Starting over after Sept. 11
Vernon Hills man changes his life after terrorist attacks, realizes his dream
Originally published Monday, Sept. 10, 2007
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By Nadia Malik
Daily Herald Staff Writer
Six years ago, Vadim Lovinsky feared for his life as he made his way down 61 flights of stairs as the second tower of the World Trade Center was on the brink of collapse.
On the anniversary of Sept. 11 this year, he'll be doing what he's wanted to do since the age of 14 -- working at his own restaurant.
The Vernon Hills man took over the Madison Café in Arlington Heights in May, after leaving his career as a financial adviser four years earlier.
Lovinsky said he considers Sept. 11 a second birthday of sorts, a chance to do something significant with his life.
"God gave me an opportunity," he said.
Lovinsky and 280 others -- five from Chicago -- started working at Morgan Stanley in May 2001. The group arrived in New York for training on Sunday, Sept. 9.
Two days later, the new employees met for about an hour in the South Tower of the World Trade Center.
As they were walking out of a room on the 61st floor, Lovinsky went to the window to look out onto the city.
"It was a beautiful day," he said. "I was in awe to see the (Statue of Liberty) there."
While he looked down on the sight, he felt a sound wave and heard a resounding explosion. It was 8:46 a.m.
"You could feel the building just move," he said. "That was it -- training was over."
Although he didn't know it at the time, American Airlines Flight 11 had crashed into the neighboring North Tower.
Lovinsky thought it was a gas explosion as he watched reams of paper floating in the air.
"It was like this big ball of confetti," he said. "You think about how many thousands of man-hours you've put into this paper, and it just doesn't mean anything anymore."
The flight begins
Lovinsky saw others evacuating down a staircase and followed suit.
Loudspeakers were telling people, "Get back to your offices," but he followed the orders of a fellow Morgan Stanley employee. "Forget that, we're getting out of the building," the employee said.
Lovinsky saw crowds of people running down the stairs and knew there was a chance for a stampede.
Although he was hesitant to say anything at first, his Navy training kicked in.
"You're nervous; you don't want to speak up," he said. "I started yelling out orders, you know, just like in the military again."
He told people to walk calmly so that all could make it out safely.
In his four years with the Navy, which included training at Great Lakes Naval Academy in North Chicago, Lovinsky learned fire fighting, so he knew another explosion could be imminent if there was a leak in a gas main.
He prepared others around him, telling them he could handle a fire hose with their help if that happened.
The second jolt he had feared came as the group neared the 44th floor. It was 9:02 a.m. United Airlines Flight 175 had just hit the building floors above where he had just been.
"For a second, it felt like the whole building's coming down sideways, and that was it." He locked eyes with another man and thought, "I'm going to die right now.
"And then it just stopped."
Everyone started running down the steps again. He saw huge cracks in the cinder block walls and feared the staircase couldn't handle the load. "I thought it was just going to be like an organ, collapsing on itself," he said.
He took charge again, telling everyone to slow down.
When the group made it to the 10th floor, the smells and sounds hit them. Evacuees coughed from the mixture of oil, gas and fire fumes. Lovinsky took his tie and covered his mouth and the mouth of a fellow trainee who had grabbed onto his arm.
They finally made it to the ground, but debris rained down outside, creating another hazard. The group made a run for it.
Waves of people ran from the buildings, which collapsed moments later, first the tower Lovinsky was in and then the one next to it.
"You see ambulances rushing around; you see guys being carried around," he said. "You felt like World War III just started in front of your eyes."
No escaping it
Lovinsky walked the 40 blocks to his hotel. The rest of the night, he kept his eyes on the news, which replayed the moment he had lived hours earlier over and over again.
He had occasional dreams about falling buildings, and he still isn't comfortable in a tall one. The planes flying overhead near O'Hare International Airport are a source of apprehension.
Whenever he sees a clock at 9:11, he can't get his mind off that day.
He remembers the firefighters who helped him that didn't make it out. He recalls the man at Morgan Stanley who signaled for people to evacuate; he saved their lives, but couldn't save his own.
"You thank God that you're here, always."
Lovinsky returned to his routine to avoid being mired in the past, working hard to stay at Morgan Stanley, which was laying people off daily in the economic slowdown that followed Sept. 11.
"The company's trying to save money; every day someone's getting fired," he said. "It's a terrible feeling."
By the time Lovinsky was laid off in May 2003, only 30 out of that original group of 280 trainees remained.
After a year at National City bank, he decided he needed to stop working for others.
"This is not really what I want to do with my life," he said. "I just decided that I've got to go do it for myself."
In taking that course, he also was following the advice of his parents, who had worked for General Motors in Cleveland after emigrating from the Ukraine when Lovinsky was 3½ years old.
Lovinsky had years of restaurant experience; from the age of 14 onward he had worked as a busboy, a dishwasher and a waiter. He and his friend had always talked about owning their own restaurants, and he decided to finally act on that ambition.
He and his father-in-law, Alex Serbryannyy, who had also gotten laid off from his job, bought the Island Lake Café in central Lake County in 2004. He combined his restaurant experience with his financial knowledge to help the restaurant grow.
But his wife Diana pushed him to get a restaurant of his own, asking, "What have you done so far in your life?"
When he went through a litany of the Navy, his finance career and the restaurant, she prodded: "Why don't you go do it for yourself?"
In response, he now runs the Madison Café, 902 W. Dundee Road, which he opened in May in a spot that has had a checkered history for past operators. He's determined to grow the new eatery while his father-in-law runs the Island Lake Café. They co-own the restaurants.
"I have a definition of success for myself, where I want to end up," he said. "I want to be successful with my family, financially. I want people to know about my restaurant -- that's success for me."
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Beyond the veil
Beyond the veil
Daily Herald reporter Nadia Malik shares how the Islamic head covering liberated her.
Her mom was initially opposed.
Originally published Sunday, Feb. 27, 2005
By Nadia Malik
Daily Herald Staff Writer
The three mannequins draw stares, some puzzled, some pitying, as they pose in the lobby of the Harper College student center.
Shrouded head-to-toe in black or red, their eyes peer out from behind Islamic veils. One stands in a paint bucket as punishment, a sign says, for not dressing modestly enough in Iran.
The college sponsored the exhibit to call attention to "hijab," the veil the Iranian government forces all women to wear.
The exhibit, a collection of clothing and photographs taken by journalism students in Tehran, does not hide its disgust for the veil. Through their lenses, the photographers see a symbol of female oppression and degradation.
The message isn't lost on anyone viewing the exhibit in Palatine, including myself. But I look through a different lens.
I can feel the other visitors looking at me, wondering whether I'm offended or enlightened by the political statement. One man is curious enough to ask.
Steven Peskind, a rabbi and a professor of world religions at Harper, chooses his words carefully so as not to offend.
"I'm interested in your opinion of this," he says. "I'd like to know what you think as someone who wears the veil."
The inquiry is simple enough, but it requires a complex answer.
How can I explain to people who see hijab as a tool of oppression that it was one of the most liberating experiences of my life? How can I convince the rabbi that this yard of fabric strengthens my identity?
Perhaps if he knew my story.
* * *
Why?
My mother kept asking as we drove down to Champaign before the start of my sophomore year.
The answers, when she listened to them, only frustrated her more. She reacted to each explanation the same way.
But I don't understand why.
No reason could satisfy my mother, Yasmeen, a devout Muslim and Pakistani immigrant who wore western fashions. My decision to embrace hijab, it seemed, would never make sense to her.
To be honest, when put down on paper, it didn't make much sense to me, either.
Until that moment, I had always mirrored those around me. I was an 18-year-old suburban girl who lived in a nice Westmont home, listened to the Backstreet Boys, pulled my hair back in a pony tail and wore flared jeans because they were the fashion.
My parents had instilled in my brother, sister and me a devotion to Islam. They raised us to pray five times a day and fast during the holy month of Ramadan.
But they never, not even once, talked about the veil.
My mom and dad had grown up in Pakistan, a predominantly Muslim country where the veil is a personal choice. My mother never entertained the idea of wearing hijab. Her loose-fitting clothes followed her definition of Islamic modesty.
Because she had not considered the veil for herself, she never imagined it for her eldest daughter.
Unbeknownst to my mother, though, the first seeds were planted at the Islamic Foundation in Villa Park when I was 16. My friend, a fellow student at the weekend school, told the class she had been considering the veil.
Our teacher, a young religious instructor, encouraged us to discuss it. She told us how the veil gave her a sense of identity after she converted to Islam during college.
Hijab, -an Arabic word meaning hide or conceal - entails wearing loose-fitting, opaque attire from head to toe. The clothes are meant to be modest, cloaking a woman's physical appearance to highlight her intelligence and personality.
In some Muslim metropolises, like my parents' hometown of Karachi, a head scarf isn't considered an Islamic obligation. Others interpret the burqa as a requirement because the Prophet Muhammad's wives covered their faces.
For Muslims in the United States, it is a personal choice dictated by family tradition or religious interpretation.
The veil has become an increasingly popular fashion and religious statement for young Muslims. In the past two decades, it has served as an old-school way for first-generation Muslim-Americans to celebrate their ancestors' religion.
The idea appealed to me, but I pushed it aside. I was a shy, somewhat awkward teenager. I didn't want to stick out further in my high school, where the majority of students were rich, white and Christian.
It wasn't until my first year at the University of Illinois that I contemplated the veil again.
The college, which has one of the country's largest Muslim Students Associations, seemed more welcoming to Islamic traditions. I met dozens of girls who wore hijab and found strength in their numbers. I could cover my hair without feeling self-conscious or worrying I'd stand out.
