I have aspired to be a psychiatrist since middle school. My grandfather, Dr. Robert Milling, was a renowned psychiatrist in Columbia who grew up in Greenwood during the Great Depression. Pop valued family most importantly and would do anything to help others. I have fond memories of hiking with him during annual Christmas family vacations in Hendersonville, North Carolina, exploring the unique flora and fauna of the mountains.

What really struck me from a young age was that Pop’s breadth of knowledge encompassed more than just medicine. He was a naturalist, an observer and a historian. He was a lifelong learner, one who pursued knowledge for the passion of discovery. I learned from him that genuine curiosity will lead to more fulfillment than focusing on one thing and one thing only.

Pop treated his patients like family. He made house calls and developed long-term relationships to help them on their path to recovery. “What is this?” he often asked, pointing something out before launching into an educational explanation. He was a man full of love and empathy for others, which has inspired me to be more like him.

I learned that achieving dreams and goals requires perseverance and a constant willingness to improve. I chose The Citadel because it is the best school in South Carolina. As matriculation neared, I was excited to see what the first year would be like. I knew that my experience would be different from most because of my arm, but still similar in many ways. I was born with only one arm and grew up reluctant at times to try new activities. I eventually got past my inhibition. On the way to becoming an Eagle Scout, I rappelled off sheer cliffs in New Mexico, repaired cars and homes, and became an athlete; I learned that you have to have self-worth to be of value to others.

To prepare for future challenges, I chose to attend a military college. The Citadel has a reputation for being “the road less traveled” because of its disciplined environment and the physical and mental demands of the fourth-class system. As a freshman, I was held to the same standards as everyone else. I knew that my experience would most likely be different from anyone else’s, but I knew that I had a duty to fulfill, and no special accommodations should be made. After parade practices, we performed pushups in front of the Kilo Company letter with our rifles resting on our hands. To conduct the manual of arms, I wore a prosthetic to parades, but it was not made to bear the weight required for pushups. When it came time to push, I put my prosthetic arm behind my back and did pushups with one hand. I remember thinking during those long-count pushups how hard it was and wondering if I should try to do something else and wait it out. But I knew that wasn’t the answer because I would be making it easier on myself. As I continued, the cadre watched in amazement and asked my classmates why they didn’t perform one-handed pushups. Everyone has personal situations they deal with, and when you step in the first day as a knob, you cannot allow those issues to impede your success. What I took away from knob year was the ability to prioritize and constantly strive for success.

From the beginning, I knew balancing academics and military duties would be important. I had mentors who stressed the importance of being prepared and working hard. My first day at The Citadel was much like that of others, fearful of what was to come and anticipating the dreaded Challenge Week. I remember getting helpful advice from one of my mentors before I arrived at The Citadel:  “Listen to what they say, not how they say it.” His advice made my knob year much easier, allowing me to take the cadre at face value and concentrate on academics.

After declaring a biology major as a knob, I also started a German minor. Cross-cultural competency is valuable to me because of the importance of communication and understanding those who come from different backgrounds. I eventually declared German as a second major because I wanted to expand my ability to understand and communicate with others of a different culture. After my freshman year, I spent the summer in Germany attending a language school where I met people from all backgrounds—students, working professionals moving to Germany and older adults seeking to learn a new language. I met a French archeologist preparing to start working in Germany. She told me about France and the differences there. During my second summer abroad in Germany, I presented research at a German-French conference in Lyon, France. My previous experiences made it easier for me to communicate with the French speakers who knew little English. I believe in integrating with the community. While I was in Germany, I joined Rupertia, a German fraternity, where I have made lifelong friends.

My passion for the pursuit of knowledge has led me on adventures. I traveled with the support of the Office of Study Abroad. Being a Star of the West Summer Scholar enabled me to learn German in Mannheim, Germany, during the summer of 2018. Afterward, I wanted to have more experiences abroad that would prepare me to become a physician. In the summer of 2019, I conducted virus research at Heidelberg University. This experience highlighted the importance of cross-cultural communication because I was working with German and French researchers. I was prepared because at The Citadel I learned how to communicate with people different from me.

