YOU AND ME AGAINST THE WORLD

Mother/Son Dance 2005 

Five years ago today, I had the most remarkable experience of my life. It was so remarkable, in fact,  that not a day goes by that I don't think about it. And though I wrote about it, briefly, on the night that it happened, I really didn't share the entire story. Today, five years later, I feel as though I should. I'm not really sure why. Maybe, in the event that something should ever happen to me, I simply want it documented, so that my children will always be able to reference it. Or, maybe I feel that anyone who has ever lost someone that they loved might take some comfort in it. Or, maybe for those that believe that there is nothing more than our life on this Earth, and that nothing comes after it, my sharing of this story will give them something to think about. It's probably a little bit of all of that. And it is time that I write it all down ...

My mother passed away on August 3, 2015. She was only 69 years old. A non-smoker, she was diagnosed with lung cancer in December of 2013. There was about a year after her diagnosis when she was actually doing really well. Things were looking very positive. But in the early summer of 2015, things turned. The cancer spread. She went to Philadelphia and got the best treatments, and even then, it looked like things might be OK. But, in late July, she wasn't feeling well and was taken to the hospital where we were told that she had developed pneumonia. For older folks, especially cancer patients, pneumonia is particularity dangerous. She was there for two weeks and spent the last 11 days in the ICU. She never came home.

It was, and remains, incredibly heartbreaking. 

The day before my mother was taken to the ICU, I was visiting with her in her regular hospital room. At that time, she was still sitting up and talking and eating, and we were just hopeful that the pneumonia would start to clear up and that she'd be OK. She didn't seem to care for the lunch that she had been served that day, and so I went down to the hospital cafeteria to get her something else. She seemed to enjoy what I'd brought her and it was a nice visit. After a while, I had to get going, as I had a meeting that afternoon. As I was about to leave, I looked at my Mom, who was still upbeat and in good spirits despite having been through a lot in recent weeks and despite having all of these IVs in her arms, and I told her that she was the strongest person I knew. She looked at me and, with no fanfare, said:

"Oh ... I'm just doing what I have to do."

And then she paused for a moment, looked at me, and said:

"And you do what you have to do."

It was the last real conversation I ever had with her.

But those words, "Do what you have to do ," have continued to inspire me every day. And they always will. Take care of yourself. Take care of your family. Take care of your work. Take care of your home. Do what you have to do. Get it done. That was my Mom. And that, hopefully, will always be me.

Once my Mom went into the ICU, there were no more chats. It was a rough ride, especially the last nine days. And, other than leaving to spend some time with my children, I never left the hospital. I was there all day. At night, I slept on the floor in the waiting room. Ironically, I was born in that same hospital and was born with a respiratory problem. I was having trouble breathing and was placed in an incubator. My Mom always told me the story, every year, of what had happened. I was born on September 17. Her birthday was September 26. After I was born, she was not able to be with me like all of the other Moms in the nursery area because I required special treatment. They weren't even sure whether or not I was going to make it, and she told me of how difficult it was, not being able to hold her child, and how she laid there in that hospital bed just praying for me to be OK. Praying for me to just breathe. She was eventually discharged from the hospital without me, which she said was also incredibly difficult. But nine days later, on her birthday, the doctor called and said, "Mary Ann, come and take home your son. He's going to be fine." She always told me that story on her birthday. And she always said it was her favorite birthday.

Now, 40 some years later, I was in that same hospital, praying for my Mom to breathe. Urging her, in my prayers, and in my heart and in my mind, to just breathe. And it was then, during those very difficult nine days, that something happened that led to the most remarkable experience of my life.

My father, my sister and myself all had a very unique and special relationship with my Mom. She loved us all very much, as well as her three grandchildren. And I guess the one thing that made my relationship with her unique was that before she married my Dad, or my stepfather - when I was nine years old - there was a time, for about five or six years, when it was just her and me. It was mid-70s, and she was a single mom, and she was great at it. After she divorced, my father wasn't really ever around, and though it could have been a very difficult time for us, it wasn't. I never felt I was missing anything. We had a good life. We had fun. And I was surrounded by love.

She did what she had to do.

Me and my Mom, circa 1975, when it was just us.

At the time, there was a popular song on the radio called “You and Me Against The World.” It was sung by Helen Reddy and it was about a single mom and her young child, and whenever it came on the radio when we were in the car, my Mom would sing it to me, as the lyrics were very reflective of the life we were living. It wasn't, however, one of those songs that had an extended shelf-life. It was a hit single in 1974, but it wasn't one of those songs that remained a radio staple for decades to come. It was a beautiful song, it had its time, and it faded away.

I, however, never forgot it. I always kept the memory of my Mom singing it to me, and 30 some years later, I surprised her and had it played at my wedding reception as our mother/son dance. A few years later, long before she got sick, I took some photos of her and I together, many from when I was a young boy - when it was just the two of us - and set them to the song as a Mother's Day gift. We didn't speak of it often, and, again, it was not a song that ever came on the radio, but it was our song. And, during those last nine days that she was in the ICU, I could not get it out of my head. One line in particular seemed to be running through my mind, 24/7, especially as I spent all of those hours at the hospital.

“And when one of us in gone, and one of us is left to carry on, then the memories will have to do, our memories alone will get us through. Think about the days of me and you, you and me against the world.”

Every time it happened, I tried to push it away. I did not want to hear that song at that time. "Nobody," I thought, "is going anywhere." But it didn't stop. When I was home, I heard that line in my head. When I was in the car, it was there. As I walked the corridors of the hospital, I heard it.  Even as I slept on the hospital floor, the song went through my head all night long.

On the morning of August 3, 2015, my mother passed away.  I was with her. When I walked into the room, I immediately saw that some things would not have been to her liking and I instructed the nurse to change them. I made sure everything in the room was just right, the way she would have wanted it to be. I told her that it was OK to let go. I told her that I would be OK, and that we would all be OK, and I told her go to the light. I told her to go see Nanny and Grandpa, and her father, who passed away when she was only three years old, and all of her cousins - Aunt Nancy and Aunt Mary Ann - who were there waiting for her.

Her passing, unlike the previous nine days, was easy and gentle. But I was heartbroken.

