Blessed to have two ...

Those that know me best would probably note that I have always been a very reflective person. I often tend to look back on things from the past, but with today’s perspective. It is actually something that I enjoy. When I'm not doing that, I'm usually looking ahead and preparing for what’s next. That’s fine, too, but by doing both of those things too much, you can sometimes lose sight of the present. And you might not appreciate it. And though I recognize that living in the moment has never been something that I've been particularly good at, I can honestly say that such is not the case when it comes to my two children. When I am with them, I am very much right here, right now.

And I consider this a gift that they have given me.

Driving home from an amusement park last night, just the three of us, I realized that these days - right now - are some of the best days of my life. Putting my arms around them and holding them tight as we went on some of the park’s more adventurous rides is something that, well … I know these are things that will not last. My five year-old son telling me he would like to ride the mini roller-coaster, but only if I rode with him, are moments that, even while they are happening, are very special to me. And, thankfully, I was well aware of this as I held him close as we rode. The joy on my seven year-old daughter’s face as we emerged - completely saturated - from one of the water rides is something I will never forget. Her eyes - like the Irish girl that she is - seem to gleam even more when she smiles.

Taking them both to Yankee Stadium last weekend to their first MLB game provided for another moment, or series of moments, that I will never forget. The thrill in my daughter’s voice as we pulled into the Bronx and she spotted the stadium for the first time will stay with me forever. As will her funny but astute observation about the place, which she made from her seat in about the sixth inning:

“This is big.”

Every time I go back there, for the rest of my life, I will also always think of my son’s favorite part of the ballpark: the escalators, which he pronounces “excavators.”  He seemed happy to see Derek Jeter play baseball, but I also think he would have been happy to simply ride the stadium “excavators” all day. I suppose I could have saved a few hundred bucks and just taken him to Boscov’s. The boy always makes me smile.

Parents with older children often tell me to “cherish these days.”

Trust me. I am.

Though life often twists and turns in many directions, and though change is always in the air, I am – when it comes to my precious Mary Ann and A.J. – well aware that these are some of the best days of my life, and that these are days that I will someday look back upon and perhaps long to revisit. I am also well aware that being their father is the most important thing I will ever do, and that I am blessed beyond words to have them in my life.

Some people wish they had but just one thing to live for.

I have two.

Coffee with … Santa Claus

By Alan K. Stout

Westside Bulletin Correspondent

Santa Claus is a professional toymaker best associated with his tireless work during the Christmas holiday season. Claus, who is believed to be several hundred years old, resides at the North Pole with his wife, Jessica, who is best known as “Mrs. Claus.” Their extended family includes a workshop staff of 1,000 elves and nine reindeer, one of which has a red nose. In a rare and exclusive interview with The Westside Bulletin, Santa recently offered some insight into his magical life and why he continues to do what he does every Christmas Eve.   

 How did you first get involved with the whole giving-out-toys-to-every-kid-in-the-world-on-Christmas-Eve thing? That’s a pretty big undertaking. “If you have ever seen the TV special ‘Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,’ they did a pretty good job of getting the story right. I was adopted by the Kringle family as a baby, who were the finest toymakers in the world. When I got older, I offered to deliver the toys to the children at a nearby town, and over time it just grew into a rather epic yearly adventure. I remember the first time I did the whole globe in one night, I thought ‘Never again. That was a bit much.’ But the kids really loved it, and there was really no way I could stop. I’ve been doing it every Christmas Eve ever since.”

What do you still enjoy about it the most? “Just seeing the joy that the toys bring to the children. People assume that when I get back to the North Pole, I must be so tired that I sleep for three days. But I’m still too hyped up on adrenaline to relax, and after working so hard in getting ready for the big night all year, I want to be able to enjoy seeing the children open their gifts. So I tend to look in on them for a few days through my crystal ball, and I get to see the joy. A few days later, it all starts to catch up with me and I get some rest. New Year’s Eve is always a quiet and restful night at the Claus home. Our work is done.”