I went home at the end of my freshman year seriously considering the veil. I spent the summer going over the practicalities.
I would lie in bed at night, staring at my room's lavender walls, turning over the many reasons for not wearing it.
I worried, most of all, about people staring at me. Vanity reared its head, too, when I realized I could never wear hats or show off my good hair days to the world again.
The choice would mean more than just covering my hair. It would entail cloaking my entire body in public, save for my face and hands.
On summer days, I would be considerably warmer with arms, legs and hair covered.
I surprised myself by deciding I could accept the inconveniences. It just felt right.
Since childhood, I had been aware that I am different from those around me. I could feel the two sides - the "Muslim" one and the "American" one - abrading each other.
I finally realized I would never be happy if I kept pretending to fit in. I needed to embrace being Muslim and show the rest of the world that I wasn't ashamed of my identity.
In doing so, I liberated my American self. I was exercising the freedom and rights of self-expression upon which this country was built.
I didn't make my final decision until the moment I left for school. We had packed the car, and from my bedroom I could hear my mother yelling that we were running late.
It was a do-or-die moment. I opened the top drawer of my dresser and pulled out a white scarf that I wore during religious services.
I folded the lightweight square fabric into a triangle, wrapped it around my face and pinned it under my chin. I pulled the two remaining flaps in opposite directions around my neck and pinned them.
I dashed out of the house wearing gray track pants, a long-sleeved shirt with an Aeropostale logo across the chest and a veil on my head.
I got into the car and hoped my mother wouldn't notice.
She, of course, did. She demanded an explanation as I backed the Ford Explorer out of the driveway.
I felt a sense of relief the minute I put it on. The reservations I had about wearing hijab seemingly disappeared.
I was at peace. Or at least as much at peace as any 18-year-old with an angry mother can be.
For the next 2 1/2 hours, my sister and I counted the corn rows as we listened to our mother's steady flow of questions in her native Urdu.
Why do you want to wear it?
Do you want people to see you as a fundamentalist?
How will you get married if nobody knows what you look like?
I stopped answering before we reached the tollway. I had learned long ago it was easier to let my mom run out of steam than to try to cool her down.
She was still hot as she and my sister returned home later that day. It was 16-year-old Samia who finally calmed her.
"Mom," my sister said in English. "She's not doing anything wrong."
* * *
I can see the disdain in Barbara Njus' eyes as she views the Harper College exhibit.
The English professor has no tolerance for a culture that imprisons and tortures women for showing their hair. She shakes her head as she examines a photograph of women boarding the back of the bus, much like black people in the segregated South 40 years ago.
"It's difficult to look at," she says. "It really is."
I've seen contempt for Iranian law before. I share it, too.
But I fear disdain for that theocratic state often results in sorrow for all who wear the veil.
I don't need pity. In fact, I have come to resent it.
* * *
I spotted a woman wearing a burqa as I walked to class in the fall of 2001.
Fully covered in the flowing cloth, she navigated her way through Gregory Hall from behind netted fabric.
The sight startled me because I didn't know anyone on campus who wore the full veil. I was even more surprised later that day when I saw a second burqa-clad woman.
I respected their resolve so soon after Sept. 11. I wondered who they were.
A few days later, a teacher's assistant in my political science class solved the mystery. She explained that a feminist group on campus had donned the coverings to protest the plight of Afghan women who were forced to wear burqas under the Taliban regime.
I abhorred the treatment of women in Afghanistan, just as I empathized with their Iranian sisters. Yet I resented my fellow students' silent protest, which I viewed as a suggestion the burqa was inherently evil.
The implication offended me on behalf of all the women I knew who willingly wore the burqas and head coverings. The protest mocked our beliefs, implying anyone who wore hijab was oppressed.
They assumed we were demure, obedient Muslim women because we covered our hair. We looked different, but we were not unlike other students .
At the time, I lived with three other girls in a four-bedroom apartment off campus. All of us wore hijab. Once we got home from class, we stripped off our veils, put on comfortable clothes and watched MTV.
We spent our free time running up and down the complex stairs as we visited others who lived in the building, all the time wearing our veils. We put off writing papers to catch up on our soap operas and pulled pranks on each other.
Nothing about my life suggested I was a slave to my religion's feminine ideals. I simply had chosen, after much independent study and thought, to live my life as modestly as possible.
That includes, in accordance with Islamic law, wearing loose, opaque clothing that covers everything but my hands, face and feet.
The feminist group may consider my dress a symbol of oppression. But it's no worse than the hidden forms that exist in America.
We live in a country obsessed with the Western definition of beauty. I pity the oppressed women who fall victim to eating disorders or have plastic surgery to enhance their looks.
In college, many of my female classmates would shun their jackets and wear tank tops to bars in the middle of winter so they might be more attractive to guys.
Their attire looks as strange to me as I assume hijab seems to them.
The difference, though, is I support their right to do it.
* * *
The Harper exhibit triggers a powerful response from those viewing it.
They want to help the Iranian women who are forced to wear the veil as young as 7. How terrible for their self-esteem, more than one person says.
As they tsk-tsk and shake their heads, a lone voice poses a rhetorical question.
"Aren't women here suppressed?" an anthropology instructor asks. "These are universal feelings that we all experience."
* * *
If anything oppresses me, it's my crushing shyness.
I've always felt a bit apprehensive before I walk into a room. Wearing hijab - a cloth that hides my hair but draws more attention to me - exacerbated the problem.
A woman once approached me as I went into Panera for lunch. I offered a smile as she walked toward me, but her angry look wiped it off.
In an indiscernible accent, she asked me if I wanted to buy her passport. She implied, in her broken English, that she was more American than me.
It was an ironic opinion, given that I was born here and she couldn't even speak the language. I imagined her bragging to friends about the confrontation, and it sickened me.
I realized a cold truth that day. Regardless of the pride I felt wearing hijab, there would always be someone, somewhere who would consider me a terrorist because of it.
Yet as I grew accustomed to the veil, I got used to the looks and the occasional suspicions it drew. I remained timid, but no longer worried people were judging me because of my religious expression.
When I started at the Daily Herald in May 2003, I had the typical college intern's anxieties. I worried about pleasing my editors and finding stories.
Like high school, the DuPage County newsroom was predominantly white and largely Christian. But I had become so comfortable in my new skin, I didn't care if I looked different.
The staff treated me like anyone else. My sources acted with the same respect, and I could approach strangers without fear.
At the end of my internship, I was hired as a full-time reporter. It was an unusual career choice for a Muslim woman, but one my religion and my family encouraged me to pursue.
My veil hasn't stopped me or suppressed my professional goals. If anything, it has been an invitation for co-workers to use me as a resource on stories with Islamic themes.
A few have summoned the courage to ask about hijab. I greet their tentative questions with a warm response.
They want to know where I get my hair cut or if I'm hot in the summer. They are the same practicalities I thought about when I first considered the veil.
I tell them I go to a salon with a back room or one owned by a Muslim woman who cuts my hair in private. This way, I eliminate the risk of a man seeing me without my hijab.
Of course, I get warmer than others on hot summer days. But I've quickly learned which fabrics work best in certain temperatures.
The biggest question is what I look like in the privacy of my own home. They seem surprised to learn I look a lot like them.
I take off my veil when I return home, much as a businessman removes his tie. I wear short sleeves around the house and show the multiple piercings in my ears.
When I'm with my female friends, I dress like any other 23-year-old. I can put on shorter skirts and style my hair for parties, as long as no males are present who are not my relatives.
The questions, which some co-workers hedge with apologies for being too personal, show me they want to understand my decision and my background. And where there's acceptance, oppression does not dwell.
* * *
Two years after I decided to wear hijab, my younger sister called my mom from college to say she had made the same choice.
Samia obviously had learned from my experience and knew the conversation was best avoided while trapped in a confined space with my mother. A quick phone call would be much easier.
My mother, too, had learned from our skirmish.
"Oh, that's good," she told my sister.
She even smiled when she said it.
The transition, though, wasn't easy for any of us. My mother endured intense questioning and judgmental comments from friends who do not wear the veil.
She also grappled with the sideways looks I would receive when we were in public.
But she has now accepted my choice, as I knew she eventually would. It was easier to embrace my decision once she saw I remained the same person on the inside.
I've made an effort to increase my knowledge on Islam and pray five times a day. I still enjoy shopping for shoes, watching "The Simpsons" and reading Harry Potter books. I've given up the Backstreet Boys, but we all grow up some time.
I compensate for my shyness by greeting stranger's stares with a smile. I try to make myself appear open to questions about hijab, so as to lift the misconceptions shrouding it.
I give honest, informed opinions to questions like the one Professor Peskind asked me at Harper College.
My defense of the veil - but never of its Iranian enforcers - leads to a discussion of a book Peskind recently read.
It is about a young Iranian girl who flees to Europe with her family. Living amid Western culture, she realizes the importance of her religious values - even though she's against their imposition.
"The idea of Westernization automatically being better bothers me," Peskind says. "Do we risk demonizing the hijab? Isn't it possible that wearing the veil is just an expression of faith?"
Perhaps the professor has answered his earlier question for me.
Daily Herald reporter Nadia Malik shares how the Islamic head covering liberated her.
Her mom was initially opposed.
Originally published Sunday, Feb. 27, 2005
By Nadia Malik
Daily Herald Staff Writer
The three mannequins draw stares, some puzzled, some pitying, as they pose in the lobby of the Harper College student center.
Shrouded head-to-toe in black or red, their eyes peer out from behind Islamic veils. One stands in a paint bucket as punishment, a sign says, for not dressing modestly enough in Iran.
The college sponsored the exhibit to call attention to "hijab," the veil the Iranian government forces all women to wear.
