money, I woke up, and she was gone. I haven’t had a date since … The girls I’ve been interested in all have boyfriends.”

He may not have a girlfriend, but Ricky still has his cats.

“I got Ms. Kitty about four years ago,” he said. “My other cat was yelling at me, telling me to come see something. So, I came to the front door, and there was Ms. Kitty. I asked her, ‘Do you want to come inside?’ She came inside. Been here ever since.”

I asked where his other cat went.

“He’s over there,” Ricky said as he pointed.

Dixie was lying on the ground with a gaping hole in the side of his face.

“He has mouth cancer, and I’m gonna have to put him to sleep any day now,” Ricky told me. “I can’t do it in person … It’d be too hard. I’ve been cryin’ my eyes out every day.”

A Short Stint

I asked him more about his time in Vietnam while we walked to the first hole, expecting a veteran to have some chilling tales from the jungle.

“I didn’t even make it to boot camp,” he said. “I got to San Diego, and I started to hear voices in my head telling me to do things I didn’t want to. My drill instructor wiped a booger on me one day, and I hit him in the mouth.

“He and a few other guys took me into a private room and beat me up. I got diagnosed with schizophrenia. They gave me an honorable discharge, and I went to the mental hospital in Gulfport, [Miss.,] for a year.”

He showed me his honorable discharge certificate when we were at his apartment. It looked like a diploma, signed and everything. I’m not sure if its regal appearance is more in the name of honor or just to make the recipient feel good about himself. Nevertheless, I believed him anyway — you don’t just make up a booger-wiping story.

Lunch Time

Ricky was ready for lunch, and we went to Mellow, where he nonchalantly dropped a rather shocking anecdote between inhalations of the chicken wings.

“I was raped when I was 18 or 19 [years old],” he said while picking meat off a bone.

I had to nod my head in agreement without letting my mouth drop.

“Some black guy put a Mickey in my drink and made me have sex with him,” Ricky continued.

Ricky had barbeque sauce all over his mouth and fingers, so it was hard to take him seriously. He was so candid you’d almost think he’d had consensual sex. I doubt it was the case because he told me he disowned his only sister for “being a lesbian.”

“They got the guy and he died in prison of AIDS later on,” he added nonchalantly.

Not knowing what to say, I responded, “Well … that’s … good.”

An Odd Pair

The third hole was a little different.

“I was best friends with a serial killer.” That’s how Ricky started the hole.

“Wh … what?” I stuttered.

“Yeah, Sean Gillis used to work at Circle K by my house,” Ricky responded “We got to be friends when I went by there late at night. We used to go smoke a joint behind the dumpster.”

Gillis was arrested in 2004 and confessed to killing eight women. Some of the victims were strangled and their bodies mutilated. He pleaded guilty in court to two of the killings and is serving life in prison.

Ricky said he befriended the man some 15 years ago. They used to hang out at his apartment, smoking and drinking.

“He’d always come by wearing driving gloves,” Ricky said. “He used to sneak up behind me and say he could easily kill me with his shoestring if he wanted, but I never really thought anything by it.”

Ricky teed off. The ball sailed over the hole and into the rough.

“Shit!” he yelled. “Sometimes I get all charged up and hit it too hard.”

Same here, Ricky.

The misfire resulted in a bogey for him, so he fell behind par by a stroke.

“Oh well, everyone makes a bogey sometimes,” he said.

I guess that’s the truth, too.

Living With It All

Back at his apartment, Ricky continued about his cat, Dixie.

“He’s like a hero,” he told me. “Killed two rats. Doesn’t that sound like a hero to you? A 6-incher and a 9-incher.”

I guess that is pretty impressive. Better than I’ve ever done.

Before living here, Ricky lived at the Gaslite apartments on Burbank Drive for almost 20 years. The manager there had to evict Ricky, not for delinquent payments, but because his unit was decrepit.

“The neighbors complained about fleas from my cats, and the roaches started to take over,” Ricky said. “They made a no-cat policy after that, and I had to leave. I think Dixie may have gotten a roach in his food, that’s why his mouth got that way.”

Loosing A Friend

Ricky made par on the fourth hole.

“It was hard to hang out with Sean [Gillis] ’cause he always made me throw up. I threw up at least 3,000 times while I knew him,” he said.

“What the hell does that mean?” I wondered aloud.

“The wine,” Ricky told me. “He always drank wine, and we just drank and drank ’till we threw up.”

He began to talk more about Gillis.

“He always wore black pants and picked up prostitutes,” Ricky said. “One day he had some red on the black pants, and I asked him what it was. He said it was wine … but he kind of smelled funny. Then he started lying … about where he was late at night, and we stopped hanging out.”

