Monday, January 30, 2012

Margaret Chase Smith


Maine is known for lots of things, for instance lobsters, Steven King, Bar Harbor, Little Round Top, Joshua Chamberland... and Margaret Chase Smith.

She was the first woman to serve in both the US House of Representatives and the US Senate and the first woman to serve in either from Maine. She hailed from Skowhegan, Maine in Somerset County and was an elected official from 1940 through 1972. After her public service she returned to Skowhegan and lived until 1995, to the age of 97, in the Margaret Chase Smith Library, constructed on the banks of the Kennebec River.


Margaret Chase Smith was perhaps best known for wearing a red rose on her dress every day she served in government... and for standing up to the fascism of Joseph McCarthy during the "Red Scare". In her famed, "Declaration of Conscious" in 1949 on the US Senate floor she denounced "the reckless abandon in which unproved charges have been hurled...". She said McCarthyism had "debased" the Senate to "the level of a forum of hate and character assassination." She defended every American's "right to criticize...right to hold unpopular beliefs...right to protest; the right of independent thought.". For this, she became the target of Joseph McCarthy's vicious radicalism. After McCarthy's impeachment, she was heralded for her courage and said " Smears are not only to be expected but fought. Honor is to be earned, not bought." She also said "Moral cowardice that keeps us from speaking our minds is as dangerous to this country as irresponsible talk."

Words our politicians today need to heed...for sure.

The paper mill I worked for was 10 miles up the Kennebec River from the MCS Library. In 1981, our adorable identical twin sons were going on 3 years old  and I was working shift work at the pulp mill. It was a great work schedule for raising kids as I had 3 days off every 3 days on. The downside was that half of those on-day were night shifts, from 5:00pm until 5:00am so my circadian rhythms were whacked. For 5 years, my body never knew whether I should be asleep or horseback. But that was OK, because neither did the boys...

We would have lots of adventures. I would get home at 6:00AM and they would be bouncing up and down in their cribs. Connie so looked forward to me being available so she could catch up on some much needed sheep. We would hit the greasy spoons for breakfast and then take a hike or find a bowling alley or a shopping center... anything to extend Connie's sleep cycle and have some fun. One winter day we drove through Skowhegan. It was 8:00 and the Margaret Chase Smith Library was open.


The boys were dressed in over-sized down jackets about 5 sizes too big for them. We had to make the money stretch back then and Connie was good at selecting clothing that the boys would "grow into". They looked like overstuffed blue and green feather pillows. But they didn't seem to mind... Cute as bugs.



I had been checking out the library displays and they were happily running around the book aisles when I I suddenly noticed they were no longer under foot. I quickly looked up and down the aisles for them before panicking as they were nowhere to be found. The velvet red barriers partitioned the main library off from the living area, but that wasn't going to keep me from finding my sons. I crossed the barrier and headed down a long hall, peering into open doors.


At the end of the hall, I heard muffled conversation and I hurried around the corner. There was Senator Margaret Chase Smith sitting in a wheelchair holding Eric and Ryan in her lap. They were deeply engrossed in conversation and I watched as she let them fondle the red rose on her lapel. She smiled up at me as I apologized for my wayward sons, questioned me about who we were and where I worked. She expressed her enthusiasm about the newly reopened paper mill which created so many much needed jobs, wished me well and we were off. Gracious lady.


It was 1989 when I saw her last. I was the Director of Human Resources, had completed an MBA at MIT, 2 years in sales/marketing in Connecticut office and was back at the mill, We were dedicating a new multimillion dollar capital equipment project. It was good for the town, good for the employees, something to celebrate, so we invited local dignitaries to attend.


She looked very frail in her wheelchair. She was over 90 now, but the red rose was still displayed proudly on her lapel and she was in great spirits. I had sent my Safety and Security Chief to escort her to the event and she was so tickled to have been driven up the river by him. His name;


Joseph McCarthy.


God bless the Grand Old Lady. 


