‘Just wanted to check in’
’Tis the season to reach out to others for no reason
The email arrived in my daily batch of reader feedback, news releases and column ideas from pesky public relations representatives. It almost got lost in my hourly habit of delete, delete, delete.
“Good morning, Jerry! No particular reason for this email, just wanted to check in,” the email began from Jill Ramirez, of Griffith.
Her name reemerged from my past like a familiar ghost. Yet one that still haunts me since I first became a newspaper columnist for the Post-Tribune.
“I still read a lot your articles and enjoy (most) of your posts on FB,” Ramirez wrote with a smiley face emoji.
Ramirez and I have been friends for years on Facebook. This alone still surprises me, considering how we met more than a decade ago. And, sadly, why we met.
Her brother, David Green, was
the focus of my first column for this newspaper in September 2006.
My column’s introduction stated, “Once upon a time, they loved each other very much. She didn’t smoke, drink or cuss. And heaven help the person who took the lord’s name in vain.
“He charmed his way into her 17-year-old heart. Marriage followed. Then children.
“In many ways it seemed a picture perfect story.
“But this is a fractured fairy tale, with an out-ofstate mistress, a ticking double life, and a little boy’s discovery of his mother’s body on a bloody kitchen floor.
“Late last month, a jury found David Green guilty for the murder of his wife, Stacy Green, and also their unborn child, less than a week before her due date.
“Daddy is in jail awaiting sentencing. Mommy and baby are buried in the same casket. And their two young children, living with an aunt, still don’t know all the details. Except one. Once upon a time, their parents loved each other very much,” I wrote.
I spent two weeks to properly research for that column, talking personally with David Green’s family, including his sister, Ramirez, and his mother, Valinda Green. They openly welcomed me into their home to talk about David, who temporarily lived there until he was convicted.
The day that column ran in the newspaper, my first piece of reader feedback came from Valinda Green in a voice mail early that morning.
“I don’t know how you sleep at night,” she said, her pained voice seething with anger.
She felt betrayed. She felt lied to. She sounded every bit the protective and wounded mother.
“How dare you ... ” she said.
I saved her voicemail message for as long as my machine would let me, listening to it every so often as a reminder that my written words can be hurtful.
Fast forward to Sept. 26 of that year, a few days after her son was sentenced to 90 years in prison. Valinda Green contacted me again, this time by email.
“Jerry, shame on you,” she wrote. “You tricked and lied your way into our home at a time of shock and grief, and then twisted every single thing you were told. You have preyed on a good family’s emotions and pain.”
Her words stung, again. I replied to her, saying how my columns are stories but with one key difference: A personal viewpoint, mine. But she made one excellent point that I believe journalists, especially me, too often forget when we’re typing our lifeless words into faceless computers: Sometimes our words truly matter.
“You have no idea what a slap in the face in print feels like,” Green wrote to me.
She was right.
So in late September 2006, I wrote a follow-up column to apologize to her.
“I’m publicly apologizing because I could have better chosen my words, and I could have remembered how they can leave a lasting imprint on people’s lives,” I wrote. Sometimes I forget. And sometimes my ignorance turns into arrogance.”
“So Mrs. Green, I’m sorry,” my column ended.
Years went by until Green and I crossed paths again, on Facebook. We connected there and became “friends.” Since then, our social media relationship has turned into one of friendliness, kindness and mutual respect.
To this day, at my public events, I still bring up Green’s unforgettable voice mail and email when readers ask me about columns that still matter to me.
After befriending Green on Facebook, I also befriended her daughter, Ramirez. Like millions of other people, we keep tabs on each other’s lives through social media.
“Just wanted you to know it makes me so happy to see that you have found such a wonderful lady in Karen and are ex- periencing the joy of a grandson! What a great season for you and your family,” Ramirez wrote to me last week in that email.
“My life is so very busy and sweet all in one,” she wrote. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Life is good. I’m blessed.”
I smiled when I read this. And then I read it again. And again.
“Again, no real reason to check in, just wanted to say hi!” Ramirez wrote. “There seems to be so much hate and negativity in the world today. I think sometimes we forget to just simply stop and say hello to others. Enjoy your weekend!”
Just as her mother was in the right in 2006 with her email to me, so is Ramirez with her recent email to me. There is so much hate and negativity in our world today. And yes, we too often forget to simply stop and say hello to others in our life.
Even to those others who at one time may have been the last person to reach out toward. If Ramirez can find the class and grace to do this, in light of our history, I’m guessing all of us can too.
This column is my reminder to you, and to me.
Dear Jill, just want to say hello, and to thank you. Sincerely, Jerry