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By HANNAH WAGNER
The Westgate Shopping Center, about 3
miles west of the University's Central Cam-
pus, looks dead at 11 p.m. The parking lot is
void of cars and eerily quiet. The storefronts
of T.J. Maxx, the public library and Nicola's
books are dark, empty and locked. Another
tenant, Barry Bagels, is no exception. Inside
the unlit bagel store sits a few rows of tidy
tables and chairs and a metal rack neatly
stocked with bags of chips. The neon sign on
the front window is no longer glowing - the
At first glance, the darkness of the early
morning hour hides any sign of life. But
inside, three employees are hard at work.
Washtenaw Community College student
Dameon Holmes, a fulltime bagel delivery man
for Barry Bagels - a retail and wholesale bagel
store with locations in Ann Arbor and Ohio -
is sorting bagels for delivery with Lamar Hop-
kins, a student at Concordia University, and
Jeff Schwerin, the wholesale manager who
has worked at Barry Bagels for 17 years.
The three have a long night ahead of them -
they work from 11 p.m. until 7 a.m., delivering
nearly 7,000 bagels throughout Ann Arbor and
the surroundingcommunities.
They arrive at the store just as the baking
crew finishes its
nightly production
of 546 dozen bagels.
Now the bagels have
to be separated into
groups by destina-
tion.
In all, the sort-
ing process takes
about four hours
9 ' and the men work
quietly and effi-
ciently. Every so
r often someone will
make an inside joke.
and the whole crew
will emit a hushed
chuckle, but then
quickly return to
JAKE FROMM/Daily work. Despite the
546 dozen bagels every quiet, they seem
us locations. awake and concen-
After Holmes bags the bagels for his
25-stop delivery route, he loads them into the
back of one of the three white vans parked
out back and begins his two and a half hour
expedition. Holmes delivers bagels to all
Ann Arbor locations - University buildings,
Alpha Chi Omega sorority, the three down-
town Espresso Royale locations and. other
local cafes. The two others deliver outside the
downtown Ann Arbor area.
First stop: the University of Michigan Com-
prehensive Cancer Center. Holmes pulls into
the circle drive in front of the hospital, turns
his hazard lights on and grabs four bags from
the trunk. He leaves the van running and hur-
ries through the glass front doors.
After scanning an ID card on a digital read-
er, Holmes turns a few corners and hops on an
elevator. Exiting into a waiting room, Holmes
rounds a few more corners and leaves the bags
on a long, empty counter.
"The hospital is so quiet at three or four
in the morning," Holmes says. "You're half
awake and you think you're seeing things. You
just try to get in and out."
Though Holmes says the hospital is by far
his most unpleasant stop, he considers many
of the others on his route to be just as isolat-
ing because they require him to venture into
some of the most remote areas of residence
hall basements.
Holmes tries to maintain an efficient sched-
ule in an attempt to shorten his nights and
avoid long stretches in the empty basements.
"I have a routine where I get in at a certain
time and out at a certain time," he says. "You
get on a certain schedule."
See BAGELS, Page 8B
1'1lM
At four in the morning in
Ann Arbor, after the bars
have all shut their doors
and dorm room lights go
off one by one, it's easy to
I assume that all have settled
down for the night.
But amid the darkness, a few
solitary lights remain: The flo-
rescent lamps of a third floor office
in the Michigan Union; the headlights
of a white commercial van driving down
Washtenaw Avenue, making its way toward
the Medical Campus; the pilot light of a large
industrial stove in the kitchen of the Hill Dining
Center; one flashlight finding its way through the
dark basement of the South Quad Residence Hall dur-
ing a security check; another one identifying the face of
a worried driver pulled to the side of the road.
These are the lights of Ann Arbor's 4 a.m. workforce -
the graveyard shift, the midnight mavens. Though thei:
efforts often go unnoticed, they're the ones who keel
campus running when no one else is looking.
These are their stories - the backwards sleep
cycle, the compromised social life, the sacrifices
made to work a second job to pay one's way
through school. This is the life of the 4 am.
workforce.
.ateteria Look
By ADDIE SHRODES
Cafeteria workers at the Hill Dining Center
rise hours before the sun on a recent January
morning to prepare breakfast for students on
the Hill. The cafeteria is quiet and dark at 5:30
a.m., but cooks arrive just after 6 a.m. to begin
unloading carts of bulk supplies like muffin
batter and raw bacon from the stock room
into the industrial kitchen.