 

Sunday, January 22, 2012

A Children's Story


We all remember the children's story of “The Little Red Hen”. It is a story that teaches the importance of working together to reach worthwhile goals and the importance of justice. People who work diligently and faithfully should expect the rewards of their efforts. People who choose to stand on the sidelines should not expect to share in the rewards. Common sense wrapped in a cute little story. It's how we humans seem to learn best... from parables, fables and stories. But just how well have we actually learned this lesson? For instance, take the current political debacle in Glynn County, Georgia.

My wife, Connie, and I have enjoyed a remarkable front row seat to the entire spectacle... and it has been spectacular. Someday the story will be written. Perhaps a screenplay; a cross between Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. The events of the last two years of political struggle for the Glynn County Superior Court Judicial seat have already been nationally broadcast on, no less than, the critically acclaimed public radio program, This American Life. There has been good. And there has been evil. There has been victory and defeat. There has been resignation and celebration. But the end of the story has yet to be written.

Former Superior Court Judge Amanda Williams has resigned in disgrace. Her resignation shocked the good residents of this Coastal Georgia community and the very foundation of the political establishment. How had this happened?

The charges were serious: misuse of power, injustice, dirty dealings in the courthouse. These had gone unspoken for so many years. They were finally spoken publicly and bravely by challenger, Attorney Mary Helen Moses. Her courage was not rewarded in the election. The establishment vehemently responded against her with political lies and innuendo. The privileged poured money into Judge Williams reelection campaign. In the end the Moses campaign was crushed at the polls... or was it?

I asked Mary Helen Moses why she had exposed herself to such incredible public abuse in an almost impossible effort to unseat a powerful and established political incumbent. Her response left me humbled and proud. “Because it's not right. I am standing for justice. Somebody has to, and it seems to be me.” Indeed.

Mary Helen Moses has dedicated her life to the Law, as a lawyer, as a law professor. It is who she is. She knows right from wrong . She stands for, fights for, right.

In her battle to right this terrible wrong in the Glynn County Courthouse she asked “Who will help me do this work?”

“Not I,” said the fearful, power-fawning legal community.

“Not I”, said the vested political establishment.

“Not I”, said the privileged electorate and the timid media.

And so, Mary Helen Moses and a sturdy band of compatriots performed the herculean task themselves. Against all odds. Simply amazing...

The seat is vacant. With a wise and judicious appointment by the Georgia Governor, the difficult task of rebuilding lost confidence, reestablishing “justice for all”, reclaiming what is right may now proceed. So, who will fill this seat?

“I will,” cried the trembling political establishment fearful of being further exposed.

“I will”, cried the gerrymandering public official seeking the power and privilege.

“I will”, cried the opportunistic, wealthy lawyers.

Governor Deal, the eyes of SE Coastal Georgia are upon you and our hope lies in your hands. For you, there are undoubtedly many, many mitigating circumstances to be considered in filling this important vacancy.

For us, it is as simple as a children's story.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

And the Bell Rang

I remember the day the two girls walked into Environmental Science class. They didn't fit the mold. Most of the high school juniors and seniors in this elective course were from the elite social cast; Izod shirts, clean-cut, well groomed athletes and student leaders looking to round out their transcripts before applying to college. They oozed privilege and potential. Nothing wrong with that. It is, of course how our system of higher education functions.

Mary and Dede were of another cast, the untouchables, if there is such a social order in our North American culture. And I assure you that there is.

Mary wore black clothing from head to toe. Her long greasy hair was unwashed and pulled forward over her face. She smelled of cigarettes and dirty socks. Her nails were chewed to the quick and painted black. She was goth before there was a word for it.

Dede was huge, 200 pounds of giggling, whispering, flirting, tee-heeing, teen-ager. She wore heavy, blue eye shadow and walked on her tip toes in flowing, remarkable graceful movements. She wore an over-sized faded green combat coat and tight flowered petal pushers. Her hair was brown and her complexion poor.

