Saturday, September 30, 2006
An accident on a storm-tossed ship starts a woman on a harrowing journey that will change several lives forever - Seattle P-I
Rose Bard had found friends, peace and romance working on a fish processing vessel in the Bering Sea. Then, one night in October 2005, everything changed. ...
[I'd recommend reading all of it.]
Rose Bard had found friends, peace and romance working on a fish processing vessel in the Bering Sea. Then, one night in October 2005, everything changed. ...
[I'd recommend reading all of it.]
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Blossoms of hope wilt away - Seattle Times
When I first met Jeff Alexander, I wanted to talk about his lot in life — how he came to be panhandling under the Ballard Bridge and living out of an old truck. He wanted to talk about flowers. It was a couple of days before Christmas. I was writing about Seattle's 'rolling slum,' a loose colony of 50 to 100 homeless folks who camp in lower Ballard in their trailers, vans, buses and cars. ...
Here's a link to the earlier column, If car-camping colonyisn't news, then times are worse than we think
When I first met Jeff Alexander, I wanted to talk about his lot in life — how he came to be panhandling under the Ballard Bridge and living out of an old truck. He wanted to talk about flowers. It was a couple of days before Christmas. I was writing about Seattle's 'rolling slum,' a loose colony of 50 to 100 homeless folks who camp in lower Ballard in their trailers, vans, buses and cars. ...
Here's a link to the earlier column, If car-camping colonyisn't news, then times are worse than we think
Ex-cop now saves lives as a minister - Seattle P-I
... "These were guys who put their hands on a problem, and they did something about it," Grazier said. He wanted some of that. Wanted to slap on the badge and the gun and get something done. "There was nothing bad going to happen when I was on the street," he said, imitating his early cop swagger.
Except it did, and mostly what it did was make him angry with God.
"I used to drive God around in the back of my patrol car," he said. "And I'd drag Him out at the scene and say, 'Look what You've created.' "
His years as a cop accrued him his share of traumatic stress. He responded the day a student fell 11 stories from a dorm room balcony. He was there when another student plunged down an elevator shaft, there when a student shot and killed a pathology professor in the medical school. More than once he looked down the barrel of a gun and feared he would die.
...
"I find God in the darkness, in the paradox, in irony," he said.
He recalls another early, difficult case.
The man was horribly burned, and the smell of death hung over the room. The patient's wife crouched over her grief in the corner, as though afraid to approach her husband.
Another family member had requested a baptism for the man, but the wife didn't want it, didn't think her husband would have wanted it. She snapped at Grazier for offering.
Grazier was confused about his role. He wondered what to do. He cursed God for stranding him in this situation.
Gently, he asked her permission to say a blessing instead. She nodded. She reached when Grazier extended his hand.
As he spoke to the dying man, the wife came to her husband's side. She laid her hand on his stomach, the only exposed part of his bandage-swaddled body. She began to cry and her tears fell against his skin.
At that moment, it was as though her tears were the baptismal water, Grazier said.
"Son of a bitch," he said to God. "You snuck up on me."
... "These were guys who put their hands on a problem, and they did something about it," Grazier said. He wanted some of that. Wanted to slap on the badge and the gun and get something done. "There was nothing bad going to happen when I was on the street," he said, imitating his early cop swagger.
Except it did, and mostly what it did was make him angry with God.
"I used to drive God around in the back of my patrol car," he said. "And I'd drag Him out at the scene and say, 'Look what You've created.' "
His years as a cop accrued him his share of traumatic stress. He responded the day a student fell 11 stories from a dorm room balcony. He was there when another student plunged down an elevator shaft, there when a student shot and killed a pathology professor in the medical school. More than once he looked down the barrel of a gun and feared he would die.
...
"I find God in the darkness, in the paradox, in irony," he said.
He recalls another early, difficult case.
The man was horribly burned, and the smell of death hung over the room. The patient's wife crouched over her grief in the corner, as though afraid to approach her husband.
Another family member had requested a baptism for the man, but the wife didn't want it, didn't think her husband would have wanted it. She snapped at Grazier for offering.
Grazier was confused about his role. He wondered what to do. He cursed God for stranding him in this situation.
Gently, he asked her permission to say a blessing instead. She nodded. She reached when Grazier extended his hand.
As he spoke to the dying man, the wife came to her husband's side. She laid her hand on his stomach, the only exposed part of his bandage-swaddled body. She began to cry and her tears fell against his skin.
At that moment, it was as though her tears were the baptismal water, Grazier said.
"Son of a bitch," he said to God. "You snuck up on me."
Pregnant and face to face with a gunman - Seattle P-I
As the shooter squeezed the trigger, the pregnant Seattle woman swung her left arm over her belly to instinctively protect her 17-week-old unborn baby.
...
