At times it was as if I was competing on The Amazing Race…

As my friend Brenda and I ran through the airport in Jacksonville, Florida yesterday, I felt for a moment like we were competing on the reality TV show, The Amazing Race. If there were teams behind us, we would have smoked ‘em.

It was 10:22 when we checked in at the airport and asked the lady at the counter if there was any way we could take an earlier flight than our 4:40.  We had gotten off the cruise ship and had nowhere else to go so we hoped to fly standby on the 1 something flight. On the computer, she pulled up a flight that would leave at 10:52 and proceeded to tell us that we would never make it. We asked if we could try anyway. After all, we had nothing to lose.

We checked our bags and began finding our way to Gate C2. We were on our way, optimistic we would make it. Until we hit security. Hmm…. Too many people in front of us, our passports were in hand and my tennis shoes were unlaced. But we weren’t moving. Seconds ticked away and suddenly our hopes were crumbling. And then, with a stroke of genius and a bit of luck, Brenda asked if we could cut. Again, we were off and running through the terminal with my tennis shoes in my hands! We got to the gate just as the last person was getting on. Sweet victory!

Instead of going through our original connection in Nashville, we ended up in Philadelphia. Neither one of us had ever been there and thought it would be alright if we had to hang out there for awhile. We got out at E11 and talked to the gate agent. She said we were just in time to make the next flight if we hurried to E9. We ran over there to once again walk on the flight that was boarding. What luck!

We made it, but our bags didn’t.  Instead of getting home at our originally anticipated time of 10:30ish, we made it to Midway at about 2pm. We had no idea if our bags were on the flight that would come in at 4:30 or the flight that would come in after. Luckily, they were on the first flight and we were back in South Bend by 8pm.

If we had been on the show, we surely would have taken first place and been awarded some type of Travelocity trip to some exotic region. Instead, we weren’t awarded anything except that anticipation of another trip in two weeks to Charleston.

I have to say that during the Carnival Cruise to the Bahamas there were at least two other times I thought our actions resembled The Amazing Race.

If you have ever been on a cruise (maybe it’s just carnival?) you know that they take pictures all the time around the ship and then post them in a gallery for all to see. You walk from wall to wall with thousands of pictures trying to find yours to purchase.  Well, as Brenda and I were searching for our pictures, I thought that it would be a great challenge on the show to show the contestants a picture of two people and make them find the ten pictures throughout the gallery resembling the people. I should be a reality show challenge creator!

The other time was in Nassau when we were trying to find some places to eat with local food rather than the tourist type of food. We asked a lady in the store where we could go and she had a thick accent and some broken English. We got bits and pieces. Finally, we asked someone else who said to take the number ten bus to the fish fry and look for the restaurants. Better yet, we took a cab and asked him and he mentioned they eat at Fish Fry, which we later found out is an area of restaurants, and Twin Brothers is the best. It was a bit of a challenge and also reminded me of the show.

We had a great, quick vacation on the boat and with plenty of fun in the casinos and the different ports. If I ever make it back to the Bahamas I’m looking for the stand by Atlantis, located just off of the ferry boat where the lady made us a drink called Goombay Smash. Probably the best frozen cocktail I’ve had in awhile!

For now, we’ve not been eliminated from the race. We may not have won first place, but we’ve got another few vacations to look forward to. I’m lucky to have friends who like to travel.

My thoughts on the movie, Courageous

In the last six months I’ve seen the movies Water for Elephants and The Help, both movies were suggested by my friend Brenda. Both were good movies, well worth my time and money.

Today, I suggested we see the movie, Courageous. As the movie scrolled through the credits, Brenda and I agreed that I am banned from picking movies for awhile. It wasn’t worth the time or the money, in my opinion.

It was my understanding that the movie was about four police officers who were working toward finding a balance between work and home life. It sounded like a somewhat interesting plot, and I always appreciate the good scenery of men in uniform.

The writers introduce four officers and their family situations. All were typical representations of today’s family units, a family of four with a wife, husband, young son and daughter. Another was a single dad who hadn’t yet met his 4-year-old daughter because he was running from the responsibility of being a father. The third man had a wife and three kids and was new to the department, trying to fit in with his new partners. Finally, the last was a divorced husband who saw his young son every other weekend and was struggling to survive paying child support and his own bills.

As I relaxed in my chair, popcorn in hand, I watched as the story line unfolded as the one officer was faced with the death of his 9-year-old daughter. The death brought led him to question what type of father he had been to his daughter, what type of husband he was to his wife and the role model he was for his son. In his time of sorrow he turned to God for help.

Over the next hour and a half the men decided to write a resolution proclaiming their wishes to be honorable men and honorable leaders in their homes. Here’s where I had an “issue” with the movie!

The writers went a little overboard drawing direct conclusions between each man and his quest to acknowledge God in his life. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in God and I understand the need for religion, but a little Bible lesson goes a long way. The repetitiveness of their message that God makes all possible was overkill. I was thinking that this two hour movie was the equivalent of six months of Sunday sermons. For a moment I flashed back to the bad after school specials that I hadn’t seen since I was in third grade.

I won’t go into more detail about the various sub plots in the movie for those of you who may still want to see the movie and make your own decision about whether the amount of God references was too much.  I’m curious to know what others think about the movie.

As for me, I believe the overall message of including God in one’s life and being a positive mentor for others is a great message. I just wish the writers would have illustrated the lesson rather than beating me over the head with it.

"But...it's tradition"

I spent a few hours on Monday driving slightly left of the center line. Nope, it wasn’t because I had over indulged in alcoholic beverages or because the alignment was off in my car. Instead, it has become a tradition it seems on holidays. I was in a parade.

As I drove down the road, I not only thought about the people in the parade, but also the people watching the parade. I wondered how many of them spend every Labor Day at the Blueberry Festival or participating in the parade.

What makes something a tradition? Is it the family and friends that add to the event? Is it the repetition that once you have done something it then becomes a tradition the next time you do it?

My nephew Sam is eight-years-old and he has a fantastic memory. Since he was a very little boy he would remember things that we did as a family and each year after when he would visit LaPorte he would refer to the traditions we had. My dad would pack a cooler on the boat with ice cubes and popsicles and Sam knew that along the ride he could have a popsicle and throw the ice cubes in the water. Apparently this was great fun for him and it has become a tradition.

There are a few traditions I remember from my childhood. Looking back, it’s kind of a shame that as my brother got married and had children of his own, they have kind of ended. Christmas Eve was always a huge night of tradition in my family. We’d have a really nice dinner and then go to church and miraculously while we were gone, Santa would make his way into the basement and leave presents under the tree. My parents would watch Kel and I open them and play with our new toys for hours.  I’d line up my Strawberry Shortcake figures and he would line up his Star Wars men. I have great memories because those times were what Christmas always meant to me.

As I think of other traditions like how we spend the Fourth of July, I wonder if our traditions were focused solely on holidays. Hmmm….