They slunk into the back of the room and took the corner chairs. The other students seemed oblivious to their arrival. I don't remember ever seeing anyone speak with or look at Mary and Deedee the entire semester. It was as though they were invisible.

They did not, would not participate in class discussion. I would hear them whispering. Mary never made eye contact. Deedee never missed an opportunity to bat her heavily mascaraed lashes at me and giggle. So odd. Disturbing.

One day the bell rang to end the period while I was making an impassioned plea to save the whales or the rain forest or the planet... it was the 70's. Earth Day, Silent Spring, the birth of the EPA and environmental awareness. Everyone lunged from their desks, headed for the door and launched into loud conversations about the big game or the big dance... except Mary and Deedee. They lingered, clutched their books tightly to their chests until the door was clear and then moved swiftly. As she entered the busy hall Deedee called out "He's cute!" and she and Mary giggled down the hallway.

I worked the class hard, made them read and write, give presentations and lots of quizzes and exams. We were going to save the planet together or I threatened a C. Oh God! Can't have that on a college application. Some of them actually turned on to the subject to my delight.

It was sometime in November when I noticed Mary's alarming new behavior. She started wearing her hair covering her entire face, arms wrapped around her body, knees pulled up into a seated fetal position. Deedee had noticed, too. The giggling stopped.

At the end of class I stepped in front of her, blocking her usual escape. "Is something bothering you, Mary? You seem troubled." She cowered, would not speak. "Can I help? Can I get you some help... from the guidance counselor?" I asked. She bolted toward the door and into the hall. Deedee followed and called back, "I'll talk to her, Mr. Foss." OK... that didn't go very well.

I headed down to the guidance office to speak with my friend, Jerry. "Mary has a troubled past. She goes through periods of depression. That's all I can tell you," he said. "Just keep an eye on her. It usually blows over." Not much help.

The phone calls began soon after, calls late in the night... "Hello?"... no answer... "Hello?"... breathing... silence... click. I got a police whistle and on the 5th or 6th call blasted it into the receiver. "OWW! Why did you do that?" I thought I recognized the voice. "Mary? Deedee? Is that you?"... click. The calls stopped... until one, cold, rainy December night.

Connie was in Bangor visiting her family with the car. I was correcting papers when the phone rang.

"Hello?" ...silence.

"Connie, is that you?"

"No" the voice said "It's Mary." She sounded distant.

"Mary?"

"I just called to say good-bye," she continued.

"Good-bye, Mary? Are you going somewhere?" I asked fearing her answer.

"No... I'm going to kill myself," she said and began to sob.

I felt the panic well up in my chest. "OH GOD! No, Mary. NO! Don't do that, kid. It's not... it's not... PLEASE, don't do this. Where are you, Mary? Tell me where you are and I'll come."  Silence.

"Please, Mary... Please," I begged.

"In a phone booth... by Firestone Tire..."

"OK Mary, I'll be right there. Stay right there. OK, Mary? OK?"

"... ok".

I ran out into the pouring rain and stood looking dumbly at the empty parking spot. "OH SHIT!" I screamed. Our landlord's truck was in the garage and I began pounding on the door.

"Moo Gee, Clist ay vous!" he yelled as he answered the door. " Wha da fuck, making all dat noise?" Louie blurted, alarmed and speaking with his French Canadian accent.

"Louie, I need your truck right now! And call the police. Have them go to the phone booth by Firestone Tire! Got that, Louie? Got that? She's going to kill herself... my student..."

"Yah, Yah! I got dat. Bad trouble, Glen... Bad trouble." he said as he passed me the keys.

I was drenched and shivering as I raced down Western Avenue. The wipers were on high and not keeping up with the  downpour. The rain even seemed to extinguish the light from the streetlamps.

There was no traffic and I bolted through the red light and into the Firestone parking lot looking for the phone booth... There! The door was closed, the interior light was on. It looked empty... Something black... down low.

