Love for Sale

Here’s my husband Mike Knezovich back with another guest post.

Chris Sale stands 6’7” tall, weighs less than I do (I’m 5’ 10”) and when he’s on the mound pitching for the Chicago White Sox on a windy day, his uniform flaps around him like a loose nylon jacket on a

Mr. Bones, comin’ at ya.

speeding motorcyclist. Legendary Los Angeles Dodgers baseball announcer Vin Scully refers to him as “Mr. Bones.”

And I love him. Chris Sale that is. He’s won 15 games and lost five. He makes great hitters look like me when I was a little leaguer. And he is the quintessential White Sox story—that is, a great story, but still somehow not the story.

This Sunday night on ESPN, Sale will be on the mound against the Detroit Tigers’ Justin Verlander—last year’s American League Cy Young Award winner and Most Valuable Player. For true blue baseball fans, it’s a match made in heaven. For lots of casual fans, it will be the first they’ve heard or seen about Mr. Bones. That’s just the way it is with the Chicago White Sox. They’re like the solid big brother to their shrill drama queen little sister on the North Side.

I grew up in a household where both Chicago teams were always on the radio and TV. My mom and dad were both baseball fans, but my mom was the greater influence – Esther was the type who talked and yelled at the radio or TV during games. She grew up near Pittsburgh and worked summers as a waitress in Cleveland. An independent-minded woman who embodied feminism before that word existed, she was a fan of the great Bill Veeck, who owned the Cleveland Indians and eventually, the White Sox (in fact, he owned the White Sox two different times). Veeck put up the exploding scoreboard and (gasp) added players’ names to the back of their uniforms while he was here in Chicago. He also got Harry Caray to sing “Take Me out to the Ballgame” at Comiskey, introduced uniforms that included shorts, and oversaw the debacle/triumph known as “Disco Demolition.” He was not boring.

Veeck was a renegade who irked the establishment. Exactly the kind of person my mom adored. Between that and our proximity (when I and other school patrol boys got a special outing to a ball game, it was to Comiskey Park on the South Side), the Sox became mine, and I became theirs.

Almost heaven. Me at Game 1, 2005 World Series.

A friend who works in baseball once said to me, “It’s important to care deeply about something that doesn’t matter.” That’s how it is with baseball, and for me, with the White Sox. There has been heartbreak (Damn Yankees and others in the 50s and 60s, Oakland As during the 70s, the strike in ‘94) and indescribable joy (2005!).

Back in 1983, I introduced Beth to my parents at a game at old Comiskey Park. The day after our wedding, Beth and I and some dear friends who had traveled in from Washington, D.C went to a game. In July of 1985, just before our first wedding anniversary, Beth and I visited her eye doctor for a follow-up visit after a last-gasp surgery to save her eyesight. We learned that she would not see again.

Before heading back to Urbana to face our new reality, we drove to Comiskey to have a Polish sausage with onions (“wit” onions is the correct pronunciation), and take in a ball game. Twenty years later, in 2005, Beth and I and her Seeing Eye dog Hanni got seats in the handicapped section for the playoffs against Boston. Later, I sprung for game 1 of the World Series.

This year the White Sox are defying low expectations and leading their division. They’ve had a parade of rookie pitchers come through in the clutch. They have a rookie manager who’s never managed at any level before. A starting pitcher who is excelling after unprecedented surgery to fix a gruesome injury (a chest muscle tore free of the bone). They have Yankee castoffs (Jose Quintana and Dewayne Wise) and a Red Sox throwaway (Kevin Youkilis) starting. A guy from Cuba nicknamed “Tank” starts in left and one of his countrymen, Alexei Ramirez (“The Cuban Missile”) plays a sparkling shortstop.

It can be irksome, the way the White Sox story routinely gets lost in the shuffle. Then again, on a whim, Beth and I can decide to get on the Red Line, get off two stops later, get tickets at a decent price, have some great food, and see this phenomenal baseball team. So really, it’s just about right. They’re not a media sensation. They’re a baseball team. My baseball team.

P.S.

If you want to learn a little more about the White Sox, past and future, I hope you’ll read one of my favorite writers–Roger Wallenstein–at one of my favorite Web sites–The Beachwood Reporter. 

