Alice Walker and Maya Angelou are two contemporary African-American writers.  Although almost a generation apart in age, both women display a remarkable similarity in their lives.  Each has written about her experiences growing up in the rural South, Ms. Walker through her essays and Ms. Angelou in her autobiographies.  Though they share similar backgrounds, each has a unique style which gives to us, the readers, the gift of their exquisite humanity, with all of its frailties and strengths, joys and sorrows.

Tragedy struck both of these women at the age of eight.  Ms. Walker lost her sight in one eye.  Ms. Angelou was raped.  Each described the incident as part of a larger work.  Ms. Walker related her experience in the body of an essay published in her book, 
In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens.  Ms. Angelou told her story as a chapter in her autobiography, I
Know Why the Caged
Bird Sings. 
Although both wrote about their traumatic experience, the way each depicted the incident was distinct and seemed to be told for very different purposes.

Alice Walker reports the facts to the reader with short sentences written in the present tense.  She chooses words which elicit a forceful emotional response from her audience.  For example, in telling how her brothers were given BB guns and she was not, Ms. Walker writes, “Because I am a girl, I do not get a gun.  Instantly, I am relegated to the position of Indian.”  The word “relegated” causes the reader to be irate and indignant.  Most people do not like being “relegated” to anything.  Another illustration of Ms. Walker’s use of dynamic words can be found in her description of the encounter with her parents following the accident.  She speaks of being “confronted” by her parents.  “Confronted” is a combative word.  When people are confronted by others, they want to launch an attack.  Her style and choice of words make the reader aware that she is alone and fearful.  She is left to fight her battles by herself.

Maya Angelou narrates her account in a conversational tone.  She uses the past tense which tells her audience “it’s over” for her.  Her words are free from severity.  They encourage the reader to see hope in the midst of sadness.  Instead of trying to elicit a particular emotional response, Angelou invites her audience to share in her thoughts and feelings.  For instance, having given an account of the rape, she writes, “I thought I had died–I woke up in a white-walled world, and it had to be heaven.”  The reader feels a connection with her pain, yet realizes redemption lies close at hand.  Whereas Walker tells how she was confronted by her parents, Angelou explains,”she [mother] picked me up in her arms and the terror abated for a while.”  There is no impression of combativeness.  There is only tenderness and care.  Once again, she invites the reader in.  Walker wants the reader to feel for her; Angelou wants her audience to feel with her.  They achieve their objectives by directing the reader’s attention to specific emotions.

The emotional focus of Alice Walker’s story is rage, red-hot and isolating.  As I read this piece, I became livid, not only at the thought of her devastating injury and her family’s apparent disassociation, but also at Ms. Walker herself.  It appeared to me that she never let go of it.  Instead, she seemed to embrace her anger.

On the other hand, Ms. Angelou’s anger is subtle and short-lived.  Though I was incensed by what happened to her, she quietly insisted that I leave it behind.  She concentrated less on her anger and more on the warmth and support of her family.

It would be impossible not to address the ways in which both women refer to the intense physical pain each of them suffered as little girls.  Ms. Walker gives little description of her anguish, but I clearly felt it.  When I read, “. . . I feel an incredible blow in my right eye . . .” and, “my eye stings, and I cover it with my hand,” my immediate response was to quickly cover my eye with  my hand.  My body reacted to her pain.

Ms. Angelou’s description produced another effect.  She wrote, “Then there was the pain.  A breaking and entering when even the senses are torn apart.”  Instead of a physical reaction, I felt a wrenching of the heart.  Ms. Walker focused my attention on the injury to her body, while Ms. Angelou focused on her emotional scars.

My most powerful emotional response throughout both stories was one of incredible sorrow.  I felt the tremendous weight that sadness and despair can fold around a heart, not only for a child’s trauma, but also for the devastating repercussions that tragedy can produce–loss of dignity, self-esteem, and childhood itself.  I wanted to comfort them both.  However, by the end of Ms. Walker’s account of the incident, I not only wanted to comfort her, I wanted to shield her as well.  Her wounds were still open.  At the end of her narrative, she wrote, “Now when I stare at people–a favorite pastime up to now–they will stare back.  Not at the ‘cute’ little girl, but at her scar.  For six years, I do not stare at anyone, because I do not raise my head.”  I wanted to intervene and help her.