I jammed the truck in park and lurched to the phone booth. Mary was huddled down inside, curled up. There was a pool of red blood on the floor and smeared down the glass door. Oh God!

"Mary! It's me... open the door." She rose slowly, her face visible behind the dripping wet hair. her face was calm... serene. She clutched her sides, her hands withdrawn into her bulky black coat.

I squeezed partially into the phone booth and she raised her hands as if to keep me away. The sleeves of her coat fell back. Both wrists had been slashed. Gaping open wounds, bloody, but no arterial spurting. I grasped her forearms and held on.

We heard the sound of the siren and watched the blue lights flash off the wet highway as it approached. Her eyes flashed wildly. She struggled to loosen my grip.

"It's OK, Mary. It's going to be OK," I said though not believing my own words.

She whimpered "Will you stay with me?" I nodded.

The cop quickly assessed the situation. "Get in the cruiser... Cumon, Let's go!" he ordered.

Mary and I got into the back of the squad car. We sat silently speeding through the rain to the hospital emergency room as her blood oozed slowly through my gripping fingers.

Things happened quickly, Mary as strapped onto a gurney and taken away. Information was taken. And I found myself standing alone in the middle of a deserted waiting room. What do I do now? I had no clue. The cop approached me. "Come with me. I'll take you back to your truck." he said.

The rest of the evening was a blur. Back to the truck. Back to the apartment. It was warm and dry. I poured a stiff drink of whiskey and sat... numb. When Connie pulled in, I ran to the car and blurted out the story. She hugged me, took me inside, poured me another drink. Sleep...

My mind snapped to consciousness at first light and I had formulated a plan of action before I opened my eyes. Connie dropped me off at school and I walked into the guidance office to download to Jerry. He knew I was shaken, brought me coffee and the department head and the principal. I repeated the story until the bell rang and then headed for class.

Somehow I got through the morning classes. I don't remember. Fourth Period was my break and I retreated to the teachers room drinking cup after cup of thick, burned coffee. Jerry found me, took me back to his office and closed the door.

"OK buddy, first I'm sorry for what happened." he said." You handled it well. I think you need to know what you are dealing with, so I am going to fill you in. This is confidential information, but you need to know."

I sat numbly as he told the story. Mary and her brother had suffered from horrendous child abuse. They had been sexually molested, beaten, raped, locked in closets and the trunks of cars until the authorities had removed them from their family. Both were now wards of the state and living in foster homes. They had been in psychological counseling for years. It explained a lot of the bizarre behavior and it explained nothing.

"Why wasn't I prepared? Do the other teacher know what they are dealing with? Don't you think we should have been told?" I flashed. "I mean... my God!"

"Listen Glen, there are many, too many, kids here with similar stories. We deal with them every day. It's a shit storm. We can barely keep up. You're job is to teach science. Our job is to back you up. I'm sorry. We didn't see this coming." explained Jerry.

"Well I DID!" I stormed. "What do I do next time?"

"Come to me right away." he concluded. "I'm sorry."

The bell rang and I got to my feet feeling sick. That toxic coffee was eating a hole in my stomach. He put his arm around my shoulder. "Welcome to public education," he quipped. I just shook my head.

I walked into Environmental Science and turned to face the class. There was Mary sitting in the back corner, her wrists bound in bandages, head down. Deedee looked like a caged animal, eyes flashing from me to Mary and back to me.

I taught the class. It was on air pollution and electrostatic precipitators. The preppy kids took notes. I handed out assignments. And the bell rang.

I walked to the back of the room and leaned forwards speaking softly. "Mary, I didn't expect you to be here today."

She spoke,"I'm ok..."

"Are you talking with anyone? Is anyone helping you?" I asked.

"No..." she mumbled.

What the hell! She slashes her wrists, they bandage her up and send her back to school like nothing has happened? Can the system really be this broken? This was so wrong.