As we prepared for her services, my sister and I decided that we would each give a eulogy. I had never done that before, nor had she, but we both spoke in public for a living, we are both writers, and so, in theory, it was something that we both should have been comfortable doing. But this would be nothing like anything that we'd ever done before, and it would be very difficult. Still, we both agreed that we should definitely say a few words at our mother's service, and as I began to write down my thoughts, I realized that it was very important to not just talk about my own sense of loss, but of how my Mom's passing was being felt by everyone. Again, she had a unique and special relationship with all of us, and I wanted to talk about that. And that's what I did. But when it came time to say a few words about my own relationship with her, I did mention those few years back in the '70s, when it was just her and me against the world. I even made mention of the song. How could I not? It was a part of our special bond, and it had been going through my head for the past 10 days.

At her viewing, a friend mentioned to me that my Mom was still with me and that I should look for the signs. I am a spiritual person and a person of faith and I do believe in such things, but I really didn’t want to do that just yet. I had not turned on the radio or TV all week, and I wasn’t about to go looking for some heart-shaped cloud, fishing for some contrived symbolism. I said that if I ever got something like that from her - and I didn’t care how many years it took - I did not want something subtle, or something that I might somehow manufacture in my own mind as a gesture from her. I said I wanted to be walloped right over the head. In my mind, I knew what it might be, but I didn't even really bother to entertain the idea because it seemed so impossible. 

Later that night, the night before her funeral, I decided to have a few photographs of my children and my nephew developed, which  I thought I might place with her before she was laid to rest.  It was really just an afterthought. I hadn't even thought of it until around 10 p.m. But I sent a few photos from my home PC to the drugstore to get printed and figured I would just pick them up in the morning, on my way to the funeral home. And I was truly dreading that morning. As we all know, that little bit of time that you have at the funeral home, before you move on to the church, can be very difficult. Because you are fully aware that, in just a few short minutes, you are never going to see that person that you loved so much ever again. At least not in this life.

I was fully aware of that when I got up the next morning - the morning of August 6, 2015. I put on my best suit, tucked my eulogy in my front pocket - the one that mentioned "You and Me Against The World" - and went to say goodbye to my Mom. I did this alone and in total silence. Again, I didn't turn on the TV or the radio. I wanted the silence. I wanted to reflect and prepare for the moments ahead. There was only one quick stop to make before the funeral home - a stop at the store to pick up those photos. I already felt great anxiety about what would soon be happening, yet more than anything, I felt numb. Numb in solitude. Numb in silence. Numb in grief.

 And as soon as I walked into that store, literally as soon as I set foot inside the door ...

"You And Me Against The World" began to play.

I was stunned at first, but after a few seconds, I was not. I was simply moved in a way I had never experienced in my life, and I suppose some of the people in the store may have wondered why some guy in a suit was walking up and down the aisles, crying, saying, “Thank you, Mom. Thank you so much."

Again, it is not a song that is played on the radio at all. Since it had first come out, 40 years prior, I had only heard it a few times. When I told people about what happened, some people said they hadn’t heard it since 1974, or since my wedding reception. I also realized that it was not only an unusual song to hear being played anywhere, but if I’d hit just one more red light on my way to that store, or encountered the slightest delay, I would have missed it. The fact that I heard it on that day, on the way to my mother's funeral, was absolutely remarkable.

Today, five years later, I still remember standing there in that store that morning, looking up at the speakers on the ceiling, and hearing that song. Yes, I was stunned, but yet also, at the same time, I felt incredibly warm and comforted. Just the night before, I told a friend that I didn't care if it took 10 or 20 years, if my Mom ever wanted to send me some sort of sign, I didn't want it to be vague, or open to interpenetration. I wanted her to wallop me right over the head. She did it the very next morning, and it was the one and only sign that I would have accepted.

She knew that.

She did what she had to do. 

When I got to the funeral home, I was walking on air. My sister didn't really like the idea of placing the photos with Mom and I could not care less. No matter. I just tucked them back inside my pocket next to my eulogy. I guess it wasn't really about the photos. It was about getting me somewhere - anywhere - where music was playing. My sister also got a sign two days prior. And it, too, came in the form of music. 

I always thought the day of my mother's funeral would be one of the saddest days of my life, and in many ways, it was. But I was also peaceful and light at heart, and that was because my Mom gave me an incredible gift that morning. And for as long as I live, I will never need any other sign that she is OK.

Obviously, I do believe that people who pass on still go on. If I ever had any doubt, my mother took that doubt away, five years ago today. I do not believe, however, that our loved ones that pass on suddenly find themselves blessed with superpowers. If they did, they'd be able to help us out all the time and we'd never have any problems. But in death, they are closer to God and the Universe, and because of that, I like to think they can pull in a favor every once in a while. Over the years, when I've thought back on what happened to me on the morning of August 6, 2015, I like to think that it went something like this:

Mom in heaven: "It's really wonderful here. It's more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. I think I did OK with my time on Earth. My children are grown and strong, I got to see my grandchildren, and I did what I had what I had to do. This is home now. But my family is missing me. And, as for my son, I know there is only one way for him to truly know that I am OK."

God: "The song, right?"

Mom:  "Yes. Can you help? He's walking around in silence. He won't even turn on the TV or the radio. And no one ever plays that song anyway."

God: "I got this."

Thank you, Mom. And thank you, God, or Universe, or whatever it was that led to what happened to me that day.

I know, for sure, that it's not just me against the world these days.

I know you are still with us.

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VIDEO: YOU AND ME AGAINST THE WORLD:

Mother's Day video

The Wall That Heals coming to Plymouth

Vietnam Memorial will stand at W.V.W. High School 

By ALAN K. STOUT

Westside Bulletin Correspondent

For nearly four decades, countless Americans have made pilgrimages to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. The two-acre monument honors service members of the U.S. armed forces who fought in the Vietnam War, service members who died in service in Vietnam/South East Asia, and those service members who were unaccounted for during the war. The memorial consists of three parts: the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall, which is the best-known part of the memorial; The Three Soldiers; and the Vietnam Women's Memorial. It receives about three million visitors each year.