The exhibit, a collection of clothing and photographs taken by journalism students in Tehran, does not hide its disgust for the veil. Through their lenses, the photographers see a symbol of female oppression and degradation.
The message isn't lost on anyone viewing the exhibit in Palatine, including myself. But I look through a different lens.
I can feel the other visitors looking at me, wondering whether I'm offended or enlightened by the political statement. One man is curious enough to ask.
Steven Peskind, a rabbi and a professor of world religions at Harper, chooses his words carefully so as not to offend.
"I'm interested in your opinion of this," he says. "I'd like to know what you think as someone who wears the veil."
The inquiry is simple enough, but it requires a complex answer.
How can I explain to people who see hijab as a tool of oppression that it was one of the most liberating experiences of my life? How can I convince the rabbi that this yard of fabric strengthens my identity?
Perhaps if he knew my story.
* * *
Why?
My mother kept asking as we drove down to Champaign before the start of my sophomore year.
The answers, when she listened to them, only frustrated her more. She reacted to each explanation the same way.
But I don't understand why.
No reason could satisfy my mother, Yasmeen, a devout Muslim and Pakistani immigrant who wore western fashions. My decision to embrace hijab, it seemed, would never make sense to her.
To be honest, when put down on paper, it didn't make much sense to me, either.
Until that moment, I had always mirrored those around me. I was an 18-year-old suburban girl who lived in a nice Westmont home, listened to the Backstreet Boys, pulled my hair back in a pony tail and wore flared jeans because they were the fashion.
My parents had instilled in my brother, sister and me a devotion to Islam. They raised us to pray five times a day and fast during the holy month of Ramadan.
But they never, not even once, talked about the veil.
My mom and dad had grown up in Pakistan, a predominantly Muslim country where the veil is a personal choice. My mother never entertained the idea of wearing hijab. Her loose-fitting clothes followed her definition of Islamic modesty.
Because she had not considered the veil for herself, she never imagined it for her eldest daughter.
Unbeknownst to my mother, though, the first seeds were planted at the Islamic Foundation in Villa Park when I was 16. My friend, a fellow student at the weekend school, told the class she had been considering the veil.
Our teacher, a young religious instructor, encouraged us to discuss it. She told us how the veil gave her a sense of identity after she converted to Islam during college.
Hijab, -an Arabic word meaning hide or conceal - entails wearing loose-fitting, opaque attire from head to toe. The clothes are meant to be modest, cloaking a woman's physical appearance to highlight her intelligence and personality.
In some Muslim metropolises, like my parents' hometown of Karachi, a head scarf isn't considered an Islamic obligation. Others interpret the burqa as a requirement because the Prophet Muhammad's wives covered their faces.
For Muslims in the United States, it is a personal choice dictated by family tradition or religious interpretation.
The veil has become an increasingly popular fashion and religious statement for young Muslims. In the past two decades, it has served as an old-school way for first-generation Muslim-Americans to celebrate their ancestors' religion.
The idea appealed to me, but I pushed it aside. I was a shy, somewhat awkward teenager. I didn't want to stick out further in my high school, where the majority of students were rich, white and Christian.
It wasn't until my first year at the University of Illinois that I contemplated the veil again.
The college, which has one of the country's largest Muslim Students Associations, seemed more welcoming to Islamic traditions. I met dozens of girls who wore hijab and found strength in their numbers. I could cover my hair without feeling self-conscious or worrying I'd stand out.
I went home at the end of my freshman year seriously considering the veil. I spent the summer going over the practicalities.
I would lie in bed at night, staring at my room's lavender walls, turning over the many reasons for not wearing it.
I worried, most of all, about people staring at me. Vanity reared its head, too, when I realized I could never wear hats or show off my good hair days to the world again.
The choice would mean more than just covering my hair. It would entail cloaking my entire body in public, save for my face and hands.
On summer days, I would be considerably warmer with arms, legs and hair covered.
I surprised myself by deciding I could accept the inconveniences. It just felt right.
Since childhood, I had been aware that I am different from those around me. I could feel the two sides - the "Muslim" one and the "American" one - abrading each other.
I finally realized I would never be happy if I kept pretending to fit in. I needed to embrace being Muslim and show the rest of the world that I wasn't ashamed of my identity.
In doing so, I liberated my American self. I was exercising the freedom and rights of self-expression upon which this country was built.
I didn't make my final decision until the moment I left for school. We had packed the car, and from my bedroom I could hear my mother yelling that we were running late.
It was a do-or-die moment. I opened the top drawer of my dresser and pulled out a white scarf that I wore during religious services.
I folded the lightweight square fabric into a triangle, wrapped it around my face and pinned it under my chin. I pulled the two remaining flaps in opposite directions around my neck and pinned them.
I dashed out of the house wearing gray track pants, a long-sleeved shirt with an Aeropostale logo across the chest and a veil on my head.
I got into the car and hoped my mother wouldn't notice.
She, of course, did. She demanded an explanation as I backed the Ford Explorer out of the driveway.
I felt a sense of relief the minute I put it on. The reservations I had about wearing hijab seemingly disappeared.
I was at peace. Or at least as much at peace as any 18-year-old with an angry mother can be.
For the next 2 1/2 hours, my sister and I counted the corn rows as we listened to our mother's steady flow of questions in her native Urdu.
Why do you want to wear it?
Do you want people to see you as a fundamentalist?
How will you get married if nobody knows what you look like?
I stopped answering before we reached the tollway. I had learned long ago it was easier to let my mom run out of steam than to try to cool her down.
She was still hot as she and my sister returned home later that day. It was 16-year-old Samia who finally calmed her.
"Mom," my sister said in English. "She's not doing anything wrong."
* * *
I can see the disdain in Barbara Njus' eyes as she views the Harper College exhibit.
The English professor has no tolerance for a culture that imprisons and tortures women for showing their hair. She shakes her head as she examines a photograph of women boarding the back of the bus, much like black people in the segregated South 40 years ago.
"It's difficult to look at," she says. "It really is."
I've seen contempt for Iranian law before. I share it, too.
But I fear disdain for that theocratic state often results in sorrow for all who wear the veil.
I don't need pity. In fact, I have come to resent it.
* * *
I spotted a woman wearing a burqa as I walked to class in the fall of 2001.
Fully covered in the flowing cloth, she navigated her way through Gregory Hall from behind netted fabric.
The sight startled me because I didn't know anyone on campus who wore the full veil. I was even more surprised later that day when I saw a second burqa-clad woman.
I respected their resolve so soon after Sept. 11. I wondered who they were.
A few days later, a teacher's assistant in my political science class solved the mystery. She explained that a feminist group on campus had donned the coverings to protest the plight of Afghan women who were forced to wear burqas under the Taliban regime.
I abhorred the treatment of women in Afghanistan, just as I empathized with their Iranian sisters. Yet I resented my fellow students' silent protest, which I viewed as a suggestion the burqa was inherently evil.
The implication offended me on behalf of all the women I knew who willingly wore the burqas and head coverings. The protest mocked our beliefs, implying anyone who wore hijab was oppressed.
They assumed we were demure, obedient Muslim women because we covered our hair. We looked different, but we were not unlike other students .
At the time, I lived with three other girls in a four-bedroom apartment off campus. All of us wore hijab. Once we got home from class, we stripped off our veils, put on comfortable clothes and watched MTV.
We spent our free time running up and down the complex stairs as we visited others who lived in the building, all the time wearing our veils. We put off writing papers to catch up on our soap operas and pulled pranks on each other.
Nothing about my life suggested I was a slave to my religion's feminine ideals. I simply had chosen, after much independent study and thought, to live my life as modestly as possible.
That includes, in accordance with Islamic law, wearing loose, opaque clothing that covers everything but my hands, face and feet.
The feminist group may consider my dress a symbol of oppression. But it's no worse than the hidden forms that exist in America.
We live in a country obsessed with the Western definition of beauty. I pity the oppressed women who fall victim to eating disorders or have plastic surgery to enhance their looks.
In college, many of my female classmates would shun their jackets and wear tank tops to bars in the middle of winter so they might be more attractive to guys.
Their attire looks as strange to me as I assume hijab seems to them.
The difference, though, is I support their right to do it.
* * *
The Harper exhibit triggers a powerful response from those viewing it.
They want to help the Iranian women who are forced to wear the veil as young as 7. How terrible for their self-esteem, more than one person says.
As they tsk-tsk and shake their heads, a lone voice poses a rhetorical question.
"Aren't women here suppressed?" an anthropology instructor asks. "These are universal feelings that we all experience."
* * *
If anything oppresses me, it's my crushing shyness.
I've always felt a bit apprehensive before I walk into a room. Wearing hijab - a cloth that hides my hair but draws more attention to me - exacerbated the problem.
A woman once approached me as I went into Panera for lunch. I offered a smile as she walked toward me, but her angry look wiped it off.
In an indiscernible accent, she asked me if I wanted to buy her passport. She implied, in her broken English, that she was more American than me.
It was an ironic opinion, given that I was born here and she couldn't even speak the language. I imagined her bragging to friends about the confrontation, and it sickened me.
I realized a cold truth that day. Regardless of the pride I felt wearing hijab, there would always be someone, somewhere who would consider me a terrorist because of it.
Yet as I grew accustomed to the veil, I got used to the looks and the occasional suspicions it drew. I remained timid, but no longer worried people were judging me because of my religious expression.
When I started at the Daily Herald in May 2003, I had the typical college intern's anxieties. I worried about pleasing my editors and finding stories.
Like high school, the DuPage County newsroom was predominantly white and largely Christian. But I had become so comfortable in my new skin, I didn't care if I looked different.