Even after taking the bullet, Klein managed to regain her composure and call 911 -- defying the gunman's orders. When he angrily pressed the semiautomatic handgun to her head, she persuaded him to talk to the police dispatcher. ...
More stories about the shooting, including the victims' wish that the gunman not be executed:
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/specials/jewishfederationshootings/index.asp
As the shooter squeezed the trigger, the pregnant Seattle woman swung her left arm over her belly to instinctively protect her 17-week-old unborn baby.
...
Even after taking the bullet, Klein managed to regain her composure and call 911 -- defying the gunman's orders. When he angrily pressed the semiautomatic handgun to her head, she persuaded him to talk to the police dispatcher. ...
More stories about the shooting, including the victims' wish that the gunman not be executed:
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/specials/jewishfederationshootings/index.asp
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Injured boy's parents set up clinic - Seattle P-I
One day last year, shortly after he was struck by a car while trying to cross a street north of Ballard, 13-year-old Nick Messenger sat in a hospital bed in his family's living room, his head slumped to one side. The stroke and the brain injury he suffered rendered him unable to hold himself upright.
Most days, he stared emptily. He was unable to speak or swallow, so a feeding tube ran down his throat.
But on Monday, he said, "Mexican food," though the words came only a few syllables at a time and were barely intelligible. Though still in a wheelchair, Nick is eating now, and he'd been asked to name his favorite food.
Most recently, Eric Messenger, a contractor, and Nick's mother, Jennifer Messenger, a real estate agent, dipped into their savings to open a pediatric rehabilitation clinic blocks from the accident site. The clinic, Esperanza, which officially opens today, will offer traditional treatments and focus on a new device called a TheraSuit, which hasn't been available locally until now. Nick's parents took him to a California clinic to find it, and say it helped their son make progress.
"We've lost a lot... ," Eric said. But "I guess I've seen a lot of improvement, and so I'm optimistic there's going to be more. After seeing him in a coma, I'm just glad to have him be here."
Nick is back in school now at Meadowdale Middle School in the Edmonds School District. He struggles a bit with reading, but he can write, and he's good at math, his mother said.
"People think he just got out of the hospital, and he was all better. But it's been hard," Nick's brother Alex, 11, said Monday afternoon.
He and Nick's other brothers, Tony, 10, and Chris, 5, help move their oldest brother in and out of his wheelchair. They help him dress. They get him in and out of the van when they go to the clinic or on family outings. ...
One day last year, shortly after he was struck by a car while trying to cross a street north of Ballard, 13-year-old Nick Messenger sat in a hospital bed in his family's living room, his head slumped to one side. The stroke and the brain injury he suffered rendered him unable to hold himself upright.
Most days, he stared emptily. He was unable to speak or swallow, so a feeding tube ran down his throat.
But on Monday, he said, "Mexican food," though the words came only a few syllables at a time and were barely intelligible. Though still in a wheelchair, Nick is eating now, and he'd been asked to name his favorite food.
Most recently, Eric Messenger, a contractor, and Nick's mother, Jennifer Messenger, a real estate agent, dipped into their savings to open a pediatric rehabilitation clinic blocks from the accident site. The clinic, Esperanza, which officially opens today, will offer traditional treatments and focus on a new device called a TheraSuit, which hasn't been available locally until now. Nick's parents took him to a California clinic to find it, and say it helped their son make progress.
"We've lost a lot... ," Eric said. But "I guess I've seen a lot of improvement, and so I'm optimistic there's going to be more. After seeing him in a coma, I'm just glad to have him be here."
Nick is back in school now at Meadowdale Middle School in the Edmonds School District. He struggles a bit with reading, but he can write, and he's good at math, his mother said.
"People think he just got out of the hospital, and he was all better. But it's been hard," Nick's brother Alex, 11, said Monday afternoon.
He and Nick's other brothers, Tony, 10, and Chris, 5, help move their oldest brother in and out of his wheelchair. They help him dress. They get him in and out of the van when they go to the clinic or on family outings. ...
Friday, September 08, 2006
From the ashes of 9/11, religious inspiration - MSNBC
... Ari Schonbrun, 49, an executive at Cantor Fitzgerald brokerage, should have been in his office on the 101st floor at 8:46 that morning, but he was running late because he had stayed at home to finish a book order with his 8-year-old son. Nobody on that floor of the north tower was heard from after the impact of American Airlines Flight 11.
Instead, Schonbrun was changing elevators in the 78th floor sky lobby, where he encountered a horribly burned co-worker, Virginia DiChiara. Schonbrun helped his injured colleague down 78 flights of stairs and out to the street, where she insisted he accompany her in the ambulance to the hospital. Schonbrun is convinced it was another decision that saved his life.
“Otherwise I would have been sitting at the base of the building when the building came down," he said. "I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that had I not gotten into the ambulance that day I would be dead."
