#11 Anne Frank

Next on my Lenten list of people I admire, respect and for whom I have compassion, is Anne Frank.

Any time I delude myself into thinking I have a smidgeon of writing ability, I think of Anne Frank, and the delusion quickly goes away.

I'm not going to give a summary of who she was. If you don't know who Anne Frank was, please leave this blog right now and never return. And go to school.

I had a diary when I was about 11 years old and, to read it now, I suppose it's about as insightful as your average 11 year old would be. I went here and there, I did this and that, I saw so and so. Pretty much a laundry list of life. If I was in hiding from the Nazis for over 2 years, I might have managed to write something with a little more depth, but I don't know. What I do know is that there was nothing average about Anne Frank, her diary or her life.

Anne Frank started writing her diary on June 14th, 1942, two days after her 13th birthday, and 22 days before going into hiding in the Achterhuis (Secret Annex) in Amsterdam; hidden rooms in her father's office where she, her sister Margot, her mother and father, the van Pels family and later Fritz Pfeffer, a dentist, hid from the Nazis.

Fritz Pfeffer

Her last entry was August 1st, 1944. On the 4th of August, the Gestapo and Dutch police stormed their hideout. They were all apprehended and eventually sent to Auschwitz concentration camp, and later to Bergen-Belsen, where Anne died in March, 1945, two weeks before the camp was liberated by British forces. The sights those men must have seen...

One of those who had aided the Frank family was Miep Gies, who was questioned concerning her involvement but was later released.

Miep Gies

The next day, Miep went back to the Secret Annex and retrieved what she could. Among the items she found were Anne's diary and papers, which Miep saved so that she could return them to Anne after the war. Instead, she gave them to Anne's father, the only one of the Frank family to survive the death camps.

Her diary, "Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl" has subsequently been published in more than 60 languages, and is said to be the most widely-read book on the Holocaust.

My sister Alice & I had the privilege of going to the Anne Frank Huis, the Secret Annex, when we visited Amsterdam in 2006. Photography was not allowed inside, understandably but unfortunately. 

One could walk by that building, and never suspect what lay behind those black doors. That's what those poor souls in hiding counted on, in 1942. The informant who told of their secret has never been identified.

The room in the Secret Annex that Anne shared with Fritz Pfeffer.

I may be wrong, but I firmly believe that the phrase "if these walls could talk" was coined here. Anne Frank did her best to give voice to those walls, in her diary.

She had hopes and dreams of becoming an actress, the same type of hopes and dreams as any teenaged girl, none of which she lived to see fulfilled.

"This is a photo as I would wish myself to look all the time.
Then I would maybe have a chance to come to Hollywood." - Anne Frank, 10.Oct.1942

Her dreams were replaced by the nightmares and unspeakable horrors that her 15 year old eyes would have beheld, and the suffering she would have endured, in places such as Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen. It is impossible to imagine.

After writing her diary for almost two years, she aspired to become a journalist instead:

"I finally realized that I must do my schoolwork to keep from being ignorant, to get on in life, to become a journalist, because that’s what I want! I know I can write ..., but it remains to be seen whether I really have talent ... 

And if I don’t have the talent to write books or newspaper articles, I can always write for myself. But I want to achieve more than that. I can’t imagine living like Mother, Mrs. van Daan (nickname for Mrs. van Pels) and all the women who go about their work and are then forgotten. I need to have something besides a husband and children to devote myself to! ...

I want to be useful or bring enjoyment to all people, even those I’ve never met. I want to go on living even after my death! And that’s why I’m so grateful to God for having given me this gift, which I can use to develop myself and to express all that’s inside me! 

When I write I can shake off all my cares. My sorrow disappears, my spirits are revived! But, and that’s a big question, will I ever be able to write something great, will I ever become a journalist or a writer?"

~ Anne Frank, 5.April.1944

I hope that in Heaven, Anne Frank knows that her dream of "writing something great" was indeed realized, to a degree and with a world impact she could never have imagined.

Well done, little girl. Your words are living on, long after the tyranny that killed you. Rest in peace, knowing that the world is a better place because you were in it.

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#10 Danny Williams

I usually don't identify with the "popular kids", as my life experience, especially in school, was that those deemed "popular" were often vicious savages who made my life a living hell. When I hear that someone is "popular" - I flinch, almost always with good reason, which usually becomes evident once the layers are peeled back.

Therefore, it's a tad ironic that one person appearing on my list of those I admire and respect is Danny Williams, Newfoundland's 9th premier, and one of the most popular Canadian politicians of all time.

However, it must be said that it is not former Premier Williams' popularity that has earned him a coveted spot on my Lenten 40 list. In fact, it is quite the opposite. It was his eager willingness to be controversial, to stir it up, and to fight the fights laid at his door that has garnered my admiration and respect.