"Listen Mary, I have a friend who is a counselor at the mental health clinic. If I called, would you be willing see him ?" I was grasping at straws.

"Would you go with me?" she asked watching me intently from behind her hair.

"Sure. Sure  I would. Give me your number and I will call you this afternoon." I said.

Mary and Deedee walked out of the door and into the teeming tumult of teenagers.

I hurried back to Jerry's office. "Somebody's got to take my study hall. I need to use your phone." I explained what had just happened.

" OK, OK, I'll cover you. You follow up with your psychologist friend. You're right. She needs to be seen today." Jerry hurried off.

My Doctor friend, Robert, agreed to see her at 3:00 that afternoon. I found Mary in her sixth period class and we agreed that I would pick her up at the address she gave me on Oak Street. Things were moving quickly.

Connie and I juggled the car after work and I pulled into Mary's driveway at 2:30. She was sitting on the steps. Her foster mother waved from the front porch as we drove away. Weirder and weirder...

The Doctor walked into the waiting room at 3:30 and asked us into his office. I sat uncomfortably as he began assessing the situation. It soon became clear that my friend and the mental health community knew much about Mary's unfortunate history of abuse.

Mary was unresponsive. He probed and questioned. She remained silent or responded with one word answers. After 20 minutes, the Doctor leaned forward and said, "If you don't talk with me Mary, I will be forced to involuntarily commit you to the State Mental Hospital for observation. You are clearly at risk of causing yourself further harm."

Mary exploded. She sprang to her feet and backed into the corner, teeth barred, fists clenched, spitting, screaming. "You Fucker! I'll kill you if you touch me. Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" The screaming didn't stop. Robert and I backed out of the office and into the hall. "She is totally psychotic and needs to be constrained for her own safety. I'll call her foster mother and the restraint team." he said.

Two very big guys showed up right away holding a jacket with belts and straps. They stood blocking the door as Mary continued to tear up the room, screaming long shrill animal howls. Robert came back breathless. "There is no answer at her foster home. Glen, will you authorize the order committing her? We need to act now."

What had I gotten myself into? I paced back and forth, trying to think it through. There was no walking away from this one. I had seen the gaping wounds in her wrists. She would do it again. I signed the order.

The restraint team moved in and wrestled her to the floor. Her screams were ungodly, like nothing I had ever heard. Sounds of agony. She flayed and bucked as they strapped her into the restraint jacket and onto a gurney. She was wheeled to a waiting ambulance and sped away.

I sat down with my head in my hands. Robert tried to reassure me. "You did the only thing you could do, Glen. I want you to go home and have a drink." And I did.

By 9:00 I had calmed down and was rehashing the nightmare when the phone rang. "Hello?"

"Hi, this is Mary's foster mother," the voice said. "I was wondering when you expected to bring Mary home..."

My mind began to burn at the base of my skull. Oh my God!

Deep breath. "Obviously, no one has contacted you. I'm so sorry. Mary has been committed to the State Mental Hospital. Someone will be calling you right back. I'm so sorry..." click.

I'm going to be sued. I'm going to lose my job. I'll probably never teach again. The thoughst were racing through my head as I called Robert. He assured me that he would call immediately, that there must have been an administrative screw-up... Ya THINK!

The next morning the guidance department chair and the principal sat dumbly and listened  to the story. There were no words of counsel or support. Just worried expressions. They backed away and left me swinging in the breeze. I was on my own. Welcome to public education, indeed.

Four weeks later, Mary showed up in class. She acted as if nothing had happened. As she left class I said, "Glad you are back. Hope you are feeling better..." She nodded and left.

I never spoke with her foster mother again. I received no follow-up from guidance. I don't think it was still an issue when I was let go the next year; budget cuts, junior man... so sorry... the principal even shed a tear... I think.

There wasn't much time for reflection. Connie was pregnant with twins, we had just lost our apartment and I had to find work. I ended up working in a paper mill which led to a profitable and interesting career. I didn't think about Mary except to occasionally wonder if she had survived her nightmare life. I didn't see how she could have...