Look up at the stars, and not down at your feet

If you read Sandra Murillo’s guest post here, you know that the 2012 London Paralympic Games had their opening ceremonies last night. The theme for this year’s Paralympic games is scientific discovery, so Stephen Hawking was the obvious choice for narrator. From a story in the London Telegraph:

The show began with Prof Hawking’s familiar computerised voice ringing out in the Olympic Stadium.
Summing up the spirit of the ceremony, he urged the world to “look up at the stars, and not down at your feet” and to “be curious.”

The people I work with at Easter Seals Headquarters in Chicago are pretty excited for the games, and through the job I have moderating their blog I’ve learned about a pretty cool program in Britain that’s helping average kids there get excited about Paralympic sports, too.

Sainsbury’s 1 Million Kids Challenge sent Paralympics Sports Kits to kids in schools, clubs and organizations all across the United Kingdom to encourage millions of them to try out a paralympic sport ahead of the London Games this week. The kit they sent out included a link to a video game that the British grocery store chain helped put together to simulate what it’s like to be blind and play soccer. A friend of mine at work is a huge soccer fan. She can see, and when she tried the simulation she scored a 35%. I was determined to do better. Here from a post I wrote for the Easter Seals blog about my trial run:

The simulation is supposed to present you with four different soccer challenges: passing, shooting, tackling and dribbling. Superstar David Beckham introduces the video, asking players to use their ears to angle their passes based on what they hear in their headphones.

I linked to the game. David Beckham told me to put my headphones on. I did. He explained how to use the arrow keys to follow the sound of the ball, and then said to hit the space bar to pass. I put my hands on the keys and waited for the action to begin. I waited. And waited.

I could hear children playing, but got no direction of where to pass or dribble, and I had no clue what to press to get the aural clues started. I tried arrowing up, arrowing down. I hit the space bar. I hit it again. Maybe enter? Would that work? No luck.

In the end, I had to call Mike over. He could see where the button was on the screen and pushed it for me. Irony of ironies, the only way I could play the blind soccer game was to have a sighted person help me.

I was ready to get outraged, but I sat back and took a breath instead, and that’s when I realized: the blind soccer simulation video wasn’t intended for people who are blind. It was meant to give people who can see a better understanding about living with a disability.

A study by Sainsbury’s shows that the kids in Britain who tried playing a paralympic sport are more knowledgeable — and excited — about watching the Paralympicsthe in London these next couple weeks. Nearly two-thirds (62%) of the children who tried a Paralympics sport were able to specify an event that they are looking forward to watching once the Games start today.

When Whitney and I volunteered at the Summer Military Sport Camp a few weeks ago, one of the guys there encouraged me to try out some of the special equipment the athletes use. I learned that the adaptive equipment doesn’t simplify the sport or make it easier – working those machines was hard, especially on the upper body. It gave me a new appreciation for what these paralympic athletes are up against. And now, just like those kids in Britain, I’m looking forward to watching (okay, listening to) the Paralympic games these next couple weeks — the United States Olympic Committee will be creating original video content for the U.S. Paralympics YouTube channel, and NBC Sports Network (NBCSN) will air one-hour highlight shows on Sept. 4, 5, 6 and 11 at 7 p.m. EDT. Let the games begin!

What’s wrong with this picture?

That’s Laura Martinez of Charlie Trotter’s.

Charlie Trotter’s, a five-star restaurant here in Chicago, is closing its doors for good this Friday, August 31. Laura Martinez, a graduate of Le Cordon Bleu, has been working at the iconic restaurant for more than two years, and now she’s having a hard time finding a new job.

Most people with a prestigious cooking school and experience in the kitchen of a five-star restaurant on their resume would have an easy time finding a new job, but Laura Martinez is not like most people. She’s blind.

Laura got her job at Charlie Trotter’s after the famous chef and restaurant owner visited the Chicago Lighthouse for the Blind. Laura had been working in the Lighthouse cafeteria kitchen at the time, and it was love at first taste. Charlie is quoted in an article in the Chicago Tribune about Laura:

“I was watching her work and saw how she handled things with her hands, touching for temperature and doneness, and I ate her food and it was quite delicious. We got to talking and she told me about her dreams and I said, ‘What would you think about working at Charlie Trotter’s?’”

Laura was already attending the prestigious Le Cordon Bleu culinary program at the Cooking and Hospitality Institute of Chicago at the time. Charlie Trotter offered to help with her tuition, and Laura accepted a job at his restaurant after she graduated.