When do you start to get ready again for next year? “February 1. I always give everyone the month of January off. They put in some very long days, especially in November and December, so I give all of the elves a well-deserved break. Then, on February 1, it’s back to work.”

What is your favorite gift to leave for the children? “Dolls for the girls and trains for the boys. My staff and I have seen every toy trend come and go over the years, and my elves are the best, so they can make anything, but at the end of the day, you can never go wrong with a doll or a train.”

Do you really leave some kids coal at Christmas Eve? Growing up, I never heard of that actually ever happening to anyone. “It’s pretty rare, but it’s been done. Usually, it’s the parents that insist on it, and so I must oblige. Clearly, they want to use Christmas as a way to teach their kids a lesson and improve their behavior. I’m not a big fan of it and I don’t do it often. I think it’s been a good 10 or 15 years since it happened to anyone. But the possibility is always there. I do have a list, and I do check it once and then check it twice.”

What’s your favorite Christmas movie? “It’s funny, but I tend to prefer holiday films that don’t involve me or films in which I have appeared. I enjoy ‘Miracle on 34^th Street,’ but I’d rather watch something like ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ or ‘A Christmas Carol.’ I love those stories and how they reflect the Christmas spirit.”

What about the children’s holiday specials? Do you watch them?  “Certainly. I love them. And with those, I do like the ones that feature Santa. ‘Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,’ ‘The Year Without A Santa Claus’ and ‘Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer’ are wonderful. I also enjoy ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas,’ ‘Frosty The Snowman’ and ‘How The Grinch Stole Christmas.’ They’re all very well done.”

What’s your favorite Christmas music? “Well, honestly, the most moving Christmas music to me is the holiday hymns that you might hear sung by your church choir on Christmas morning. Those are the ones that best capture what the holiday is all about. Christmas is not about Santa. I’m just a small part of its celebration. The Christmas songs you hear in church are the ones that remind us why we celebrate. As for holiday albums, I love the classics – Bing Crosby, Johnny Mathis, Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra – albums like that. I also love the Elvis Christmas albums. The King loved Christmas. Sometimes when they’re working in the shop, the elves will be playing some of the more modern holiday music, such as Mannheim Steamroller or Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and I’ll stop and listen to it with them for a while. I like it. But in the end, just give me Bing singing ‘White Christmas.’ I love the classics.”

What do you do to relax? “I really do love anything that has to do with winter and the outdoors. We love to go sledding and skiing and ice skating. You’d think at my age, I’d have slowed down a bit, but I haven’t lost a step. Give me a toboggan and a big hill, and I’m as happy as a child.”

Any nicknames? “No. Not really. Some people think Kris Kringle and St. Nick are nicknames, but they are also my official legal names. People in different parts of the world prefer to call me by different things. To some, I’m Santa. To others, I’m St. Nick. To others, I’m Kris Kringle. As long as I am welcomed there, it doesn’t matter to me. Sometimes, if I do something wrong at home,  Mrs. Claus will call me Kristopher. She is the only one that calls me that. If I track in snow through the house, and she yells ‘Kristopher!” from the next room, I know I’m in trouble.”

Hobbies? “I collect vintage toys. And when I say vintage, I mean vintage. Though I’ve been making toys for a few hundred years, they actually go back much, much further. Dolls, toy animals and toy soldiers have been found on archaeological digs, and it is believed that the word ‘toy’ was first used in the 14th century. Any toy that pre-dates the Kringle-era of toy-making, I’m interested in.”

Favorite food? “I love sweets. Can’t you tell.” (He breaks into his famous “Ho-Ho-Ho” laugh.)

Favorite city? “They’re all special and unique. Obviously, with my work, I’ve been to all of biggest cities in the world, and also to every little town and village. New York and London really do Christmas well, but it doesn’t matter to me where it is – big town or small - as long as they are celebrating the holiday and I am made to feel welcome, I feel at home.”

