Most of 2001 Columns
WORKING MAGIC ON RELUCTANT REA ... 11/14/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 11/14/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: movies
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Working magic on reluctant reader
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
The countdown to the opening of Harry Potter - The Movie has begun at my house, and I just don't know if we can take the pressure. My younger son was only lukewarm to the Potter craze as the books took on a level of celebrity that is still not fully understood. And it's been a curiosity to me that he was so uninterested in Potter, a boy whose debut put him at exactly Rob's age. But the air of "so what, Mom" was unmistakable as I brought home the first Potter now two years ago. I read a chapter aloud to him to get the story off the ground, but it was not to be. This wasn't easy to take. My aunt in Arizona and my cousins in Seattle (adults) are all wild about Harry. When Rob broke his leg earlier this year, my aunt wrote to ask if he'd done so playing Quidditch, a soccer-like game for the student wizards at the Hogwarts School. I assured my aunt that this was not the source of Rob's injury. His playing Quidditch would require me to relinquish control of my broom, and I was making several flights a day at the time. I was fascinated by the craze itself and the story of J.K. Rowling as a woman writer - using her initials so as not to drive little boy readers away and forcing the New York Times to invent a new children's best-seller list, effectively just for her books, which have cluttered the top of the other list since their debut. Still, in all this time, Rob seemed not to care at all about it. He reads all things scientific, but for magic, he had no interest. And then came the movie. And something happened. I didn't see it. I cannot describe it. I can only say this. I went out of town over the weekend nearly two weeks ago, and when I returned, he was totally absorbed in the first Potter, then the second and as of this writing, nearly through the third. It's a Harry-thon at my house, and I'll have to go out and do the heavy lifting to snatch up number four, the 700-plus page "Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire" this week. I look up at the breakfast, lunch and dinner table and find myself staring down the spine of a book. A hand emerges occasionally to take in more sustenance. Fluids vanish by a straw. It really is magic. I comfort myself in the knowledge that surely Rowling's kids don't read her stuff, or at least they think it's "just Mom's books." I also relish the thought of all those publishers who turned her down, telling her that kids would never stick with long, complicated books. Those who thought that boys wouldn't read a book written by a woman must be hitting themselves in the head with rocks right now. I knew I was seeing a real phenomena when a friend from the neighborhood (a junior at UNC) stopped by yesterday. He saw that Rob was engrossed in Harry No. 3 and mentioned that he had read the first Potter book and liked it well enough. Daniel picked up the second book while he was here and began reading. He continued - for hours until he'd finished it. We had to bring our nonaddicted son, Brian, back to Raleigh in the afternoon. Daniel hopped in the back seat with Brian and Rob. And there they sat - all three of them - reading. Brian is re-reading "The Lord of the Rings," preparing for the upcoming release of that movie. The struggle of good versus evil, of quest versus apathy will have my college junior son and his friends camping out to purchase their one-week advance tickets just before Christmas. We drove down the street, and Rick and I looked at each other briefly at the stop sign, perplexed by this unfamiliar silence - cut only by the whisper of turning pages. I confess, I worry that when Harry (and Bilbo Baggins) hit the theaters this week and next month, respectively, some of the magic will be gone. When they are flesh and blood creatures and not those of the imagination, they will lose a dimension. In being defined on some literal, tangible level, they will lose some of their aura. But the very existence of two movies, the mere anticipation of them, gave me a half-hour ride with three young men engrossed in the adventures found in the pages of books. Maybe Christmas comes more than once a year. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
FLIGHTS NOT SAFER THANKS TO 'P ... 11/07/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 11/07/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: airline safety
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Flights not safer thanks to 'precautions'
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
This past weekend, I flew to New England to attend a dinner honoring my younger brother for his being a world-class bowler. It was a fun evening, tempered by the travel. The United States isn't the same country anymore. We're not the same people either. I awoke at 4 in the morning Saturday. To make my 7 a.m. flight, I was to be at the airport at 5. I walked to the gate with a National Guard soldier just in front of me. Frankly the M-16 rifle was unnerving to me. I didn't feel safer; I felt reminded. I am not a morning person, but the soldier is. She walked along, chirping to every passenger she saw: "Good morning! Where are you flying to today?" The passengers would answer and smile. "Have a great flight!" she'd say. "Should be a beautiful day for it." I thought to myself how smart that was - how she was going out of her way to balance the chill of her presence with the sheer will of her personality. It was emotional for me. She doesn't even know I'm walking 10 paces behind her. She doesn't even know who I am, and she's here to give her life to protect mine if it's necessary. Somehow it suddenly felt personal. Departing on time, I arrived in Pittsburgh at about 8:30 a.m. There, I waited. I waited the whole morning. A mid-morning flight that I was scheduled to take had been canceled - not enough passengers. My next flight wasn't until a few minutes before noon. It departed on time and landed the same way. The second flight was near empty. The first had been crowded. By the time I arrived, rented a car and got to my brother's home, it was 3:30 p.m. - 111/2 hours after I'd gotten up. Had I left my house and simply hopped on the highway, I'd have arrived at the same time. Returning the next day, my mother flew along with me. She was yanked out of the security screening and her embroidery bag searched twice, yielding her small and sharp embroidery scissors and three straight pins. Obviously, she should have left those snippers at home. For having brought them, she was sent back to the ticket counter to check them as baggage. These are scissors that are half the size of the palm of your hand. When we arrived at RDU, my mother had a box with her scissors in it along with her suitcase. Judging from the box's size, most passengers probably thought she was traveling with her VCR. For me, the security scanning brought an even more glum moment. I had a small, square, metal can of Vermont Maple Syrup that I bought for my husband. I told the guard that the X-ray probably would be interested in a can of Maple Syrup I had inside. I kept my distance, unlike many passengers I noticed who were frequently reaching in, directing the searcher to find this or that. The airport security guard took the can out and looked at it. "Vermont Maple Syrup" is plainly printed on the outside. "Yes, that's the syrup," I said. "I just bought that, so I think it's sealed, but if you want to open it, that's OK." He handled this can like it was a brick of C-4 explosive, just as he had my mother's two sewing pins. Cradling the can tenderly in the palm of his hand, he slowly, slowly looked at each side, then the top and finally the bottom. He looked at me - no he glared at me. Stern and accusing, he asked, "What is this?" I'm not kidding, I thought I was 30 seconds from either totally cracking up and pouring it all over him or answering to the bomb squad. "It's maple syrup," I answered, serious as a heart attack, regretting that it wasn't a sex toy or something really embarrassing. When we finally arrived at my home, we were met with the icing on the cake. My mother opened her bag and found something that, given these standards, the Hartford security guard really should have cared about. She had two needles. The first was just a little one that you'd hem pants with. Still, it's a needle - sharper than a pin. The second, however, was a needle that you use for a looming - a six-inch metal needle. The security personnel never saw it; they didn't care about it. My point, and I do have one, is that none of these "precautions" genuinely will make flights any safer. Apparently some captains have taken to enlisting the help of their passengers to make a real difference in safety. This is what they're telling them: "Folks, if a person or persons tries to take over this plane, they're not getting into the cockpit. I'm going to lock it from the other side. It's up to you. There are a lot of you and would be just a few of them. Throw a blanket over them, hit them, control them. Some of you might get hurt, but we will get where we are going and we will land safely because I am not coming out of there - no matter what. Now introduce yourself to the people next to you and let's fly." Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
TRICK OR TREAT THE OLD-TIMEY W ... 10/31/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 10/31/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Halloween; Holidays
Illustration: Photo: Jean Bolduc
Trick or treat the old-timey way
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
When I was 5 years old, I had a glorious day on Halloween. That morning, I went for a ride on my bike - a ride that ended in a brief flight. Not from a local airport, just over the handlebars and into the concrete curb in front of my house. I broke the fall with my best asset - my smile. Can you imagine my poor mother, trying to catch 20 winks on the couch while we played out front? She awoke to find me wailing before her in my blood-soaked white sweat shirt. Stitches - I had two rows of them. The oral surgeon had to re-attach my upper gum to the roof of my mouth. Trick or treat. That night, there was no discussion about my missing the annual spooky outing, though I'm sure my appointed rounds were abbreviated. I will never, never forget it. As irony would have it, I was an alligator that year. My long-snouted mask provided the teeth I now lacked for the part. The really funny part, though, was that everyone in the neighborhood had heard about my accident that day. As my mother took me around, she would tell the neighbor the story, then her hand would reach into the alligator's jaws, pulling them open wide to show my puffy little face. "Thhrick or Thhreat for UNICEF," I would thur. Yeth, it was thertainly memorable, as Sylvester the cat would say. In those halcyon days, we weren't checking the mail for anthrax, but we sure did have our parents check our candy for the dreaded needles and razor blades. Those stories go back as far as the holiday, I'm sure, and the scrutiny is wise. The term "trick or treat" had a lot more meaning in my day. I mean, we really had to do it for some people. They'd open the door, invite you in, and if you couldn't perform a magic trick or stump them with a good riddle, you got squat and were usually booed out of the house. Those were the days. And then there was my grandfather, who took the holiday to a level never anticipated. My grandfather (Goggy) was an elementary school teacher for his entire working life. I am sure that he was great with kids precisely because, in all the best ways, he never stopped being one. He used to collect stones along the beaches of Massachusetts and Connecticut. These were unusual stones. They were exceptionally round and flat - like those you'd find in a riverbed. Thanks to his sense of humor, he took to painting these stones, and then he would write little phrases on them. "Please turn me over" was his favorite. "Thanks, that feels much better" awaited the curious on the other side. He used these for paperweights. Most would fit in the palm of your hand. He put some in or near his many plants both in and out of the house. The kids in his neighborhood came to know about this and, at some point, one was brash enough to ask if he could have one. Then another, then another. It soon because clear that the kids would rather have their own special stones than candy on Halloween, so they began placing their orders days and weeks in advance - ready for pickup on Halloween. So on the big night, when others had trays of candied apples and chocolate bars, the kids in Natick, Mass., would flock to Mr. Plumley's house to pick up their rocks. I'm sure that some of their parents thought that at last they had proof - their kids had rocks in their heads, or at least on their minds. Goggy loved to tell this story, especially after watching the Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin special on television. He'd always crack up at poor Charlie Brown, coming away from each house with a rock. "What's wrong with that?" he'd say. (Of course, when some genius put a rock in a cardboard box and called it a pet, making millions, Goggy was totally insulted. I mean, they weren't even painted!) More than that, he'd delight in telling his friends and neighbors (those who were unaware of his hours of special effort) that he just gave children rocks on Halloween, but they kept coming back. I don't know if kids this year will be holding out the little milk cartons for UNICEF as we did every Halloween. Perhaps they'll have a Sept. 11 fund collection box of some sort instead. The important thing, it seems to me, is for kids to realize two key things. First, there's always someone in need in this world, and second, everybody, no matter how small you are, you can help - even if you lost your front teeth that day. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
GODSPEED IN REBUILDING SPEED ... 10/24/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 10/24/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Hurricanes; Relief efforts; N.C. towns
Illustration: Photo: Jean Bolduc
Godspeed in rebuilding Speed
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
It has been a remarkable two years for North Carolinians who live to our east. They have been awash in the tragedy and grace brought upon them by Hurricane Floyd. Certainly, our state's largest contemporary disaster, Floyd revealed a broad range of environmental risks and problems, many of which have translated into stronger, better policies. Our community's stormwater management, for example, affects everyone downstream from us. In so many ways, that hurricane brought our state's environmental awareness together in a way which might not have been possible otherwise. But that's not all that flows from central to eastern North Carolina. It is how the towns of Chapel Hill and Carrboro reached out to help the little town of Speed that captures the real nature of communities. It's a study in problem-solving and determination. Week after week, month after month, buses full of our neighbors gave up their Saturdays to go to Speed. They "ripped and stripped" buildings of all sorts, removing water-ravaged materials and clearing the way to rebuild on the frameworks that could be preserved. These were little houses. Theirs was a small community center. This was a place so humble that the devastation must have seemed doubly unfair. Reading the accounts of the rebuilding and the efforts of Chapel Hill and Carrboro residents reminded me - in a good way - of that great line from Casablanca, about "rounding up the usual suspects." Shirley Marshall, Don Hartman, Westy Fenhagen and the tireless Alex Zaffron were just among the few names so familiar to me personally. While I was covering the Board of Aldermen, Zaffron frequently used his "board member comment" time to announce when the next bus to Speed would be departing, what to bring and a brief motivational urge. After just a couple of times doing his brief announcement, he no longer needed his notes. I often referred to it as his "Speed Schtick." The job that these generous volunteers have done is terribly important. It will never make the front page of The New York Times. It will never be the plot of a blockbuster movie. It isn't big in that sense, but it's monumental to the people of Speed. These Tar Heels rejected repeated offers to be bought out by FEMA and SEMA, our state's emergency management agency. Can you imagine living in a community all your life and having one storm so devastate its landscape that the government would rather buy out the whole town than rebuild it? I know I can't. No dice, said the residents. Speed isn't just a town, they said, Speed is home. And so the buses came, week after week, long after the media's attention had moved on. The people kept coming, kept raising money, continued helping our neighbors just down the road. Two Christmases have passed, two Thanksgivings, and on and on. New friends between the two towns have no doubt exchanged cards and remembrances on many special holidays. I imagine that Easter has a whole new meaning for the town of Speed. And so Orange County residents have prevented Rand McNally from getting out its eraser for the town of Speed. They have saved something and built something even better in the process - a human bridge between two places that shared a state identity but little more before Floyd blew into town. In light of spectacular tragedy - like the events of Sept. 11 and the grizzly recovery work that continues today - well over a month later, we realize with humility the need for people to drop their differences and help each other. The ordinary help between ordinary people - neighbors helping neighbors - often goes unnoticed and even unappreciated in our everyday lives. Holding a door for an older person, carrying a box for someone who is struggling with a young child or just taking that extra minute or two to chat with someone who is lonely - these are the things that human beings do that build a strong society. We help, we share and we rebuild when we're struck down by force. As important as the work to rebuild Speed is, we all should take pleasure in pausing for a moment to appreciate the great challenge taken on by our fellow Orange County residents, making the Speed-y recovery possible. Congratulations to all the "Speedsters" who participated in every way, large and small, for a job well done.Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
KEEPING THE FAITH DESPITE RELI ... 10/17/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 10/17/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Religion; Women's rights
Illustration: Photo: Jean Bolduc
Keeping the faith despite religion
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
They say you shouldn't discuss politics or religion in polite company, so I guess Miss Manners won't want to sponsor this offering. As we learn more and more about the repression of women in Afghanistan, we comfortable Americans have collectively responded with something between surprise and disgust. Our American perspective reflects our secular society's acceptance of women's legal rights, our effective leadership in every aspect of public life, from running companies to working at high levels of government. Indeed, it is a powerful message for the world to see a woman of color serving at the right hand of the president as his national security adviser. For most Americans, this is a source of pride. Watching the conflict between the United States and Afghanistan, I am frequently reminded of the arguments of over a century ago regarding slavery. The end of the South's "peculiar institution" was feared by Southerners. It was, they said, a threat to their way of life. Slaveholders feared the end of their free labor force would mean the end of an agricultural economy. Moreover, they certainly feared the repercussions of freedom and legal rights being conveyed to those they had beaten, repressed and whose basic human rights they had systemically denied. Indeed, this part of the country knows a lot about what the Taliban fears in this Western revolution that seems to be invading their land and their way of life. They fear the world of equality and freedom reaching those women. They're right to fear it if more repression is their objective. But even here in the promised land, division and backward views continue, and they do so under the guise of "religion." Last week, Durham's First Baptist Church narrowly defeated an effort by its pastor, the Rev. Andy Davis, to bar women from serving as deacons in the church. Davis cites Scripture in the defense of his position. Well, his writings do on the church's Web site. Apparently the pastor's commitment to his position is not enough to give him the courage to talk to the media about it. His defense of this posture, then, is described in the Bible, a work of men and of printing presses, not a work of divinity. Visit the Grand Canyon or hold a newborn baby.EThese are works of divinity. Were our society to reinstate all the practices that are described in the Bible just because they're mentioned there, we'd live in a very different place. Members of the Durham church's leadership are running for cover, saying they didn't have much insight on the pastor's views toward women when they hired him. They didn't have any women at the table when they did the interviews, I guess. It might have occurred to them to ask. The important message from the church is also the one that gave me a chill. It's a comment from the Rev. Scott Markley, the church's minister to college students, who spoke to the news media on behalf of the church. Davis would not be available to for comment, he said. "We don't want this to be aired in the public media," he told the Herald-Sun last week. I'll just bet they don't. Exposure to light and fresh air kills a lot of bacteria. I'll bet they like the news hounds to turn their focus instead to looking judgmentally at those who seem far away and foreign? Wouldn't that be better? No. It would be best that we stick to our knitting, and demand that Davis account for himself. I don't mind that he has views I disagree with. I mind that he remains a hidden, protected bigot and has the gall to wrap himself in a false claim of religion to do it. No need to fly halfway around the world to fight this battle when you can just drive to Durham and carry the same sign - something about freedom and fear being at war and God not remaining neutral in the conflict. Whether created by God or simply acknowledged by man, as a species, we do possess free will. I hope the members of Durham's First Baptist Church will look within themselves and ask why they tolerate a pastor who would seek to override the will of his parishioners, then hide from view when called to account to his community. Perhaps Davis should begin by asking himself - what would Jesus do? Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: Local
THAT PHOTO AND A THOUSAND WORD ... 10/10/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 10/10/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: newspapers; local people; terrorism
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
That photo and a thousand words
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
The other day, I picked up my Sunday edition of this newspaper and its front page just glowed in the simplicity of Kevin Seifert's photograph of Saba Maroof. This young woman has a smile that, in this particular photo, I found electrifying. Dressed in her traditional Muslim hijab (head scarf), her engaging, glistening smile and fresh young face probably sold our paper more effectively than any headlines of terror and woe have recently. Maroof is a senior psychology major at UNC, and she is active in the Muslim Student Association. We forgive her that she was born in Durham and not in Chapel Hill, just as I am forgiven - by most - for hailing from Connecticut. No matter. We are sisters, Maroof and I. We are Tar Heel sisters - pale blue and proud. Like many, I have received a heck of a lot of e-mail related to the World Trade Center attacks - some poignant, some funny. Probably the most hilarious was an editorial cartoon from the Arkansas Democrat Gazette. It features several Muslim men reading a demand note in horror - "Turn over bin Laden or we'll send your women to college," it reads. So, Maroof is our best weapon in defeating the network of lies and terror. She is the embodiment of what those hijabs are hiding - a bright, happy future, full of promise and possibility. In sharing her smile and hope with all of us, this young woman helped this whole community to understand the rest of the news that came on Sunday. News of war and death, news of self-defense, but news of attack nonetheless. This is a time for us to steel ourselves with the courage of our convictions. If we really believe that freedom and the struggle, frustration and inefficiency of self-government are really worth it, we now will need to make good on those beliefs. Making speech free doesn't make it cheap. It's paid for in the bloodstained battlefields of our own epic civil war and even back to our Revolution, parting us from England. It's paid for by our practice of listening to and giving space and equality to views that we loathe. The attack on the World Trade Center killed more Americans than the entire American Revolutionary War, which killed fewer than 5,000. The stakes in both struggles are remarkably similar. Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness - those unalienable rights that Jefferson outlined - are threatened again so many years later. Yet we have the benefit of some amazing "weapons" of our own. First, our relationship with England has never been stronger. We don't think much about that, perhaps, but we shouldn't take the Brits for granted. Great Britain has lived under the threat of terrorism for many years, although the Trade Center attack brought a loss of life not seen on a single day since World War II. Prime Minister Tony Blair has been inspiring in his speeches, articulating our need as a world community to be resolute in defeating terrorism. Blair has young kids and his burning expression seems to come from his role as a father - from his heart. There's a lot of that going around lately. Even our president, not in the top five of the most articulate public figures in the world, managed to hit every line out of the park in a world-class speech to Congress and the world. He didn't write that speech, of course, but there's nothing remarkable about that. What is amazing is our country's gushing appreciation for the speech. I include myself in those who were stunned and appreciative of Bush's masterful delivery of a sensational speech. Their writers, like Bush and Blair, were able to codify the very thing The Chapel Hill Herald exuded through its Sunday photograph. This war - and now it is a war in every sense - is about the promise and openness of that young woman's face. It is not about her religion, except to protect her right to practice it freely. Maroof is the best symbol of our freedom that has graced the pages of any newspaper - not just for her beauty, but for her beliefs - in Islam and in her American system of government. It is the most spectacular statement of all that Maroof's father, Mohammed, advised her to remove her hijab so that she might blend in more easily. A girl after my own heart, a Tar Heel sister, young Saba Maroof told her father, "No." Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
