I attended a memorial service for a dear friend today. He passed away way too soon. I had spent many an afternoon chatting with him and talking about family, work and life. We worked in the same building. He at one radio station and I at another. His studio was across from mine with nothing but a small room between us.

There could have been a bigger gap between us. After all he was born in Mississippi in 1945. I was born in Michigan in 1960. He was black and I am white.

To me his name was Willie, to others he was Shurrod, King Juan, Don Perry, Cobra, Sensei, Smooth and Big Daddy. All those names meant something different to whomever you talked to. But the one name that best describes him is genuine.

Willie did a tour in Korea while in the Army from 1965-1968. But I never heard about that. After the Army he received a basketball scholarship from Lane College where he studied liberal arts and later communications. But I never heard about that. I learned today that he released a record many years ago that was big hit locally. I never heard about that either. So does this mean I didn’t know him after all?

No. What I did hear were the things that Willie found important in his life. I never knew a man more proud of his family. I heard about his son, Shurrod, and the dreams a father has for a son. I heard how this wonderful son was the best son ever. I heard how this boy was going to go to the Olympics and earn a gold medal. He had a poster of Shurrod in his studio with a hand written note. The poster was a picture of Shurrod running in a track meet, leaping in the air, sunglasses flying off. It was a picture of determination, grit and drive. Willie knew that his son would one day be an Olympian. If the dreams of fathers could make it so it would have come true. But Shurrod found other dreams in the arms of a woman named Joi. And those Olympic dreams became a wistful memory for Willie but his love for his son never wavered. Soon there was a wedding and a beautiful baby girl named Faith.

I saw lots of pictures of Faith and Big Daddy and then Faith, David and Big Daddy. I heard lots of Big Daddy stories and saw the love of a father passed down to his grandchildren. It was heartwarming to see a man so full of love.

This love wasn’t only reserved for his son and grandchildren. Willie had his Goddess. Alma, his wife. Alma came along late in Willies life. She was younger and Willie worshipped the ground she walked on. Willie and his Goddess would take cruises, they would head to the islands and take time to revel in one another. I would get the pictures and the details when he got back to work. Theirs was the kind of love that most people only dream of.

When Willie and Alma bought their new house he was so proud and promptly invited me over. I got the grand tour and dinner with he and his Goddess. We watched movies and hung out. Of course I had to have them to my house and the were kind enough to come. One of the nicest compliments I got was from Willie when he told me how comfortable he was in my home. He said it was just so “peaceful” and cozy.

Willie was one of the healthiest people I know. He ran marathons, worked out, was a black belt in Karate and taught many youngsters about honor and hard work. So it was a surprise when he found out he had to have heart surgery. He made it through but it changed him a bit. He was much more cautious and the marathons were put aside.

Time passes and the radio station was bought by a large company. Folks were let go when the new company took over and unfortunately Willie was one of them. We tried to keep in touch, phone calls, a few visits but it seemed that before I knew it a year had passed. I tried calling him several times but wasn’t able to reach him. I thought about stopping by but didn’t want to just drop in on him. Then I lost my job too. More cutbacks and I escaped into my own misery for a while. But Willie and The Goddess were always in my thoughts.

The past 6 months or so I had felt such a prodding to call him. Every few days I would get that gnawing feeling that I needed to pick up the phone. But it always seemed to happen when I was at work or in the car and by the time I got home my mind would be on other things. A few days later, again, that gnawing feeling. Then I got the news from another old coworker. Willie had passed. He had been sick for quite a while. I was heart sick. I had let my chance to tell him how much he meant to me slip by.

God gives us signs, he uses people, events and sometimes a 2×4 to get our attention. We often don’t pay attention. This isn’t the first or even the second time I have ignored the nudges. I have two other friends that time seemed to get between us. One was a person I hadn’t spoken to in years. I kept getting the feeling to find him but I had no idea where he was. The last I had heard he was in California trying to make in the movies. Then one day I did a Google search and found him. In the obituaries. He had died 2 days before. I couldn’t help but wonder if I had made that call earlier if something different would have changed for him. Maybe we would have gotten a chance to meet up again and start fresh and he wouldn’t died the way he did. All the what if’s start rolling through your head. The other was pretty much the same as Willie. He was also a good friend from the radio station and he had been ill and in the hospital. He had been in the hospital many times and I thought, like the other times, he would be home again. But it wasn’t to be.

