Jiverly Voong backed his car up to the back of the American Civic Association building in Binghamton, N.Y., and blocked the entrance. Then he walked in the front door and shot 13 people, injured four more and shot himself.

It is believed he was Vietnamese immigrant. Normally, I would say this has no relevence in a news story. He could be black, white, Latino or purple. No one person represents a whole race, no matter what their deed.

However, he does represent a startling fact about minorities, and Asians in particular. If we are depressed, or mentally unwell, we simply do not seek help. It’s not accepted. You do not tell strangers your family business.

When I was 17, I had more than typical teenage angst. I was depressed, and I still have scars to show for it. My family knew, and only when it was at its worst did my father sit me down and say, “You know, if you really want, we can find a therapist.”

I said no. I just cringed writing that paragraph. You do not tell strangers your family business.

Was Voong depressed? I have no idea, but many immigrants are. Imagine the culture shock coming from a family-centered, Third World country to a you’re-on-your-own, first world country. Imagine the change from communism (Vietnam is still communist, despite the prevalent McDonald’s) to all-out capitalism.

“In general, the squeaky wheel gets the grease, and Asian people tend not to squeak very loudly,” Dr. Marty Wong, a practicing psychologist in Boulder, Colo., said in a Newsweek article.

This idea is not exclusive to Asian-American communities. The same social taboo exists in black communities. Pius Kamau recently wrote a column on the Huffington Post about what’s unspoken in the black community: homosexuality and mental illness.

“Even as we refuse to discuss it, many blacks manifest symptoms of widespread and deep mental illness,” Kamau said. “Our jails are full of mentally ill blacks. Indeed much that black Americans do points to deep mental illness. Black America would do well to ‘out’ mental illness. Manage it with therapy rather than incarceration.”

A 2001 report from the surgeon general found African Americans have the same need for mental health services as their white counterparts, but do not have access because of a lack of insurance. Southeast Asians, especially immigrants with language barriers, were prone to post-traumatic stress, but did not seek help.

We aren’t that different. It’s time to open our mouths. It’s time to tell strangers about our problems and ‚Äî hopefully ‚Äî prevent another incident like Binghamton.

Sometime this summer, Terre Dunivant and Allyson Nakasone will have a small ceremony. They will say vows to one another, and they will be married — a second time.

The San Luis Obispo couple were married in 2004, when San Francisco fleetingly allowed gay couples to marry. Their marriage was involuntarily annulled months later. The decision to annul those marriages sparked the court case that allowed gay marriage to proceed in California.

But since 2004, they have been married, no matter what the courts said, Nakasone said.

“We’ve worn our rings the whole time,” she said.


Nakasone and Dunivant met in 1999, during Concerts on the Plaza in San Luis Obispo. When they started talking, it was uncanny, they said.

“We knew 50, 60, 70 people in common, but we never knew each other,” Dunivant said. “Within 20 minutes of meeting Allyson, I was in love.”

They moved to their San Luis Obispo home a year later and became domestic partners in 2001.

They maintain they are like any other couple. They own their own businesses. Both are ardent gardeners and environmentalists.

When they talk about their relationship, they lock eyes.

As Dunivant’s rheumatoid arthritis in her hands has worsened, Nakasone has been there, Dunivant said. Nakasone helps with the wax treatments and assists her when the pain is too much.

“That’s why people pair up,” Dunivant said, “because you can help each other.”

Why marriage?

For whatever reason, society sets up rituals such as marriage to mark passage from one stage of life to another, Dunivant said.

It made no sense to deny that ritual to gay couples, she said.

“A criminal in prison could get married and we couldn’t,” she said.

Although they have made a life with one another, there are legal differences. For example, Dunivant and Nakasone cannot have sole proprietorship of Dunivant’s business.

There is a list of legal benefits of marriage, such as owning businesses.

“That’s all we’re asking, it’s equal (rights),” she said. “It’s not being penalized because you fell in love with someone who is the same gender as you.”

Making vows

Their 2004 marriage was planned quickly after San Francisco decided to allow marriages between gay couples.

Dunivant had just had neck surgery, but her doctor said the trip would be all right. They gathered up friends and family and made the drive.

