Alentado back to work after near-paralysis

On April 18, 2009, sophomore Vincent Alentado was recovering from a morning surgery in Hillsdale Community Health Center's step-down unit. He watched the doctor at the end of the bed.
"Move your toes, please," the doctor said.
He couldn't. In fact, Alentado couldn't feel most of his lower leg.
"Well," the doctor said, before walking out. "You'll never run again."
Alentado came to a conclusion and began writing to his teammates.
"Hey Fellas," he wrote. "I just wanted to start this e-mail by telling each and every one of you how blessed you are to be in this Charger family..."
Five days earlier, the Hillsdale College football team was simulating overtime in its inter-team scrimmage. The last play would be a screen. Alentado, number 42, was an up-and-coming running back for the Chargers. He caught the pass and ran.
Captain Mat Szula hit Alentado. Eight years of playing football told the walk-on to throw his hips in an effort to drop the linebacker. He did, but Szula didn't fall on the ground. Instead, he fell on Alentado's lower leg, shattering both bones.
When the play was over, the team's center came to help Alentado get on his legs. Instead, he looked down, said "Oh, s***," and ran the other way. Alentado was laying by the 20-yard mark, his lower leg bent into a 45 degree angle.
The fallen Alentado was silent — he thought someone else had broken their leg.
By all measures, Alentado's recovery was astonishing. Following the accident, he went through two surgeries, treatment for compartment syndrome, was deprived of sleep due to fatty emboli, a potentially fatal condition, and nerve damage to his lower leg. By the end of the summer he had three screws and a metal rod in his tiba and a screw in his foot.
The following year, he worked as a student coach for the team, placed in the top third of his class while shifting from a planned five-year stay at Hillsdale to four.
Vincent was Charlene Alentado's first born. As an active toddler, his first word was "ball." Charlene said he started playing club football in Tuscon, Ariz. when he was nine. She said he played with a kind of "bad news bears" crowd — some kids sporting ankle monitors. But Vincent kept playing through high-school and was eventually recruited by numerous colleges and universities. He was offered a full-ride to Arizona State University, among others. He chose Hillsdale.
Charlene said she was working with a local charity when a roommate's father called her from the football field, saying Vincent had broken his leg and she may want to be in Hillsdale.
"Basically, the question then was how to get out there," she said.
Charlene Alentado said she couldn't find a flight from Phoenix to Detroit, so she flew to Chicago and drove to Hillsdale. Arriving mid-afternoon, Charlene caught head football coach Keith Otterbein as he was leaving the hospital. He turned around and walked her to Vincent's room. Vincent had an oxygen mask on but was awake when she arrived, surrounded by teammates.
"Everyone's like ‘yeah, he'll be fine for next season,'" said Ron Bedway, housemate and fellow teammate. "I'm sure he was down, but I think he dealt with it very well. Better than most guys would."
When he was told he wouldn't be able to play again, Vincent Alentado looked for other ways to help the team.
"The very first day he was upset, shocked and disappointed," Charlene Alentado said. "But after that, he just moved on."
Bedway was surprised at how soon Vincent Alentado seemed to bounce back.
For the last few school weeks, he was confined to a wheelchair and crutches. His girlfriend, Stephanie Booms, alumna of '09, said he tried spending most of his time out of the wheelchair. Charlene Alentado wheeled him around to his tests.
During the summer, he had more surgeries. A blister had formed on his right foot because of claw-toe, keeping his toes firmly curled — a consequence of compartment syndrome. A blister had formed on his big-toe. His nerve damage wouldn't allow him to feel the blister. It became infected, forcing a slight amputation of his big toe. He underwent corrective surgery to straighten the rest of his toes.
But Vincent Alentado said the worst pain was feeling the nerve trying to repair itself.
"It was basically like getting struck by a lightning bolt almost every ten seconds," Alentado said. "It was the worst thing."
That fall, Vincent worked as a student coach for the football team. He became coach Pat Hornak's right-hand man with processing videos. When a practice video was shot for the football team, Alentado would sit in a room no larger than a closet syncing recordings and uploading the processed films to a server for the team.
"He never complained about it," Hornak said. "That was his new role, and he ran with it."
Otterbein said sometimes injured athletes who can't compete suffer from a damaged sense of self-worth. He wanted to keep Alentado close, allowing him to contribute to the team.
"He worked so hard," he said. "He was going to be a very good football player."
But Alentado's participation didn't end with football. He became the president of the biology honorary, Tri Beta; the historian for the science honorary, Sigma Zeta; and a member of Omicron Delta Kappa, which only inducts the top ten students in a senior class.
Assistant professor of biology Jeffrey VanZant said Alentado received funding to research as a laureate for the biology department last summer. He said Alentado's work focused on genetic decay and expects his research to be published this year.
Now, Alentado said he's waiting to be accepted into med-school. He's applied to Vanderbilt University and the University of Pittsburgh.
"Vince never did have a football scholarship," Charlene Alentado said. "But he did have a full academic ride — based on him coming back and working his ass off."
When Vincent Alentado finished his email, he said that he wouldn't be able to run again in his life. He can now run up to a mile in rounded shoes. What Alentado expressed to his teammates is to not give up.
"So what I want you, my Charger brothers, to take from this is that you should make sure to give every fiber of your existence into the things you love because you never know when those things may be taken from you," He wrote. "However, do not fear the unexpected, but instead allow yourselves to adjust to your situation. God did not make a mistake in His plan for me."

Weekly auctions enliven Hillsdale County Fairgrounds

Ken Frecker of Ken Frecker Auctioneers, Inc. prepares for a day of selling. He grabs his white Stetson hat, a walking cane and his portable speaker system with the microphone duct-taped to the strap. With everything in hand, it's 9 a.m. and time to begin selling. 