I found out after Alma, the Goddess, called me that Willie had been ill for the past year. He had spent several weeks in the hospital, rallied and came home but this past week there would be no going back to his earthly home. His Goddess would have to wait. I understood that his body had been failing him and he wasn’t the robust Willie I had known. I am glad that the memory I have in my head is of Willie conquering the world, bragging about his son, grandchildren and wife. Gearing up for the Labor Day run. Telling me about the movies he loved and the few he actually had small roles in. Those are the memories I will carry with me and cherish.

My previous post was about listening to your Mother, your Father and those that are wiser than you. It also should include your Heavenly Father. He is not a silent God. He will try to guide you in the way you need to go. The Holy Spirit is not silent either. Those nudges, those urges I felt were the whispers of Heaven offering me a chance to let someone know that I care. That they were important to me. That I loved them. I hope I won’t ignore those whispers again.

Technorati Tags: death, friendship, God, heaven, Willie Dickey

Tags: death, friendship, God, heaven, Willie Dickey

Today I want to talk about listening to your Mother. Or Father. Or the person in your life who has a little more time on this earth and, believe it or not, has been through what you are going through.

This all started a few weeks ago. Well, really it started nearly 29 years ago when my son was born. But for the sake of brevity we’ll only go back a couple of weeks. OK, strike that, lets go back to November when my son and his wife moved out of my house. They had been staying here temporarily to save money for their first home. When they moved in they brought their two labs. Not a problem for me but the dogs didn’t like it much since the were relegated to the outdoors.

Now these dogs had been raised in an apartment. Being outdoors was a new and not so exciting experience. The female adapted pretty quickly. The male, well you know how hogs when they escape from their pen into the wild revert to their wild boar ways? That’s pretty much what happened to Blaze. Suddenly he was escaping under the fence, then over. Eventually an electric fence had to be erected. That and the barking were driving everyone crazy. So bark collars had to be purchased. She chewed his off and he, being a male, decided he preferred her quiet and was quite content to leave hers intact.

When my son told me they had found a house it was with mixed feelings. I loved their company and I loved having my Grandson with me every day. But I knew they needed to spread their wings and get out on their own without “Mom” interfering. Of course I had to see the house.

It is an adorable little house. With a small yard and a privacy fence. The fence seemed to have a lot of space between it and the ground. So I said “it sure is nice to have fence but do you think the dogs will stay put?” I was told “Sure they will. The can’t see out so and they have lots more room to run so I am sure they will stay put.” “You know, your neighbors are really close, I don’t think they are going to appreciate all that barking. You might need to buy another bark collar”” Noooo. They can’t see out of the fence and if they can’t see anything why would they bark?” I laughed and said “Riiiiiight”.

So the move was made and a few days later Blaze had already dug up and under all 4 sides of the fence. Quite frequently you could look out the back door and see one dog and look out the front and see the other. She seemed to be pretty content to let him wonder and she would stay in the back yard and wait for her man…er…mate to return.

Again I said, “You know, you have the electric fence back at my house why don’t you put it up so you can eliminate his wondering and the headaches?” “Oh..he always comes back and I don’t want to string an outdoor extension cord across the yard.” I shrug my shoulders again and say “Ok. It’s your dog”.

Now we get to a few weeks ago. Apparently the female, Finley, decides she is going to follow her mate and see just what it is that he finds so enticing. He comes home a few hours later and she never shows up. A search is done, calls are made but she is nowhere to be found. My daughter in law calls the pound to see if anybody brought her in and leaves the information. The next day she gets a call from a very nice gentleman that tells her he has their dog. They called the pound to see if anyone had reported a missing dog, got the information and called the kids. Finley, not being used to gallivanting around the neighborhood had no idea which house was hers. So she started digging under fences until she found one she liked. This house had a nice German Shepherd so she decided to hang with him. (Let this be a lesson guys, you go out to often and leave the lady at home she just might find someone else to take your place!) Not only did she have a nice German Shepherd to snuggle with, she got a bath and lots of loving from the family that found her.

So my son decides that maybe it he just might need that electric fence after all. And probably those kennels under my house to keep the dogs in until he can get the fence up.

As you know the East recently underwent record cold temperatures. We didn’t have snow but we had rain and sleet and 20 degree temperatures.