Danny Williams won the leadership of the Progressive Conservative Party of Newfoundland in 2001, becoming leader of the official opposition. In November, 2003, he led the PCs to a huge victory, winning 34 of the 48 seats in the provincial general election.

I remember that election day well. My mother was in hospital, and insisted on getting a day pass so she could get out to vote for Danny! I took her to the polling station, and then we went for lunch, like ladies do. It was the last time we got to 'do lunch', but it was a memorable one.

He fought the feds, and got us our promised Atlantic Accord billions. Wonderful.

He negotiated his heart out to get the initial work done on the Muskrat Falls project. Great!

But, both accomplishments pale in comparison to the two pivotal fights he waged, which will assure him a big ol' chunk of my heart for the rest of time.

First, it was fighting the seal hunt fight, and more specifically, taking it internationally, duking it out with Paul McCartney and his hare-brained wife on CNN's "Larry King Live".

As sweet as it was to see, it wasn't a challenging battle. McCartney proved himself to be geographically-challenged, thinking he was in Newfoundland when he was actually in Prince Edward Island, and sitting there, looking embarrassed and whipped, as his missus did most of the harping. (Pun intended. "Harp" seal, get it? Get it???) It was clear that McCartney was doing this to placate his wife. He certainly did not present himself as someone for whom the seal hunt was a passionate cause. I guess even he has to live by the credo, "happy wife, happy life", although as they separated very shortly after this, I guess she wasn't too happy with his performance, or passion, either!

The other fight that will go down in history is the infamous "Flag Flap". From Wikipedia:

"Williams' popularity increased when he fought with then Canadian Prime Minister Paul Martin over a campaign promise Martin had made that would lead to a revised Atlantic Accord.

Williams, supported by leaders of the other provincial parties, walked out of talks with Martin, saying that cap would cost the provincial government billions of dollars in lost revenue over the life of its three oil fields.  

Williams raised the temperature on December 23, 2004, when he ordered the removal of all Canadian flags from provincial government buildings. On January 10, 2005, Canadian flags started flying once again in the province, and several weeks later Newfoundland and Labrador reached a deal with Ottawa. A March opinion poll indicated that support for the Williams government had rebounded to 86 percent."

For 19 brief days, from December 23rd, 2004 to January 10th, 2005, I tried to imagine how my parents felt, pre-1949, before Newfoundland joined Canada, when Canada was just another country, nothing really to them. I tried, and I succeeded a little bit, too. It was wonderful to think about. I wish my mother had lived to see it. She would have swooned with delight!

The pink, white and green flag resurfaced right around that time. Not officially a flag of the Republic of Newfoundland, but that was what it came to symbolize for many.

The spark of patriotism for Newfoundland was now in full flame. The colors pink, white and green began to take off, appearing in the widest and wildest array of places that the imagination could devise:

Everywhere!

Talk of separation from Canada was happening on Open Line radio programs and at the water coolers, and it all seemed just too good to be true, which it was.

I love Canada as a country. I've lived there, worked there, have friends there. The people are great, the geography is stunning, and it is a place of which to be proud. But I hate the politics of Canada that has looked down on us from Day One, ruined our fishery, ruined our seal hunt, was about to ruin our offshore oil industry and is a socialist dictatorship with one man having ultimate power. We, who love to rant and roar, had been left with no voice following Confederation in 1949.

But for a while, Danny Williams changed all that. We had a voice being heard loud and clear, wherever it needed to be heard.

He was a self-made multi-millionaire, already a powerful man, who did all that he did as premier because of his love for Newfoundland. The crying shame is that the reign of King Danny ended all too soon.

He is now spending his days toiling in the private sector, making millions more, no doubt, and enjoying his life.

Danny Wiilliams made more of a positive impact on his province and his fellow Newfoundlanders in his seven short years in office than any politician, before or since.

When he was not off politicking, he was showing his great sense of humor on shows such as "Rick Mercer Report", and "22 Minutes". He and Mark Critch had a fantastic on-camera chemistry, as is evident in this video clip:

Those of us who only know him in the public arena certainly miss his presence; his willingness to laugh at himself, and his "Fighting Newfoundlander" spirit. Good luck to you, Premier Williams, and thank you for winning the battles that needed to be won.  

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#9 Davy Jones

Yesterday afternoon, I had just finished writing my blog post for today, and was putting the finishing touches on it, when I heard the news that Davy Jones had died. It was definitely a case of "stop the presses". This is a person who I wanted to acknowledge, for sure.

Davy Jones, along with Mike Nesmith, Micky Dolenz and Peter Tork, were the Monkees, a pop band of the 1960's who were, to this child of the '60's, nothing less than totally groovy!!

I loved Davy Jones!! He was the lead singer, the diminutive band member with the adorable English accent, who played the tambourine and sang like an angel. I remember one Christmas, my cousin got a tambourine from Santa, and I was insanely jealous.  

