Missing Chapters

Maryellen Gollnick called me last week with a question: Would I write a story about a missing dog?

 Initially, I cringed when she asked, but I listened to her story anyway.  

Gollnick’s 10-year-old daughter, Hannah, used money she was given when she received her first Holy Communion in the second grade to purchase a schnauzer in December. Jazzie is now 9-months-old and has been missing from their Elk Street home since April 29.

 Jazzie, and the family’s yellow Labrador retriever, Murphy, got out of the yard on a Tuesday afternoon. Murphy was found at 6 a.m. April 30. Someone found the dog and called the Alamance County Animal Shelter. Gollnick had alerted the folks at the shelter that the two dogs were missing so they contacted her when Murphy was located.

Jazzie wasn’t with Murphy. Hannah was heartbroken but determined to find her furry friend. The duo went through puppy school at PetSmart. They slept together every night. Hannah made signs and hung them up around the neighborhood. Gollnick got on the phone and called the animal shelter, local veterinarians and, of course, me.

When I worked at The Daily News in Jacksonville, I sort of earned the unofficial title of “dog reporter.” I did my fair share of dog stories but “animal reporter” would have been more accurate.

My first assignment at The Daily News was about a woman named Easter who raised rabbits. I was off and running. Then there was Mimi, the dog that got turned into the Onslow County Animal Shelter but was never adopted and eventually euthanized. I watched and wrote about it all.

There was the Chihuahua that was thrown against a wall and tossed in the woods. The pit bull doused in gasoline and then lit on fire. There were horses that were starved, horses that were shot and one horse – please brace yourselves because it’s terrible – who was raped with a baseball bat at the stables aboard Camp Lejeune, a nearby Marine Corps base.

I watched a whale necropsy and a send off for a pelican named Stinky. I wrote about the ducks that invaded downtown Swansboro several times and lots and lots of alligators. One guy thought the alligator in his pool was a blow-up toy. Boy was he wrong.

One of my favorites was a funeral held at a pond in the back of an apartment complex for Charlie the alligator, who feasted on the roasts and chickens the residents fed him. Wildlife officials killed Charlie because the alligator became a threat.

I’ve only been at the Times-News since August. I wrote my first animal story in October. Although I’m a huge animal lover, I didn’t seek it out and frequently I don’t. I’m just the reporter who always ends up with the assignment.

That first one here was about a white cat named, Charmin, who had a rare condition that caused her to dribble urine. A local vet was trying to raise money so she could get an expensive operation to fix the situation.

Since that time, I’ve written about the animal shelter; a puppy named Oscar abandoned in a garbage can; an American bulldog mix named Petey euthanized just three hours after he was surrendered at the pound; and Copper, a little boy’s Chihuahua reported stolen to the Alamance Count Sheriff’s Department.

Oscar received a home. A few changes were made at the animal shelter after Petey’s story was written and the woman, who claimed she found Copper on the side of the road, returned him. I like it when stories make a difference.

Animal stories tend to generate a lot of interest among newspaper readers. I still remember Assistant District Attorney Ernie Lee, who prosecuted the Marine who abused the Chihuahua in Jacksonville, pondering why people were so passionate about stories featuring injured animals.

“We have so many child abuse cases,” he pointed out.

This is why I had to listen when Gollnick called. I knew that I couldn’t just write a story about a missing dog. There are just too many of them and if I wrote her story, I’d open the door to the rest. But I asked a lot of questions to see if there was anything in the story that might earn it some coveted space in the print edition.

While as a Catholic I was taken by the fact that Hannah saved her first Holy Communion money for more than three years — a definite feat — and gave up a fancy birthday party in order to purchase Jazzie on her own, it wasn’t enough.

Then I remembered we have unlimited space on our Web site.  I suggested writing a brief story and running it on thetimesnews.com with some photos. My editors were in favor of doing it, and the story about the missing Jazzie remained on our “most viewed” stories list for two days, proving once again that newspaper readers – even online viewers – like stories about animals.

Next time, if other readers make the same request, we’ll ask that they write a brief story and include photos, which they can post themselves on the new interactive features on the Web site.

I spoke with Gollnick today and the search is still on for Jazzie, who recently was spotted several times in downtown Burlington near Lexington Avenue and Broad Street. Gollnick, Hannah and their crew of dog-searching volunteers have passed out fliers, hung signs and talked to a lot of folks with the hopes of finding Jazzie.