The Illinois Department of Human Services hired a personal assistant to help Laura with on-the-job training, but then staff at Charlie Trotter’s took Laura under their wing and started providing her with supportive job assistance, removing the need for the personal assistant. I had the privilege of meeting Laura last year, and she told me co-workers on the line at Charlie Trotter’s had become comfortable having her there prepping, cleaning and chopping.

Trotter says Martinez is an exceptional worker who brought value to his restaurant. “Besides being a great cook, she brings value through her professionalism. She is a great team member.” When I talked with Laura, I asked if she had a specialty. “Well, a lot of vegetarians come to Charlie Trotter’s,” she said, her voice betraying a proud smile. “They like my vegetable risotto.”

I have Laura’s contact info, but out of respect for her privacy I won’t leave it here. If you do have an idea of a Chicago-area restaurant or restaurateur interested in hiring a graduate of Le Cordon Bleu who is a great team member with years of experience at a world–renowned five-star restaurant under her belt, please leave the idea here in a comment and I’ll pass it along to her.

Florence and the trombone machine

My brother’s in town, and he brought his trombone!

That’s Doug: Has trombone, will travel.

Doug graduated from high school the year I was born, and I grew up listening to the jazz records he left behind when he embarked on his music career. Louis Armstrong, Hot Five and Hot Seven. King Oliver. Lil Hardin.

My sisters and I went with Flo to hear Doug perform live a lot, too – he played and toured with the Original Salty Dogs Jazz Band, the Smokey Stover Firehouse Band and Bob Scobey’s Frisco Jazz Band before he had to leave home to join the Marines. We all breathed a sigh of relief when he got into the 3rd Marine Air Wing Band in El Toro, CA – playing for national parades and ceremonies in the United States kept him out of Vietnam.

Before he left home, Doug bought the family a piano, and though it may have been seen as a frivolous expense on Flo’s budget, she made sure we three youngest took lessons. I wouldn’t be playing (or appreciating) the piano the way I do if it weren’t for those two. Thank you, Doug and Flo.

Once his Marine Corps days were over, Doug left his music career behind to focus on raising a family and pursuing a corporate career. Any time Doug’s name was mentioned after that, you could count on Flo to shake her head and lament, “I sure wish Doug would pick up that trombone again.” He finally did in 1996, working long and hard to get his chops back in time to put a band together to surprise Flo on her 80th birthday. Thank you, Doug and Flo.

Doug has been playing his trombone ever since, and while he and his lovely wife Shelley are in town from Louisville this week, he’ll be sitting in with a couple Chicago bands.

• Thursday, August 23: 8 pm at Untitled, 111 W. Kinzie (312.880.1511) with the Jake Sanders Quintet. Jake used to play in New York’s Cangelosi Cards, and now he’s here to bring “the jazz age into the new age” every Thursday at this new River North dance club.
• Sunday, August 26 8 pm at Honky Tonk BBQ on 1800 S. Racine with The Fat Babies, a Chicago-based traditional jazz group that’s heavily influenced by musicians like Bix Beiderbecke, Louis Armstrong and Jelly Roll Morton.

The Jake Sanders Quintet and the Fat Babies both feature Andy Schum on cornet, and Doug and Shelley can’t say enough about this guy. “All the musicians are young and really enthusiastic and knowledgeable about the old, old stuff,” Shelley says, adding that some of them are 78 collectors. “That’s really unusual…and wonderful!” I was thrilled to read that both of these Chicago venues boast huge dance floors. Mike and I have been enjoying SummerDance lessons in Grant Park the past couple years, and at Doug’s gigs in the early 60s we little girls all shared stints as Flo’s dancing partner. So bring your dancing shoes and look for me this weekend: I’ll be the one swinging like a hep cat on the dance floor. Thank you, Doug and Flo.

Forever young

Last week I asked my memoir-writing students to pick a song, any song, and use that song title as the topic for their next essay. Take “All Shook Up,” for example. With a title like that, you could write about living through an earthquake. Or about a startling event in your lifetime that really left you shaken. Or, hey, if you just love Elvis, you could write about him!

That’s percussionist Audrey Mitchell in the foreground. (photo by fellow writer Darlene Sweitzer)

The song titles they came back with were as diverse as the writers who chose them. A new student in class wrote about a memorable road trip she and her husband took to West Virginia to meet his farmer uncle and aunt. Song title? “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” Annelore chose Rod Stewart’s “Forever Young” and wondered out loud why it is that she easily regards people in their forties as equals but has a hard time looking at her 40+-year-old daughter as a grown-up.