I’m sure they weren’t, but I’ll have to ask my brother and my parents about some of the others.

I know that at least for Sam, they aren’t. But I know each family has their own set of traditions and they don’t seem to be culturally or necessarily geographically based.  What traditions do you remember? What traditions are you starting on your own or with your family?

A walk to remember...

I went for a two mile walk tonight and by most standards, I didn’t blaze any trails. Yet, I think it was one of my more successful walks.

Last month I signed up for a half marathon walk in Savannah, Georgia on November 5^th.  I did it for mostly selfish reasons because I felt I needed a healthy goal to strive toward. So tonight, I knew I needed to walk, but I had been out with friends and didn’t really feel like going.

But on my walk, I was thinking about how the 13 mile walk in Savannah would go. It isn’t my first time walking 13 miles, nor my second, so I kind of know what to expect. Except this walk is a little different because I walked the others to raise funds for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. 

So as I walked, I enjoyed the thoughts of who this walk could honor. What will give me the push in miles 8 and 9 when I feel my thighs tingle a little? And that is when I thought about Destinee Smith, my Aunt Pammie, Jody Ryan, Brady Burkhart, Joe Agostino and Carol VanBraune and all of the other courageous cancer survivors I have met over the years.

I know many of you are probably tired of hearing about the importance of blood donation and what I do for a living, but volunteering for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society is something I started many years before I set foot in South Bend Medical Foundation.

When I was in high school I worked in the kitchen for LaPorte Hospital. I was a junior in high school when I met my very best friends for the next several years, Michelle Reese and Jody Ryan. It wasn’t long after I met Jody that she was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Her struggle was so courageous that I don’t think she’ll ever really know how much respect and admiration Reese and I had for her. And her fight paid off and I am glad to say she overcame cancer. And because of her, it was shortly after I started college that I became interested in volunteering for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

It was then that I met Carol VanBraune and Joe Agostino. Carol was in remission and Joe had recently undergone treatment for his cancer. I can’t tell you how impressive their attitudes were to me.

About 10 years later, I started at the Foundation and I am honored to be able to know the cancer survivors who have benefited from units of blood and platelets such as Destinee Smith and Brady Burkhart.

So tonight, on my walk, when I wondered what could push me on my 13 mile walk, I thought of these people. Of how they sat for hours on end getting chemo treatments and how much I’ve learned from each of their stories. Talk about perseverance and determination!

So as I walk in Savannah on November 5^th, I’m proud to say that I won’t be walking alone, but with those who have walked in much bigger shoes than I will and I’ll know how lucky I am.

Passion for assisting others leads Jamie McGraw to SBMF

I know several people who love their jobs, but I also know several people who would rather be anywhere than at work.

I also know one person who would work around the clock if he was allowed and I’m not sure it would matter to him whether he was getting paid $3 an hour or $8 an hour. He eats, breathes and dreams South Bend Medical Foundation.

Jamie McGraw, 25, has worked for the Foundation for the last three years as the Blood Donor Attendant at West Edison. South Bend Medical Foundation in conjunction with Logan Center has established a partnership to create opportunities for work placement. Jamie has Down Syndrome, a condition in which extra genetic material causes delays in the way a child develops, both physically and mentally.

Each morning, he boards the bus and travels to work for his 7:30am start. Clad in his white South Bend Medical Foundation polo shirt, Jamie is proud to welcome donors into the blood donor center. His goal is to assist donors so that they have a good experience and want to return.

With a smile on his face and an eagerness to please, Jamie offers each donor an assortment of juice and snacks. He knows the importance of his position.  But this isn’t his only duty. He puts medical supplies away, makes sure the snack totes are refilled for the remote blood drive team, makes cold cloths for donors who suffer from reactions, and makes the coffee and hot tea. It’s all in a day’s work for Jamie.

But it isn’t the work that motivates him to do his best every day, it’s his co-workers.

“My favorite thing is that I love my colleagues.  They’re nice and friendly and they dress appropriately,” said Jamie.

His enthusiasm for his work and even for life is contagious.  He’s even a little bit of a marketing guru. If you call his personal cell phone and are transferred to voice mail, you’ll get a message urging you to donate blood at South Bend Medical Foundation.

It’s a message that comes from the heart and one he knows is important.

“I have donated blood five times. I started because my dad had cancer so I wanted to donate blood in his memory,” said Jamie.

Two years ago, Jamie contacted the marketing crew at the Foundation and told them he thought that every donor should get a turkey when they donate during November. It was amazing how many donors flooded the centers wanting to donate blood so they could receive the Thanksgiving turkey.

And although Jamie has a great amount of passion for his current position, he admits that he wanted to work in the donor area so he could get experience working with people and serving them beverages and making them comfortable because his goal is to work for the airlines as a flight attendant.

He’s active in Logan Center and recently served as the chairman of the Logan’s Run.  He also is an usher at St. Joe Parish. One thing is for sure, Jamie is a motivated employee at the Foundation and he clearly loves his job.

Come meet Jamie at our Edison location Monday – Friday between 7:30 and 3:30. He’ll take great care of you!

Never Forget

If you ask just about anyone who is old enough to remember where they were when news that JFK was shot, they can probably tell you.

If you ask anyone where they were on September 11, 2001, you’ll probably get an answer as though it was yesterday.

I had moved that weekend from LaPorte to my apartment in South Bend. I had taken that Monday and Tuesday off to get settled and had talked to a friend at work when she told me that a plane had flown into one of the towers at the World Trade Center.

In a matter of seconds, I hooked my TV up and started watching the coverage.  There was mass chaos as people were unsure of where their loved ones were.  So many people were on their cell phones that many people were unable to complete their calls. Many were trapped in the city, unable to get home because the subway was shut down. Soon, all planes would be grounded and millions of people were stuck in airports across the United States.

At the South Bend Medical Foundation, people lined up around the building to donate blood. They waited for hours because they wanted to do something to help those injured in New York. So many people wanted to help that we had almost too much blood. For days, people showed their support by flying the American Flag, wearing red, white and blue pins and donating money to those affected by the terrorist attacks. We vowed we would never forget.

Unfortunately, 10 years ago we had lines wrapped around the building, while two years ago we were alerting the news media because donations were so low that we had fallen to a one day supply of O negative blood. Last year, donors beds remained nearly empty again and our supplies fell drastically.

This year, South Bend Medical Foundation will mark the 10 year anniversary of the tragic events in New York by hosting a blood drive in honor of Katie McCloskey and Kathy Hawk Nicosia. Both were natives of South Bend and both graduated from Adams High School. 

Katie’s friends and family have established a scholarship fund in memory of Katie at Adams High School. South Bend Medical Foundation will donate $5 per unit collected to the fund.

If you would like to show your support for our local fire and police agencies and honor Katie and Kathy by donating blood, sign up for an appointment to donate blood at the South Bend Fire House, 1222 South Michigan Street on Sunday, September 11 between 10am and 3pm. Appointments can be made by calling 574.234.1157 or by signing up online at http://bit.ly/911HERO. 