I had a hard time believing this whole “Gillis” story, but Ricky told me a detective questioned him, and the next day they smoke-bombed Gillis’ house and took him away.

I still didn’t really believe it — until he pulled out the detective’s business card.

I made a call to the man listed, who would neither confirm nor deny anything except that the two were indeed friends. I guess it was at least a little true.

Freezing Cold

The fifth, sixth and seventh holes stayed the course: Par. Par. Par. But Ricky was still a stroke behind par overall. Time was running out.

Ricky grew up in the University Acres neighborhood with his brother Chip and two sisters. He attended Lee High School, where all he can remember doing is “cruisin’ around at sunset listening to Top 40” with his friends.

Chip made to PGA status in the golfing world, but Ricky had a résumé of his own.

“I used to be captain of the golf team in high school,” he said. “We played Baker in a tournament and I got ’em disqualified. They wanted to fight us, but they were cheating; dropping balls and practicing putting between holes. You can’t cheat in golf.”

Ricky had a way of finding out people’s fates well after the fact:

“The guy I got in trouble ended up freezing to death in Colorado,” he said.

“How’d you find that out,” I asked.

“Some Baker buddies told me,” he replied.

By this point, I had little reason to disbelieve him. He had no vested interest.

Family Matters

Ricky made par on the eighth hole. He was still a step behind, like he’s been much of his life.

“I flunked out of LSU after a semester,” Ricky said. “I wanted to study psychology, but I couldn’t remember all that shit. I liked to party too much.”

Ricky slowly lost touch with his family after flunking out of school. He doesn’t talk to them much anymore.

“Nah, they won’t help me,” he said.

Ricky is unemployed and lives off a disability check every month, almost all of which goes toward a bi-weekly shot of Prolixin, a strong anti-psychotic used to manage schizophrenia. This leaves him in a constant game of catch-up.

Finishing Up In Style

We walked to the ninth hole, and I knew how it was going to turn out. Ricky would wind up one off par. Just a little off-center like everyone says.

His approach shot was actually pretty good. It landed about 8 feet from the hole. The green was sloped, though, making for a tough birdie putt.

“If I make this, I will have accomplished what I set out to do,” Ricky said.

Do I even have to tell you what happened? The putt curved perfectly. You could tell it was good the moment it left his club.

Ricky threw up both his arms in celebration and shouted, “ALRIGHT!”

He was grinning and laughing. He finished at an even par.

Then I realized:

These busy days, I too have trouble staying anywhere for 10 minutes. I usually stick to Coke or water. I’ve stuck my hands in my armpits a time or two.

I’m not always good with names or time management. I like staying up late. I like to party. I love animals. I’ve set out to achieve goals, too. Am I crazy?

Before we parted ways at the golf course, I asked Ricky if he ever got around to drawing Vanderbilt.

“Yeah, I got the paper for it,” he responded.

“But what about the school colors?” I asked.

“That’s the thing,” he said with despair. “I got the black … but I didn’t have the gold.”

That’s OK, Ricky; I don’t think many people do, either.

See more photos from this story

Unexpected words coming from a lean, curly-haired man wearing a white, v-neck shirt with the words “Yeah Bike!” printed on the front. Yet there he is: Moshe Cohen, mathematics graduate student, enthusiastically shouting those words to bikers as they pass by. Look for him on the last Friday of every month at the Memorial Tower, usually surrounded by more than 200 of his closest friends.

These people assemble to form Critical Mass, a group of local bike riders who get together and explore the streets of Baton Rouge. Critical Mass is comprised of a mix of first-timers, out-of-towners, BMXers, mountain bikers, and just-to-get-around riders. Despite their obvious diversity, there’s one thread that ties them together — the love of biking.

“I started biking because I was a broke college student,” Cohen said with a smile on his face.

But it’s not about why a person bikes, Cohen said, it’s about “showing your love for biking and increasing [bike] awareness.”

Cohen has done just that, by entering a movement that strives for awareness and safer streets since his first ride with Critical Mass in March 2005. He even had a hand in forming Baton Rouge Advocates for Safe Streets.

“My number one goal in the very beginning … was to get people on bikes and to let them ride safely in the streets,” Cohen explained.

Along with the formation of BRASS, Critical Mass has been vital in increasing local bike awareness. Earlier this year, Baton Rouge Mayor-President Kip Holden pledged to increase the amount of bike paths in the city to 68 miles by June 2010.

The popularity of Critical Mass has spiked since its first local ride in 2005. What used to be comprised of 12 riders has now expanded to more than 200 per gathering. As a movement with no leaders and no set routes, Critical Mass is a group of individual cyclists who get together to ride and celebrate.