Schonbrun said 9/11 didn’t change him immediately, but it wasn't long before he found things seemed profoundly different.
“All those things that happened during the course of the day to me just reconfirmed to me that somebody was looking out for me that day," he said recently. ...
... Ari Schonbrun, 49, an executive at Cantor Fitzgerald brokerage, should have been in his office on the 101st floor at 8:46 that morning, but he was running late because he had stayed at home to finish a book order with his 8-year-old son. Nobody on that floor of the north tower was heard from after the impact of American Airlines Flight 11.
Instead, Schonbrun was changing elevators in the 78th floor sky lobby, where he encountered a horribly burned co-worker, Virginia DiChiara. Schonbrun helped his injured colleague down 78 flights of stairs and out to the street, where she insisted he accompany her in the ambulance to the hospital. Schonbrun is convinced it was another decision that saved his life.
“Otherwise I would have been sitting at the base of the building when the building came down," he said. "I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that had I not gotten into the ambulance that day I would be dead."
Schonbrun said 9/11 didn’t change him immediately, but it wasn't long before he found things seemed profoundly different.
“All those things that happened during the course of the day to me just reconfirmed to me that somebody was looking out for me that day," he said recently. ...
Labels: compassionate people
Tiny New York apartment became a refuge - MSNBC
Martin Wolk tracks down a man who helped him and many others on 9/11
Maybe in a small Kansas town, what John Roccosalva did would not have been a big deal. But in New York City on Sept. 11, 2001, it seemed extraordinary.
What Roccosalva did that day was invite people in to his Greenwich Village apartment to use the telephone — dozens of people, maybe 100, people who otherwise would have had no way to get in touch with their loved ones and let them know they were safe. Cell phone service was spotty at best. Long lines snaked away from the few available pay phones.
And Roccosalva kept going downstairs and asking more people to come inside and use the apartment, located about two miles north of the spot that came to be known as Ground Zero.
...
Looking around at others who found themselves in the second-floor apartment, I suddenly felt I was a part of a community of refugees, and Roccosalva’s generosity began to turn things around for me, helping to restore my faith in humanity. ...
Martin Wolk tracks down a man who helped him and many others on 9/11
Maybe in a small Kansas town, what John Roccosalva did would not have been a big deal. But in New York City on Sept. 11, 2001, it seemed extraordinary.
What Roccosalva did that day was invite people in to his Greenwich Village apartment to use the telephone — dozens of people, maybe 100, people who otherwise would have had no way to get in touch with their loved ones and let them know they were safe. Cell phone service was spotty at best. Long lines snaked away from the few available pay phones.
And Roccosalva kept going downstairs and asking more people to come inside and use the apartment, located about two miles north of the spot that came to be known as Ground Zero.
...
Looking around at others who found themselves in the second-floor apartment, I suddenly felt I was a part of a community of refugees, and Roccosalva’s generosity began to turn things around for me, helping to restore my faith in humanity. ...
Labels: compassionate people
Friday, September 01, 2006
Watching the World Change: The Stories Behind the Images of 9/11 - Digital Journalist and Vanity Fair
[This photo essay and book] examines a week's photo trove, from September 11 to September 17, 2001. The book, released to coincide with the fifth anniversary of 9/11, reveals the untold tales behind dozens of images, from the point of view of photographers and the unknown citizens in their pictures, from firefighters and politicians, from first responders and the relatives of the deceased who have used photographs to help them mourn, to heal, and to understand the unimaginable.
There is the story of Jean Coleman, a Connecticut realtor, who recognized her two sons, Keith and Scott, in a news photo, gasping for air in the windows of the 104th floor of Tower One. And the story of Frank Culbertson, the astronaut who videotaped the World Trade Center's smoke plumes from 250 miles up in space. There is the story of Lisa Palazzo, who turned her house into something of a photo shrine to her husband, Tommy. And the story of Bill Biggart and Glen Pettit, two photographers who got too close, perishing as the north tower plummeted above them. ...
[This photo essay and book] examines a week's photo trove, from September 11 to September 17, 2001. The book, released to coincide with the fifth anniversary of 9/11, reveals the untold tales behind dozens of images, from the point of view of photographers and the unknown citizens in their pictures, from firefighters and politicians, from first responders and the relatives of the deceased who have used photographs to help them mourn, to heal, and to understand the unimaginable.
There is the story of Jean Coleman, a Connecticut realtor, who recognized her two sons, Keith and Scott, in a news photo, gasping for air in the windows of the 104th floor of Tower One. And the story of Frank Culbertson, the astronaut who videotaped the World Trade Center's smoke plumes from 250 miles up in space. There is the story of Lisa Palazzo, who turned her house into something of a photo shrine to her husband, Tommy. And the story of Bill Biggart and Glen Pettit, two photographers who got too close, perishing as the north tower plummeted above them. ...
Labels: suffering
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