Squibs » Journalism Archives

Clergy’s Extra Service: Three priests weigh in on the clergy shortage

Renee Collins — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 11:24:24 +0000

April 16, 2006

ADRIAN – The jury still is out on how the shortage of Catholic priests will impact the Diocese of Lansing, which includes 10 parishes in Lenawee County. But Bishop Carl Mengling is taking a proactive stance with the appointment of a coordinating commission to see how the problem might be addressed.

The commission, a follow-up to the 1999-2001 diocesan pastoral planning process, started meeting in January, said Michael Diebold, director of communications for the diocese.

‘Right now, the commission is working on the process it will use to evaluate the 97 parishes in the diocese,” he said.

No plans have been made to close any of the parishes, Diebold said. Whether that happens will depend on criteria determined by the commission, possibly this summer.

National statistics from the Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate at Georgetown University are testimony to the decline in priestly pursuits. In 1965, there were 35,925 diocesan priests, compared to 28,702 in 2005. Religious order priests numbered 22,707 in 1965 and 14,137 in 2005. Ordinations have dropped as well, with 994 priests ordained in 1965 and 454 in 2005. CARA statistics for parishes without a resident priest numbered 549 in 1965 but climbed to 3,251 in 2005. Conversely, the Catholic population surged from 45.6 million in 1965 to 64.8 million in 2005.

The most recent numbers published by the Lansing diocese in January show 86 active diocesan priests, 12 religious order priests and 11 priests ordained in other dioceses serving in churches, hospitals, retreat centers and schools throughout the 10-county diocese.

Diocesan priests are ordained by the bishop of their particular diocese while religious order priests answer to the provincial superior of their community. In Lenawee County, members of the Toledo-Detroit Province of the Oblates of St. Francis de Sales serve in three parishes as well as in the campus ministry program at Siena Heights University and the chaplaincy for the Adrian Dominican Sisters. Diocesan priests serve four parishes in the county.

Three priests, pastoring the three largest parishes in Lenawee County, weighed in with their views on the clergy crisis recently, revealing three distinct views. The Rev. Robert Schramm, pastor of St. Mary of Good Counsel in Adrian, is a member of the Oblates of St. Francis de Sales religious community. The local parish is close to the hearts of the oblates, Schramm said; an oblate has pastored the parish for 30 years. He has served at St. Mary’s since July, replacing the Rev. Tom Helfrich, who moved to a campus minister spot at Siena Heights University.

Schramm, 65, has been a high school teacher and also worked for the Diocese of Saginaw when it was experiencing some parish closures. As delegate for the late Bishop Ken Untener, he had to assist in helping 11 east side parishes make a survival plan.

‘That was the toughest two years of my life,” Schramm said. ‘We ended up merging five of those 11 parishes into one parish. It became St. Simon and Jude.”

After five years working as associate director of Weber Center on the Adrian Dominican Sisters campus, Schramm returned to St. Simon and Jude, this time as pastor.

‘The (Saginaw) diocese was really having problems,” he said. ‘There was an acute shortage of priests. There were three oblates, two sisters and a lay person who were responsible for five parishes. After a while, it was pretty frustrating. You were always on the move, you never got an opportunity to know anyone.”

Schramm has been acclimating to the pastoral life with few problems, although it has been a hectic transition. St. Mary’s has 1,100 households and typically 600 to 800 people each weekend at one of its four Masses.

The parish has an active Hispanic population and the Sunday afternoon Mass is in Spanish. St. Mary’s also has a parish administrator, Rick Bayes, which has helped Schramm tremendously. He has a good network of lay people on staff who are willing to lend a hand. Still, it can be a challenge to be a full-time pastor.

‘When I want to get away, it’s tough to find someone to sub,” Schramm said. ‘I’m fortunate to have (the Rev. Louis Komorowski) living here but it’s tough to ask him to do four Masses. Being a parish priest is challenging at any age, but even more so the older you get.

‘But, St. Mary’s is a wonderful parish. I love it here.”

In his more than 30 years as a priest, Schramm said the biggest challenge has been the current shortage of priests.

‘More and more parishes are being served by a ‘circuit rider,’” he said. ‘It’s not a terribly satisfying ministry. The centrality of the Eucharist is in jeopardy.”