Many donors are still eligible to donate even if they are taking medications. If you have questions about your eligibility please contact 574.234.1157 or donors@sbmf.org.  Volunteers will be on hand to provide activities for children if you need to bring them while you donate.

I think Eleanor Roosevelt never road a bike through the Windy City!

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Do one thing every day that scares you.”

I did exactly that on Saturday night although it wasn’t my intent.

Several weeks ago, I had come across an advertisement for the L.A.T.E. ride in Chicago.  Several thousand cyclists riding through the neighborhoods of Chicago during the wee hours of the night with headlights and taillights shining as bicycle enthusiasts explore the Windy City.

What could be more fun!?!

I asked my friend, Tamara, who has recently gotten into cycling if she wanted to go and she did. We paid the registration fee, an amount which would be used to help the neighborhood and parks association.

Saturday night rolled around and I was extremely excited about the ride. It was a beautiful day and the 25 mile ride was slated to begin at 1am. After parking the car at about 9:30 and picking up our packets, we took our bikes for a short ride and found a small sushi place where we ate dinner.

Never would I have imagined that this would be the highlight of the evening!

Fast forward to 1am Central time. Color themed corrals were spaced down the closed street outside of the Buckingham Foundation neatly placing the 10,000 riders into groups that would leave at various times.  We happened to be green, the group that left at about 1:30.

In 2002, I rode in a 100 mile ride down the coast of Florida and there were thousands of riders present. I’m not sure how the spacing was established, but we didn’t move at a snail’s pace. Unfortunately, that was not the case on Saturday night.

I had been afraid that I would be tired during the ride and I wouldn’t be able to stay awake. Instead, my mind was on high alert as I dodged the cyclists in front of me, in back of me and to both sides. We crept along at four miles per hour for the first several miles.

This wasn’t at all fun.  At one point I decided that if the ratio of morons is one moron in each group of five, we were surrounded by thousands of morons.

The Chicago Police had many streets blocked off and we crawled through the intersections in downtown Chicago, Greektown, Chinatown and the trail along the lakefront.  I wish I was able to look up and enjoy the atmosphere, but I was concentrating more on the potholes and the riders surrounding me.

At the halfway mark, Tamara and I stopped at the SAG and grabbed an energy bar and a water, and found our way back to the course. It was a little faster pace on the way back to the Fountain as we cranked it up to between 7 and 11 miles per hour. Not nearly the pace we are used to, but a little more spread out than the first half. Unfortunately, there were less road closings and obeying the traffic signals really slowed all the riders down.

We agreed at about mile 16 that we wouldn’t be signing up next year, but that it was a good experience to try.

Then there was mile 20. We were riding on the trail by the lake and it was so crowded that I was basically towing a straight line with only inches to move from side to side. I had a death grip on the handlebars and was concentrating hard not to crash. Out of nowhere came a pothole and I tagged it hard.

“I’m surprised I didn’t get a flat on that one,” I yelled to Tamara.

We continued riding and all of the sudden it was harder and harder to go keep the bike straight. I was clipped into the pedals and drifting hard to the left. I had a flat. I can’t believe I was able to drift to the left without being hit.

This was the icing on the cake, never again. We started walking the three miles to the finish when we saw two people on the side of the trail with a flat, also, and they had a pump. I put a new tube on my front tire and thought we were off, but it wasn’t right and we had to continue walking.

What else could go wrong? Well, Tamara twisted her ankle while walking on the uneven pavement. What a night!

There were so many other “interesting” moments on the ride and I could write pages about our observations of drunk people yelling obscenities at us, bottlenecks along the course and even an eye witness account of a cab hitting a guy on a bike, but it all adds up to one thing: the whole night was stressful.

As the sun came up and Tamara and I were on our way to South Bend, I was glad it was mile 20 when I got my flat and not mile 15. I was glad the police and ambulance sirens we heard weren’t for us.  And I was glad that my scary experience for the day was over.

Forget downtown, I’ll take my South Bend country roads!

Quality of Life vs Quantity of Life

I don’t normally think about death until I hear about a friend or family member who has passed away and then it usually gets me thinking.

This winter a 46-year-old neighbor of mine passed away in a tragic accident.  He had recently been married and I remember being so sad that neither of them got to say their goodbyes. His life was one that ended so quickly and sadly. 

A few months back an acquaintance of mine committed suicide. I wondered what could have been so bad that he would have wanted to end his life. I don’t know why but sometimes it makes a difference to me how it was done.  Guns seem so violent, pills seem easier, carbon monoxide almost peaceful. But again, the people left behind are the ones who are typically left with guilt and wonder if there was something more they could have done.  

Just recently, a good friend of mine lost her dad. He went quickly and peacefully, a heart attack while he was sitting in his chair. Again, I guess there wasn’t time to say goodbye or reassure his family that he loved them, but it was his time.  His wife had died about a little over a year ago and he just seemed lost without her.

All these instances have made me think. I hope when my time comes that I won’t have any regrets, that people around me will know I love them and that I won’t have to suffer like so many people have to. It may sound selfish, but I think we probably all hope for a peaceful goodbye when it is time.

My grandfather passed away in 1995 and I was by his side. His last few breaths were so shallow and he fought so hard for each breath. I hated to see him in pain, and wished that his quality of life was better. This existence for him seemed harsh. Wasn’t there an easier way? Couldn’t he just go peacefully?

There’s one thing that I never really understood: why assisted suicide is illegal. How come we allow our animals to be put to sleep when they are sick, but we make our family members and those we love live in pain? Can’t we honor the wishes of those who have to endure the pain?

I’m sure some of you are reading this and disagree from a religious standpoint. I can see the argument where those who commit suicide are said to go to hell. I used to be a lot more religious than I am now. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in God and I believe in Heaven and Hell, I’m just not sure of all the “logistics” and “faith” that surround Christianity. It seems to me there are a lot of personal interpretations when it comes to religion.

For instance, I’ve heard a lot of religious people say, “God never gives you more than you can handle.” I don’t know if I believe that is true! I’ve seen a lot of people in pain and a lot of people suffer right up to the very end. How can God justify that?

I guess it is something I won’t have to worry about for a long time, but for now I’ll just go with the wish for quality of life rather than quantity of life. I’ll live every day to its fullest and do my best to let the people who are important to me know how I feel.

Do you want to be a fun person at work or a dead head?

Most of us work a minimum of 40 hours a week. I don’t think anyone goes to work thinking they do a poor job; instead most of us think we do more work than others or better work than others, right?

I mean, after all, we are taking 40 hours out of our week, away from our families or fun activities to bring home the bacon.

Do you look forward to work? Do you like what you’re doing? What could make it better?

I read a book this week called, FISH!, written by Stephen Lundin, Harry Paul and John Christensen.  It isn’t the first time I heard of the book, but I was glad I had chosen to take it off the bookshelf.

Are you unhappy in your job? Do you wish that you enjoyed getting up every morning and going to work? I think most people would say yes. In fact, FISH! encourages employees to choose their attitude.