Anyone with information about Jazzie, who is black with white markings and about 11 pounds, can contact Gollnick at 675-6382. The dog was recently shaved so she might not look like a typical schnauzer. She is also wearing a new pink collar.

I spent most of my time Tuesday going from one polling place to another in Alamance County interviewing people about what brought them out to vote. It felt odd asking people who they voted for in the primary. It was a feeling that stems from a lesson taught to me by my mother. She always said that a person’s vote is personal so don’t ask about it. I never did when I was kid, but I have to as a reporter. I know this, but it still feels weird.

U.S. Sen. Barack Obama’s supporters were comfortable owning their vote. The few women I interviewed, who cast a ballot for U.S. Sen. Hillary Clinton, weren’t too keen about talking on the record. They talked, but they weren’t willing to attach their names to the comments. It doesn’t help when you a reporter attempting to provide a balanced story about what’s going on at the polls.

I can’t put your quote in the newspaper if you won’t give me a name.

In general, people were in really good spirits Tuesday. I met a lot of people who were truly inspired by the candidates they chose to support. Many were confident that for the first time in their lives their vote mattered.

I also met a man, Tony Ferrita, who is blind, and was extremely pleased that Alamance County’s voting machines offer an audio option for the visually impaired.

“I was able to vote alone and in secret,” he said. “A lot of sighted people say what’s the difference, but blind people have the right and desire to have a secret ballot like everybody else.”

It was encouraging to see that people weren’t apathetic about this primary. I’ve seen that too many times to count. People vote because it’s their civic duty, but they don’t know anything about the candidates.This time, people went to the polls at least somewhat informed and with a mission, regardless of whether it was to vote for the first viable black presidential candidate, the first female or the oldest person to compete for the office.

They were going to have their say because for the first time in recent history North Carolina’s presidential primary will actually make a difference. Here’s a sampling of what I heard:“I am a mom, and I care about what happens to my kids in the future. I think it’s my duty to vote. You can’t complain about what happens in the future if you don’t exercise your right,” said Jennifer Glackin, 35, of Graham, who had an internal struggle about the Democratic presidential candidates.

At first glance, the colorful cutouts of children gathered at the corner of South Church Street and Webb Avenue look like a happy scene — one worthy of a double take.

I saw the baby dressed in a violet T-shirt getting handed to former President Bill Clinton during his visit to Elon University Wednesday as part of a campaign stop for his wife, U.S. Sen. Hillary Clinton. I knew the proud mama, Kathy Colville, Alamance County Health Department’s health education supervisor, had to be near.

I kept wedging my way into the crowd, holding my small video camera, which was attached to a tripod, over my head. I hoped to capture the moment on film but there were too many heads blocking a clear shot.

When I finally got a glimpse of Colville’s face, she was beaming as I anticipated. Her 5-month-old daughter, Gretchen Sims, decked out in a T-shirt declaring her not a “future princess” but a “future president,” was sitting quite content in the arms of our country’s 42nd president. For some reason, I was proud, too.

There were a lot of “aws” and plenty of camera flashes to follow – the moment assuredly preserved for Colville.

A young woman stood to my left. She, too, was inching her way closer and closer to Clinton.

“Oh my gosh, he’s so close,” she said. “… Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, I’ve never been so excited about anyone.”

The Elon University student never made her way through the crowd to get closer to Clinton’s hand, but many of the people who gathered had the opportunity to interact with him. Some asked for autographs. Others posed for pictures and many were satisfied to just shake his hand.

One student emerged from the crowd, grinning from ear to ear.

“I got a hand touch,” she announced.

“President Clinton, President Clinton, air five, air high five,” a young man shouted.

All types of folks showed up to listen to Clinton speak. Many arrived early and didn’t seem to mind that he was an hour late. They played cards on the grass, listened to iPods, chatted on cell phones or caught up with friends usually busy with classes.

Some supported Hillary Clinton’s campaign to be the first female president.

Many of U.S. Sen. Barack Obama’s supporters also attended. While they made their loyalties known with signs, such as “Students for Obama” and “ABC: Anybody But Clinton,” it didn’t seem to be the sole reason they were there.

As Daronce Daniels, an Elon University football player and Obama supporter told me in the video I shot that day, he was there to see Bill.

“I love Bill Clinton,” he said. “Bill Clinton’s the man, you know.”

