Melba Tolliver, Accidental Anchorwoman

Mildred & Peter

2014-04-05T19:42:00.000-07:00

The gifted Harlem Renaissance writer, Zora Neale Hurston once remarked that the worst thing is to have a story and not be able to tell it.

Peter Breyer, a health care professional and son of German immigrants has a story to tell and he came to the Write Stuff Conference in Allentown, PA on a recent Saturday, looking for help to get that story into the hands of readers. Peter's wife, Mildred, shared this with me after I spotted her reading in the conference hotel lobby and out of curiosity interrupted to find out what was on her Kindle. The Dovekeepers, she told me and in no time we were talking about her husband and his story. "You see, Peter spent most of his life thinking he was an only child."
But then one day, out-of-the blue, Peter's sense of family and of himself changed. Dramatically. He was not an only child. He had a sister. His father's daughter with his first wife. By the time Peter's mother, his father's second wife, broke the silence about the other child, Alzheimers had begun stealing her memory. She could give him no details, only the suggestion of a name. But that was enough to send Peter searching for his sister and digging into the past of his long-deceased father.
"Peter always felt that there was something standing between him and his father," Mildred continued, describing the gulf that closed for Peter as new revelations led him to a deeper understanding of his father's struggles and estrangements amid the horrors of Nazi Germany. Peter worked on his story for years. He visited aged immigrant friends of both his parents. He tried anything that might let him feel what life was like for his father during and after the war. He took a crash course in German so that in case he ever found his sister he could speak to her in that language.
I imagine Mildred knows Peter's story in every detail. She has probably heard every word of it many times, through every draft of the writing. "This happens every time, I talk about it," she said and brushed tears away as she recalled one of her husband's visits to his father's grave-site. Peter has turned his story into a book. "And he came to this conference to see if he could interest an agent in it," Mildred said. I asked if she was also a writer. No, she was quick to answer, only Peter is.
When he joined Mildred and me right after his agent interview, we exchanged contact information. I was still thinking about the New Jersey couple a few days later when I found in my mailbox a copy of Peter's book: My Sister A Journey to Myself.
The Zora Neale Hurston quote begins the preface to Peter's book. If as Hurston says, not being able to tell our story is the worst thing, then maybe the best thing as writers is to be blessed with our own Mildred (or Milton), someone who has our back, who not only listens to the words but hears what we may be desperately struggling to say, someone who is honest yet mindful, never hurtful in critiquing our efforts. Someone who will share our journey no matter how many writers' conferences and agent meetings it takes.
With luck and plenty of perseverance, Peter will find the right agent and his book will find its readers. His story of a secret sibling certainly sparked my imagination as a writer and a reader. It had me turning over in my mind that tantalizing two-word question that can get any writer's juices flowing: "What if?....".

Rethinking Role Model

2013-07-30T16:27:00.004-07:00

Melba Tolliver: Life lessons from LeBron

By Melba Tolliver

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Published: June 22, 2013 - 09:30 PM

The Miami Heat's LeBron James (6) takes a break against the San Antonio Spurs during the second half in Game 7 of the NBA basketball championship, Thursday, June 20, 2013, in Miami. (AP Photo/Lynne Sladky)

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Say “role model” and the mind’s eye pictures a young person looking to be like an older person at the top of their game. I held this conventional view before I fell into role model reversal mode thanks to basketball phenom LeBron James. His MVP performance against Tim Duncan’s San Antonio Spurs in the NBA Finals completed my conversion. And at age 75, old enough to be James’ great-granny, I’m wanting to emulate him.

So what is it about this 28-year-old that wins my admiration? For starters, his passion, perseverance and practice. After he and his Miami Heat took a 113-77 shellacking by the Spurs, did LeBron make excuses for a poor performance? No, he laced up those sneakers and worked on his jumper.

I’m old enough and experienced enough to know the trio of Ps is fundamental to success whether trying to make it in basketball or broadcasting, the field I backed into decades before LeBron was born.

Like LeBron, I grew up in Akron. Unlike him, nobody called me names when I left town after high school in 1956 to study nursing at New York City’s Bellevue Hospital. Twenty years later, the ABC News brass, faced with a walkout by on-air folks drafted me, then a secretary, to pinch hit for a striking anchorwoman. And ta-dah — I became the accidental anchorwoman, and had a 30-year career, first as a general assignment reporter, morning show host along the way and, finally, anchorwoman, again, for real.

For too long in my broadcasting career, I resisted practice; watching films of myself (yep, we shot 16mm film back then) or reading scripts in front of a mirror was for egomanics, not reporters. Or so I thought. It took a while to accept the performance (read: show biz) aspects of TV reporting.

“I’ve been shooting layups since I was 8 years old,” LeBron has said more than once in those post-game press conferences after one of his sterling performances. We’re lucky, if like him, we discover our passion early. In my case, I never dreamed as a little black girl that my interest in people and wanting to hear their stories evidenced a passion for reporting.

I’ve learned on my own and LeBron shows it to be true: Passion, perseverance and practice are pieces of the whole. Building muscle in one strengthens the others.

Then there is LeBron’s team play. Again I learn from him. He distributes the ball to his teammates despite the chorus of critics who praise his “unselfish” play if the Heat win and fault him as “not aggressive enough” if they lose. Meanwhile, a confident LeBron keeps on passing to D Wade, Ray Allen and the rest. Me, I’d be tempted to tell the Monday morning quarterbacks to “bug off” or worse. Now, when habitual naysayers offer unsolicited advice, I’m trying to stop and think: “What would LeBron do?”

Given James’ youth and the constant scrutiny of him and his game, I marvel at his composure and tough skin.

He certainly needed both to withstand the barrage of invective and name-calling — some of it incited by the media — and the threats from fans who gleefully set his No. 23 jerseys on fire in 2009 after he announced The Decision. You would have thought that by exercising his free-agent option and taking his talents to South Beach, LeBron not only left the Cavaliers, but joined the Taliban.

It takes courage to think independently, to stand up to the world. Of course, it helps to have the support of people who see something special in you and nurture it through our adolescence. It’s that village people speak of, what LeBron had in his grandmother’s home and among the folks who looked out for him in and outside the classrooms and gym of St. Vincent-St. Mary High School.

In this age of rushing on to the next big thing, I’m impressed when LeBron talks about being present in the present. D Wade, too, in his turn at the podium after the Finals victory elaborated on this bit of wisdom: All we ever have is this moment, free of the glory (or the anguish) of the past or the future.

Before and after the champagne dousings, LeBron spoke proudly of his journey, “I’m from Akron, Ohio, and I’m not even supposed to be here,” reminding me that where you come from — single parent, low-income household, tough part of town — the physical place counts. But there’s also the space cleared by people who came before. Remembering includes replenishing those roots, building a gym or hosting a bike-a-thon, doing whatever we’re able, when and where we can, smoothing the way for those who follow us — both literally and figuratively.

So, thanks, LeBron, for showing me you don’t have to be perfect or old to be a role model.

Tolliver is a writer living in Bangor, Pa. She can be reached through her website:www.melbatolliver.com. She blogs at http://melbatolliver.blogspot.com.

Stepping Into A New Role

2013-07-30T15:48:00.000-07:00

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Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group offers support, networking to local writers

Fiction writer and GLVWG member Phil Giunta, left, discusses writing with Webmaster Bart Palamaro, President Melba Tolliver and other members July 20 at a brunch hosted by Friends of the Bangor Library at Bangor Public Library. (Express-Times Photo | Stephen Flood)