BE-AWARE-OF-EVERYTHING MONTH ... 10/03/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 10/03/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: fears
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Be-aware-of-everything month
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
It's October. Be aware. October is designated as every-possible-disease-or-problem "awareness" month. Breast cancer, diabetes, HIV/AIDS, being employed with a disability, prostate cancer, spina bifida, domestic violence - just pick one and be aware of it. All of these are causes and concerns worthy of our awareness and support, but I confess that - even this early in the month - I think I have awareness fatigue. When, you ask, did I first become aware of my problem? I examined myself and discovered these symptoms: Fear of the telephone. Every time it rings, it's someone asking me for money lately. Have I become inexplicably rich?E If so, I'm not aware of that. Fear of answering the front door. Cha-ching. No one comes to my front door just to tell me that it's a beautiful day. Fear of opening my mail. That's assuming that I can carry all of it. With all the catalogs and direct-mail requests for loot, I'm starting to think that the wheelbarrow might have more use than just gardening functions. Fear of the grocery store. Is it just me? I don't want to run the gauntlet every time I want to buy a gallon of milk. What about self-esteem awareness month?E These people make me feel bad, because I do not hand out cash. It's not that I'm not willing to give, either. We donate and do so generously to the causes we support. Like many cautious, cynical middle-aged people, we have some procedures. We make sure that agencies we give to are tax-exempt nonprofits. We write them checks or otherwise have a record of how we give money. We ask how they spend their money. We never, never, never respond to a telephone solicitation that requests our credit card information. It's great to give with your credit card because then you have a record of the gift. It's just that it should be done at your initiative, though, not that of the guy on the phone who is interrupting your dinner. Calling UNC-TV during the festival fund-raising period, for example, is a great use of credit card giving. You can watch the guy writing the number down as you read it out to him. Tell him to scratch his nose so you know which volunteer you're talking to. I don't mean to sound ungrateful for all the awareness stuff. A few years ago, I discovered I had a lump in my breast. This led to a biopsy, which brought good news. I was 33 years old at the time. Like many people I didn't think that women that young would get breast cancer. Not only is it true that they do, but it is more likely to be an aggressive form in younger women. So, ladies, keep them fresh squeezed and get your annual mammogram, as I have since my 40th birthday. It's the highlight of my October. So, no, it's not that I don't appreciate these campaigns; it's just that I'm caused to wonder - doesn't anybody need a jolt of awareness in August? I mean, it's a slow news month, the governments are quiet, (the president is on vacation all month long) and the front page is available. During August, we're all at the beach, counting the shark attacks and the number of times a naughty congressman is in the headlines, so we're all thinking about sex and danger anyway. It just seems to me that matching up bikinis and breast awareness is a marketing strategy made in heaven. And why not talk about diabetes in August when we're all eating fried seafood, ice cream and sweet tea? It just seems unfair that in October we walk into one store and are greeted with kids selling doughnuts to raise money for school, then get our free awareness screening on the way out and find our blood sugar in orbit. How long will it be until all these organizations merge and declare that October is "National Awareness Awareness Month"? There will be lapel ribbons shaped like question marks, T-shirts that say "space available" and bumper stickers admonishing drivers: "be aware - this means you."E I was going to end here with a joke about setting a Web site - awareness.com, but when I checked on the domain, I found that there was actually a Web site there. It's a dating service. I bet you weren't aware of that. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
TODAY, I AM LESS FREE IN AMERI ... 09/26/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 09/26/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: signs; automobiles; terrorism
Today, I am less free in America
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
I went to the beach over the weekend. When a friend offered us his place Rick grabbed the keys and we bolted. You might say we ran away from home. We need to go ... somewhere. My mother was supposed to fly down here to visit on Sept. 14 but could not because of the Sept. 11 attacks on the United States. We had other plans for that weekend and for this past weekend - all washed out. So we jumped in my little red car and headed to the Crystal Coast, our home away from home. Driving across eastern North Carolina on Friday afternoon did not have the effect I had hoped it might. I was looking for escape from our sad events, but what I found was something very different. New Yorkers say that you can't understand the power of the damage to the World Trade Center until you've stood there and been overwhelmed by the sight of it. Similarly, I didn't let the depth of our state and nation's pain completely sink in until Friday afternoon, as we drove 150 miles and saw town after town - all draped in flags at half-staff. Security around Camp Lejeune is both conspicuous and comforting. We stopped very near the base's main entrance for dinner. Many young men with very short haircuts were out with their girlfriends and young families - a normal Friday night in Jacksonville. There were handmade signs everywhere, usually saying "God Bless America" and many, many signs expressing support for our troops. Some made Chapel Hill's recent sign flap seem more than tame by comparison - at least when comparing the content of the sign. Woe to our enemies? Heck, those words would probably be found on display at a preschool near Lejeune. On the way into town, we saw the first of several "special" signs. These are the ones that usually would announce that chicken wings are $1 off on ladies night or something. On this Friday, just west of Jacksonville, a sign outside a bar warned, "Last Call Bin Laden." Driving west on the way home, we saw some more. "Bin Laden - Our unity will kick yo butt" read one of my favorites. We passed a mobile home park. There the sign was more egregious, more ominous and just plain chilling: "Kill Bin Laden - get a free home," it read. There was a silly little song when I was in high school. "Sign, sign, everywhere a sign, blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind. Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?" asked the Cowsills. That song was about not judging people based on their appearance. Perhaps it will make a comeback now that its lyrics can take on all sorts of new meanings. Americans do love their signs, whether they are bumper stickers, banners or T-shirts. We love to express ourselves and defend our right to do so and our neighbors' right to offend us. That's the American way. And we love to move around. Our love affair with the automobile is well-documented. So when I felt so constrained by the events and aftermath of Sept. 11, I knew that getting outside and moving around would be like a tonic. But this, too, reminded me of another factor in the whole mess. All those gas-guzzling sport utility vehicles on the road with me caused me to ponder this question - why haven't we learned our lesson about our dependence on foreign oil? When I was in high school, we had gas rationing and no gas sales on Sundays, 55 mph speed limits for better mileage and all sorts of energy conservation measures. By the time of the Persian Gulf War we were more dependent on foreign oil. That war was fought for our national economic interests (read: jobs, affordable oil prices). It gave us a recession, not more jobs or cheaper energy. Now, a decade later, we are even more dependent on foreign oil than ever before and we are consuming lots and lots of it while simultaneously not wanting to consume our homeland by drilling anywhere and everywhere for non-renewable fossil fuels. We are made vulnerable and less free because of these conflicting desires. Perhaps now we can see that more clearly than ever. Conversely, we are made strong and more free every time a tragedy forces us to realize our common ground and embrace our diverse talents and histories. Finally, perhaps the most chilling feeling of all. We have just received our tax rebate in the mail. This is money that the president wanted all of us to use to consume conspicuously. That may even be a patriotic thing to do, but the idea of it doesn't feel right just yet. A woman watching the funeral of President Kennedy leaned over and said to Patrick Moynihan, "We'll never laugh again." Moynihan rejected this prognosis. "No," he said, "We'll laugh again, but we'll never be young again." Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
WHAT WE DO WHEN WORDS FAIL ... 09/19/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 09/19/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Terrorism; Local opinion
Illustration: Photo: Jean Bolduc
What we do when words fail
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
It's not often that you hear reporters or politicians use the expression (and mean it) "There are no words." Last Tuesday, I watched over the shoulder of a CNN reporter as he said just that, and it was the only explanation I've heard all week that really captured the moment - a terrible, unthinkable moment of collapse, of destruction and murder. Writers hate such paralysis. We need deliberation and context. We need perspective. During such calamity it is the photographers, both amateur and professional, who make us understand by showing us the unvarnished facts. And they are facts - not special effects. It was stunning how many of us simply watched, thinking how remarkably like the movie "Independence Day" this whole surreal event chain has been. It was the Chrysler building that was struck in the movie, but the choking cloud that flowed from it raced up the street just the same way, tossing cars and people out of the way, turning day to night. We knew just what this would look like. Toward the end of the week, there was the president, standing on the pile of rubble, telling us over a bullhorn (and telling the world) that we were fighting for our way of life, indeed for our right to exist. Perhaps he took his words - which seemed sincere and unrehearsed - from that movie script. If he did, who could blame him? Thankfully, we were spared the reality of the White House exterior scene from that movie. It appears, however, that the intent was otherwise. Thanks to the heroics of a gay rugby player and other male passengers on a flight headed to San Francisco, the hijackers failed to return to Washington to meet their doom by crashing into the People's House. The male passengers, hearing from loved ones on their cell phones about the other attacks, knew what they were facing and took matters into their own hands. They knew their U.S. geography and they crashed that plane into a field in rural Pennsylvania, not the residence at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, the temporary home of a leader, not the palace of a king. Despite these acts of incredible courage and selflessness, we have in contrast the commentary of one Jerry Falwell and his host Pat Robertson. While a guest on Robertson's television show, Falwell made some comments about these attacks being "what we deserve." At fault here, Falwell says, are lunatics like me. I'm very dangerous, according to Falwell. I fall into several categories of his self-described list of "enemies." A feminist, an advocate for reproductive rights for women and equal protection for gay people, I should be boarding up my windows and doors right now, I guess. But I won't. I have known for many years that the darkness in the hearts of Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson was not the work of my vivid imagination. Like the choking debris that hung for days over a great metropolis, the incendiary speech of a petty mind has been clogging the air of our politics and our national vision of "community" in bits and pieces over the last 30 years. In our post-Watergate cynicism, these thieves of hope and faith have pitted one group of decent people against another, encouraging them to believe that their cause was righteous, their tactics justified. Now their strategy, rooted in conceit and arrogance, is foiled. An event of the magnitude they have never seen (outside of a movie theater) has had almost exactly the effect nationwide that Hollywood has trained us for. We are turning to each other, not against each other. I asked my 12-year-old son what he thought about all the flags that were flying Saturday all over Hillsborough and Chapel Hill. He said that people do this for a reason. "They want to show that they will not give in to fear and chaos." I am bested again. We elect to remain a society of institutions and systems, not of chaos and anarchy. We show these beliefs systemically. We gather in large crowds, holding hands. We go to church. We are brave in the face of evil.E We are humble. As I read the accounts of my colleagues in their respective columns this past week, I was with them. I could feel the chill of the Connecticut air that I remember from childhood as I read Eric Ferrari's moving account of attending the funeral of his friend's father. I agreed with Neil Offen's Sunday words of confession - nothing seemed funny this week. Nothing. I felt I was with Catherine Wright as she described standing on the UNC campus during a huge demonstration there, along with 10,000 others. I wish I had gone with her, just to give her a hug. Yes, I said demonstration. Calls for peace during a time of war - a tradition on college campuses - are demonstrations. They provide an example of the sheer force of human will. This time, however, that protest element is gone and a golden chance to accept and embrace each other lingers in a cloud of steam and dust. In New York's streets, something has happened. There are no impatient honking horns in traffic. Everyone is less hurried, more focused on each other. There are people hugging and kissing police officers and firefighters, just because of who they are and what they're doing. The most cynical city in the world has embraced its heroes. They won't let go anytime soon. Neither should we. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: Local
PLEASE DON'T SHOOT THE MESSENG ... 09/12/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 09/12/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: newspapers
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Please don't shoot the messenger
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
In the letters to the editor recently, I noticed a complaint from one reader who is also an Orange County school board member. He was griping about a news story he'd read that related to a child pornography case. Let there be no doubt, no one in decent society wants to think about the particulars of cases like this. In that regard, I find agreement with the writer, that reading chapter and verse on such things makes my skin crawl. But David Kolbinsky's letter ignores a fundamental need in decent society to - through institutions of justice and free speech - hold a bright light into the darkest of corners of perversion. This newspaper in particular has kept its content well under control in this story and others like it, either through careful writing of the facts or omission of details that are only gruesome. We (as a newspaper and as a society) cannot continue the conspiracy of silence and shame that has historically protected men who have beaten their wives and children or committed other forms of abuse and continued on in their public roles thinking that their behavior at home was no one's business but their own. "I for one do not even want those images in my mind," writes Kolbinsky. Am I to believe that The Chapel Hill Herald's responsibilities now extend to what images are conjured up in the minds of its readers? That's a pretty awesome expanse. (Image: Grand Canyon) The weight of it is too much for one writer to bear, never mind the news desk or editorial staff, who must articulate the opinion of the news organization as a whole. (Image: Atlas) Still, it's so tempting. What a grand idea. Imagine how many pages of white space will come available when news writers have no more need to concern themselves with the sometimes chilling details surrounding murders, the causes of car crashes or other weighty matters. Certainly future coverage of any remembrances of the Holocaust are off limits and no need to worry about annoying coverage of the Middle East or AIDS. And what about those tender younger readers? asks Kolbinsky. Indeed, what about them? If the newspaper's job is to never shock, provoke or embarrass anyone, we don't need to worry about younger readers. We won't have any. If a kid from Orange County disappears and is feared to have been the victim of foul play, mum's the word. It might be too upsetting to someone, somewhere, somehow. Last week, an Orange County teen left home and apparently vanished. According to news reports, her distraught father searched her bedroom, looking for clues and discovered that she had set up a Web page featuring a somewhat provocative picture of herself. The Web page describes her as being 17 years old. She is 14. In Kolbinsky's news-gathering world, the local television station would have been more thoughtful and considerate of the images in his mind upon seeing this teen-ager's photo. In my world, however, it was worse. It was more shocking. In my world, my 12-year-old son came in while the story was on and said that Nikki was in his algebra class last year. As a parent, I appreciate that shock. So should Kolbinsky. That shock reminds me of the fragility of being a young teen-ager. It reminds me to watch, to listen and to be compassionate toward young Nikki's father. When a terrible crime is revealed in this community, and regrettably, we have had our share, it is the responsibility of this newspaper (and the others with whom we compete) to get the facts, get them right and (if possible) get them quickly to our readers. Perhaps parents who read about pornographers and what they specifically do, how they do it and what depths they sink to, will understand that supervising their children while they use the Internet is a matter of personal responsibility and individual safety. Perhaps "seeing" those terrible images in our own minds will help us to understand better how to better protect all our children at school and at home. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
CHANGE, BUT NOT REALLY DIFFERE ... 09/05/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 09/05/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: television programs
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Change, but not really different
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
As I am still trying to get over the departure of Captain Kangaroo from the airwaves, I may not be the best person to ask about Fred Rogers' recent retirement. I stood in line with dozens of mothers of young children a couple of years ago to meet Bob Keeshan - the captain. When I held out my copy of his book to sign - for my younger son; sure, believe it - I told him how much I enjoyed his program as a kid. He said, "Oh, thank you, ma'am." Sigh. It may have been a mistake to go. How rude of him to accuse me of being a grown-up and using that voice from my childhood to do it. It was like drinking eggnog and hearing your parents talk about the stunts they've pulled on the evening of Dec. 24. Unfair. Unfair! If it was a mistake, it was all mine. I can admit these things. Last week, I made mention, for example, of Elizabeth Dole having graduated from Duke School of Law. Carol Dahm, who works for the school, was kind enough to correct me on that point. Had I said she was a Duke grad, that would have been right, but Dole's undergraduate degree bears the Duke crest, her law degree is from Harvard. I thanked Dahm for her polite correction and said I hoped she doesn't take any real offense at the fun I poke at her employer for time to time. It's due to my pale blue blood, I explained. She was most gracious and understanding. It's just part of the Triangle territory. WUNC radio's general manager has been similarly understanding about the local passions lately. Joan Siefert Rose has been getting an earful lately about the station's change in format, which began on Labor Day. By reading some of the impassioned rants about the change in the local press, you'd expect Hinton James to walk down Franklin Street any day now to protest the outrageous decision. This was a decision to make a change, to try something different. It was the choice to get up off the laurels of one of the best public radio stations in the United States and do something slightly different in serving its listeners. I searched my own listening habits to find an answer on this tumultuous issue. I flossed my teeth while listening to Car Talk on Saturday morning and nearly choked on the string as I listened in on a caller named Jeannie who was talking about her brake problem. She was absolutely certain that her mechanic and her coworkers were wacko when they told her that using the hand brake or braking while backing up would adjust her brakes, which she thought were wearing improperly. She called hosts Tom and Ray for a "dope slap" if she was wrong about her dismissal of such claims, as she respects their expertise. She has an automatic transmission after all and never uses that brake. They corrected her thinking, just short of dope-slapping her. It turns out that, in fact, using the parking brake activates the adjustment mechanism. I wasn't the caller, but I could have been. I have the same problem with my car, and I couldn't wait to run out in the driveway and give their remedy a try. It worked. As I was out driving around an hour or so later, thrilled with my repair, I did pretty well on the "Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me" news quiz, the perfect radio show for a news junkie like me. Later that evening, we were out on an anti-boredom quest that landed us in the parking lot of the Krispy Kreme in Raleigh. We sat drinking coffee and eating doughnuts, listing to Garrison Keillor tell us all the news from Lake Wobegon, a place much like Chapel Hill in that all the children are above average. All the while, I thought of how Rose was being criticized for wanting to help the station evolve. To do this, it has discontinued the play of classical music. That's all. Rose hasn't hired a pair of rednecks to put their ignorance on display and glorify intolerance. She hasn't abandoned the station's commitment to serving the local community during emergencies like Hurricane Fran. During that event, we listened to WUNC a lot, and it wasn't for more Mozart. Rose is doing what is hard and what is necessary. She is taking a great thing and trying to make it better. In our pale blue lust to be the best, our community owes the station we love a chance to do what our kids do - to grow and evolve into something we will love more. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
HOW TO SPEAK 'NONSPEAK' ... 08/29/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 08/29/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Elections; Residency; Rules
Illustration: Photo: Jean BolducPhoto: SUBMITTED PHOTO, The signs pictured hang in the beer and wine section of Carrboro's Harris Teeter store to welcome back returning UNC students, most of whom are not old enough to legally purchase alcohol.