The staff treated me like anyone else. My sources acted with the same respect, and I could approach strangers without fear.
At the end of my internship, I was hired as a full-time reporter. It was an unusual career choice for a Muslim woman, but one my religion and my family encouraged me to pursue.
My veil hasn't stopped me or suppressed my professional goals. If anything, it has been an invitation for co-workers to use me as a resource on stories with Islamic themes.
A few have summoned the courage to ask about hijab. I greet their tentative questions with a warm response.
They want to know where I get my hair cut or if I'm hot in the summer. They are the same practicalities I thought about when I first considered the veil.
I tell them I go to a salon with a back room or one owned by a Muslim woman who cuts my hair in private. This way, I eliminate the risk of a man seeing me without my hijab.
Of course, I get warmer than others on hot summer days. But I've quickly learned which fabrics work best in certain temperatures.
The biggest question is what I look like in the privacy of my own home. They seem surprised to learn I look a lot like them.
I take off my veil when I return home, much as a businessman removes his tie. I wear short sleeves around the house and show the multiple piercings in my ears.
When I'm with my female friends, I dress like any other 23-year-old. I can put on shorter skirts and style my hair for parties, as long as no males are present who are not my relatives.
The questions, which some co-workers hedge with apologies for being too personal, show me they want to understand my decision and my background. And where there's acceptance, oppression does not dwell.
* * *
Two years after I decided to wear hijab, my younger sister called my mom from college to say she had made the same choice.
Samia obviously had learned from my experience and knew the conversation was best avoided while trapped in a confined space with my mother. A quick phone call would be much easier.
My mother, too, had learned from our skirmish.
"Oh, that's good," she told my sister.
She even smiled when she said it.
The transition, though, wasn't easy for any of us. My mother endured intense questioning and judgmental comments from friends who do not wear the veil.
She also grappled with the sideways looks I would receive when we were in public.
But she has now accepted my choice, as I knew she eventually would. It was easier to embrace my decision once she saw I remained the same person on the inside.
I've made an effort to increase my knowledge on Islam and pray five times a day. I still enjoy shopping for shoes, watching "The Simpsons" and reading Harry Potter books. I've given up the Backstreet Boys, but we all grow up some time.
I compensate for my shyness by greeting stranger's stares with a smile. I try to make myself appear open to questions about hijab, so as to lift the misconceptions shrouding it.
I give honest, informed opinions to questions like the one Professor Peskind asked me at Harper College.
My defense of the veil - but never of its Iranian enforcers - leads to a discussion of a book Peskind recently read.
It is about a young Iranian girl who flees to Europe with her family. Living amid Western culture, she realizes the importance of her religious values - even though she's against their imposition.
"The idea of Westernization automatically being better bothers me," Peskind says. "Do we risk demonizing the hijab? Isn't it possible that wearing the veil is just an expression of faith?"
Perhaps the professor has answered his earlier question for me.
An attack in Iraq, a changed life
An attack in Iraq, a changed life
A roadside bomb just missed killing a Buffalo Grove native serving as an Army lawyer
Originally published Monday, Jan. 1, 2007
By Nadia Malik
Daily Herald Staff Writer
Quiet had settled over the town Patrick Gilman just left, but in Iraq, quiet means anything but calm.
He and the four others in the Humvee traveling back to a base 20 kilometers north of Baghdad knew the eerie silence wasn't a good omen.
"Everybody in my truck that day had a weird feeling," Gilman, an Army lawyer and captain, said. "Everybody was driving with a bated breath."
That one day in Iraq changed the 29-year-old from Buffalo Grove, but months later, as he's telling the story in his mother's suburban home, he's still not sure how. The scars on his shin and arm will be with him, but only time can show him the other effects.
"Those few hours, the feelings that I had, I try not to forget because I don't want to forget that terror, that horror," Gilman said.
"It certainly had a profound effect."
An odd combination
That September morning, Gilman left his base in Taji for a routine meeting with a tribal leader in a nearby town.
One of his responsibilities during his seven months in the country was brokering settlements with local Iraqis. When the Army raided a house and left damages, the affected Iraqis filed a complaint with him.
On that Saturday, Gilman had handed the town's leader 45 of about 60 recently filed complaints because they needed more information.
The Iraqi leader had aired his own concerns with the civil affairs team, which is responsible for funding the rebuilding of schools and other infrastructure.
Looking back, Gilman said the odd combination of a lawyer traveling with the civil affairs officer - both responsible for handing out money - might have made them an advantageous target.
"There's certainly people who didn't like what we do," Gilman said.
After lunch, about 2:30 p.m., the convoy of four Humvees - with Gilman's truck bringing up the rear - left the last stop of the day and headed back to base.
"The town was usually very busy," Gilman remembers. "It wasn't very late, but the town seemed kind of eerily quiet."
The 130-degree temperature might have kept people indoors, but Gilman, the three soldiers and the translator in his Humvee took it as a portent.
The lack of activity was just the first in a series of odd events.
Also unusual was the absence of cars traveling on the road that runs on the fertile land between the Tigris and the Euphrates rivers.
Ask soldiers and they'd rather have cars coming at them than no cars at all, Gilman said. They know that locals are likely warned when an attack is imminent.
A shocking reality
About 10 minutes into the ride back, the engine on Gilman's Humvee died.
The convoy had already been having problems with the radio, and as the truck rolled along in neutral, the distance between it and the other three trucks grew greater.
After some false starts, the driver managed to get the engine back up.
He had just hit the gas to catch up with the others when it happened.
Boom!
To Gilman it sounded like a pop, but it felt as if the Humvee had hit a brick wall at full speed.
Someone waiting on the side of the road had detonated an IED, or improvised explosive device, that had been buried under the concrete of the road.
The pervasive quiet of the day was suddenly filled with noise. The pavement cracked from the explosion, and Gilman heard someone screaming in pain.
All around him, concrete was cascading into the truck through the gunner's hole in the roof.
The gunner himself was dangling from his harness.
Although it happened in a few seconds, Gilman remembers every feeling he had during the blast, including the pure terror.
Knowing that his awareness of the events was a good thing, he kept repeating to himself, You're still OK. You're still OK.
Any time he felt any pain, he thought, You're not dead yet. You're not dead yet.
When the truck landed from the explosion, he immediately checked his arms and legs for any bleeding.
Seeing no immediate problems, Gilman, who was sitting behind the driver, pulled the gunner down into his lap.
Then he didn't know what to do.
"It's funny to think that time doesn't just stop when that happens," he said. "You still have a mission."
A major sitting in the passenger seat, who Gilman said was one of the most fearless soldiers he saw in Iraq, directed him to get the injured driver and gunner out of the car.
"He knew exactly what he was doing," Gilman said.
The passenger's-side door was stuck, and Gilman was the only one able to get out.
Since the explosive had hit just at the front left tire, the driver, the gunner and Gilman felt the brunt of the impact.
"It was actually the best place to hit," Gilman said. "Had we been one foot to the left or one foot forward, we all would have been dead."
Gilman maneuvered out of the truck and put the gunner down under it so he wouldn't be a target if gunfire broke out.
He then ran to the driver's door, which was blocked with a large piece of cement loosened from the road by the impact of the explosives. Gilman moved it and opened the door.
"(The driver) was screaming in pain, and I didn't want to move him," Gilman said.
By that time, the medic traveling with the convoy had reached the scene, and she told Gilman to move the driver. His foot was stuck under the brake, though, and Gilman had to break the pedal to get him out.
A medevac helicopter had been called in, and Gilman and others had to go through the 4-foot-wide and 4-foot-deep hole the explosion created to set up a landing area.
"You couldn't just hop over it; you had to go into it and hop out the other side," he said.
Although his hand was hurt and he could see blood dripping from his face, Gilman refused to get on the helicopter with the driver and gunner.
A lingering remnant
It took nearly five hours to return to base that night.
Although it should have taken 20 minutes, another truck broke down before the convoy could move again.
On the way back, the group ran across Iraqis digging a hole in the road, which led to a round of questioning.
The pain that Gilman had been able to ignore because of the adrenaline boost and constant movement earlier had started to build up.
"I was frustrated by this point," he said.
Gilman finally had his hand and head checked out at the hospital and returned to work late that evening.
It took a night of sleep to let the pain really settle in.
"The next day I couldn't move," he said. "I could barely walk. I felt like a 97-year-old man."
Gilman suffered from constant headaches, he thought because of a concussion. But doctors found a 2-millimeter piece of metal above his left eye weeks later. That remnant of the blast remains.
"They felt it was more high-risk taking it out than leaving it in," Gilman said.
Two long scars also remain on his left hand, and a circle on his left shin marks where shrapnel hit.
Gilman said he's seen other IED explosions - one of the biggest fears for soldiers - but he had never experienced one so close.
"That was the worst IED we had seen; that was the most explosives packed into one IED I had seen," Gilman said.
While always aware that was the reality during his time in Taji, his involvement in an actual incident made the risk that much more real any time he went outside base.
"Nobody really worries about getting shot," he said. "They worry about getting blown up."
The same day, just 3 kilometers from Gilman's convoy, at least five other IEDs went off, hitting five other convoys.
"Generally (people) don't understand. They don't know what the roads are like there," he said. "They don't realize how much activity there is out there."
Fulfilled obligation
About three months after the explosion, Gilman returned home.
Instead of flying into Chicago, however, he stayed in the house he had bought in Texas before his time in Iraq.
"When I got home, I made it clear that I didn't want anybody coming to see me," he said. "I just wanted to go home and be on my own."
Gilman said in a way it was a blessing for him not to have a family that was depending on him to care for them. Not all soldiers have that time to reflect on their tour in Iraq.
"I had a good amount of time to decompress," he said.
