The U.S. Culture(s) thread

From the intimate to the ordinary, life in this Midwestern college town is changing. The iconic Hamburg Inn, the diner where presidential candidates have stumped for decades, still dishes up its famous "pie shakes." But take a closer look:

Bubble tea shops outnumber Starbucks 3 to 1, and nearly 1 in 10 students at the University of Iowa hails from China.

Iowa City has gone global.

Stroll to the Old Capitol Mall on any given day and you'll see a lunchtime crowd from faraway cities like Beijing, Shanghai, Dalian, Shenzhen and Wuhan. Take note of the cars that pass you. Mixed in with the souped-up Ford F-250s and Dodge Ram pickups preferred by natives are Maseratis, BM Ws, Audis and Mercedes-Benzes. You might even glimpse a Lamborghini or a Ferrari.

Chinese students pay an estimated $70 million a year in tuition to the University of Iowa and pump an estimated $100 million into the local economy. They've become such a financial boon they help subsidize the education of their American peers.

The dramatic rise in Chinese students — from a few hundred in 2000 to more than 2,500 today — has brought culture shock and a series of major challenges.

A lack of dorm space resulted in hundreds of students, most of them from China, being warehoused eight at a time on beds in dorm lobby areas for weeks, even months. Segregation within the classroom became common. Many Chinese students struggled to speak English and cope with the demands of English-based curriculum. Professors grumbled about how to teach in that environment.

These issues still reverberate across campus.

A mandatory program last fall meant to help international students better understand American culture failed miserably.

"The international students hated it," says Ron Mc Mullen, a visiting associate professor of political science and former U.S. ambassador to Eritrea.

The class was canceled. The lesson learned: The university can be better about engaging international students, but it works both ways. "The international students could be better about engaging," says Mc Mullen, who helped organize the class. "That's a tough one to overcome."

Solving these issues and better integrating students has become a priority. A university panel last year spent months examining the academic and social environment for international students. In November 2014, the committee said three gaps must be addressed for the long-term health of the university: cultural differences, institutional processes and language barriers.

"International students sometimes arrive on campus unsure of where they will live, on or off campus, or even where, exactly, the university is located in the United States," the International Student Climate Subcommittee said.

Change has begun. New dorms are being built to meet student demand, menus are being changed at cafeterias to accommodate the growing international population, and the school now hosts welcoming parties within China for new students. Students also are greeted at the airport when they touch down in Iowa.

The university, Mc Mullen says, is aiming to help international students "assimilate, acculturate and get a fuller, richer college experience."

It's also asking: "How do we get American students, especially Iowans who can be noncosmopolitan, to know more about the world?"

"A very tense situation"

The growing pains playing out in Iowa City are happening in college towns around the nation, from Tuscaloosa, Alabama, to Corvallis, Oregon, to Lincoln, Nebraska.

Twenty years ago, about 42,500 students from China attended college in America, most of them for post-graduate work. Last year, that number reached nearly 275,000, with most coming for undergraduate degrees. Chinese students make up 30% of all international students studying in America; the other most-sought international students come from India, South Korea and Saudi Arabia.

The rise of Chinese students is most pronounced in the Midwest, with Big Ten universities heavily recruiting students within China over the last decade. Among the top 20 American universities with the highest Chinese student populations, nine are from the Big Ten, according to The Brookings Institution.

The University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign leads the way with 10,000 international students, including about 4,900 from China. Purdue is not far behind with 9,000 international students, including 4,600 Chinese. At both universities, international students make up nearly one-quarter of the entire student body.

Michigan State has the highest population of Chinese students in the nation, with more than 5,300. Ohio State, Indiana, Minnesota and Michigan have seen an explosion in their Chinese student bodies: Each school has more than 3,000 Chinese students.

At Iowa, the number of Chinese students outnumbers the combined African-American and Latino student population.

The influx of Chinese students began about eight years ago, the result of America's great recession and China's burgeoning middle class. American universities were in crisis mode with their budgets getting slashed. Administrators needed a viable financial alternative.