How to speak 'nonspeak'
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
Fellow citizens (whatever that means): Following the example of Elizabeth Dole, I've decided to run for the U.S. Senate, representing the state of Connecticut, where I was born. I will change my voter registration to the town of Manchester later this year. My mother has a one-bedroom apartment there, which I will list as my residence. In short, if Elizabeth Dole can vote in North Carolina, then I can vote in and run for the Senate from Connecticut. That tugging on your leg is just me having a little fun, although the 2000 elections should have taught all of us that the legitimacy of voting is no laughing matter. We deserve deceptions like Dole's "I live in Salisbury" hoax when we accept the "nonspeak" that we encounter in public life and public policy. This is not behavior that's just limited to the dullards in Washington who cannot correctly define those entangling words like "is" and "relationship" and "resident." Of course, we expect better from Dole, a Duke law graduate, but that's another story. "Nonspeak" is something we have plenty of right here in our corner of the Southern part of heaven. To find it, you need travel no further than the Carrboro Harris Teeter. Every fall, that store puts up a banner that, if it were as truthful as my declaration, would cause such a stir that it would cripple the store and shut it down. It would read, "Welcome Back Underage Drinkers - Here's how to get away with your illegal purchase." Of course, it doesn't say that. It reads, "Welcome Back Students" and "Go Tar Heels" in very large letters. In the fine print it states, "Thanks for Drinking Responsibly." Two banners nearby read, "We have a policy to card each member of your party when you buy alcohol." All of the signs bear the Budweiser logo. The "Welcome Back" sign bears three beer logos. They are all displayed in the beer and wine section of the store. The problems here are bigger than Gary Condit's legal bill. First, the store's boldly stated policy - that sign also is provided by Bud - is baloney. My husband, 12-year-old son and I shopped at the store Sunday. No one asked me or my son for identification. No doubt the store would say that doing so would be silly. The policy isn't meant for parents and their middle-school-age children, but that's not what the policy says. The store has no right to demand identification of people who are not attempt-ing to purchase alcohol anyway, but if it's going to claim it does, it must be consistent. Policies that are ignored or select-ively enforced are worthless, and I'll bet that Budweiser is well aware of that. More to the point is the nonspeak attempt being made here. Harris Teeter is blatantly communicating that it is well aware that underage drinkers will tend to designate one of-age drinker to make the buy for a group. To be sure, the store is not responsible for those illegal transactions that occur out there in the world. The nonspeaking signs, however, are a not-exactly-saying-so road map that facilitates underage drinking. Other groceries simply post at the cash register a small sign that reads, "If you appear to be under 30, we will ask you to produce identification when buying alcohol." That's a proper policy, kept in its proper place. Harris Teeter's Welcome Back Students signs are not dangling from the ceiling at the store on Airport Road near I-40. One wonders why Budweiser only welcomes the return of students who shop in Carrboro and not those at stores at Chapel Hill North and Durham. Was it something we said? Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Credit: Submitted photo
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: Local
LEAVE THE DIAGNOSIS TO DOCTORS ... 08/22/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 08/22/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Learning disabilities; Schools; Teachers
Illustration: Photo: Jean Bolduc
Leave the diagnosis to doctors
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
A few years ago, when I dropped my son off at school, his science teacher approached me in the parking lot. He had to talk to me about the dreadful problem that my child was having in his class, he said. "He's having trouble paying attention," he said. I told him that if my then-10-year-old was not behaving well, I certainly apologized for his speaking out of turn or being disrespectful to him. I promised to speak to him about it after school. No, no, he explained. It's not that. "I think it's chemical," he said. He urged me to have my son see his pediatrician and get to the drugstore. That this man did not walk away with a limp is a tribute to my commitment to nonviolence. I told him that I was somewhat familiar with the training that science teachers have, but I didn't recall hearing that he had been to medical school. "And even if you had been to medical school," I said, my voice rising, "I don't recall hiring you as a physician." I explained to him that this child he was referring to was one who would sit and read reference material for 90-minute stretches. Children with attention deficits don't typically behave that way. Regardless, I said, the fact is that this child can and does concentrate with laser-like precision when he's interested. I suggested that he reevaluate the curriculum he was offering and stop practicing medicine without a license. This week Phil Kirk, the chairman of the North Carolina Board of Education, said he thinks that teachers can and should nudge parents to have their children evaluated for medical management of behavioral problems at school. Baloney. I had distinct advantages in seeing through my son's meddling teacher. I had home-schooled this child for a couple of years and was very well aware of his attention span and capacity to squirm when things were moving too slowly. Also, I have the luxury of a flexible home-based work schedule that allows me to drop off and pick up my son at school every day. That means that I get the first and freshest answer to the "what did you do today?" question. I know what classes are good and which ones stink by my son's take on things. This particular teacher's class stunk. "It's boring. I already know that stuff" was the answer. Most of us see teachers as professional figures, to be respected and adhered to when they're making somber sounding recommendations all in the name of "what is best for your child." Most parents would listen to a teacher saying "your child isn't paying attention in class and I think there's this scientific basis that isn't his fault, or yours or mine." Many of us would rather ignore the fact that our kids fidget and get into trouble at school but don't exhibit this behavior all summer long. To a person with real attention deficit, reading a whole chapter of a book in one shot can be an agony. Likewise, making a model airplane can be a clinic in frustration. These problems are not school-specific when they are real. Parents have every right to see teachers as experts in children's behavior. They are professionals - licensed professionals. They have the state's endorsement that they can be believed and trusted in matters of education and in protecting the health and safety of children. Teachers are legally responsible for reporting suspected child abuse or neglect. When they flit around implicitly making medical findings, they should at least become unemployed and at best become unlicensed. In this context, it doesn't see so bizarre that some states are considering laws like the one that will go into effect in October in Connecticut. It soon will be illegal for a teacher to initiate a discussion with a parent wherein the teacher suggests that the parent ask the child's doctor for a prescription for Ritalin or other attention deficit medication. It's a gag order, pure and simple. It's a way that the state can use the heavy hand of the law to come down hard on its licensees and say, "Stay in line, no talking, eyes forward, please." Like most gag orders, this effort will probably fail. There are many ways to convey this information without saying so directly. It will only be the force of parents pushing back that will end it. In my case, my complaint to the school brought an explanation from the teacher that he was "only giving friendly advice, like a neighbor talking over the fence in the back yard." Right. Same thing. Except for the friendly part (unsolicited advice is never "friendly"), the neighbor part (neighbors don't hold power over your children the way teachers do) and the over-the-fence part, suggesting a chance meeting, lacking deliberation or planning. Besides, if I ever found that guy in my back yard, I would move. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: Local
SOME THINGS THE SAME AFTER 25 ... 08/15/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 08/15/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: high school reunion
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Some things the same after 25 years
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
Like a song I can't get out of my head, that number - 25 - keeps popping up. When I bought a car a few weeks ago, the salesman asked me whether I was going to my high school reunion. I gave him an odd look. "Your 25th reunion must be this year. Are you going?" he repeated. He had looked at my driver's license and informed me that we are the same age. Since he is on the planning committee for Chapel Hill High School's 25th reunion, he assumed that I must be looking forward to my own. He didn't know that I went to high school in Connecticut, but he assumed from my lack of drawl that I wasn't a North Carolina original. C'mon, ya'll knew that, too. I stammered out an answer to his question but was still in something of a haze about the whole thing. Somehow he made it seem like a real number - like a quarter-century. The other day I was talking to my mother and she was discussing something that my older brother had done and she was dating this to about the time I was born. "Oh, well," she sighed. "No matter, that was 25 years ago." Not really, I explained. "Mom, I've been married almost 24 years, so I don't think you're right about that." On the other end of the phone was that kind of silence that you can actually hear. "What?" she said. I explained that I was about to turn 43, and that my older brother - about to be 48 - was not starting elementary school 25 years ago. After she recovered, we returned to the high school thing. "My 25th reunion will be this fall, Mom," I said. More silence. I know how she feels. Somehow, that number just seems as though it cannot be right, but it is. I've been reconnected recently to some of my classmates, thanks to the Internet. In the last week or two, in fact, I've been e-mailing back and forth with a classmate who I barely knew in high school, although his name and face were just as I remembered when he popped up on my e-mail screen. Jamie Beckett, it turns out, is not the rock star he set out to be. No, his fab life is much better and far more glam than that shoddy profession. Beckett is a pilot. He writes a weekly column for his local newspaper in Central Florida and free-lances for aviation magazines. Since he was a commercial pilot and a flight instructor, I've taken to calling him "certifiable." We've both enjoyed our re-acquaintance over the 'net, and he's been very helpful in drumming up interest among our locatable classmates in building a Web site for our reunion. He wrote quite eloquently in a column about a chance encounter he had in April 1999 at a Florida airport. It was with another 40-ish guy - another pilot who was there to get some more hours of instrument flight experience but was grounded by the local fog. Waiting around for a patch of blue to fly into, the two men struck up a chatty conversation about planes, the object of their mutual affection. Although Beckett had never met this guy, he felt they had grown up together. It was John Kennedy Jr. My 19-year-old son was explaining to my 12-year-old son recently how college is different from K-12. Everyone has gone through all that "stuff," he said. Bad skin, rejection, love, loss, victory, defeat and, hopefully, awakening. Once you're in college, he said, you realize how alike you are, and you're more interested in that. Pretty smart, that kid. I've had no contact with any of these people for more than 20 years. As we try to plug back in after all this time, it's clear that we know little about each other, but we're all more interested in what brings us together than in what has separated us - time and carelessness. And most of what has separated me from several particular people is the lack of information needed to find them. It seems that the older sister of one of my best girlfriends from high school lives in Hillsborough and just a very few miles from me. I've written and haven't heard back from her yet, but I'm nearly positive I have found the right person, right down the street. As I've caught up in more depth with one or two people, we've shared stories of losing parents and other brushes with serious illness. That makes 25 look like a big number. Even so, we're forging ahead. I dread hearing that someone among our group is no longer of this Earth. With a class of more than 450, that seems likely. If not one of us, it will be a beloved teacher, for we were blessed with many of those. My job as the group's Webmaster, however, is to keep everyone in touch and to retain my crown by keeping it light. I was duly elected Glastonbury High School's class clown in 1976, and no one is taking that rubber nose away from me. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
THEY'RE OFF! IT'S A RACE IN CA ... 08/08/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 08/08/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: elections; campaigns
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
They're off! It's a race in Carrboro
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
My phone rang Thursday night and Stacy Smith was on the other end. "I'm thinking of running for mayor," she said. Since she is a resident of Carrboro and the honorable Mayor Mike Nelson was looking down the barrel of his second straight unopposed election cycle, Smith felt a civic urge to jump into the race. By way of disclosure, I am compelled to explain that I know Nelson and Smith in similar ways. I served on the Human Relations Commission with Mike Nelson in the late 1980s, when he was a baby and I was having a baby. I met Smith three years ago when she and I began serving on a steering committee that transitioned into the board of directors of the Alliance of AIDS Services-Carolina. I left the board a few months ago. We don't have dinner together. We don't go to each other's homes to play bridge, but we've worked together on causes we care about. Carrboro is going to get herself a good mayor - either way. Smith's call got me thinking about the learning curve of being a newcomer to politics, so I thought I'd offer these do's and don'ts to all those who are seeking local office this fall. * Do stop by a meeting or two and say hello to the incumbents in person. Those are the people who are staying up late at night, making decisions that no one will thank them for and everyone will feel free to criticize. They are asking the voters to give them this sleepless privilege again, but don't hold that against them. Meeting the incumbents and seeing that they work hard will make it easier for challengers to focus on the issues and not the people - and that's what voters want. After all, if you're successful, you'll be the incumbent next time. Nelson once told me that the best advice his mother gave him was this: "What Peter says about Paul says more about Peter than it does Paul." It's good advice. * Do go to community watering holes and talk to the people. Hold "office hours" weekly from now till November. Eat while you're there. If your mother raised you right, when you're mouth is full, you can only listen. * Do write a guest column for The Chapel Hill Herald, Orange County's only daily newspaper, and introduce yourself to voters in your own words. Talk about the future. * Do realize that you are never going to read a news story that you are quoted in that is exactly to your liking. * Do keep your sense of humor. Try not to take things personally or make them personal when they come from you. Compliments are the only exception. * Don't delay getting your hands on and studying the documents you need in order to run a good campaign. Get your hands on the adopted 2001-02 budget that your board will be operating under. Get the Capital Improvement Plan - if applicable - and any other pertinent planning documents. There is a treasure chest of political history in the adopted plans of various boards. * Do be a high-achieving student of history - especially the history you want to avoid repeating. * Don't delay in stopping by to meet the key personnel who run the administrative arms of local government. Wear out your shoes. Go to these people. Buy them a cup of coffee. Eat something. Listen. No lobbying. Did you notice the repetition of "eat something" in this advice? This is why politicians gain so much weight. The only way they can stop talking to voters and listen to them is to eat. That leads me to ... * Do get regular exercise, a good night's sleep and take care of yourself. * Don't get worn out by cynics or the fever of the process. If you're really in this to win, you need to be standing and ready to jump in and get to work if you win. Inspired by Smith's sense of civic duty, I've set up a discussion site at http://BIZWEBS.NET, a Web site of mine. Do go there and visit the "Virtual Orange County Town Square" where you can post your positions, respond to questions and ask some questions of your own. The site does not require any membership and is not littered with advertisements - it's just plain free, and all non-libelous opinions are welcome. Let the games begin! Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
TASK FORCE SHOULD STAY ON TASK ... 08/01/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 08/01/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: schools; task force
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Task force should stay on task
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
The Orange County school board recently appointed a 24-member task force to try to find some "outside-the-box" means of funding a budget shortfall of over a million dollars. These are presumed to be 24 people with various perspectives on whether or how the district got to the point of needing this money and a variety of ideas on how governments can generate revenue. This diversity is a given and a critical necessity in creating a citizen panel that will be effective in its task. The task, in this case, was presumably not kept secret from these folks; many of them have been actively supporting the Orange County schools for a decade or more. And so, they signed on, agreeing to the charge they were given - to identify a variety of ways that the district could come up with $1.2 million. They signed on, until they got down to the actual meeting. According to Saturday's Chapel Hill Herald story, the task force convened only to have at least one of its members start out by questioning the need for the group to fulfill its charge at all. "Before we can look at other funding possibilities, we need to determine if the present level of funding is sufficient," Craig Benedict told his colleagues. When he's not derailing this task force, Benedict is the planning director for the Orange County government. On day one, meeting one, an Orange County government official steps in the middle of the action and suggests that maybe these 24 people don't need to be here at all. Maybe the schools can just limp along until next year. Many parent-volunteers wouldn't feel qualified to question Benedict's analysis of the budget and must have been wondering what hit them. Maybe he's right, but he sure picked a "winning ugly" strategy to prove it. If Benedict doesn't believe in the premise of the task force's work, he should leave the group to its work, then lobby the school board to reject whatever recommendations come forward. There are two school board members co-chairing that group - Bob Bateman and Dana Thompson. Again, their well-known disagreement on the issue of taxes is not inherently a problem, but can be a bridge to an answer that everyone can support. Their responsibility, in the words that teachers are so fond of using, is to keep that group "on task." If Benedict stops up the drain further, they should remove him from the group. That's their job as co-chairs, and they should be held accountable to do it. Ironically, I have more agreement than disagreement with Benedict's concerns. This, however, is an issue of process and inherent fairness to the 23 other people who volunteered to serve on a citizen panel to try in good faith to solve a clearly identified problem. If you just plain don't believe that the problem exists, what are you doing there? And what would possess Benedict to imagine that this task force would be empowered to review the entire school district's budget in order to question the basis for the committee's charge? What if they find five programs that they think are worthless and should be eliminated, adding up to exactly $1.2 million in savings? Presto! Problem solved ... right? Wrong. There's the small matter of public hearings on the budgets adopted by elected officials. That process was duly conducted and it is over. Benedict is a county government employee. He knows this as well or better than anyone in Orange County. *** Finally, a correction from last week's column in which I thanked Insurance Commissioner Jim Long for "just saying no" to a rate increase sought by the insurance companies that write automobile coverage in North Carolina. The commissioner himself was kind enough to write me last Wednesday and explain that, in fact, he has not turned down the increase - at least not yet. He has taken the extra step of scheduling a September hearing to allow the companies an opportunity to justify their request, which he has described as excessive. Long's correspondence was a refreshing breeze of good information and sheer civility. Polite, to the point and just plain cheerful - you'd hardly guess it came from a top official in state government. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
THIS WEEK'S MIXED BAG OF GOING ... 07/25/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 07/25/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: local news
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
This week's mixed bag of goings-on
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