The Memorial Wall features more than 58,000 names of members of the American armed forces who were killed in Vietnam. And from September 5 through September 8, The Wall That Heals, a traveling replica of the Memorial Wall, will be on display in Plymouth. It is being brought to the community by V.F.W. Post 1425 in Plymouth and it will be on display on the grounds of Wyoming Valley West High School. Clyde Peters, the manager of V.F.W Post 1425, says that though a similar traveling memorial wall came to Swoyersville two years ago, the new “The Wall That Heals” is much larger.    

Clyde Peters at V.F.W. Post 125

“That was 250 feet long, whereas this one is 375 feet long,” says Peters. “At the peak, in the center, it’s seven and a half feet high. It’s huge. It’s beautiful.”

Because of its height, visitors experience the The Wall That Heals rising above them as they walk towards the apex, which is a key feature of The Memorial Wall in Washington. The Wall That Heals is also erected in a chevron shape and visitors can do name rubbings of individual service member’s names on The Wall. The exhibit also features a mobile education center which features a photographic display of hometown heroes, a map of Vietnam and other pieces of information and items from the Vietnam War.

Peters, who has managed V.F.W. Post 1425 for 16 years, received two Purple Hearts for his service in Vietnam. He has also battled cancer twice, which has been attributed to Agent Orange.  He has visited the actual Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington and he was there when President Ronald Reagan dedicated the nearby monument of The Three Soldiers. Peters spearheaded the efforts to bring The Wall That Heals to Plymouth.

“There are more than 100 applicants each year and only 34 towns are chosen,” he says.  “To get it, you have to be very lucky or be a very good talker. I told them my story, and our story, and I told them everything that was true. I told them that we were just a small community of less than 6,000 people, and that we lost seven young men in Vietnam, just from this town. One was my nephew, David Lee.  He was 18 years old. He was a medic. He stepped on a booby-trap and was killed. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to bring it here. But the main reason was to honor all of our Vietnam veterans, and any veteran that served our country. It doesn’t have to be Vietnam. A veteran is a veteran.”

The Wall That Heals

Peters, who helped escort the body of his nephew back from Vietnam,  says he first got the news that The Wall That Heals was coming to Plymouth back in December. His first emotion was one of gratitude.

“The first thing I did was thank the Good Lord,” he says. “It meant a lot to me and it meant a lot to our community. I know a lot of people don’t want to talk about the war, and I know what our Vietnam vets went through, and I know what I went through coming back. In many ways, we weren’t treated the best. Even the VA system didn’t treat us very well. We were called murders and baby killers. I remember thinking, ‘Wait a minute … I’m a part of your team. Why are you talking about me like that? I did my job. I was told to go there and I did, for my country.’ But, just like a lot of stuff today, it was all politics. So what do you do? You turn the other cheek and you move on.”

Eventually, Peters said he saw a great shift in attitudes toward Vietnam veterans, especially after the United States went to war in the Middle East in the early ‘90s and mid-2000s.

“As the nation healed over the years, and we had Operation Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom, people pulled together,” he says. “Even if you hate the war, don’t hate the soldier. If you hate the war – fine – but don’t hate the warrior. It’s their job.”

Peters says a supportive planning committee was formed to help bring The Wall to Plymouth. Their efforts received full cooperation from the borough and the Wyoming Valley West School District. It will be escorted into town by a long motorcade featuring local emergency vehicles and motorcyclists.

“It’s not just for Plymouth,” says Peters. “It’s for the whole county. And really, it’s not just for our county, but the state of Pennsylvania.  We want to share our honor with everyone, and our disappointment, and hurt. It’s a healing process. And it’s not just for veterans to heal. It’s for all of us to heal. Chill out. Do the right thing. Teach our children that war is not the best thing – we all know that – but don’t dishonor the warrior. His job is to do what he’s needed to do. This is to honor people who gave their lives, many of whom were only 18, 19 or 20 years old.

“I was there in ’68 at the height of the war,” he adds. “The Tet Offensive was still going on.  We had 580,000 troops over there. And there were a lot of other nations involved, trying to stop communism. We’ve come a long way to make things right.” 

Thousands are expected to visit The Wall That Heals during its three-day stop in Plymouth. It will be open to guests 24 hours per day. Peters says that some Vietnam veterans often chose to come at night when the crowds are smaller.

“They want to talk to their buddies,” he says, his eyes welling with tears. ”Every time I go there, my eyes well up.”

For more information on The Wall That Heals, visit: www.vvmf.org/The-Wall-That-Heals

'Santa Rescue' gives St. Nick-knacks

 a happy home

At our house, no Santa is left behind

December 2012

For as long as I can remember, I have always loved Santa Claus. And by that, I mean pretty much anything that has anything to do with Santa Claus. And I think I might even be able to pinpoint the exact moment that it all started ...

It was Christmas Eve. I was four years old. And I guess, as children often do on that magical night, I was resisting my Mom’s reminders that it was time for bed. Of course, she told me what we all now know: If you are not in bed on Christmas Eve when Santa tries to visit your house, he will not come. And JUST AT THAT MOMENT as my Mom was saying those words – and this ACTUALLY HAPPENED – I looked out the front window of our second floor apartment in South Wilkes-Barre, and would you believe who was walking down our street?

Santa Claus.

I am not kidding. Apparently “Santa” just happened to be visiting a holiday party on our street, and just at the moment that my Mom was telling me that I better get to bed or he wouldn’t be visiting us that night, there he was.

Mom seemed to be just as surprised as I was, and I can't tell you how fast I ran down the hallway into my room and jumped into bed. It was such an incredibly magical feeling, I guess it’s still there inside me somewhere.

Throughout my childhood, I continued to love Santa. I absolutely loved - and still do - when people have big illuminated Santas on their front porches or rooftops and I always looked forward to watching the “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” TV special every year. And because my sister was 10 years my junior, we were able to have the magic of Santa in our house all throughout my high school years. Today, I share my love for all-things-Santa with my two children, Mary Ann and A.J.

As you might imagine, we have a few Santas in our house, including a big ’70s-style illuminated Santa on the front porch. It's the same kind I remember seeing around the neighborhoods when I was a kid, and whenever we put it out, it takes me back to those times.