By Jenelle Janci
on July 27, 2013 at 6:06 AM, updated July 29, 2013 at 3:33 PM

Above the desk of Melba Tolliver, president of Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group, a mantra is displayed: “The first draft is only the beginning.”
Tolliver’s choice of home office decoration is a reflection of her group’s purpose. GLVWG acts as a support network and provides resources such as lectures, workshops and critique groups to writers of all levels. The group began in 1993, with only five writers meeting in a living room. GLVWG now has 161 members.
Tolliver, who became president in June, worked as a broadcast journalist for nearly 30 years, having worked at WABC-TV, WNBC-TV, News 12 Long Island. After permanently living in Lower Mount Bethel Township for nearly a decade, she says her friend, the late playwright and author Bill Marley, convinced her to check out GLVWG’s annual Write Stuff Conference.
“I was so enthralled by it, that I started my blog and my first post was about (The Write Stuff Conference),” Tolliver says.
The Write Stuff Conference, held every March, is GLVWG’s biggest event of the year. It features specialized workshops, speakers and networking opportunities. Tolliver says many GLVWG members have connected with their agents and editors at the conference.
Now the group’s leader, Tolliver hopes to give a new life to the nonprofit organization.
“I would like to see the group be very bold in what we do,” she says. “I’d like us (the board members) as a core group to really be thinking in terms of doing things not because this is the way we always did it, but how can we really refresh and renew what we’re doing and our mission, and get the membership really excited about it.”
GLVWG, pronounced “gliv-wig” by its members, hosts a monthly Writers Cafe event open to the public at Barnes and Noble in Bethlehem Township’s Southmont Center. The writer’s cafe, hosted by GLVWG’s webmaster Bart Palamaro, is a one-hour talk followed by the opportunity for attendees to share and receive feedback on their work.
“It’s a range of people, people who have been published and people who are just starting out and everything in between at the cafes,” Tolliver says. The genres covered by the group’s members vary, including young adult, paranormal, romance, children’s books, memoir and fan fiction.
John Evans, published author, former Lopatcong Township teacher and former GLVWG president, says he loves attending the Writers Cafe events.
“I find it more beneficial to me sometimes than the actual meetings because it’s a free-flowing dialogue about writing,” he says.
While it can be intimidating for some writers to open themselves to criticism, Tolliver says attitude is key.
“Just remember you’re unique,” Tolliver says. “Nobody can speak with your voice, nobody can tell your experience your way. No matter what you write, you’re the only one who can really write that. You have to have that kind of confidence.”
However, Evans says writers shouldn’t share their work with expectations of only praise.
“When you realize why that's not why you present your work to a bunch of writers -- not for their approval, but for their critiques -- you realize they’re actually doing you a huge favor,” he says.
When Evans first joined GLVWG, he says he was facing repeated rejection from publishers about his non-fiction on Mark Twain. When a fellow member suggested he start pitching it to academic publishers, he says his luck began to change.
“That was just one instance where people knew more than I did, and it helped out in so many different ways,” he says.
Tolliver herself finds benefit in GLVWG’s critique groups. She’s shared excerpts from her upcoming memoir, “Accidental Anchorwoman” and connected with members who provide her feedback. Tolliver says the support offered by GLVWG extends into hard times, showing a tri-board display she and member Monica Dietrich made in honor of Marley when he passed. She says the support GLVWG offers goes beyond a pat on the back when things go right.
“When we say we’re a support group for writers, it’s not just saying in an email, ‘Oh, I just got a contract at XYZ’ and for us to say, ‘Oh awesome, great for you, keep on.’ That’s not the only kind of support. We can support each other just by sharing what the writing life is like.”
The organization is always expanding with writers looking for these types of support. Megan McKnight, of Plainfield Township, says she joined the group last January before even attending a meeting to secure membership before the Write Stuff conference.
“I think without joining, it would still be a far-out distant dream of getting published,” McKnight says. “I think it's going to help me on my way.”
At 26, McKnight is notably younger than many of her fellow GLVWG members. However, she finds benefit in this.
“I feel like they’ve been in my shoes before and they can offer advice and support on how to get a good start.”
Evans, who faced difficulties getting published himself, says GLVWG is the perfect place to do this.
“The path to publication is filled with stumbling rocks,” he says. “(GLVWG) is a way of shortcutting all those potential setbacks you may face.”
For more information, visit glvwg.org.

WE ARE ALL HISTORY

2013-03-22T14:30:00.002-07:00

Barbara Rick, me, and Deborah Santana
photo courtesy of Out of the Blue Films, Inc.

A recent screening of two beautiful and heartwarming documentaries got me thinking that history is made by everyday people and not just the boldface names whose stories get re-told--and rightfully so--- during the various history month celebrations. By everyday people I mean folks who tie their passions to positive action and make things happen just because that's who they are, what they do, every day. Barbara Rick and Deborah Santana are two such women, making history if not headlines. Barbara is the award-winning filmmaker and Deborah the executive producer of Girls of Daraja and School of My Dreams. They document what can happen when grownups put their heads together and find resources to provide free secondary schooling for girls who would otherwise be left out, given little or no chance to fulfill their enormous potential. The girls are Kenyan, they come from two dozen different tribes to board and learn at Daraja Academy. Barbara and Deborah allow us to look into the eyes, the smiling, sometimes serious faces of the young girls, hear them speak, and imagine lawyers, doctors, teachers, prime ministers, maybe the successor to Kenya's Wangari Maathi, 2004 Nobel Peace Prize winner and environmental activist....you get the picture. Or you will when you see these films. Catch them if you can. More screenings are scheduled for NYC and around the country. I saw them as part of Michelle Materre's Creatively Speaking film series at MIST Harlem. Materre is another history-maker. That story for another time.

http://www.Daraja-Academy.org
http://outofthebluefilms.com

History On Stage and Off

2013-02-27T17:17:00.000-08:00

The 3R's---Race, Radicalism and Romance. It's all there in Dr. DuBois and Miss Ovington.
I watched this two character drama at the Castillo Theatre in Manhattan on Sunday on the cusp of Black History and Women's History Months. A black man, educator, human rights activist. And a white woman, Unitarian, granddaughter of abolitionists. The setting is the office of The Crisis magazine, publication of the NAACP which DuBois and Ovington helped found. The year is 1915.
Like two boxers, using words not fists, they jab and counter-punch, engage in two fights in one arena. They are political radicals, partners fighting for equal rights for all. It is the second more complex fight that puts them at odds. DuBois created The Crisis and insists that he alone should run it, or he will resign. Ovington, ardent admirer of DuBois, understands his resistance---a black man unwilling to answer to white superiors---yet she argues for compromise. Heat smolders between the two firebrands, but never goes beyond mild flirting. DuBois remains at The Crisis, for now.

Director, Gabrielle L. Kurlander and veteran Broadway actors, Peter jay Fernandez and Kathleen Chalfant make the most of playwright Clare Coss's innovative work.

Laura Blackburne, former NYS Supreme Court judge and The Crisis current publisher joined Woodie King, Jr, Black History Month Play Festival producer in a post-performance discussion.

Agnes Green, of WCBS Newradio 88, back in the day, and in the audience on Sunday, reminded me of some work we did together. Serving on the New York Association of Black Journalists (NYABJ) Media Watch Committee, with ABC News' Eric Tait, we created a local media bias survey that saw some light at Medgar Evers College in Brooklyn. Maybe 1993? or '94? There must be a report buried in a file somewhere.

The Gift of Time

2013-01-14T10:48:00.001-08:00

It took my friend and fellow writer, Bill Marley, 17 years to write 21 Yerger Street, his first novel. Hearing that made me think about the gift of time.

And it made me pause when reading a profile of Junot Diaz, and learning that after his debut story collection, Diaz didn't produce another book for a dozen years. That book, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, was his Pulitzer prize-winning first novel. Then there is journalist, Isabel Wilkerson, one of my heroes. The Warmth of Other Suns is her non-fiction masterwork. Last summer Wilkerson told a sold out audience at the Schomburg Library in Harlem, "If my book had been a person, it would have been a teenager by the time it reached readers."
It's inspiring to know these authors kept going as time came and went. For me, their books, each in its own way, shed more light on the struggle to fit in in America, to find one's place in the world.
Wilkerson's book is a brilliant account of The Great Migration from 1915 to 1970 when six million black Southerners fled a crushing Jim Crow caste system, seeking better lives "up north."
Diaz's hero, Oscar, is a Dominican Republic-born, nerdy fat kid and writer wannabe, burdened with a curse, searching for love and stumbling through life in, among other places, Paterson, New Jersey.
Bill Marley's white teen-aged protagonist lives in Depression-era Mississippi where he watches the people next door and learns things that rock his world, things that would shock his upright unsuspecting family.
I've heard all three authors in public readings of their work. Bill Marley sat down with me for an interview about his writing life.
Marley started writing his novel in the first of four summer novel-writing workshops at the University of Iowa. "It was a writing community, more bookstores than TV antennas," he says.