In the news business, they'd call this a "roundup" - a sort of laundry list of little things, none of them big enough for a whole story. I'm hopeful that it's also like clearing the cobwebs out of my brain. I was thrilled to read in Monday's Chapel Hill Herald that John Herrera plans to file to run for the Carrboro Board of Aldermen. The founder of La Fiesta del Pueblo will bring a breath of fresh air to the election process and - win or lose - will have contributed to the resulting mandate for the new board. Herrera is so well thought-of that several of the current aldermen may have trouble deciding for whom they wish to vote. Equally, I was saddened to read that Catherine DeVine withdrew from the race, although I can understand why. Being a really successful volunteer is an energizing part of being a good citizen. It's a difficult decision to give that up to take on the burden of being an elected official. Still, DeVine is a charming woman and an excellent writer. If her decision means she's got more time to collaborate with me on the behind-the-scenes history of Carrboro, all the better. On another front, I suffered two losses last week, each devastating to my lifestyle. On Monday evening, an odor began flowing from my kitchen that didn't make much sense. It was the smell of something burning - something plastic. Yuck. I turned the dishwasher off and checked to see whether a plastic cup had fallen down and was melting inside the machine. No such luck. I turned it back on but found nothing worked, so I cut off the power at the circuit breaker. It's a good thing I did that. The wiring was melting down, as it turns out. Thinking that was my calamity for the week, I went up to Hillsborough on Thursday afternoon to pick up some water. On the way home, my car's transmission passed away. (Moment of silence.) My kids were in the car with me, and I matter-of-factly pulled out my cell phone, which I never seem to remember to charge. My son Brian nags me about this all the time - especially after he's tried to reach me without success. My phone had about 12 seconds of battery left in it. Brian handed me his phone. "Tsk, tsk, Mom. When will you ever learn?" he asked. You can only talk to your mother like that when you are sooooo right. He was. I am informed that my vehicle will require a tranny transplant. Yes, another Ford will have to die so that mine might live. Buying a new car is, for me, on the same thrill level as getting a root canal, without the health benefit and painkillers. We spent Friday evening and basically the whole weekend looking at cars. Ugh. For my husband, Tarzan the bargain hunter, this is much more fun. The tire-kicking, hood-popping, price-dropping car shopping is something that he probably would do for a living if he could. This always benefits me, of course. I just hate it when I'm in the middle of it. If it were left to my sense of value and convenience, the first thing I drive that actually moves would look good to me. I got a nice little red not-too-expensive car. I'm happy. I tell it to "drive" and it moves forward. I'm very happy. And as the voice of just one driver may not count for much, I offer with humility my thanks to N.C. Insurance Commissioner Jim Long, who rejected the efforts of insurance companies, most of which are not based in this state, to raise their rates on North Carolinians. Long said he thought the requested increase of 10.6 percent was based on methodologies that appeared - based on the Rate Bureau's filing - to be "excessive and unfairly discriminatory." I expect that I'm not the only driver with a clean record who agrees with him. Finally, congratulations to the PTA Thrift Shop on its upcoming 50th anniversary! Begun by the Art Guild in 1952, there surely will be a substantial recognition of the upcoming golden anniversary of a great idea - the best application of recycling to date. I wonder whether they have any automatic transmissions. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
WHAT'S HAPPENED TO PUBLIC SERV ... 07/18/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 07/18/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Local politics; Elections; Candidates; Apathy
Illustration: Photo: Jean Bolduc
What's happened to public service?
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
Like so many, I've been watching the coverage of the Chandra Levy case, in which an intern who now is a missing person was discovered to have engaged in an affair with her congressman. Those are about the only known facts in the case of the missing 24-year-old Levy, and the rest of the speculation and theory is best left to others. How the politics of morality plays out fascinates me. Senate Minority Leader Trent Lott, R-Mississippi, indignantly stated that if, in fact, Rep. Gary Condit, D-California, did have an affair with Levy, he should resign his seat in Congress. The key words in Lott's statement - those that lifted me off my chair - came as Lott referred to Levy as "a young girl." What hogwash. At 25 she could become a member of Congress, but at 24 and a college graduate, Levy is a "young girl." That, of course, is the patronizing senator's effort to bring embarrassing focus to Condit being nearly 30 years older than Levy - more than old enough to be her father. As they were with our dallying president three years ago, surely the facts - very similar facts regarding the affair - are more than embarrassing enough, aren't they? Must we make Levy a lamb in order to see Condit as a wolf? Whether Condit's faithful to his wife is between the two of them. But his deceit in a potentially criminal matter justifies the news coverage. Like so many, though, I'm just aghast at the sheer slime in stories like these and find so much to be thankful for in our local political scene. In the last weeks we've seen that Carrboro's mayor and aldermen whose terms are up all will be seeking re-election. Mayor Mike Nelson does not yet have a challenger and may wind up running unopposed for the second consecutive term. Is that apathy? Hardly. No one who watches the town regularly could seriously believe that Carrboro is a community asleep at the switch. The town's leaders hold daylong planning meetings to envision the community 20 years into the future and are able to attract nearly 100 residents to attend. For most communities, the draw to such an event would be akin to turning out to watch paint dry. Not in Carrboro. On a March Madness Saturday in 2000, McDougle Middle School's cafeteria was packed. Nelson has been successful as mayor not because everyone agrees with him, but because most believe they can be heard. Nelson and his aldermen colleagues serve the town for the old-fashioned reasons - community pride, a commitment to the next generation, a desire to leave the place better than they found it. In some cases, they are committed to leaving the place very much the same as they found it. It seems that as politics and power moves away from your street and your neighbors, it changes - and not for the better. I interviewed state Sen. Ellie Kinnaird, a former mayor of Carrboro, a few weeks ago for a magazine story I was writing. She told me that the General Assembly is suffering these days. "Public policy is being driven by the campaign industry," she said. Kinnaird had an unlikely ally in that argument - Rep. Russell Capps, a Republican and another of my interview subjects. Both of them said they are deeply concerned about the state's budget crisis and alarmed by the stubborn and politically driven resistance to facing the reality of the budget situation. Everyone's running for cover, they said, when they should be admitting that we need to raise taxes and meet the state's basic needs. Nearly every local board also has had to make those choices and has done so with relatively little posturing. The current composition of the Carrboro Board of Aldermen is a remarkably accurate representation of Carrboro's increasingly diverse interests. Residents want their quality of life, their civil liberties, their physical environment and low-cost housing preserved. Business owners want to be able to grow without swimming in regulatory red tape. And everyone wants a safe and stable community from the perspective of public safety, be that fire or crime. Look at the aldermen and you can find a representative who is an established advocate for any of these issues and often on more than one of them. This is not to say that these folks never disagree. To the contrary, they often disagree as is their job, really. They just don't seem to be interested in the scorched Earth politics that has become so pervasive elsewhere. In the large bodies of government, the representatives often sit far away from their opponents and speak at podiums, physically farther removed from each other. At the Board of Aldermen, the coffee pot is behind the mayor's seat, which is squarely in the middle of the group. If you can't get to that coffee, you may not make it through the meeting, so it's probably best not to get too extreme at any point, lest you'd be cut off from the caffeine. Maybe it's as simple as that. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: Local
REACHING HIGH-SPEED ACCESS, AT ... 07/11/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 07/11/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: computer technology
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Reaching high-speed access, at last
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
According to my children, I have now joined the 21st century. I have at last taken the plunge and secured a high-speed Internet connection at home. It's important to keep this in perspective because it's a way of understanding how old this stuff makes me feel. In 1980 or so, Rick and I bought a Texas Instruments home computer. This product preceded the personal computer. It was nowhere near as powerful as the IBM PC, introduced the next year. The software this machine used was a breakthrough program called "BASIC," which allowed you to write about 100 lines of code to calculate how much 4 x 8 equals. We were very impressed. We first saw this awesome machine at Brendles, which was on U.S. 15-501 where Lowe's is now. We looked at it, as though admiring a new car that we could not afford, and then went across the street to have a cup of coffee and linger over the decision. That's how Rick and I make the big calls - over coffee. Phrases like "I got the job" must be chased with caffeine if they are to be fully enjoyed. I'm serious. I returned to our bedroom (from the bathroom) one morning in May 1981, leaned gently over Rick's shoulder and said, "I'm pregnant" quietly into his ear. His response: "Better make some coffee." After we plunged into the new-tech life with our first computer, the second was only a couple of years away. Then a third, and so on. I'm sure that by now we've easily been through a dozen. When we discovered, sometime in the mid-1980s, that you could get one computer to talk to another, then the fun really began in earnest. I called my younger brother in Connecticut and we talked through all the techno-craziness of getting my computer to call his computer. And so we made the first attempts to connect. The first time I called the house, my mother answered the phone instead of Chris's computer. She was treated to a mind-numbing, ear-fracturing sound. She hung up. My computer called back. This time, my grandfather answered. He heard the same sound. He took the phone away from his ear and adjusted his hearing aid, thinking that this was the source of that terrible sound. It wasn't the source. He hung up. Chris ran around and explained that everyone should ignore the phone ringing for the next few minutes, as we were trying to get the computers to connect. After about 30 tries, with adjustment to start-bits and stop-bits and figuring out the parity, we at last saw those exciting words on screen, "CONNECTED AT 300 BPS." Our hearts soared. We frantically typed cool messages. "Can you believe it?! We finally did it," I wrote. "Yeah, this is really something," he replied. After about 5 minutes of meaningless chatter, we declared that this was costing a fortune, and we hung up. This was way before 5 cents a minute long-distance rates. Now, it's very different, of course, and I just howl to think of that message on my screen (CONNECTED AT 300 BPS). Those days were like Morse code compared to now. I was dialing up and connecting to the Internet at about 26,000 BPS (that's bits per second ... a bit is one of eight ones or zeros that makes up a byte. A byte is a single character, like the "D" in "Dinosaur") Now, we are connecting to the Net at not 300 or 26,000 BPS, but at 1.5 million. You need only see a high-speed connection work to understand how quickly and how easily you just, well, get used to it. Dial up your favorite Web site, the one with lots of pictures and spinning graphics, and it comes up without delay. Click on a link, and presto, you're there. I used to be able to go and pour myself a cup of coffee while waiting for my e-mail to download. No more. I guess I'll have to move the coffeepot closer to my desk. Otherwise, I won't be able to make any big decisions. Seeing what the fast lane looks like does give me an appreciation of the issues this brings about in the area of Internet access, competition and federal regulations. The behemoth Internet service providers like Time Warner-AOL and AT&T would probably like it just fine if we continued to think of the Internet as a plaything and not as a vital utility. The public airwaves (those frequencies used by broadcast television and radio) are regulated for content as they are considered vital to the needs of the masses. In emergencies like hurricanes, we have a need to keep order, find out where we can get ice, fresh water and an appendectomy if needed. But thanks to the batteries in my laptop, I was also able to get e-mail a day after Hurricane Fran. If we think of high-speed access as a necessary utility, like a phone or electricity, then the Federal Communications Commission can ensure that rates stay low and rural communities aren't overlooked for service for lack of profit margin. And so we all stay tuned for the next big breakthrough. My question remains ... if they can do all this stuff, how come they can't get a vacuum cleaner that will clean my floors when I'm not home? Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
NO PLACE LIKE HOME FOR THIS HO ... 07/04/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 07/04/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: holidays
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
No place like home for this holiday
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
I stopped referring to this holiday by its date back in the mid-'80s when I worked for a bank in its marketing department. A woman I worked with ordered those signs that are in the window of every branch when the bank is closed for a holiday. One year, the boxes came in and we checked a sample package to make sure all the dates were right and all the holidays spelled correctly. Then we read the Independence Day sign, which read something like: "We will be closed on Thursday, July 4th for the Fourth of July." I only wish I'd kept one. It still cracks me up. So, Happy Independence Day. My phone rang the other day, and a familiar voice sang out, "Hey, Jean, it's Julie Lewis!" Those who know Lewis will tell you that she has a trademark voice, and it always seems to have a song in it. If you have to hear that the stock market just crashed, try to get Lewis to be the one to break the news - you won't care. I haven't talked to Lewis in a year, as she and her husband, Mark, and son, Max, have been tripping the light fantastic all over the globe since last July. We've communicated via e-mail only, so I've really missed that sound in her voice. Our two families will get together soon and try to catch up on all the news that didn't get printed in the Where's Max series, which was published over the past year in The Chapel Hill Herald. That should be an off-the-record blast. It's an amazing world we live in. The Lewises packed their backpacks and have sent me e-mails and pictures and very, very extensive and detailed journals via the Internet each month. In the coming months, we hope to collaborate on a couple of books - one for grown-ups and one for kids - about the whole experience. We Americans take these electronic conveniences, like our liberty, very much for granted. During their journey, the Lewises learned firsthand just how precious those "creature comforts" can be in an advanced society and outside of one. Finding an Internet connection in Nepal, for example, was not possible. With no power to use their laptop computer in Nepal, we had to wait until the Lewises were in Thailand before they could catch up on their journals. Clean water - now that is an important find. And locating an English-speaking doctor if you need one, that's a necessary things for the American tourist in Nepal. On the up side, the locals probably wouldn't be interested in stealing a CD player or digital camera since they have no nutritional value. Frankly, I was amazed throughout the year that the Lewises, who are not journalists, were able to remember our agreed-to monthly deadlines and always met them. They never missed, never made excuses, although I can easily imagine they wanted to sometimes. The reality of life back in Chapel Hill must have seemed literally a world away. What was never far away, however, was the reason for this journey. Lewis' sudden loss of her 36-year-old brother, Tom, prompted her and her husband to start asking themselves "Why not?" about this dream yearlong trip. The trip was a physical adventure and challenge and an emotional journey to accept and work through the grief of her brother's death, Lewis would write in her journal. Living each moment as it is, not as we wish it could be, was a daily goal for the Lewises, who wanted to bring a sense of meaning to everything they did and saw on their trip. Now that Max and his folks are back, we'll start planning the party to celebrate the triumphant and safe return of our world travelers and give Max a chance to meet the kids who won each month's geography quiz. The Lewises haven't yet held the newspaper stories in their hands, but they have read most of them on the heraldsun.com Web site, which went "on the air" just after the Lewises left on their trip. The fact that they have been so unscheduled for the last year is part of what has made coming home something of a culture shock, Lewis said. They returned to the United States by spending a couple of days in New York City. What were they thinking? Subway schedules, cappuccinos, hurry up, hurry up. That may have been a mistake. Even so, they've otherwise had a knack for great timing. The Lewises hit Montreux, Switzerland, just in time for its famous Jazz Festival. They left Israel just before the fighting broke out that caused the State Department to urge Americans not to travel there. They were in Cannes, France, for a day or two of its famous film festival and spent a serene Memorial Day at Normandy - the ultimate site for that holiday. Max enjoyed summer in the land down under - the Aussies call it Oz - romping on the beach on Christmas and New Year's days. From the fictitious land of Oz, even Dorothy and Toto learned their most important lesson about seeking your heart's desire beyond your back yard - there's no place like home. It's good to have you back, Max. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
WAKE UP, THAT'S COFFEE YOU SME ... 06/27/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 06/27/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: schools; budget
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Wake up, that's coffee you smell
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
When my son was injured at school this year, I called my husband at work and left a message for him to call me back immediately. Robert had sustained a serious leg fracture, as it turned out, and he required surgery to repair the damage. Still, I didn't use the word "emergency" when I called Rick. I reserve the use of the word "emergency" for situations that warrant it, and I had a fairly good sense of control in getting Rob to the doctor expeditiously. To my way of thinking, an emergency is a Hurricane Fran word. It means that when you hear it, all assumptions of routine are cancelled. It means pull over - there's a fire. When I read in Monday's paper that the Orange County Schools are considering using their fund balance to make their budget for next year, I noticed that Superintendent Randy Bridges used the e-word in describing the dire straits that the district is in. "In an emergency, you look for anything that can help you, and we are in an emergency situation now," Bridges said. The school district, which has not seen fit to insist on the creation of a progressive district tax over the last decade while its population was steadily growing, is now in its self-made bed of nails, but it is not facing an emergency. Lest you think I nit-pick over words to be overly critical, consider this. By using that word, the board and the administration sets the public relations stage for not only dipping into its contingency funds, but in making themselves appear reluctant and heroic in doing so. The budget shortfall doesn't mean that the district cannot meet its basic needs, it means it cannot grow at the rate it wishes. It means that Bob Bateman, who has opposed a special district tax since the dawn of time, will have to finally sit down at the negotiating table and build a tax package that he can live with. Then, he will have to bite his lip and explain the need to voters. He will point out that raising taxes should not be the only answer. He will be right. Since the district is in a management crisis, it should manage its way out of some of it. If you take Bridges at his word (this really is an emergency), then these measures are all the more appropriate. Rather than balancing the situation on the backs of students, I suggest that the administration step to the plate and earn its pay. Before any classroom is affected, every central office administrator should take a 10 percent pay cut. You can try to dismiss such an action as merely symbolic, but if you're going to tell voters that they must look at new taxes, this would be a way of demonstrating responsible leadership in forcing the system to live within its means. Then, and only then, they can take on the task of changing the "means" side of the balance sheet. Naturally, the top dogs in the administration will be against such a measure, calling it short-sighted or claiming that it politicizes the very real needs of students. When throngs of teachers who make $30,000 a year are protesting the idea of central office cuts, we'll know that they're really the wrong thing to do. I will venture a guess, however, that most classroom teachers think that salaries in excess of $70,000 for administrators are out of line - not with what the jobs are worth, but with what the district can currently afford. Much like the struggle between the towns of Carrboro and Chapel Hill, the Orange school district must compete with her southern neighbor for workers in one of the most expensive places to live in the United States. Competing with Chapel Hill for teachers and administrative staff while building facilities on almost equally expensive real estate is simply not achievable without a special district tax. Ten years ago, when New Hope Elementary opened, we all knew that the Orange County school district was growing, and doing so rapidly. It would be a refreshing change in the public debate to see the school district's leadership, both board members and administrators, focus not on how their heads came out of the sand, but instead to look around at the reality in which they find themselves and take responsibility for the course corrections that are plainly necessary. But it doesn't end there. A decade ago, we were promised zero-based budgeting - a process through which every budget line-item must be justified to the school board - every single year. Such an approach is the path to fiscal responsibility and academic accountability as well. Programs that cannot clearly demonstrate their effectiveness should be cut. Period. And that ("just saying no") is what we elect school board members for. Addition is every politician's favorite math operation. Nobody likes subtraction. A teacher friend recently offered an easy solution to the sacred cow problem of school system budgeting. Let Ann Arbor, Mich., do our budget, he said, and we'll do theirs. Sounds like a plan. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
WHO'S WATCHING THE STOPLIGHTS? ... 06/20/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 06/20/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Traffic lights; Cameras; Traffic violations; Privacy
Illustration: Photo: Jean Bolduc
Who's watching the stoplights?