Wanda chose the title of a Billie Holiday tune to describe what life was like when “Mama started “working in private family” – Wanda’s words explaining that her mother had to live with the family she worked for. On Wednesdays, her only day home with Wanda, “Mama” would supply her young daughter with sayings like “God Bless the Child” to help them get through their days away from each other.

We had song titles from the 1930s through the 1980s, from Doris Day’s “Que Sera, Sera” to Del Shannon’s “Runaway.” And then Audrey surprised us all, choosing the title of a current song, and writing about something she’d signed up for just the week before: a class on Afro-Caribbean and World Rhythm drumming. Audrey wrote that her only previous experience with percussion had been in her kindergarten rhythm band. “I played the bell and triangle then, and that was a long time ago!” Playing percussion must be like riding a bicycle. Audrey took up right where she left off. From her essay:

After a few preliminary instructions, Carlos had this group of 25 stately senior citizens beating bongos and conga drums, tapping bells, shaking tambourines and maracas, reviving rhythms as if we had been doing it all our lives. As we played, one energized participant called out the famous Desi Arnaz’ expression…“Ba ba loo!”

The drumming class met at the Chicago Cultural Center, the same place I teach my class. Audrey has a long commute to memoir-writing class each week – she lives on the southwest side of Chicago and drives to her closest CTA stop and takes a 45-minute bus ride to downtown Chicago from there. In her essay she admits she hadn’t slep well the night before her drumming class. “I drudged on to class and am I glad I did,” she wrote at the conclusion of her essay. “When I left to go back home, I was wide awake. AND NOW, I can’t wait for the next class!”

People sometimes ask me what gets me going, what motivates me to get out of the house and do so much. Well, now you know. I’m inspired by the seniors in my memoir-writing class. Oh, and before I forget, the song title for Audrey’s essay: “Drumming Song” by Florence and the Machine.

PS: Big thanks to my friend Janie for coming up with this song title idea. If any of you blog followers out there have a song title you think might make a good writing topic for my memoir-writing classes, please leave that song title as a comment here. I’m all ears!

War wounds

Whitney and I sure met a lot of motivated athletes last weekend at the Summer Military Sport Camp, and as is so often the case when it comes to volunteering, we got far more out of it

It doesn’t take long for people to figure out my disability.

than we put in.

Out of respect for privacy, I won’t be sharing any specifics here about the individuals who participated in the camp, but I can tell you this: very few of the Vets I met used wheelchairs or a prosthesis of any kind to get around. The vast majority had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) or a traumatic brain injury (TBI).

An op-ed article about the high number of veterans coming home from Iraq or Afghanistan with mental health problems happen to come out in the New York Times the very day I started volunteering at the military sports camp. The piece follows the heartbreaking story of Maj. Ben Richards. He came home in 2007 after suffering multiple concussions in Iraq, and it took three years for him to get a diagnosis of TBI and PTSD. Richards is retiring from the U.S. Army this month, and the article quotes him saying that things might have been easier if he had lost a leg in Iraq.

”I’d trade a leg for this in a heartbeat,” Ben said. “If all I was missing was a leg, I’d be a stud. And if I’d lost a leg, I’d be able to stay in the Army. That’s all I want to do.”

That notion might sound extreme, but after reading the entire piece – and talking to some of the vets at the military sports camp last weekend – I can understand why he might feel this way. From the article:

Richards’s wife, Farrah, was thrilled when he returned “safely” from Iraq in the fall of 2007, and she counted them both very, very lucky. But almost immediately, Farrah says, she noticed that the man who came home wore her husband’s skin but was different inside. “There were obvious changes in his personality,” she recalls. “He was extremely withdrawn; he would go into the bedroom for hours.” A once boisterous dad who loved to roughhouse with his children — now there are four, ages 1 to 14 — Ben no longer seemed to know how to play with them.

I’ve never felt particularly lucky for losing my sight, but at least when people see me with a guide dog or a white cane, they know what’s up. Strangers understand if I fumble for a doorknob. They aren’t hurt when I don’t recognize them waving hello. They don’t push back if I happen to bump into them in line. It’s a different story for Major Richards. Before his injury, he had taught at West Point, and had an I.Q. of about 148. Those concussions he suffered in Iraq have left him with incapacitating headaches, overwhelming fatigue and constant insomnia. After returning to the United States he tried going back to West Point to teach, but found he couldn’t read more than a few pages at a time. He would lose his train of thought in class. Students were questioning his behavior and wondering what was wrong. Last March, Richards asked to be relieved of his teaching duties.