Although in Ms. Angelou’s story I yearned to comfort the child, it was obvious that the adult Maya Angelou did not need my protection.  She ended her account with these words:

I would have liked to stay in the hospital the rest of my life.  Mother brought flowers and candy.  Grandmother came with fruit and my uncles clumped around and around my bed, snorting like wild horses.  When they were able to sneak Bailey in, he read to me for hours.

Her family loved her all the way through her trauma, and she moved from despair to hope with their help.

Alice Walker and Maya Angelou are both extremely courageous writers.  From each we receive a rare and poignant gift.  As her book suggests, Alice Walker challenges us to search for resolution in the face of loneliness and despair.  Maya Angelou, who “knows why the caged bird sings,” reminds us that loneliness and despair never have the last word.  She gently points us to a window of hope.  Both women bless us with shades of being human.

# Student Sample: Comparison/Contrast, Divided Pattern

McDonald’s and Fox’s Diner are two of the restaurants in Lake City, Tennessee. But even though they both sell hamburgers in the same town, they don’t have anything else in common. They cater to different types of customers, there is a noticeable difference in service speed, and every facet of doing business is handled differently. Even the atmosphere of these two places is in contrast.

These two restaurants do not compete for the same customers. McDonald’s is located just off the interstate, so many of their patrons are not local residents. Another reason is that they are universally known. Fox’s is further away from the interstate. Aside from the over-the-road truck drivers who know the area, most of the Diner’s customers are local residents. As well as targeting different customers from Fox’s Diner, McDonald’s also places more emphasis on speed. McDonald’s makes job specialization an integral part of their operation. They crank meals out on an assembly line. They use computers to take orders, automatic timers to assist in cooking, and radio headsets to communicate. Even the color scheme used by McDonald’s promotes speed. Studies show that loud colors like red and yellow increase customer turnover. With the exception of handling money, tasks are shared by the staff at the diner and there isn’t anything high-tech about the operation.

Fox’s Diner is a world away from the bland, impersonal McDonald’s just a few miles north. It sits on the right side of a two-lane highway leading into town. The Diner serves both as a truck stop and as the restaurant for a small motel next door. The parking lot looks vacant until about five in the morning because it is large enough to accommodate a dozen tractor trailers. Years of use have left potholes and a patchwork of asphalt that resembles a moth-eaten quilt.

The diner itself is a doublewide  trailer set high on a five foot, cinderblock foundation. An aluminum awning extends outward about six feet along the front of the building. Underneath the awning, yellow fluorescent lights, which theoretically do not attract bugs, glow at night. They are mounted over a row of metal framed, screened-in windows. To reduce heating and air-conditioning costs, as well as keep the interior floor clean, an entrance was built about fourteen years ago outside the original entrance. Concrete steps covered with brown patio turf lead to the front door. Walking inside is like traveling back in time twenty years.

Trans Ams, Lucky Strikes, and eight-track tape players are some of the things that come to mind when walking in. The white tile floor is always clean; however, it has yellowed with age and feels rough under your shoes because it has never been waxed. A counter runs half the length of the diner. Even though the stools that sit in front of it aren’t permanently attached to the floor, they still sit in the same places they were in thirty-five years ago. So over the years, the counter has been worn smooth by countless elbows. Four booths are at one end of the diner.  The benches are covered in green and brown plastic, and they surround yellow formica tables. A jukebox also sits there, usually playing an old song by George Jones or Willie Nelson. A blue haze of smoke hangs around the lights.