The first time he was around a large crowd of people, it took getting used to.
He told his friends about the explosion right away but waited until he was in Kuwait - on his way back home - to tell his mom, Cheryl.
She wasn't sleeping while Gilman was in Iraq as it was, and the knowledge that her son was almost blown up wasn't something he was ready to deliver.
"I see her face when I tell the story; it kind of makes it a lot more difficult," he said.
He hasn't gone into great detail with anyone, mostly because it's hard to comprehend what happened if you haven't been there.
Although the experience was harrowing, Gilman said he still doesn't regret volunteering for the Army stint. He still has two more years in his contract as a lawyer and will be stationed in Texas after his vacation ends.
He hopes to be at Fort Hood for the remainder of his time. Gilman said he feels he's fulfilled an obligation he had weighing on him.
"I was a selfish, spoiled kid from the suburbs," he said. "I felt a need to do something kind of selfless."
Faith and fitting in
Faith and fitting in
Younger Sikh men choose between turbans and blending into the suburbs
Originally published Sunday, May 27, 2007
By Nadia Malik
Daily Herald Staff Writer
There's no mistaking a Sikh man who follows the tenets of the religion: He grows his hair and ties it in a turban.
The look is unique and makes him stand out, as the religion intended.
That individuality, however, has some younger Sikhs turning away from the turban because they don't want to stick out when they perceive pressure to fit in.
This trend, some Sikhs say, isn't limited to America. Even in India, fewer youths are wrapping their hair in a turban every morning.
"In general it's a kind of a natural desire to fit in," said Rajinder Singh Mago, a member of the Sikh Religious Society in Palatine.
Sikh temples are trying to increase interest by holding events, such as World Turban Day, that promote sticking to the outward facets of the faith.
Volunteers at the Palatine temple, or gurdwara, and other temples around the world in April helped young and old Sikhs learn how to tie a turban, a fairly lengthy and complicated process.
"We've got to make sure that they've got some pride in themselves for wearing (a turban)," Mago said. "Of course that is a tradition, but for the Sikhs, this is the most visible sign of being a Sikh."
Guru Jot Khalsa, who works for sikhnet.com based in New Mexico, thinks it's up to the younger Sikhs themselves to inspire others to wear a turban.
"The older generation, their approach is more 'This is what we do, this is our tradition,' " Khalsa said. "The youth don't relate to that. The youth, they want to be inspired by someone who wears a turban."
Khalsa said there's a need to fit in, but that need can be fulfilled if younger Sikhs feel like they fit into their own religious communities.
Three young men tied to the Palatine gurdwara shared their own stories of wearing the turban. One decided to counteract stereotypes after Sept. 11 and embraced the idea.
Another felt he was no longer able to wear a turban as he grew older.
The third felt a pride in his religion as he studied it, which reinforced his lifelong practice of not cutting his hair.
Ambassador of faith
Some Sikhs have been attacked because of their outward appearance.
On Friday, a Pakistani student at a New York City high school was charged with a hate crime for cutting the waist-length hair of a 15-year-old Sikh, police said.
Just four days after Sept. 11, 2001, a Sikh man planting flowers in front of his shop in Arizona was shot and killed, reportedly because he was wearing a turban.
Parminder Mann, a 26-year-old Oak Park resident and a Sikh, said the murder was shocking to his community.
"It was kind of like an awakening," said Mann, who works at Motorola in Deer Park.
Although the Sikh community expected to face some backlash because members are often mistakenly thought to be Middle Eastern or Muslim, a death like Balbir Singh Sodhi's in 2001 was jarring.
"Even in the '80s with the Ayatollah, we were confused with Iranians," Mann said. "I think almost every Sikh knew then that we're going to face a lot of hatred."
It was after the Arizona murder that Mann decided he needed to grow out his hair and start wearing a turban to educate people about Sikhs.
"I was seeing all this stuff happening, people getting beat up and old people getting yelled at," Mann said. "I thought about what I can do for my community. The whole thing about being an American is being proactive."
He equates wearing a turban to the hijab, or head scarf, that Muslim women wear.
"You're kind of the ambassador of your faith," he said.
Not the right time
Kevindeep Atwal, an 18-year-old resident of Palatine, wore a turban until he was 14.
The Sikh faith is a strong part of his family, which is deeply involved in the Palatine gurdwara. His grandfather helped found the temple.
When Atwal turned 14, however, he decided he could no longer wear a turban, at least not in this stage of his life.
"It was more of a utility thing for me," Atwal said. "I think of myself as pretty religious, but I had to perform a routine every morning that lasted 35 to 40 minutes."
While he knows other Sikhs who have gotten teased in grade school and high school for wearing a turban, he said that was never an issue for him.
"I had my own choice to make," said Atwal, a Northwestern University student. "I do consider wearing it in the future, within the next 10 years."
He said others his age have probably forsaken the turban for a simple reason: It's easier to date if you don't wear one.
"A lot of younger guys are into the guy-girl relationships in order to be more Western," Atwal said. "Appealing to the opposite sex more: That, I think, is a pretty big reason people stopped."
He said although wearing a turban is a symbol of honor, he feels that he's found a good balance without it. He's found an internal spirituality even though it's no longer externally displayed. That decision, however, doesn't come without doubts.
"I feel more pressure to wear it than I do not to," he said. "I understand where it's coming from because I believe in the same things. (Those who want me to wear a turban) are coming from something loftier than just an interest in appearance."
Pride in your faith
While Narinder Singh grew up in a strong Sikh household, as he matured he started questioning why his family practiced the religion the way it did.
"I wanted to know why we looked so different, why it is so important," said 24-year-old Singh, who works for a bank in Rolling Meadows and lives in Palatine.
The more he read about the Sikh history, the more pride Singh felt in his creed.
One of the turning points for Singh was when he read of Guru Tegh Bahadur, the ninth of 10 Sikh gurus, who sacrificed his life for the freedom of all religions, not just Sikhism.
"Right there I knew there was something special that made me want to practice my religion even more," Singh said.
Although he always sported long hair, after he graduated from high school, Singh decided to start wearing a turban.
Singh said many of his friends have been concerned that a turban could affect their jobs or personal lives. They question how they can find work when they look so different, but Singh said that wasn't a major issue for him.
"Wearing a turban can either break you or make you stronger," Singh said.
"It's just the wanting to assimilate, wanting to blend in when we were made to stand out."
He said he feels like he represents his religion now and is more careful about how he acts.
"It's more of a lifestyle than something you do on a particular day," Singh said.
"It's the way you treat people in a particular day."
Cause of city hall fire still a mystery
Cause of city hall fire still a mystery
Prospect Heights residents report seeing lightning hit building
Originally published Saturday, April 15, 2006
By Nadia Malik and Dave Orrick
Daily Herald Staff Writers
By a neighbor's account, lightning touched down on the Prospect Heights city hall Thursday night, sometime after 10:30 p.m.
Nancy Bredberg said she and her husband had friends over in their backyard, where they had a clear view of the west side of city hall. One of their guests called out when he thought he saw the flash of lightning strike the building's roof.
"It looked like a blue streak," Bredberg said.
However, any talk of a cause for the fire that gutted city hall late Thursday night and early Friday morning was called "speculative" by city officials.
"We had reports of lightning strikes in the area," Fire Chief Donald Gould Jr. said. However, he stressed the investigation hadn't ruled out any possibilities for the fire, including arson and electrical problems.
On Friday, officials spent time clearing out any salvageable documents from the building to set up shop at the police department. They also assured residents that city business would continue.
Meanwhile, residents speculated on a cause.
On Thursday, Matt Rinde, a meteorologist with AccuWeather.com, said there were between 10 and 15 lightning strikes in Prospect Heights and the surrounding area.
"I would say there were several lightning strikes that went through, but the heavier stuff stayed to the south. There were definitely lightning strikes in the area," he said.
Neighbors concurred that the storm that rolled through the city was not major; many said they heard nothing more than a few claps of thunder. Even the neighbors who said they saw the strike didn't hear the loud sound they expected in a lightning strike.
Most said they were awakened by fire trucks responding to an alarm at city hall, 8 N. Elmhurst Road, at just about 10:45 p.m., Gould said.
The fire department, which is around the corner on Camp McDonald Road, was on the scene within two minutes.
The fire crews had to pull out of the building seven minutes later, however, because the roof started to cave in.
Douglas Dean, who lives a few feet from city hall, said at first he saw "just smoke and not much flame at all."
"And then in 10 to 15 minutes, it was enough to toast nine truckloads of marshmallows," he said.
Because of his home's proximity to the fire, paramedics stopped by to make sure nobody was affected by the smoke, which continued to linger Friday.
Gould said his department had to ensure the flames didn't spread to any neighboring houses or trees behind the hall.
Water issues also delayed the firefighters' progress, since Prospect Heights runs on a well system. (See related story.)
Gould said the fire was under control by 1 a.m., but firefighters - who were called from about 25 surrounding departments - remained on the scene to control hot spots that occasionally flared up for the next couple of hours.
Mayor Rodney Pace and City Administrator Matt Zimmerman said they were awakened by calls from the fire department around 11 p.m., notifying them of the situation.
Building the new city hall "was the first line of business after the (new) city council was sworn in three years ago," Pace said. "It was close to all our hearts. To have it look like this was devastating."
Zimmerman said it was a relief, however, that the fire occurred at night and nobody was in the building at the time. Gould said nobody was injured during the fire, but a firefighter was treated on the scene for heat exhaustion.
The scene on Friday attracted a continuous stream of residents walking by with their children and dogs.
Bill Gruber, who lives off nearby Olive Street, first heard the news on television Friday morning and came by to see the damage.