The year was 2000 when the letter came in the mail. Mary wrote that she was well, married and had children. She said she was happy. And she wanted to thank me for saving her life. Amazing...

I never wrote her back, didn't want to rekindle the relationship. Still, it was a gift to hear she was on her feet and still on the planet.

Life is such a mystery. Who knows why things happen as they do or what can happen as the offshoot of an individual action. All I know is that Mary got a life. And I got this story...







Thursday, January 12, 2012

Life Lessons in Public Education

1976. I was 25, newly married and working as a high school science teacher. Connie was also teaching. We were a cute little couple on a great adventure in public education. There was so much to learn.

Seven periods each day, five teaching blocks, one study hall and one period to shove a pb&j down my throat in the smoky teachers room, listening to the poisonous, cynical ranting of older teachers marking time toward retirement pensions. That's not fair. There were some wonderful educators who gave so much of themselves.

But my spirit was, as yet, unsullied, my intentions pure, my vision clear. I liked kids. Kids liked me. And I liked science. It was that simple... or so I thought. Plus, we liked to eat and between the two of us we were bringing in over $11,000 a year! Wow! Let the good times roll! Of course rent, car payments, food, bills and college loan payments ate it all up. But we were young, dumb and full of hope.

As the junior man in the Science Department, I pulled tough duty... one class of all freshman boys, behavior problems, lowest track... boneheads. Then there were two mid-level  classes of general science, 30 freshman kids per class, a class of 30 sophomore Health students and one class of 25 juniors and seniors, Environmental Science.

The text books were 1960's era... "some day man will walk on the moon..." read one, They were tattered, torn, defaced with a decade of graffiti. In sharp contrast, the environmental science texts were current. And the students were gifted. I thought it was to be the bright spot of my teaching days.

First day of school. I paced back and forth nervously before the curious students as I attempted to communicate how much fun we were going to have exploring science in the new school year... not really believing my own words.

The freshman boys smelled my fear and, like a pack of wild dogs, attacked, circling their prey, waiting for a sign of weakness and a chance to lunge, rip out the throat. At no time in the College of Education had I been prepared for this kind of treatment. Neither had the school prepped me. My job was to maintain order. You're on your own, kid, Fish or cut bait. Survival instinct took over.

The ring leader's name was John. He was my size, obviously older than the other boys and, at 200 pounds, was the largest of his classmates. And he was rolling his eyes and mooing loudly, like a cow in heat, while the other 15 boys were laughing hysterically, slapping their desks and occasionally each other... Bedlam.

I approached his desk. "Cut it out, John." I warned. He began to cluck like a chicken to the wild screaming laughter of his peers. I pointed at him. "Come with me." He smiled cynically to my face and slowly rose from his seat, spilling books and papers onto the floor. First rule of warfare and public education; divide and conquer.

He followed me to the door and outside, leaning back against the lockers in the hall, all eyes following our departure. As I turned from the class I smiled a maniacal grin, walked into the hall and slammed the door with window rattling force. The stupid smile remained on John's face, but his eyes showed alarm. He was not unfamiliar with violence.

Out of sight from the classroom, I attacked the locker bay, pounding with my fists and feet. Teachers heads began to appear from their classroom doorways. After ten seconds, I turned to John and said, "OK, you're gone. Come back tomorrow if you want. But no more crap... Got it? If there is, I'm calling your father." His eyes flashed fear. The old man would pound more than lockers. He knew it. I knew it. He swaggered down the hall and out the door.

OK, now to reclaim my class. I swung the door open and entered the room. There was no talking, no animal noises. I had their undivided attention. Slamming the door behind me, I strode across the room and attacked the metal waste basket. The first kick sent it spinning through the air into the wall. As if a man possessed, I began stomping the metal flat, crushing it beyond recognition. Finally, winded and sweating, I turned to face the class.