Favorite vacation spot? “We actually stay north year-round. Sometimes if we want a little hustle bustle, we’ll visit Montreal or Toronto, but we tried the Bahamas and the Caribbean a few times many years ago, and it’s just not us. We’re winter people.”

Favorite color? “Red, of course.”

Favorite author? “Charles Dickens.”

Favorite book?  “ ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas.”

Tell us something about yourself that people might not know. “Most people seem to know that my crystal ball allows me to look in on children from time to time to see if they’re being naughty or nice, but what they might not know is that it also allows me to see into the future. For example, the 51st President of The United States is currently six years old. And what she wants for Christmas this year are a few Hello Kitty items. There’s also a boy I know who is now four, and 20 years from now, he will pitch in the World Series. Right now, he’s into ‘Batman’ and ‘Star Wars,’ but I think I better also leave him a ball and glove.”  

Defining moment? “It was a few days after we did that first one-night global trip many, many Christmas Eves  ago. The thank you letters had started to come in from the children, and I read every one of them. And each one touched my heart. At the time, I didn’t know it was something I’d do every Christmas Eve. It was just something I wanted to try once. We had plenty of toys at the shop, and I wanted the children around the world to enjoy them. And so off we went. And a few days later, when I started reading those letters, I knew I had my life’s work and my life’s mission. There is nothing like the smile of a child, and as long as the Good Lord allows me to remain a small part of his special holiday, I will always be there for the children on Christmas Eve. Always. Some people say that I am a blessing, because I make children happy, but I feel I am the one that has been blessed.”

 

HAPPY TRAILS, CHIEF

 

"Joe B." is leaving the Times Leader. He will be missed, but not forgotten

  

 

It's hard to imagine The Times Leader without Joe Butkiewicz. When I see the paper on my front porch every morning, I think of him. For 30 years, he was a constant presence in the newsroom, and I was fortunate enough to have been there with him for about half of them. At first, he was my co-worker. Later, for about eight years, he was my boss. Then, as we each moved in and out of different positions at the paper, he became a trusted colleague. Ultimately, what I will always consider him to be is a mentor and a friend. And since this is his last week at the TL, I would be remiss to not share some thoughts on the man that I have come to respect as much as anyone I have ever known in my own 20-plus years of journalism.

When I say "Joe B," as everyone calls him, was a constant presence in the newsroom, I mean it. When I first started at the paper in 1993, he was already a 10-year veteran, a features writer, music writer, and a film critic. And I can still recall those days in the early '90s when much of the newsroom staff would gather outside of the editor's office to discuss the latest highly-hyped blockbuster while Joe held court. His opinion mattered then, and years later when he became the editorial page editor, it mattered even more. With his commentaries on life in NEPA, his voice was, in essence, the voice of the newspaper. And in recent years, as he has served as executive editor - a.k.a. the big boss - his experience and leadership became its daily conscience.

My own nickname for Joe is "Chief." No real reason for it, other than from 1996-2001 and from 2005-2007, he was my boss. And I liked him. In fact when he was the Arts & Leisure Team Leader, or features editor, I think we all would have run through a fire for him. He led by example and he worked harder than any of us. He also let us develop our respective beats, while also creating a culture where we all knew that we could - and should - contribute to all of the features pages.

In 1998, when Chief envisioned changing our Friday "Weekend" section into a tab, he knew exactly what he wanted. He knew it would be better for the readers and that it offered more creative ways for stories to be presented and designed. We all bought into his plan and helped launch "The Guide," which can you still find in your Times Leader every Friday. If you like it, you can thank Joe B.

As a boss, Chief was the type of supervisor that you didn't want to let down. If he gave you the ball, you didn't not want to drop it. He always reminded us that everything we did - everything - was about the reader. "The Reader, the reader, the reader," he would sometimes say, or write in an editing note on a story. Sometimes, back in the '90s, when Joe liked one of your stories or how you handled a certain situation, you might find a little note, typed on his stationary, lying on your desk. Later, they came via e-mail. In my home, in a drawer in my office, I still have them all. When Chief said you did good, it made you feel good.