Back in 2012, I decided to start a new Santa tradition with my two children. We call it the “Santa Rescue.” Though I don't often frequent stores such as the Salvation Army or The Goodwill, whenever I do find myself there – usually looking for an old cassette deck or something to do with vintage music – I always notice one thing:

Santas.

They always seem to have a lot of cool little Santa knick-knacks for sale. Even if you go to one of those stores in the summertime, you see Santas. Every August, my church holds a bazaar and flea market, and there is always a Christmas table at the flea market, and one of the things I’ve always noticed is that there are also usually a few Santas.

Well, in 2012, some of those Santas starting getting a new home, and I can still remember the day that, Mary Ann, A.J. and I went out on our first “Santa Rescue.” We went to a few of those Sally-type stores, all within just a few miles of home, and we bought five nice little Santas. They were of good quality, they featured nice detail, and they looked like they needed a good home for Christmas. We spent about $3 dollars.

Under the base of each Santa, I wrote a number “12,” so that we would always know that 2012 was the year when that particular Santa joined our own mini North Pole. It’s something that we have done every year since. And little by little, our collection has grown. And when it’s time to decorate for the holidays, we always find a shelf or a nice place in the house to display our Santas. We plan on rescuing a few more this year, and writing the number “23” under the base.

It's funny, but I remember about two years ago, at the start of the holiday season, we were on a Santa Rescue, and we came across one that I thought we would pass on buying. I don’t recall exactly why. Maybe we already had one that looked like it, or I just didn’t like something about it. But my son insisted that we get it.

“No Santa left behind,” he said. I burst out laughing, and I was proud of his thoughtfulness and kindness. He understood, better than I did, what the "Santa Rescue" was all about. And we took that Santa home.  

Like most families, we have quite a few nice holiday traditions. There are people and places that we visit and customs that we enjoy. In 2012, we started a new one. And though it only takes about an hour, once or twice during the holiday season, and it comes with no great expense, it’s something we still look forward to each year. It feels good to rescue a Santa, and perhaps return to him a little of that special Christmas magic that he gave to me on that memorable Christmas Eve all of those years ago.

Someone told me once, many years ago, that there is no greater compliment than when someone feels welcome in your home. And, I've learned that welcoming someone into your home, though a simple gesture, is one of the kindest things that you can do for someone. And Santa – or, should I say, Santas – will always be welcome in ours. 

Merry Christmas.

“Is it raining all across the country?”

For me, when it came time to cast my ballot, it all came down to one thing: my daughter.

For the past few weeks, when we were together, we’d often watch pre-election coverage on CNN. And though she is only nine years old, she was able to determine that Donald Trump was not a nice person. He was not, she said, presidential material. When the “Access Hollywood” tape story broke a few weeks ago - you know, the “I can just grab their p-ssy” story - I actually asked her and her little brother to step out of the room for a minute while I watched the report. And that saddened me. Families should be able to watch pre-election coverage together and not worry about such things. But Trump’s boorish comments clearly showed that my little girl was right.

Donald Trump was not a nice person. He was not presidential material.

The fact that Trump was still even in the race at that point was remarkable in itself. By that point, he’d insulted people with disabilities. He’d insulted veterans and POWS. (“I like people that aren’t captured.”) He’d insulted immigrants. Women started coming out of the woodwork claiming he had acted inappropriately towards them. He flirted with his own daughter. (Creepy.) He would not reveal his taxes. He behaved oddly during the debates. And in an interview which he had done about 10 years ago with Howard Stern, he talked with a sense of bravado about his sexist ways and basically freely admitted to doing all of the horrible things that he had been accused of doing. With his businesses, he had hired people to do jobs for him and then stiffed them on payment. He seemed to ridicule Hillary Clinton because her husband had affairs and he tried to paint it as a character flaw, against her, even though he himself had had affairs. And in doing so, he revealed himself as a hypocrite. He also said that if he didn’t win the election, he might not accept the results. I wasn’t even really sure what the hell that meant. Did that mean he’d whine about it for the rest of his life? Who cares? Eventually, if he lost, he’d just have to go away.

For two months, week after week, we learned more and more awful things about Donald Trump. The Clinton campaign team, to its credit, framed all of this well. One TV spot, which offered a collection of awful Trump sound bites, featured young children listening to his words. It was powerful. And it did exactly what it had intended to do. It made you think there was no way that a man like that could be our President. My daughter - who did see that spot on TV a few times - had already figured that out for herself.     

And yet none of it mattered. Trump would always dip in the polls for a few days after his latest snafu - and there were times when the revelations about him were so horrid that it looked like he might actually have to drop out of the race – and yet he just kept marching on. Even his own party was not behind him, but he kept hanging in there. How could it be? Politically speaking, the man was a joke. Like a child being punished, even his own campaign people had to take away his Twitter account. He could not even be trusted to communicate with the public on his own. How could this man be in charge of the free world?

Last night, he was elected the new President of The United States.

Today, everyone is trying to figure it all out. Hillary Clinton was a qualified candidate. We all know her resume. Yes, she misspoke a few times - “What difference does it make?” and “Deplorables” come to mind – but it was nothing anywhere near the foulness of Trump. So what happened? Everyone has theories and I'd certainly trust the opinion of an experienced political analyst much more than I’d trust mine. But, to me, a few things are obvious. Clinton, for some reason, had a likability problem. When she raised her voice at her rallies – which you must do when you’re speaking at a rally – it was sometimes painful to listen to. It was the proverbial nails on a chalkboard. I remember thinking, “Thankfully, when she becomes President, she won’t have to do that anymore.” She also, of course, came under fire for some of her work as Secretary of State and the decisions that she made that some feel cost people their lives. And then, of course, there were the e-mails.

But you know what? I don’t think Trump supporters cared so much about the e-mails. I doubt most of them really even understood it. What they didn’t like was that she lied about it. (She did lie about it. That’s a fact.) And they didn’t like the fact that, compared to others that had been involved in similar breaches of national security, she got off easy, though she was told, by the FBI, that her actions were reckless. And then there was that secret meeting on the airplane runway, which became not-so-secret, when her husband basically tried to get her out of trouble. At least that was the perception. And people didn’t like that.   