Breakfast service starts at 7:30 a.m. on
weekdays, which leaves the cooks less than
two hours to prepare the 15-item menu for the
hundreds of students who will file through
the lines over the course of three hours.
Breakfast ends at -10:30 a.m., and when it's
over the cooks at Hill will have fed anywhere
from'600 to 800 people.
The head breakfast cook at Hill this morn-
ing is Keyshia Brown, who normally works
the lunch shift from 9 a.m. to 6:30 pin. Today,
however, she's filling in for the regular break-
fast cook. Brown actually prefers the earlier
hours because, she says, "you get it over and
done with."
The 28-year-old Brown wakes up at 4:30
a.m. to get from her home in Ypsilanti to the
dining center by 6 a.m. for the morningshift.
Brown transferred from the Markley Dining
Hall to Hill when it opened in 2008 because
the hours were earlier. At Markley, Brown
worked the 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. shift, which ate
up most of her day. But since she now finishes
work earlier in the day, Brown says she's able
to go home and spend time with her daugh-
Washtenaw Community College, and she 'A long line of students, armed with
says her morning shift at Hill allows her to iPods, forms an hour later. They pass qui-
do that. etly through the line in a hurry to eat, while
"I'm looking for a career, not just a job," staffers work intently to replace diminishing
Brown explains. "Don't get me wrong. This trays of food.
is a really good job and times are really hard, But the work doesn't stop when breakfast
but I want a career. And thinking of my kids, ends. Through the course of the day, cooks
I want them to have a better future." will prepare food for thousands more stu-
As staffers get ready for the dining hall to . dents during the lunch and dinner meals. And
open at 7:30 a.m., the front kitchen establishes when the last student finally exits the dining
a steady yet urgent rhythm of messy clamor: hall, the cooks begin four hours of food prepa-
hash browns sizzle and pop on the oiled grid- ration for the next day.
dle, egg-yolk mixture bubbles and splashes "It's pretty much the same routine every-
and long metal spatulas slap against the sear- day," Brown says. "I just want to hurry up and
ing surface. Student employees help Brown get it done so I don't have to think about it and
prepare muffins, pancakes and hash browns I don't have to stress myself out." U
for the breakfast -
line. Once service
starts, the student
employees will
take orders for
omelets and serve
them on an indi-
vidual basis.
The tempo isI11
highly productive,
ensuring another
successful meal.
Metal trays of -
food hit the break-
fast line just on
time and students -
begin to trickle in
after 7:30 a.m. The
smell of scrambled
eggs, crisp bacon MARISSA MCCLA N/Daiy
and buttermilk Cafeteria workers at the Hill Dining Center prepare for breakfast. When it's over,
pancakes radiates the cooks will have feed anywhere from 600 to 800 people.
)ameon Holmes, a delivery man at Barry Bagels, sorts
ight at 11 p.m. before delivering them to multiple camp
Housing
Security
By EMAD ANSARI
For Jeremy Raiford, the drive
home to Canton from Ann Arbor,
where he works as a Housing
Security officer in the University
residence halls, is often bother-
some. The sun shining in his eyes
is an unwelcome sight at seven in
the morning. It's easy to despise
the sun, he says, when you work
during the night.
"You feel kind of like a vam-
pire," Raiford jokes. "It's natural
for your body to want to stay up
when there's sunlight stream-
ing through the windows, so you
have to take extra measures to
block out the sunlight."
A graduate of Grand Valley
State University with a major
in criminal justice, Raiford, 25,
joined University Housing Secu-
rity in the spring of 2008. Hav-
ing initially aspired to become a
lawyer, Raiford soon realized he
wanted to work in the field rath-
er than analyze criminal activity
from behind a desk.
Most nights, Raiford patrols
the residence hall he's been
assigned - making sure the
building is secure and respond-
ing to emergencies on residen-
tial floors. However, some nights
Raiford works Central Patrol,
providing backup to other offi-
cers in the field.
He claims he can usually tell
how busy the night is going to
be based on the general mood of
the students he sees during his
patrols.
"If people are dressed to go
out," he says, "it can indicate you
might get a few calls later in the
night."
Weaving a path through the
dingy, maze-like basements of
residence halls has become sec-
ond nature to Raiford - especial-
ly in the South Quad residence
hall, where he first received
training.
"After a while," he explains,
"you can move through these
places in the dark, even without
a flashlight."
There are a few faces among
the maintenance and kitchen
staffs he has come to recognize.
"They become part of the scen-
ery," he says.