"OK boys, let's begin again. Why is science important to us?" I love the Socratic style.

Their eyes registered alarm... and respect. This guy was crazy. And what had he done to John? Their imaginations were on overdrive.

The 90 pound boy in the back row raised his hand tentatively. I pointed at him and his voice squeeked and broke as he said "So we can learn about engines and work on cars and stuff...?"

I beamed. "EXACTLY!" I bellowed, "Do you like to work on engines?" He shook his head vigorously, like a cupee doll on the dashboard of a 57 Chevy."Because this semester we are going to strip down an engine in class!" I announced.

An electric shock ran through the room. "Really!"... "Cool!"... "I've got tools. Should I bring them in?"... Comments and questions from around the room. I had them.

We spent the rest of the class talking about where we would find an old lawn mower engine, drawing pictures of internal combustion engines on the blackboard, talking about carburetors, pistons, rings. They were bonehead boys. I knew them. I was them.

The bell sounded to end the period and they seemed to awaken as if from a dream. They glanced around the room at each other, embarrassed at their enthusiasm, and rose from their seats, filed out into the crowded halls.

They were my favorites... and they knew it. We planted terrariums, built flat plate solar collectors, learned how to gut deer and survive lost in the Maine woods. We dissected ducks and snakes and any other dead thing they brought in to class, we took field trips, collected rocks, studied the stars and UFOs. It was a science extravaganza.

John came back to class the next day and sat sullenly for the rest of the week. But when I asked him to remove the first bolts from the engine block, he came around. And whenever things started to get out of control, I had only to lightly tap my toe against the new trash can.

Some things just can't be taught in college education classes...






Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Pure Technicolor


I walked into my mother's kitchen on New Years Day in 1975, the day following my first date with Connie Jane Murphy. Mom and my two younger sisters turned to watch me enter from where they were sitting around the little table . "Welcome home, honey. Did you enjoy your date?" mom asked. "I'm in love." I answered. And they burst in laughter. I grinned and pretended that I was just making a joke. But I was not. Smitten from the first, she had me at hello.

We were married a year and a half later and life has never been the same. Mom once said,"My son is a pretty serious, black and white kinda guy. Thank God Connie came into his life. She is pure technicolor." Truer words have not been spoken. An explosion of color, of personality, she is my opposite in so many ways and our marriage has been "dynamic" from the beginning. If I said zig, she said zag. If I urged caution, she was all in. She made friends quickly and easily while I tended to hang back. For instance, she once claimed to have made friends with the singer and television celebrity, Kathy Lee Gifford.

When our children were young, for a time, Connie was a stay at home mom. On this issue, we both agreed and she was a wonderful mom. But in order to temper the day to day routine of it all, she began to watch The Regis and Kathy Lee Show. And when I would get home from working at the paper mill, she would go on and on about what her friend Kathy Lee had said or done that day. She wrote her letters, joined the contests, even sent her a baby gift when her son Cody was born. I thought it was sad and encouraged her to get out of the house and spend time with real people. I began to kid her about "her good friend, Kathy Lee". And the sparks would fly!

Then one year on her birthday, while we were living in Southern Connecticut on temporary assignment, I gave Connie the gift of a night out in New York City with a girlfriend. They went to the Rainbow and Stars Room to see Kathy Lee perform live. She was so excited and returned with stories about having a conversation with Kathy Lee between sets. They had exchanged cards and Connie even had a photo taken with Kathy Lee. After that, Connie never missed a TV show. We had boxes and boxes of video tape from those days when she couldn't watch in person.

Later that year, we were transferred back to Maine, but the "friendship" continued over the next five years. Every year Connie would send a Christmas card, a card on the occasion of the birth of Kathy Lee's daughter, a special congratulations card for some honor, a condolence card for some sorrow. And then one year she received a Christmas card in return. "See... she is my friend!" she beamed. I chided her,"Connie, her assistants send out thousands of these cards. It's just good PR. She probably didn't even sign her own name." She pouted, "You kill-joy!" Still, the card and the prized picture sat prominently on the fireplace mantle for years. I would apologetically show them to visitors and make snide little comments about Connie and her "friend" Kathy Lee.