"Those are the two forces that are bringing about this huge growth of foreign students into the United States," says Neil G. Ruiz, a senior policy analyst and associate fellow for the Brookings Institution. "The impact is great. It helps the universities in the short run get the tuition and the students they need in terms of revenue."

The long-term implications, Ruiz argues, are even greater. "Foreign students in Iowa City are connected to these cities abroad like Beijing, Shanghai, Chengdu, Wuhan. They are bridging two economies simultaneously ... and that's an asset in the global economy."

Top university officials began jetting to Beijing. They found parents eager to send their children to America to earn a degree — and able to pay cash for out-of-state tuition, often triple the price of in-state.

"State funding is going out the door," says Sarah Gardial, dean of the Iowa business school. "The funding model actually encourages us to take a higher percentage (of international students). That's why we started down that path."

The dramatic rise in international students has stirred concerns, from state lawmakers who believe their in-state population is being replaced by foreign students to faculty who believe administrators are selling out the value of a degree for a quick-fix financial solution.

"It's creating a very tense situation across all the different levels of the institutions," says Chris R. Glass, an assistant professor at Old Dominion University who has examined the social and academic experiences of international students across America.

"You're seeing faculty who think the burden has been placed on them. ... It's happening everywhere, and faculty are mad."

The caliber of students has come under scrutiny because of the cottage industry of educational placement agencies that has popped up in China. Reports of widespread abuses among agencies are rampant, from forging college essays to changing test scores.

The students also are arriving at a time when Americans have become more and more skeptical of China's motivations, creating tensions on college campuses.

Chinese students have had their cars spray painted with messages to go away. Many can tell a tale of being harassed. Or of not fitting in, either by choice or because they didn't feel welcome.

CNN spoke with dozens of Chinese students at Iowa in February. Nearly every single one said an American has at least once yelled at them "Go back to Asia!"

They spoke of feelings of isolation and their desire to fit in.

A case study in micro-aggression

Yuhao Chen has experienced that feeling of isolation. All she knew of Iowa before she arrived was that it was a farm state in the middle of America "where people just eat corn."

With its population of more than 70,000, Iowa City is hardly a small town to most Americans. But it was a shocking change for Yuhao, who comes from a city of 10 million. She missed the familiarity of home. Her self-esteem plummeted; she feared she would jumble her words when she spoke English.

It's a common experience, she says. The language barrier causes students to withdraw.

They don't want to embarrass themselves and so they stay in their comfort zone. They flock to other Chinese students. Many might already be naturally shy, she says, "and when they come to a completely new place, the difficulties can be even more pronounced."

Yuhao, a senior majoring in psychology, decided to take action. Two years ago, she and a friend formed a student organization called Heart Workshop to help international students with their mental health and well-being.

She had seen a friend her freshman year become so stressed out by the change in environment that "she didn't want to go out of her room."

"That's one of the things that really touched me and kind of drives me to find out what other difficulties there are and why students — especially international students — don't want to seek out mental health services."

In summer 2013, she and her friend began surveying juniors and seniors from China. They asked probing questions: Do you feel comfortable socializing with Americans? What kind of difficulties have you had living and learning in the United States? What percentage of your friends are American?

She was fascinated by the responses. Most had very few American friends, but nearly every respondent said they hoped to remain in the United States for work after graduation despite their social struggles. Visa restrictions, however, often prevent that.

Through Heart Workshop, she was able to make breakthroughs among a Chinese population often resistant to mental health services. Gradually, people began opening up.

An incident that happened around that time still brings a lot of pain to Chinese students. A Twitter account called U Iasianprobz began posting photographs of Asian students asleep in the library or driving fancy cars. Hateful and negative remarks were posted and shared.

Chinese students who spoke with CNN were on the verge of tears whenever the Twitter account was mentioned. They felt unwanted and unappreciated, not just by the American students but by top university officials who remained silent.