Yahoo Music named him the Number One teen idol of all time. Fox News named him #2, after Shaun Cassidy. As if!!!

The band broke up in 1970, and each member went his own way. A few reunion tours happened, but none was wildly successful. Davy Jones continued singing and writing songs, and acting as well.

There is a lot written about the Monkees, accusing them of trying to be the American answer to the Beatles, and about their infighting in later years. Whatever... They recorded together from 1966 to 1970, and starred in their TV show from '66 - '68. All that was important to this 5- through 9-year old little girl - me - was that they were so cute, and sang such nice, singable songs. No "parental advisories" required here.

They actually did meet the Beatles, who hosted a party for them when they visited England. From Wikipedia:

"The party occurred during the time when The Beatles were recording Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. 

Nesmith attended the "A Day in the Life" sessions at Abbey Road Studios; he can be seen in The Beatles' home movies, including one scene where he is conversing with John Lennon. During the conversation, Nesmith had reportedly asked Lennon "Do you think we're a cheap imitation of the Beatles, your movies and your records?", to which Lennon assuredly replied, "I think you're the greatest comic talent since the Marx Brothers. I've never missed one of your programs."  

George Harrison praised their self-produced musical attempts, saying, "It's obvious what's happening, there's talent there. They're doing a TV show, it's a difficult chore and I wouldn't be in their shoes for the world. When they get it all sorted out, they might turn out to be the best." "

How very gracious of them.

















Prior to his fame with the Monkees, my mother & father saw him in "Oliver" on Broadway in 1964, as the Artful Dodger. He was only 17 years old.

Ironicallly, Davy Jones appeared in the role of the Artful Dodger on The Ed Sullivan Show, on the same night as the Beatles' very famous first appearance.

There was never a resurgence in the fame he enjoyed during the Monkees heyday, though he continued to write and perform throughout his life.

He married - three times in fact - and had four daughters.

It was reported yesterday that he died in his sleep, of a massive heart attack. He was 66. This makes me very sad. In some kind of indescribable way, it also makes me feel old. Another little piece of my childhood - gone.

( Update - more here from ABC news... An excellent series of video clips, including an interview with Micky Dolenz.)

I admired Davy Jones, not only in the way an 8-year-old love-struck girl can, which is pretty heady stuff, don't kid yourself! I admired him for his wonderful talent, and his ability to live his life doing what he loved, and for having the strength of character to not fall into the pathetic rut that so many celebrities do, when the lights fade and the crowds dwindle and the drugs kick in.

You may be gone, Davy Jones, but your music and your sweet voice will live on. Thanks for the memories.

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#8 Allan Hawco

Over the years, there are many Newfoundlanders who have made a name for themselves, either locally or nationally, some even internationally.

Some have made their names and fortunes in politics, some in entertainment, some in the business world. There are not so many, however, who have given back so much, who have done as much for the image and collective morale of this province as Allan Hawco of the hit television series, "Republic of Doyle".

I consider any Newfoundlander who has not watched this series, who has not loved it, and is not caught up in the hype, as being unpatriotic. Call me wrong and all the other things you can call me for having this opinion, but I do! Unapologetically.

Allan Hawco stars in, writes, and is executive producer of "Republic of Doyle". His fingerprints are all over it, which meant he was either going to get all the blame, or all the glory, whichever way it turned out. I'm thrilled for him that he's gettin' the glory! And, boy, does he ever deserve it.

When I first heard that there was a local series being filmed, I had nauseating visions of another "Hatching, Matching & Dispatching" embarrassment. Some locals seem to think that unless there is blatant vulgarity and foul language at every turn, Newfoundlanders aren't going to enjoy it. WRONG.

When I heard the title of the show, before it had ever aired, I thought it was going to have a political premise, based on the word "republic", and how close we were back in 1949 to being exactly that. I had no idea that it was a private eye show, one styled loosely on the 1970's series "The Streets of San Francisco".

From Scene 1, Season 1, they've had me hook, line and sinker. That first season, I had to watch every episode at least 3 times. I was so distracted by how beautiful St. John's (and up-until-then unknown Allan Hawco) looked, that I had a hard time following the storylines! It was all about trying to figure out where each scene was filmed. All those involved with the production of "Republic of Doyle" made a gift to us of our beautiful city being the backdrop for a cleverly written, smart, funny, dramatic series, that just as importantly was not patronizing and did not play on the hateful stereotypes of our province and its people.

The cast is a wonderful blend of personalities that are so believeable and talented.

Sean McGinley, Allan Hawco, Krystin Pellerin, Lynda Boyd, Rachel Wilson, Mark O'Brien, Marthe Bernard

The guest stars they've featured over the past 3 seasons are proof that if celebrities of this caliber are willing to involve themselves in this production, then it must be good. They include:

Alan Doyle (Great Big Sea) and

Gordon Pinsent

Paul Gross (Previously starred in "Due South". Loved him in that!)