We are in the Innavore art gallery space on the ground floor of Marley's home in Pennsylvania. And as he recalls those Iowa days, his face softens, his eyes light up and he is transported back to where the long gestation of his book began.
Marley describes how each summer he climbed into his car, loaded a books-on-tape version of Hero of a Thousand Faces, narrated by Joseph Campbell himself, into his cassette player and headed west. One thousand, one hundred and thirty miles later he arrived in Iowa City. "It was heaven, just great," Marley says of the idyllic hours spent in a community of writers---novices as well as seasoned authors---working on craft and learning from one another's work. "I would still be there if it was still going," he says. But times changed and the Elderhostel program that sponsored the workshops fell by the wayside.
Gone was Marley's writing family, his circle of careful listeners. And though Marley was sad and disappointed, he was grateful to walk away from the last workshop with two good things: A completed first draft of his budding novel and "a note from the instructor wishing me well."
Back home, Marley tucked the draft---and the note---away. "I put it in a drawer and it sat there while I was working on plays." Marley was an established playwright and lyricist back east, and a cabaret performer who founded his own theatre, Hauska House, In Pennsylvania's Pocono mountain resort area.
Performing kept Marley busy while the first draft of his novel slumbered on, until a friend invited him to join the Greater Lehigh Valley Writer's Group, and that stirred something in him. "The guilt trip that the novel was still there in my computer." Marley accepted his friend's invitation, started meeting regularly with a critique group and slowly breathed new life into his novel.
Two main characters draw readers into 21 Yerger Street. One of them is 14 year old Tom, curious, watchful and naive. Like Tom, Marley grew up in Mississippi and when I ask if his debut novel is autobiographical he replies, not missing a beat, "Very definitely. You write what you know and I know my childhood. The difference is the story is all fiction, but the young boy is through my eyes." In other words all the goings on at 21 Yerger Street once the new tenants move in is completely made up. Though, again like Tom, Marley did live next door to a house that stood empty for awhile. "So I peopled it," he says, grinning with the pride and satisfaction of a true fiction writer. The neighbors Marley gives to Tom expose the boy to worlds deeply foreign to his genteel middle class upbringing. By story's end Tom is changed, wise beyond his 14 years and knowing secrets he may never share.
When I compliment Marley on the cinematic quality of his storytelling, especially a scene in the end, he says, "I just imagined I was there and what I would see."
Marley self-published his novel and in September he held a proof copy of it in his hands for the first time. "I really was just 'Wow!' God this is beautiful."
In time, everything changes, even publishing. What was once traditional in the book industry is being undone and rearranged by technology and the explosion of social media. Who dreamed 17 years ago that indie publishing would demand respect? That writers like Marley would get new opportunities to put their work before readers? That in a world flooded with "content" authors would be challenged to put on the hats of marketers and entrepreneurs in order make themselves known?
Marley says the e-book and print version sales of 21 Yerger Street are going well, locally. And though his first royalty check might just about cover the cost of a modest dinner out, Marley's hopes are high that there will be many more readers and more royalties.

www.bywilliammarley.com
www.amazon.com for both print and e-books
and e-books on all platforms

Lipstick on the Queen (repost from2009)

2012-06-03T17:52:00.005-07:00

Was this a faux pas or simply the friendly gesture of one young woman toward a much older one?

I'm talking about America's First Lady, Michelle Obama, putting an arm around the back of Britain's Queen Elizabeth . It happened when eager photographers snapped the two women together at a reception after the Obama's visit with the British monarch and her husband. The couple's Buckingham Castle stop was on President Obama's G20 economic summit itinerary.

Which just goes to show that nature runs its course no matter what titles we humans bestow on one another. Queen, King, first lady, or president---we all grow old and shrink over time. Underneath all the titles, the pomp and circumstance, we are all only human, subject to human frailty.

In 1965, Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip paid a visit to Trinidad, a former colony. It just so happened that I was there, too, on my honeymoon in Port-of-Spain. Because my then-husband's aunt held a high post in the Trinidadian equivalent of the US Veteran's Administration, he and I got to stand among the veterans to be reviewed by the royals in a local park.

As the designated hour arrived, several dozen neatly uniformed schoolchildren standing just outside the park and holding miniature flags of both countries began waving them. In the waiting crowd a wave of sound built to a roar that continued to swell as the royal entourage approached in their gleaming black Rolls Royces, pulled up and came to a stop. Out stepped, what I could only guess were the Queen's ladies-in-waiting and her consort's aides, and the monarchs themselve. Inside the park, the Queen, trailed by Prince Phillip passed slowly down the line of elderly WW11 veterans. The old gents bowed as the royals passed. But I, ever the curious reporter, decided at the last minute to continue unbowed in order to get a close up look at a real queen. What I remember most about her, was the downy fuzz of hair on her forearms, her pale complexion, her immaculate white gloves, a pocketbook hanging from one royal wrist, and her smile, especially her smile. I will always remember her smile because there on one of her front teeth was a very noticeable smear of bright red lipstick!
That dab of wandered off lipstick showed me that all of us, even queens with ladies-in-waiting, will have our off days.

You Have No Idea

2012-05-12T13:50:00.000-07:00

You Have No Idea, is a book just out by Vanessa Williams and her mother, Helen Williams. It sent me to my archives for this piece I wrote for Right On/CLASS magazine about Vanessa's first official appearance as Miss America, 1984. Vanessa, just twenty years old at the time, told me that determination was what she most admired about herself. No doubt that's what drove her to keep going when an early nude photo of her surfaced and she lost her crown in the ensuing scandal. The character trait she drew on when dealing with other personal and professional ups and downs over the years.

Much has changed in the culture since Vanessa Williams' win in 1984. But determination may be something we need now more than ever. What do you think?

Story, Story, Story

2011-06-08T11:02:00.000-07:00

It’s all about the story. That’s the message I heard repeated like a mantra at BookExpoAmerica (BEA) and Blogworld & New Media Expo NY, the huge happening for all things book-related held May
24-26 at New York’s Javits Center.
Publishers, book sellers, authors and some top notch workshop leaders (an estimated 20,000 total attendees) had a lot to say. Michael Margolis broke the storytelling message down most convincingly. His presentation on how to recognize and tell your own story in a way that makes you known and gives value to the reader was full of good info for creating your author, blogger or website bio. http://www.getstoried.com/ and Michael@getstoried.com
I needed no convincing about the importance of story. Back in the day, when Eyewitness News changed the face and presentation of local television news nationwide, I was a general assignment reporter and anchor and had the chance to experience the power of persuasive storytelling first hand. The concept was revolutionary for the news biz then and still resonates despite people who confuse the concept of first hand storytelling with “happy talk” tv news.
When not talking story, folks weighed in on the explosive growth of e-book sales and e-book reading devices. Or debated the pros (mostly) and cons (not many) of social media, a subject about which everybody I met had an opinion. Gary Vaynerchuk, author of The Thank You Economy, takes exception to the term “social media.” More than media, he says that term attempts to describe a cultural shift in the way we use the Internet. http://www.garyvaynerchuk.com/
Malloy book publisher’s exhibit caught my eye http://www.malloy.com/ and Stephanie Barker steph_barker@malloy.com was quick with answers to my questions about self-publishing and books-on-demand.
Thanks to Sandra Lee Schubert http://www.wildwomannetwork.com/, blog radio host, social media strategist and a friend who goes way back with me, I made the most of my time. A veteran of past BEA conferences , she guided me through the myriad of exhibits and workshops, so many they made my head spin.
Finally, think on this: there are 18 million creative writers today who want to reach 65 million consumers who spend five hours a week reading in a rapidly shifting storytelling environment.

Remembering Gordon

2011-01-12T12:00:00.000-08:00

I’m thinking about Gordon Parks a lot lately because his birthday just passed at the end of November. He would have been 98. Another reason he’s been on my mind, I just recently spent three nights in a row in bed with his novel “The Sun Stalker.”

“The Sun Stalker” is so good, the story held me in its grip both as a reader and a writer. The main character is JMW Turner, the British landscape painter (1775-1851) whose achievements in art have been compared to Shakespeare’s in the realm of literature. It is simply breathtaking to witness how he renders the glare of the sun over land and water, and captures atmosphere and light in his seascapes and in his historical and mythological subjects. Turner was also a prolific artist, producing more than 20,000 paintings and drawings in his 60-year career.

Gordon Parks, possibly the most famous of Life magazine photographers, once told me that Turner had been an important influence in his own work. Turner was also an inspiration to the Scottish poet, Harry Craig, who said he once saw a Parks photograph in an exhibition that immediately reminded him of Turner’s painting, A Storm at Sea.

Together, the photographer and the poet tried to interest Hollywood in a movie about Turner’s life and work. But they got nowhere. One producer even nixed the idea, mistaking Turner the painter, with Nat Turner, leader of a slave rebellion and subject of a novel by William Styron. Before his death, poet Craig made Gordon promise to keep pursuing their movie idea. Though the movie never materialized, the idea morphed into Gordon’s novel.