When it came to arts and entertainment, Joe was not concerned with following trends. Yes, I was assigned a story on the "Macarena" sensation - I mean, we had to do it - but he also liked the paper to be first in informing people about things they might find interesting. I remember in 1996 there was a very good local band that was about to release an excellent new album. I had an advanced copy, and I thought that while the group did not have the following of a band like The Badlees, it too had a chance at a national record deal. I pitched the band and its CD release as a cover story for the "Weekend" section, and though I told Joe I thought they were fabulous, I also felt I should tell him that the group wasn't really packing the clubs just yet.

"That's doesn't concern me at all," he said. "Let's be the ones to tell everyone about them."

They were our cover story. And sometime later, Mere Mortals were voted NEPA's best original band.

Joe always supported my projects. When I got involved with "Concert For Karen" and "Concert For A Cause," he came to the shows and always bought a t-shirt. When I later worked with the Newspapers in Education program and helped present the annual Times Leader/Scripps Spelling Bee, Joe was there. His position at the paper did not really require him to attend such events, but he did. And it meant a lot. On one occasion, when Joe was features editor, we got word from a publicist that a story I had written and had moved on the national wire had run in some of the largest newspapers in the country. He took the list of papers it had appeared in right into the editor’s office to let her know. Thinking back, I now realize that the fact that Joe was happy for me and proud of me meant more to me than the thought that the article might have been read a million people.

In 2000, I wrote a "Look Back" story at Christmastime. I won't bore you with the all of the details, but when people ask me what is my favorite story I've ever written, it is the one. My first draft, however, was quite different than the one that was published. And the suggested changes that helped make it my favorite came from Joe B.

Perhaps such tales are why I worked for Joe not once, but twice. In 2001, Joe left his position as features editor to become editorial page editor. In 2004, I left the features desk to become Newspapers in Education Manager. I liked the job very much and was in the position for about a year when I was called into the publisher's office. Ironically, I had literally just gotten back from a week-long conference in Charleston, where I met with other Newspapers in Education managers (NIE) from around the country.

 "Did you know that while you were away, the editor of The Weekender resigned?" asked Pat McHugh. I told him I did. In fact, he was a good friend. "Would you consider taking the position?“ he asked. “With your experience as an entertainment writer and copy editor, I think it's a great fit."

I paused for a minute. Though I figured that was probably what he was going to ask me when he called me in, and I knew it was a nice opportunity, I really did love the NIE program. Noticing my hesitation, he leaned forward, smiled, and offered this:

"I should tell you that while you were gone, I made some changes. Joe B. is now overseeing all of the weekly newspapers, so if you do this, you'll be working for Joe."

He had me. He knew he had me. And for the next two years, Joe and I had some fun times working on The Weekender. In fact, I think we surprised people. Though some may have thought that two old Times Leader guys coming over to The Weekender might have led to the paper losing some of its edge, Joe and I stirred stuff up all the time. One week, with a somewhat racy cover, we actually got the paper booted right out of every Turkey Hill in NEPA. We in turn used the publicity to our advantage and had everyone in town looking to pick it up. Not bad for two Catholic kids from Kingston.

More than anything, however, Joe is a very serious journalist. As noted, the reader is always his main concern. Such was the case when he covered music, reviewed films, wrote slice-of-life columns, and when he wrote features and editorials. I also saw it firsthand once again when, in 2011, I sat with him on the newspaper's endorsement board for what was an incredibly important election. And throughout his entire tenure of his final position at the paper - as its executive editor - he worked well with everyone from the reporters to the designers to the online staff. And I assume that's because they all felt the same way about him as I did.

Joe always referred to tough days and the challenges of working at a newspaper as "The Bear." Sometimes, he said, The Bear will win. Sometimes, he said, you will win. Joe slayed many a bear.

A few more Joe B. stories:

Back in the early '90s, there was a forecast for a major blizzard that was expected to start mid-afternoon. We all knew it was coming. Steve Corbett, our loud and outspoken metro columnist, was seated at his desk near the window when he shouted, "I just saw the first flake!"