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
A Hillsborough woman recently got a traffic citation in the mail, providing her with photographic evidence that she had run a stop light in Charlotte. It's pretty compelling evidence - you can probably see the red light and the car's license plate. But for the fact that this was someone else's car and the Orange County resident wasn't anywhere near Charlotte that day, she might have paid the ticket. Those of us who are of a certain age recall that George Orwell's novel "1984" was a futuristic story of a government gone mad, intruding into the lives of individuals via advanced technology. Orwell's description of government as "big brother" has become the signature term for such intrusive oversight. So powerful and so dreaded is that idea, the very prospect of the government placing cameras in public places causes a knee-jerk of caution and review. Liberty is rarely stolen outright, so it's proper to protect it inch by inch. As communities in our area consider the installation of stoplight traffic cameras, the ruminations of "big brother" already are under way. There is clear evidence that the cameras give drivers pause when it comes to running yellow lights that are just tingeing toward red. They also provide their municipalities with a significant level of income, thanks to a compliant public that finds a picture to be worth a $50 ticket - and probably 1,000 colorful metaphors. Consider the safety issue. Some 85 percent of accidents occur on local roads, not interstate highways. Among those accidents, the majority are likely to occur at intersections - the most dangerous place on the road. Imagine the benefit of a photographic record of a drunken driver running a light, killing a pedestrian and speeding away. In the trauma of such a situation, eyewitness accounts can vary wildly, if there are any witnesses at all. Back to the big brother argument, the hand-wringing is all about the expectation of privacy. When the Supreme Court recently decided that use of thermal imaging could constitute an unreasonable search, it made one of its first decisions in the area of technological intrusion into privacy. With Justice Antonin Scalia writing the majority opinion, the court decided technology that can "see" through walls is something that makes it too easy for police to "fish" for evidence without probable cause. In the 5-4 decision, the court entered the 21st century with a good call. The privacy of one's garage however is not the same as the sense of privacy that we perceive while driving a car. People do amazing and often embarrassing things while driving, sometimes seemingly oblivious to the fact that you can see in through that windshield as well as out of it. But when I am driving my car, I am not in private. I enjoy the public scrutiny of the Web cams that are placed at the intersection of Franklin and Columbia streets, for example, and try to remember to wave when I pass through. Those cameras allowed my family in four states to watch our 20-inch snowfall accumulate. It's too bad that they didn't catch a view of the knuckleheads who rolled that car after Carolina beat Duke last winter. No one seems concerned about the loss of privacy presented by the Web cams that monitor the traffic on Interstate 40. They've certainly kept me from being late to meetings more than once. I wouldn't think of driving to Raleigh now without checking them first, especially when I'm trying to catch a plane. Those cameras, however, are owned by a local television station, so they don't represent the big, bad government collecting evidence. Or do they? Isn't the government as entitled to use the Internet as anyone else? Perhaps we'll know more when one of those Web cams captures a road rage incident and it's available live on the Internet. It wasn't a government camera that snapped a picture of the last 50,000 people who robbed banks, convenience stores or automated teller machines at the mall. I don't recall any screams of big brother or loss of liberty the last time a mugger was captured on videotape by an ATM's security camera. In fact, you should smile virtually everywhere you shop, because you're being photographed nearly everywhere you spend your hard-earned cash. Many department stores include their dressing rooms in their security sweep, so be sure you wear clean underwear - it's not just for car accidents anymore. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: Local
YOUNG ATHLETES LOVING THEIR GA ... 06/13/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 06/13/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: athletics
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Young athletes loving their games
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
Tomorrow afternoon, Tiger Woods will step onto the first tee of the men's U.S. Open golf championship. He likely will rip it down the fairway, perhaps hitting only his three-wood, about 300 yards. Woods has so dominated his sport that all the competition is thought to be for second place. A week ago in Las Vegas, odds were posted for the event. Woods' odds to win were 1:1. At 25, Woods has barely seen over the horizon in the dawn of an athletic career that easily could span 40 years. Woods' mental discipline, personal dignity, respect for the history of his sport and his fresh, African-American face have transformed the image of the game of golf. During the recent U.S. Women's Open, someone interviewed Peggy Kirk Bell, owner of Pine Needles Lodge and Golf Club, about the development of women's golf. She was asked which player had most influenced the recent growth in women's golf. She answered without hesitation - "Tiger Woods." Kids who perhaps never considered golf a cool sport - including my own - have grabbed some clubs and started swinging because they think that Woods is a cool guy. But golf courses aren't as friendly to kids and teen-agers as they could be. The golf teams at the Chapel Hill-Carrboro high schools were recently given the heave-ho by Finley Golf Course - no more free rounds for them. I'm hopeful that Hillsborough's Occoneechee Golf Club will step in and help those teams out. Better yet, Finley officials should reconsider their decision. This got me thinking about Hillsborough's efforts to plan its future. With so much unforested land in the northern half of the county, the area just cries out for the development of some junior courses - downsized for kids. What fun! Surely there's a farmer with 20 acres to spare for six practice holes - two par threes, two par fours and two par fives. Perfect! Add a putt-putt and a driving range with some prizes if you hit a target, and you've got a viable business, not just a gift to the county. And while we're planning the Hillsborough Golf Center, throw in a couple of Orange County red clay tennis courts. You can get the soil from my yard! Wimbledon has its famous strawberries and cream, and so will we - strawberries from Sykes Berry Patch and cream from Maple View Farms. My mouth is watering already. Speaking of tennis, last Saturday, I watched the women's championship match in the French Open tennis tournament. In a breathtaking display of sheer determination, Jennifer Capriati became the first American woman since Chris Evert - who worked as a commentator for the match - to win the clay court championship. Admittedly not playing her "A" game, Capriati had to manage the match after losing the first set. Serving poorly, making unforced errors, she continued to try to play her own aggressive game. The third set was an epic struggle, the longest in the history of the event. The French Open doesn't use a tie break in the last set, so they had to play it out until one player had won the set by two games. Capriati finally defeated Belgium's 18-year-old Kim Clijsters 12 games to 10 - roughly the equivalent of two sets. After the Australian Open, this was Capriati's second victory in a major this year. As with Tiger Woods, the talk over the summer will be about the possibility of a Grand Slam for Capriati. She, too, is 25 years old, but on Capriati, it has looked more like a quarter century. Like Woods, she was a gifted and brilliant young athlete. She reached the semi-finals at the 1990 French Open when she was only 14. Unlike Woods, she went through a period of terrible turbulence as a teen-ager. She left the tour in 1993 to relieve "burnout." There was a drug arrest in 1994. She returned to the tour, but Capriati's play and personal life were not ready for prime time. She was dismissed in the early rounds of the 1996 French Open. In a Florida restaurant a few days after the loss, Capriati threw a punch, intended for her boyfriend, but delivered to a waitress. More recently, her struggle has been much more one with the cameras and the glare of having her personal embarrassments put back under the microscope for the sake of human interest reporting. At one event last year, she tearfully pleaded with the press, asking to be given the chance to get past her own history - not to ignore it, but rather to graduate from it. All of the mess, all of that temptation and personal failure is what made Saturday's achievement so spectacular for Capriati. The longer the match wore on, the more it favored Capriati, whose play was nothing short of a clinic on having the courage to hang on when you're simply not at your best. Watching her Saturday, it was obvious that she has taken control of her tennis and her life, embracing the challenges that both offer. The gleeful thing to watch in Capriati is her reborn love of the game she's playing. She loves her parents for supporting her. And, now at last, she seems to be really comfortable just being 25 years old. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
REMEMBERING D-DAY'S HEROES ... 06/06/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 06/06/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: wars; memorials
Illustration: Photo: Submitted, Max Lewis, of Chapel Hill, visits the American Cemetery in Normandy, France, on Memorial Day. Max has been traveling the world with his family for nearly a year, and this Sunday, the Herald will have the last installment of their journey -- the story of their visit to France, where they picnicked at Normandy and commemorated the American and Allied veterans of World War II.Photo: BOLDUC
Remembering D-Day's heroes
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
Today is the 57th anniversary of one of the most extraordinary human endeavors in our history. On this day in 1944, thousands of allied soldiers hit the beaches of Normandy, France, so that you and I would be free. With every reason to believe their task was impossible, they achieved a multi-faceted, simultaneous burst of war making on the most evil of forces - those who would torture and execute the innocent in an effort to extinguish others they believed to be "inferior." On that costly June day, thousands of American families waited, as they had been waiting, for their sons, husbands, fathers, brothers and uncles to at last come home. On the troop ships in the North Atlantic, the second wave sat floating. They, too, waited - not knowing the outcome of the massive D-Day landing. They expected to find a terrible body count when they hit that same beach on D-Day plus one - June 7, 1944. My father-in-law, Emmanuel Bolduc, was one of those soldiers. The beaches still red with the blood and bodies of their fallen predecessors, he and his brothers in arms hit the shore to secure that their sacrifice was not in vain. And so, it was not. A Canadian-born, naturalized American, Rick's father was fluent in French and so was a special asset to the American leaders in the field as France was liberated. Over the years, he often would watch one of his favorite movies, "The Longest Day," all about the D-day invasion. "I was there!" he'd say with great enthusiasm, but he never elaborated on the specifics of what he saw or the friends he'd made and lost. My father-in-law's view was typical of his generation. One of the things he was fighting for was for his children to be spared the nightmares of war. It was a burden that he would bear alone and speak of only generally. Among the souvenirs he returned home with were several medals he'd earned and a few things he had retrieved from the bodies of dead Nazis. A knife with a swastika is among those artifacts. He never bragged about having it, but he never discarded it either. This year, on Memorial Day, 9-year-old Chapel Hill resident Max Lewis picnicked at Normandy with his parents, along with many other American tourists. They report it was a lovely day, with beautiful ceremonies and remembrances of the heroic allied forces that terrible day. This Sunday will offer The Herald's last installment of the story of Max's trip around the globe with his parents, Mark and Julie Lewis. That cemetery is a popular spot in France, attracting thousands of visitors every year. Just being there and seeing the sheer number of graves is a moving experience. When I visit there, and I will someday - a promise to my father-in-law - I hope I can take in the beauty without being overwhelmed by the epic nature of the place - so many young men, so much promise and such a massive cloud of darkness to fight against overwhelming odds. But prevail, they did, and Rick's father returned to his Connecticut home via the U.S.S. Chapel Hill troop ship, something he reminded us about often after he moved here in 1993. Normandy on that day was part of a world that we spoiled cell-phone yakking, SUV-driving, always-online baby boomers can scarcely fathom - years of separation and sacrifice with only hand-written letters to carry the voice of a husband or father home to his family. At his funeral in January of 1997, the local post of the Veteran's Administration provided a ceremony of military honors for Emmanuel. Although his service qualified him for burial at Arlington Cemetery, he wanted to be back in Newington, Conn. - the home he successfully defended against the ultimate evil. The military contingent consisted of only a few soldiers. They played "Taps" on a bugle. My father-in-law received a three-gun salute. It was a chilly January day made more so by these rituals. The soldiers lifted and meticulously folded the American flag that draped my father-in-law's casket. An officer took the flag, did an about-face and walked with deliberation to Rick's older brother, Ted. Ted served in the Navy during Vietnam. He is the oldest of the three children and the only veteran. "On behalf of the president of the United States and a grateful nation," the officer said, bending over to hand Ted the flag. Ted wept openly, as did we all. And that's as it should be. That's what a grateful nation does. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Credit: Submitted
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
SCHOOL SAFETY BY THE NUMBERS ... 05/30/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 05/30/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: schools; school safety
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
School safety by the numbers
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
I read in last week's paper that there's been reported a "surge" in drug and gang activity at Orange High School. With 17 arrests, up from 12, the school board has responded with expressions of concern and calls for action. In 1993, I attended a meeting of the Orange County task force on school violence. This was essentially a steering committee at the time - a group of school officials and parents appointed by the school board to write a grant application for funding under the new N.C. Safe Schools Act. The grant would provide funding for two or three school resource officers to work in C.W. Stanford and A.L. Stanback Middle Schools and at Orange High School. I went to the meeting and looked through the Request For Proposals (RFP) provided by the Governor's Crime Commission. The group was struggling. They had been given a task to complete as volunteers that was deserving of the full-time attention of a professional staff person within the school system. I went to a second meeting, then a third, at which time I presented the group with a 30-plus page draft grant proposal that I had written, describing a vision of a comprehensive community-based task force to prevent violence. Though I wasn't officially appointed to the steering committee, I was chosen to lead the group, including making its presentation to the school board about a month later. The school board unanimously approved that proposal and did so in two separate votes. One approving the Safe Schools grant application, and a second vote appointed the Safe School Task force, of which I was appointed to be chairwoman. This was done so that we could continue working and apply for subsequent funding, in case the first grant wasn't approved. That fall of 1993, the state of North Carolina made available $1 million for school safety programs. They received over $4 million in grant applications, so many good programs were not funded, including ours. Happily, the grant managers at the state notified us of another program that might also fit our needs, and we applied under that program, modifying the proposal only slightly. In the spring, we were informed that we'd been awarded over $150,000 under that program and the Community Resource Officer program was born. A year later, I worked for the program, as its half-time coordinator under the supervision of the Orange County Sheriff's Department. In October 1995, we conducted a Safe Schools Survey, using an instrument designed by the Governor's Crime Commission. After reading the news story about the Orange County school board's "surprise" and concern about drug and gang activity, I thought I should help refresh the board's recollection on these findings, which were presented to the schools back in 1995. School board members David Kolbinsky, Susan Halkiotis, Keith Cook, Delores Simpson and Bob Bateman were all on that board. There were two surveys - one for school staff and one for students. All teachers and administrative staff at Orange High School and C.W. Stanford Middle School were given the survey the week of Oct. 22, 1995. A.L. Stanback Middle School did not participate in the survey. Nearly half of the Orange High students surveyed (48 percent) said drug activity was a major problem at school. Among Stanford students the number was 47 percent. Regarding gang activity, just over one in four of Orange High and Stanford students said this was a major problem. Among the teachers, the numbers were even more concerning, for various reasons. The staff's perception of the drug-related problems at Stanford varied wildly from those of the students, with only 5 percent describing drug activity as a major problem. Similarly, 5 percent of the C.W. Stanford staff thought that gang activity was a major problem. Chillingly, 32 percent checked the "don't know" box. Through most of the survey, the "don't know" box got response rates of under 15 percent. At Orange High, more than half (53 percent) of the staff said that drug activity was a major problem there and 12 percent said that gang activity was a major problem. Notably, 40 percent said that gang activity was a minor problem. The survey notes that there were a significant number of handwritten notes (by both staff and students) indicating that gang activity was on the rise in 1995. Clearly, the schools should repeat this survey to objectively evaluate whether or not these problems are, in fact, increasing. Drug activity is a serious problem at Orange High School and it will continue to be regardless of the dress code, something the school board may modify to discourage dealing at school. Rolling up one pant leg to buy and the other to sell is the "secret signal" that has long been employed by students. Banning pant legs or enforcing a dress code at that level (Roll down your pants or be suspended!) does little more than invite students to change the signal. Will we next be evaluating whether or not someone intended to have droopy socks or meant something sinister by wearing earrings only on one side of the body? It is the culture that needs attention and the school board's demand on its administration should be a simple charge: Develop a system (like the anonymous hot lines that some schools use) to make it safe, easy and desirable for the law-abiding masses to rat out the druggies, then be accountable for its results. Survey methodology, response rate and the other particulars are outlined in the survey itself. If you'd like a copy, drop me a line. I'm glad to hear that school board member Halkiotis is calling for the re-forming of the community-based task force to monitor these issues. I'm forced to wonder, however, how she and her colleagues justify the committee's four-year hiatus and look forward to the board's explaining that lapse to parents. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
WHERE DID I COME FROM, MOMMY? ... 05/23/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 05/23/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: families
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Where did I come from, Mommy?