Choose your attitude? Don’t think it’s impossible just yet. While you may feel overworked and underpaid, or unappreciated, and you think that your peers or supervisors are the ones who influence your attitude, don’t forget that you have a say in what attitude you choose to bring to work.

If you are saying that other people are responsible for your attitude, then that means you are responsible for the attitude of those around you, right? According to the authors of FISH!, “there is always a choice about the way you do your work, even if there is not a choice about the work itself.”

Are you choosing to work in a toxic environment? Don’t get up in the morning and choose to have a bad day, choose to have a good day. After all, reacting and feeling like a victim isn’t going to solve your problems.

Along with choosing your attitude, you should play at work. To be honest, this one is my favorite! Those around me at work know that I can get work done when I need to, but that I also like to play. I can’t be serious for 8 hours a day, it just isn’t going to happen. Have fun! Joke around with co-workers, or with clients, get your work done, but live in the moment and enjoy it! Even the most mundane jobs can be fun. Encourage those around you to look for a way to play throughout the day, after all, it will help your attitude, too.

The third philosophy set forth in the book FISH!, is to “make their day.” What does that mean? Many of us come into contact with clients or customers each day.  What if you approached your job with the attitude of making others feel like what they are doing is important? I donate blood on a regular basis, many of you know that. I know that donating helps others and I feel better about myself when I give blood because I know I am helping someone else. When the phlebotomists at South Bend Medical Foundation draw my blood, they make me feel as though my time is worth something and they help “make my day” by recognizing my efforts. Can you think of a way that you can make someone else’s day? How can you engage those around you?

Finally, the authors encourage readers to “be present.” By being present in a situation, you connect with the person in front of you. It’s not a forced feeling, but rather a connection where you show genuine, sincere concern for the other person. In an age of technology this one might be the hardest! I know I find myself checking my phone and texting while I am sitting in a restaurant with a friend. It’s hard to stay “present” when there are so many distractions.  How many times do you catch yourself typing on the computer while someone is in your office or on the phone with you? How many times do you text or email when someone is the room with you? Or how many conversations with co-workers do you carry on while you have a customer who needs attention? Learn to be present.

This may seem like an unattainable, utopic place. Is it? What have you got to lose? Aim high and be the leader who establishes a workplace with smiles and laughter, playtime and clients and customers who want to return.

The book FISH! has really big print and is only a little over 100 pages. I fully recommend reading it to find examples and more insight about how work life can be fun and a positive experience. I know if I had to choose walking into an office full of toxic deadheads or an office with fun people who are laughing and smiling, I would pick the latter of the two. Would you?

The Church of the National Knights of the Ku Klux Klan - Blog 3 of 3

On July 1, 2008, I met with the International Imperial Wizard of the National Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, Ray Larsen and his imperial Klaliff, Larry Grant at Barnaby’s Pizza in Mishawaka, Indiana. 

The two men, dressed in Klan garb, berets with the Klan insignia gracing their heads as they opened the doors for me to pass through.  I don’t remember feeling scared, just unsure of how the conversation would go.

Would they be talkative about their beliefs? Would they shed light on where they learned such hatred for others? I had no idea what to expect, I know I certainly didn’t expect them to be clad in Klan berets.

I sat across from Larsen and Grant as they explained their experience in the Klan, their love for the constitution, their passion for the white race and their commitment to Yahweh. At one point, Larsen, grey hair, blind in one eye, a retired railroad employee, father and grandfather, leaned over and looked me straight in the eye as he said, “Ma’m I am, I am a racist. I take pride in the accomplishments of what my race does.  If you take pride in what the white race does, then you are a racist. Am I prejudiced? You’re damn right I am.”

These thoughts had clearly been embedded in his brain for many years, the words rolled off his tongue as clearly and easily as if they were words rolling off the tongue of a devout Catholic reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

But then, the Klan is second nature to Larsen. He’s been a member since September 14, 1960 when he joined the Georgia Knights. “I joined September 14, 1960 and am considered the last of the dinosaurs in the Klan, I seen so many Klans come and go,” he said. He recalled how he had stayed with the Georgia Knights for only a year before joining Robert Shelton’s United Klans of America (UKA).

“In August of 1993, Pastor Dale Rousch said he wanted to see me and I went down and he told me he wanted to dissolve the Klan.  But he said I think you can take it to better places and he threw me the keys to the post office box and I’ve been the Imperial Wizard ever since,” said Larsen, proud of his achievements.

His current role in the Klan leaves him with the responsibility of realms, of chapters of the Klan, in 24 countries and 32 states, all of which are headquartered in the tiny town of Osceola, home to 1,859 people.

As I continued to ask Larsen many questions, he patiently answered them, clearly passionate about his beliefs, proud of the fact that he had established a change in beliefs during his reign as Imperial Wizard, gaining a church status for his group.

“We are a Christian Identity group, it is important to make us a church; I’m as much a Presbyterian or a Baptist or a Methodist or anything like that.  I have the right to ordain just as anyone because I’m a legal church,” said Larsen.

This allows him the right to connect with many people behind bars, as his Klan allows those who have served time for certain offenses to join, while many Klans do not. “These are young minds in there that are being, uh, they know exactly what the races are going on, there are a lot of race wars in there.  A lot of Aryan Brotherhood which is a bad organization for them,” said Larsen who associates with about fifty prisoners through written correspondence.

According to the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), the idea of Christian Identity has been in existence since the mid 19^th century and is described as being, “A racist and anti-Sematic religious sect whose adherents believe that white people of European descent are the descendants of the ‘Lost Tribes’ of ancient Israel.”

Scripture and tradition are two things Larsen and The Church of the National Knights of the Ku Klux Klan rely on heavily.  This is why they believe in the ritual of “cross lightings.” Although it was referred to as cross burning for several years, Larsen and other Klans insist that they light the cross as a way to honor God. If this is true, and not merely a change in image, it would be much different than the original Klan’s intent, which was to intimidate black people. Several cross lightings have been documented at the Ash Road farm.

While cross lightings have become a big tradition with the Klan, so have rallies. I had researched in the South Bend Tribune how Larsen’s Klan had held a rally in South Bend on May 5, 2001. When I asked him about the events of that day, he told me how the decision to host the rally had been his son Richard’s idea. Rick had held the office of the Grand Dragon, or second in command of Larsen’s Klan.

“I thought it was too risky,” said Ray. His instinct was right, the rally ended with protestors and Klan members in a rumble, resulting in eight arrests. Since this rally, the Church of the National Knights of the KKK has not held another rally in the area, other than their Ku Klux Kristmas Celebration and summer White Pride Festivals which have been held at their Ash Road headquarters.

With a sparkle in his only functioning eye, Larsen told of his favorite rally which was held in Russellville, Alabama in May of 2007. He set the stage of the event: 300-400 protestors and supporters surrounded them as they stood on the steps of the Franklin county Courthouse, no fights, no arrests, but a terrific day ending with a  cross lighting.