 "That's your reflection," deadpanned Joe B.

Not only did the comment itself crack me up, but I was even more impressed at the speed at which it was delivered. Steve fumbled for a witty comeback, but came up empty. I was a young and quiet kid at the time, sitting off in the corner, but I think in my 18 years at The Times Leader, it was the hardest I ever laughed. Steve did, too.

In 2011, I left the paper to work with Big Brothers Big Sisters of The Bridge. Joe and I have stayed in touch, and earlier this year, I told him we were about to start getting ready for "Bowl For Kids' Sake," our biggest annual fundraiser. The Times Leader has always been a major sponsor of the event, but I knew there had been some big changes in the marketing department at the paper, and I wasn't sure who I should talk to about running some promos for the event. Joe thought about it for a minute, and finally said, "Just get them to me." This was certainly not the responsibility of the executive editor of the newspaper. And while some might say he had bigger fish to fry, Joe does not think that way. He knows a newspaper has a responsibility to a community. Our "Bowl For Kids' Sake" promos ran in the paper, and I know that this was not simply because of our relationship. He's done it for many other community groups as well. He knows it is just as important as the page one headline.

Though he was no longer my supervisor, I worked with Joe right up until the day I left the paper. For about two years, I wrote a Sunday feature called "MEET." It was Joe that asked me to write it, and again, I enjoyed working with him. And after 18 years, on my very last day at the paper, even though he worked in another building, it was Joe that came over to my office at the end of the day and walked me to my car. It meant a lot. 

It's funny, but whenever I worked with Joe and I would thank him for something he did for me, or taught me, and I would try to give him a compliment, he would deflect it by saying 'You're only as good as the people you work with." That might be the only thing I disagreed with him on. Joe has never given me bad advice on anything, and your boss can make you better. And he or she can't do that if they're not pretty damn good themselves.

 Again, Joe cared the most about the readers. (The reader, the reader, the reader.") But he also cared about his staff. I've shared a few of my stories here, and I know many others who worked with him can easily do the same. When I was covering rock music for the paper and Joe was my supervisor, there were certain things he expected. He wanted concert reviews that were both reporting (the attendance, the set-list) and commentary (crowd interaction, sound quality.) And you better hit your deadline. But every time I headed out of the newsroom to cover a show at Montage, or the arena, or the Kirby, or Philly, the last thing he'd say was, "Have fun."

Chief, we always had fun. And that, in large part, was because of you.

Joe leaves The Times Leader on Friday. On Saturday, the presses will roll on. Which is exactly what he wants. I'm sure he hopes the TL carries on for another 106 years, and that the co-workers he leaves behind continue to have fulfilling careers. What I want for him as he enters a new phase of his life is the same thing he wanted for me when he was my boss and I was his music critic.

 Whatever you do, Chief, have fun. Have plenty of fun.

 Nobody deserves it more.

A SONG FOR GRANDPA

Live from Graceland, Elvis Radio dedicates a special song
 

 (Click square in lower right to enlarge video)

Everybody that truly loves music has a story of the time they first fell in love with it. For me, there were a few steps along the way which brought me to where I am today. My first concert in 1982 - The Who at the old JFK Stadium in Philadelphia - changed my life. And seeing both Bruce Springsteen and KISS in concert for the first time in 1984 also had an undeniable impact. Later, seeing U2 also showed me that rock and roll, when presented in a certain and very special way, can literally take you to another place.

But my initial spark with music went back much further. About 10 years further, to be exact. It was then, in the early '70s, while sitting with my grandfather and listening to his albums, that I first heard Elvis Presley. As a kid, I spent an incredible amount of time with my grandpa. He watched me every day after school until my Mom got out of work, and in the summertime, he watched me all day. My memories of that time are all fond ones. He pretty much let me have the run of his house. My friends were welcome there, and he even put a little swimming pool in his backyard for me. He was a kind man, and when it was just him and me hanging out, we didn't watch a lot of TV. We listened to records. Mostly Elvis Presley records.