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
All this week on the "Today" show, Katie Couric and Matt Lauer will be talking about topics that make for uncomfortable conversation with kids. The mere suggestion brings back a lot of memories - mostly funny, some not. Topic A - sex. There's the old, old joke about little Johnny coming to his parents and asking the age-old question, "Where did I come from?" His parents look at each other nervously, then set up the flip chart and give a 30-minute lecture on human anatomy and the value of waiting until marriage before taking that biggest of big steps. Heaving a collective sigh after the exhaustive effort, the red-faced parents ask the little guy if he has any questions and he replies, "No, I just wondered where I came from. Bobby comes from Ohio." When my brother's wife was pregnant with their first child, our little Brian started asking questions. Partly because of the above anecdote and partly because my father is a lawyer, my approach was to simply answer the question - and be sure I understood what the actual question was. One evening, the three of us were out driving in the family car. With Brian in the back seat and the sun going down, he probed more and more specifically about how the sperm was transported to the egg. I mention the sun going down because, by the time we got to the nitty-gritty questions, it was dark. This was important because, while I felt a little embarrassed, Brian couldn't see that. Eventually, he arrived at the big connect-the-dots questions about what goes where and why people would DO that. To our delight, he accepted the information very matter-of-factly. He was about 4 at the time. A few months later, we were in the middle of a crowded fast-food restaurant over at South Square. A car went by the window that Rick tried to point out to me, but I looked at the wrong one. "The Volvo?" I asked. "No, the Volkswagen," he said. A moment passed and a smile crept across Brian's face as he announced, quite loudly, "My Mommy has a Volvo and my Daddy has a penis!" No one asked if we wanted fries with that, but our order was definitely TO GO. Years later, I went with Brian's fifth-grade class to Bill Clinton's first inauguration. I was a chaperone for a gaggle of his classmates, five girls. As we all settled down to go to sleep the night of the inauguration, the kids were a little wired from the long, exciting day. With the lights out, one thing led to another and the questions started coming. Again, I took advantage of the darkness to shield my embarrassment. I said the appropriate things about the importance of marriage and commitment in a relationship before engaging in intimate relations with another person. We talked about plumbing, about how "the act" really works. Their misinformation about many things was clear, but they had many more facts right than those they were misinformed about. They had many more facts right than their parents would ever have guessed. They had a more accurate picture than many newly married women did 50 years ago about what happened when and why. Again, when it came right down to the very specific information, the reaction cracked me up. Most of the girls were disgusted by the idea that their parents had engaged in this behavior - on purpose. One of them was especially horrified. "My parents have done this THREE times! I have a brother and my mother is pregnant now!" she said. I did take the liberty of going the next step and explaining that their parents had not only done this more than once, but probably did so more than once that week. That's right, I broke the double-secret parents' code and explained that sex is fun. Responding to their shocked and questioning reactions, I elaborated that this is adult behavior and contains elements that they shouldn't expect to understand just yet. It's very personal, I said, and it is meant for adults who really trust and love each other very deeply. That's why, I said, most people think you should make the commitment of being married first. I told the other chaperones the next day what I'd done and told most of the girls' parents, too. Several of them suggested that I start running a "weekend sex-ed camp for pre-teen kids." Later on this week, "Today" will talk about drugs and death as topics to cover with kids. When I broke the news to Brian that his grandmother had died, it was heartbreaking, though not unexpected. She was living here with us and died here in our home. Having the ability to simply tell my kids the unvarnished truth about these topics has made discussions about "easier" things - like how to deal with peer pressure, why some kids at school are mean and what should your major in college be - seem like a walk in the park. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
A CIRCUS WORTHY OF P.T. BARNUM ... 05/16/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 05/16/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Death penalty; Bombings
Illustration: Photo: Jean Bolduc
A circus worthy of P.T. Barnum
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
Today was supposed to be the last day of Timothy McVeigh's life. Thanks to a foul-up by the FBI, he will live on - for at least a couple of weeks. The convicted bomber will be put to death by lethal injection, and it's fair and appropriate that the nation is buzzing about whether and how this will occur. When McVeigh recently described the deaths of the children in the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City as "collateral damage," he made America's skin crawl, as was his intent. Still, there's an awful focus about what he has achieved in his recent acts of public relations terrorism via the U.S. government. U.S. Attorney General John Ashcroft described his horror at the bomber's remarks from a podium in Oklahoma City commemorating the anniversary of the tragedy. McVeigh makes a comment and Ashcroft repeats it, putting the monster's words on the news worldwide. Mission accomplished. I asked a local activist and friend what she thought of McVeigh's interview on this past Sunday's "60 Minutes." She said it put a human face on what he had done, but she also said she fears that McVeigh is becoming a martyr to his cause. Carrboro's Stephen Dear, who won the Charles M. Jones Humanitarian Award last weekend for his work for People of Faith Against the Death Penalty, expresses an ironic appreciation for the McVeigh case - although he certainly doesn't support an execution. But the case has brought about so much attention and constructive discussion about the death penalty, Dear said. Dear says he is a follower of the most famous victim of the death penalty, Jesus Christ, whom he says would not support the execution of anyone, even a mass murderer like McVeigh. Dear's opposition is on moral and spiritual grounds, yet he has worked through local governments in trying to establish a network of support by local resolutions asking for a moratorium on the death penalty. Local opinions can have a cumulative effect on the sea of political change. If Orange County demonstrates it doesn't have the stomach for death penalty cases, perhaps the district attorney will be more reluctant to seek it, even in egregious cases. Regardless of our individual involvement in a case, we should all take the death penalty seriously. A company that sought to contract with the federal government to publish a technical report offered me a job last year. It was a really good job and an offer I could not have refused - if the company had secured the contract, which it did not. I think back on it now and wonder: Would that have made me part of the evil that McVeigh sought to destroy? What about all those federal employees now working at Research Triangle Park? Suddenly, an Oklahoma story feels close by. One example after another demonstrates McVeigh's contempt for the government and its role in our lives. Some of them are freakish examples of absurdities turned upside-down: * McVeigh requests that an autopsy not be performed on his body. To kill a man by strapping him down and injecting poison and then invading his body to investigate the cause of death does seem beyond absurd. * McVeigh wants his execution to be televised, would love a Web site record of it and would let anyone attend. Result - in a nationally televised news conference, the attorney general announces the closed circuit transmission of the execution to be viewable by eligible family members. * In using the term "collateral damage" to describe children killed by the bombing, McVeigh simple borrowed from a page of the Pentagon's public relations playbook to describe unintended civilian casualties. McVeigh wants America to be horrified at the power of the federal government. But more importantly, he wants to be what his mother probably wanted for him. He wants to be somebody. He has achieved the status of household name only through his infamy. He will always be remembered as the man who killed 168 innocent people, the largest act of terrorism on American soil to date. The problem with the death penalty, someone once said, is that it's not enough, and it's too much. A case like McVeigh's is thought by many to get even the most devout of death penalty opponents to admit there are cases where the death penalty is the only way to "bring closure" for families whose losses defy quantification. Yet I find it hard to believe that if I were to lose my husband or one of my children in such a traumatic way, there would be any act that would "close" my grief. But at its core, there remains this problem: McVeigh wants his execution to go forward and to do so in a spectacular fashion. Wouldn't it be better to give him the life he so richly deserves? Why not a sentence of 100 years without fame, without books, without art, without mass media, without music and without beauty? Why not let him get up day after day and feel his mind dying slowly from a lack of connection with new ideas and other human beings? That's exactly the fate that several of the victims' families want to see happen. Even those who support the death penalty, when asked hypothetically whether they wouldn't prefer 80 years of such a sentence, agree it would be preferable to a quick, painless and famous demise. Yet most seem to agree that such a media vacuum just isn't possible. The old saying used to go, "We put a man on the moon, why can't we [fill in the blank]?" In the case of McVeigh, we can put a man on the moon, why can't we leave one there? Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday Column: Local
DECISION TIME FOR HILLSBOROUGH ... 05/09/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 05/09/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: local government; forum
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Decision time for Hillsborough
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
As I write, it is Monday, the day before the community forum during which some of Orange County was to gather itself to paint in broad strokes Hillsborough's future. Planning for a future that may be a generation away is a daunting task on some levels, like planning for adequate facilities to educate children, where to put housing and which roads to widen or leave alone. There is a great deal of historic charm to be found in Hillsborough, of course. Walking up Churton Street on a warm afternoon is like walking back in time in so many ways. I've often thought that if a horse-drawn stagecoach ambled through town on that street at midday, the regulars would scarcely notice but for the sweet perfume it would leave behind - likely a welcome replacement for the auto exhaust. Imagine the clippity-clop of the horses' hoofs rather than pounding stereos and honking horns. It's a soothing idea. Can you think of Hillsborough without thinking of Hog Day, little league, 4-H and the Exchange Club's fish fry? Impossible. Why would you want to try? Looking to the future will mean change, but surely the county's seat can retain that look and feel in so many ways, including capturing some of the architectural character of the downtown. Such plans always come down to an essential question. What kind and how big of a town does Hillsborough want to be? A bedroom community that generates little commercial tax base? A window to a time long past? A high-tech, clean industry site that attracts manufacturing jobs? I'm sure the list of options goes on and on. I hope that the community's elected leadership benefited immensely from last night's forum. Reading assistant editor Jerry McElreath's column this past weekend, I was reminded of the number of times that I, too, have moaned about not having theaters or a bowling alley in Hillsborough. It got me thinking about those shops that, if it were my call to make, I would install in a lovely little shopping center, right near Interstate 85. I so want to spend my money in Orange County first, but sometimes I simply cannot. With that constructive goal in mind, here's my list of requests: * Laundry/dry cleaners - if only to get those barbecue stains out after the fish fry and ready my bone-suckin' sauce T-shirt for Hog Day. * An independently owned and operated bookstore, with gourmet coffee optional. Let's face it, the mixture of good reading material and great smelling coffee is a marriage made in heaven - as long as you're a coffee drinker. Fighting the crowds at New Hope Commons on a Saturday afternoon, however, just isn't worth it for me. Give me a little shop on the corner where I can call the owner by name and buy a local church choir's cookbook alongside the Sunday New York Times. We can call it "Barns and Global." * An art supply store (preferably next to the books). Hillsborough has grown to be quite a hub for artists and some darned famous writers to boot. What fun it would be to have a shop to sell all those supplies to our local talent, while offering some of the more artistically challenged among us some classes in drawing and painting. * Near the books and art, how about a small community theater performance space with an art gallery wrapped all around it to showcase our talent? All things Orange County - except maybe the hogs - could be on display, including everything from coffee tables to quilts to the honey from the Tapp family's bees. Hillsborough is such a beautiful and inviting community in so many ways, except for one, small thing. I confess that I find it an embarrassment to explain to visiting friends and family that while everyone in this county seems to understand that the "Esquire Men's Health Club" and its well-known "All Girl Staff" at the intersection of N.C. 86 and I-85 is almost certainly not a BowFlex distributor, it seems to perk along, year after year. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
SCOUTS SHOULD END DISCRIMINATI ... 05/02/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 05/02/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: organizations; discrimination
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Scouts should end discrimination
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
As I do on most Saturdays, I read Perry Young's column last weekend with great interest. Never dull or lacking relevance, Young's always on the pulse. He got me all excited this past Saturday as he revealed the real deal with the Boy Scouts of America, an organization that was once privileged to enjoy his membership but now would refuse him as a leader. The Boy Scouts of America would and does, in fact, toss out some of its most stellar achievers because they live up to their oath and speak the truth to the leadership. Truth telling shouldn't have such an awful price, should it? Young talked about perhaps resolving the issue of Binkley Baptist Church being unable to charter local troops due to the Scouts' national policy that discriminates against gay people. He was hopeful that an organization in Great Britain might be the chartering entity for the Binkley kids, but it was not to be. I should point out here that the Boy Scouts of America doesn't stop at sexual orientation. It also discriminates against women in leadership roles in the organization. It's OK to be a den mother and work your fingers to the bone organizing, driving, raising money and teaching the ways of the Webelo, but you'll not be recognized as a pack leader. Regardless of the absence of men willing to take on these roles in some communities, the Boy Scouts of America will not allow women to participate in the organization's top leadership. Those volunteer roles are taken by men or they remain vacant. I confess: I am the mommy of a former cubbie. When I learned of the anti-gay policy, about a decade ago, I yanked my son out of Scouts. In reality, the national policy has about as much to do with 9-year-olds as the pope has to do with American Catholics' birth control practices. What I have the most trouble with is simply this: Why does the Boy Scouts of America have a position on anyone's private, intimate behavior? The national organization's Web site says, "Inappropriate sexual behavior is inconsistent with the Scout Oath and Law." That's offered, by the way, as a stand-alone statement, not limited to any orientation. I'm no lawyer, but my read on that is that if the Boy Scouts of America decides that open-mouth kissing between married couples is "inappropriate sexual behavior," the group could throw out leaders over it. What other employer would ever get away with establishing policy of "acceptable" private sexual behavior? Even the military won't throw you out strictly on account of status. The Boy Scouts of America says it doesn't ask, but once a leader tells, he's out - in more ways than one. In the test case that went to the U.S. Supreme Court, a leader and Eagle Scout's orientation was discovered when he was listed as a member of a gay organization. By the Boy Scouts' definition, he was seeking to force the Scouting organization to accept and include his values. Again, from the national organization's Web site, "respect doesn't include forced inclusion of values, ethics, or morals that are contrary to your own. We would hope that our critics would allow children to remain children and not insert them into the politics of the day." In my book, that statement falls under the "do as I say and not as I do" school of thought. The organization is, in fact, playing politics with sexual practices that have no relevance to its mission and is using children to do it. The Triangle United Way is presently considering the discontinuation of funding for local chapters of the Boy Scouts because of the national pro-discrimination policy. Local nonprofits are understandably concerned about whether they will lose money because of the controversy that likely would surround such a decision. Bring it on. I predict that United Way supporters all over the Triangle will overtly increase their donations as soon as the Boy Scouts are de-funded. I was a Girl Scout, and a darn good one. They didn't invent the badge that I didn't earn and sew onto my sash - including the sewing badge. I learned a lot about honor and community service from that experience. I sold crates of Thin Mints. I'm still stuck on those ideals - of integrity and fairness and community service. As painful as it is to hold the line on flawed, damaging policies, it helps the greater community to stand up against unfair, exclusionary practices that are all about saying "not you" instead of "yes, you can" to kids. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
ENJOY AN EVENING WITH FRIENDS ... 04/25/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 04/25/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: fund raising
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Enjoy an evening with friends
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
The power of a simple idea is shown again this year as the Alliance of AIDS Services-Carolina and AIDS Community Residence Association roll out the red carpet for thousands of supporters who have attended an Evening With Friends party. This month, all over the Triangle, groups of friends and co-workers have gathered together to help people living with AIDS and their families. The concept is elegant in its simplicity. A party host offers a menu of any kind to his or her guest list. Some party hosts have gone all out with formal attire, top hats and tails. Some throw some hot dogs on the grill. For office co-workers, the host could do something as simple as buying a round of drinks after work, then passing the hat. In exchange for the hospitality, the guests offer a donation to the organization. A dollar, $5, $100. There's no "wrong" amount and the donations are all tax deductible. Everyone who attends an Evening With Friends party receives an invitation to the event's gala, which will be held Saturday at the N.C. Museum of Art in Raleigh. If you attend or hold a party this week, you can still get tickets to the gala. Just call one of the agencies to make arrangements to pick up your tickets when you get there. Evening with Friends has brought $1.2 million to its beneficiaries over the years and raised awareness about HIV/AIDS that has saved lives. The event has been helped immeasurably by Glaxo, now GlaxoSmithKline, its title sponsor yet again this year. The title sponsor for an event like this is an organization that gets to pay for printing and postage and advertising to promote the event. And let me just tell you this never-reported little insight about the people at GlaxoSmithKline. They have been devoted supporters of these agencies for one reason - the people who work for GSK really, sincerely care about the struggles faced by people living with HIV. Just one example.ELast week, GlaxoSmithKline sponsored its sixth annual Fore TC (For The Cure) golf outing at Mill Creek Golf Course in Mebane. This is an "internal" golf event, pretty much just the GlaxoSmithKline folks themselves, coming out to do something they enjoy and raising money for Evening with Friends. The event was started by a Glaxo employee who simply expanded the idea of Evening With Friends to a sort of Golfing With Friends theme. April 17 was the date in particular that they had chosen for the contest. It was cold. It started raining. The wind started blowing. Then came the snow. Amid the jokes about arctic golf and the application of winter rules (lift, clean and ski?), Fore TC continued until the distant lightning and rumbling thunder on that most freakish of spring days finally summoned those stubborn folks back to the warm clubhouse. The desire of those duffers who skated back to the clubhouse was not merely for heat, but also to prevent next year's event being renamed the "Memorial Fore TC." The staff at Mill Creek couldn't have been more generous, issuing (perhaps for the first time ever) "snow" checks for the participants to return and enjoy a free round in more temperate weather. From that simple and fun idea came a wonderful annual event, which this year raised close to $20,000. That money will go to pay for the transportation, housing and most basic needs of people in the Triangle who are living with HIV/AIDS and their families. We read a lot about drug companies and the price of their products, an issue that is extremely complex and rarely explored in a thorough and fair way. It's just too easy to look at seemingly disproportionate numbers and think the worst. The reality around here, though, is that GlaxoSmithKline has delivered millions of dollars to the agencies in this community that serve people living with AIDS.EThey haven't just done this by writing a check from corporate headquarters; they have a widespread corporate culture of commitment to the defeat of a devastating disease. The folks at GSK are heroes to my way of thinking, and they're deserving of all good things that come to them. May the birdies be with you! Jean Bolduc is a founding member of the board of directors of the Alliance of AIDS Services-Carolina Inc. Readers may e-mail her at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516. For details Evening With Friends: www.eveningwithfriends.org Alliance of AIDS Services-Carolina: www.aas-c.org,E834-2437 AIDS Community Residence Association: www.aids-residence.org 956-7901