The article refers to traumatic brain injuries and post-traumatic stress disorder as the signature wounds of the Iraq and Afghan wars, “partly because of the strains of repeated combat tours and partly because the enemy now relies more on bombs than bullets.” After spending time with some of those veterans at the military sports camp last week, I think they all should be given medals for courage. Nicholas D. Kristof’s conclusion to his op-ed piece in the New York Timesis spot on:

In speaking out with brutal candor about his injury and decline, Maj. Ben Richards exemplifies courage and leadership. He’s not damaged goods, but a hero. Maybe, if our leaders are listening, one of his last remaining dreams is still achievable: that his story will help win better treatment for so many others like him.

I bet this opening ceremony will be a lot cooler

If you were sorry to see the 2012 Summer Olympics come to an end on Sunday, I have good news: they’re not over yet! The Summer Paralympic Games start in London on August 29, and journalism student Sandra Murillo is here with a guest post about a friend who will be competing for gold this year.

Anjali makes the team

By Sandra Murillo

Before I became a student at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign I knew very little about the Paralympics. I knew that the athletes who competed in these Olympics had physical disabilities, but I had no idea what kind of training the athletes went through. I thought that any athlete with a disability could just sign up and be in the Paralympics if they wanted to.

That’s Anjali Forber-Pratt and her chariot of fire.

But then I became friends with Paralympic Medalist Anjali Forber-Pratt, and I discovered nothing could be further from the truth.

I met Anjali at U of I when we were both asked to be on a panel and share our experiences as individuals with disabilities with a class of students majoring in special education. Anjali was working on getting her Ph.D. in Human Resource Education, and from the minute I met her I sensed her determination and energetic personality.

Anjali was born in Calcutta India and was adopted when she was two months old. Two months after her adoptive parents brought her home to Natick, Massachusetts, Anjali developed Transverse Myelitis, a neurological condition that affects the spinal cord and left her paralyzed from the waist down.

Anjali tells me that as a child she thought she would eventually outgrow her disability. She admits that when she realized that would not happen she felt sad, but not for long. Anjali’s introduction to sports came during the Boston Marathon when she was only five years old. She remembers seeing the wheelchair racers competing, and that changed her life forever.

As a child Anjali practiced different sports, including wheelchair track, road racing and downhill skiing. She credits her parents and older brother for her extensive involvement in sports. As a child she and her brother would play outside together, and her brother always found ways to involve her in different activities. Anjali jokes that since she grew up with only a brother she had no choice but to learn how to play rough games and sports. She is very thankful for the support and high expectations her family has always had for her.

Today Anjali is one of the top three fastest women in the world in the 100 meter, 200 meter and 400 meter races. She has competed in the 2011 Boston Marathon and in several other national and international marathons. Anjali competed in the 2008 Paralympic games in Beijing as part of team USA, and will be competing in the 2012 Paralympic games in London. She received her Ph.D. last May and recently co-authored a children’s coloring book about athletes with disabilities.

Anjali hopes to inspire disabled and non-disabled individuals to pursue all of their dreams and goals. By having the pleasure of becoming Anjali’s friend I know she will continue her successes, both as an athlete and as a person. I’m also confident – and expect – that she’ll bring home at least one gold medal!

This just in: The United States Olympic Committee just announced today that they’ll create original video content for the U.S. Paralympics YouTube channel, and that NBC Sports Network (NBCSN) will air one-hour highlight shows on Sept. 4, 5, 6 and 11 at 7 p.m. EDT. you can watch the Paralympics from home this year!

Let’s ask Miss Manners

The orientation packet they sent out for the Summer Military Sport Camp I’m volunteering at includes a primer on disability etiquette. Among other things, the two-page document suggests that if the situation is appropriate, we should “strike up a conversation and include the person in whatever is going on, just as you would do for an average-looking person.” I’ve read documents like this before (I work part-time at Easter Seals Headquarters, and they feature a similar list of guidelines on their web site). I am sure the people who devise these guidelines mean well, but do they realize that their well-intentioned lists might leave a person with a disability feeling, well, like they’re talking to a person who is nervous about talking to them?