Victor Garber (with Allan Hawco). Previously starred in the movie "Titanic", as the architect Thomas Andrews.

Shannon Tweed. Something to do while hubby was performing at the Salmon Festival!

And, the biggest name of them all - Russell Crowe, who guest starred in the Season 3 premiere.

The really cool thing about that particular episode was that it reunited the four actors who played the Merry Men in the 2010 movie, "Robin Hood", in which Alan Doyle (Great Big Sea) played the role of Allan A'Dayle. The others - Kevin Durand, Scott Grimes and Russell Crowe. 



There were many others featured as well - Shawn Majumder, Mark Critch, Seamus O'Regan, Pete Soucy, and other up and coming Newfoundlanders who will hopefully benefit by the exposure. There was even a scene at the Duke of Duckworth where the whole St. John's City Council and the Lieutenant Governor appeared. Anybody who's anybody is showing up on "Republic of Doyle", and that's perfect! Everybody wants to be involved, because it's such a positive, amazing ride.

But, back to Allan Hawco, himself. This show could not be as successful as it is without him. He plays the charming, devilish rogue Jake Doyle, but he's the brains behind the beefcake, no question. 

 

I've seen him and heard him interviewed many times, and every time without fail, he is genuinely enthusiastic about how well the show is doing, and is grateful for the opportunity to do something he loves, that has done so much good for Newfoundland.

Alice & I saw him in person once, when we were dining at Raymonds restaurant last year. He came in to the dining room to speak with friends seated at a nearby table. Sadly, I resisted the urge to give him a big ol' bear hug and kiss. Another missed opportunity! As she and I have said to each other many times - if we were younger, we'd be haunting the filming locations all summer! They publicize them on the radio, so it's not as stalker-ish as that may sound!

As is becoming apparent, I cannot say enough good about Allan Hawco, and what he and his colleagues have done with "Republic of Doyle". All I know is that I hope it goes on for many seasons to come. The DVDs of the first two seasons are my 'go to' shows to watch. I never tire of the stories, the settings, the stars and the smarts of this excellent, excellent show.

I wish you every success, Allan Hawco. Thank you, from a devoted fan, who's admiration and respect for your talents and hard work is unparalleled.

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#6 Mildred Harris

Today's post, #6, is dedicated to my mother, Mildred Harris.

Dad, Mom & Alice at the Hibernia construction site, Bull Arm, Newfoundland, 1996.

Composing a list like this at any other time of year, Mom would have been my very first post, but I thought I would reserve it for today, which would have marked her 89th birthday. Therefore, this being the 6th day of Lent, she ended up being #6!

Mom passed away in December, 2003. That's over eight years ago, and rarely, if ever, does a day go by when she is not spoken of, and certainly when she is not remembered.

There is no way to adequately describe her. I've typed lots of things here and then deleted them, because they sound so pathetic and maudlin and inadequate.

Those who knew her, knew her as someone with a great sense of humor, style, a true lady in every sense of the word, modest to a fault yet with steely strength of her convictions, a writer of letters to the editor that got even the the Evening Telegram publisher in a spin, and a lover of life, especially the life of the unborn.

With no fanfare, self-congratulation or self-promotion, she would try to make a difference. She would man the crisis phones at Elizabeth House, the home for unwed mothers, offering support to girls and their families at a most difficult time in their lives.

It was that love of the unborn that brought my mother to the attention of the Roman Catholic Archbishop of St. John's, Alphonsus Penney.

Archbishop Penney bumped into my brother in the Halifax airport one time, and instead of asking how my father was - who in his day was very active and involved in the Church - he instead enquired after my Seventh Day Adventist mother, "Millie" as he would call her. We still get a big kick out of that! Poor Dad!

When it came down to it, she was really more Catholic than anything else, but refused to convert because, as she would say, she was a member of "the round church where you can't be cornered". As children, when Sunday morning came and Dad was taking us all off to Mass and Mom got to stay home and cook Sunday dinner, we all wanted to be Seventh Day Adventists!

Any writing ability I may have was very likely passed down to me through my poor mother's genes. I have boxes of old newspapers in the basement that feature Mom's letters to the editor on one topic or another - politics & Right to Life, mainly - and my personal favorite, "Santa, Please Change Your Phone Number". CBC Radio featured a call-in show in the lead up to Christmas many years ago, where children could call and speak to Santa on the air. Unfortunately for Mom, the phone number for that call-in show was only one digit away from our home phone number, so she was getting inundated by hysterical children wanting to talk to Santa! Instead of having a fit about it, she got out her pen and paper, and wrote her own letter to Santa, in care of the Evening Telegram editor. It was a funny work of brilliance.

My friends always said how much they liked my Mom. More than me, in a lot of cases!!

She was always the one who would drive bunches of us where we needed to go, especially for school outings. She was automatically volunteered by us, and never said "no".