I noticed a lot of mothers attended the event with their children. There were some fathers, too, but more moms with their kids. For many of them, it wasn’t about political party affiliations or support for any one candidate.

They were there because a former president was in Alamance County making history and to put it simply, they wanted to be a part of it. More importantly, they wanted their children to be in the thick of it.

I, too, enjoyed experiencing history in the making, but I think it meant more to document others have their moment with an American president.

As soon as I walked into the Alamance County courthouse Thursday, I heard the sound. My nerves were already shot before the security guards downstairs figured out what the noise was and where it was coming from.

“What is that sound?” I heard one of the security guys say as he walked up the stairs behind me.

Jemario Scott’s mother was just outside the courtroom where superior court is held. She was turned toward a wall and shaking uncontrollably.

“I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can do it,” she cried to a young woman trying desperately to console the depths of this mother’s grief.

I tried not to listen and to shut off my mind. I wasn’t ready for any of it. I wasn’t properly braced.

I hurried into the courtroom and watched as Iverick Harris, 24, Garland Bigelow, 28, both of Burlington, pleaded guilty to second-degree murder for their part in 21-year-old Jemario Scott’s death. The young woman I saw outside the courtroom eventually came in and sat in the pew in front of me in the gallery.

When District Attorney Rob Johnson showed Superior Court Judge Paul Ridgeway Scott’s family photo, tears slid down the young woman’s face. The woman next to her offered a shoulder. She buried her face in it and continued to cry.

When bailiffs led Iverick Harris out of the courtroom following his sentencing, his mother, Angela Harris, jumped from her seat and started wailing. As she neared the back door of the courtroom, her cries grew louder. She stomped her feet.

I immediately thought back to a murder trial I covered in Onslow County almost three years ago. Lucas Borges was on trial for killing a young woman and injuring four others in a head-on collision. Borges, a Marine who was high after huffing ether, was driving the wrong way on a main drag in Jacksonville when the wreck occurred.

When the judge announced that the jury found him guilty of second-degree murder, there was immediately a loud thump. It was the sound of Borges’ mother falling to her knees on the hardwood floor. Then she, too, started wailing — a cry that echoed up into the high ceiling.

Her 16-year-old daughter, who was sitting at her side, fell to her knees beside her mother in an attempt to offer comfort but there was no quieting this woman’s grief. They both wept. Bailiffs escorted the mother out. I could still hear the wailing long after she left the courtroom.

It’s the kind of emotion — the kind of sound — that is impossible to describe in words, but it’s a reaction that I think is pertinent in the stories I write. It is raw. It is personal and usually reserved for those private moments shared with trusted people.

But sometimes events are so bitter, painful and excruciatingly difficult that the people experiencing these life-altering moments express exactly how it feels in public. I don’t think I can ignore it with my pen if I want to report reality with any accuracy.

It’s not pretty. In fact, it’s downright harsh but so is a life cut short, regardless if it is taken because of a gunshot or a head-on collision or a prison sentence.

Many women keep their weight to themselves. In January, Kathy Swaney, a 53-year-old inside sales consultant here at the Times-News, went public with hers — I mean really public.

Kathy was selected by Nu-Body Solutions in Greensboro to participate in a 12-week weight-loss competition. Nu-Body Solutions promised to provide an eating plan, support, thrice-weekly weigh-ins as well as vitamins, nutrition bars and drinks.

Kathy, who lives in Kernersville, was up against two women from Greensboro. The contest was simple. The person who lost the most weight, inches and body fat at the end of 12 weeks would be declared a winner and showered with an assortment of prizes, including $500 in gift certificates to shop for new clothes.

But there was a catch: Oldies station Majic 94.1 sponsored the whole thing and planned to announce how much they weighed on the air. Yikes. Despite that minor downside, Kathy, a recently diagnosed diabetic, was game. She even decided to let the Times-News, in this case that means me, document her battle with excess weight and her journey toward a healthier lifestyle.

It took guts and determination. Trust me, Kathy has both. She also has a great sense of humor. It all helped.

A fan of NBC’s “Biggest Loser,” she was willing to go public in an effort to challenge herself to finally get the job done. She has two young grandchildren that she wants to see grow up. Diabetes is a serious chronic disease that has the potential of wiping years off her life. She didn’t want take any chances.

She really adores those kids. Frequently when I walk into her cubicle, she shows me something she bought for one of them. Kathy also has photos of herself from years ago, when she was a svelte 135 pounds. She actually thought she was fat. She hoped the competition would motivate her to get back to that weight again.