They got married at 9 a. m. March 5, 2004, at San Francisco City Hall.

It did not matter that their marriage was valid only in San Francisco County or that the courts later annulled it. It was done, and the couple held out faith things would change.

“When two people commit to one another, it’s a joyous occasion,” Dunivant said. “That’s what gay couples have to look forward to.”

When the couple goes to San Francisco again this summer, they’ll already have their license from San Luis Obispo County. This time, they will renew their vows and continue to hope for the future.

Niner Wine Estates wants to build a winery called Heart Hill, but the owners of three other wineries say their new neighbor would be too big and use toomuch water.

The dispute, unusual for North County wine country, comes at a time when the local industry is seeking to attract more tourist dollars and market the Paso Robles brand as widely as possible.

Heart Hill would have a 70,000- square-foot production facility, a small tasting room and a conference center. In 10 years, the winery plans to produce about 50,000 cases from 60 acres of vines on Heart Hill and another vineyard, Bootjack Ranch, on Highway 46 East.


Eric Jensen of Booker Vineyard said he and other neighbors are concerned about how much water Heart Hill might use.

Jensen and operators of other wineries, including Midnight Cel- lars and Grey Wolf Vineyards & Cellars, worry that the area cannot support another heavy water user, he said.

There is already a problem with drilling successful wells in the area, Jensen said. If Heart Hill ends up using too much water, the other wineries would perish if their wells run dry.

Heart Hill will not be a water- intensive site, said Niner Wine Estates President Brian Storrs. A water study he commissioned concluded that there is more than an adequate supply in the area, he said.

Water at Heart Hill would be recycled using a wetland system, which would cut water consumption, Storrs said. He estimates that Heart Hill would use about 500,000 gallons a year.

Storrs hopes to make Heart Hill one of the first local wineries to be certified by the U.S. Green Building Council’s Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design, a voluntary certification for green and sustainable buildings.

Heart Hill does have support from owners of other local wineries. Five sent letters in support of the project before the Jan. 11 county Planning Commission meeting.

“The Niners are a proud addition to our wine community and their project will further validate Paso Robles’ status among the world’s premier wine-making regions,” wrote Justin Baldwin of Justin Vineyards & Winery.

The size of the Heart Hill production building is also at issue.

Storrs said the new facility would be built into the hillside, with 38 percent of the building covered.

Three layers of landscaping including hills and trees would shield the building as much as possible from neighbors.

The production facility is large because all the Heart Hill winemaking will be inside, instead of some processes being done outside, Storrs said.

“We might be larger in square footage, but our square footage outside, it’s nothing,” he said.

Heart Hill’s neighbors say no amount of landscaping could cover up the building. They worry that the county will set a precedent if it approves a building that large in such a rural area, Jensen said.

Joe Barton of Grey Wolf Cellars said he welcomes new neighbors, but is worried about what happens after Heart Hill moves in.

“I’m a pro-winery guy in all respects,” he said. “I think it would be setting a precedent for what other projects could go through here as (far as size goes).”

The county Planning Commission is scheduled to resume its consideration of Heart Hill’s application in March.

It was a simple request from a mother to her son.

Finish what I started.

When Houston Lake Mayor Jean Hallauer, 71, learned she had cancer, life changed quickly.

The cancer had developed in her colon and had spread rapidly. She took time off from serving as mayor to get her affairs in order. But of all the preparations, finding a successor to lead the Platte County village weighed heavily on her mind. So she asked her oldest son to dinner.

“I don’t remember where we went, (but) it was driving to the restaurant when she said, `I want to ask you something,’” Mike Hallauer, 50, recalls. “She said, `Would you finish my term as mayor?’”

“I said, `Well, when do you need to know?’”

“She said, `I’ll give you a couple of days.’”

Hallauer says he knew it was a relief to his mother when he agreed. She only had a matter of months to live, and she needed to concentrate on other matters.

In a way, taking on the responsibility as mayor of the village of about 300 wasn’t a difficult decision.

He had been active with the homes association and he cared deeply about Houston Lake.

However, her request still came as a surprise.

“At that time, everything just came as a shock to me,” he says.