Elvis in the '70s was larger than life. Though only in his mid-30s when the decade began, he was already a living icon. His 1973 "Aloha From Hawaii" concert was viewed by more than a billion people around the globe. He was still cranking out hits such as "Burning Love." And even the mass popularity of a show such as "Happy Days" - which made frequent references to The King - helped give a young lad such as myself a better understanding of how long Elvis had been such an important figure in pop culture. His death in 1977 was met with a sense of national grief which, to this day, was unlike anything I've ever seen.

All of that had a strong influence on me. It changed me. And I know that it changed me for the better. Later, as a teen, I would would go to rock concerts and have some of the best times of my life. In college, I picked up an old bass guitar and played in a few bands. In my twenties, I began to cover rock and pop music for newspapers, and in my thirties, I helped launch a weekly radio show and even entered the recording studio a few times to record a few tunes that I had written, or songs by some of my favorite artists. One of those songs was by Elvis Presley.

All of it goes back to me and my grandpa, sitting in his parlor, listening to Elvis records on his fabulous console-style, floor-model stereo. The man took his music seriously, and I think about him every day, and of what a wonderful influence he had on my life. And so I was moved when, this past Saturday, Elvis Radio - which broadcasts right from Graceland - read a request and dedication that I'd sent in and played a song in memory of my grandpa. It was a tune called "We Can Make The Morning," from the album "Elvis Now," which was one of his favorites.

Thank you, to Bill Rock and Elvis Radio for allowing people to share such stories with one another, and now through the above link, allowing me to share it with you. It meant a lot to me. And from his parlor in Pennsylvania 40 years ago, to Memphis, to the radio satellites, to the heavens, I like to think that it meant a lot to him, too.

To quote The King: "Thank ya. Thank ya very much."

Again, it meant a lot to me.

'Santa Rescue' gives St. Nick-knacks a happy home

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 of 1971. 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.

This year, 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, starting today, some of those Santas are getting a new home. Today, Mary Ann, A.J. and I went out on our first “Santa Rescue.” We went to a few of those stores, all within just a few miles of home, and we bought five nice little Santas. They are of good quality, they feature 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 will always know that 2012 was the year when that particular Santa joined our own mini North Pole.  I told the kids that this is something that we’ll do every year around Christmastime, and that over the years, little by little, our collection will grow, and that when it’s time to decorate for the holidays, we’ll always find a shelf or a nice place in the house to display our Santas. I also told them that, even in the summer, at a place like the church bazaar, it was OK to rescue a Santa. If we find one or two next year, we’ll just write a “13” under the base and, at Christmastime, we’ll add him to our collection.

Like most families, we have quite a few nice holiday traditions. There are people and places that we visit and customs that we enjoy. This year, we started a new one. And though it only took about an hour or so and it came with no great expense, I think it’s something we’ll come to 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 Chirstmas 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, through another holiday story - which I will share as we get a little closer to Christmas - 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.

Santa – or, should I say, Santas – will always be welcome in ours. As will everyone that we know and love. 

Merry Christmas.

NO EXCUSES.

 IT'S TIME TO BETTER REGULATE

SOME OF THESE GUNS

The flag flies at half-staff at the Wyoming Valley West Middle School in Kingston, PA. When I attended the school in 1980-81, we didn't  think about things like what happened last week in Connecticut. Times have changed. 

It's now been almost a week since the tragic and devastating shootings at the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. It's been a week of numbing newscasts and heartbreaking  headlines. There's been a lot to digest. Here are some of my thoughts:

I am 45 years old. And I have never held a gun in my life. Why? Because I am not a soldier, I am not a police officer and I don’t hunt. Therefore, I have never had any reason to hold a gun. I would like to go to my grave, hopefully quite a few years from now, being able to say that I never held a gun. At the same time, growing up in Pennsylvania, where kids now actually get the first day of hunting off from school, I have had many friends that enjoy hunting. Please let it be clear that nobody cares about that. Nobody wants to take their guns. As long as they are registered properly, and they keep them locked up at home in a very safe place away from their kids, nobody cares if somebody takes a rifle out a few times a year and goes hunting. I personally couldn’t shoot an innocent animal simply going about its day out in the woods, but in fairness to the hunters, most of them do eat what they hunt, and it would be hypocritical of me to condem them when I enjoy a good steak or cheeseburger as much as the next guy.