Frecker and several others are the latest in a long line of auctioneers marshaling the Hillsdale Historic Auction. For the past 102 years customers have attended the auction and flea market at the Hillsdale County Fairgrounds to find discounted goods ranging from handguns and bread to glowing earrings and portraits of Jesus. 

Richard Cytacki, who graduated from auctioneer school in 2000, has been working the auction for the past six years.

"He's kind of a cocky soul, thinks he's good at everything," Frecker said.

Cytacki laughs, and prepares to give a tour of the grounds on the slowest day of the year. 

The auction has six parts to it. The flea market is in the barn, along with the office, livestock cage, food court and discount groceries. The poultry, from pheasants to roosters, ducks and rabbits, is kept in another barn. Over 3,000 bales of hay are sold near the parking lot. Next to the flea market is the auction area, and where most of the crowd gathers for bidding. 

Cytacki said cattle, pigs and goats are sold during the large animal sale at 1 p.m. Animals are typically registered until the start of the large animal sale, but winter has kept livestock at a low. He said the livestock is numbered with a yellow sticker and weighed on its way out to the pen — except for goats, which are sold by the head. Today it's light, only a man with a small kid under his right arm comes for a yellow tag.

Cytacki said the poultry barn is usually full, but again, winter has kept the numbers down. Roosters and rabbits, sold by the cage, fill only a quarter of a wall, but still draw a sizable crowd. 

Another big seller, Cytacki explains, is hay. Hay from Hillsdale County, Indiana and Ohio are sold to farmers looking for extra winter feed. Besides that, the actual auction section usually extends much farther, spilling over into four long rows instead of two short ones. 

"It's not unusual in the summer time to sell for six hours," Cytacki said.  

Today, Frecker sells for about two. For those two hours he pokes the merchandise with his cane and starts the bidding at a low price. Anything can be up for auction — from a pool table to piles of firewood. 

"Okay you're buying a bucket of boards there, and brackets, so give a dollar bill," Frecker says. "Little shelves there, dollar-bill-one-dollar." 

Jackie Kenkel, whose son is now 60, grew up on 6 West College St. and has been coming to the Hillsdale Auction since she was four. She said she spends her time with her friends and often comes Friday night to scout for potential purchases. Kenkel said she loves to get acquainted with people at the auction.

"If they don't talk to me I talk to them," she said. 

"We've been coming here for years and years and years," Kenkel said. "When I was a child I said, 'I am never coming here, I hate this place.' Now, I can't stay away."  

Frecker said the barn, where the flea market sells its wares, contains 40 booths. Each booth is sold by its number. Some vendors, like six-year veteran Cindy, have multiple booths rolled into one. 

Cindy, who said she cannot release her last name, said she visits her friends and fellow vendors between auctions and sales. Cindy knows each person selling in the flea market, down to Herminia Torres, who just began selling polyester blankets at the end of the aisle. She said in the summer the Amish have a strong presence with baked goods, and senior citizens flood the barn. 

"We enjoy this," Cindy said, pointing to attendees. "This is my fun, my relaxation."

Student tends to greenhouse plants

Senior Manuel Valle peers into his microscope and observes the mosaic patterns on his slide. The slide was produced by a company in North Carolina and stained specifically to help students identify different cellular structures. But the potted plant next to him, which serves to identify the slice of water lily on his slide, was grown in Strosacker's greenhouse under the watchful eye of junior Megan Saunders. 

For the past year and a half, Saunders has swept the floor, watered, pruned, potted and re-potted the plants that make up the Strosacker Greenhouse. At the beginning of Saunders' sophomore year, Renessa Cooper, associate professor of biology, asked her if she was interested in plants. Saunders said yes and was soon watching over the greenhouse and its silent inhabitants. 

"It's not a huge job," Saunders said. "But it's rewarding because you're working with your hands."

Cooper said the greenhouse produces plants needed for Biology 102, Evolution in Biodiversity and Botany. Occasionally, she'll take her students into the greenhouse to showcase the variety of plants, but in large, the florid room doesn't see too many visitors beyond the occasional student seeking extra credit, Cooper, the rare studier and Saunders.

"Visitors are welcome," Cooper said, "which is why we put a sign up." 

One whole wall of the structure is dedicated to aloe plants. The flowering plant grows so much that Cooper said she often gives them away. But the greenhouse takes plants too. Cooper said when students own plants which have grown too large and unruly for a dorm room, they donate it to the biology department. During winter break, she also takes in plants while students are away.

Saunders said she occasionally helps move plants to botany labs, but often she simply feeds the aloes, the agave plant (a relative to the plant responsible for tequila), the rubber plants and the two dwarf banana trees. A few times a month, they're fertilized. Saunders said the banana trees, now a bit dried out, looked fantastic at the end of the summer. Cooper said they have yet to produce fruit. 

One of the more colorful plants in the greenhouse, called the Anthurium, looks like it has an elongated grub jumping off a red leaf. 

"These are actually flowers along this spadix," Saunders said, pointing towards the little dots covering the yellow edifice. "The red thing is actually called a spathe, but it's just an altered leaf." 

Next, she points out a leafy plant with what looks like rice growing in the middle of its leaves.

"For the first couple of weeks I always thought it was covered in bugs so it sort of creeped me out when I saw it in the corner of my eye," Saunders said. The little growths are another method of disguising flowers. 

Cooper points out a variety of plants after her botany lab. One species has existed virtually unchanged since dinosaurs roamed. Another, the pencil plant, stretches over two rubber plants, flanked by the aloes. A smaller one is knocked over.  

"It's a jungle in there," She said. "But jungles are good."