Wikileaks is another story, but in the end – even with all of the shady Clinton Foundation stuff - every time a new story broke about Clinton’s missteps, Trump would say something so dumb, outrageous or insulting that such stories never did nearly as much damage to Clinton as they should have if she was running against any other candidate. (Even Anderson Cooper admitted that on CNN one night, only about a week ago.)  And then, of course, there was the DNC scandal which clearly showed inner-party favoritism. And it came at the expense of Bernie Sanders, who was drawing huge crowds across the nation during the primaries and was exciting young voters.  Once it was revealed that the DNC had acted so unethically towards one of its own, and that Clinton was apparently the anointed one all along, the party was divided. Sanders tried to play nice afterwards and would later join the Clinton campaign, but the damage was done. His people were ticked off. Really, really ticked off. And many never got over it.

All of these things hurt Hillary Clinton. She scored very low on “likability” and “trustworthiness,” she was caught in lies, and she was involved in scandals. And yet I still thought she was going to be elected President last night.  And by a landslide. Hillary might have been a bit shady, but Trump? No way.

So, again, what happened?

Well, again, I really don’t think Trump’s supporters really cared that much about the e-mails. And though Clinton, because of all of the dark clouds around her, became an easy target and the Trump faithful took plenty of cheap shots at her, I don’t think they cared that much about her at all.  I don’t think most of them are bigots or racists. I don’t think they care that much about what restroom a transgender person uses. And, deep down, I really don’t think they feel democrats are going to take away their hunting rifles. (Sadly, some asinine NRA gun nuts still can’t see the difference between their right to own a hunting rifle or a handgun and not being able to own an automatic weapon. That, I will never understand.) The abortion issue always seems to come up, but I think even Catholics are now resigned to the fact that Roe v. Wade is not going anywhere and many are now willing to vote for a pro-choice candidate as long as they agree with that candidate on a majority of other topics. Where democrats lose many Christians is when they speak of repealing the Hyde Amendment. And until they realize that, they’ll always lose many Christian votes. And, in my opinion, rightly so. Democrats don’t like it when you tell them that, because either they don’t believe it’s true, or they simply disagree. Too many of them would just rather drink the liberal Kool-Aid. And that’s one of the reasons they lost last night.

Yesterday’s election, however, wasn’t really about those things as much as something much bigger. It was about the very disenfranchised segment of America’s blue collar former middle class. It was about people that are tired of working harder and harder each year, year after year, and getting less and less in return. What democrats and liberals don’t understand, in my opinion, is that the lower middle class doesn’t resent the wealthy. They resent people that work less than they do and seem to have more. They resent standing in line at the grocery store with a marginal order, hoping it will be enough food to get their family through the week, and then seeing someone in line in front of them getting a much larger order for free - an order that they, working two jobs, would never be able to afford. And they don’t resent immigrants. They resent illegal immigrants, because they feel that if 25-percent of their paycheck is always gone - because of taxes - that should also be the case for everyone. Taxes are good. They help pay for schools and fire and police protection and our military. Freedom is not free. And some people – and apparently many Trump supporters - are simply tired of seeing a lot of people getting a free ride. Democrats and liberals don’t like it when you tell them that either, and that’s another reason that they lost last night. And that's why I feel that Joe Biden, not Bernie Sanders, would have crushed Trump in last night’s election. Biden would have outperformed Trump in the debates, but without the federal investigations and trust issues of Clinton and, in the case of Sanders, without the specter of added socialism.

Trump supporters, simply put, were more angry about their own lives than they were concerned about anyone else’s lives. It's not that all 60 million of them hate other people. It's more that they hate what's happened to them. It’s really that simple. The fact that Hilary Clinton is a woman and could have been our first female President wasn’t even discussed in most conversations. And I saw that as a good thing. It meant that being male or female is not an even issue in modern politics. And should the right female candidate come along, she will win. The 60 million people that also voted for Clinton last night  – which was the majority of the popular vote - proved it.

Take a few minutes to watch this video. Cut and paste the link. And watch it. I’ve never been a real big fan of Michael Moore, but that’s mostly because he once went on “60 Minutes” to do an interview with Mike Wallace looking like he just crawled out of bed. I thought, if nothing else, he should have put a razor on his face and showed the legendary newsman more respect.  But here, Moore pretty much nails it:

https://youtu.be/vMm5HfxNXY4

I did not vote for Donald Trump. I found his behavior during the campaign - and apparently for most of his life - to be vile and repulsive. I voted for Hillary Clinton. Despite her many flaws, and despite disagreeing with her on one major issue which involves my faith, I found her to be the best candidate. She was, in the end, far more presidential and I do think she cares about people.  And I truly thought she would win. And a part of me wanted that for my daughter, who I took with me to the polls last night. On the way there, I asked her who we should vote for. Of course I knew what her answer would be, as she had determined, all on her own, that Trump was not a very nice man. Before we went into the voting booth, I got down on eye-level with her and told her that we were helping to make history and that there was nothing in the world that she couldn’t do in her life, and that tonight would prove it. I told her to always remember it. And when we went into the booth, I let her cast the ballot.

Later, as I watched the returns come in, and I could see what was happening in places like Florida, Ohio and Michigan, I knew where things were heading. And when I woke my daughter up for school today, I had to tell her what had happened. And all I could think about, before I did so, was that commercial, the one with the kids – the one showing Trump ridiculing people and saying horrible things about women. And now how I had to wake her up and tell her that he was her new President. 

When I gave her the news, she was a bit sad, and a little later, when we headed out the door on the way to her to school, we walked through the cold November rain. And, in a very thoughtful voice, she asked me if it was raining all across the country.

Think about that, coming from a nine year-old.

She knows nothing about Benghazi, or e-mails, or the DNC. But she had seen Donald Trump on TV. And that's all she needed to see.  

I told her we all need to hope that our new President can do good things, because that’s what's best for all of us. And I’m certainly not teaching her to dislike people that voted the other way. And that's because, whenever I found myself feeling stunned today about the fact that this actually happened, I thought of Michael Moore.