"I turned off Camp McDonald Road and I saw that circle (window) on top of the building ... you could see right through the wall," he said.
The state fire marshal - who is called out to major scenes as a routine procedure - and the Prospect Heights department's investigators continued to work their way through the building Friday.
They were seen examining the camera housing that survived the blaze. The cameras hung from underneath awnings on the front of city hall and may prove to have been the best witnesses to what might have started the fire.
Gould said investigators from the state fire marshal's office quickly hunted down - and found, in apparently working condition - a computer inside city hall that records what the camera sees.
"They went right for it and it looks like they got it," he said.
The fire marshal's investigators declined to comment and Gould and Pace both said they hadn't seen the recordings.
The hope, Gould said, is that if, for example, the fire was caused by a lightning strike, the cameras could have picked up a bright flash.
The building's brick facade, arches and entrances remained standing, but the offices on the west end - which housed the code enforcement, engineering, finance and building and zoning departments as well as the convention and visitors bureau - and the entire roof were destroyed.
The basement, where the city keeps building records, was also flooded with 3 feet of water, possibly leaving documents damaged.
The city called in both Sterling Fire Restoration Ltd. and Midwest Restoration Services to see if any of the paperwork was salvageable.
As city employees and firefighters sifted through the remains of the offices, the documents - such as building and zoning permits, deeds and vehicle sticker reports - were carted away to be dried out.
Pace said residents shouldn't be worried about their documents since they should already have a copy for their own records and many of the files are backed up on computers.
The staff moved into the new city hall - formerly a real estate building - in September 2003. Before that, city workers had been housed in the basement of the police station after the city sold its old city hall at Elmhurst and Camp McDonald roads to Walgreen Co. in 1997.
City workers were moved back to their old location in the basement of the police station Friday morning. Some city employees also are working out of the park district.
Zimmerman said the city's insurance company, the Intergovernmental Risk Management Agency, gave them temporary chairs, desks and computers to work on for now.
Many of the staff's normal computers seemed to have been destroyed, he said, but the server is stored in the police department, so most files are backed up.
Prospect Heights residents report seeing lightning hit building
Originally published Saturday, April 15, 2006
By Nadia Malik and Dave Orrick
Daily Herald Staff Writers
By a neighbor's account, lightning touched down on the Prospect Heights city hall Thursday night, sometime after 10:30 p.m.
Nancy Bredberg said she and her husband had friends over in their backyard, where they had a clear view of the west side of city hall. One of their guests called out when he thought he saw the flash of lightning strike the building's roof.
"It looked like a blue streak," Bredberg said.
However, any talk of a cause for the fire that gutted city hall late Thursday night and early Friday morning was called "speculative" by city officials.
"We had reports of lightning strikes in the area," Fire Chief Donald Gould Jr. said. However, he stressed the investigation hadn't ruled out any possibilities for the fire, including arson and electrical problems.
On Friday, officials spent time clearing out any salvageable documents from the building to set up shop at the police department. They also assured residents that city business would continue.
Meanwhile, residents speculated on a cause.
On Thursday, Matt Rinde, a meteorologist with AccuWeather.com, said there were between 10 and 15 lightning strikes in Prospect Heights and the surrounding area.
"I would say there were several lightning strikes that went through, but the heavier stuff stayed to the south. There were definitely lightning strikes in the area," he said.
Neighbors concurred that the storm that rolled through the city was not major; many said they heard nothing more than a few claps of thunder. Even the neighbors who said they saw the strike didn't hear the loud sound they expected in a lightning strike.
Most said they were awakened by fire trucks responding to an alarm at city hall, 8 N. Elmhurst Road, at just about 10:45 p.m., Gould said.
The fire department, which is around the corner on Camp McDonald Road, was on the scene within two minutes.
The fire crews had to pull out of the building seven minutes later, however, because the roof started to cave in.
Douglas Dean, who lives a few feet from city hall, said at first he saw "just smoke and not much flame at all."
"And then in 10 to 15 minutes, it was enough to toast nine truckloads of marshmallows," he said.
Because of his home's proximity to the fire, paramedics stopped by to make sure nobody was affected by the smoke, which continued to linger Friday.
Gould said his department had to ensure the flames didn't spread to any neighboring houses or trees behind the hall.
Water issues also delayed the firefighters' progress, since Prospect Heights runs on a well system. (See related story.)
Gould said the fire was under control by 1 a.m., but firefighters - who were called from about 25 surrounding departments - remained on the scene to control hot spots that occasionally flared up for the next couple of hours.
Mayor Rodney Pace and City Administrator Matt Zimmerman said they were awakened by calls from the fire department around 11 p.m., notifying them of the situation.
Building the new city hall "was the first line of business after the (new) city council was sworn in three years ago," Pace said. "It was close to all our hearts. To have it look like this was devastating."
Zimmerman said it was a relief, however, that the fire occurred at night and nobody was in the building at the time. Gould said nobody was injured during the fire, but a firefighter was treated on the scene for heat exhaustion.
The scene on Friday attracted a continuous stream of residents walking by with their children and dogs.
Bill Gruber, who lives off nearby Olive Street, first heard the news on television Friday morning and came by to see the damage.
"I turned off Camp McDonald Road and I saw that circle (window) on top of the building ... you could see right through the wall," he said.
The state fire marshal - who is called out to major scenes as a routine procedure - and the Prospect Heights department's investigators continued to work their way through the building Friday.
They were seen examining the camera housing that survived the blaze. The cameras hung from underneath awnings on the front of city hall and may prove to have been the best witnesses to what might have started the fire.
Gould said investigators from the state fire marshal's office quickly hunted down - and found, in apparently working condition - a computer inside city hall that records what the camera sees.
"They went right for it and it looks like they got it," he said.
The fire marshal's investigators declined to comment and Gould and Pace both said they hadn't seen the recordings.
The hope, Gould said, is that if, for example, the fire was caused by a lightning strike, the cameras could have picked up a bright flash.
The building's brick facade, arches and entrances remained standing, but the offices on the west end - which housed the code enforcement, engineering, finance and building and zoning departments as well as the convention and visitors bureau - and the entire roof were destroyed.
The basement, where the city keeps building records, was also flooded with 3 feet of water, possibly leaving documents damaged.
The city called in both Sterling Fire Restoration Ltd. and Midwest Restoration Services to see if any of the paperwork was salvageable.
As city employees and firefighters sifted through the remains of the offices, the documents - such as building and zoning permits, deeds and vehicle sticker reports - were carted away to be dried out.
Pace said residents shouldn't be worried about their documents since they should already have a copy for their own records and many of the files are backed up on computers.
The staff moved into the new city hall - formerly a real estate building - in September 2003. Before that, city workers had been housed in the basement of the police station after the city sold its old city hall at Elmhurst and Camp McDonald roads to Walgreen Co. in 1997.
City workers were moved back to their old location in the basement of the police station Friday morning. Some city employees also are working out of the park district.
Zimmerman said the city's insurance company, the Intergovernmental Risk Management Agency, gave them temporary chairs, desks and computers to work on for now.
Many of the staff's normal computers seemed to have been destroyed, he said, but the server is stored in the police department, so most files are backed up.
Leader's message of peace, dialogue
Leader's message of peace, dialogue
Former president of Iran draws crowd in suburban Chicago
Originally published Sunday, Sept. 3, 2006
By Emily Ngo and Nadia Malik
Daily Herald Staff Writers
Although the question of whether former Iranian President Mohammad Khatami would obtain a visa to visit the United States weighed on their minds, members of a small Streamwood mosque pressed ahead with plans to accommodate him.
The phones at Bait-Ul-Ilm, located on South Bartlett Road, rang day and night with people asking to come by busloads, said mosque founder Sheik Maulana Faezi.
But Saturday afternoon, when Khatami visited the mosque to speak on the integration of religion into modern lifestyles, only a select few were invited to see him.
He spoke in Farsi to an audience of about 300 - members of whom were not just Muslims but leaders of other faiths as well.
"People may wonder why we used this tiny, little center, why we didn't go to a big stadium," Faezi said. "But the people here are from different areas of life, and it shows how much people appreciate views on civilization and humanity."
A political philosopher, Khatami founded the theory of "Dialogue Among Civilizations" as a response to Samuel Huntington's "Clash of the Civilizations" and prompted the United Nations to dub 2001 the "Year of the Dialogue Among Civilizations."
He continued Saturday to spread this message of peaceful interaction.
Khatami, who served as president of Iran from 1997 to 2005, was granted a visa Tuesday for his private visit, despite the barring of Iranian officials from traveling within the country - first enforced in 1979 - and despite some protests by legislators, including Sen. Rick Santorum, a Republican from Pennsylvania who dubbed Khatami "one of the chief propagandists of the Islamic fascist regime."
The ban is not applicable to Khatami - a more moderate leader than his hard-line successor, President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad - because he is no longer an official, according to the State Department.
He is not representing Ahmadinejad and has not planned meetings with any U.S. officials, according to the State Department.
Saturday at Bait-Ul-Ilm, Khatami arrived with some delegates and was in good humor, exchanging jokes with Faezi.
He then spoke to the diverse crowd.
"God created man, but beyond creating man is most proud of giving him knowledge and understanding," Khatami said through translation by Faezi.
The "common reality" among people of all faiths is that their religions deal with "essence and soul," but dealing with these components is no longer a priority to many, Khatami said.
"Blame those who give a bad explanation of religion to society; that has lead society to distance itself from religion," he said. "The materialistic world becomes the focus of attention. Science gets more important because it deals with the material matter of the world."
Science and technology are benefits to society, but can draw people further away from religion, Khatami said.