For Yuhao, it was a case study of micro-aggression, a glimpse into something deeper going on around town.

But, she says, something positive emerged. The incident mobilized international students to stand up for themselves and push university officials to do more to integrate campus life — to tell administrators that "international students really deserve to be accepted on campus."

Bringing students together

Even before the Twitter incident, the business school began deep introspection, pondering what could be done to get students to "appreciate and work with someone who's not like you," says Gardial, the business school dean.

One in 5 students at Iowa's Tippie College of Business call China home — much higher than the rest of campus.

The business school put every professor through a course on how to pronounce Chinese names correctly. "We said, 'Hey, job one is to show respect by getting someone's name right,'" Gardial says.

The school then began teaching professors how to incorporate diversity into the classroom. Programs were formed to bring students together. Slowly, inroads were made: Students have begun eating together and interacting in the halls.

In October, American and international students carved pumpkins in the business school. "Something you don't see a lot in a college of business," Gardial says with a laugh.

She admits the business school struggles with verifying the academic chops of every international student "in terms of their academic background, their language skills — that kind of thing. But I would say that we're getting better and better."

It's incumbent on the university, she believes, to help the students "overcome that barrier and to give them the kind of supportive resources that they're going to need."

International students must pass mandated courses in English as a second language. The business school has established a communications center to help with speech and writing skills.

Gardial also meets with business leaders across the state to find ways the international students can stay in the States longer. "We are seeing companies without question look at ways that they can keep students here as much as possible," Gardial says.

"How we deal with our international students is very much a part of that larger question," Gardial says, "which is: How do we make sure our students are prepared?"

"We see this as an enormous opportunity that we've got that kind of diversity," she says. "But here's what we have found out: If left to their own devices, the students don't naturally integrate in the way that they should."

Relationships must be forged.

Qiqi Shi and Ben Cunningham, two business school students, dine on hot pots at the Szechuan House, a Chinese-owned restaurant that serves traditional food. The two laugh and share tales like most college kids.

Qiqi is a junior majoring in finance. She is from Macau, one of two special administrative regions of China, with a population of more than 600,000. Ben is a junior majoring in business analytics. He is from the small Iowa town of Grinnell, population 9,000.

The two are part of an international buddy program in the business school that pairs American students with those from overseas. More than 120 students participated this spring.

Ben and Qiqi signed up for the program a second time because they found it invaluable. "It's a cool way on a small scale to bring people together who would otherwise not meet," Ben says.

Adds Qiqi: "It allows us a cultural exchange with the American students."

They say they just wish the rest of the student body was more open to change and diversity.

Too many American students, Ben says, "think it is funny or amusing in an ill-spirited way" to make fun of the Chinese students.

"International students, we're not any different than Americans," Qiqi adds. "We're just from a different place, with a different language. But we are willing to talk and communicate and share our culture, and we're willing to learn new stuff."

The question remains: How many will join them?

CARSON – The Goodyear Blimp bobbles a few feet off the ground, awaiting one of its final takeoffs.

“We’re coming off the mast,” pilot Bill Bayliss announces, as the 192-foot blimp is freed from its mooring.

The Spirit of America will rise above the hustle-and-bustle of I-405 one last time on Monday, and cruise toward Tustin’s aging World War II blimp hangar.

Five days later, the blimp will emerge as five tons of museum exhibits, recyclable rubber and spare parts.

“It’s the end of an era,” Bayliss says of Goodyear’s plans to upgrade its fleet of three older blimps, in operation since 1969, to modern airships.

On a recent morning, 12 men hold down the Spirit of America with ropes and handholds.

“The most dangerous time is when you’re close to the ground,” says Bayliss, 30, of Redondo Beach, guiding last-minute preparations for his flight to the recent Vans U.S. Open of Surfing in Huntington Beach.

Ground crew members load four 25-pound bags of ballast; they remove a four-step ladder hanging from the gondola; the crew chief signals A-OK.