I am sitting in my house and I hear a roar. It sounds like a truck in my yard. I dash out the front door in time to see my son backing his Ford F-150 down the side of the house into the backyard. My house sits on a small hill so he has to go down that small incline. I wave my arms and holler at him to stop but it was too late. He was half way down. He roll his window down and asks me what the problem is and I tell him “It is not a good idea to go down there. It is a mud pit and you will get stuck.!” He tells me “Well I am already this far, I’ll be fine”. Mm Hmm. Famous last words.

You know the rest.

He can’t get back up the hill. The tires just spin. So he backs up even farther and I say to myself “Well that’s that. He is never going to get out now!” And sure enough his tires sink even further into the muck. Did I tell you it’s 10:00 at night? And 20 degrees?

So we start putting plywood under the tires, rocks, whatever we can find to get some traction and nothing helps. He did set the wood to smoking with the friction. If he would have done it longer we could have had a nice bonfire going to keep us from freezing our butts off. After an hour of useless labor he finally threw in the towel and went inside to warm up.

It was time to call in reinforcements. So he starts calling friends. You know how friends are. They are always ready for a good time. “Want to go to a game?”” Sure! Want to head to bar?”” Sure!”” Want to help me move?” “Sur…uh…did you say move? Gee…well…let me check my calendar.” “Can you come pull my truck out of the mud?” “ Hey bud, do you know what time it is? How did you get stuck anyway? Are you sure you can’t get it out? It’s 20 degrees out, can’t it wait until morning? You know I had a few beers a little while ago, maybe you better find someone else to help you.” Uh huh.

So while he is trying to convince his friend to help him I jump on Facebook and put the word out that help is needed. 20 minutes later I hear the roar of engines again and look out the front door to see 3 four-wheelers pulling in the yard. My neighbors from the down the street have come to check out the situation after hearing of our plight via Facebook. I love Facebook.

There is nothing better than watching 3 men ,plus a 9 year old who tagged along , assess a problem and the best way to fix it. Well they try pulling it from the front and it’s a no go. They scratch their heads and talk back and forth and debate a bit more and try again but it just ain’t happenin’! So they switch tactics and try from the rear and we start to see some movement. Slowly the truck begins to move and once the four-wheeler gets out of the mud he digs in and the truck is up and out and back in the driveway. Finally after 2 and ½ hours of standing in below freezing temperatures the truck is free and I can finally say what I have wanted to say from the moment he got stuck.

“You should have listened to your Mother!”

Technorati Tags: dogs, Mother, mud, sons, trucks

Tags: dogs, Mother, mud, sons, trucks

Life changes, Nothing ever stays the same. So I am about to begin a new chapter in my life. All the chapters leading up to this one have been filled with great memories, sadness, happiness, adventure, mistakes, you know, all the things that make a story great.

Chapter One

My radio career began at the tender young age of 17. I worked from the time I was legally able. My first job was at River Forest Nursing Home. It was run by some sort of Mennonite group. My best friend in High School was already working there and convinced me that we would have “great fun” working together. So my weekends were spent clearing slop off the plates and trays of the residents of the home. First of all, the food that these folks got was nursing home food. For old folks. So it was soft, bland and not very pretty. If you thought it looked bad going out you should have seen it coming back in. I believe these poor souls were so unhappy that they were dumped into “the old folks home” that they took out on us lowly kitchen workers. Napkins were shoved down into the glasses with mashed potatoes dumped in on top of that. It was like a parfait of regurgitated food and paper.

Each tray had a small metal holder, like you would use at a party to designate the seating arrangements for your guest. You would put a pretty little card in the holder and everyone would ooh and ahh over how cute it was. Our card holders would hold the patients name card and all the dietary limitations that they had. After every meal we had to dig them out of oatmeal, eggs, squash, milk, coffee and potatoes again. They were laminated and we had to wash them off and stick them back into the holder for the next go round. I was 16. Not the romantic adventurous job I had in mind for my first foray into the working world. I will never forget the smell of urine and disinfectant that permeated that place.

One of the residents that I will always remember is Ike. Ike was somewhat senile. But he was still a randy old man. He had a cane that he used and anytime a pretty girl would walk by he would take that cane and smack her on the butt. Come to think of it she didn’t have to be pretty. We learned to stear clear from him and cling to the other side of the hall when he was making his way down it. He also had a tendency to let it all hang out on occasion too. If you know what I mean.