What are the topics of these rallies? What fuels Larsen’s fury and hatred now? “The main one right now is the invasion from Mexico, that’s first and foremost,” he said. “I’m against the war, too, I don’t think we should have ever been over there.” Both Grant and Larsen take an interest in politics and Larsen, in 2008, attributed an increase in membership to the dissatisfaction with Bush and his war saying, “He’s helped us out a lot, I’m about as anti-Bush as you can get.”

So how did Larsen feel about the impending Presidential election? He considered it a nightmare, despite the historical result which would soon occur. I had inquired about his feelings toward the election in July when we first met and continued to e-mail him throughout the primary election in May and the November election, as well. The nation would soon elect the oldest president, John McCain, the first female president, Hillary Clinton, or the first black president, Barack Obama.

Grant piped up and expressed his thoughts saying he had hoped Ron Paul would be elected. “I do believe he is the only one would could save us from ourselves.  Either of these they’ll get in now (McCain, Obama or Clinton), I fear for my country, I cry over what I see either one gets in and I am scared for what my kids are going to have to deal with.” Ray agreed that the “country is lost.”

Larsen said he didn’t consider Hillary to be “that bad off.” But when I asked if he would vote for her if he became Obama’s running mate, he quickly expressed, “God no, you can’t see me voting for an animal, can you? If Jesus Christ himself ran behind Obama I couldn’t vote for him.”

Needless to say, despite their displeasure with the impending election, the show went on and the citizens of the United States elected our first black president, Barack Obama. That evening, I hopped on the internet to see what the Klan members had to say about the election.

“America, born July 4, 1776; America died November 4, 2008,” scrolled the top of their website.

Everyone has a right to their own opinion and beliefs. As I stated in my first blog about the Klan, I don’t agree with their thoughts, but I still believe they have a right to believe or practice as they wish. I still believe they have a right to be passionate about their beliefs, even though I believe they are simple-minded and wrong.

There are religions that I don’t understand or agree with and I don’t try and squash the rights of those believers to express themselves.

My goal of this blog isn’t to persuade you one way or another to like or hate the Klan, but simply to present a little insight into the conversation I had with two of the members, primarily Ray Larsen.

While his Klan is located less than 30 miles from me, there are Klans everywhere.  No one really knows how populated they are or where, when and if they will decide they will ever take action for their voices and beliefs to be heard.

Larsen believes that a race war will occur in 2012 when the Mayan calendar runs out. At this time, he will have 54 years under his belt as an active Klan member at which time he will retire. By leaving the Klan, he will take the title of Imperial Giant, meaning he was at one time an Imperial Wizard. “I won’t have the hassle, the headaches and all the calls. In prisons, I have about 50 people that I write to, it gets quite extensive,” said Ray.

One thing is clear, Larsen believes in what he is trying to accomplish with his Klan and wants to be remembered, “as a man that believed in what he did and did the best he could do for his race. I have a lot of people who look up to me, my title is ‘his lordship’ and I have a lot of people who would die for me.”

The American Knights of the Ku Klux Klan - Blog 2 of 3

I never met Jeffrey Berry, the Imperial Wizard of the American Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, but I learned a lot about him through newspaper clippings, internet research and even a documentary on the History channel. This second blog is presenting background information about one of the largest Klans in Indiana during the 1990s.

He was one of the robed Klansmen that I saw when I turned on the Jerry Springer show in 1996. During their television appearance they flashed the number of the Klan, 219-337-KKK, on the screen and over 6,200 calls for literature about the KKK flooded the phone lines. Can you imagine? I couldn’t believe when I read the figure, it says something about the viewers (other than myself, I was just flipping through the channels) who watch those shows. But Berry?  He was very pleased with the response from the show; after all, he viewed their appearance on the Springer show as a regular “cash cow” with 6,200 inquiries and a $10 application fee for each member who joined. 

For him, the Klan was a family affair with his wife Edna at his side and his two children, Anthony and Tonya. They shared their beliefs in Indiana with audiences in Portage, Gary, Middlebury, Crown Point and South Bend.

With a communications background, I believe that everyone has the right to freedom of expression.  It is one of the freedoms granted to us by the constitution and I think it is one of the great ones that helps define our American heritage. However, I hate the message that the Klan conveys, and I don’t believe that their right to freedom of expression should come at a cost to the rest of the public. This is one of the areas upon which I disagree greatly with the Klan. 

I found a newspaper article stating that when the American Knights of the KKK participated in 15 rallies in Indiana during 1998, it cost the state $640,000.00 to provide security. Keep in mind that only covers a small number of rallies in one year, while this particular Klan was active in rallies for almost 10 years.  

While reading about the American Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, I found a book about Brad Thompson.  He is what I envision to be the stereotype of a Klan member.  He lived in a trailer in a small town in Indiana with his kids and girlfriend.  A factory worker, Brad was discouraged with the direction his life was going.  Economically depressed, he felt that every day was filled with a lack of attention and that he didn’t have anything special to offer others.

A history buff, he saw an advertisement in the local newspaper that the Klan was going to rally less than an hour from his house.  His curiosity got the best of him when he decided that he needed a little adventure, and he set out to attend the American Knights of the KKK rally and cross burning.

He had become so obsessed with Klan activities and even became the Grand Dragon within a short period of time, which is like being second in command of the Klan. He said, “I remember the day I was elected Indiana Grand Dragon.  I was so happy driving home, whooping and hollering, shooting my gun out the window.  I walked into the trailer and told Brenda (his girlfriend) that I was really somebody now.”

I can imagine that this is how many members of the Klan get started, seeking acceptance and attention from others.  The Klan reminds me of almost any cult or gang, with potential members being seduced by those around them, a feeling of hope and passion for new beliefs.

Berry and Thompson parted ways a year or two later and Berry made decisions that landed him in prison. When a television news crew interviewed Berry about his Klan involvement, he asked them if they were planning on interviewing Thompson. When they said they did, he became irate and locked them in a room in his home.  Several of his Knighthawks, or security guards, kept the reporters hostage with guns drawn.  After several hours, and the promise to destroy the tapes, the two reporters were released. Following the ordeal, Berry was arrested on 10 felony charges and imprisoned for almost three years.

Klan members say they don’t use violence for others to listen to their message, but this instance as well as many others, make me feel otherwise.

Several years later, Berry was at a party hosted by his son, when an argument took place, and Berry’s son Anthony and his friend, Fred Wilson, threw a chair and critically injured him.  After the younger Berry punched his father in the head repeatedly, Jeff was rushed to the hospital where he was declared legally blind with additional head injuries.

Why is this important? It’s important because Berry was a leader of the largest Klan in Indiana during his reigning days as the Imperial Wizard of the American Knights of the Ku Klux Klan. While his Klan has decreased in numbers over the years, and a new leader has taken the reigns, the Klan is still active in Indiana.  No one knows how many people are members of this secret society and no one really knows how many firearms and ammunition they have stockpiled. This sense of secrecy empowers the Klan and leaves law enforcement guessing at how much potential damage they can do.