“They’re going to lift us up … and here we go!”

A blimp is born

Man has flown hot-air balloons since the 1700s – often for war.

In 1794, the French used them to observe British troop movements in the Battle of Fleurus.

In 1861, the Union army used them to scout Rebel troop movements during the Battle of Bull Run.

World War I was no different – except balloons had evolved into blimps and zeppelins.

Both are considered dirigibles, which are self-powered, steerable, lighter-than-air craft. Blimps maintain their shape by gas pressure alone, while zeppelins use internal framing to maintain their shape.

Goodyear emerged from World War I with more than a reputation for making tires. It built a 400-foot blimp hangar in Akron, Ohio, where the company produced 822 observation balloons and 39 blimps for the U.S. military.

Worldwide, the race was on to build an airline service of dirigibles to become the ocean liners of the sky – airships that could carry passengers across the Atlantic in less than three days.

The race did not go as planned.

In 1930, a British airship crashed in France, killing 48. In 1933, Goodyear’s Akron blimp crashed in the Atlantic, killing 73. In 1935, the Macon plunged into the Pacific, killing two (79 were rescued at sea).

The Hindenburg zeppelin finally made transatlantic airship travel a reality.

On May 6, 1937, a throng of photographers, newsreel cameras and a live radio broadcast awaited the Hindenburg’s arrival from Germany to Lakehurst, N.J. As the airship started to dock with its mooring mast, a spark ignited 7 million cubic feet of highly flammable hydrogen inside.

The airship collapsed in a fireball, killing 36 people – and any hope for a transatlantic fleet of dirigibles.

By this time, however, Goodyear had established a side project that would alter its future.

In 1925, the company had launched a 105-foot long blimp named Pilgrim that was unique in two ways.

One, it used nonflammable helium rather than hydrogen. And two, it was not a passenger airship. It was more of a flying billboard.

No one knew it yet, but the Pilgrim was the first of what we now call the Goodyear Blimp.

Up, up and away

Flying these old dirigibles requires a mathematician’s brain and an athlete’s body.

After liftoff, Bayliss maneuvers the airship to quickly rise above the 27-acre blimp base that’s been home to Spirit of America since it was christened 8,000 flights and 13 years ago.

To control envelope pressure, Bayliss pulls toggles over his head to manually release air from the ballonets – two balloons inside the larger envelope of helium – as we rise higher and higher.

To steer, he steps on a foot pedal attached to a 110-foot-long steel cable that pivots the rudder, the size of a barn door.

Meanwhile, he cranks what looks like a wheelchair wheel beside his seat to engage another steel cable that raises the rear elevator to guide us upward.

Nothing is electronic. We’re talking pulleys, levers, cables, cranks, ropes, bags of lead shot, even a liquid manometer in the cockpit – all a throwback to 1935, when the concept for this airship was designed.

Yet on takeoff, we can out-climb a 737, Bayliss boasts, proud of this rare old bird.

Planes can climb at a 15-degree angle, Bayliss explains. But a blimp can climb at twice that angle – so steep that it momentarily feels like we might stall and plummet to earth. But we can’t – we’re lighter than air.

Even Air Force training pilots, who have ridden as passengers, freak out at this steep angle of ascent, Bayliss says, zooming up to 1,500 feet altitude in a matter of seconds before leveling off.

Once he does, it’s like riding on a cloud. Suddenly we’re floating on air – on $80,000 worth of helium, actually – my elbow poking out the window as we chug along at 30 mph toward the coast.

Putting on a show

The Goodyear Blimp is not one blimp. It is more than 300 blimps over the course of 90 years.

In 1932, the Volunteer hovered over the L.A. Coliseum to provide radio coverage of the Summer Olympics.

In 1955, the Enterprise hovered over the Rose Parade in Pasadena, providing the first live U.S. transcontinental broadcast from an aircraft.

In 1989, the Columbia hovered over earthquake damage in San Francisco during the World Series.