In his handling of “The Sun Stalker”, Gordon is a cinematic story teller. He sometimes cuts from one scene to another in the way a movie director might film them. And no wonder. Gordon Parks was a filmmaker in addition to his many other talents: poet, composer, musician, memoirist, documentary maker.

Gordon, a black American man, was born into a harsh life on the Kansas prairie just 12 years into the 20th century, and details of his life are well known. By contrast, details of Turner’s real life remain mostly a mystery beyond the fact that he was the son of a London wigmaker. Despite their differences, the two artists had in common their rich imaginations and their keen observations of the telling details.

That Gordon could so fully imagine the trials and triumphs of a painting prodigy, make believable the people, places and events he might have experienced, and transport the readers to that other time and place and hold them there reveals a fabulous story teller at work. It’s what I think we all hope for as writers and readers. I know I do. I’m so grateful to Gordon Parks for leaving the legacy of his inspiring words and pictures.

The Race

2010-09-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

I don’t know anyone whose life hasn’t been touched by breast cancer---either up close or at a distance. And, whether we recognize it or not, we are all in the struggle to come up with a cure.

I say this because we sometimes take actions unconsciously---not thinking about the consequences.

For instance, when we buy certain products, everything from greeting cards to cars to yogurt, part of the purchase price may be going to help fund breast cancer research, education and support services. We may be donating without even realizing it, not doing so consciously and deliberately.

I have lost people who were the closest to me---relatives and friends-- to breast cancer. And I have some who are breast cancer survivors. With the disease striking so close to me, I grow fearful every year as the date approaches for my annual mammogram and breast exam. There have been times when I let the date pass, postpone it ‘til I can’t ignore the voice asking me about my fear and assuring me that I can face it down.

I’m lucky and I know it. I have seen the same wise and wonderful radiologist, Dr. Gail Phillips, for the last 15 years or so. We met when I worked for News 12 Long Island at a time when activists in the area were searching for clues to why breast cancer incidence seemed unusually high in their communities.

Dr. Phillips goes over my x-rays with me, calmly pointing out the tiny calcifications present in my breast tissue. She explains why some look suspicious and others don’t. When she thought biopsies were called for, I had them. About three times. Each time they have come back negative. Dr. Phillips is as relieved as I am when after she reviews my mammogram, she can say, “OK, Melba, everything’s fine.” I return to the changing room grateful, grateful, grateful.

So, I’m thinking that when the Komen NYC Race for the Cure sets off in Central Park on Sunday, September 12, I will consciously, deliberately make my gratitude manifest. Give some bucks and put on my walking shoes. (I’m not a runner).

REGISTER AT KOMENNYC.ORG/RACE

STRINGS ATTACHED

2010-09-01T14:14:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, August 27, was one of those “You should have been there” evenings. There was Trenton, NJ. Not a place I especially associate with extraordinary violinists or out-of-this-world modern dance. Just goes to show how wrong some assumptions can be.

The occasion was a fundraising held in the War Memorial/Patriots Theater, an architecturally stately building that surely has its own story to tell. On this night, a ballroom full of peaceful patriots turned out to give financial and moral support to The Conservancy (NJ). The Conservancy (NJ)is both a place and a dream. It is becoming a center where young people and artists come together for learning and teaching. Think of art in the broadest sense of the word and you’ll be in tune with Sterick and Jacqui Ivey. They are the driving force in resurrecting the historic Trenton Conservatory of Music--where young Jacqui Ivey took piano lessons-- as The Conservancy (NJ). They envision a place where children engage in all sorts of artistic expressions from cooking to drumming. "There’s a lot of talent in Trenton” she says. Given the current cutbacks in public school art programs, Jacqui Ivey feels the need is urgent, and she is determined to nourish young talent while promoting local artists and arts events in the process.

The benefit performances were stunning, with The Wesley Drears Duo, Dancespora and the Scott Tixier Group taking turns on stage. Scott, just 24 yrs old, is an amazing jazz violinist (with a ‘fro that won’t quit). A native of France who now calls Brooklyn home, Tixier is winning kudos within New York’s jazz musician community.
His energy and virtuosity got me thinking about the late Noel Pointer,the brilliant jazz violinist,record producer and social activist who I admired and once interviewed. Pointer, also a Brooklynite, died of a stroke in '94 just before he would have turned 40. As an activist, he led fellow artists in raising public awareness around the controversial dismantling of the African Burial Grounds in lower Manhattan. His legacy also includes a foundation and a music school. Empowering Children One Note At A Time was the mission of Noel Pointer. I am inspired and feel the thread of our human connectedness when I see people like Scott Tixier and Eric Thomas, a Trenton elementary school teacher,---and others--joining with the Iveys in that same spirit and commitment.Check out the web info on Scott Tixier and Noel Pointer. And learn more about the Iveys work: www.theconservatorynj.com
href="http://www.theconservatorynj.com/">http://www.theconservatorynj.com/) .

For The Record

2010-08-14T10:22:00.000-07:00

Stuff happens on the Internet sometimes that makes me wonder. Case in point: A photo of me turned up in someone’s blog post and beneath the picture is this line: “1971 Nightly News.” Problem is that image (which I was never crazy about because it looks like I borrowed my hairstyle from Albert Einstein or Don King) was shot last year, not 29-years ago as that line suggests. Also, Nightly News is the title of NBC’s network news program. I was never associated with it though I did work at WNBC-TV, the local station, for 5 years. There is a difference.
(You’ll find a link to the blog in question at the end of this.)

That said, I appreciate the blogger’s mention of me. But I disagree with the commentary describing the back-and-forth about natural versus permed or weaved hair as a debate. In my opinion it’s not a debate at all. More like people in media looking to stir up controversy on a slow news day, aided and abetted by fearful folks who think their way is the only way. And when you throw in Chris Rock and his movie, you’ve got distraction posing as a documentary fronted by a comedian who seemed to be in over his head trying to be funny (or is it serious?) about black women and their hair.

Real dialogue, on the other hand, is what occurred at last year’s Heads Up! A Soulful Celebration of Our HAIRitage. This program at Brooklyn’s Kumble Theatre was an invitation to “talk, laugh and be fearlessly tender-headed.” It featured an academic, a filmmaker, and an environmentalist joined by writers, hair care entrepreneurs, musicians and performers who engaged in a grown-up, thoughtful and multi-layered look at issues, implications and assumptions related to our hair. No name calling. No finger pointing. No taking sides about whose hair is better than anyone else’s. A standing-room-only audience walked away with plenty of food for thought.

In her commentary, the blogger asks, “What has hair to do with advancing our people or solving any of the societal ills black people are facing today?” I think whenever our hair prompts dialogue that gives us insights into these conditions, it’s a good thing. Whenever discussions about our hair opens doors for developing strategies to resist self-limiting ideas, it’s a good thing. Whenever reasoning about our hair helps us dismantle the insidious notion that being black is some kind of disability, rather than a gift, it’s a good thing.

So, I say let enlightened discussions continue. We’ll be doing our part on September 29th 2010 when we present the next edition of Heads Up! A Soulful Celebration of Our HAIRitage.

Stay tuned.

http://essence.com/hair/commentary_1/commentary_hair_politics_natural_vs_permed_php

The Decision

2010-07-19T12:42:00.000-07:00

Ohioans love their sports. I know because I grew up in Akron, Ohio where the zeal for basketball and football was almost a religion---and still is. Where sports at all levels---high school, college and the pros ---attract high energy fans
.
Sell-out crowds used to jam South High School’s gym (my alma mater), and Central Hower High’s, too, in basketball season. Those same folks could be counted on to fill Akron’s Rubber Bowl for football games. And it was a source of pride in Akron that the Cleveland Browns football team ---and their future Hall-of-Famer, Jim Brown--- sometimes used our stadium as their practice field.

Those were the days when Akron owned the title “Rubber Capital of the World. “ That reputation died a while back. But my hometown is still where the Soap Box Derby is run, going back to 1935.

And baseball? Back in the day, my family rooted for the Cleveland Indians and as a kid I got to watch Satchel Page, Larry Doby, Lou Boudreau and other legends in action. We went nuts when Cleveland won the World Series in ‘48.

So why am I reminiscing about the good old glory days of Akron and Cleveland sports? All these thoughts came flooding back as I followed reports about The Decision, that cliffhanger starring Lebron James.