What irritates the hell of out me is when things like this happen in Connecticut, or Colorado, or Arizona, and people start talking about getting some better legislation and laws on gun control, and some of these pro-gun zealots get all up in arms. (No pun intended.) They start crying about how the government is going to take away their guns, and how much they need their guns, and how it is their “constitutional right to bear arms.”

 Really?

You’re going to cite the constitution as the reason you have the right to own an automatic weapon that was probably designed for warfare?

 Do they know that when the constitution was written 230 years ago, guns were carved out of wood and shot one round at a time? Do they know that when the constitution was written women could not vote, and that you could actually go to an auction somewhere and actually purchase another human being to work your farm or be your servant? Wake up, gun nuts. Things have changed. And for the most part, new laws and legislation usually make things better and safer for everyone. For the last time: Nobody wants to take away your hunting rifle. And if you’re as good at shooting that thing as you probably think you are, that should be plenty to make you feel safe in your home.

The President is only person in the country who has personally gone and met with the families of all of these victims in all of these towns and cities, and he is the only one who has hugged all of them and has seen the heartache in their eyes. And if he has promised them - when they have asked him, which you know they have - that he will do something about the regulation of handguns and automatic weapons, then we all better just step aside and let him do what he has to do.

And yes, I understand mental illness is also an issue here. But unfortunately, that is a part of the human consdition that dates back to the beginning of mankind. Some people, unfortunately, will always suffer from it. Always have. Always will. All we can do is try to help them as best we can. We can’t legislate them. But we can legislate the guns.

There. I vented. Now I will go back to tearing up every time I see a picture of one of those little kids and praying for their families.

 

 

SEPTEMBER 11: A SURVIVOR'S STORY

September 11, 2011

By Alan K. Stout
The Weekender

The United States notes the 10th anniversary this week of the Sept. 11 attacks, and with those reflections come personal memories. Where were you that day? How were you affected? What were your thoughts? I’ve already had this conversation with a few friends and family members, and I thought I’d share them with you as well. And not so much because of anything significant that happened to me on that day, but because of a story that I was told — on that very day — that will stay with me forever.

I had just arrived at work at The Times Leader when I first heard that a plane hit the North Tower of The World Trade Center. And frankly, I didn’t think much of it. As a kid, I had been to the top of both the Empire State Building and the Twin Towers, and I distinctly recalled, when visiting the Empire State Building, hearing about how a small plane had once hit the structure decades before. Apparently, it was a foggy day, and the pilot had lost his way. Sad, in that I believe the pilot was killed, but the loss of life was minimal, as was the damage. And for some reason that’s what I figured must have happened at the Twin Towers on Sept. 11.

We had a meeting at 9 a.m. that morning. It was not a newsroom meeting, where I worked, but rather one attended by members of all departments. As we waited for the meeting to begin, most everyone was chatting about the situation in New York. If I recall, I shared the Empire State Building story with some co-workers, trying to reassure them. It was a gorgeous morning here, but who knew what the weather was like in New York? And we hadn’t yet learned that it was a jet. Maybe it was another small plane in the fog? Or maybe the pilot had a heart attack? Our community news editor, however, already sensed something much worse. She was the first one that I can recall speculating that it was terrorism. And just a few minutes later, our managing editor came into the meeting, told us there was a significant event happening in New York and that another plane had struck the towers. He asked all members of the newsroom staff to return to the newsroom immediately. It would be the only time in my nearly 20 years at the newspaper that we would publish a special afternoon edition.