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
SCIENCE AND THE ART OF HEALING ... 04/18/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 04/18/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Medical care; Orthopedics
Illustration: Photo: Jean Bolduc
Science and the art of healing
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
Editor's note: Don Weyel's column now runs every other Sunday, and Jean Bolduc's will run every Wednesday. Weyel's next column will be in the April 29 Chapel Hill Herald. Ahhh, spring. Time to get out in the yard and do battle with the crabgrass and that perennial favorite - the yellow haze of North Carolina's pine pollen. This week, I found myself in the company of my all-time favorite orthopedist, Dr. Ed Preston. We go waaaaay back. I became a patient of the good doctor in 1978, shortly after making landfall in the old North State. I have knee trouble, you see, and he was just the guy to fix it. The second of two railroad tracks across my knees is his handiwork. In those days, there was no HMO, no pre-approvals, none of that. Something hurt, you figured out which kind of pain it was, then you left your cave, climbed aboard your dinosaur and went to that kind of doctor. I've seen Preston from time to time for various runs, bumps and errors. This time, he was checking out my shoulder, injured sometime last year. As I explained to a patient in the waiting room, Preston is the Dick Clark of orthopedics. After 23 years, he looks great, continues to charm and is still a great doctor, of course. We homeowners and "weekend warrior" athletes keep these guys quite busy. The waiting room bustled with torn ACLs - anterior cruciate ligament of the knee - broken ankles, twisted wrists and so forth. We're a nation of overdoers. I often wonder what would become of orthopedics if having a great yard or the perfect backhand ever goes out of style. They'll just have to rely on us to fall down stairs, off ladders and get tackled just right in a game of tag. I suppose there are enough slippery steps to keep them off the unemployment line. For my shoulder, I get to have an MRI - a magnetic resonance imaging test. After one of those just-right tackles, my son broke his leg in February and had to have an MRI to evaluate the soft tissue damage in his knee. He described the sound of the test as being as loud as a jackhammer. "Don't worry, Mom, they'll give you earplugs," he assured me. What a relief. An MRI works by sending radio waves through your body, causing the hydrogen atoms to spin at a targeted frequency. These atoms have a tendency to line up toward a magnetic field, so they release energy and return toward their previous path along the vertical field when the pulsing radio waves stop. The machine detects that movement (called resonance), then it transmits a "slice," or a cross-sectional image, to a computer. As we all know, once something is in a computer, it is reality. This has been a great tool for diagnosing soft tissue injury and diseases as well as reducing time on the operating table, no doubt. I'm sure it also costs a zillion dollars. This nuclear machine is like a supercollider and the nukes don't come cheap. For me, it may provide the information that helps me avoid surgery in favor of physical therapy. For my son, it provided a definitive answer that knee surgery was the clear next step for his injury. And that brought another curiosity. He had arthroscopic knee surgery and his doctor emerged from the surgery with pictures in his hand. Here is the broken bone, here's all the blood, here's the torn-up soft tissue in his leg, and here is the repaired femur with $2,000 worth of dissolvable pins in it. You know, when the fictitious Marcus Welby was practicing medicine on TV, people just took his word for it that he did this or that or the other thing during the surgery. Now, he'd probably have to emerge with the videotape and rerun the whole thing, explaining his every step and not pausing for commercials. My kids love to watch surgery on the Discovery Channel. I walked in one day last summer to find my two kids and a friend transfixed to the tube, eating lunch and watching a procedure involving the replacement of someone's eye lens. Yuck. Pass the remote control and tell me when it's over. I much prefer to hear Preston's silky Southern voice telling me what's going on, what will happen next and making promises of when I'll feel better. There's something very healing about that. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: Local
BIT OF FAME, BUT MAYBE NO FORT ... 04/11/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 04/11/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: local interest
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Bit of fame, but maybe no fortune
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
It's no grand slam, it's not going to be on ESPN live, but this November, my baby brother will achieve something that Pete Rose probably will never see in his lifetime. He will enter a hallowed hall of fame for his favorite sport. I haven't called Sports Illustrated yet, but I'm pretty sure they're not holding the cover for this. That's their loss. Chris Plumley, my 37-year-old "little brudder" - he's 6-5 - will be inducted into the Duckpin Bowling Hall of Fame later this year. What's a duckpin, you ask. It's bowling with a little ball, three to a turn, and smaller pins. It's much harder to score than with 10-pin bowling. There has never been a perfect game. The world record is 279. Chris' highest game was a 258. Duckpin bowling used to be more popular. The January/February issue of Carolina Alumni Review features a photo of the two-lane duckpin alley that once existed in Graham Memorial on the UNC campus. When the Frank Porter Graham student union was built, the campus switched over to the easier 10-pin when installing a larger bowling alley there. At my house, we all bowled duckpins, except my mom. She stuck with 10-pin and was a darn fine bowler in her day as well. My older siblings' shelves were heavy with trophies from junior tournaments, and I even brought a couple home myself, although I was never a champ. Unlike Tiger Woods' spectacular achievement at Augusta last week, sportswriters around the country are not arguing over the merit of Chris' induction. A two-time national champion in doubles, Chris helped set three world records. Two have since been broken. He won two events on the Duckpin Pro Bowlers' Tour, one in 1993 and one in 1995 and a slew of local and state tournaments in Connecticut. He was ranked in the nation's top 20 once and Connecticut's top 10 five times. Chris won a national championship at age 11, something my older brother never did. Don't think that doesn't come up at every family reunion. Conversely, my father won our town's tournament in Connecticut in 1968, something Chris never did. Don't think that doesn't come up at every family reunion. The main man in this sport, however, is Chris. For some reason, he's been in "the zone" on the bowling alley, something that's brought him great joy and satisfaction over the years. What a wonderful thing to be involved in a sport that you love and be good enough at it to be recognized in this way. We're all very proud of him, but we'll have to keep reminding him of little anecdotes that demonstrate he's still mortal. Chris, for example, is also a terrific golfer, usually shooting in the low 80s. Thirteen years ago, he was vacationing with us in Myrtle Beach. We played golf, of course. Why else would you go to Myrtle Beach? On one hole, Chris' drive strayed to the right and into the woods. It was snuggled up to a tree in such a way that Chris could only hit it left-handed. Savvy competitor that he is, Chris remembered that my husband is left-handed. Although Rick plays with right-handed clubs, he putts left-handed. Chris borrowed Rick's putter. He lined up the shot to simply knock the ball back out onto the fairway. He wasn't going to try to do anything spectacular, just get it back into play. He struck the ball cleanly. In fact, he struck it a little too cleanly. It kept rolling and rolling and rolling - across the fairway and into the lake on the other side. He actually putted the ball across the fairway and into a lake. Don't think that doesn't come up at every family reunion. Later in the round, Chris was on the green and was backing up to line up a putt. At his height, getting down to the level of the ball - to read the green - means squatting down pretty low, so Chris took advantage of the slope between the green and the sand trap. He squatted, held his putter up to see the plumb line, then fell over backward into the trap. That definitely comes up at every family reunion. And the really, really funny part of all this is that Chris called me on Monday to ask whether I would fly to Connecticut in November and give the induction speech that will enshrine him forever in his sport's hall of fame. I am hopelessly flattered, of course, and will now be a nervous wreck for seven months in preparing for the big day. If I make just one mistake, I'm sure I'll hear about it at the next family reunion. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
SCHOOL BOARD'S JOB TO SET BUDG ... 03/28/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 03/28/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: local interest
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
School board's job to set budget priorities
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
I read with great interest the story in Sunday's paper in which the parents at New Hope Elementary School were said to be taking their case for a new Spanish teacher to the Orange County school board. In the story, it said that school board members Susan Halkiotis and Keith Cook told the parents that while they appreciated their enthusiasm, it's really all up to those very powerful county commissioners as to whether New Hope will get a full-time Spanish teacher. I got all misty reading it. It so reminded me of the good old days. It was just under a decade ago that I stood before the county commissioners myself and told them that, by golly, they surely needed to fully fund the budget requests of both school districts in Orange County. I went on with specifics on the particular programs that had brought me to that meeting to advocate for the schools' respective budgets. This earned me a lecture, if not to say a tongue-lashing, from then-chairman of the commissioners, Moses Carey. Did I think that the commissioners should have some kind of line-item veto authority over the schools budget, he asked? No, I said. Did I think the commissioners should just disregard the autonomy of the duly elected members of these school boards and make curriculum decisions and so forth? No, I said. Then, he told me, you are talking to the wrong board. The commissioners award a lump sum to each school district and their elected boards set the districts' priorities with that money. Ohhh, boy, was he ever right. Totally, completely, 100 percent on-target correct. That is a lesson I have never forgotten. Getting back to Sunday's story, you can imagine how I giggled to read the comments of school board members Halkiotis and Cook. One is married to a commissioner, the other ran to be one but pulled out of the race because a family member was ill. They both know that they are sending those New Hope parents, who serve on the school's governance committee, straight into the same buzz saw that rightfully greeted yours truly. I bet Carey has a pre-printed speech on the subject. If I were him, I sure would. The commissioners will tell them that they don't have the authority to keep this position and cut that one - that's the job of the school board. What I heard in those parents' comments was an expression of the will of the New Hope School community. I heard them saying, "Securing this new teaching position is the top priority of our school for the next year. We are conveying this to you, so that you can advocate for it." And for this thoughtful effort, they are told by the school board to go to the next window, because it really isn't up to them. Well, it really, really is up to them. School board members and no one else should be held accountable when the budget does not reflect the academic priorities that are identified by each school's community of teachers and parents. School board members should be advocates for these parents, not send them along to the front lines to be the cannon fodder in their place. When your customer tells you he wants to buy more blue widgets, you don't tell him that you've tried in the past but just can't seem to get enough blue paint. Well, at least not if you want to stay in business. No. You manage. You adjust. You produce what the customer says he needs. You make fewer green widgets if necessary, but you have to show that customer that you're listening. That's important in business, because if you ask the customer what he wants, then you make excuses for not providing it, you're telling your customer just one thing - keep shopping. And so, the school board should not be engaging in political pingpong with parents and the educational needs of their kids. They should have the humility to listen to what governance committees tell them are the schools' top priorities, and they should have the political courage to make decisions with their budgetary red pens that reflect those priorities. If they don't, voters should get ready to go shopping. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
SOME RIGHTS NEED TO BE REMOVED ... 03/14/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 03/14/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: local interest
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Some rights need to be removed
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
The headlines are tiring. More kids. More shooting. More funerals. I have a Web site (stopschoolviolence.com) that I started just after the Columbine shootings. It's not as up-to-date as I'd like, but there's some good information there, including links to various resources that are helpful to parents, teachers and kids in combating this ugliness. One of the best parts of the site is an electronic discussion web that allows users to read comments and respond to those posted by others. Some are short, some long, some are uplifting and some will send chills down your spine. For example: "Why is violence looked at so negatively? It is obviously a part of humnan [sic] nature, and can be found throughout our past. Why is violence such a bad thing? Because it brings pain and agony? Aren't those just emotions and expieriences [sic] just like joy and fullfillment? Must we constantly strive in vain become something we are not? The reason children become violent with one another is because they already have the tendency to become violent. It has to do with the natural process of becoming stronger and better and ultimately the best. Our minds don't operate [sic] in a utopian manner, so why force it upon ourselves to contain the very thing that makes us human?" I also checked the site as I was writing this column and found a threat posted there against a high school in Michigan. Here's what it says: "I'm going to shoot up my school on 4-9-01. The name of the school is Three Rivers High. MI 49093. JUST TRY TO [expletive deleted] WITH ME!" I contacted the Michigan authorities and discovered that they are closing in on this already. The message, officials said, came from the school itself. The school is tracking down who was at which computer at the time the message was posted. And that's what's necessary. Every threat, big or small - I don't need to see anything bigger than that one - has to be turned over to the police. I was thinking about taking the site down soon, but if one kid leaves a clue there, it has paid for itself. This particular message reminded me a great deal of the recent false bomb threat case in Chapel Hill. When I was in junior high school - back in the stone age - we used to get bomb threats on a weekly basis. It must have cost my school district a small fortune. Back then, you could walk onto an airplane with a pistol, too. As plane after plane was hijacked - my dad was on one that got rerouted to Paris - the United States rethought its civil liberties and gave some up. We need to do that again. There is one thing that runs evenly through the cases of all these school shootings that is obvious, yet somehow seems to elude our grasp. These children are getting their hands on guns. Lots of guns. Last year, more than 5,000 American children were killed by guns, and yet, somehow people look into a camera and say that children need safety instructions, better school programs and tougher law enforcement. No they don't. They need to be kept completely away from guns. Human beings are curious creatures, and our children are the most curious among us. I was at the home of a friend's grandmother a few years ago, helping to clean the place. At the time, I was chairwoman of the task force against school violence. I walked into the bedroom and saw a revolver lying on the bed, among several other household items. Thankfully, there were no children around. But I was around. It gives me no pleasure to admit that I walked right over and picked that thing up. Looking down the barrel and seeing bullets pointing at me, I said to my friend, "This thing's loaded." She matter-of-factly replied, "Of course, it's loaded. It wouldn't be much good otherwise." Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516. Warning signs The American Psychological Association offers the following warning signs for violent behavior: * A history of violent or aggressive behavior. * Serious drug or alcohol use. * Gang membership or strong desire to be in a gang. * Access to or fascination with weapons, especially guns. * Threatening others regularly. * Trouble controlling feelings like anger. * Withdrawal from friends and usual activities. * Feeling rejected or alone. * Having been a victim of bullying. * Poor school performance. * History of discipline problems or frequent run-ins with authority. * Feeling constantly disrespected. * Failing to acknowledge the feelings or rights of others.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
LEGACY OF FAST CARS, HIGH DRAM ... 02/28/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 02/28/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: local interest
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Legacy of fast cars, high drama
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