Klan members wear their hoods for a reason, so they don’t put their families and their jobs at risk. Klan members can be anywhere around you and you need to be prepared for what their messages are so that you won’t be caught off guard when or if they try and persuade you to join in their beliefs. After all, remember the ancient saying, “those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.”

How I became interested in the Ku Klux Klan – Blog 1 of 3

I can recall sitting in my 4^th hour history class in high school learning about the Ku Klux Klan (KKK). I remember thinking that it seemed so long ago that white men were wearing sheets and riding horses while parading around town scaring black people and burning crosses on their lawns.  When I heard stories about the Klan of the 1800s and early 1900s, it seemed like something so foreign that couldn’t have happened so recently.

A few years later, I was in college and came home from school and flipped on the TV to find six couples sitting on the Jerry Springer stage and yelling about White Power. I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears.  Were there really members of the Ku Klux Klan in 1996?  I had no idea.

It wasn’t until almost 12 years later at a local restaurant on the west side of South Bend that I thought about the KKK again.  That night, I was sitting with friends when one of them pointed out that a young guy playing pool was in the KKK.  I think my jaw must have hit the table, because I didn’t realize that members of the Klan still existed, not to mention that this guy was in his late 20s. He was dressed in jeans and a blue sweater and had blonde hair, and wasn’t anything like how I had envisioned a Klan member to look. 

I want to make it very clear that I am not a fan of the Ku Klux Klan.  However, when I realized that I didn’t know they even existed anymore, I thought it was important to learn more about them.  It is a practice I have with many things that I don’t know much about.

So I decided that evening that I needed to learn more about the Ku Klux Klan.  After all, there was at least one living within ten miles of my house.  Were they only filled with hatred for black people?  Were there many Klan members in South Bend?  Did they still burn crosses on people’s lawns?  How many are there?

Although I knew that I wasn’t a target for the Klan, I live in a very racially mixed neighborhood and I wondered how much of a target my neighbors were.  I remember coming home from work after I initially Googled the Klan and talking about it with my neighbor Earsel.  He is a black man in his late 30s, his wife is white and his daughter is bi-racial.  I mentioned the KKK and a shiver came over him. I think he was teasing a little, but he did appear a bit shaken by the conversation and we only talked about it another time or two after.  It was clear that he didn’t want to talk about the KKK.

I learned a lot about the Klan throughout the next few years.  I researched them because I think it is important to try and understand the opinions of those who have differing beliefs and passions than my own. It would be easy to simply say the Klan is crazy without understanding who they are and what they believe; however, without that understanding, I don’t believe I would have an intelligent argument against them.

My next few blogs will be about the KKK and my personal experiences when I decided to interview them.   I think it is important to share what I have learned, because I realize that not everyone is familiar with the Klan, especially the current Klan in Indiana. I hope you will use my interviews and insight on the them as a learning tool that will help you form an educated argument and opinion for or against the Klan.

On the Road Again... Las Vegas

As the big bird took flight last Friday morning, I landed in a city with big lights, all night action, Egyptian pyramids, the Eiffel tower and the Lady Liberty.  I was ready for a long weekend in the Sin City of Las Vegas, Nevada.

My friend Brenda and I had used free tickets we had accumulated from Southwest and comps earned at Harrah’s Casino as a chance to get away for a “cheap” extended weekend. We both enjoy gambling and were looking forward to the 80 degree temperatures.

We arrived at Harrah’s by 9am on Friday, ready for a full day of gambling, a few cocktails and a lot of laughs.  After check-in, I quickly flashed back to feelings I had a few weeks before during my trip with Tamara and Brett to Detroit, Michigan. The feelings of being directionally challenged, and once again uttering the words, “I’m lost in the hotel and can’t get out.” The Mardis Gras tower and Carnival towers were clearly different, but Brenda and I found ourselves directionally challenged several times during the weekend.

The afternoon flew by quickly and we ventured to Bally’s hotel where we had tickets for “The Price is Right Live.” It was kind of ironic, since neither of us are avid watchers of the show. As we waited for the host, Drew Lachey to take the stage, a little fear of embarrassment set in that we would be chosen to go up on stage and neither of us knew much about the game. The show’s producers drew audience members randomly to “Come on Down” to win prizes.  We had each spent $49 on tickets and neither of us was chosen. Brenda would have been good at the game and I think she was a little disappointed that her name wasn’t called. On the other hand, I would have been terrible and prayed each time they announced the contestants that my name would not be called! It was a fun experience and a good way to spend an hour and a half.

After the show, we headed to Caesar’s Palace to explore. We decided to grab a little late night snack at a restaurant called, Hyakumi.  It was the best sushi either one of us had consumed in a long time. It was definitely a place worth visiting, but my dogs were barking and I was ready for bed when we finally left the restaurant at 1am.

We spent Saturday morning wandering the strip and I ended up at Luxor for the Bodies Exhibit. For only $27, using a $5 coupon I had found in a magazine, the exhibit held my attention for nearly two hours.  The exhibit displays several human bodies that have been preserved as a teaching tool for those who peruse the exhibit. The skin on each of the bodies had been removed to show the skeletal, circulatory, muscular and nervous systems. The exhibit also illustrated how the numerous organs in our system work together. I highly recommend a trip to a similar exhibit which will be at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago this summer.

Saturday night was an adventure for us in downtown Las Vegas, or known to many, Old Vegas. We had a great time wandering the streets and watching the Fremont Street Experience which spans several city blocks. The light show is an overhead tunnel of electronic images set to the music of the Doors. This way my fifth trip over the years to the light show, but I still enjoyed it. Again, I was really ready for bed, Vegas is a tiring city.

I have to admit, I was moving a little slowly on Sunday morning, but we set out after breakfast for a trip to the end of the strip on the monorail. We worked our way down the strip with the thought that when we doubled our money at each casino, we would move along. This idea worked a bit better for me than it did for Brenda, but I think we were both having fun. We saw the insides of beautiful hotels like the Wynn, Palazzo and Venetian. While Brenda decided to head back to the hotel and chill for awhile, I decided to visit the Fine Arts Gallery at Bellagio.

Signs in the hotel had boasted paintings including works of art by Monet and Hockney. Using my student discount, I paid a mere $10 to view the 33 paintings in the gallery. Although the price was right, I have to admit I was a bit disappointed in the exhibit. Riding on a high from the Bodies Exhibit, I was ready to be intrigued by creativity of some well known artists. Unfortunately, there weren’t that many well known artists and I wasn’t all that envious of the talent I was seeing. Instead, I was disappointed by the numerous works of abstract art.

We spent the evening casino hopping from Mandalay Bay to Excalibur. I feel like even though we were in Las Vegas from 9am on Friday until 9am on Monday, we saw and did a lot. I’ll give the atmosphere and the cultural experiences two thumbs up! And after a few nights of being home and some rest and relaxation, I’m ready to get back on the road again…

I attended the opera and actually liked it!