In 1995 I was on assignment as a loaned executive to then Governor Angus King chairing a commission of the future of Maine's paper industry. One initiative was to invite the Governor to attend Paper Week at the Waldorf Astoria in New York City in order to meet and greet the CEO's of the countries major paper companies. It fell upon me to coordinate the activities and, as the Governors wife also wished to attend, I asked Connie if she would come and help me make things flow smoothly. She was so great meeting and greeting and was always so helpful with the various social requirements of my job. We were a good team.

Paper Week arrived and we were fully engaged in the comings and goings of the captains of business and government. Everything was proceeding according to plan and ultimate success loomed on the horizon. But something was bothering Connie and that night she tossed and turned in bed. Finally at 4:00AM I turned on the light. "What is wrong?" I asked bleary eyed. She sat up and said "I want to go to the Regis and Kathy Lee Show tomorrow morning". But you don't have tickets I objected. She was insistent. "If I don't go tomorrow I won't have another chance. And maybe I'll never be back in New York to go to another show. I wrote Kathy Lee a letter and told her I would be in the City this week and asked her if she would send me tickets. She never called me or wrote me back. But this is my only chance and I want to try. Will you help me?"

I felt so bad that she had not received contact from her "friend" . It was what I had feared, that my wonderful wife would be disappointed by self important people. "Of course I will help you honey. Let's get up now and go over to the studio. Sometimes people who get there early and stand in line get lucky and get a seat." We quickly dressed and grabbed a cab across town. The sun was just coming up as we bought Starbucks Coffee and she joined the already forming line for the morning show.

" I have to go back to the Waldorf now, honey. The Governor has appointments this morning that I need to make happen. Have you got your cab fare to get back?" She smiled and assured me she would be alright whether she got into the show or not and kissed me goodbye. As I rode back to the hotel, I felt hot feelings of anger that Connie would be disappointed. It just wasn't right.

I dashed back to our room, ripped off my clothes and jumped in the showed. There was just enough time to get ready for another busy day. I had lathered up a full head of shampoo when the house phone rang. I slipped and slid my way to the bathroom phone, soap in my eyes, dripping wet. Maybe it was the President of my mill... or the Governor's assistant. "Hello"? I gurgled.

The voice was female. "Hello, is Connie there?" she asked. I was confused. "No she's not. Who is this please?", I asked.

"Yes. Is this Glen? This is Kathy Lee Gifford and I'd like to get in touch with Connie." the voice said. I was speechless. "Hello? Are you still there? Can you tell me where Connie is?" she prodded.

"Yes... yes, Kathy Lee. Connie is standing in line outside your studio hoping to get into today's show." I blurted.

"Oh Good! That's perfect. Thank you." and she hung up.

As I stood there, naked and wet with soap in my eyes, I realized how wrong I had been all these years. Kathy Lee and Connie were friends. And I was a fool to have doubted my amazing wife's ability to have made her a friend.

The rest of the story is that Kathy Lee sent her assistant to pluck Connie from the line and escort her to the VIP lounge and then to the first seat in the front row in the studio. Between sets, Kathy Lee gave Connie a big hug and introduced her to Regis and after the show took her back to her dressing room to visit. Before she left, she gave Connie her private number so that in the future she could call directly for tickets and she signed an autograph. It said " To my good friend Connie, Much Love, Kathy Lee."

At home I secretly compared the signature of the autograph with the signature on the Christmas card. They were identical.

After almost 36 years, I am still so very much in love with my beautiful wife. I continue to learn to trust and rely on her technicolor skills. She is more passionate and exuberant about life with each passing year. And we are still a great team. The Ying and the Yang. I structure her. She softens me. 

Smitten from the first...