Goodyear blimps have flown over 27 Super Bowls (although since 9/11, they no longer can fly overhead during the game). They cover the World Series, the Kentucky Derby, the Indianapolis 500. They cover indoor events like the Oscars, Emmys and Los Angeles Lakers games.

“You know what they say: It isn’t a big game unless the blimp is there,” Bayliss says, as we putt-putt down the coast with our shadow – he calls it the “blimp shark” – trailing on the water below.

Bayliss is one of four pilots and more than 20 crew members who fly, repair and maintain the Spirit of America in Carson.

Goodyear now operates two older (GZ-20A) models and one new technology, or NT, model, Wingfoot One, introduced last year. After Spirit of America retires this week, her twin sister ship, Spirit of Innovation, from Florida, will replace her until the next NT model comes online in about two years.

The new airships are longer, sleeker, faster and significantly easier to fly – with three engines (instead of two) that pivot to a vertical position, making takeoff and landing much easier. Their controls bring blimp piloting from the mechanical age to the computer age

That’s good. But Bayliss will miss all this “seat of the pants” piloting that requires both arms, both legs and both sides of his brain accounting for the smallest shifts in air temperature, wind direction, altitude, superheat, gas usage, weight change and envelope pressure.

“A lot of this is purely feel,” he says, arching his back to push down the rudder pedal for a turn, then spinning the elevator wheel forward to bring us down.

We descend to 400 feet altitude, just off the Huntington Beach Pier.

“Now we’ll put on a show for them,” he says, reversing engines and hovering off the end of the pier.

His hand shoots out the window.

Down below, people excitedly wave back – at a flying billboard.

End of the line

It will take five days to decommission the Spirit of America in the Tustin blimp hangar.

Crew members will secure the blimp’s nose spindle to a portable mast and tie down the silver-blue-and-gold envelope in 14 places. They’ll remove the hardware including the gondola, engines, tailfin, radar and 3,780 (message display) LED lights. Then they’ll open a 25-foot-long seam on top of the envelope to release nearly 200,000 cubic feet of helium.

The gondola will go to the Planes of Fame Air Museum in Chino. Spare parts will be saved. Much of the envelope – a neoprene-and-polyester fabric as thin as a T-shirt – will be cut into pieces and sent to Trash for Teaching, which reuses discarded items for educational purposes.

By next week, all that will be left are memories – including the recent month-long farewell tour up and down the West Coast.

“Sometimes you see kids run outside the house in the middle of nowhere,” Bayliss says. I’ve seen cars pull over and people get out to take pictures and wave.

“Sometimes, when we see people stop on the side of the road to watch us, we’ll do a quick circle around and wave.”

Almost every stop, he says, draws a crowd. At one small airport in Northern California hosting an air show, people assumed the blimp was part of the show and ran across an active runway to see it.

His most often asked question? “How do I get a ride?”

“Unfortunately, our schedule doesn’t allow us to give rides to the public,” he says. “It’s corporate-invitation only.” That means most of the 30,000 people who’ve flown on the Spirit of America over the last 13 years were Goodyear tire dealers, manufacturers or sellers. It’s the company’s way of saying thank you.

Not only riding on the Goodyear Blimp is rare.

“There are 300 or 400 astronauts,” Bayliss says. “But there are only about 30 active blimp pilots in the world.”

Still, he stresses, the blimp is the true celebrity. And it takes the entire team to keep it flying. Every takeoff, every landing employs a team of about 15. And whenever they travel, the same team carpools along – never more than a half-hour away in case the blimp must make an emergency landing.

Two hours after takeoff, Bayliss approaches the Carson blimp pad. As we descend, he checks the American flags at IKEA and Sears, happy to see the sea breeze holding light and steady. Below us, the crew rushes to position, ready to grab bowlines and handrails.

Thump. The blimp bounces on a single wheel, the gondola rocks to the right and then steadies.

“That’s special,” Bayliss says. “It’s so much fun I don’t like to call it a job.”

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