The Daytona 500 has scarcely ever had so dramatic a finish as it offered this year with the crash and immediate death of racing's "Intimidator" - racing legend Dale Earnhardt. Some have said (and written) that it was a good thing that Fox continued on with its programming, not showing the crash's aftermath along with coverage that would have been pure speculation until the sad announcement came. I couldn't disagree more. To turn away at the sight of such a thing, from a news perspective, is unthinkable. The whole attraction of racing is it's profound power, daring and risk of life. Let's face it, thousands of people who virtually never watch stock car or formula one racing, still will tune in for the "brand name" races like the Daytona and Indy 500 in anticipation of a spectacular crash. A high-speed auto crash is an exciting thing - let's not deny that. I saw one in a Durham intersection once, about 35 feet in front of me. I don't care to have any more excitement like it, but there's no denying that it will get your heart pumping. In watching NASCAR racing, we can see such spectacles from the safety of our living rooms or the relative safety of the grandstands at the track, although spectators have lost their lives from flying crash debris at the Indy 500 at least once that I remember. The danger of racing and its thrill are one in the same thing. One columnist wrote that she was glad that Fox switched off the coverage after the Earnhardt crash, whatever the reason. Presumably, she was happy to be spared the gore of the removal of the driver's limp body from the car, the shocked, devastated fans and, of course, his family's stunned, devastated reactions. We all remember what this looks like. "Go throttle up," they told the crew of the space shuttle Challenger, not so many miles from Daytona, as a matter of fact. The image of the confused and then horrified faces of the astronauts' families was some of the most gripping television I've ever seen. I was only 5 years old when they were transferring Lee Harvey Oswald in Dallas. Seemed like pretty ho-hum live television until Jack Ruby stepped into the picture. I sat transfixed as the Columbine story unfolded on television nearly two years ago. High school children describing the scene live and unedited was horrible, gripping, riveting. We had to look at this. We had to take it in - unfiltered. We had to see this unthinkable tragedy to really understand the level of crisis that many kids, families, schools and communities are facing. The analogy throughout that day was that of the tragedy being like a spectacular car crash. You just couldn't look away, although sometimes you felt you should. Fox made a money decision to move on with its programming - you can be sure of that. It wasn't a matter of "taste" or concern for the tender sensibilities of viewers. It didn't go off the air when there was a 19-car pileup earlier in the race, after all. That was part of the scheduled racing coverage, and it's part of racing. So, too, was the stunning end of Earnhardt's life - a part of racing history that will not soon be forgotten. Not just the image of a crash, this was the picture of a sportsman and an athlete who was helping secure a position so that a driver on the team he owned would win the race. I'm no expert on the thinking or philosophy of Earnhardt, but I'll bet that's the legacy he'd like for his fans to focus on - not a tragic finish, but a rich, hard-fought life that he risked for the good of the team. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
TODAY, REMEMBER VICTIMS OF ABU ... 02/14/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 02/14/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: local interest
Illustration: Photo: BOLDUC
Today, remember victims of abuse
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
Wasn't it surreal to see O.J. Simpson mugging for the camera as he was released on bond Friday? Prosecutors in Miami have charged him with a misdemeanor assault and a felony burglary charge for reaching in and grabbing a guy's sunglasses in an apparent road rage incident. Simpson laughed, joked and mocked the whole proceeding and his lawyer, while declaring that this incident was really the media's fault. Of course, after another incident involving police in which Simpson was not arrested, The Juice was quickly on the phone with a local news station, explaining that he never laid a hand on his girlfriend that night, she was "just frustrated" - whatever that means. I watched a few minutes of "Good Morning America" on Monday as host Charlie Gibson asked former Los Angeles prosecutor Christopher Darden the two burning questions, "Do you think O.J. is enjoying this [media attention]?" and "Do you think he's dangerous?" Darden and I have in common the fact that we both laughed at this. A man who has been accused of a double murder and acquitted of the criminal charges in the "trial of the century" would surely laugh at the notion of doing time for road rage. While acquitted of the criminal charges, Simpson was found liable for the deaths of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman in a civil lawsuit. If Simpson goes to jail for a year or two years on the burglary charge, he'll be a convicted felon. He'll lose his right to vote. He won't be able to own a gun. And so I'm reminded that it's Valentine's Day, an easy holiday for me to appreciate, as it reminds me of how lucky I am to have married a tender and thoughtful man. But gratitude isn't enough. Wishing that men would treat women better won't cause it to happen. Throughout the day today, UNC will offer programs that will highlight the issues surrounding domestic violence mostly though the act of breaking the cycle of silence and shame that protects those who abuse others. If you can just make your victim feel that she brought this on or that she was the one who started an argument that got out of control, you can keep her quiet, you can hold her down. People who abuse others, physically or emotionally, depend on that silence. They need the target of their hostility to feel isolated, ashamed and unique. That's why the UNC effort is so powerful and effective. Our campus is one of more than 200 schools nationwide that are putting this issue on the table on the United States' day for romance. Our day devoted to the ideal of love and affection can help provide an inoculation of information to ensure that the rest of the year can be about love, too. What the program does - elegant in its simplicity - is tell stories. Speakers will talk about pornography (not to be confused with erotica), about rape and incest and domestic battery. They will tell stories of genital mutilation. Stories that shock also can inform and prevent such personal histories of horror from repeating themselves. Knowledge is power, and women need more of it. Here's my contribution: It's been more than a decade since Randall Ray Jolly was convicted of murdering his wife, Dawn, in front of their daughter's daycare on Lawrence Road in Hillsborough. The crime was among the most notorious in my memory in Orange County, partly because I was there a couple of days later to talk to its director, Amy Hardee, about enrolling my son for a day or two a week. Hardee told me about the shooting in terms that I can only describe as riveting. She said she went out to Dawn Jolly's truck after the shots and that the woman was sitting on the front seat. Except for the fact that she'd just been shot several times and was bleeding to death, she looked nearly normal, Hardee said. "You think, from watching TV, that people get shot and they just go down - that they fall down to the ground - but she didn't. Not at all," she said. Hardee already had called 911, and Randy Jolly apparently had fled the scene. Hardee stayed with Dawn Jolly until the ambulance arrived, and the woman grew more ashen as the minutes dragged by. Hardee assured her that her daughter was unharmed. Dawn Jolly died in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. When Randy Jolly was on trial, newspaper accounts said he attempted to convince the jury that he'd shot his wife in the back in self-defense. His apparent attempt to rewrite history failed. Jolly was convicted of the murder and sentenced to 20 years to life in prison. The N.C. Department of Correction confirmed Tuesday that Jolly is still incarcerated, although under the state's fair sentencing law, Jolly could be out soon, depending on his behavior. Like O.J Simpson, Jolly had many encounters with the police related to abuse and intimidation of his wife. According to newspaper accounts, like Simpson, Jolly once smashed his wife's car - this one being at a Hillsborough restaurant. And during the murder trial, witnesses testified that Jolly "terrorized" his wife in the weeks before her murder - at one point chasing her down a highway at 100 mph while pointing a gun at her. No, this isn't what sweetheart's day is supposed to be all about, but while we all aspire to the ideal, none of us can fully enjoy our blessings while our sisters suffer silently, paralyzed by shame that emboldens their abusers. Readers may write to Jean Bolduc c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: local
DON'T KNOCK TEMPTATION TILL YO ... 01/31/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 01/31/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Local interest
Illustration: Photo: Jean Bolduc
Don't knock temptation till you've tried it
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
In my rambling of online reading the other day, I stumbled and clicked my way into the column of a prominent fellow across the Triangle at The News & Observer. "In my day, we didn't sell out kids" called out the headline of Dennis Rogers' column. What a noble thought. I read on. It seems that Rogers didn't like the notion of the Wake County School Board's decision allowing that evil, seductive menace of Pepsi to appear in the hallways and break rooms of Wake County Schools, giving the district an estimated $3 million, give or take a pop-top. Ahh. The joy of cola. He made the point that soda isn't really good for kids and shouldn't be offered to them at school. "Nutritionists have long warned against the over-consumption of soft drinks," writes Rogers. "I pity the poor teacher who has to teach a room full of sugared-up kids." Every nutritionist I know says that a school lunch is an express ticket straight to obesity. I wouldn't be holding up the school system as the keeper of the nutrition chalice. Rogers was on the ledge with that point, but with his next assault, he leapt. "What's next, cigarette vending machines in the halls?" he wrote. "Just imagine what Philip Morris would pay to peddle Marlboro cigs between classes." So, that's a fair comparison, right? Soda, which is not terribly nutritious, and a product that, used as directed, will kill you. I wonder why more people don't look at the temptations of sweet soda pop and candy as the potential for teaching that they can represent. When my older son was in fourth grade, he and his classmates were given the opportunity (like thousands of kids do every year without controversy or newspaper columns) to sell candy in order to raise money for their class. Their teacher bought various favorites at Sam's Club and brought the goodies into the classroom. The kids all decided on pricing and accounting and they set out to make a million bucks for class trips and the like. My dear child, and many of his classmates, succumbed to the temptation presented by this experience. Their lunch money didn't go toward that high-fat, soporific, industrial-strength school lunch. He bought candy with it. Day after day, he ate candy for lunch. His teacher did not prohibit this, and we (his parents) didn't know about it until the day came one spring when Brian and a friend were in an academic competition. They were totally wired, not prepared, and they completely blew their piece of the event. This was when the stuff hit the fan and the details of the big lunch money switch were revealed. Of course, we mommies were furious with ... the teacher - at least at first. We railed on about the need for kids to get good nutrition and get the most from their education and so on and so on. The teacher, however, explained a little piece of reality. If your children have no experience with temptation, he said, they will learn nothing of self-discipline and restraint. You think candy is a big deal? How will they hold up when their friends are offering them drugs, alcohol (also a drug) and a drunken joy ride in a car? They need to know how it feels to say no to something they'd really like to try, but they know will be bad for them. This, he said, was a relatively harmless way for them to learn this, on their own terms, on their own timetable and in a safe environment. They cheated themselves out of fully participating in a competition - not because they didn't want to, but because they were foolish. Brian's a sophomore in college now, and while I don't know how he behaves when I'm not around, I know that we should all eat the well-balanced diet he typically chooses for himself. He tempers his love of chocolate and soda with his appreciation for their ill effects - just like the rest of us. I didn't teach him this stuff, his own experience did, thanks to a teacher who didn't stand in his light. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: Local
GET ME TO THE CHURCH ON TIME ... 01/17/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 01/17/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Local interest
Illustration: Photo Jean Bolduc
Get me to the church on time
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
Our little Chandra is all grown up. On the weekend of Jan. 6, our niece's wedding prompted us to return to Florida. Where did the years go? When Ted and Barbara - Rick's brother and sister-in-law - delivered us to the airport to take off on our honeymoon, Barbara had just delivered her daughter three days before. She made known to us that our elopement was romantic but should have waited until she could walk unassisted. But, I digress. I can't stand to admit it, but 23 years have passed, and little Chandra has grown into a beautiful young woman, now the wife of the handsome, charming Jason. Having just graduated from Clemson, she's also an engineer, as is her new husband. Atta girl! We arrived early that Saturday morning, flying into Orlando and driving to their town of Vero Beach, just over an hour away. We took our time getting there, stopped for a late morning breakfast and, just after lunchtime, arrived in Vero Beach. Relaxing at our motel for a little while, we caught up on the day's college basketball. Yawn. Soon it was 3 o'clock. The wedding was at 4 p.m., so we were dressed and leaving at just after 3. More than enough time to get there. Way more. Vero Beach is a town laid out on a grid. U.S. 1 is the main drag through the center of town, so all directions are relative to that. We took a quick look at the map in the phone book, I had the invitation and off we went, looking for 19th Street. We left the motel. We have two new, nationwide long-distance, hotshot cool, Web browser with all-you-need, all-digital cell phones. We left them at the motel. How hard could this be? You go down this avenue, you find 35th street, then 34th, then 33rd and so on. It could be pretty hard, it turns out. Like Durham's wonderfully confusing Cornwallis Road that stops here and picks up there, Vero Beach has more than one 23rd Street. Needless to say, we found the one we didn't want. Now, it's about 3:30, and we're thinking that we should be gabbing with the family at the church, not driving around. We're getting nervous. Nervous enough to stop and ask for directions. Rick emerges from a convenience store with a friendly local laughing and wishing him well, waving to me. "So where is it?" I ask. "It's closer to town, then we turn on 20th Avenue, I think," he answers. "Which way is 'closer to town'?" I say. He's not sure. We started driving and, after perhaps five minutes, conclude that we don't have time to be uncertain. We pull into a shopping center. This time, it's my turn to get directions. I approached a travel agency, hoping for local maps, but it was closed. Tick, tick, tick. In my line of work, deadlines produce acts of genius. I found the single greatest source of directions from a local who knows. Gas station? Police officer? Nope. Pizza Hut. Walking in, obviously not dressed for pizza pickup, the locals asked how they could help. I waved the invitation and said, "I'm here for a wedding that starts in 12 minutes." I gave the driver the address. He responded with a surgeon's precision. "Go up U.S. 1, follow it after it bends around. Take a left on 20th Avenue. Follow that till you get to 19th Street. If you get to St. Helen's, you've gone too far. Stop. Ask forgiveness. Go back a block to 19th. Turn right on 19th, go a couple of blocks and turn right on 23rd, you can't miss it. Now GO!" All that in less than 30 seconds (or your directions are free). After a false start on U.S. 1 in the wrong direction, we followed the pizza man's instructions. We got to 19th, turned right and asked forgiveness anyway. With the church in sight, we were stopped cold on 19th Street - a one lane, one way street - behind a firetruck that was at the scene of an accident that had just happened. It was 4:10 p.m.. I got out my digital camera and snapped a picture - importance evidence we'd need to avoid a black eye for missing the whole thing. Remembering that great scene at the end of "The Graduate," Rick suggested that I jump out and run to the church screaming "Elaine!!!" to stop the wedding. Dumping the car and making a run for it started looking good, so Rick dumped it into reverse instead. We, and the car behind us, backed up half a block and pulled through a parking lot to get around the whole thing. We arrived at the church and tried to collect ourselves before slipping into some back row seats in time for the last few minutes of the ceremony. In our rush to get in, we nearly walked in the wrong door, leading straight onto the alter. Now that would have been a great story. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: Local
SHUMAKER WAS, ABOVE ALL, A TEA ... 01/03/2001
Chapel Hill Herald
Section: Editorial
Edition: Final
Published: 01/03/2001
Page: 4
Keywords: Local interest
Illustration: Photo: Jean Bolduc
Shumaker was, above all, a teacher
Byline: JEAN BOLDUC Columnist
With the passing of Jim Shumaker, much has been written about his role as an editor and professional mentor to hundreds of reporters. I never worked for Jim Shumaker. I was his student. As such, he taught me that an editorial should make its point up front, so here's mine - Jim Shumaker was a damn fine editor and gifted writer, but his real talent was instruction. He was born to be a teacher. Like many students, I juggled my schedule to be sure that I took Shumaker's news writing section. Doing this meant I would take his 8 a.m. class. I sat in the front row. Shumaker strolled in at about 7:55 on that first August day, dressed in his white safari shirt, khaki pants and those ever-present sneakers. "Good morning children," he said. He arranged his materials on the lectern, then checked his watch and asked one of us what time it was. When we all agreed it was 8, he walked over to the door, slammed it shut and locked it. Walking back to the front of the class, he offered his first and most impressive piece of advice. "Don't be late," he said. "It's unprofessional." As he worked through calling the roll, gentle taps began at the door. They continued through the first 15 minutes of class as Shumaker told us that the numbskulls in the hallway would be working for us one day and that we should try to be tolerant. Then he opened the door. The sheepish and stunned latecomers filed in quickly and quietly. Shumaker would not take three seconds of his time to address their tardiness with them. They were stuck with what they could get from their colleagues. Unless some of them are reading this, they got squat from us. Welcome to the field of journalism. In editorial writing, I was treated to a number of keen insights from my professor. It was in this class that I fell in love with the declarative sentence. The job of a good editorial, Shumaker said, is to lead the opinion of the community. "Don't be a constant scold," he said. As I read Perry Young's column on Saturday, this perspective was never more clear. He talked about Shumaker's role in The Chapel Hill Weekly's coverage of the civil rights movement and how the institutional memories of those days do not seem to match up with Shumaker's own oral history of them. To be sure, Shumaker was frustrated by having protests going on right down the middle of Franklin Street and being unable to cover those events, but he was also pragmatic about the newspaper's role in such things. In the newspaper business, you're not handing down tablets from Mt. Sinai, you're trying to write the truth and get most of it right every single day, knowing that you cannot. It's a job for mortals. Shumaker's brilliance was his understanding of being a mortal. His humility was sincere. In my experience, it was also funny as hell. On Sept. 16, 1993, I wrote an editorial about Shumaker's upcoming October birthday. The piece was a hooray for the fact that Shumaker would turn 70 and not be forced to retire. In the column, I described Shumaker's great value as a teacher and attributed some of it to his age. (I happen to believe that people are just getting to be really cool when they're about 70 or so.) I called him "crusty and exacting." I used the "L" word and called him a legend. On one side of the page, he circled "crusty" and wrote in the margin "Jesus." On the other side, he circled "legend" and wrote "Christ." Across the top, along with my B+, he scrawled these comments: "Great God. I'm touched, and so, for that matter, are you." Yes, of course I still have that paper and you cannot offer me enough to pry it away from me. My most treasured document, however, is one that I received about a year and a half ago, after I wrote a column talking about working for The Herald. In it, I recounted a little stunt that Shumaker had pulled on us to teach us about sources lying to us. Shumaker had told us that the "Isle of Langerhans" was somewhere in the North Atlantic. When my outraged classmates discovered it was, in fact, the "islands" or "islets" of Langerhans - the clusters of cells in the human pancreas that secrete insulin - they were upset that he'd misled them. He told us, in short, to get used to it and to check information from official sources. After that column ran, Shumaker wrote me, thanking me for the kind words and wishing me well with The Herald. He was home recovering from brain surgery and said that he was learning to write all over again. "Hope to return to a full teaching load in January," he wrote. I was deeply moved to think of him as one of my readers. I have visions of the paper on his kitchen table, in a sea of red ink. He wrote in simple, declarative sentences. He signed it, "All the best, Jim (the Shu)." As usual, he was to the point and accurate. All the best is right. Readers may e-mail Jean Bolduc at jean@penandinc.com or write to her c/o The Chapel Hill Herald, 106 Mallette St., Chapel Hill, NC 27516.
Memo: DOW: Wednesday
Column: Local
1 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Post a Comment
<< Home