Relay for Life remembers, celebrates, offers hope

That's me in the yellow poncho on the 2010 Survivor's Lap.

It's spring and, all across our country, community members are preparing for their annual Relay for Life. Relay began in Tacoma, Wash. in 1985 when Dr. Gordy Klatt, a colorectal surgeon, ran and walked around a track for 24 hours to raise money for the American Cancer Society. Since then, Relay has grown from a single man’s passion to fight cancer into the world’s largest movement to end the disease. Each year, more than 3.5 million people in 5,000 communities in the United States, along with additional communities in 20 other countries, gather to take part in this global phenomenon and raise much-needed funds and awareness to save lives from cancer

We're just a week away here in Bogalusa, as members of the Washington Parish community will gather at Goodyear Park on April 15. In my 61 years, times have changed from cancer being a disease we seldom heard of to one that has touched nearly every man, woman and child in some way. That is all too evident as one looks on as people gather together for Relay ... young, old, middle-aged, red, yellow, black and white ... there is no immunity to cancer's touch.

Over the years, I've been involved in a 15 or so Relay events in five cities and four states but I never expected to walk that first lap. Oh, I've walked along with those on that lap -- the Survivor's Lap -- walking alongside them, offering encouragement ... but never did I expect to be part of it. That came in Thomasville, NC in the spring of 2005 after my God, my caregivers, my doctors and I kicked "Bubba's" butt. You see, I felt it would be easier to fight something with a name and my head and neck cancer -- metastatic squamous cell carcinoma -- became "Bubba." We fought through 192 hours of chemo, 123 doses of radiation and the loss of 70 pounds in less than five months ... and "Bubba" was whipped.

That Friday evening, as the public address announcer called for survivors to gather on the track, I remember standing there in an "out of it" sort of way. About that time, Thomasville's mayor, Maj. Gen. (USA ret.) Hubert Leonard came up, wrapped his arm in mine and said, "Let's go, John!" And go we did and for the very first time, I understood how very important it was for those onlookers to be there ... to be walking alongside you and offering encouragement ... to care.

Relay for Life is a time when we gather to celebrate. We celebrate the lives of those who have battled this horrible disease – their memories and their spirit – and the lives of those who continue the battle, either actively or with the disease in some stage of remission. But we also gather to celebrate those who stood alongside us … at times when the battle left us too weary to know to know they were there, our hand in theirs … and often behind us, wheeling us along when our legs simply couldn’t do what our minds wanted. … our caregivers.

That year in Thomasville, members of my Rotary Club -- who had never before been involved as a group -- raised more than $10,000 and five of them stayed with me all night long ... visiting with one another and with others who spent the night and taking turns walking laps. I sold some of my fellow Rotarians on the idea of getting involved ... really involved ... and they ran with it. Of course, it wasn't a hard sell and Steve Martin, Joseph Walker and Whitney Hardin made it happen in such a way that I was overwhelmed.

As a survivor of six-plus years now, I would ask all of you who know someone stricken by this disease to take the time to attend your Relay for Life. The Survivor’s Walk kicks things off and the lighting of the luminarias offers all the opportunity to remember our loved ones who have gone on … and I will always remember my fallen friends and family members in a way befitting their respective battles and coined by my cousin, Howard, who finished his fight on Oct. 17, 2007 in Iowa City, Iowa: “My cancer won’t kill me, but rather it will die with me.”

Be there to honor their memory, share strength with them for their fight and to remind one and all that not a single person is in this fight by themselves. Not one.

The spirit of Christmas

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” 

- Luke 2:14

Over the years, members of our family have gathered out on Fellowship Road in Smith County, Miss., just up the hill from Okahay Creek. We came together in all seasons of the year, but none that meant so much as at Christmas.

There was never anything fancy in Granny’s house, but there was a love that crossed generations. Whatever Granny had, she shared — even to the extent if someone needed something and she had it, she would give it away and do without.

Try as I might, I simply can’t pull up a recollection of Granny sitting, other than when on the back porch shelling peas or beans. There was never candy or soft drinks at Granny’s as we grew up … there was never room for it, as she made cakes and tea and always (it seems) had baked sweet potatoes out on the table for the kids to grab as a snack.

Perhaps because we’re human, we always seem to find time to bemoan our misfortunes, whether real or perceived, but at this time of the year, when we celebrate the birth of Christ, let’s deal with reality.