Perhaps now, everyone will pay more attention to what's really going on in this country and what a lot of people are really feeling. 

For my daughter’s sake – as well as my son’s – I hope so.

                                                                                                          
                                                                                                          Alan K. Stout
                                                                                                          November 9, 2016       

Up Close & Personal … ALAN K. STOUT

Up Close & Personal … ALAN K. STOUT

Alan K. Stout is the Director of Communications and Marketing with Catholic Social Services of the Diocese of Scranton. He also hosts a weekly radio show on 105 The River and, as a freelance journalist, he contributes stories to The Times Leader, The Weekender and The Westside Bulletin. Stout is a graduate of Wyoming Valley West High School, Luzerne County Community College and King’s College. He has two children, Mary Ann, 11, and A.J., 9. He lives in Edwardsville. 

How did you first get involved with Catholic Social Services? “For many years, I worked at The Times Leader newspaper. I wore many hats there over the years, including reporter, features writer, music columnist, music editor, Newspapers in Education manager and Weekender editor. From 1999 through 2011, I helped organize a charity concert every year called ‘Concert For Karen/Concert For A Cause,’ and for the very last show we did, in 2011, we named the Big Brothers Big Sisters Anti-Bullying program as the benefactor, which is a part of Catholic Social Services Through that event, I got to know the people at the agency, and they got to know me, and purely by coincidence, about six months later, they had a job opportunity that I was interested in. After 18 years at the paper, I was ready to move on, and I was fortunate enough to get the position with Big Brothers Big Sisters/CSS.”

Can you explain the work that you do there? “I’m very involved with all of our community relations, public relations and marketing. I also assist with all of the agency’s fundraisers and special events, as well as volunteer recruitment. And I manage all of our social media. Most of my work has been with Big Brothers Big Sisters, but I also work with the St. Vincent de Paul Kitchen, the St. Francis of Assisi Kitchen, and all of our other human-service programs.

What do you enjoy about it the most? “I enjoy getting the name of the agency out there. With Big Brothers Big Sisters, I’ve helped develop PSAs for radio and television, and have written guest editorials to the local newspapers about the need for volunteers. There’s really a great need for volunteer Big Brothers and Big Sisters, and I believe that the more exposure the agency receives, the more likely it is that we’ll attract new volunteers. Having a Big Brother of Big Sister can really change the life of a child, and I enjoy trying to help make that happen.”

Your radio show focuses mostly on local talent, correct? “Yes. My music column, which ran in the Times Leader and The Weekender for about 14 years, was called ‘Music On The Menu,’ and it often profiled local musicians. The radio show, which is now in its 10th year, is an offshoot of that. It’s fun, because instead of trying to describe music on paper, which can be very difficult sometimes, I can just play it for people. And the talent that we have here in NEPA is incredible. Music has always been a very big part of my life and will probably always be the thing that people associate with me the most."

During your time at The Times Leader, didn’t you also interview a lot of rock stars? “It was an exciting time for music in the region. The Montage amphitheater opened in 1994, and the arena opened in 1999. Combine that with The Kirby and the Scranton Cultural Center, and all of a sudden, the biggest stars in world were visiting NEPA all the time. And I got to talk to quite a few of them.”

Anybody stand out? “Billy Joel, David Bowie, Eddie Van Halen, Steven Tyler, Don Henley, Jon Bon Jovi, Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley, Ray Charles … it was really a lot of fun, because they were all pretty fascinating people and incredibly talented. And when you could provide the readers with a story like that, they loved it. You can still listen to quite a few of them on YouTube. If you type in my name and the name of the artist, they pop right up.

Were you nervous, interviewing people like Billy Joel or Steven Tyler? Not at all. It was my job. And I always enjoy talking with and creative people. Whether they're famous or not doesn't really phase me. I've learned that everyone - and I mean everyone - has an interesting story to tell.  

What do you do in your free time to relax? “I'm a single Dad, and I work a few jobs, so I'm always on the go. But I try to hit the gym a few times a week. It’s a great way to clear your head out and get the endorphins kicking in. I also like working around my house. I played men’s softball in some pretty competitive leagues for about 10 years, but I haven’t played at that level in a long time. These days, when I’m not working, I’m often with my two children.  And we always have a lot of fun together.”

Favorite music? “The Beatles, as well as John and Paul’s solo material. Bruce Springsteen, U2, The Who, The Rolling Stones, KISS, The Badlees, Led Zeppelin and Robert Plant’s solo material. And I love Elvis Presley. I have about 90 of his songs on my iPod. Last year, I visited Graceland.”

Favorite TV show? “From the past, ‘Taxi’ and ‘M*A*S*H.’ These days, I like ‘Law & Order SVU.’

Favorite movies? “Field of Dreams, Dead Poets Society, Diner, Jaws, Caddyshack and The Breakfast Club. I also like Sleepless in Seattle and The Bridges of Madison County.”

Favorite color? “Black.”

Favorite food? “Italian. And seafood. But I also like bar food, such as burgers, wings and pizza. I could probably eat pizza four times a week.”

Follow sports? “I’m a huge fan of the New York Yankees and the Dallas Cowboys. I’ve probably been to Yankee Stadium about 75 times and I even made it down to Texas Stadium to see the Cowboys.”

Have you traveled much? “It’s funny, but my Dad helped give me my great love for baseball, and because of that, I’ve been to a lot of cities. Every summer, for the past 24 years, we go and see the Yankees play on the road somewhere. We’ve been to Boston, Toronto, Cleveland, Detroit, Cincinnati, Baltimore, Miami, Washington, Tampa Bay … all just to see the Yankees. I’ve also been to Dallas, Memphis, Denver and Charleston. My wish list includes Chicago and California. I’d like to drive down the coast from San Francisco to San Diego someday. And I’d like to visit England and Ireland.”

Favorite city? New York. No place else is even close. I just love the energy.”

Favorite vacation spot? Anyplace where there’s a beach. Long Beach Island, Cape May, Dewey Beach, Ocean City Maryland … I love them all.”

Favorite thing about NEPA? “The mountains, the Susquehanna and the people. And the pizza.”