It’s rare that I get the opportunity to interview a co-worker. Kathy and I had the chance to get to know each other a bit through the process. Kathy is a pip so there was a lot of laughter. I cover a lot of breaking news — crimes, fires, wrecks — so it was an enjoyable respite from the usual.

Kathy ended up dropping 26.4 pounds, 44 inches and 12 percent of her body fat. She dropped from a size 18/20 to a size 12. It wasn’t enough to win the competition, but it was a tremendous effort. She managed to lose an average of more than two pounds a week.

Kathy eventually warmed up to the idea that she actually accomplished something. Initially, she took the loss hard. She felt like she let people down. But then some phone calls and e-mails from readers started flowing in, and she realized that she not only changed her own life but her efforts also had an impact on others.

They showered her with praise, asked advice and sought support.

“I’m sorry you didn’t win the weight-loss contest, but you’re a winner with me,” one woman named Candace wrote in a card. “Seeing your weight loss of 26 pounds in 12 weeks is unbelievable. I am 54 and you have inspired me to do the same. (I) have really enjoyed keeping up with your progress. Congratulations.”

The response touched Kathy.

“It really has made me feel wonderful,” she said. “I didn’t realize there were people out there who were keeping up with me. I guess that’s the power of the newspaper.”

Kathy is now hoping to lose another 20 pounds by June when she will see both her daughters — and those lovable grandkids — for the first time since she started her journey. She wants to make sure they can tell she lost weight as if it’s not already quite obvious.

If you want to read about Kathy’s journey, you can access the stories below. We didn’t run stories for two of the 12 weeks due to illness.

Week 1      Week 6
Week 2      Week 7
Week 3      Week 8

Week 4     Week 10
Week 5      Week 12

N.C. Highway Patrol Sgt. J.B. Sessoms saw the digital camera and the video camera and hurried over to where I was standing. A crushed 1997 Geo Metro was directly across the road. A white sheet draped over the driver’s side of the compact car was part of the reason for his urgency.

“Ma’am, you’ll have to step back,” he said sternly.

I knew there was a fatality and at least one other person injured before I left the office this morning to head north on N.C. 87. Keren Rivas, who was still back in the newsroom and listening to the scanner, called me en route to warn me about what lie ahead. The person who was killed in the early-morning wreck was still at the scene.

I told Sessoms I was with the Times-News. He didn’t care. He continued to motion me back. There was no yellow crime-scene tape to stand behind. I sought some direction.

“Just stay back,” he said.

I did, although my view was far from obstructed. I saw the empty body bag on the stretcher that Altamahaw-Ossipee firefighters were pushing toward the car.

Sessoms was heading back my way. I knew what he wanted. I had already tucked the digital camera in a pocket and turned off the video camera. The rescue personnel worked with care as they moved 22-year-old David Matherly of Elon from the Geo onto the stretcher, preserving his dignity behind the wall they created with the sheet.

I looked to my right at the traffic backed up N.C. 87. I saw Times-News photographer Sam Roberts. He stood, waiting. I spotted Sessoms looking over his shoulder at me, figuring he expected I’d pull the camera back out when he wasn’t looking.

Shortly after, Matherly’s father and brother walked up on the scene. The brother started screaming and charging toward the car. The father moved him in the direction of the troopers. I knew the instant their worst fears were confirmed. The brother grabbed a nearby stop sign, shaking it violently. His screams tore through me like the cold morning air.

I couldn’t lift my right hand — the one that held the video camera. I stood motionless, taking it all in with my eyes and struggling with what to do about my right hand. It wouldn’t lift.

The brother started to pace, stopping at moments to hold his head in his hands. He ended up lying face down in the middle of the road. I kept my eyes on him, but I knew my video camera wouldn’t be capturing his raw grief.

I made a split-second decision — a choice. Our Web site viewers would go without. I planned to describe it with words but not with invasive footage. Another reporter would have made a different decision. But if I had it to do over again, I’d choose the same. (Watch video.)

A tragic experience from my past fueled my thinking. Some might think that a wreck on a public road is fair game for any reporter. I don’t disagree. But grief — the raw reaction to news that your brother is dead and your 7-year-old sister and pregnant cousin are seriously injured — isn’t. David Matherly’s brother had a right to scream, shake, thrash and lie face down in the road without the intrusion of my camera.