The news in a nutshell: Lebron, basketball super-star who was born, raised and grew his basketball greatness in Akron, chose to exercise his free-agent option and exchange his Cleveland Cavaliers uniform for one from the Miami Heat. It’s worth mentioning here that long before the Cavs drafted Lebron right out of high school, Gus Johnson and Nate Thurman---both of them Akronites, had already preceded him into the National Basketball Association and made their homies proud.

Considering Lebron’s roots , I wasn’t surprised that he broke a lot of hearts when he announced he was hitting the highway and taking his talents to South Beach.

And I shouldn’t have been surprised that The Decision generated so much hoopla, hyperbole and yes, hypocrisy. But from the reaction, you’d have thought Lebron was ditching America to go join the Taliban in Afghanistan.

For years, sportswriters couldn't heap enough praise on Lebron, starting while he was still in high school. Basketball fans far and wide compared him to Michael and Kobe. After the Cavs drafted him, giant size Lebron billboards sprouted around Cleveland’s Q arena and local fans gobbled up seasons tickets to watch him. Anybody selling anything Cavaliers-related loved them some Lebron.

But once The Chosen One made his choice, those folks turned on him. Some of the hotheads even set their Lebron number 23 jerseys on fire, motivated perhaps by a nasty open letter from the Cavs owner in which he called Lebron everything but a child of God.

In what looked to me like a rationalization of their irrational reactions, some of Lebron’s critics said it wasn’t his departure that turned them off, but his “process” and The Decision, ESPN’s ridiculously hyped-to-the heavens television show that turned them off. They claimed that breaking the news in a cable tv "special" televised live to an audience of 10 million viewers was nothing more than a sorry display of Lebron’s massive ego.

By most assessments, The Decision was hands down the most lame tv show in history. I agree. But why blame Lebron for ESPN's ineptitude? The cable network produced and aired the show, not Lebron. It’s not his fault that ESPN padded the first half of the "special"with 4 sportscasters sitting around asking each other "What do you think Lebron's gonna do?" As if at least one of them hadn't already had that question answered by one of his "sources".

Sure, Lebron agreed to do the show, but the guy was only using and being used by the same media folks that built the pedestal he’s now standing on. They had more than a hand in making him the over-the-top super-celebrity that he has become. A mega celeb who can keep people talking and wondering "What do you think Lebron's gonna do?" for the better part of the last NBA season.

Sports columnists, experts and commentators on radio and tv fed off of Lebron speculation for months leading up to The Decision. The hype leached into most of medialand, even reaching supposedly serious news pograms.

Now, many of these same folks are among the name-callers and the critics who talk about hype and the media as if they themselves are not part of the celebrity-making process, the ones that helped turn a kid with a talent for basketball into the greatest thing since sliced bread. The media, the NBA, the marketers, the Cavaliers owners and organization---and not least of all, the fans----crowned King James---and now they're pissed because he's acting the part and speaking of himself in the third person.

The fans and the Cavs organization now damming Lebron ought to be thankful. He did, after all, give the Cavs 7 good years, led them to the NBA finals in 2007, to the best record in the league in the last 2 years, into the playoffs 5 times, to say nothing of putting Cleveland and Akron in the spotlight and back on the sportsworld map.

As for The Decision to change employers, according to Labor Department statistics, Americans aged 18 to 38 will change jobs 10 times in a lifetime. That gives Lebron 9 more times to move his talents to another workplace. It’s time to cut the guy some slack.

Michael, Madoff and Palin

2009-07-15T15:12:00.000-07:00

I've wanted to write something about covering Michael Jackson and the Jacksons at Madison Square Garden many years ago. But I couldn't recall the exact concert dates. So, I put off posting anything, Then I remembered I had a T-shirt from the event stored away in one of the dozens of boxes in my garage. And lo and behold! there it was, in the box neatly labeled T-shirts, and looking brand new. Guess I never even wore the thing. But at least it confirms that I didn't imagine covering that concert for WNBC-TV on either the 18th or 19th of August in 1981.

What I remember most vividly about that night was spotting Katherine Hepburn in the MSG audience. She was seated a few rows away from me with her grandniece, and when the concert opened with the wall of sound, the fantastic lights and pyrotechnics, the Jacksons all rhinestoned-up, sliding and gliding and bumping and grinding to "Can You Feel It?", Ms. Hepburn looked startled and rushed to put her hands over her ears.

From New York, the Jackson tour went on to Boston. Thanks to a friend who was one of Jackson's managers and arranged my interview, I got to see the concert a second time. Both times--- when I was granted a backstage "audience" with Michael at MSG and when I witnessed the Jackson arrival at the arena in Boston--- what left a lasting impression on me was how my friend and everyone connected with the Jacksons tip-toed around Michael. Whatever he said, was the final word. Whatever he wanted, was granted. All the adults seemed cowed by the kid.

In short, it seemed even to me---an outsider--- that nobody said "no" to Michael. Nobody who wanted to keep their job or stay in his good graces. Michael seemed to have learned early on that his talent was power and with that power he could bend people to his will.

I think it's not too big a stretch to say that what was true of the King of Pop, could also be said of Bernard Madoff, the King of Ponzi Schemes and of Sarah Palin, the Alaska Distractor.

Like Michael, the quintessential performer, Madoff and Palin have displayed blinding performance skills in their respective fields of finance and politics. Madoff convinced his investors that he was the master of money, that he could make big bucks for them even when just about everyone else was losing theirs. And Palin, well, she could deliver a speech--written by somebody else and read off Tele-Prompt-R---better than all the high profile Republican presidential wannabes combined, and could draw crowds that cast candidate John McCain in the role of second banana on his own ticket.

Now Michael is dead. Madoff is behind bars for 150 years. And Palin, though she has left the building and gotten rid of the governor title, is still on the loose. Still looking for the best way to leverage the extraordinary magnetism she is said to exert on some people.

I think it can also be said that Michael, Madoff and Palin are/were extraordinary in a couple of other ways First there were the numbers each could command. There was Michael rocking the music world with Thriller, his 110-million ( or is it 90 million?) best seller album plus all his other albums and hit singles. Then Madoff , said to have guaranteed 13 to 20% annual returns to his investors. One of whom, in a telling quote, said people invested in Madoff, not with him. And Palin ,warm up act and main attraction for stadium-filling fans in the tens of thousands who tended to drift off whenever she turned the mike over to the man responsible for luring her into the GOP spotlight.

And for the news and entertainment media, where numbers rule, these three--in life, in death, in handcuffs---were like manna from ratings and sales heaven. How to explain the over-the-top coverage of these folks? Well, blame it on their ability to attract the numbers. Or as Rachel Maddow put it one evening on her MSNBC show, "The reason she (Palin) is so newsworthy is because she is so popular."

Aah yes. Popularity. Like so much in this life, popularity in moderation feels good. Extreme popularity, on the other hand, can kill you. Or land you in jail. Or have you believing you are all that even when the hard evidence clearly says you are not.

Hey, Nurse!

2009-06-16T15:24:00.000-07:00

There are real nurses. And then there are reel ones. Fifty-three years ago some of us who earned our stripes in nursing entered what might be called the marine boot camp for nursing students: The Bellevue School of Nursing.

In recent weeks, one of the networks debuted a dramatic series with a nurse as the lead character, HawthoRNe. Just in case you missed it, this nurse is not only an RN, her professional title is embedded in her last name. Clever, right? She's played by the beautiful Jada Pinkett Smith. Ms Smith---the wife of actor, Will Smith--- is also the show's executive producer.

On another channel, another nurse drama, Nurse, Jackie. ( I almost slipped and said Nurse, Judy but Judy's a judge in one of those reality shows headlined by people in black robes, not white lab coats.) Edie Falco stars as Nurse Jackie. In reel life Ms Falco was the beleagured wife of Tony Soprano.

Now, I admit I haven't seen either of these shows. But I have seen some Hawthorne promos and I caught Ms Falco on The View and heard her in an interview with NPR's Terri Gross. And one thing I observed that these reel nurses have in common: they are both tough cookies! In one of the Hawthorne promos our heroine is being manhandled by somebody in what looks to be a hospital corridor or maybe it's a police precinct. Her hair is messed up pretty badly, there's blood down the front of her lab coat and she's screaming at the top of her lungs: "Let go of me, I'm a nurse." Maybe she's being arrested or just having a bad day in the ER. In fairness, there are other promos with Ms Smith looking very subdued as she looks out at us--her audience-- and assures us, "I'm on your side." Or maybe "I'm always fighting for you." Something like that.