Favorite books? “I’ve read dozens of biographies and autobiographies. I find the truth to be much more interesting than fiction. Right now, I’m reading ‘The Closer’ by Marino Rivera.”

Favorite quote? I have two: ‘Do Onto Others As You’d Have Done To You.’ It’s so simple, but it’s remarkable. Think about it. If everybody followed the simple golden rule, the world would be fine. There would be no crime. There would be no war. The other one I like is,  ‘It's amazing how much can be accomplished if no one cares who gets the credit,’ which is often attributed to either Harry Truman or Ronald Reagan, among others. I don’t know who said it first, but I do believe it’s true.” 

Favorite holiday? “Christmas. And the whole month leading up to it. I particularly like Christmas Eve.”

Guilty pleasure? “Soda. And a good gin and tonic on the weekend.”

Occupation you most admire? “Anything in the medical field. Doctors, nurses, paramedics … they are very special people.”

Biggest pet peeve? "Indecisiveness. When I make up my mind as to what I want to do, I pull the trigger. I just do it." 

First car? A 1974 Dodge Monaco. It was huge, which is probably why my parents bought it for me as my first car. They probably felt it was safe. I used to say that it had four rooms and a bath.”

Any nicknames? “The guys on my old softball team always called me ‘Mel,’ because there was a guy on the Yankees at the time named Mel Hall that I liked. And those guys, to this day, still call me that. Later, some of the guys started calling me "GQ" because I usually wear suits to work and, even with jeans, I like a nice blazer. And at the newspaper, they called me ‘AKS’ or ‘Alan K.’ "

What does the ‘K’ stand for? “Kent.”  

What might surprise some people about you?  "That's a tough one. I coached Little League one year. That might surprise people. And I guess some people might be surprised to learn that I have a degree in history and education. I taught high school social studies for a while and I really enjoy local history. One of the projects I'm still trying to complete, which began a few years ago, is a documentary film about the 'Agnes' flood of 1972. I really respect the field of education and I continue to teach in some ways. I am the class instructor with the Big Brothers Big Sisters anti-bullying program, which allows me to meet with kids in our local schools each week, and as recently as just a few years ago, I was an adjunct faculty member at Luzerne County Community College, where I taught English Composition. Another thing that might surprise people - though I guess some people might remember it - is that I had a little bit of a hit song on the radio back in 2003. It was on about 14 radio stations in NEPA that summer and was No. 5 on the local singles chart. It was definitely the most unique experience of my life ... to be driving in your car and hear your song on the radio, right in between Springsteen and The Rolling Stones. It's still somewhat surreal to me that such things actually happened.    

Most influential people on your life? “My parents, who were always there for me in every way. And my grandparents, who I spent a lot of time with when I was a kid. There is not a day that passes that I don’t think of them. I’ve also had some great bosses and supervisors over the years that I’ve learned a lot from and, in some ways, have tried to emulate. I also believe you can still learn from people that are younger than you. My daughter is the kindest person I’ve ever known. Not a mean bone in her body. And my son is hilarious. He always makes me laugh. They, in their own innocent ways, have had a great influence on me.”

What is your most memorable professional experience? “It was probably the 12 years we did ‘Concert For Karen/Concert For A Cause. It’s strange, because though I have great affection for that event, I also, clearly, wish it never happened, because it was first inspired by someone passing away way too young. But it was an incredible experience, and it was the most ‘pure’ thing you could ever imagine being a part of. There were so many people from the community that came together each year so beautifully … people from bands, people from newspapers, radio stations and television stations and sound companies, and there was no ego or any false agenda. Everybody got it. Everybody cared. And all that anyone wanted – every single person involved – was for the event to be a success each year. It was the most special thing I’ve ever been a part of. “

This month, you are receiving the “Lifetime Achievement Award" from the Steamtown Music Awards, which are a part of the Electric City Music Conference. How does that feel?  “It’s funny, because when I think of an award like that, I think of the 85 year-old guy that’s been nominated for the Oscar six times, but never won, so they toss him one before he checks out. Seriously though, I am very humbled and flattered, especially since it is coming from the community of local musicians that have been such an important and wonderful part of my life. I was very surprised when they told me about it, and I am appreciative.”

What do you enjoy about writing for the Westside Bulletin? “I moved to Kingston from South Wilkes-Barre when I was about nine years old. I grew up on the west side of the Wyoming Valley. I played Kingston sports – both baseball and football – and I’m a proud Valley West graduate. And I still live there. I know so many people on the west side, and so many businesses, and it’s fun to sit down with them and chat with them about either their personal life, or their business, or both. Sometimes, I might be interviewing somebody I’ve known for years. Sometimes, I might be interviewing someone I’m meeting for the first time. Regardless, I always learn something interesting about them, and I enjoy sharing that with the readers.”  

(Alan K. Stout is an award-winning journalist that has been voted NEPA's "Favorite Newspaper Columnist" seven times. He also earned a Keystone Pres Award for Excellence in Journalism. He has interviewed hundreds of people from throughout NEPA and now writes the "Up Close & Personal" feature for The Electric City, The Diamond City and the570.com. He wrote a similar column for The Times Leader from 2009-2011 and, in 2015, for The Weekender. Since 2012, under the name "Coffee With ...," it can also be found each month in The Westside Bulletin. In this column,  published in October of 2014 in The Westside Bulletin, the interviewer became the interviewee, as Alan was asked to answer some of the same questions that he usually asks people in the "Up Close & Personal"  and "Coffee With" feature.)

Eulogy for my Mom

 St. Aloysius Church – August 6, 2015

To my Dad, my sister and I, my Mother was our best friend. She was the one constant in our lives. Through all of the ups and downs, and the good times and the bad, she was the one that was always there. She was kind, she was strong, and she was wise.  And the three of us each had our own unique and special relationship with her.

Though for the past 38 years, the four of us were a family, my Mom and I actually go back a bit further. And I sometimes think of the five or six years that she was a single Mom, and it was just the two of us, living right here in South Wilkes-Barre. It was the mid -‘70s, and there was a popular song on the radio at the time called “You and Me Against The World,” and sometimes when it came on the radio when we were in the car, she would sing it to me.  Many years later, when I got married, I surprised her with it as our mother/son dance at the reception. And for the past few days, one line from that song has kept going through my mind.