Maybe that makes me an incompetent journalist. Maybe it makes me a good one. It’s something Times-News readers, TheTimes-News.com viewers and my editors have to decide.

As I watched it all transpire this morning, feeling my own grief bubbling to the surface, I honestly didn’t know.

Pat Bailey looked at my video camera and the reporter’s notebook jutting out of my jacket pocket and immediately started answering questions.She talked fast.

Times-News Managing Editor Jay Ashley told me that I’d meet Bailey if I attended Uncle Eli’s Quilting Party at the Eli Whitney Community Center last week. The event is a mainstay in that community. For the past 77 years, people - mostly women with a penchant for sewing - have shown up on the first Thursday of April with finished quilts and projects in hand.

Bailey, who graduated from Eli Whitney High School in 1943,  is one of the three organizers. She referred to herself as the mouth of the operation and quickly shared she was a freelance journalist who spent a lot of her career in radio.

Her first name is actually Elizabeth, but she answers to Pat - one of those androgynous names that might keep some wondering if they only knew her by the byline. I guess it caused some confusion back in the early 1960s when she won the distinguished service award from the N.C. Farmer Writers & Broadcasters Association. Her work apparently earned her the distinction in the male-dominated field but once they discovered she was actually a woman, they wouldn’t let her attend the awards ceremony. Bob Scott, who later became governor, gave her the thumbs up and the group changed their attitude and let her in the door.

While I was driving back to the newspaper last Thursday after spending a little time with Bailey, I couldn’t help but think of Mildred Harris. I initially met her outside of the last remaining Horn & Hardart automat on the corner of 42nd Street and Third Avenue in New York City. (It closed a couple of years later and became a Gap.)

I was waiting to catch a bus back to the Hamptons where I tossed pizzas in my brother’s restaurant. Harris dropped her bags at my feet and asked if I’d watch them for a minute while she hurried into the automat to get a sandwich.

I grew up in New York and if I learned nothing else in my 22 years, it was that you don’t leave your bags with a stranger. Of course, Harris, who looked like she was well into her 70s, didn’t have anything to worry about. I watched her bags and helped her carry them onto the bus when it arrived.

We were on the road a few minutes, when she leaned toward me and said, “Here have a nice piece of candy.”

Despite the sound of my mother’s warning in my head, I indeed took candy from a stranger.

“So what’s your story?” she asked.

I was fairly certain I didn’t have one, but Mildred Harris managed to squeeze it out of me. I told her about my spanking new bachelor’s degree in journalism and my two halfhearted interviews with a couple of publishing firms in Manhattan. I didn’t want either job. In fact, I couldn’t get the new black suit off quick enough and was content spending the rest of the day watching an artist, who had no arms, paint on the sidewalk with his feet. I also listened to a homeless guy read poetry and sat on the steps of the New York Public Library to read.

Harris kept prodding. But what did I want to do?

When she learned I was a budding journalist, she immediately wanted to see some of my work. I whipped out a black portfolio that carefully stored my handful of clips. She launched into her own past, sharing a story that was almost twice my age about a time when she also was trying to break into the newspaper business.

Her real name was Mildred Horowitz, which meant she had two automatic strikes against her: She was female and Jewish. She got around the female thing and managed to get before an editor. He told her to go out and write a story. If it was good, he’d consider giving her a job. But there was no way she could write under the name Horowitz. Her byline became Mildred Harris.

She no longer worked for a newspaper. She spent most of her days, inciting anger through many letters to the editor she penned to Newsday and The Daily News.

She looked at my portfolio with astonishment.  She declared, “You won’t have any trouble finding a job.” My clips stood as proof that I could write, she insisted. I just needed to be patient. She urged me not to give up. A few months later, I did get my first newspaper job at a weekly in Fayetteville, N.Y. I still wish I could have shared the news with Mildred who spent two hours on a bus with me and a lifetime in my memory.

I often wondered if I really met Mildred Harris that day or if it was a figment of my imagination.

But after I encountered Pat Bailey the other day, I was fairly sure Mildred Harris was real. They both have paved the way for me and other female journalists. We no longer have to change our names to make our bylines acceptable, and our value in this once male-dominated field is as important as the clip file that, in the end, helped me land that first job.

More than 100 people gathered Tuesday at the Twin Lakes community center to honor people who gave time, money, energy and of themselves this past year.Volunteers keep a lot of non-profit organizations, which have limited resources, operating throughout the year and without them many services couldn’t be offered to Alamance County residents.