With the support of faculty, I have had experiences that prepared me for my goal to become a physician. As this magazine goes to press, I will be starting on another academic adventure in England.  I have been accepted to the University of Cambridge to pursue a master’s degree in population health science, which focuses on analysis of health data trends and policy in order to investigate different determinants of health in a population. After I complete my master’s degree, I will attend the University of South Carolina School of Medicine.

My goal is to become a physician and provide the best possible care for my patients. Following my grandfather’s example, I believe in developing long-term relationships with others to help them succeed in their goals, whether they be professional or personal. The Citadel has prepared me for new and challenging situations, whatever they may be. Pop passed away my freshman year before I was recognized as a member of the Corps of Cadets. He was so proud that I chose to attend The Citadel, and I am sure that he is ecstatic that I am one step closer to realizing my dream to become a physician and a leader in my community.

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Christian Najjar spent his childhood in Beaufort before moving to Columbia, where he attended A.C. Flora High School.  At The Citadel, he majored in biology and German, graduating summa cum laude. He is currently pursuing a master’s degree at the University of Cambridge in the United Kingdom, after which he will either serve as a Fulbright English teaching assistant in Germany or enter medical school at the University of South Carolina, to which he has been accepted.

Kris Albro, ’17, can take the heat. The 32-year-old graduate has worn a variety of hats ranging from firefighter to F-16 Air Force mechanic and bodybuilder to automotive shop co-owner. Now, she sports a 3M Speedglas welding hood.

“The spectrum of what you can accomplish in the welding industry is so big. It’s not your father’s welder anymore. It’s a very different culture in a different playing field. And women are welcome 100%.”

When Albro returned to civilian life following a three-year career in the U.S. Air Force, she discovered that she missed the military mindset, so she enrolled in The Citadel’s veteran day program, where she majored in criminal justice with a minor in intelligence and homeland security. “The biggest thing is to get your degree,” she says, “because that teaches you so much.” The Citadel helped her develop her patience, open-mindedness and leadership skills, and now she’s in her element when she’s mentoring others.

After graduating, she became a co-owner of an automotive repair shop before her artistic yearnings led her on the path to a career in welding. She credits Arclabs Welding School in Hanahan for honing her welding skills in both utilitarian and artistic fabrication.

Albro had spent two years fabricating for a light fixture company when she received a call from her former Arclabs instructor, who told her it was time to come home and teach. “Teaching, like most things in my life,” she says, “seemed to find me somehow—somehow weasel its way into my brain.” She recently succeeded in mentoring one of her own students on his path to certification through the American Welding Society for two forms of welding.

“He knocked it out of the park,” says Albro. “I’ve never seen anyone bloom and gain confidence and just figure it out like he has.”

Albro has always had an artistic streak. In high school, she painted with acrylics. Later, she became interested in sculpture, and today, she incorporates a variety of metals into her sculptural expertise and has been experimenting with copper in particular. She is well versed in gas metal arc welding, gas tungsten arc welding, shielded metal arc welding and flux-cored arc welding. She’ll implement whichever of these methods is most appropriate for the project. However, she most enjoys teaching shielded metal arc welding because students delight in its being “like a really big sparkler.”

In 2019, Albro started her own business, Meltdown Metal Art, where she accepts commissions to make custom art. “Time is the most difficult thing about that business—making sure you can balance work, life, a side business and give clients appropriate expect-by dates.” When projects take longer than planned, Albro recalculates and does what is needed to get the job done.

Hiccups are to be expected. One time, her mother accidentally backed her car over one of her projects. “She didn’t see it in the driveway and backed right over it.” Albro now laughs when recalling this moment because that piece of artwork, a sign, was already rather flat. Most of her nature-inspired metal work is more three-dimensional, including blooming flowers and vibrant wine toppers.

Albro’s best advice to young artists:  “When you’re frustrated, slow down. If I’m frustrated, my vision’s already cloudy for the piece because I’m angry at it, and I really don’t care about it right now because it’s making me so mad. So a lot of times, the best thing you can do is just stop, walk away for an hour or a day. Sometimes it’s been a week that I’ve had to walk away from stuff and then come back with fresh eyes to reevaluate what the problem is and how to fix it.” Albro also takes this approach to her interpersonal relationships.