The antidote? A list of do’s and don’ts that turns the notion of disability etiquette on its head. I appreciated this parody so much when I first read it that I thought the time was right to resurrect it.

What To Do when You Meet a Sighted Person
People who use their eyes to acquire information about the world are called sighted people or “people who are sighted.” Legal “sight” means any visual acuity greater than 20/200 in the better eye without correction or an angle of vision wider than 20 degrees. Sighted people enjoy rich, full, lives, as they work, play, and raise families. They run businesses, hold public offices, and teach your children.

Sighted people cannot function well in low lighting conditions and are usually helpless in total darkness. Their homes are usually brightly lit at great expense, as are businesses that cater to the sighted consumer.

How Can I Best Communicate with Sighted People?
Sighted people are accustomed to viewing the world in visual terms. This means that in many situations, they will not be able to communicate orally and may resort to pointing or other gesturing. They may also use subtle facial expressions to convey feelings in social situations. Calmly alert the sighted person to his or her surroundings by speaking slowly, in a normal tone of voice. There is no need to raise your voice when addressing a sighted person.

How Do Sighted People Get Around?
People who are sighted may walk or ride public transportation, but most choose to travel long distances by operating their own motor vehicles, usually one passenger to a car. They have gone through many hours of extensive training to learn the rules of the road in order to further their independence. Once that road to freedom has been mastered, sighted people earn a legal classification and a driver’s license, which allows them to operate a private vehicle relatively safely and independently.

How Can I Assist a Sighted Person?
At times, sighted people may need help finding things, especially when operating a motor vehicle. Your advance knowledge of routes and landmarks, particularly bumps in the road, turns, and traffic lights, will assist the “driver” in finding the way quickly and easily. Your knowledge of building layouts can also assist the sighted person in navigating complex shopping malls and offices. Sighted people tend to be very proud and will not ask directly for assistance. Be gentle, yet firm.

How Do Sighted People Read?Sighted people read via a system called “print.” Print is a series of images drawn in a two-dimensional plane. Because the person who is sighted relies exclusively on visual information, his or her attention span tends to fade quickly when reading long texts. People who are sighted generally have a poorly developed sense of touch. Braille is completely foreign to the sighted person and he or she will take longer to learn the code and be severely limited by his or her existing visual senses.

How Do Sighted People Use Computers?
Computer information is presented to sighted people in a “Graphical User Interface” or GUI. Sighted people often suffer from hand-eye coordination problems. To accommodate this difficulty, people who are sighted use a “mouse,” a handy device that slides along the desk top to save confusing keystrokes. With one button, the sighted person can move around his or her computer screen quickly and easily.
People who are sighted are not accustomed to synthetic speech and may have great difficulty understanding even the clearest synthesizer. Be patient and be prepared to explain many times how your computer equipment works.

How Can I Support a Sighted Person?
People who are sighted do not want your charity. They want to live, work and play alongside you on an equal basis. The best thing you can do to support sighted people in your community is to open yourself to their world. These citizens are vital contributing members of the community, real people with thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams, and a story to tell. Take a sighted person to lunch today!

All typewritten, single-spaced, to the edge of the page

The seniors in my memoir classes have clever ways of letting me know when they disapprove of a writing topic. Wanda groaned when I assigned “in-laws,” and she returned the next week with a colorful essay about a second cousin once removed who’d spent much of his adult life in and out of prison. I could hear her mischievous grin as she finished reading her essay, plopped her paper on the table and declared, “he was an outlaw!” Janie wasn’t crazy about the topic, either. She came back with a piece she wrote about her decision to forego law school after college. She did not end up, ahem, in law.

Myrna’s mother-in-law Hedwig is on the left. That’s Henry, Hedwig’s son and Myrna’s husband, on the right. And that’s baby Elizabeth being held by Hedwig. Taken in 1962.

Myrna Knepler was one of the very, very, few students who opted to use the assignment to write about her mother-in law.

Myrna’s Husband Henry was only 16 when he said goodbye to his mother and father in Vienna and boarded the Kindertransport (children’s transport), the effort that saved 10,000 Jewish children from the Holocaust. Henry’s father died in the Auschwitz concentration camp. His mother — Hedwig — survived by hiding In an unheated cabin in the Vienna woods, owned by an anti-Nazi family who sheltered her there. Hedwig would not reunite with Henry, her only child, until he was 24 years old.