Our family has been blessed. Over the years, we’ve lost many members. Yes, we lost every single one of them before we wanted … but we had so many good times together on which to reflect that it would be hard to imagine ever having gotten along without them. How empty our lives would have been.

God has blessed us … each and every one, as Tiny Tim would say.

We have our health, we have our homes, we have clothes on our backs and food on our tables and before we dare think about what might be, let’s think about the child who, through the harsh reality of life, knows there’s no Santa Claus or the parent worrying over how to keep a roof over their family’s head during these tough economic times.

This Christmas, give thanks for all that is yours and, if you can, do like Granny Walker did and share some of your bounty with someone less fortunate than you and yours. What better gift than that of a smile, a bit of hope and a little love?

Orange slices and Christmas

For as long as I can remember, candy orange slices have been as much a part of Christmas as the Christmas tree. In fact, when there were times that I had no tree, I always had orange slices.

That's because my Dad always loved them. I don't know when that sweet tooth developed, but Daddy introduced them to me early.

After we were both well grown, my sister Sarah and I acknowledged that we never realized we didn't have much growing up — but that through sacrifice, we never missed a thing. Along the way, when Mom would load kids in the car to go to a baseball game, she'd manage to find extra money to make sure a kid who "didn't have much" didn't have to sit and watch others eat.

But back to orange slices.

While they were within reach much of the year, it was never Christmas without orange slices. Writing this, I realize how strange that may sound to some but it was one of those things you could count on.

Daddy died in June 1989 and six months later, on Christmas morning at my sister's house in Arlington, Texas, I realized something was missing besides Daddy ... his orange slices.

I couldn't bring him back, but I made a quick trip to Walgreen's and grabbed a bag of orange slices. When I got back to my sister's, she asked where I had gone and why — and I just pulled out the bag of orange slices.

She didn't say anything, but I could tell she wished I hadn't done that ... after all, while it was our first Christmas without Daddy, it was for Mom, too.

There wasn't much conversation for a while but, after a while, things got back to as much normalcy as possible under the circumstances.

In the years since, orange slices have remained a part of Christmas, as have the memories of those years when we had little, but a Mom and Dad who were intent on our never knowing it.

The "news" in newspapers

Except for a couple of years early on and several in the late 80s and early 90s, I have spent my entire career at community newspapers — those places small enough that you are recognized more times than not when out in the community.

I find the discussion about what newspapers must do to survive to be both puzzling and, at the same time, comical. The answer almost seems too easy: Get back to the basics of providing news to your audience.

To me, the difficult part comes when a group of people begin the discussion of exactly what is the news and which news they want to give to their audience. That, I think, is the root of the problem. While newspaper people read newspapers, they do it in a different manner ... they must put themselves in the respective shoes of their audience.

That, obviously is harder for some — and it is where community newspapers hold the upper hand.

While all newspapers can make a difference in their market, it is the staffer at the Small Town Daily News that gets feedback first. In fact, a big city staffer may never get the word that someone thought what they wrote made a difference but you can bet the reporter at STDN heard about it — at the grocery store and cafe and probably just about every place they went.

Even though the economy has battered the community newspapers just as it has their bigger brothers and sisters, there is a complicating factor for the big guys. They are, you see, expected to be all things to all people.

These days — and economic times — that's more and more difficult.

The community's have the upper hand because they've already made the tough decisions during previous economic downtowns in the 1980s, early 90s and early in this decade. Many have eliminated the wire services and have been all local for years ... and it has served them well.

At three newspapers where we reduced or eliminated wire presence, the circulation increased (Big Spring, Texas; Thomasville, NC and Bogalusa, La.). Additionally, the perception that the newspaper was an active participant in the community grew as did the perception that the newspaper was a community leader.

And remember: Whatever the case may be, to the holder of the belief, perception is reality.

So what's local news? It's the stuff that made up the cliches' we spouted for years ... refrigerator art, the things being talked about in the coffee shop, barber shop, beauty shop and grocery store. In small town America, if people are talking about it, it's news.

One of the things I stress to participants in my community newspaper seminar is what I call, "The six most important words in community newspapering."

Local names. Local faces. Local activities.

Take that recipe, stir it gently at first then blend vigorously on the pages of your newspaper and I think you'll find your audience loves the taste.