Sixteen people and organizations were recognized at the luncheon as the 2008 Alamance County Volunteer Award nominees. Five were selected for this year’s awards, including Burlington Day School’s student council, Kayser-Roth employees, Monica Petcovic, Jack Sink and Amanda Tapler.

I’m fairly new in Burlington - I moved here last June - and I heard about the awards after learning that retired Times-News photographer, Jack Sink, received the honor. When I originally called him to do the story, he acted like he didn’t know much about the award and made it clear that he preferred to be looking into and not at the camera.

I’ve never worked with Jack Sink, but his name comes up a lot on the job. I’ve heard many good stories about him and can’t help but have respect for him. Even so, I essentially told him he needed to get over it. I was doing the story. He was going to be in it, and I’d make it as painless possible.

When Jack got called to the podium to accept his plaque during the luncheon, he stayed up there for a few moments and addressed the crowd.

“What an honor,” he said. “It’s brought me to tears.”

It really did. It was quite touching. I had to dab at my eyes a bit. I was proud of Jack Sink — proud that a fellow newspaper person is making a contribution to this county and is making a difference.

Jack wanted to get all the volunteers at the luncheon to come up to the front. That basically meant that a room full of people would have to crowd on the stage. It just wouldn’t have worked. Jack just had to accept his time in the limelight alone.

And while we didn’t have space in the print edition of the newspaper to include all the nominees and the details of their service in the story about the awards, I decided that my blog was the perfect place to recognize them.

– Alamance County Mayors’ Committee for Persons with Disabilities was nominated for the Health Award. This group of volunteers has worked for the past 16 years to enhance the quality of life for the county’s disabled residents. The organization recognizes businesses serving the disabled, provides Christmas Shoppers’ Day for disabled children and provides scholarships and other financial aid to individuals and groups.

– Elon Community Church was nominated for the Social Services Award. In addition to helping at Loaves & Fishes, Allied Churches and Lutheran Family Services, a group of people volunteered to work with the shelter and crisis line at Family Abuse Services. These volunteers are very compassionate in their service to the women and children in the shelter and exemplify professionalism and true servitude.

– Michelle Eng was nominated for the Health Award. She has done mission work in Peru in addition to volunteering many hours a week with Kopper Top Life Learning Center for the past five years. She has created the organization’s Web site and helped with marketing. She also works with the animals on the farm and assists the clients on the farm.

– Anne, John and Matthew Evans were nominated for the Health Award. This family has spent the past 13 years volunteering at Kopper Top Life Learning Center. They collect donations, advocate and work with the Healing People and Animals We’re Serving program. They come out and feed and care for all the animals. They are giving and loving and expect nothing in return.

– Habitat for Humanity’s core construction crew was nominated for the Social Services Award. This group of 15 individuals, who range in age from 50 to 70 years old, volunteer on Habitat job sites one to five days a week. They mentor new volunteers, undertake construction tasks, prepare weekend job sites and do repair tasks. They also work with the future homeowners, teaching them and building their self-esteem.

– Patrick Harman was nominated for the Social Services Award. For the past 10 years, Harman has given to many local organizations. He has helped with ACE, the Children’s Museum, Healthy Alamance and the Non-Profit Resource Center. He is committed to reducing disparities, increasing life-long learning, being socially responsible and supporting the non-profit sector.

– Cornelia Henderson was nominated for the Special Events Award. For the past nine year, she has volunteered with the Women’s Resource Center. Cornelia helps with newsletters, answering the phone and registration for Working Women’s Wednesdays. She also assists with fundraiser. Henderson is reliable, dependable and available to help on a regular basis with a smile and kind word.

– Catherine McCormick was nominated for the Education/Literacy Award. For the past 13 years, she has made significant impact on the staff, students and families at Positive Attitude Youth Center. McCormick has helped with the capital campaign and building committee, served on the advisory committee and mentored and tutored children with the program. She is a dedicated and committed volunteer, helping children who are less fortunate become successful productive members of society.

– Hank and Helen Ogden were nominated for the Social Services Award. They both volunteer with numerous organizations. Helen Ogden has worked at First Presbyterian Church for the past 57 years, The Village at Brookwood for the past eight years and as a receptionist at the hospital for the past 12 years. Hank Ogden has been busy volunteering with Habitat for Humanity, Hospice and Loaves & Fishes as well as his church and The Village. This couple has worked to bring a positive difference to those they serve.