A room has been added to the far end of the diner. It holds a cigarette machine and an old Donkey Kong Junior video game that hasn’t been played in so long that the words “game over” are permanently etched into the picture tube. There are also two pinball machines that see slightly more use than the video game. Four machines labeled “for entertainment only” are where the money is made. They are video poker machines, and they draw truck drivers, housewives, and anyone else easily addicted to gambling the same way an Indian reservation casino does. People come in with rolls of quarters and grab a stool. They get that dull look in their eyes. Some smoke like a freight train while others light up and the cigarette never touches their lips again. It just rests between their fingers and burns down to the filter. The winners don’t get excited. They just walk to the register and collect their money. But they are few and far between.

The same people have worked here since before I was born. A lady named Millie runs the place. She has a poodle name Midnight. Originally, Midnight was black. But at almost twenty years old, he’s as white as a snow drift. Even when he was young, he could be found curled up behind the candy-bar counter. Maybe that is the key to his longevity. Once a year, Millie goes to the beach for a week’s vacation. This year she went to Myrtle Beach while it rained. Last year, a motel in Daytona put a five-dollar charge on all the long distance credit calls she made. Her vacations are a big topic of conversation.

The McDonald’s in Lake City could be one of a million other franchises across the continent. Like many others, it is located just off the interstate. And like all the others, it has the same famous sign on two seventy-five foot, brown, steel poles that are in clear view for miles before encountering the interstate exit. The parking lot is well-thought-out and easy to navigate. There are no potholes here that could swallow a Minta. The asphalt gets an annual coat of sealant and large white arrows direct the flow of traffic. Concrete curving borders the pavement to prevent anyone from parking on the grass or the mulch where durable evergreens have been planted.

Like thousands of other McDonald’s across the country, this one has a playground to attract people with kids. It is surrounded by a wrought-iron fence to keep kidnappers out and children penned in. A two-story, plastic structure stands in the middle of the playground resembling some sort of alien architecture. It is made out of the same 50 percent consumer, recycled plastic that the roof tiles, trays, and happy meal toys are made of. This is “green marketing,” designed to appeal to environmentally conscious customers.

An automatic teller machine has been installed in the parking lot beside the playground. It belongs to Nation’s Bank–a big multinational conglomerate just like Ronald McDonald. Not only does this machine make it easier to pay for a meal, it also gives a big bank the opportunity to charge one dollar for a service that is performed by a computer for less money than it could be performed by a bank employee.

This McDonald’s is as stereotypical on the interior as it is on the exterior. Instead of a jukebox, they have a television that is always tuned to the Country Music Channel. This gives the customers something to watch as well as listen to, so they aren’t put into the awkward position of having to speak to one another. The Country Music Channel always features a new star, such as Ricky Lynn Gregg or Rick Travino. They sound like they are trying to have a hick accent. They don’t sound like Johnny Cash or Willie Nelson; they sound like dime-store cowboys. They are like formica countertops that attempt to look like wood.

The latest video games are constantly stuffed through the arcade in the front of the restaurant. Instead of paying with cash, these pay off with tickets that can be traded for a coke or a box of cookies. Just keep feed the machines quarters, and eventually enough tickets will come out. The noise can be nerve-wracking, but very profitable.

Like all their other restaurants, this one is redecorated every few years. Nothing is permanent here, what looks good today will be dated and trendy in three years. Consumption on this scale is conspicuous and gaudy, especially when McDonald’s never fails to advertise their recycling program.

But McDonald’s cannot be condemned for being successful. They have done a lot of things right. Since they’re a franchise, everyone follows the same business plan. This lets the customer know exactly what to expect whenever he pulls into McDonald’s. That is an advantage independent restaurants will have to live with.

But Americans do not support small businesses the same way they once did. The famous arches that identify McDonald’s are a catalyst that people respond to like dumb animals in a laboratory experiment. Instead, we should give the little guy a chance whenever possible. Even though we cannot always support small business, we should try if the produce is comparable and the price is competitive. A car or personal computer made by a small business wouldn’t be a good investment. But a house built by an independent contractor would certainly compare favorably to a particle board house built by Clayton Homes. And Fox’s Diner makes a better hamburger than the soybean sandwich McDonald’s markets.