“And when one of us in gone, and one of us is left to carry on, then the memories will have to do, our memories alone will get us through. Think about the days of me and you, you and me against the world.”

Some friends told me this week that my Mom was still with me, and that I should watch for the signs, but I really didn't want to do that just yet. I haven't turned on the radio or TV all week, and I wasn't looking for some heart-shaped cloud in the sky. I told a good friend, just last night, that if my Mom could ever send me such a gesture, I wanted to be walloped right over the head.


This morning, I stopped at the store to pick up some photographs of my children that I'd had developed and that I thought I might place with my Mom before she was laid to rest, and as soon as I walked into the store, that song  - "You and Me Against The World" - came on. It is not a song that you hear very often. It is not played very much. And I suppose the people in the store may have been wondering why I was walking up and down the aisle crying, saying "Oh, thank you, Mom. Thank you so much."


I thought all of you, who are also feeling great loss right now, might take some comfort in knowing that.


I have never forgotten those years with my Mom, and I never will, because she made what could have been difficult years great years. We had fun. And she was incredibly strong. Stronger than I can ever hope to be.


She was amazing.


My Mom married my Dad when I was nine. A year or so later, she had Susan, and for the past 39 years, we have been a family. And that’s how most of you here today know us, and that is how you’ve known her. And nothing mattered to her more than her family. She loved my Dad so much, and over the past few years, they really enjoyed retirement and travelling. He was just telling me the other night, with fondness, about some of their adventures, and I still have warm memories of being on family vacations, and looking down from the balcony of the condo, and seeing them going for one of their twilight strolls together on the beach. My mom loved the ocean. She could sit and just look at it for days. And my Dad always made sure she got there, often. Thank you, Dad.


Though Susan has lived in Philadelphia for 20 years, it’s really almost as if she never left. She visits home often. Very often. And she called my Mom and Dad pretty much every day. They had a special bond that can only be found between a mother and daughter, and my parents would also sometimes go and stay with her at her home in Philly for a few days. They also traveled together, visiting places such as Ireland and the tropics. They had fun. And if you noticed how perfect all of the arrangements for these services are, with everything so beautiful, that was simply Susan being her mother's daughter. 

Mom loved her family. And we loved her. And if the three of us thought there wasn’t even any more room for love in her heart, we were wrong, because once the grandchildren started to arrive about eight years ago, Mom seemed to take love another level. First was my daughter, Mary Ann, who shares my Mom’s name, her mother’s name, and her grandmother’s name. I know my Mom was proud of that, but probably not nearly as proud as I am. Then came my son, A.J., and then came Susan's and Matt’s son, John. My Mom loved Matt like a son, and she loved her three grandchildren with all of her heart. To say she spoiled them would be an understatement, and I know both Susan and I will find it to be very strange, over the next few weeks, to not be getting calls from her, asking us if there is anything the kids need for school. I know she would have been stopping by my house with a few bags of new clothes, and tablets and pencils and crayons, or, more likely she would have just taken the kids shopping with her and let them pick out some things they wanted and needed. Her grandchildren, all three of them, never wanted for anything. And nothing seemed to make her happier than bringing them joy.

Everyone here today, and those that we saw last night, had a unique and special relationship with my Mom. Her sister Joan, is here, who is heartbroken over the loss of who she still considers to be her baby sister. Other family members and friends, some from right in the neighborhood, some who have traveled a great distance to be here today, are also feeling great loss. Her former co-workers from King’s College, with whom she remained close with even after retirement, are feeling great loss. There were many times over the years that I talked with my Mom and asked what she was up to, and she said she was having dinner that night with the ladies from King’s. We met them all last night. She loved you.


Even before she retired, my Mom was also always busy at home. She enjoyed working in her beautiful yard and she was always tweaking something at the house. It seemed rooms that didn’t really need to be painted might be painted, or wallpaper that didn’t necessarily need to be replaced would be replaced, but her taste was always impeccable. At Christmastime, cars driving down her street would stop and compliment her on her holiday decorating.  Mom was always making things better. Mom liked things to look nice. And her home was immaculate. And today, when I have a guest at my home, or my sister has guests at her home, and we receive compliments on how the pictures are always hung perfectly and everything is in order, we both know - and we are proud to say - that we are simply a reflection of our mother.      


My Mom would be happy - and I know she is happy - that this beautiful church is her last stop here on this Earth. When the school next door opened in the 50s, she was among the first students to attend it for eight years. She received her sacraments here, she sang in that beautiful choir, and she enjoyed the May Crowings in the schoolyard across the street. Three months ago, she was joyous here as her granddaughter received her First Holy Communion. And now, she would want us to be strong. And she would want us to be joyous. She would want us, after a heartbreaking few weeks, to get back to our jobs and our work and to do good things. She would want my Dad to go fishing and spend time with us and his friends. She would want all of us  to enjoy our lives and our families. She never wanted us to worry. As recently as a few weeks ago, when she first began to have some setbacks with her health, and I would ask her how she was feeling, she would tell me not to worry, and that she was fine. Thinking back on it now, I think maybe she knew she was not fine, but she did not like to be fussed over and she always put her family first, and the thought of us worrying about her health was probably much more of a concern to her than her health.


In the end, my Mom simply showed us all the same strength that she showed me 40 years ago, when it was just her and me against the world. Back then, I didn’t have to worry about a thing. She made sure of that. And that’s what she still always wanted, for all of us.


About two weeks ago, I was with her at the hospital, and things were still looking OK. She was just starting to get some treatments, and she was sitting up in bed, and after a nice visit I was about to go home, and as I was leaving I told her that she was the strongest person I know. And she looked at me, and said, “Oh, I’m just doing what I have to do.”


And then she paused, and she looked right at me, and she said, “And you do what you have to do.”


It was one of the last conversations I ever had with her. And I have thought of it many times over the past two weeks.


We will all do what we have to do, Mom. We will be strong, like you, and we will always be here for each other, just as you were always here for us. We will still talk to you every single day, for the rest of our lives, until we see you again.


We will never forget you.


And we will never stop loving you.