Henry Jenkins was born to starving college students in the crime ridden town of Smyrna, Georgia. He chewed on a stuffed triceratops on the floor of empty classrooms while his parents went to class. At the age of two he was swept away to the golden hills of Iowa, two years after that to a small frozen town in Wisconsin. Each time his parents pursued another degree they loaded up the scratched blue station wagon and drove to a new location and each time Henry bawled until finally they settled in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Henry grew up sitting on the kitchen floor playing Nintendo NES, mastering the classics. He was introverted by preschool.

In the early grades he tried to make friends. But the other kids kicked him in the stomach and called him “gay lord.” He wore formal plaid shirts and corduroy pants, packed meatloaf and bread pudding in his He-Man lunch box and aspired to become a writer. He worked tirelessly towards this goal, binding books of his work to send to grandparents as Christmas gifts. After school he sat in the snow and played the recorder, looking for stray cats.

At age thirteen his luck began to change. When he became the first boy in his class to ask a girl out on a date his popularity surged and his eccentricities became cool. His class clown stunts became funny and rebellious. His sensitive manner became romantic. His biggest problem was being teased for wearing an expansion year Florida Marlins coat. He didn’t know that the Red Sox were a way of life in Boston. He just liked Marlins aquamarine.

A year of home schooling later he was numb and unfamiliar with kids his age. He shipped off to an alternative private school deep in the woods of Weston where he walked around his Freshman year acting like Darrah Johnson – half asleep, silent and always in the background. He become so bottled up that exploded in an eccentric rage. he grew his hair down to his shoulders, dressed in rainbow colored silk and became one of the most visible (and most mocked) students in his high school class. He pursued every imaginable hobby – becoming the editor-in-chief of the literary magazine, the special editor of the student newspaper, the star of the school play and a member of the student government in the same year. By the end he was voted graduation speaker. He dressed up as H.G. Wells (but everyone mistook him for Austin Powers.)

He went to The University of California at Santa Barbara to study film and made all A’s his Freshman year. But he was once again a fish out of water, threatened with violence, robbed and routinely humiliated by his dormmates. He left UCSB and his life changed forever. He cut his hair, bought new cloths and started trying to fit in a little more. Within weeks he was involved with a Sears Catalogue model and working for an independent feature film company. At the film’s premiere party, surrounded by his friends and his then-girlfriend, he felt like an adult. He spent the Summer touring Australia and New Zealand, touting his first published essay with an interview on Australian National Radio and lectures before crowds at Sydney Tech and Melbourne Uni. He came back and started work at a nude theater in metro DC, now moving often and around the country by choice. At present he’s moved 13 times and is packing his bags for Hollywood or Manhattan to pursue a television internship for a few months before transferring to Arizona State.

He currently resides in Cambridge, MA with his giant stuffed panda, Mister Bear, where he eats out far too often and worships the Boston Red Sox. He still returns to his birthplace of Georgia every Summer to swim, fish and boat at Lake Burton.

Application Essay

Hi, my name’s Henry. I’m a jack-of-all-trades and I’ve been on the road my whole life. I’ve moved twelve times so far. Thirty-nine days is about as long as I stop over in any town. Just long enough to make some friends, share some good times and say “Seeya later. It was nice knowing you.” Except I never see them later so I never care what they think of me afterward. Make a move on her, tell him what you think of him. Tomorrow it’ll just be a distant memory. In that way I’ve always been training for Survivor. Learning to form a tribe and then break um apart. Learning not to look back except to wink and smile.

I’ve known all kinds of people. I’ve lived in safe towns and dangerous cities, gone to poor public elementary schools and rich private colleges. Consequently I never fully fit in anywhere. But I always have something to talk about with the people I meet. Pro rasslin, Jimmy Stewart movies, Girls Of Penthouse, women of feminist theory, country fairs, Sydney night clubs. I can form an instant connection to anyone by asking them where they come from and saying “I used to live there! Do you ever go to Ella’s Ice Cream?” Or “Do you hang out at Freebirds?” They always warm up to that right quick.

Playing Survivor is all about adaptation. Sometimes that means fitting in and sometimes it means being unique. It means keeping your eyes open, paying attention and figuring out the answer before you’ve heard the question. Did I mention I love Jeopardy?

It’s like this. Say you heard about a piece of food with a bite taken out of it. Doesn’t sound too appetizing. But say you heard about sweet dough fried into a delicate ring and sprinkled with powdered sugar. I bet your mouth is watering. Either way you’ve got yourself a doughnut. But how people react all depends on how you describe that doughnut. I once had a roommate was suicidal. His ex-girlfriend left him and he wanted to swallow a bottle of sleeping pills. For days I did nothing but tell him about this girl I knew back home and how pretty and sweet and normal she was. I wrote a poem about her. And by the end of the week I had him paying three hundred dollars to fly out there and meet her and before he got there I had her begging me to give her his phone number. He said she gave him a reason to live. It’s all in the description.

I’ve been writing since I was five years old. Since before I could actually write I had people writing down my stories for me. They say authors die poor. But it’s the best training to become a hustler I know cause you learn how to use the language. To play it like a violin. Beautiful melodies. Sad songs. This is a written game. I can persuade anyone.

If I’m chosen for Survivor I’m gonna mosey on into town. I’m gonna whisper a little poetry in their ears, tell them things the way I want them to see them and they’re gonna do whatever I want them to. They’re gonna write me that million dollar check. And then I’m gonna walk away and leave them wondering what hit um. Beware the traveling writer, my son. For there’s no less trustworthy a man wandering this open digital range.

Finalist Essay

I grew up around a lake and two rivers. I've been fishing, swimming, boating and water skiing since I was in grammer school. I'm doggedly determined to succeed at this game if for no other reason than because I love it so much. Pride would not let me give less than a hundred percent out there. No late season collapse. No slow descent from first to last in Bella's power rankings. I'll be reaching for the number one spot every week, striving with my last ounce of courage to reach the unreachable star. That is my quest. To follow that star. No matter how hopeless. No matter how far. To fight for what's right without question or pause. To be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause. And I know if I only stay true to this glorious quest that at last I'll lie peaceful and calm when I'm laid to my rest. The truth about Survivor - the beauty of it - was right there in the lyrics of Man Of La Mancha almost a century ago. The difference between a mediocre Survivor who wins and a truly great Survivor is the fire that burns within them. I'm ready. I'm ready right now. I've got my gloves on. Bring on Goliath.

Post-Game Links (spoilers)

Back to Okinawa Transcript Page