But wars and periods of suffering after those "have prepared humanity to accept the balanced approach," he said. "Yes, you should attend to your bodily needs and material needs as well as the benefits of science and technology, but you can mix it with a spiritual experience."
Pushing his message of dialogue among civilizations, he emphasized that now is a "great opportunity for dialogue and cooperation among people truly of faith," Khatami said. "I don't mean extremists or terrorists who exploit religion, but people who have a proper, balanced view of religion."
That message was also delivered to the Islamic Society of North America's annual conference in Rosemont on Saturday evening.
Khatami said the United States is a powerful nation with enormous potential to shape the world, especially with the help of its Muslims residents.
"If this potential of capability is used correctly, the entire human society could benefit from it," he said.
Khatami also addressed the conflicts Muslims and non-Muslims alike face in the modern worlds, such as terrorism and wars in the Middle East. Most of all, they have a hard time understanding each other.
"We must elucidate who we are as Muslims and who they are," he said to the conference, which is expected to attract 40,000 attendees over the Labor Day weekend. "And how this us and them can come together to build a better world."
Also planned for Khatami's private tour of the United States is an appearance at the Washington National Cathedral and visits with the U.N. General Assembly and possibly former president Jimmy Carter.
Money led to murder
Police: Money led to murder
Charges in Buffalo Grove slayings
Originally published Wednesday, Dec. 20, 2006
By Nadia Malik and Kara Spak
Daily Herald Staff Writers
An argument over money led to the gruesome stabbing deaths of a man and a woman last week in Buffalo Grove, police said Thursday.
Robert O. Young, 30, whose last known address was in Arlington Heights, was charged Tuesday with the murders of Sharmaine Gregory, 42, and Catonis "Tony" Jones, 39, police said. Both were murdered in Jones' condominium at 630 Trace Drive.
Young, a convicted felon, was arrested Saturday and after days of questioning was charged with two counts of first-degree murder and one count of aggravated arson, police said. A judge Tuesday ordered him held without bond.
"This was not a random act," Buffalo Grove police Cmdr. Steve Husak said in a news conference.
Young had a social relationship with both Gregory and Jones. The apartment he was staying in, 511 Happfield Drive in Arlington Heights, is just blocks away from the condominium on Trace Drive.
Husak said Young often visited the condo.
Jones and Young were reportedly arguing over money late Dec. 13 and into early Thursday morning. Husak said it wasn't clear who owed money to whom.
The argument continued to escalate and, at some point within that time frame, Young stabbed Jones, Husak said.
Michael Gerber, Cook County assistant state's attorney, said at a bond hearing Tuesday that Young reached into his pocket, took out a knife he brought from his Arlington Heights apartment and stabbed Jones 25 times in the back and neck.
He then attacked Gregory, a companion and caretaker to Jones, Gerber said. Young stabbed Gregory more than 40 times in the back and neck area, Gerber said.
"The defendant used such force that two knives he used broke off at the handles," Gerber said.
There were multiple knives found in the apartment, Husak said, and more than 300 pieces of evidence -- including samples of blood -- were gathered from the home.
There is an indication both victims fought back, including Jones, who had been going through dialysis for kidney failure, Husak said. Jones was also awaiting a kidney transplant.
"Both victims had some defensive wounds," Husak said.
Young also had wounds on his hands -- which were bandaged during his appearance at the bond hearing in Rolling Meadows -- because he had cut himself while stabbing the victims, according to Gerber.
The bodies of Gregory and Jones were not discovered until more than a day later, after Young returned Friday and attempted to set a fire to cover the murders, Husak said.
Although the front door was locked, Young came in through the back sliding door, which residents often do, Husak said. Young also took some of Jones' and Gregory's personal property on Friday, according to the state's attorney.
Young then left a pan on a burning stove and a linen towel nearby, authorities said. When firefighters were called to the scene, after a neighbor saw the smoke about 11:50 a.m., they found the pan in a molten lump.
Firefighters found Gregory on the kitchen floor and Jones on the living room floor.
After talking to acquaintances of Jones and Gregory, police tracked Young down to an apartment building at 12449 S. Ashland in Calumet Park, where he was staying with a friend. He had grown up in Calumet Park, according to police, and had been staying with an acquaintance in Arlington Heights until recently.
Husak said when they took Young in for questioning Saturday as a "person of interest," they knew he was somehow involved in the deaths.
Young has a long criminal history, according to Gerber, including convictions for armed robbery and residential burglary. He has been arrested a total of 30 times and convicted seven times, police said. In 1996 he was sentenced to four years in prison on the residential burglary as well as eight years in prison on the armed robbery conviction.
Young is on parole after being sentenced in 2005 to four years in prison for possession of contraband in a penal institution. He also was sentenced to 18 months in prison for obstruction of justice and possession of a motor vehicle out of McLean County. He has a warrant for his arrest issued in July 2005 for criminal trespass to a residence.
Gerber said Young is known to use multiple dates of birth and five Social Security numbers.
Young made a videotaped statement outlining his role in the crime, Gerber said.
Calvin Aguilar, the assistant public defender assigned to represent Young at Tuesday's hearing, said Young is single. He is also the father of two children. He's lived in Cook County all his life, Aguilar said.
Young was denied bond Tuesay afternoon. Cook County Circuit Court Judge Larry Axelrood said the law prohibits bond for anyone who might be sentenced to death if convicted.
Gerber said the state is considering trying Young in a captial case, but a formal decision on that will not be made for months. Young's next court hearing is Jan. 12 in Rolling Meadows.
Louise Gregory, Sharmaine's mother, said she was relieved Young was arrested for her daughter's death.
"I'm glad they arrested him," she said. The Aurora resident said she didn't know Young and had never met him.
Sharmaine lived in Aurora with her three sons, 15, 17 and 21, before she moved in with Jones -- whom she had known for about seven years -- about six months ago to help care for him, her mother said.
She said she's still working on her daughter's funeral arrangements but wanted to keep that information private.
Jones was often seen around the apartment complex with a cane or electric scooter, neighbors said, at times walking his Jack Russell terrier.
Police said although the deaths were preceded by a loud argument, neighbors did not report hearing the ruckus.
Jonathan Torrez, a senior at Buffalo Grove High School who lives in the same building as Jones and Gregory, said the two were quiet. "They kept to themselves," he said.
Besides seeing the smoke stains in the building, Torrez said he hasn't seen any other evidence of the crime. Police tape that surrounded the apartment complex on Friday was gone by Tuesday. "We're less anxious than we were before," Torrez said after news of Young's arrest. "Now we have peace of mind."
Police said because Young knew both his victims, Buffalo Grove residents should rest assured of their safety within town.
Buffalo Grove police said Young's arrest was the result of a collaboration with Lake County Major Crimes Task Force and the Northeastern Illinois Regional Crime Laboratory.
Charges in Buffalo Grove slayings
Originally published Wednesday, Dec. 20, 2006
By Nadia Malik and Kara Spak
Daily Herald Staff Writers
An argument over money led to the gruesome stabbing deaths of a man and a woman last week in Buffalo Grove, police said Thursday.
Robert O. Young, 30, whose last known address was in Arlington Heights, was charged Tuesday with the murders of Sharmaine Gregory, 42, and Catonis "Tony" Jones, 39, police said. Both were murdered in Jones' condominium at 630 Trace Drive.
Young, a convicted felon, was arrested Saturday and after days of questioning was charged with two counts of first-degree murder and one count of aggravated arson, police said. A judge Tuesday ordered him held without bond.
"This was not a random act," Buffalo Grove police Cmdr. Steve Husak said in a news conference.
Young had a social relationship with both Gregory and Jones. The apartment he was staying in, 511 Happfield Drive in Arlington Heights, is just blocks away from the condominium on Trace Drive.
Husak said Young often visited the condo.
Jones and Young were reportedly arguing over money late Dec. 13 and into early Thursday morning. Husak said it wasn't clear who owed money to whom.
The argument continued to escalate and, at some point within that time frame, Young stabbed Jones, Husak said.
Michael Gerber, Cook County assistant state's attorney, said at a bond hearing Tuesday that Young reached into his pocket, took out a knife he brought from his Arlington Heights apartment and stabbed Jones 25 times in the back and neck.
He then attacked Gregory, a companion and caretaker to Jones, Gerber said. Young stabbed Gregory more than 40 times in the back and neck area, Gerber said.
"The defendant used such force that two knives he used broke off at the handles," Gerber said.
There were multiple knives found in the apartment, Husak said, and more than 300 pieces of evidence -- including samples of blood -- were gathered from the home.
There is an indication both victims fought back, including Jones, who had been going through dialysis for kidney failure, Husak said. Jones was also awaiting a kidney transplant.
"Both victims had some defensive wounds," Husak said.
Young also had wounds on his hands -- which were bandaged during his appearance at the bond hearing in Rolling Meadows -- because he had cut himself while stabbing the victims, according to Gerber.
The bodies of Gregory and Jones were not discovered until more than a day later, after Young returned Friday and attempted to set a fire to cover the murders, Husak said.
Although the front door was locked, Young came in through the back sliding door, which residents often do, Husak said. Young also took some of Jones' and Gregory's personal property on Friday, according to the state's attorney.
Young then left a pan on a burning stove and a linen towel nearby, authorities said. When firefighters were called to the scene, after a neighbor saw the smoke about 11:50 a.m., they found the pan in a molten lump.
Firefighters found Gregory on the kitchen floor and Jones on the living room floor.
After talking to acquaintances of Jones and Gregory, police tracked Young down to an apartment building at 12449 S. Ashland in Calumet Park, where he was staying with a friend. He had grown up in Calumet Park, according to police, and had been staying with an acquaintance in Arlington Heights until recently.