Ms Falco, making the rounds to promote her show, looked great on The View. Like a woman proud of her shapely legs and anxious to show them. But she was decked out in a dress so tight and so short that it was distracting to watch her spend half her talk time tugging at her hem. On radio, where legs and hems don't matter, Ms Falco made a point of saying that she likes acting parts of tough women of very few words. Or something like that. Anyhow in a clip from the show, Ms Falco as Nurse Jackie was giving a big shot doctor hell. I think she may have reversed one of the doctor's orders because she believed his prescribed treatment wouldn't be good for the patient. I almost fell off my chair when I heard that exchange. Actually is wasn't really an exchange because I think the doctor was mostly speechless.

I know nursing has changed a whole lot in the 50 years since Bellevue awarded me my diploma. But I can't believe today's nurses are telling doctors to drop dead, or something like that. Less than a month ago, I had a chance to interview and spend time with dozens of my former classmates---many of them retired now---and not a one sounded anything like Nurses Jackie and Hawthorne.

Real nurses from back in our day, remember when women's career options were limited to nurse, teacher and social worker. All of the so-called "helping professions." Today, it's a whole different story.

That's a point I made when I tried to get a couple of news organizations to cover the reunion of my class on May 16. I thought there was a story worth telling about women who came along in the days before "women's lib", who were members of one of the largest classes of nurses-in- training in the history of Bellevue Hospital, itself one this country's oldest public hospitals. In it's day, Bellevue attracted the best and the brightest from all over (not being immodest here) and on graduating they served in all sorts of situations: clinics, ORs, ERs, Viet Nam, the US Senate, schools, Indian reservations. They assumed leadership roles in the profession and helped educate students and younger nurses. Some got married and raised families and continued working.

But guess what? There was no actionable interest in these real nurses. Fugeddabout it! Who gives a darn about people whose work is helping save lives, not taking them.?Or about women from the 60's who are over 60 when that 60-seconds of air time on your average news and talk shows could be spent on murders and celebrity hotties in thigh high dresses. The real life adventures of nurses were not reel enough. And since I started this post, Michael Jackson has died! Michael Jackson 24/7 on MSNBC puts the lie to the often heard media mantra, "Oh, we don't have enough time for (fill in the blank), or "We're running out of time, could you sum up your remarks in 10-seconds?"

I'm not expressing sour grapes here. I spent almost 30 years covering all sorts of breaking news and features as well as so-called "human interest" stories (a dumb term if I ever heard one. Any story lacking human interest has no place in any news outlet). So I know a good story when I see one. I thought some other folks might, too. But they were busy with the swine flu, or some other panic story that had not yet materialized.

More than ever news stories are about what "may" happen, what "could" happen. What "is"
happening is just too....uhmmm, too boring. Not scary enough. Today's reporters need to be predictors, crystal ball gazers. It's not enough to be here now, one must be way ahead in the future. Speculating, for instance, about who will be running for president in 2012!

I fear that many American have reached a point where they prefer the reel to the real. How else to explain the popularity of the mis-named "reality" shows? Or of Hummers, the military vehicle-style for people who wouldn't be caught dead on a real battlefield say in Pakistan or Afghanistan.

Here we are smack dab in the middle of a national debate about reforming our health care system and the delivery of health care so that all Americans are not only covered, but can get quality care without bankrupting the nation and where are nurses' voices being heard? Not on Face The Nation, Meet The Press, This Week....or any of the media platforms that supposedly educate the populous and give exposure to opinion-makers.

Nurses are and have always been important actors on the health care scene! And I'm talking about real nurses, not the people who play nurses on television.

A Winning Shot

2009-05-25T13:57:00.000-07:00

Haven't we all fantasized about being the one to hit the game winning shot just before the buzzer sounds?

Lebron James did that in real life when his Cleveland Cavaliers beat the Orlando Magic in the third game of their battle to be the best in the East in the NBA playoffs. With only one second left on the clock, James caught an inbounds pass from teammate Moe Williams, turned just a tad to avert an opponent, and sank a 3-pointer. Nothin' but net! Game over! But that turned out to be the Cavaliers only win against the Magic. No title for the Cavs this year.

Still, each time I watched a re-play of that miracle at the Q Arena, I got goosebumps. James' poise (and Williams', too) under pressure was incredible. Inspiring. How does someone so young ---he's 24 and went directly from high school to the pros 5 yrs ago without missing a beat--remain so fearless, so cool?

Well, I could put that same question to LA Lakers guard Derek Fisher. At 34, he's 10 years older than Lebron and considered "the old man" of his team. But it was Fisher's 3-pointer with seconds to go in the Lakers 5th game against Orlando that sent the game into overtime, and still another 3-pointer in OT that put the Lakers a game away from the NBA title.

"Old man" Fisher has something like 40 career 3-pointers in NBA Finals under his belt. In other words Fisher's had lots of successes--- the result, for sure--- of lots of practice. Everyone has heard that old saw "practice makes perfect." In his book, "Outliers" writer, Malcolm Gladwell, one of my writing heroes, examines the makings of success. He cites the successes of athletes, software developers and musicians---all of whom posess innate talent and who have had opportunities. But it is practice, practice and more practice that separates the most successful in their fields. Up to 10-thousand hours or more of practice.

Let me say that again, ten thousand hours! I calculated that to be 1,250 eight hour days. Now, I'm thinking, "What have I spent that many hours practicing in my 70 years on the planet? Worrying, maybe. I have lots of practice in worry. Procrastination? I'm practiced in that, too. I can't say I've put in a whole lot of hours getting good at the things I profess to want to get good at like writing, thinking, playing the flute, cooking, drawing, gardening, playing a jumbe drum, mastering Microsoft Word, sufing the internet. Just today I gave up in frustration trying to set tabs for a My Documents work.

I do talk about practice, though. My Buddhist practice. The writing practice that Natalie Goldberg, one of my favorite teachers teaches. I'm fascinated with practice---that is the idea of it. Even the idea that one can practice something incorrectly and get good at that. Something a long-ago flute teacher picked up and pointed out to me when I went home from a lesson and practiced the wrong note for a week! Even Malcolm Gladwell failed to point out that it's not just a matter of those ten thousand hours of practice that make for success. It's the right practice!

I was rooting for the Cleveland Cavaliers and their star, Lebron James (we're from the same hometown, Akron, Ohio) to make it to the NBA Finals. Had the Cavs gone up against Derek Fisher and Kobe and company I wonder if the Cavs relative youth might have undermined them in the end. Would they have been still too young to have put in all the needed practice time?

Bellevue Class of '59

2009-04-20T09:10:00.000-07:00

People who know anything about nurses or nursing history recognize the Bellevue School of Nursing cap, or "organdy cupcake" as it's affectionately known.

I was presented with one nearly 52 years ago, during the capping ceremony that marked our classes' first year of training. How young we were. Most of us only a year out of high school. But how we matured in that year and over the next two. We took on serious responsibilites at an early age, not just for ourselves---away from home and on our own for the first time---but for the patients for whom we would learn to care.

Care, that was the byword then. And the people who came to Bellevue back then needed care in the worst way. They were mostly poor ---today they would be called "medically underserved"--- which usually meant they had not received much in the way of medical attention before they arrived at Bellevue. And what a place that was---the old Bellevue as everyone called it because its new replacement was talked about for years before it materialized.

A teaching hospital, renowned for it's many "firsts', Nobel prize-winners , leaders in medicine---and of course its psychiatric pavillion--- Bellevue is the nation's oldest public hospital. And for someone like me from the mid-west who had never experienced an institution of such giant size reputation and physical structure, Bellevue was also the scariest. With it's large medical and surgical wards and dim corridors, it seemed bathed in a gray cast really downright spooky. That is until you got to know your way around its many buildings. Though some parts of the hospital always appeared brighter to me than others---the pediatric wards, for instance and the OR.

Just as we learned the meaning of care as nursing students, our training at Bellevue also taught us to improvise. Being a city hospital, we were always running short of something, washclothes, pajamas, sheets--you name it.

If getting "capped" was the highlight of our academic experience at Bellevue, and a measure of our progress toward the goal of becoming RN's, then the low points, at least for me, were the times when I lost a patient--suddenly and unexpectedly, when the efforts of interns and residents and experienced nurses was not enough.

It was just such an experience one night working per diem in Bellevue's ER that became a turning point in my nursing career. A night that I witnessed the loss of life of a 20-something sister and brother, injured in a car accident, dying within minutes of each other. I realized I didn't have the right stuff for the kind of nurse I thought I should be.

Years later, I would realizewhat great preparation my nurses' training had been for my new work as a newscaster.