– The Pink Ribbon Luncheon Committee was nominated for the Special Events Award. For the past five years, they have raised philanthropic dollars to support the Pink Ribbon Fund at the Norville Breast Care Center. They have put together events that have raised at least $30,000 in each of the last three years. This group is totally committed to making life better not only for women with breast cancer but for all Alamance County residents. They are involved in Friends of the Library, the Arts Council, the Historical Museum, and Hospice as well as in the schools and their local churches.

– Candy Reavis was nominated for the Social Services Award. She has served as a driver for three Meals on Wheels’ routes for the past five years. She socializes with clients and lets the agency know when there is safety or health concerns with the clients. Reavis also volunteers with Good Shepherd Kitchen and has gone on many trips with the North Carolina Disaster Team. She is a dependable volunteer who cares about other people.

This is a column I wrote that will be published in the Times-News Tuesday. I wrote it as a companion to several stories Brie Handgraaf reported about the state of homelessness in Alamance County that ran in Sunday’s newspaper. For me, it’s an issue that hits close to home, which made it even more difficult to put my thoughts into words.

 ”I am hungry and homeless. Please help.”

Whenever I see the sign, I always wonder if anyone does - help, that is. I don’t know the man that holds it. I’m certain he has a story to tell that might surprise some and enrage others. Homelessness can bring a range of emotions. Most realize the poor live among us, but it’s tough to stare poverty in the face.

It’s easy to point fingers, demand he get a real job or accuse him of scamming Burlington residents because he’s willing to stand with his hand outstretched. Personally, I think there is more to it. Bits of my own story confirm that.

I was walking the length of the soup line rubbing my hands together when I encountered John. It seemed like I had just adjusted to the heat so the sudden briskness of the Las Vegas morning air took me by surprise. I wasn’t quite ready for winter in the desert.

A few weeks before, I gave out pairs of gloves to the homeless men and women waiting daily for soup. A church donated them to the Las Vegas Catholic Worker where I was a full-time volunteer, and I was anxious to get them in the right hands before cold nights set in. John was the recipient of a purple pair. He wasn’t picky.

On this particular morning, he watched as I jammed my hands into my pockets and continued down the line, checking in with the usuals and greeting newcomers. When I got to John, he held the purple gloves out to me.

“Take them,” he said.

My fingers were numb, but he was the one who spent the night on the street. After the pots were empty and the sun finally up, I’d head back to the shelter of a warm house. How could I take them?

I saw John daily for months. He would fill his belly and then wait on the corner with others, hoping a construction crew would pick him up for a day of labor. Some days he was fortunate. On the ones he wasn’t, he spent hours in the sun at a busy intersection.

I always read his sign when I drove by: “Will work for food.”

I knew he would - work, that is - but I’m sure he preferred cash to food. Some went toward nourishment but there was always a bit that funded booze, the cheap stuff. It was a habit that kept John out of shelters and the Catholic Worker house where we took in the downtrodden until they got back on their feet.

The stories I gathered from the people I encountered in those days weren’t much different from some I’ve written for newspapers since. Many have no health insurance, live paycheck to paycheck, are estranged from their families, struggle with mental illness or battle addiction.

Support systems are huge. For those of us who have them, a saving grace. For people like John, a lack of support and a bit of misfortune results in a vicious cycle that accompanies life on the street: no address, no phone, no daily shower and ultimately no steady job.

Despite the hard knocks, many who frequented that Vegas soup line showed up with more than an outstretched hand. Some offered daily encouragement. Many shared cheese and peanut butter provided by the government, thinking we could put it to better use. One guy, who spent every night seeking shelter, begged me to find a home for a stray dog he found. Another always gave me a few bucks - made from turning aluminum cans into change - hoping to offset the cost of the soup.

So I shouldn’t have been surprised when John offered the gloves that winter morning. He was hungry, I gave him food. I was cold, he offered me warmth. It seemed like a good trade, yet it made me uncomfortable.

It’s easier to give than to receive. I think most of us would prefer to be in the financial position to offer help rather than be the person in need of it. On that particular day, I was the one who reached out my hands to slip on the gloves - a humble reminder that perhaps we are more alike than we realize.

 Reporter Roselee Papandrea can be reached at 506-3045 or  roselee_papandrea at link.freedom.com.