But, she was very good at saying "no" when out shopping. We got everything we ever needed, as well as our birthday presents, and our Christmas and Easter presents, but certainly did not get everything we cast our eyes on and 'just had to have' throughout the rest of the year. We got what we needed, but not everything we wanted. We DID do pretty good, though, but certainly not the way it is by today's standards!!  

If it wasn't for Mom, God only knows what I would be doing right now. I went to the College of Trades & Technology and did the Nursing Assistant course. I wanted to be a nurse, but as far as I was concerned, there was no way on Earth I could possibly ever give anyone a needle. In her "don't be so bloody foolish" way, she went and got an application for St. Clare's Mercy Hospital School of Nursing one day, and when I came home from wherever I had been, there it was, on the table for me to complete. And I did, because throughout my life, even the teenage years, I always knew Mom was right. It is because of this very story that my nursing school pin is buried with my mother, and rests on her heart to this day.

She survived the death of a child, and thrived on the arrival of seven grandchildren.

She spoiled my father so badly!! In the years since she's been gone, he bemoans the fact that "your mother would get up in the middle of the night and wash and dry my back and put powder on me." Come ON, MOM!!! Talk about a hard act to follow!!!!

She loved nothing better than going to lunch, or having me or my sister call her and say "I've got to run around and do a few things, do you want to come for the ride?" She'd drop everything and go.

If I start to list off my regrets, I'll be in a puddle of tears, so the only one I will own up to is the fact that I wish I had half an idea how to cook while she was still here. Not that I'm any great chef now, but she, like (I'm guessing) 100% of all mothers, was taken for granted in the kitchen, and I wish I could have done that differently.

I do thank God that I asked her how she did her roast beef, and her pickled beets, before she died. To this day, when I walk in the house for Sunday dinner, it smells just the same as when Mom was still here. My sister definitely has 'the knack'!

I dreaded her wake and funeral, but what I anticipated as being pure hell, turned out to be a very comforting, moving, illuminating experience. To see so many people who I never knew, but who knew her, and to hear their stories, was so wonderful and unexpected. For all she did for the Catholic church, while raising us and supporting Dad, she was honoured with four priests on the altar at her Mass of Christian Burial. I'm sure some of her non-Catholic friends were a little shocked, but if they were, they didn't know my mother.

Reading this over, it is hands down the most inadequate writing I've ever done. This could and should go on for chapters, not just a few paragraphs. However, there is no way to capture the essence of who Mom was well enough for someone who didn't know her to appreciate her. But, to any readers of this who did know her, you know. She was a smart, wonderful, remarkable, loving woman who had class and spirit and humor, and was unlike anyone I have ever or will ever know.

Happy Birthday, Mom. See you again one day.
All my love,
Margaret.

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#5 Colin Firth

Number 5 on my Top Forty is Colin Firth.

Colin Firth? An actor?!?! Not quite the same genre or intensity as those in my first four posts. But, hey! It's a girl's prerogative to admire and respect a knee-weakeningly gorgeous face, is it not?

Colin Firth is a two time Academy Award-winning actor, ("A Single Man", "The King's Speech") who first came to my attention in the role of Mr. Darcy in the 1995 BBC / A&E TV miniseries, "Pride & Prejudice".

If I were to be stranded on a desert island for the rest of time (...a girl can dream...), this would be the one and only DVD I would need to sustain me.

Aside from the fact that I believe he is the most handsome man on the face of the Earth, the thing that I admire most about him is how he has managed, throughout his career, to avoid the nasty glare of the Hollywood spotlight, and being sucked up into its vortex.

It is not enough for most actors and actresses these days to simply ply their trade in television, movies and stage, and make scandalous amounts of money for their efforts. No. For the vast majority, their sideline is to use their pedestals as soapboxes, lecturing the rest of us mere mortals on, among other things, who we should and should not support politically. Never was this quite so evident as during the 2004 US presidential election. Oprah Winfrey, Alec Baldwin, Kim Basinger, Matt Damon, George Clooney, and on and on and on. I know more about their political affiliations than I know about their real jobs. Who are they to lecture me?? At the time of the 2004 election, Elton John, who I idolized in my younger years, even went so far as to say he “did not want this country to have to live under George W. Bush.” He declared himself to be “a great believer in the vice president" - which meant he wished President Bush dead. (The vice president automatically becomes president following the current president's death.) That's a hell of a thing to say - vile, hateful and vicious - regardless of one's political leanings. I will never listen to his music in quite the same way, ever again.

But then, there's Colin Firth.

*happy sigh*

All I know about him is hardly anything at all, and that's just as it should be. He's not prancing 18 adopted children across the screen and magazine covers, for global pats on the back. He's not saying a bunch of scandalous, outrageous things just to get his withered,wrinkly face some publicity, because all the juicy, sexy roles have dried up. He's not naming his children after pieces of fruit. He's not having a nervous breakdown on a stage. He's not opening orphanages and leaving the children to the mercy of unscrupulous, abusive management.