On May 16, I'll be joining about 90 former classmates to celebrate the 50th anniversary of our graduation, the class of '59. We'll be cruising on the Hudson, all the way west from our old stomping grounds at 440 East 26th Street. You can bet we'll have a lot to talk about.

Lipstick on the Queen

2009-04-01T19:40:00.000-07:00

Was this a faux pas or simply the friendly gesture of one young woman toward a much older one?

To hear CNN and other news media tell it tonight, Michelle Obama committed a newsworthy no-no by laying an arm and hand on the queenly back. It's considered out of line for a mere mortal to touch the occupant of the British throne, no matter how well-meaning the gesture. Never mind that the 6-foot Mrs. Obama could have been feeling a bit of compassion for the tiny Highness. Think about it. The Queen's been stuck in the same job for almost 60 years, has to wear white gloves most of the time and constantly carry a pocketbook (what could she possibly have in it?) even while meeting people in her own castle! Worse than all that, the Queen looks to have become the incredile shrinking woman. Although, next to the Obama's, both of the royals look...well, Lilliputian.
Which just goes to show that nature runs its course no matter what titles we humans bestow on one another. Queen, King, first lady, or president---we all grow old and shrink over time. Underneath all the titles, the pomp and circumstance, we are all only human, subject to human frailty.

In 1965, Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip paid a visit to Trinidad, a former colony. It just so happened that I was there, too, on my honeymoon in Port-of-Spain. Because my then-husband's aunt held a high post in the Trinidadian equivalent of the US Veteran's Administration, he and I got to stand among the veterans to be reviewed by the royals in a local park.

That dab of wandered off lipstick showed me that all of us, even queens with ladies-in-waiting, will have our off days.

Writer's Conference

2009-03-28T19:10:00.000-07:00

I'm fired up, having spent the day in Allentown at "The Write Stuff" a conference sponsored by the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group. It was my first time at one of these things. I've been a poor networker most of my life. Nothing to be proud of. I'd just developed a habit over the years of being a lone wolf when it comes to writing. But when a friend of a friend said the GLVWG gathering was one of the best writer's'conferences he'd ever attended, I decided to give it a try. Now, I'm patting myself on the back for having made a wise investment.

One thing I want to tell you about now, and I'll save the rest for later, is this: One of the presenters, Matt Birbeck, an award-winning investigative journalist and author has just signed a movie deal for his book "Deconstructing Sammy."

Birbeck shared the news after I asked him if he thought his book on the tragic life of Sammy Davis, Jr. would be movie material, and if that explained his use of the term "back story"when he described his layered approach to writing about one of the most versatile and troubled entertainers of our era. Sure enough, Birbeck admitted that he started thinking "movie" soon after he started turning up some of the unexamined pieces of Davis' life.

And who might be cast in the role of Davis? C'mon, that to me is a no-brainer. Who else but Jamie Foxx?(he'd have to lose about 60 pounds first, though)

Sammy Davis, Jr's birthday and mine are the same: December 8. That made him someone special to me. As a kid growing up in Ohio, I kept up with Sammy and his career starting from the years he and his uncle tap danced as part of the Will Mastin Trio, and I cried hard when he got hurt in a car crash that caused him to lose an eye. Years later, at Birdland ,the Manhattan jazz club, I spotted Davis at a table with friends and politely approached him and asked for his autograph. Let's just say he wasn't very nice.That encounter left me promising myself that if I ever became well known and somebody asked me for an autograph I would try not to be like Davis.

If a movie does get made from Birbeck's book, it could go a long way toward re-establishing Sammy Davis, Jr's reputation as a multi-talented entertainer, a gifted dancer, singer and actor who today, is mostly a forgotten man.

Who Would Have Imagined It?

2009-03-23T10:40:00.000-07:00

How much of our current economic meltdown sprang from some one’s imagination? Or from a failure of imagination on the part of the rest of us? As we try to pull ourselves back from the brink, it might be wise ---and even productive----to put that question to members of Congress, to business executives, shareholders, regulatory watchdogs, the news media---and to ourselves, you know, us ordinary citizens.

At any moment--- for good or ill--- incredible deeds rooted in imagination shape and re-shape our world. And make us see anew what is possible. Two stunning examples stand out in my mind. Their only connection is a set of landmark buildings. My connection was as a reporter.

In 1968, on one of my first assignments for Channel 7 Eyewitness News, I took a camera crew to lower Manhattan where construction was underway on the Twin Towers site of the World Trade Center. All I remember of that assignment is how the sound of my voice on the film soundtrack made me almost sick to my stomach. That alien voice couldn’t possibly be mine, could it? Surely, there must have been a problem with the soundman’s equipment. But no, the slow, painful-to-listen-to voice was mine and the 6 o’çlock tv news audience would soon get a dose of it.

Fast forward to June 24, 1974. I and my camera crew are sent to cover a young Frenchman who is drawing crowds and stopping traffic in midtown Manhattan. He is juggling and performing magic tricks and aerial stunts on 59th Street and 5th Avenue along a stretch of sidewalk near the grand Plaza Hotel.

I’m not happy with this assignment. It seems like scraping the bottom of the barrel on a slow news day “Why am I the one they send on this corny stuff?” I grumble in the crew car as we make our way through heavy traffic, and unload the gear where a crowd is gathered.

I direct the cameraman, the electrician and the sound man (remember this was back in the days of 16mm film, before one-man-band video tape news) to get shots of the impressive Plaza Hotel, and the usually blasé New Yorkers--- now turned into laughing, applauding gawkers--- and a spritely young Frenchman who has the crowd in the palm of his hand. At one point, he stretches a tight rope between two trees, and to the crowd’s delight, proceeds to walk it. We capture all of this on film.

The man’s name is Phillipe Petit and his performance and personality win me over. This is not a bad story after all. So, microphone in hand, I approach the young artist and proceed to question him, or try to.

He just grins and shrugs, but says nothing. I keep trying. And when I give up, he laughs and hands me my wristwatch. The joke is on me. I never felt him relieve me of my watch. The crowd laps it up.

Fast forward, again. It’s August 7, 1974. I’m not due at work until late afternoon, and so I’m still lying in my bed. The radio is tuned to an all-news station. It’s 7:17am and a reporter is saying that a crowd has gathered at the foot of the Twin Towers. People are watching a man walk a tight rope between the two 110 story buildings. The man is Phillipe Petit. My heart speeds up. I am holding my breath. I am stretched out less than a foot off the floor, but I am as tense as if I were upright, walking that steel wire a quarter of a mile above the street. The daredevil up there is no stranger. He is the engaging street juggler from my non-interview news story. I cross my fingers and pray: “Please, please let him make it across that wire.”

He is up in the air for 45 minutes, walking, dancing and lying down on the wire.

This year marks the 35th anniversary of that thriller in the sky. Phillipe Petit is sought after for interviews. And "Man on Wire", the film documenting Petit’s exploit has won an Academy Award.

His book, "To Reach The Clouds" came out a while back (I bought it on sale and it was fun to read on pg99 his version of our encounter, somewhat different from my memory of it.) The words and photos in his book are gripping and terrifyingly beautiful. So powerful they bring the reader right up on that steel wire with him. Who could have imagined such a feat? Phillipe Petite did and carried it off. Brilliantly.

Fast forward, one more time. September 11, 2001. Two airplanes reduce the Twin Towers to rubble. In the aftermath of that terrible event, former Secretary of State Condolezza Rice and other Bush administration officials said ”no one could have imagined” flying a plane into the World Trade Center. But some people did imagine it, and they carried it out. There is imagination. And then there is failure of imagination.

In her 911 Commission testimony, Dr. Rice also said: “A band of vicious terrorists tried to decapitate our government, destroy our financial system, and break the spirit of America.”

The vicious terrorists of Dr. Rice’s description failed to accomplish their goal. But a band of greedy domestic robber barons may do that for them, abetted by a business-cozy US Congress, a corporate media and an unwitting citizenry. It is not foreign terrorists, but home-grown predators who have made our country less secure and its citizens angry and afraid. In their unbridled avarice they concocted sub-prime mortgage schemes of criminal proportions, schemes which have escalated and spiraled out of control and now threaten to unravel the US financial system along with the entire global economy. Who would have imagined it?

Did you? And when you think about the economy and the future of our country, what’s on your mind?

