麻豆影院

The first night Megan Mangum was homeless, she slept in a park. It was a Wednesday in the middle of November in the mountain town of Idaho Springs, west of Denver. She was 15 and already working three jobs to help pay her way in the world.

Family life was tense, she said, sometimes worse.

鈥淚 thought the best thing for me to do was to be homeless,鈥� she said.

In all, Mangum (IntPhys, MS鈥�17), who鈥檚 5鈥�2鈥� with crystal blue eyes and bubbly by nature, lived without a home for more than three years. She slept in a skateboard park and down by Clear Creek, in an old train car and in a silver 1995 Chevy Lumina she bought before she had a driver鈥檚 license. She found overnight babysitting jobs. She housesat. She couch surfed. On a few bone-chilling nights, she took shelter in dumpsters.

Some offers of refuge she refused because of the strings attached.

All the while Mangum was doing everything she could to get an education, balancing long hours of restaurant and lifeguard work with the demands of community college courses she鈥檇 been taking online, and paying for herself, since she was 14.

鈥淲ithout school,鈥� she said, 鈥渘othing was going to happen with my life.鈥�

Now 26, Mangum is on track to graduate from CU 麻豆影院 with two degrees, a bachelor鈥檚 and a master鈥檚, both in integrative physiology, plus a certificate in public health. She鈥檚 preparing for the MCAT and contemplating a future of real possibilities that once were mere fantasies. Most scenarios combine medical training with public policy work 鈥� a job with the Centers for Disease Control, perhaps, or the World Health Organization.

Not so many years ago, when Mangum was doing homework in her car outside Starbucks at 2 a.m., because the car was home and the wireless was free, a life of promise was an urgent hope and a distant prospect.

鈥淭here is no rational explanation as to where she unearths inspiration to improve, drive and overcome,鈥� said Monica Hickox (MechEngr, MS鈥�15), a housemate听and close friend. 鈥淪he is a fascinating study on the 鈥榥urture vs. nature鈥� front, because there was no nurture to instill the 鈥榝ight like hell鈥� attitude.鈥�

From her earliest days, Mangum liked learning. She was the kid who read dictionaries and encyclopedias straight through and started algebra in fourth grade. She read Little Women and Nancy Drew and, just because it was the longest book she鈥檇 ever seen, Moby Dick. She loved animals and imagined becoming a veterinarian.

No one in her family had been to college or aspired to it for her, she said. If college was the goal, getting there would be on her. The route was hazy, as it often is for first-generation students.

Either way, there's gonna be a 'Dr.' next to my name."

So Mangum eked out a living in small mountain towns while taking classes at Red Rocks Community College in Golden. Night school allowed her to work during the day, at restaurants and swimming pools. She paid tuition out of pocket, on a monthly plan. At work she got free meals and showers.

There were times when she had $5 a week for food and times she spent it on gas instead. She drove to school in weather that should have kept her off the roads.

The first time she missed a class, she said, 鈥淚 cried all night.鈥�

At 18 Mangum took a tiny studio apartment in Idaho Springs. She called听it 鈥淭he Cave.鈥� There was no bed, no heat, no bathroom door and a raccoon in the wall. But it wasn鈥檛 the street or a car or a borrowed bed; it was hers.

In time, Mangum began taking classes at CU Denver, in nursing, in addition to community college classes. She got an internship at Swedish Medical Center, became certified as an EMT, then as a paramedic.

She and a friend took an apartment together, a better one. Mangum left school so she could do the internship, keep working and push toward a shortterm goal: 鈥淪aving, saving, saving.鈥�

She met a science-minded boy, began a relationship and resumed her march toward a four-year degree.

In 2013, with two associates degrees already in hand, she applied to CU 麻豆影院, where her boyfriend was entering a doctoral program. She wasn鈥檛 sure how she鈥檇 pay for it. At 22 and estranged from her family, she still wasn鈥檛 old enough then to apply for federal financial aid on her own.

But she remembers thinking, 鈥淚f I鈥檓 gonna do this, I鈥檓 gonna do this.鈥�

Admitted in April 2013, she exulted: 鈥淚 couldn鈥檛 stop smiling.鈥�

She took out her first loan and started paying it back immediately.