He's gettin' on gettin' on. He's living his life with his wife and children, and every now and then, he surfaces in a wonderful movie, gives me a face to dream about again, and then goes off to live his life, and allow the rest of us to live ours, without the strident commentary.

Bravo, Colin Firth, for rising above the fray, and staying below the radar, for not getting sucked into the Hollywood mindset that believes every utterance, no matter how trivial or ridiculous, is one the rest of us should live by. That definitely earns my admiration and respect.

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#4 Patient 'X'

Over the course of thirty years of nursing, I have crossed paths with thousands of patients in countless settings and in almost as many stages of illness and health.

It would be impossible for me to select one single "Patient X" as someone, above all the others, who inspired me. If I were to write about each individual one, I'd have fodder enough for years of posts, not just the 40 days of Lent!

So, the patient of whom I will write and refer to as Patient 'X' is a conglomeration of those who, over the years, have made me laugh, cry, swear, think, excel, dare, pray, blush, hope, wonder, cheer and learn.

I remember Patient 'X' with the two small boys, who fought long and hard, and whose spouse was so hopeful and supportive in the face of insurmountable odds.

Then there was Patient 'X' who asked me to get her "pair o' brae" (bra) from the bureau drawer in her room. That was 30 years ago, and it still makes me smile to this day!

The Patient 'X' with a below-knee amputation, who did not make fun of the silly student nurse who searched high and low for his second slipper.

Patient 'X', whose personal tragedy was played out in such a public way.

Patient 'X' who was brave enough to let me suture his nose laceration, and who was rewarded for his faith in me with the teensiest, tiniest, neatest little scar!

Patient 'X' who swore on me and made me cry. It was not a good day, but those have fortunately been few and far between. It did give me something to contemplate, though perhaps not what he intended...

Patient 'X' and spouse who I would see, week in and week out, who were all there for a laugh, despite the burdens that affected them both.

Patient 'X' who came for his routine end-of-the-offshore-trip blood pressure / blood sugar / cholesterol checks, and would make a point of dropping in to the clinic each Mother's Day, to remind me that I was "Mom" to the crew.

Patient 'X' whose desperate situation at the bottom of a scaffold, on a Rotterdam drydock floor, wasn't making much of an impression on the shipyard "safety" guy, who was telling me and my first aiders to stay away, because we were not from there. HA!! Nice try, you stupid Dutch jerk. I hope my steel toed boot wasn't too uncomfortable...

Patient 'X' with the childlike innocence.

Patient 'X' on the roof...

Patient 'X' who sent me flowers.

Patient 'X' who told me that I was, and I quote, "...dumber than a sack of hammers." Was it wrong that I laughed?!?!

Patient 'X' who died in the middle of a dirt road.

Patient 'X' who 'taught' me that peeing on a freshly amputated finger stump would sterilize the wound. Yikes! I must confess, I was more interested in fishing his finger out of his discarded work glove than I was in learning that particular lesson.

Patient 'X' whose damaged 6-month old heart survived and thrived.

Patient 'X' who claimed that the 5-gallon salt beef bucket, half-filled with blood-tinged water, was "pure blood", all from his nose.

Patient 'X' who went into cardiac arrest in the chair next to his bed, and in my fright I lifted him, by myself, back into bed. (I was a much younger woman then!)

Simulated Patient 'X' who allowed me to apply whacks of injury make-up to her face, which later would not wash off, and she was going on vacation the next day! Months later, she died in a car crash.

Patient 'X', the homeliest little newborn baby I ever saw, who I loved to bits.

Patient 'X' whose blood pressure reminder birthday card was, he told me, the only birthday card he received that year.

Patient 'X' whose jaundiced eyes I still remember, 20 years on.

Patient 'X' whose family knew when enough was enough.

Every Patient 'X', these few and all the rest, did me the greatest honor and service by teaching me 99% of what I needed to know to be effective in this profession. 

I was privileged that they and / or their loved ones entrusted me to play a role in their care, their healing, their passing.

As a mark of respect for that faith in me, Patient 'X' - past, present & future - has a firm hold on my admiration, respect and compassion. Thank you, each and every one.

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#3 Violet Pike & Lanier Phillips

This is the story of two inspiring people, not just one. Their stories are so intertwined that there is no way to tell about one without telling of the other.

Violet Pike was a woman from the Lawn / St. Lawrence area of the Burin Peninsula, Newfoundland, who was instrumental in saving the life of Lanier Phillips, a black US serviceman who had been aboard the USS Truxtun when she and the USS Pollux ran aground at Chambers Cove, between the two communities, on February 18, 1942.

View of the USS Truxtun and USS Pollux wreck sites at Chambers Cove,

with Lawn Point Head in the distance.