Throughout my life, I’ve been introduced to music and art appreciation, school plays and lessons in history, but I don’t feel like I ever really understood their importance. I lacked an appreciation of how these arts lend themselves to culture. On Saturday, April 9^th, as the red velvet curtain at the Detroit Opera House opened, I realized that as I get older and become more open-minded to these cultural experiences, the more I enjoy them.

I recently traveled with friends to Detroit, Michigan because I wanted to see the Opera, “The Magic Flute.”  As a student in the Liberal Studies Program at Indiana University South Bend, I am required to take a certain number of classes in the disciplines of Humanities, Social Sciences and Sciences.  To fulfill this requirement, I had enrolled one summer in an opera course, because it was the only Humanities course offered.  I wasn’t at all excited.

I thought that operas were all the same, really fat people singing words I couldn’t understand in very high pitched voices.  I remembered telling people that I was not a fan of the opera - a stereotypical statement that I didn’t have the right to make since I had never attended one or even listened to one on the radio. 

Throughout the semester, Dr. David Barton had introduced us to operas written by Mozart, Verdi, Monteverdi, Wagner and Puccini.  Not only did he teach us about librettos and arias, but during every class we would watch scenes from the various operas.  My view of opera quickly changed from my initial thoughts of high pitched vocals spewed from the mouths of fat women.

My research on “The Magic Flute” led me to have a greater appreciation for acting, for the vocal ranges presented, for costume and set design and for the imagination it took for Mozart to create the libretto. I had watched “The Magic Flute” many times on DVD so that I could write about its significance and many uses of symbolism in my paper and now I was seeing it in person.

The lights dimmed at the Detroit Opera House at exactly 7:30 and the orchestra began.  For several minutes the curtain stayed closed as the music was playing.  Then, the curtain was raised and a beautiful set design was exposed, and I was in awe.

Sopranos, baritones, tenors, altos and bass singers filled the stage throughout the next three hours, bringing to life an opera that had been written and performed since 1791.

Several times throughout the opera I caught myself with a small smile, absolutely amazed at the talent that graced the stage. It was definitely worth the money for tickets and time to travel to Detroit, and I am sure that I will see another opera.  The only downside was that it was about a half hour too long. It wasn't necessary the opera that was the problem, I was just uncomfortable sitting in a suit for that amount of time. I would have been fine sitting on a couch, wrapped up in a warm blanket while watching in my pajamas.

I’m glad I am branching out and learning to appreciate music and art more and would encourage everyone to be a little more open-minded to new cultural experiences.

On the road again...

I love to travel and I’ve been fortunate enough over the years to be able to visit some very beautiful places like St. Maarten, St. Thomas, the Bahamas, California and Mexico.  I’ll travel whenever I can afford it and when I can find someone else who is willing to go.  Recently, my adventures led me to Detroit, Michigan.

I can say that it was better than I had expected, but I don’t think I will add it to my list of favorite places.  About now, you might be questioning why I would choose to visit Detroit? It’s simple, a few years ago, I took a class at Indiana University South Bend about the Opera.  I had written a lengthy paper on Mozart’s Opera, “The Magic Flute,” and I decided that if there was ever a production within driving distance then I would attend. It was a great opportunity to blend a great weekend getaway with a culture experiences.

I’ve never been to the opera, much less Detroit.  It was a weekend of new experiences, all of which turned out to be positive.

I asked about eight friends from work if they would like to be a part of the weekend adventures and I only got two takers, Tamara and Brett.

We set out for what I believed would be a weekend of witnessing purse snatchings, grand theft auto and mob or thug style shootings.  I’m happy to report that I really didn’t see any of these things, other than a poor guy outside of the pizza place where we were eating dinner who had locked his keys in the car and was trying desperately to fish a hanger through the window to get the door open. It wasn’t quite the grand theft auto experience I had anticipated. 

The long stretch of road between South Bend, Indiana and Detroit, Michigan was rather boring, but the 3 ½ hour drive went by quickly.  The early Saturday morning drive was easy and we managed to stay the course without getting lost.

I wish we could say that between the three of us we managed to have an excellent sense of direction, but I can’t.  Just about every time we went into the hotel we had to ask someone how to get to the Marriott, which was located in the Renaissance Center building.  If you aren’t familiar with the building, picture three large circular building attached to each other.  Needless to say, Brett, Tamara and I walked in several circles that day, repeating the phrase, “I’m lost in the hotel and I can’t get out.”

Our directional challenges didn’t end there.  We meandered around town looking at Ford Field which is the home of the Detroit Lions, Comeristar Park, home of the Detroit Tigers, and Joe Louis stadium, home of the Detroit Redwings.  While it may seem that we are avid sports fans, these were just easy stops on the People Mover.

What’s a People Mover?  It is a small two-car above ground subway that transports people throughout the city and stops at about 8-10 downtown districts.  It’s a great invention and we felt safe riding the People Mover which only cost us fifty cents each per trip.

Anyway, back to our directional challenge.  We took the People Mover to Greektown and I gambled at the casino for a half hour while Tamara and Brett grabbed a drink at the bar. The Greektown Casino spans a block or two with several entrances and we had used the valet parking in the casino when we first arrived.  It took us several trips down the same hallway, a bit of frustration and asking a few people how we could get back to the parking garage before we actually found it.  Again, we muttered the words, “I’m lost in the casino and I can’t get out.” Being lost seemed to become a theme for the weekend.

We walked most of Saturday, with the occasional ride on the People Mover. We saw the “Spirit of Detroit” statue, the Windsor Tunnel, the Riverwalk and several other well known places and buildings.  I never felt unsafe walking around town which surprised me. I had conjured up such an unsafe vision of Detroit in my mind before we got there.  Don’t get me wrong, there are many abandoned buildings and I am sure several unsafe places, but my trip to Detroit was a fun-filled weekend with several new experiences.

Ashley Gilbertson shows honor for fallen soldiers

When you think of U.S. troops serving in Afghanistan and Iraq, what is your mental picture? Do you envision a soldier carrying an AK-47 in camouflage? Or do you picture him as the young son or daughter of proud parent who is serving his or her country?

 I attended a lecture at Indiana University South Bend on Tuesday night given by Ashley Gibertson, a photojournalist who has reported for many years about the wars overseas. Although he was embedded with several military units in both Afghanistan and Iraq, he isn’t what you would typically imagine as an information link between the war torn countries and the United States.

Clad in his grayish black jeans, untucked white collared shirt and leather jacket, his curly brown hair stuck up wildly above his head.  The 33-year-old spoke of the War and Peace he had experienced in these countries with his native Australian accent, softening the message he had for a room filled with approximately 100 guests.

I was touched by the messages he conveyed in his hour talk. First and foremost, he wanted to convey the importance of the honor that should be bestowed upon the men and women who fight for our freedom. He also feels deeply for the men and women who serve overseas and are dealing with Post Traumatic Stress Disorders. 