Myrna would get to know Hedwig Knepler a decade later, after marrying Henry. From Myrna’s essay:

Although she had proved both mental and physical sturdiness, she was thin and bent in a way that made her seem fragile and untouchable. Certainly her life experience was beyond anything I knew, in some ways so terrible I was afraid to touch it.

Moreover, I sensed the tension between her and my husband, her son. I, his new, much younger wife, wanted above all to please him. He loved his mother, but was troubled by what seemed to be her almost obsessive concern for him, a concern more appropriate to the mother of a young boy, than to a balding assistant professor in his late thirties.

Myrna wrote that her conversations with her mother-in-law were awkward until Myrna and Henry had their first daughter, Elizabeth.

Then for the six months between Liz’s birth and Hedwig’s death, talk was easier, focused on our mutual love for and wonder at this new creature, the grandchild she never expected to have.

Hedwig died in 1962, leaving Myrna and Henry to sort through a box of letters Hedwig and Henry had exchanged before and after the war. The letters were written in German (a language Myrna does not know well) and stored in their attic for years. The only time Myrna and her husband Henry opened the cardboard box together, they closed it up right away and put it back on the shelf. The material inside was too painful for Henry to read.

Henry died in 1999, and before his death, when he was too ill to deal with the letters himself, Myrna realized that they were now her responsibility. She unpacked nearly one thousand pages of letters — all typed single-spaced and to the edge of the page — and started sorting them by date to donate to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. In exchange, the museum would translate and make copies for Myrna and her daughters.

The translated letters trickled back to Myrna over a span of six years, and after reading them all Myrna was able to piece together stories of how her mother-in-law helped a brother immigrate safely to Argentina. She read heartbreaking details of her mother-in-law’s attempts to help her mother and aunt, who were already interned. They did not survive. Myrna’s mother-in-law wrote about her own struggles to support herself. About how she starved. How she helped save others. About how, in the end, some of the people she saved ended up helping her.

The original letters Myrna’s mother-in-law exchanged with Myrna’s husband are now preserved in a vault outside of Washington, D.C., where scholars can access them. Myrna ended her essay about the letters with a question. “Could I ever be as brave, as self reliant, as helpful to others as she was?” I would say yes, Myrna, you could. I just hope you are never, ever put to the test the way your mother-in-law was.

Putting life back together

A screen reader called JAWS lets me use a computer to read and write, and when power user Sue Martin generously donated a series of her JAWS refresher classes to this year’s auction benefitting the Seeing Eye, , I bid on it – and won!

Sue lost her sight when she was 26, and she works for The United States Department of Veterans Affairs as a management analyst. She squeezes me into her busy life for an hour-long JAWS class every Friday over the phone, and in-between teaching me to use Notification Bars and navigation quick keys, she lets me in on her progress writing a memoir. Sue is a courageous woman, and that’s not just because she’s willing to try to teach a technology nincompoop like me to improve my computer skills. Her guest post explains her decision to share her life story.

Out of the whirlpool

by Sue Martin

Certified JAWS instructor Sue Martin and her Seeing Eye dog Kismet.

I’ve known that I would write my story for years, it was just a question of when. When I was twenty six I was deeply depressed. When I thought I was out of options I tried to kill myself with a gun. I didn’t manage to kill myself. Instead my suicide attempt resulted in my blindness. I was no less depressed but now I had blindness to deal with on top of the depression. Putting my life back together after that fateful act has been a long and sometimes difficult road, but today, I’m quite content.

I didn’t used to tell people that my blindness was the result of a suicide attempt, but every time I’d hear a story of someone committing suicide I knew the time for me to come out and tell my own story was drawing closer. When I heard that some people I knew had a friend take her own life in England last January, I knew the time had come.

I started a blog, and before I knew it the blog turned into a book. I’m close to finishing the writing, and an editor is helping me sort through plans to consider as I move to publication.

Why am I writing this book? I want to shine a light on suicidal depression. It can happen to anyone anywhere at any time. The key to overcoming depression is to recognize it, talk about it, and ask for help. As long as there is life there is hope, and my hope is that, by sharing my story, I can maybe, just maybe, save a life.

The working title of Sue’s story is “Out of the Whirlpool,” and you can hear her talk about her writing project (and enjoy her sweet Alabama drawl!) on an interview on Freedom Scientific’s July 2012 podcast.