While the initial adjustment to
the unusual schedule that accom-
panies night shifts is difficult,
Raiford says the body self-cor-
rects after a while. Though some-
times, he admits, the strange
sleep pattern can create some
difficult dilemmas.
"You have to decide between
sleep and watching football,"
Raiford, a lifelong Detroit Lions
fan, says with a laugh. "You also
get used to really weird food
choices, like eating cereal with
spaghetti or pizza for breakfast."
See SECURITY, Page 8B
DPS Officer
By SUTHA KANAGASINGAM
Sometime after 2 a.m. on Fri-
day night, when you think no one
is looking, you roll through a stop
sign at a seemingly abandoned
intersection. Seconds later, the
familiar blue and red lights flash
in your car's rear-view mirror and
you grudgingly pull over to the
side of the road.
A Department of Public Safety
officer will then walk up to your
window, shine a flashlight in your
face and determine whether you
can get by with just a warning, or
if you'll have to pay the $130 fine.
DPS Officer Anthony Ricco,
who has worked with the depart-
ment for seven years - six of them
on the midnight shift - could very
well be that person.
Midnight shifts at DPS are
10-hours long - from 10 p.m. to
8 a.m. every day. Several supervi-
sors and officers, like Ricco, are
on duty during this time, though
Ricco could not exactly say how
many because DPS doesn't want
the public to know the number of
officers working at night.
DPS officers bid for shifts every
four months, and the shifts are
then assigned based on seniority.
Surprisingly, some actually prefer
the late hours.
"I like working at night," Ricco
says. "So I usually choose mid-
night shifts."
See DPS, Page 7B
Union
Janitor
By SAM WAINWRIGHT
While you're packing up your
bag at the Grad or trekking home
from the UGLi late at night, most of
the University's custodians are just
starting their workday. With shifts
ranging anywhere from the 7 p.m.
to 3:30 a.m. shift at the Michigan
Union, to the 4 a.m. to noon shift at
the Duderstadt Center, the Univer-
sity's custodial staff are hard at work
while the rest of us are sleeping - or
drinking.
And the drinking is actually what
causes much of the mess, according
to University custodian Dave Steiner,
who says students often stumble into
unlocked campus buildings like the
Union and use them as "pit-stops"
on their way home from the bars or
house parties.
"The bathrooms (in the Union)
are hideous," Steiner says of the
resulting mess. "Women are worse
tan menjust so people know.
For Pete Copp, the University's
custodial supervisor, a normal day
will start with his alarm ringing at
around 2 p.m.,justin time to catch his
kids as they return home fromschool.
"It's difficult for me because I
have two kids (and they play) foot-
ball, soccer, all the sports," Copp said
of trying to balance being a father
and working a midnight shift. "But
luckily for me, I'm off on the week-
ends. Some of the other guys that
work weekends, it's a little difficult."
Starting his shift at the Union
at 7 p.m., Copp typically grabs his
"breakfast" right around when most
people are sitting down for dinner.
The custodians take a "lunch" break
anytime between 8 p.m. and 11 p.m.,
and then eat dinner when they get
home, most nights after 4 a.m.
Leaving work at this time allows
Copp to help his kids get ready for
school before ending his day at 7:30
a.m.
Though the work can oftenbe iso-
lating and dull, many Union custodi-
ans say they've seen their fair share
of bizarre encounters. Just over two
weeks ago, they caught a man sleep-
ing in the Union Ballroom with a
few hundred feet of curtains he
nad puiied irom the waiis wrapped
around his body. However, many
of the custodians say the Michigan
League seems to be the epicenter of
late night weirdness.
According to Custodian Arron
Stroud, the League has seen every-
thing from fully-equipped midnight
baseball games in the ballroom to
bubble baths in the fountain to wild-
life in the hallways.
"Weheard footsteps," Stroud says.
"Andtnere was no one in tne naiiway
except for us. So we went out into the
hallway and there was a deer just
walking through the hall on the sec-
ond floor."
But it's not just'the students who
keep the custodians busy. Steiner
says the yearly Anesthesiology party
has the reputation of being a "rager,"
resulting in a lot of cleanup for him
and his fellow custodians.
See JANITOR, Page 8B
Housing Security Officer Jeremy Raiford making the rounds in t
dence Hall. Raiford says the late hours have put a strain on his r
University custodian Dave Steiner cleans the Michigan Union every night starting at
7 p.m. Steiner says he typically takes his "lunch break" between 8 p.m. and 11 p.m.