“Critical Mass is not a statement. Critical Mass is a celebration of bicycling,” Cohen explained. “Ride daily, celebrate monthly. That’s what Critical Mass is trying to convey.”

Whether Critical Mass stands as a statement or not, the message it brings is simple: bicycling is practical transportation, and it’s here to stay.

“I feel like there is a message getting across,” said Tina Ufford, local potter who taught pottery leisure classes at the University before construction on the Student Union began. “It is going to piss motorists off, and … I don’t mind pissing them off because they’ve got to become aware that bicycling is a viable mode of transportation … We’re not here to be assholes.”

Critical Mass started in San Francisco in September 1992 and quickly spread to countries such as Brazil, New Zealand,

and Canada.

“Critical Mass is one of my favorite suburban and urban phenomena in America, and it really trips me out to think it’s going on all over the world,” Ufford said.

Cities such as San Francisco, New York and Vancouver, Canada have seen thousands of riders show up for the monthly Critical Mass rides, causing traffic that runs across the bikers’ paths to stop. This massive plugging of the streets in major cities has prompted response from law enforcement.

In comparison to those cities, Baton Rouge’s Critical Mass has remained rather uneventful. Though some Baton Rouge motorists have expressed their displeasure when faced with the massive group of bikes, most motorists get excited to see Critical Mass; honking, waving and urging the bikers onward.

“People love it here,” Cohen said, “I think it’s the parade culture. When we’re sitting on a bike and ringing our bells and waving at people, everyone just seems to enjoy it.”

Both Gary Durham, LSU Police Department’s executive director of public safety and risk management, and Cpl. L’Jean McKneely, Baton Rouge Police Department spokesperson, said they’ve received few complaints regarding Critical Mass.

“The only complaints we receive about bike riders are when they ride on the sidewalk or dart out in front of traffic on crosswalks,” Durham stated. “Bicycle riders are rarely, if ever, given tickets for violations on campus. Warnings usually suffice.”

Maj. Helen Haire, LSUPD’s special services commander, agrees that Critical Mass hasn’t caused any major problems.

“As long as they’re not bothering anyone, they can do their thing,” Haire said.

The city’s bike laws can be found on the official Baton Rouge government Web site. However, riders in Critical Mass often ignore these laws, instead doing such things as riding more than two abreast on a path, not having lights when riding at night or not keeping both hands on the handlebars at all times.

Despite numerous laws being broken by riders, local law enforcement hasn’t issued any Critical Mass-related citations.

“They are subject to [the law] and any time we see a gross violation, we are going to address it,” Haire said.

Haire said that LSUPD officers are familiar with city bike laws and citations have been issued to cyclists involved in accidents with cars.

Sgt. Don Kelly, BRPD media relations director, stated they execute the same policy.

“We only have so many officers, and they must constantly use their discretion and judgment to prioritize the use of their limited patrol time and balance the many duties they are expected to perform every day to help keep the public safe,” Kelly explained in an e-mail.

One such law states that a rider is granted the same rights as a car-driver, and thus is subject to many of the same restrictions. Alcohol consumption is therefore illegal while on a bike. Critical Mass, however, has obtained a reputation in Baton Rouge for the afterparties and riders who will coast with a beer in their hand.

Travis Hans, owner of Baton Rouge’s Mid City Bike and frequent rider had his bike outfitted for the July Critical Mass with a set of drums to play during the ride. He described a run-in with a police officer when alcohol was involved.

“I fell over my bike — I don’t remember this, somebody told me — with a beer in my hand in front of a cop, and they didn’t do anything. He was like, ‘What’s he going to do? He’s on a bike,’” Hans recalled.

“There’s so much straight-up drinking in the streets here that it always cracks me up that people are horrified that Critical Mass drinks beers,” Ufford laughed while stating. “A cop could give them a drinking-on-your-bike ticket and they’re totally aware of that, just like anybody driving home from a football game can get a DUI. It’s their choice.”

The absence of a group leader means every rider becomes responsible for their own behavior. Regardless of this lack of formal leadership, Cohen and Ufford have emerged as prominent riders in Critical Mass. Both often make announcements before the ride commences and are often looked to for the direction of the route.

The logic behind having no set leader for every ride is simple: “Everyone is an equal access member because no one elected anyone to be the president of bicycling,”

Cohen explained.

The “equal access” membership has helped Baton Rouge’s Critical Mass obtain a reputation for being inviting and accepting of all people and their suggestions. Both Cohen and Ufford agree that the atmosphere of Critical Mass is special.

Cohen said “You feel like you’re with family.”

See a slide show of more photos from this story.

Photographs Benjamin Oliver Hicks