That August she entered a CU 麻豆影院 classroom as a student for the first time. It was a 9 a.m. Spanish section. She鈥檇 been doing college-level work for most of nine听years and never been to class in daylight.

The romance didn鈥檛 work out, a bitter disappointment. But CU 麻豆影院 proved a revelation.

She encountered refreshingly foreign worlds and people and disciplines. She befriended chemical engineers and MBAs, musicians and anthropologists and war veterans becoming scientists. She joined听a spring break service trip to Los Angeles, where she and other students volunteered in a soup kitchen and tutored kids on skid row. She found study-buddies and played intramural soccer and water polo.

鈥淚 had never been in a situation where my friends, who were also my peers, had this level of education,鈥� she said. 鈥淲hen I was going to night classes, I just didn鈥檛 have time to make friends.鈥�

Mangum has discovered strengths she didn鈥檛 know she had.

鈥淚 had a professor tell me, 鈥楶eople listen to you, people follow you and people want to work for you. Use that for good and don鈥檛 take that for granted.鈥欌��

Even amid better circumstances, she fears poverty. She likes to tell a story about the first time she heard from the CU 麻豆影院 bursar鈥檚 office. She didn鈥檛 open the email for days, terrified it was a bill she hadn鈥檛 anticipated and couldn鈥檛 afford. It turned out to be a scholarship, the first in a series. They eased her burdens and also gave her a sense of being wanted.

鈥淯ntil getting here,鈥� she said, 鈥淚 was the only one rooting for me.鈥�

In addition to being a full-time student, Mangum still works long听hours most weeks, many of them听at a Pearl Street Starbucks, where she鈥檚 a morning shift supervisor. On average, she sleeps between four and five hours a night. Last semester she took epidemiology, immunology, public health and medical sociology. She鈥檚 seeking a translator鈥檚 certificate in Spanish to set herself up for international work.
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The goal was college; getting there was up to her. The route was hazy and often is for first-generation students.

Mangum has been invited to tell her story in public several times. She does it with a disarming mix of candor, humor and optimism. Rooms fall silent. Hearts melt. People rise to their feet and clap.

They approach afterward, business cards in hand.

鈥淭hose are things that wouldn鈥檛 have happened unless I came here,鈥� she said.

Sometimes students come up to her, too: 鈥淚 thought I was the only one who was a poor kid here,鈥� they say.

Today Mangum lives in a house in South 麻豆影院, the same one for nearly three years now, shared with five roommates, a mix of fellow students and young alumni. They study engineering, music, education. They talk ideas, football, the rent, the future.

When Mangum first moved in, Hickox recalled, 鈥淐ookies with 鈥業 can鈥檛 wait to meet you all after my schedule isn鈥檛 so nuts鈥� notes stuck on them would appear in the kitchen overnight.鈥�

Mangum takes nothing for granted and is dismayed when others seem to.

A classroom clicker survey about Colorado鈥檚 minimum wage prompted her to speak up one day: Few classmates had any idea what it was.

鈥淚 raised my hand,鈥� she said. 鈥淭he minimum wage is $8.31 in the state of Colorado. It hasn鈥檛 always been over eight dollars. It was stuck at $7.78. And waiters and waitresses make this鈥︹�� (It rose to $9.30 on Jan. 1.)

Many of Mangum鈥檚 campus friends also have nontraditional backgrounds. Lots are military veterans. They鈥檙e comrades in duress and companions in delight. She and her pal Brandon, a Navy vet, attended every CU home football game last season. Her phone鈥檚 lockscreen is a picture of Chip.

Megan Mangum hasn鈥檛 mapped out her future in permanent marker. It鈥檚 a luxury of her improbable new life that she faces some good choices.

Like whether to apply to medical school, a doctoral program or both.

鈥淓ither way,鈥� she said, 鈥渢here鈥檚 gonna be a 鈥楧r.鈥� next to my name.鈥�

It鈥檒l be a lot more work. But Mangum finds comfort in forward momentum.

鈥淚鈥檓 almost afraid to stop,鈥� she said.

Eric Gershon edits the Coloradan

Note: This story has been updated from the version that appeared in print.

Photos courtesy Glenn Asakawa and Megan Mangum