He believes strongly that the more people in the United States who hear about the post traumatic stress that soldiers face overseas, the better. He encourages them to put pressure on congressmen and senators to push for assistance for these soldiers so they don’t succumb to feelings of suicide, as many soldiers already have.

Gilbertson’s first experience was in Iraq in 2003, and he believes that he “grew up” there.  I’m sure it’s a feeling that many soldiers have as they are faced with questions of right and wrong and life and death.

He showed many pictures of soldiers performing their duties and many civilians just trying to get through life. Both sides are dealing with the aftermath of decisions made in Washington. 

Ironically, he began his slideshow of pictures with a re-enlistment service in Baghdad, where several hundred soldiers were seen.  Clearly these people were committed to their country, uniforms pressed, standing at attention, heads held high.  The next picture was of a Muslim worship service showing several hundred backs as their service continued. Each picture portrayed a sense of commitment of very different beliefs.

He explained that one of his most effective pictures was one where the unit he was with had captured someone and handcuffed him, placing a hoody over his face. The shadow of a United States Marine engulfed the image of the man who was captured.

On both accounts, killing people in Iraq is a very impersonal happening.  It’s like ghosts, because people don’t know what the other person’s story is. Who is his mother? Who are his children? Does he live in New York or does he live in Florida? Was he a star athlete in high school or on the debate club?

Gilbertson hopes that his pictures will bring a humanizing effect to everyone that views them. He hopes that viewers will see that these soldiers have homes, they have family members and goals. If only Washington were under this assumption, maybe it would be harder to push for war. If only we knew all the names and backgrounds of each soldier it would make us more vulnerable to accepting that war is not necessarily the right answer.

Gilbertson wanted to honor the soldiers and their families by doing something that he believes hasn’t been done.  He approached the families who had lost a solider during the war and asked if he could photograph the soldier’s bedroom. He wanted to honor them by portraying things that had been most important to each of them.

Ashley spoke of a soldier, Noah, who had come back to his home on leave from Iraq.  Only he didn’t choose to return to that life, instead he ended his life because the post traumatic stress was just too much for him. We need to focus on the individuals at war, not the right or wrong of why the war is happening.

It was about then that Ashley began searching for a way to honor the fallen soldiers.  Whether they had died in combat or couldn’t struggle with the trials and tribulations of life, Ashley wanted to figure out a way to honor these heroes.

That is when he began taking photographs of Fallen Soldiers bedrooms. It is a way to address the absence of people that most of us would not otherwise know.  It is a way to personalize the “form letter” obituary of a fallen soldier.  Is it enough? It’s a start, a way to take responsibility and understand who the soldiers are who have given the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom.

Here is the link for Ashley Gilbertson’s tribute to the fallen soldiers. His tribute will probably leave you thinking less about the politics of war and more about the men and women, mothers, sons, wives, daughters, fathers and siblings who are living day to day in war conditions.

Yep, that's my dad

I want to share a story with you about a very important person.  He’s my friend, my mentor, my coach and he’s also my dad.

I consider myself a very lucky person to have had a great relationship throughout my 33 years with him and look forward to many years ahead.

Last weekend, I had signed up to walk a 5K in Valparaiso.  I had spent the night in LaPorte at my Mom and Dad’s house, something I often do in the summer months. My dad had said he would walk with me.

We had decided on the way to the walk that neither of us would hold the other person back, I had a goal of finishing in 43 minutes, my dad had a goal of 46. Having goals is only one of the lessons my dad has taught me.  We encouraged each other to do our best.

As the gun rang out and everyone moved slowly through the cattle prod to the starting line, we were off.  Weaving my way through several people, I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and doing it quickly.  I looked around for my dad, his 6-foot frame, grey hair covered by his baseball cap, broad shoulders filling out his grey sweatshirt and black sweatpants. He had found his groove, I was proud of my dad, he was on a mission.

For the next 42 minutes or 3.1 miles, I continued to trail my 60-year-old father.  Not that I ever thought of him as frail or weak, but he was kickin’ it! I knew what he was thinking, too.  I knew he was doing the same thing I was doing, picking out someone ahead of him and trying to catch that person, setting mini goals throughout his walk.

During the competition, I flashed down memory lane.  I remembered times when I was 6-years-old, playing Junior Miss Softball and I am sure my dad would be glad to tell you the story about how I became a pitcher because I cried when they put me in catcher’s gear behind the plate.  It’s a scary place. I was a bit too short for the catcher's gear which was about two sizes too big. The mask covered my eyes and all I could see at times was the bat swishing through the wind about two inches from my face.

He not only coached my softball teams throughout the years, but in middle school he also coached the St. John Eagles basketball team.  Let me just say that I remember riding the pine, or the bench, many times! I was a pretty good athlete, but when I got an attitude or got lazy and fouled the other players, he didn’t hesitate to give me a few minutes to think about how I could do better.

In high school, my dad hung up his whistle and retired as my coach… well formally.  I played basketball my freshman year and softball until I was a junior. There were many instances where I woke up and found a handwritten note with words of encouragement from my father.  I was appreciative of the notes at the time and knew that many of the other players were not nearly as lucky as I was to have such a considerate, compassionate support system. I saved many of those letters.

During college, I didn’t play sports, but I was lucky enough to have a handwritten letter in my mailbox at IU each Tuesday.  I can picture him in his living room chair, early in the morning with a cup of coffee, my mother still sleeping. It was his time with me. Topics encompassed anything from what was happening with his students (he was a sixth grade teacher) to encouraging me to do well in class.

I said that my dad hung up his whistle when I was in high school.  While he was no longer my coach on an athletic team, he has remained my coach in life. His love, leadership, friendship and coaching have impacted me more than he may ever know.

My dad and I talk a lot, but if you know Rich Hahn, you know that he doesn’t ever speak just to hear himself talk.  He’s also not someone to give advice he doesn’t believe is worth something.  Small talk isn’t his thing, I know I got that from him. After all, I share half his genes!

I enjoy spending time with both of my parents and living conditions have allowed me to spend weekends with them during the summer.  This gives me an opportunity to spend time with my aunt and uncle who live next door and my other aunt and uncle who live in town. Family is so important and I am very blessed.

We approached the end of the walk and I tried my best to ramp up my effort.  He was about 10-20 yards in front of me and I tried desperately to tie him. It didn’t work, he finished with a time of 42:03 and my time was 42:23. But we had a great time participating in a healthy activity and enjoying our time together, even if he forgot to let me win!

I got home to South Bend and all of the thoughts that I had during the race were validated when I looked up to the fridge.  On the 4x6 sheet of paper was his writing, smiley face on top, “Good things happen when you work hard!” Love Dad.  It’s a message that has been on the fridge for years. It always cheers me up. 

I know, without a doubt, that he loves me unconditionally and that he will always be my biggest supporter, my biggest fan and my best buddy. He’s a great coach, an excellent mentor and I am the luckiest person on earth to have him as my father.