Today is bittersweet. Although it’s Hallauer’s first election as Houston Lake mayor, today also marks the first anniversary of his mother’s death.

Campaigning unopposed, he is continuing his mother’s journey, instilling in others a sense of pride in Houston Lake that his mother possessed.

She would take time to talk to people in the community, and would want residents to vote. Civic duty was something she believed in.

Hallauer says he and his mother shared that sentiment about government involvement.

“No voter is too small, I think that’s kind of how she would feel,” he says.

“Everybody has a vote and everybody has a voice.”

Hallauer still swallows hard before talking about any of it, slowly finding the right words. He still fights the tears when he thinks about her, and he still hurts when he reflects on how he now fills the same chair she once did during board meetings.

Jean Hallauer was mayor for 10 months of a two-year term. In that time, she touched many. When she became ill, the community pushed to finish a park she had supported.

The project would be called Mayor’s Park, with a plaque naming the four former mayors of Houston Lake.

“Her passing, I think, was a spark,” Mike Hallauer says. “The park was just one thing out of that spark. It brought people in the community closer together.”

She had united people in her wish for something better for the community. Her sense of civic duty, to make Houston Lake a better place to live, had spread to others in the small city.

Just west of where Interstates 635 and 29 intersect, Houston Lake incorporated in 1960. The man-made lake is owned by the Venetian Hills Homes Association, which governs the city alongside the Board of Alderman.

So close to the interstate, the lake is surprisingly quiet, as if Houston Lake was in the country and not surrounded by the bigger city.

The atmosphere is what Mike Hallauer loves most.

In the city’s short history, there have been four mayors.

When Jewel Head stepped down in 2003, he left Jean Hallauer in his place. She showed an interest in the city and he prepped her by appointing her city collector and later city administrator.

“She had a good personality and she was friendly to everybody,” Head says.

“I heard very little criticism of what she did. She was a person who you would probably like immediately.”

When Hallauer took office, she had a list of things to accomplish. Now, her son is finishing most of that list, Head says.

“She was enthused about the job and she had a lot of plans to do different things,” he says. “I think her son is carrying on some of her plans.”

Mother and son would spend hours together on the front porch, talking about the city, says Marsha Duncan, Mike Hallauer’s girlfriend and Houston Lake’s city clerk.

“She relied on him,” she says.

Hallauer didn’t always agree with his mother. However, they both wanted the people of Houston Lake to be proud of their city, Duncan says.

Hallauer intends to be mayor for as long as the people of Houston Lake will have him, although he doesn’t think of being mayor as living a legacy.

He’s only doing what she asked. He’s taking care of the city.

Originally published in the Iowa State Daily April 19, 2004 Main section, front page.

The facts were apparent in the hours after a riot erupted early Sunday morning, but accountability was less clear as the Campustown and ISU communities surveyed the damage.

Ames Police Chief Loras Jaeger said during a news conference Sunday afternoon that Ames police received a citizen complaint at 11:56 p.m. Saturday. The complaint was about a party on the 2600 block of Hunt Street that was spilling out into the street. Ames police estimated about 400 people were at the party. The group then moved down to Welch Avenue and two groups began to form — one at the southern part of Welch Avenue and the other at Lincoln Way and Welch Avenue.

A trash can was set on fire in front of the Campanile replica on Welch Avenue, and altercations rose to riot intensity with hundreds crowding Welch Avenue and taunting police by mooning them and shouting phrases such as “Fuck the police” and “No dry Veishea.” Officers held out pepper spray and tear gas in front of them. Lamp posts, parking meters and many storefront windows were damaged or destroyed. Businesses closed as rioting escalated and many employees were locked in. Jaeger said there were more than 100 officers out by the end of the night.

There were 32 total arrests Sunday morning, with charges including assault of an officer, criminal mischief, disorderly conduct and interference with official acts. The most serious injury reported was a broken foot caused by a falling lamp post.

“I would characterize this as the most violent experience [in my time at Veishea],” said Jaeger, who has seen 13 Veisheas.

Iowa State’s image and Veishea’s future are in question by many community members.

“It’s going to be embarrassing for the school and the students that acted out,” said Nic Stockdale, sophomore in agricultural systems technology.