Dr. Phillips grew up in the segregated South, being told by his great-grandmother to never look a white man in the eye, for fear of a whipping or even of being lynched.

He was raised by sharecroppers in Georgia, was a mess attendant at the time of the disaster, and later went on to become the US Navy's first black sonar technician. He was later awarded an honorary doctorate from Memorial University of Newfoundland for his work in civil rights in the US.

Mrs. Pike (...sadly, no photo that I can find...) was born and raised in isolated, outport Newfoundland, married and had children of her own, and until that day had never laid eyes on a black man.

The story of this disaster, and how these two unlikely people met is a story told on the saltscapes.com website, far better than I could tell it. An excerpt:

"Waves slammed the ship against the rocks. As daylight came and chaos continued he could see the water was thick with oil. Sailors were hurled through the air like rag dolls. Some were dashed against the rocks; others scrambled to safety.

Phillips got into the last life raft, telling his black comrades they would die if they didn't follow. They wouldn't come aboard, petrified they were off Iceland, worried about the lynchings that would surely come. And so they died. But Phillips decided to take his chances. 

The raft agonizingly crept toward shore through bitter winter conditions, then capsized. Phillips made it to land, but thought that was it. Then somebody picked him up and said, You'll die if you lie there. "I looked at him, and I saw his white face," Phillips says. "I knew he wasn't an American. I knew he wasn't a sailor. And the accent…"

Memories are fragmented. Up the sheer cliff... onto a pony-driven sleigh. A large blank space. Suddenly awake, conscious on a table. Naked. Sailors covered in oil, black as an outport midnight.

A woman massaging the life back into his cold skin. The first thing he heard her say as she bathed him: This is the curliest hair I've ever seen. "I thought, this is the end of me - they're going to know I'm black." He thought he had survived the shipwreck only to be lynched after all.

The woman, Violet Pike, continued to work at cleaning the oil from his skin. It came off the others; why not this sailor? "I spoke up then. I thought, I might as well let them know and get it over with. I said it's the colour of my skin; I'm a Negro … You can't get it off."

Nonplussed, Pike just kept bathing him. There were kind words. Longjohns for underwear... a bed to rest in for the night. She stayed by his bedside all night, feeding him, tending to him. "I didn't think white people existed with that kind of humane treatment - they could treat a black man like that," Phillips says."

The innocence of this woman, and the powerlessness of this young man... what a touching and inspiring story of two remarkable people that will last longer than any of us.

It makes me smile proudly to know that what Violet Pike did, and will go down in history for doing, is pretty much what ANY Newfoundlander would have done, then or since. Would they have been curious and stared and whispered, I wonder? Absolutely! But I know as sure as I live that the thought of treating Lanier Phillips differently than any other survivor just would not have occurred to them. No way, no how, never.

So, it is with great pride in my fellow countrywoman, and admiration for the later successes of her patient, that I hold up Violet Pike and Lanier Phillips as examples of people who have earned my deep respect and admiration.

Inscription: "In memory of the Truxtun and Pollux disaster of 1942

Erected by parishioners of St. Thomas Aquinas Parish St. Lawrence / Lawn"

12.March.2012 - UPDATE - It is with heavy heart that I announce the passing of Lanier Phillips today, at his residence in Gulfport, Mississippi, two days before his 89th birthday. He is reunited with Violet Pike once again. Rest in peace.

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#2 Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger III

The second of my Lenten posts, of people who inspire my admiration, respect and / or compassion, is about this gentleman, Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger III.

Captain Sullenberger, you may recall, is the USAirlines pilot who, after his passenger jet carrying 155 souls was disabled by a flock of birds, went on to successfully land it in the Hudson River on January 15, 2009 with no loss of life.

He is a person who instills in me a sense of awe that is impossible to describe. His courage under fire, so to speak, and his ability and willingness to make such a decision, and carry it out so wildly successfully, is simply beyond my imagining. 

Every time that incident, and Captain Sully, crosses my mind, I just shake my head in continuing disbelief and admiration. If only the world could boast of many more such heroes…

And, the crowning glory of his ultimate coolness – in every sense of the word – is the fact that he took the time to walk up and down the entire aircraft, twice, to ensure that all the passengers and crew were out, before he left the plane himself. (Certainly a different caliber of man than the captain of that cruise ship that recently sank off Italy, who abandoned ship before even the women and children!)

Click here to read the full account on Wikipedia's website. The section entitled "Post-flight accolades and publicity" is so impressive. Being a baseball fan, one accolade that I very much liked is described on that website as follows: 

"Sullenberger threw out the first pitch of the 2009 Major League Baseball season for the San Francisco Giants. His Giants' jersey was inscribed with the name "Sully" and the number 155 - a reference to the 155 people aboard the plane."

I would be awed and thrilled beyond words just to have the momentary privilege of shaking this man's hand. Well done, Captain Sullenberger, well done.