Husak said when they took Young in for questioning Saturday as a "person of interest," they knew he was somehow involved in the deaths.
Young has a long criminal history, according to Gerber, including convictions for armed robbery and residential burglary. He has been arrested a total of 30 times and convicted seven times, police said. In 1996 he was sentenced to four years in prison on the residential burglary as well as eight years in prison on the armed robbery conviction.
Young is on parole after being sentenced in 2005 to four years in prison for possession of contraband in a penal institution. He also was sentenced to 18 months in prison for obstruction of justice and possession of a motor vehicle out of McLean County. He has a warrant for his arrest issued in July 2005 for criminal trespass to a residence.
Gerber said Young is known to use multiple dates of birth and five Social Security numbers.
Young made a videotaped statement outlining his role in the crime, Gerber said.
Calvin Aguilar, the assistant public defender assigned to represent Young at Tuesday's hearing, said Young is single. He is also the father of two children. He's lived in Cook County all his life, Aguilar said.
Young was denied bond Tuesay afternoon. Cook County Circuit Court Judge Larry Axelrood said the law prohibits bond for anyone who might be sentenced to death if convicted.
Gerber said the state is considering trying Young in a captial case, but a formal decision on that will not be made for months. Young's next court hearing is Jan. 12 in Rolling Meadows.
Louise Gregory, Sharmaine's mother, said she was relieved Young was arrested for her daughter's death.
"I'm glad they arrested him," she said. The Aurora resident said she didn't know Young and had never met him.
Sharmaine lived in Aurora with her three sons, 15, 17 and 21, before she moved in with Jones -- whom she had known for about seven years -- about six months ago to help care for him, her mother said.
She said she's still working on her daughter's funeral arrangements but wanted to keep that information private.
Jones was often seen around the apartment complex with a cane or electric scooter, neighbors said, at times walking his Jack Russell terrier.
Police said although the deaths were preceded by a loud argument, neighbors did not report hearing the ruckus.
Jonathan Torrez, a senior at Buffalo Grove High School who lives in the same building as Jones and Gregory, said the two were quiet. "They kept to themselves," he said.
Besides seeing the smoke stains in the building, Torrez said he hasn't seen any other evidence of the crime. Police tape that surrounded the apartment complex on Friday was gone by Tuesday. "We're less anxious than we were before," Torrez said after news of Young's arrest. "Now we have peace of mind."
Police said because Young knew both his victims, Buffalo Grove residents should rest assured of their safety within town.
Buffalo Grove police said Young's arrest was the result of a collaboration with Lake County Major Crimes Task Force and the Northeastern Illinois Regional Crime Laboratory.
Community mourns student killed by car
Community mourns student killed by car
Originally published Saturday, April 7, 2007
By Nadia Malik and Erin Holmes
Daily Herald Staff Writers
Before he was struck by two cars and killed Thursday night, 18-year-old Buffalo Grove resident Mateusz Szakola was able to spend the evening with his family and friends.
Police said the Buffalo Grove High School senior spent time at various friends' houses on the night before a day off school.
Szakola was by himself, however, when he stepped off the raised median of Lake-Cook Road, a quarter-mile west of Raupp Boulevard, and was hit by a westbound Toyota.
The side mirror hit Szakola, but police said he was still standing and unhurt when he stepped off the median once again into the eastbound lanes.
Szakola was struck and killed by a second car, police said, which fled the scene. Police are continuing to search for the driver of that car.
The Lake County coroner pronounced Szakola dead at the scene. Coroner Richard Keller said he died of severe body trauma and was killed by the impact of the second car.
Buffalo Grove police say they don't know why Szakola was on Lake-Cook Road - about five blocks from his home - at 10:50 p.m. Thursday but said it wasn't unusual since school was closed the next day for Good Friday.
Bruce Ackerman, a senior at Buffalo Grove High School, said Szakola, who also went by "Matt" or "Matthew," had been spending time with his girlfriend.
Ackerman had gotten to know Szakola through their mutual interest in music. They were planning to play in a Battle of the Bands on April 27.
"We both got into our guitars and started playing a couple years (back)," Ackerman said.
Benji Gold, also a senior at the school, said he would skateboard with Szakola and other friends regularly in middle school.
"My favorite part about him is that he was always showing me these new guitar players and things I hadn't seen before and wouldn't be able to find myself," Gold said.
"Matt was literally the nicest guy in the world. He was friends with everybody."
Police are continuing to look for the second driver involved in the accident who drove away from the crash scene.
After collecting materials left at the scene, police have determined that the second car is a black 2004 to 2007 Cadillac XLR. The two-seat luxury roadster has a retractable top and missing parts from the left front bumper that also houses a square fog lamp.
Police said the vehicle is rare and are hoping someone will recognize it. They are also talking to General Motors manufacturers to find recent purchases of the car.
"The driver of the Cadillac may not have been directly responsible for the cause of the crash," police Sgt. Scott Kristiansen said.
Szakola wasn't involved in any organized sports at Buffalo Grove High School but was very athletic, said Athletic Director Kip North, who had Szakola in physical education class and recalled him as a teen who - unlike some his age - loved being there and thrived.
According to his profiles on the networking Web sites My-Space and Facebook, Szakola also loved to snowboard and skateboard. He also lists his hometown in Poland.
"He was wonderful," North said. "He enjoyed coming to class ... and would really excel."
Mike Terson, a representative of the Buffalo Grove Park District, said Szakola worked for the Clubhouse, a before- and after-school care program through the district.
Szakola worked at Ivy Hall School in Buffalo Grove as a Clubhouse leader, which involved playing games and doing activities with younger children.
Szakola is the second Buffalo Grove High School teen to die in an automobile-related crash in the last nine months; in July, 16-year-old Corey Diamond was killed when the car he was riding in was struck by a speeding, stolen U-Haul.
Chavario White, a 15-year-old Buffalo Grove High School student from Wheeling, was also shot and killed last September.
"It's been a very difficult year," Schaetzlein said. He called the untimely deaths "an unfortunate life lesson that our kids unfortunately are having to learn at so early an age."
Anyone with information on the hit-and-run driver or who was a witness to the accident should call the Buffalo Grove police at (847) 459-2560.
Originally published Saturday, April 7, 2007
By Nadia Malik and Erin Holmes
Daily Herald Staff Writers
Before he was struck by two cars and killed Thursday night, 18-year-old Buffalo Grove resident Mateusz Szakola was able to spend the evening with his family and friends.
Police said the Buffalo Grove High School senior spent time at various friends' houses on the night before a day off school.
Szakola was by himself, however, when he stepped off the raised median of Lake-Cook Road, a quarter-mile west of Raupp Boulevard, and was hit by a westbound Toyota.
The side mirror hit Szakola, but police said he was still standing and unhurt when he stepped off the median once again into the eastbound lanes.
Szakola was struck and killed by a second car, police said, which fled the scene. Police are continuing to search for the driver of that car.
The Lake County coroner pronounced Szakola dead at the scene. Coroner Richard Keller said he died of severe body trauma and was killed by the impact of the second car.
Buffalo Grove police say they don't know why Szakola was on Lake-Cook Road - about five blocks from his home - at 10:50 p.m. Thursday but said it wasn't unusual since school was closed the next day for Good Friday.
Bruce Ackerman, a senior at Buffalo Grove High School, said Szakola, who also went by "Matt" or "Matthew," had been spending time with his girlfriend.
Ackerman had gotten to know Szakola through their mutual interest in music. They were planning to play in a Battle of the Bands on April 27.
"We both got into our guitars and started playing a couple years (back)," Ackerman said.
Benji Gold, also a senior at the school, said he would skateboard with Szakola and other friends regularly in middle school.
"My favorite part about him is that he was always showing me these new guitar players and things I hadn't seen before and wouldn't be able to find myself," Gold said.
"Matt was literally the nicest guy in the world. He was friends with everybody."
Police are continuing to look for the second driver involved in the accident who drove away from the crash scene.
After collecting materials left at the scene, police have determined that the second car is a black 2004 to 2007 Cadillac XLR. The two-seat luxury roadster has a retractable top and missing parts from the left front bumper that also houses a square fog lamp.
Police said the vehicle is rare and are hoping someone will recognize it. They are also talking to General Motors manufacturers to find recent purchases of the car.
"The driver of the Cadillac may not have been directly responsible for the cause of the crash," police Sgt. Scott Kristiansen said.
Szakola wasn't involved in any organized sports at Buffalo Grove High School but was very athletic, said Athletic Director Kip North, who had Szakola in physical education class and recalled him as a teen who - unlike some his age - loved being there and thrived.
According to his profiles on the networking Web sites My-Space and Facebook, Szakola also loved to snowboard and skateboard. He also lists his hometown in Poland.
"He was wonderful," North said. "He enjoyed coming to class ... and would really excel."
Mike Terson, a representative of the Buffalo Grove Park District, said Szakola worked for the Clubhouse, a before- and after-school care program through the district.
Szakola worked at Ivy Hall School in Buffalo Grove as a Clubhouse leader, which involved playing games and doing activities with younger children.
Szakola is the second Buffalo Grove High School teen to die in an automobile-related crash in the last nine months; in July, 16-year-old Corey Diamond was killed when the car he was riding in was struck by a speeding, stolen U-Haul.
Chavario White, a 15-year-old Buffalo Grove High School student from Wheeling, was also shot and killed last September.
"It's been a very difficult year," Schaetzlein said. He called the untimely deaths "an unfortunate life lesson that our kids unfortunately are having to learn at so early an age."
Anyone with information on the hit-and-run driver or who was a witness to the accident should call the Buffalo Grove police at (847) 459-2560.
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