Broadcast Translation

Boston residents and politicians are rising together to work for a greener, more efficient city, with the addition of a new bicycle-sharing program. A crowd of more than 40 gathered at Landry’s Bicycles on Commonwealth Avenue in Boston yesterday (March 30^th, 2009), to hear the most updated information on the city’s plan. Avid cyclists, students, journalists, and average citizens filled the small bike shop quickly, hoping to hear of advances in effort to steer away from our car-first culture. The meeting also included the announcement of Mayor Menino’s approved 40 thousand dollars in state government stimulus spending that will be directed toward the Bike-Share program. 

Angelica Davila

Angelica Davila sits, moving from side to side in her swiveling desk chair. “I just know that whatever I do, there are so many places that I want to see in this world,” she says, tucking her dark hair beneath a purple knit cap. Davila pauses, looking down the adjacent corridor before continuing; it’s as if she is looking into her own future for the answer. “I don’t want to hit 50 and think, ‘oh that would have been nice,’ but had missed the chance,” she concludes, with an optimistic tone in her voice that assures you she won’t miss it.

Eighteen years old and a native of Austin, Texas, Angelica Davila is described in short by close friend Sarah Greenbaum, as a ”sassy Latina.”  A print journalism major at Emerson College in Boston, Massachusetts, Davila was initially interested in the college for its theatre program, yet later settled on journalism, citing it as a more “practical field.” Though Davila originally saw herself writing for a newspaper or magazine one day, the recent slump in the print industry has shifted her focus to radio, specifically National Public Radio (N.P.R.). When asked if she could cover anyone dead or alive, Davila confidently decided on the late Senator Robert Kennedy because she has always found “his politics and his influence . . . really interesting and inspiring.”

Outside the field of journalism, Davila has other future prospects for her writing craft. “I always sort of had this idea in the back of my mind of writing a book, which I will most likely not complete,” she says in between a small laugh. “Owning a publishing company of my own would be really neat too.”

Although Davila was originally drawn to Boston for its “big city, but accessible,” charm, she claims that what she misses most about home is better “food, weather and sunlight.” “There is a lot of really good authentic, inexpensive Mexican food [in Texas],” Davila says. “Boloco is tasty, but it’s not that same.” Other than food, weather, and sunlight, Davila also misses her father, whom she claims “helped shape the person I am now . . . even though it’s been less than perfect.”

When asked where she would like to be in ten years, Davila responded with a hopeful attitude, saying she would like to have “lived in Spain,” and “have a job as an international correspondent for N.P.R.” After a brief pause, she laughs, before continuing, “what I think will happen . . . I will have at least visited Spain, and will probably be living either here in Boston or in New York, hopefully with a stable job at a newspaper or maybe a radio station,” she says, shrugging her shoulders with a sense of confidence and optimism, as if to say whatever happens, she’s up to the task.

Davila’s future is full of possibilities. Whether she works for a newspaper, magazine, radio, or own a publishing company, this “sassy Latina” is on a path to some sort of journalistic nirvana. Close friend Sarah Greenbaum insists that “be it by newspaper, magazine or television,” Davila will be “speaking her opinion, and getting her word out.” As is the case with most people, friends seem to know one best, and Greenbaum assures that Davila is headed for success. “Angelica is uniquely amazing. Whether it is her love of Penguins, her 11 cats, or her ability to throw together a stunning wardrobe, she is an awesome individual, and truly a great friend . . . [and] has the aptness to succeed in whatever she decides to do.”

Scene Setting - Common Homeless

It’s just after 2 o’clock, on a surprisingly sunny January afternoon. A young mother, roughly 26 or so, pushes a stroller carrying what appears to be her child, through the Boston Common. She curses herself, and mutters a varied collection of four letter words her young child does not yet understand, as she struggles rigorously to force the cart through the semi-frozen slush of a recent January snowfall. Looking up only once, she quickly ignores the emaciated elderly woman watching from a bench no more than ten feet from her. Little does the mother know, she is wading through this woman’s home.

Directly adjacent to Beacon Hill, known as one of the most expensive and lucrative living locales the city has to offer, the Boston Common has served as a refuge for the homeless population of Boston for several decades. During the warmer months, the park offers shade and space beneath ancient trees, and room to roam through open grass quads. Yet, when winter comes, the trees lose their leaves and the Commons are covered in a thick coating of snow, which perpetually builds till around mid-March. But when this time arrives, and the Commons no longer offer possible shelter, where and how do the homeless survive?

Before I even enter the park, I am confronted by an older African American woman. As she approaches me, the deep scars and blemishes across her face immediately reveal the rough past she has had. A thin, blue jacket covers her upper body, and makes me shake just at the thought of how cold she must be. “Excuse me, sir,” she whispers lowly through a mouth of yellow teeth, and holes where past ones have lived, “I’m just trying to get a meal, anything really would be a tremendously help.” I pull a single one dollar bill from my wallet, knowing it means more to her than it ever could to me. She clasps her two bare hands together around the dollar, repeating “Bless you, sir,” as I walk deeper into the Common. Swiftly, she grabs a hold of the small wire cart beside her and tugs it along, dragging her few remaining belongings to her next stop. My only hope is that she does indeed find some sort of nourishment with that money.