Letter from the Editor Column proves we live in small world
It is the one thing that anyone who has ever picked up a pen and put his or her thoughts down on paper – or a computer screen – lives for. It is the knowledge that what you have jotted down or, in my case, tapped out on a keyboard, has struck a chord with someone who reads it. Sorry good Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I have long ago given up the Palmer Penmanship you drummed into my head for the eight years I was under your fine tutelage. You know, I never did see that light under my wrist.
What I have not given up is reaching out, telling stories, connecting with those who stop and peruse my musings. I no longer dabble in cursive. Instead I bang on the keyboard. I mean that literally. It’s therapy.
Luckily for me, I get lots of practice. It does not diminish the thrill.
The newspaper, and today of course the internet, likely provides me with a bigger megaphone than most.
The newspaper connects me with a diverse group of readers: the print edition winds up in homes all across Delaware County; the internet reaches across the globe.
What I’m reminded just about every day is that in this great big world, we remain linked, interconnected, inhabitants on our small planet.
Last week I wrote about my visit to the Flight 93 Memorial outside Shanksville, Pa. That’s correct, that part of the tragedy of Sept. 11, 2011, is always linked with that small Pennsylvania town. The odd thing is that it’s not actually in Shanksville. It appears to be in a place called Stoystown. A small dot on this large globe.
But once you start writing about it, you realize just how small this world is.
I was taken aback by how many people particularly liked this column. Not necessarily because of my writing skills, but because so many of them had a connection to that very special place.
I marveled about that southwestern Pennsylvania sky, how it seemed so much different than the very same sky that blankets us here in this neck of the Pennsylvania woods. I heard from several readers who said they had the very same reaction when they stood at the memorial, and were thankful that someone actually put those thoughts down on paper.
Then I received an email from a reader who had a bit more personal connection. Her parents grew up in that area, and she assured me I was not mistaken. Her father worked in the coal mines, starting when he was 14, “when he and his parents lied about his age.” They lived in company houses and went to school in a two-room schoolhouse.
Eventually the mine shut down and the men went elsewhere to find work. Her dad came east and got a job with First Pennsylvania Bank as a guard. He worked there for 30 years until he died of Black Lung Disease when he was 63.
She wrote about often returning to that area in the summer to spend time with relatives.
“We used to sit sandwiched on the front porch between my mom and our Aunt Mary on her glider. We would cover ourselves with a blanket because even though the daytime was blistering hot in summer, the evenings were blissfully cool.
“The reason for this email is what your column reminded me of. We felt like we could reach the sky, along with the millions of stars we would see so close and bright. We would stretch our arms thinking we could touch the moon to give it a hug. … You are correct! That sky in Western Pennsylvania seems like you can touch it. As a kid, thought I did many times.”
Turns out the editor is not the only one who has a way with words. That’s called connecting with readers.
Another reader who called had a different connection. He wanted to tell me to “keep writing nice stuff” like the Flight 92 column and a previous one when I told of my struggle with I whether photo.
Of course, he was not, as are most readers, above taking a jab. “I don’t even like you, and the way you always admit you’re a Democrat.” Guilty as charged. Finally, I heard from longtime Delco resident and retired newspaperman Joe Clark. He had a personal connection to the column. His son Stephen just happens to work for the U.S. Park Service and is the superintendent of the Flight 93 Memorial.
A few minutes later the phone rang.
Steve Clark was on the line. He too wanted to tell me how much he appreciated the piece and said he was spreading it among his co-workers as well as the group that represents the Flight 92 survivors.
Like I said, small world. And a beautiful – if haunting one- in a field in the middle of nowhere in southwestern Pennsylvania. or not to use a specific