Miss Canvassing

2009-03-11T21:57:00.000-07:00

I will miss canvassing now that Barack Obama has been elected the 44th president of the United States of America. I think that’s because knocking on doors in this part of northeast Pennsylvania and talking to the people who answered is a lot like what I used to do as a reporter in New York City and on Long Island. You learn a lot from asking questions, figuring out how to get information from people, some of them reluctant to give it. Asking somebody who they will be voting for is considered too personal for at times. That question is out of bounds; it’s like asking a woman’s age, or man’s choice of underwear.

Now, three days past what will go down in history as an election that transformed our politics, I and others have completed our last walk lists, put our campaign buttons on the dresser and turned from celebration to contemplation.

A Door In Pen Argyl

I’ve been thinking about our Obama victory here in Pennsylvania—and especially our winning in my part of northeast PA— and the spirit and the opportunity that the Slate Belt Team has been.s. An ideal world might possibly look like the one our team created together where everyone brought to the table the thing they do most naturally. The thing that is very much needed. We have been drivers and phoners, cooks and list-makers, letter writers and cleaners, team leaders and organizers, data coordinators and canvassers and record keepers and cheerleaders and sign-makers and thinkers and talkers. Most of all we have been the hope-mongers that Barack said we need to be if we were/are the antidote to the hate-mongers that have being doing their best to keep our country divided.

As for me, I have loved canvassing and learned so much from it. It has allowed me to see people in all of our diversity. And I hope it isn’t immodest to say that canvassing is an act of courage. Nothing could be scarier or more intimidating than chancing a face-to-face meeting with a stranger. Of course, none of the folks who answer our knocks are ever really strangers. There’s usually something about them that says something about us. Says something about our own fears, our courtesy, our evasiveness, our resentment, our gratitude, our good humor and our ill will. And the pre-conceived notions we have about each other before either one of us has even opened our mouths.

A couple of Sundays ago I knocked at the door of a house high on a hill off of Delabole Rd in Pen Argyl and the woman who answered—looking first through the screen door— said that the 34 yr old woman on my list was her ex-daughter-in-law who was very ill with MS and would not be voting. She said the other name was that of her husband and he was not at home. I thanked the woman for her time and asked if she would give one of our flyers and a tax comparison card to her husband. As I was walking away she called out “Thanks so much for what you’re doing.” That took me by surprise because she didn’t look like someone who would be supporting Obama. My car was parked at the top of a long driveway leading to the main road and the view of the hills and valley, the trees and the leaves all red and gold was breathtaking.

As I was about to drive off, a middle-aged man headed toward my car. He was dressed in work clothes and a baseball cap and as he got closer he removed one of his work gloves. He looked menacing, like he was about to order me off his property or worse. When he reached my car,I rolled down the window, stuck my hand out and introduced myself.

He didn’t take my hand. I thought I was in real trouble. Instead, this man began to tell me why he was for Barack!. “He’s the only possible choice any rational person could make” he said. “I heard someone say the other day that he’s the one, the one for this time” Again, I was taken by surprise. In a million years I would never have thought this man could be an Obama supporter. He was everything the pollsters and pundits said was anti-Barack: white, rural, angry, hardworking, blue collar, probably a gun-owner.

Turned out he was an ex-marine, born in Bethlehem, lived all his life in the area, was caring for his ex-daughter-in-law, “Who would have thought I’d end up being a nurse?” he said, more a statement than a question. “You can’t just put a person away in an institution, can you? Besides I don’t think she’s going to make it to Christmas.” And he thinks the property that he bought when a large farm was subdivided in the 1970’s is the most beautiful place in the world. “Look over there” he said pointing an ungloved finger toward the horizon, “Ät night you can see the lights from the trucks on rte 33.”

He said he would have voted for John McCain 4 yrs ago. But not now. “He’s changed. His time has passed. He’s not the same McCain. It’s Obama’s time now” he said as I just listened in amazement.

I was near tears by the time he finished talking and we shook hands,said goodbye and I drove off to the next house. And the next stranger.

I’m really going to miss canvassing. And I’m going to miss the Slate Belt team. But I’ll always be grateful to Barack for bringing us together in this extraordinary year.

The Two McCains

2009-03-11T21:53:00.000-07:00

By Melba Tolliver
9/18/2008

I’m scared. There appears to be two John McCains running for president. There’s the John McCain who on page 68 of his book Why Courage Matters instructs parents on how to start their children thinking about honesty. Comparing himself to his own father, McCain writes, “He wouldn’t tell a lie, ever.” McCain admits, “I have not lived as honestly as he did.” Änd McCain adds, “Whenever I’ve been less than honest, I’ve felt ashamed and much worse than had I told the truth and taken the consequences.” And then there’s the other John McCain. The one who most major news organizations, fact-checkers and even some Republicans are calling out as one big fat liar.

There’s the John McCain advertising himself as an agent of change. And there’s the other John McCain who changes the subject every time he’s caught telling one of his big fat lies. There’s the McCain who prides himself on his patriotism. Then there’s the other one who rarely wears a flag pin.

There’s one of the most celebrated POW’s in our nation’s history who ridicules his opponent for being a celebrity. There’s the McCain who says he’s going to kick butt in Washington. But there’s the other McCain, a Washington insider, boastful deregulator, Arizona congressman and senator who’s never held another civilian job except a couple of years on the payroll of his wife’s beer business.

There’s the John McCain who promises to lead Americans into a bright and prosperous future. And the John McCain who admits he knows next to nothing about our economy and even less about how to send an e-mail or how ordinary people are using 21st century technology to build and strengthen communities. Something, by the way that Barack Obama—former community organizer—- uses effectively and efficiently.

So who exactly are the entrenched folks McCain intends to kick around if he makes it to the presidency? Watching McCain kick himself will be a sight to see.

And what about his running mate? She seems to have an evil twin as well. There’s Sarah the earmarks buster and Sarah who overloaded Alaska’s shopping cart with pork every chance she got. Then there’s Sarah who was all for the bridge to nowhere until the Congress said no deal. Then she morphed into the Sarah who jumped off the bridge idea.

This election just isn’t fair. The Republicans are running four candidates, while the poor Democrats only get to run two. And if the Republicans win the White House how will we know which of the two McCains or the two Palins is calling the shots?

I guess that question explains why some voters remain undecided.

Undecideds

2009-03-11T21:45:00.000-07:00

by Melba Tolliver

October 21, 2008

When New Mexico governor Bill Richardson made a campaign stop for Senator Barack Obama here in northeast Pennsylvania last month, I spoke up and voiced my concern about registered voters who tell me they are still undecided. To read about this visit click here

In his amiable, folksy way, the popular Richardson sought to dispel my anxiety. Maybe because I’m obviously black, Richardson, who was speaking at the Council of Spanish Speaking Organizations, addressed my question in terms of race, though I never used that word. He conceded that a certain percentage of white voters will not pull the lever for Obama on November 4th. Richardson went on to say that strong support for Obama among young voters and independents—of various racial and ethnic groups, though Richardson did not describe them as such—will offset the anti-black voters. Being the optimist that I am, I hope Richardson is correct. None of us will know until the votes are counted and analyzed.

But I want to make a couple of points here. First, I never mentioned race when making my comments to Richardson. He assumed that was my point in noting that many voters that I encounter when knocking on doors say they remain undecided. Like Richardson, the newspaper reporter who wrote about comments also heard a word I never used and assumed that that’s what I was talking about.

It’s the kind of assuming that goes on a lot around black people. If you’re black and supporting Obama it’s assumed you’re racially motivated. Even Colin Powell—a black, but a non-race man— who endorsed Obama on Sunday is subject to such assumptions. Never mind that 95% of black folks gave their votes to John Kerry last time around. Never mind that black voters have helped elect Democrats in elections big and small since before FDR. Never mind that blacks who will vote for Obama may be smart enough to vote for the candidate who’s got the best grip on the failing economy, the failed Iraq/Afghanistan policy, the failed health insurance system—the failures in America that run across the board. That candidate is certainly not John McCain. And black voters like the majority of all other voters haven’t been fired up by any of the third party candidates.

Obama for all his “blackness” is after all a mixed race man. Half black, half white. Son of a black African father and a white American mother. Raised mostly by his white grandparents, and himself. So what does that say about him? Nothing much unless we resort to the tired stereotypes about black people and white people. What does tell us something useful about Obama and the kind of man he is, the kind of president he might be are these things: His campaign which , according to some observers, is the most disciplined political campaign in American history. His brilliant and audacious use of the Internet for fund raising, social networking, volunteer organizing—again, prompting some to observe that if Obama is elected, he and his operatives will have changed presidential politics forever.