Make Them Laugh, Make Them Cry, Make Them Think: Successful College Essays

Swedish death metal was definitely not the music that made me pick up the violin. To be honest, I can’t quite remember what did make me start violin, but for eight years, I played it without really enjoying music. Suddenly, my musical world was shredded apart by Led Zeppelin, the first music that I didn’t just hear, but listened to, and I decided to play electric guitar. I searched for more classic rock like Zep, and soon delved into heavy metal, which I’m passionate about for a few main reasons: its diversity, its sheer extremity, and the nuance that cuts through that extremity. Swedish death metal is my favorite. I love the contrast of guitars in very low tunings and the melodies they produce; I love the harsh, abrasive vocals that accompany unpredictable changes. Beginning with Metallica, then Megadeth, and eventually Whitechapel and the Black Dahlia Murder, I’ve listened to obscene quantities of metal—I’m a metalhead.

Listening to the creations of other musicians inspires me to pick up the guitar and create my own music. Most nights, I sit in my room and improvise until I stumble onto something cool. With that small idea, I’ll make full songs with lyrics, melodies, guitar solos, and drums. Some songs are angry and relentless, and others tell a story with multiple sections. In all of my songs, I strive to produce a unique, layered sound.

When it comes to recording, however, there’s a lot more than the music that contributes to the finished product. Every piece that touches the signal coats the sound in its own unique texture. On my recording journey, I’ve been searching for a high-quality drum sound. With five drums and six cymbals all played in combination, drum recording is a complex endeavor that requires many microphones and a professional room. For the home studio on a budget, this is simply infeasible. Instead, I have used computer drum sample plugins. Although helpful, this solution removes the human element: having each note perfectly aligned to the grid results in a terribly robotic performance.

To “humanize” the drum sound, we need drum triggers—small sensors sitting on drumheads and cymbals that trigger samples when struck. They use the same sounds of the plugin, but they capture a drummer’s timing and velocity.

Triggers are expensive—but they’re relatively simple: a piezo picks up vibrations, the signal is amplified, converted to digital, and processed by a microcontroller.

This was the perfect opportunity for a project.

I’ve been programming computers and studying electronics for around a decade, and I’ve been designing and fabricating parts with my 3D printer for the better part of a year. I needed my drum sound, and I had the resources to engineer it.

With help from my friend Evan, who listens to pop and hip hop, I designed several 3D models. Next, I modified a circuit used with electronic drums so that each channel filtered, rectified, amplified, and converted the signal to digital. Using a BeagleBone, I wrote a C program that scanned each channel in order to create MIDI signals.

This failed: the program ran much too slowly to accurately sample each channel. After researching related projects—logic analyzers—I realized I needed realtime processing. Luckily, the processor I was using had coprocessors that could run in realtime. The challenge here was that I had to use assembly code, which I had never written before. Undaunted, I taught myself the syntax. I took my algorithm and rewrote it to read all the channels thousands of times per second.

The new configuration ready, I plugged into my floor-tom and hit the drum. The snare drum on the plugin view of my computer lit up. A few weeks later, I was recording one of my band’s originals with my triggers. It was a great effort for a small difference, certainly, but it’s the small things that make music breathe.

Dear Future Roommate,

Before we begin our stay together, I would like to inform you that, while I may seem canny and put together, my looks are deceiving. Do not be surprised if perhaps, one Friday afternoon, you return to the room after a long day of work to find me hunched over a vent in the floor, a fork in each hand. Don’t be alarmed to look down the vent to see an array of other utensils that have by some means slipped through the cracks. It was a simple mistake! I just dropped my fork down there on accident, so I decided to try to fish it out with a fork and a knife, but I ended up dropping those in too but I realized that a two-fork maneuver would be much more effective, and now that you’ve walked in you can hold the knife and we can lift the three utensils out of there together. I assure you that we will not have to call maintenance; I have plenty of practice at this sort of thing.

I’m looking forward to laughing hysterically in the dead of night with you, to being your wingman, to sneaking out of bed in the morning so I don’t wake you, and to explore this new and abstruse world that we have found ourselves thrust into together. There may be some silverware down a vent, but we’ll have each other and a whole lot more forks to fish them out with.

Sincerely,

Calvin

Indiana. Early mornings on the farm, cutting grass—alone in the cool, dewy fields. Grandpa and I have been making repairs on the farmhouse and barn since my earliest days. When the steps to the cellar gave way, we built a new flight. When the radiator to the tractor groaned and died, we replaced it.

I know small-town America like the back of my calloused hand. Blistering summer sun above, I know how to catch bluegill and catfish. Vibrant autumn leaves above, I know how to extract the pulp of a persimmon from its bitter skin. I love my home and my community ad infinitum.

I also know the fear of medicine and science that permeates every wooded hollow in Southern Indiana—Grandma has dealt with excruciating knee pain for as long as I can remember, but won’t seek surgery because she distrusts surgeons. I know of poverty so suffocating it makes all non-essential medical care virtually obsolete for so many of my fellow Hoosiers. Growing up, I spent long winter nights in the rural nursing home in which my father, a physical therapist, worked. There, I saw suffering like none other. I learned of the economic factors that resign Indiana’s elderly to poverty.

For my 2022 Eagle Scout Project, I decided to combat poverty and reestablish trust in medical care by creating my own free medical supply store. To that end, I created ReHealth Devices, LLC. I found an abandoned storage closet in my church, St. Anthony’s in Evansville. Then I collected durable medical devices—walkers, canes, toilets, stools, and crutches—from my father’s patients who no longer needed them. I even received an electronically-adjustable hospital bed. I cleaned and stocked these devices, creating an inventory of over 75 apparati. To spread ReHealth Devices’ message, I posted fliers in churches and nursing homes. Anyone in need in Evansville can receive free items from ReHealth Devices, or donate unused items, either by contacting the store via email, or visiting during operating hours on Sundays.

Currently, I am discussing the expansion of ReHealth Devices into other churches in Southern Indiana. By re-using and freely distributing durable medical devices, ReHealth Devices eliminates landfill waste and provides economic support for the most vulnerable. By practicing the principles of the Scout Oath and Law, I aim to help modern medicine earn the trust of my community. As Grandpa says, “acta non verba—deeds, not words.”

“Don’t you guys, like, worship LeBron James?” “Aren’t you guys ninety percent farmland and ten percent cows?” Throughout my life, I had to defend my state, Ohio, against questions like these from friends who lived in much more “exciting” places, like Los Angeles (the answers to these questions are unfortunately: yes, and basically yes). My ultimate goal was to put Ohio on the map for math competitions, just as LeBron had for basketball. However, unlike LeBron, I couldn’t carry a team by myself. Team success stems from team chemistry, and our bond needed to be more than just the goal of “winning.” As a middle schooler on the Ohio ARML team, I noticed a strong disconnect between younger team members and stronger high school upperclassmen who competed at higher levels. We desperately needed a more connected culture: a dynasty that would begin with us, but live far longer than the four years I could directly contribute to the team. I organized video calls between team members young and old, planned trips to other competitions such as the Harvard-MIT tournament, and I wrote problems to contribute to organizations like the Cincinnati Math Circle. In 2017, at the ARML competition, Ohio had jumped almost thirty ranks, from 46th to 18th. Not a bad turnaround for the Buckeye state.

LeBron’s inspiring words drive me: Nothing is given, everything is earned. I’m sure if he knew about Ohio’s burgeoning math success, he would smile while continuing to hone his own skills...in Los Angeles.