Soon, we were all given assignments. Mine was to investigate whether or not any of our local federal buildings were being evacuated. Truthfully, I didn’t understand the assignment at first. Did anyone really think any buildings in Northeastern Pennsylvania would be targeted? Regardless, I had my assignment, and off I went. My first stop was at the Federal Courthouse on South Main Street in Wilkes-Barre. And as I arrived, I admit I was pretty shocked to see that it had already been partitioned off to the public by yellow police lines and that the people that worked there were indeed being moved out. And as I stood there, looking at that yellow tape, it occurred to me that nobody really had any idea what was happening. Maybe there were cells of terrorists all over the nation. Maybe any federal building was a target. To be standing in the middle of my hometown and have that odd and uneasy feeling is something I will never forget.

My next stop was the Stegmaier Building on Wilkes-Barre Boulevard. Though not technically a federal building, it was the home of some federal offices and the office of U.S. Congressman Paul Kanjorski. And it too was being evacuated. When I got back to the newsroom, I called the federal courthouse in Scranton. They were also being moved out.

Amid all of this, everyone was monitoring what was happening in New York. I was so busy, I don’t recall when I found out about the plane hitting the Pentagon or the crash in Shanksville, Pa. I know I was on my way back from the Stegmaier Building in my car — at the red light the intersects E. Market Street and Wilkes-Barre Boulevard — when I heard on radio that the first tower had fallen. And I was in the newsroom watching the coverage on TV when the second tower fell.

Soon, it all got a lot more personal.

My sister called. She was crying. Her fiance’s best friend was missing. He worked on about the 102nd floor of the South Tower, and no one had heard from him. All anyone knew was that he was in the building at the time of the attacks and that his office was well above where the planes had hit. With cell-phone service overloaded, the anguish of his family and friends would go on for several heartbreaking and excruciating hours before he was finally able to reach them and tell them he had escaped. Later in the day, sometime around 3 p.m., I asked my sister if she thought he might be willing to talk to me about it. When I think back on it now, I don’t know how many reporters anywhere in the country actually interviewed anyone on Sept. 11 that was actually inside those buildings on that very day, but when he agreed to get on the phone with me, I realized that neither of us had fully realized the magnitude of what he had been through. He was calm and collected, but his story was memorable:

He was at his desk at about 8:45 a.m. He and one co-worker, an older woman, were the only ones that had yet arrived at their office. She saw smoke coming from the North Tower and suggested they leave. He resisted and said there was nothing to worry about. And who could blame him? If you ever saw the Twin Towers in person, you could see that there was actually plenty of distance between them, and that if one had somehow caught fire, the other wasn’t really close enough to be affected. But she had worked there in 1993 when terrorists first hit the buildings, and she insisted that they leave immediately. And rather than take the elevators, she insisted they walk down more than 100 flights.

And by doing that, she saved his life.

He explained that when they got down to about the 50th floor, they felt the whole building shake. It was the second plane hitting their building. And most everyone above that floor died.

I also interviewed his girlfriend that day, who was a native of Larksville and was my sister’s best friend. She was still stunned, yet as you would expect, incredibly relieved. The following summer, they were both in my sister’s wedding party. He was the best man. And when he gave the toast, I wondered how many people in that crowded room even knew his story.

Unfortunately, there were many such stories on that horrible day. Nearly 3,000 of them ended much worse. His was one of the better ones, and while I was just a working reporter, I was glad to hear him tell it. I saw him again three months ago. My sister and her husband had their first child, and he was at the christening. And as I looked at him from across the room, 10 years later, I thought the same thing as I did at that wedding. I wondered how many people there knew his story.

I am told that he never talks about Sept. 11. And who can blame him? He lost many co-workers and probably some part of himself. But what I hope he knows — and what I hope all Sept. 11 survivors, widows, widowers, grieving parents and siblings and orphans know — is that what we all said 10 years ago wasn’t just lip-service. It wasn’t just patriotism brought about by tragedy. When we said it, we meant it.

We will never forget. 

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