ISU President Gregory Geoffroy addressed the community’s concerns Sunday.

“I believe that we now seriously have to address the future of Veishea, including a consideration of whether it should continue,” he said.

Some business owners said they hoped this would be the end.

“I would like to see Veishea end,” said Jennifer Doty, former manager of the Ames Vogue Vision Center. “The kids get drunk, have fun, destruct, and the city and the businesses have to pay for it the next day.”

ISU Police, Ames Police, Story County sheriff’s officers and the Iowa State Patrol used riot control techniques — including pepper spray and tear gas — to push back the crowd toward the Towers residence halls after the crowd damaged several businesses, including Kum & Go, 203 Welch Ave., and Welch Ave. Station, 207 Welch Ave. However, the crowd regrouped on Lincoln Way, gathering in the portion of the street in front of Friley Hall and pushing officers back.

“We’re having fun,” said Derek Weber, of Dike, as he walked away from a lamp post he and others pulled from the ground. “This is about us leaving the bars and them gassing us.”

Several lamp posts and street signs were torn down and thrown across Lincoln Way. A sign was thrown into Welch Avenue Trading Post, 105 Welch Ave., and a fire hose, which was turned on, was also dragged into Copyworks.

The crowds of police and rioters clashed until about 5:30 a.m. Those in the crowds used a number of words to describe the situation: “crazy,” “liberal,” “conservative,” and “fun” being a few. However, one word was prevalent.

“Whatever adjective you use [to describe the riots], put ‘fucking’ in front of it, because it wouldn’t do it justice otherwise,” said Matt Christiansen, senior in political science. “This is mass chaos.”

Many involved in the riots claimed they were victims of police brutality, saying they were sprayed with gas for not moving off the streets and into buildings.

“I was in the bars, and I walk out, and immediately a cop walks out and sprays me, and tells me to get the fuck out of there,” said Tony Feldmann, junior in computer engineering. “After that, I headed to come to Kum & Go and turned onto Chamberlain toward Big Shots, and two cops were standing there, and I got sprayed for a second time, and then they told us to go the other way.”

Other students agreed they were sprayed without cause.

“The left side of my face is burning up. We didn’t do anything. We were just walking away with the crowd [and were pepper-sprayed],” said Andrea Seminara, junior in dietetics.

Ames Police Cmdr. Jim Robinson said Sunday afternoon officers made it clear rioters needed to leave the area.

“Once you’re in a riot situation, all individuals that are within the area of the riot, they are [told] to leave,” he said. “Officers can’t differentiate [between onlookers and rioters].”

Students living in Campustown also made claims of unnecessary brutality.

“It’s unreasonable; they’re charging my yard when we were all sitting here peacefully,” said Tim Rash, junior in computer engineering. “It’s unreasonable to provoke people who are minding their own business. To come into my yard and yell at me and my friends who were all sitting down and minding their own business is a violation of their rights.”

Several students and other attendees attempted to reason with the crowd and police. Two men stood outside of Welch Ave. Station as crowds threw rocks at the building, breaking windows of both Welch Ave. Station and Pizza Pit, 207 1/2 Welch Ave.

“This is not our intention,” said Ezra Kelderman, sophomore in mechanical engineering. “Some people are out of control.”

The men tried to talk to the rioters, but were repeatedly taunted and pelted with objects.

“We just want peace. The cops, they’re kind of making it worse … but people are making it worse too,” said Seth Chicas, junior in psychology.

Comparisons were made to past Veishea riots, such as those in 1992 and 1994.

“I’ve been here for 10 years,” said Tony Sheperd, general manager of Sips and Paddy’s, 124 Welch Ave. “I was here for the stabbing and the other riots, but there wasn’t anything like this.”

Some blamed the past six years of an alcohol-free Veishea as the cause of the riots.

“[Veishea] used to be a blast, just a big house party … then that one kid got stabbed,” said Ben Holtrop, junior in political science. “[The riots are], like, six years of frustration coming out.”

Leah McBride, Tom Barton, Jason Noble, Ayrel Clark, Alicia Ebaugh and Lucas Grundmeier contributed to this article.