She continues to be impressed and surprised with the welding communities online. True, she is on a first-name basis with industry leaders from companies like CK Worldwide, but what she finds more meaningful is the mentoring she is able to give the young people seeking her guidance. “I’ve been mentoring mostly young girls all over the country who are often in rural areas and don’t necessarily have the exposure to other females in the blue-collar industries.” She has even helped students in Europe learn how to weld via video call.

Albro’s next adventure: teaching high school welding in Oregon, a state that she had never been to before. “I was offered the job on a Thursday around 4 p.m. I flew out at 5 a.m. on Friday. I shook his hand on Sunday, agreed to take the job and put in my notice at my other job on Monday.”

She looks forward to meeting her new students and adjusting to the slightly drier climate more favorable to flux, which controls the flow of the molten metal.

Albro’s creativity keeps her on the move. This next adventure is sure to spark her passion.

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Alaina Rink earned her undergraduate degree from the College of Charleston in secondary education English and taught in the Charleston area for four years. She is currently working as a graduate assistant in the Office of Communications and Marketing while pursuing a master’s degree in English.

When Deon Jackson was a freshman at The Citadel in 1995, he called his mother from a pay phone and told her that he wanted to come home.

“You can come home,” Janice Howard said to her son, “but I’m not coming to get you.” The next time Jackson called his mother and told her he wanted to come home, she said, “You can come home, but I’m not coming to get you, and you can’t come here.”

Howard’s no-nonsense response put an end to her son’s thoughts of leaving the military college. Home was 400 miles away in St. Petersburg, Florida. Jackson didn’t have a car, and even if he had, he didn’t have a place to live after he got there. Howard was a young, divorced mother of three. At one time, the family had lived in a one-bedroom apartment, but she worked hard—sometimes more than one job—and sacrificed a lot for her children, and they got by, eventually moving to a two-bedroom house.

“We didn’t have much,” said Jackson, “and I knew education was a way to get to where you wanted to go.”

Jackson played football at Boca Ciega High School in the Pinellas County School District. When then-recruiting coordinator Coach Kenny Carter, ’90, came to visit him, Jackson sat up and took notice of what the coach said about The Citadel.

“What sold me was, at that point in time,” said Jackson, “they told me The Citadel had a 98% job placement rate.”

Jackson was 18 when he visited campus for the first time. He had never been on an airplane, and he had never been to South Carolina, let alone Charleston or The Citadel. What he discovered were uniforms and structure. And when other colleges were offering him scholarships to play defense, The Citadel offered him an offensive running back position.

Jackson signed up.

There were rough patches along the way. He had never shined shoes or brass or worn a uniform. There was what Jackson calls “direct communication” because he prefers not to say “yelling,” but he discovered that it was all for a purpose. Waking up early and going for a run to get the day started would become a lifelong habit. He also discovered leaders who made an impression and shaped his life—Citadel President Lt. Gen. Claudius Watts, who made sure the football team knew that he was behind them. Assistant Commandant Col. Tony Lackey, who guided him through a rocky path in his cadet experience. Head Coach Don Powers, a mentor whose quirky sayings sometimes left Jackson scratching his head. There were others, too—the ladies who worked in the mess hall and the gift shop, Ruby Murray in the library, along with Susan Redmond, Geri Jones and Sgt. Maj. Sylvan Bauer in Jenkins Hall. And as Jackson was making plans for a career in sports management and administration, there was Col. John S. Carter, a professor of health and physical education, who encouraged Jackson to pursue a teaching certificate so that he had multiple options.

“Like every other little boy who played sports,” said Jackson, “I was going to be a professional athlete.”

That was Jackson’s plan, but then he modified the plan. “Instead of being a pro athlete, I’m going to be the agent,” he told himself. “I’ll represent the pro athlete and have a similar lifestyle without all of the practice and weightlifting and the injuries and all of that.”

Jackson accumulated 18 hours of graduate credit as a fifth-year player. He was halfway through a master’s program in secondary school administration, and he was planning to take a gap year in Charleston to have fun when he got a call from Coach Johnny Roscoe of Lancaster County.

“Coach Roscoe is a legendary coach in South Carolina and North Carolina, but I had no idea who he was at the time. I had no idea where Lancaster County was at the time either.”