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#1 Diana, Princess of Wales

Today, Ash Wednesday, marks the first day of Lent. Following a bit of a dead diva-related brouhaha on Facebook over the past week or so, I have made a commitment that for the 40 days of Lent, I am going to post each day about a person who has inspired my admiration, respect and / or compassion, prominent or not, living or dead. They are not in any particular order or ranking.

These are people who have inspired these sentiments in me. It would be nice if others feel the same way, but it is not a requirement, and I'm really not interested in being told I'm wrong!!! This is about who inspires ME. It CAN'T be wrong.

Today is the first installment, and as you can see by the title, Princess Diana is going to be my choice to start this process.

I was captivated by Lady Diana Spencer from the very beginning of her public life. She was 7 months younger than me, so I was a teenager when her whole odyssey began; still young and naive enough to be enthralled by princes and princesses and the possibility of real life fairy tales playing out for the world to see.

There are many stories and sides to the Princess of Wales, some flattering, some not. But some things that she did are factual and undeniable, and have my undying respect.

Diana was the first Royal to shake the hand of an AIDS patient, when the rest of the world were still grappling with whether or not it was safe to be in the same room with one.

 

Following HER lead, Prince Charles even donated blood, to demonstrate that it was safe and one could not get HIV / AIDS in that way.

In her later years, Diana had taken on the cause of land mines, with the hope of having them eradicated throughout the war-torn world. No glitzy-glamour there, but a worthy cause that would not have otherwise received the attention it has.

There is no way, in one short blog post, that I can do justice to all of the many charities that Diana chaired and supported. These are just two examples of her compassion, a new concept to the Royal Family at the time, and are the ones that jump to mind when I think of her.

I was very sad when her supposedly fairy tale marriage ended, and when stories, true, exaggerated or not, of what she had to endure surfaced. In many ways, she didn't help herself, but I believe that had she received the support and guidance that Kate Middleton undoubtedly did, things might have been different. And of course, if Charles had not married her, because he did not love her, she would certainly still be alive.

And then she died. Oh my.

I was on the Bill Shoemaker oil rig that day. No TV, no radio, no newspaper, no telephone, no nothing. I came down for breakfast, and the Chief Steward said, "Diana died last night", to which I smiled and said, "Yeah...???" I was expecting him to say, "...and when she got to the Pearly Gates, St. Peter was there..." and would continue on with what I thought was a joke.

It was no joke.

I sat at the table with the rest of the catering crew for a little while, then I went up to my cabin. I closed the door, and screeched. I thought I was stupid and INSANE. Here I was, all emotional over this person I didn't know, even though I had read every book about her, every People and Time magazine article about her, everything. But still. She was a public figure, and here I was, in a state. It made no sense, even to me.

I was finally able to get a phone line patched through, and called my Mom, who held the phone receiver to the TV for about 10 minutes, so I could hear what was going on. My sister was given strict instructions to record on the VCR everything and anything for the next few days. I still have those tapes downstairs, in a box.

When I came home a couple of days later, I was actually a bit relieved to see that the rest of the world was crying, too, it wasn't just me, stuck out on the water, unaware for the most part of what was going on. The images were amazing, especially of the ocean of flowers outside Kensington Palace. Stunning.

*heavy sigh*

But to this day, Diana, Princess of Wales, ranks as a person who I vastly admire and respect, and felt compassion for in the very public, very difficult life she lived, which she tried her best to make meaningful.

I'm not sure if the rest of the 39 people I hope to write about will reflect all three of my criteria, but Diana certainly did, and does. May she rest in peace.

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Happy Birthday to me!!!!

Well, I am insanely happy as a pig in clover tonight!!! For my birthday, my Dad and my sister Alice gave me two tickets to see Chris de Burgh in May, so of course, Alice and I will be at Mile One to see him, best seats in the house. The concert tour is called "Moonfleet & Other Stories". 

Back when I used to write here regularly, I wrote a post about giving my sister the CdeB CD "Moonfleet & Other Stories" for her birthday. I then wrote another post, in which I included a link from CdeB's website, where he describes the "Moonfleet" album and tour.

Here and here are the two previous posts from my blog, all about this WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL album. I hadn't even heard the album myself when I wrote these, but I have since heard it a million times, and it is pure magic.

One day, I picked up my (then) 20 year old nephew, Greg, from CONA to drive home, and I put on the CD. Well, instead of going to his house, we ended up driving through Quidi Vidi Village, up Signal Hill, and out to Cape Spear and back, just so we both could listen to the whole thing. He hadn't read the book, but loved the CD.

So, if you are a Chris de Burgh fan, and love his storytelling, this is a CD not to be missed, and a concert that will be equally wonderful, I have no doubt about it.

Thanks, Dad & Alice, for the perfect present!!! I am so delighted!!!

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