One bright spot in my day was talking to one elderly lady who still had it together. I wish I could remember her name. I think it may have been Olive. Both she and her husband were living in the facility. They weren’t in the same room. It seems the Mennonite woman frowned on that. Women in one wing, men in the other. But every waking hour those two spent it together. It was so sweet and it made me dream of having a love that would endure forever.

One thing that I did not want to endure forever was being a dishwasher at a nursing home. So I scoured the want ads. In my little town that would take about 10 seconds. Or less. But lo and behold I found something I thought I could handle. Being a dishwasher…..at the hospital! So I hauled myself up there after school one afternoon and applied. I didn’t have a car and getting use of the car was an act of congress. But the hospital was about a mile or so from school so I could walk every afternoon and my mother or someone would pick me up. I believed that this job would be much better than the nursing home. Wrong. Now when trays came back we not only got the food parfaits but syringes that nurses would forget to dispose of properly. This was before the AIDS epidemic so things were a little more lax. Band aids, Gauze, finger splints, whatever. It would end up on a tray for the dishwashers to take care of.

The hospital was old. The elevators were like something out of a horror movie. Well the staff elevator was. There was nice bright shiny one in the bright shiny lobby for guests to use. I dreaded having to ride that thing upstairs and down. It was dark. The hallway TO the elevator was dark. What was worse was having to go down to the basement to get supplies. Dish washing soaps, towels, cleaning supplies. Another horror movie set. Dark and mysterious. I always thought there might be dead bodies down there. The morgue. But to be honest I have no clue. And since the hospital only had something like 50 beds the chances that there Zombies were running rampant in the basement hallways were pretty slim.

My hospital bright spot was a boy. I don’t remember his name. I remember he was cute. You know, the important stuff. Unlike the nursing home the dish washing area was in a separate room off the kitchen. He and I would have water fights with the spray nozzles. We would laugh ’til we cried and the “mature” women in the kitchen would roll their eyes, shrug their shoulders and then ignore us.

The hospital is where I first learned to wrap baked potatoes in aluminum foil to keep them from drying out. Hey were talking 1976-77 here.

But even then the economy fell and I got laid off. It was back to the nursing home. Part-time. So in what would become a lifetime habit of mine I got a second job working at Jim Vetter Ponitac Buick as a receptionist/bookkeeper. For some silly reason they wanted me to help out with bookkeeping. I had to enter figures into a ledger. Me. The queen of transposed numbers. Then they expected me to reconcile it. Me. The queen of bounced checks. Ok..again. This was before everyone used computers that did all that for you. Needless to say I did all my entries in pencil. Eventually they threw up their hands and just had me on the phones. It was at this time that I had my first clue that I had voice people liked to hear. I would have great conversations on the phone with customers who called and who would tell me how much they enjoyed listening to me talk. I had so many compliments that I thought I always wanted to be receptionist.

So I was working part-time at the car dealership and part-time at the nursing home when the full-time position of cook came open at the home. I was offered the job since I had been pretty much doing all the cooking when I was there anyway. I was just out of high school 17 years old and I thought it sounded like a pretty good move for me but I wanted to see what else might be out there so I checked the help-wanted ads in the paper and saw an entry that intrigued me. Our local radio station, WLKM, was looking for part-time weekend help. Now this sounded like fun. Much better than poached eggs, dry toast and the other “gourmet” dishes I was cooking up. So I drove out to the studio on the outskirts of town and applied for the job.

I was taken into a studio, a mic was placed in front of me and I was given some news copy to read. I recorded it on a reel to reel machine and I was fascinated by the big black board with all the knobs, switches and dials. I loved the sound it made when you clicked the mic toggle switch. “SNAP”. I was hooked.

Amazingly, they took a chance on a 17 year old girl with no experience and hired me. It was a whole new world.

Stay tuned for Chapter 2 coming soon.

Hello, welcome to my page.

Some of you may be familiar with my other page www.gailforceproductions.com. I have decided to move some of the content from that page to this one and use that one more for my voice work.  So I guess I will just be chatting on here and giving voice to the many thoughts that roll through my head. Please sign in and leave comments. I want to hear from you and your experiences too.

Technorati Tags: gail daniels

Tags: gail daniels