The year was 2000. Roscoe offered Jackson almost $40,000 a year to teach and coach, and the 23-year-old who had borrowed a car to go on the interview accepted without preamble. For the next two years, Jackson and his now-wife Adrienne burned up the road from Charleston to Lancaster County to see one another. Eventually, the drive got old, the couple needed to settle, and there was a master’s degree to complete, which made Charleston the obvious landing spot.

When Jackson interviewed at Goose Creek High School, the same school where he had completed his student teaching, Principal John Fulmer hired him on the spot. Jackson, who was happy to be back in the Lowcountry, forgot to ask exactly what he would be doing.

At Goose Creek High School, Jackson discovered he was teaching one physical education class. The rest of the school day, he served in an administrative capacity, and after school, he did what he loved most—he coached young student athletes, not just about game plays and strategies, but also about survival skills and life lessons. 

Jackson was in his element.

“I was in the best shape of my life,” he said. “I had an opportunity to get some practical experience in administration. I was still able to coach, and then in the evenings, I would go to graduate school.”

Four years later, with a master’s degree in hand, Jackson moved on to Timberland High School, where he served as assistant principal. Four years after that, he was named principal at St. Stephen Middle School and then Cane Bay Middle School. And then it was on to the district office.

“What I like about education is the impact that it has on the lives of young people,” said Jackson. “You really have an opportunity to inspire and encourage and help young people develop into who they can become.”

In May, Jackson was named superintendent of Berkeley County School District. It was a position he never thought he wanted, but in 2017, when he was thrust into the interim position after the superintendent abruptly retired, he found he had an aptitude for picking up broken pieces, creating normalcy and structure after a period of uncertainty.

“If it were just me, I’d be living on an island somewhere, living off the land and fishing every day. It’s not really for me—it’s truly to have an impact on the lives of these students and their families and the greater community,” said Jackson. “A school district is uniquely positioned to do all of those things through the resources that it has and also the partnerships. You have to be a good listener. You have to care about people. You have to be consistent because children respect consistency. I think they will push back against rules and structure, but the more consistent you are, the more they appreciate it.”

With the pandemic interrupting a smooth start to the academic year, Jackson is currently busy seeking solutions to problems. And he’s casting his net wide to ensure that students who attended school virtually for a year and a half are successfully reintroduced to the classroom. He realizes, too, that education needs to evolve to incorporate the successful elements of distance education.

“As long as we can deliver consistent, quality instruction, should that be eliminated from the realm of possibility? I don’t think so,” he said. “We talk about a teacher shortage, and this option may be a way to address some of those shortages by offering some flexibility in where we allow people to work.”

It’s a hot topic that many people debate, Jackson acknowledges, but it’s a conversation he wants to begin. For specialty areas, like career and technology classes where professionals are not likely to leave a high paying job for the classroom, the opportunity to supplement their exciting careers with virtual classroom instruction may be an option.

Providing resources to students and opening doors so they can see what’s available is important to Jackson. And when he comes across a student who seems like a good fit for The Citadel, he recommends his alma mater.

“I love The Citadel,” he said. “There are things I learned at The Citadel that I didn’t realize I was learning until after I got out. I still walk at a pretty swift pace, not quite 120 [paces per minute], but I walk at a pretty swift pace.”

On the hardwood floors in the renovated Berkeley High School that was built in 1929 and now serves as the district office, the staff knows when Jackson is coming. The sound of his swift steps is unmistakable. Also unmistakable is the difference his 21-year career has made for scores of students. There are stories of young athletes down on their luck, stories of young scholars struggling because of circumstances beyond their control, and stories of students in need of guidance, understanding or resources. And many times over, those stories had a happy ending because as a concerned administrator, Jackson took an interest, extended a hand, coached and came up with a solution.

Another unexpected student he influenced: Janice Howard. When Jackson earned his undergraduate degree, he inspired his mother to go back and earn hers. And when he earned his master’s degree, Howard earned one too. During the career hullabaloo of the last few years, Jackson has put the doctorate degree that he’s been working towards on hold. When he finally finishes, Howard just may find that she has another goal, too.