Schramm said from a fundamental standpoint, the Eucharist is the heart and center for Catholic Christians.

‘Without some miraculous intervention or change in church practice, we are going to get to the point in some parishes where the Eucharist would be celebrated once a month instead of every Sunday,” Schramm said.

Already, there are some parishes where ‘Word and communion services” are the norm. Schramm points to how much the world has changed just in the last century, and said the church needs to look at its direction as well.

‘Maybe the church needs to look at who we’re ordaining as priests,” Schramm said.

The Rev. Daniel Wheeler, 57, pastor of St. Elizabeth Catholic Church in Tecumseh, has been a diocesan priest more than 25 years, 19 of those in Tecumseh. In addition to his full-time responsibilities at St. Elizabeth, he also is the parish administrator for St. Dominic’s in Clinton. The Rev. Paul Ruddy, a retired Oblate of St. Francis de Sales, is the sacramental minister for the Clinton parish.

‘Right now, we’re not really impacted by the priest shortage – we have coverage,” Wheeler said.

Compared to the Archdiocese of Detroit, which recently announced its strategic plan for merging and closing parishes, Wheeler believes the Diocese of Lansing is in a much stronger position, in part because it has fewer churches and a smaller population. Still, there are some differences between the church 25 years ago and the church today. He pointed to additional services that need to be offered in parishes and require staff, such as youth ministry and expanded religious education programs.

And where many parishes had an associate or additional priest, that’s much rarer in today’s church. Wheeler said the challenge of serving the people is among the greatest facing priests and the diocese today. He sees a correlation between the rise in ordained priests in other countries compared to the U.S.

‘We haven’t faced a shortage here; it hasn’t changed quite as much as in other areas,” he said. ‘But it will be coming. So far, we’ve been fortunate enough so that we have enough priests. Larger parishes outside of our region are relying on associate priests or parochial vicars from other countries and that’s where I think you will find the next wave of associate priests will be coming from. Twenty years ago, those associate priests were coming from the U.S.”

The Rev. David Hudgins, pastor of St. Joseph Catholic Church in Adrian, said the clergy crisis provides an opportunity for people to become more active in their parishes, to be participants and share their expertise in a variety of areas. At 37, he is one of the youngest priests in the diocese. He first came to Michigan from Montana to attend the University of Michigan, where he earned his master’s degree in social work. He was ordained five years ago and came to St. Joe’s two years ago from St. Thomas Aquinas parish in East Lansing. Compared to St. Thomas, St. Joseph’s is a pretty small parish, with 710 families, or about 2,000 people. Like St. Elizabeth’s, there are three Masses celebrated each weekend.

‘It’s a great opportunity in a lot of ways,” he said. ‘It’s a gift for the people. It’s been an American paradigm that the ‘father’ or clergy does it all in the parish and the people just come to Mass and sit. So, this is a time for them to step forward with their gifts.”

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Copyright 2006, 2009, The Daily Telegram. All Rights Reserved.

Sharon Patterson runs for Diabetes: 2003

Renee Collins — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 03:02:26 +0000

The late running guru George Sheehan once wrote, “Everyone is an athlete. The only difference is that some of us are in training, and some are not.”
Sharon Patterson of Saline is one such athlete. But training for her is more than a way to stay in shape. Sharon is on a mission.
Business development director for Process Results in Saline, Sharon lost her father last year to diabetes, and has several other family members with the same chronic disease. In 2000, she participated in the Team Diabetes challenge, walking all 26.2 miles of the Chicago Marathon to raise money for a cure.
Next month, the mother of two will join Team Diabetes in the Mardi Gras Marathon in New Orleans. The event starts and finishes in the Superdome.
“This is my second marathon, and if I survive this, I’ll be doing pretty good,” Sharon says.
The Team Diabetes program, under the umbrella of the American Diabetes Association, offers its members an opportunity to experience the world’s most beautiful and well-known marathon courses while raising funds to support diabetes research. Many people choose to walk or run a marathon in honor or memory of someone that they love who has diabetes or has died from it.
For Sharon, that person is her father, Ron Dietrich.
“I know, I’m nuts to be training in winter, in Michigan, for a marathon,” Sharon says. “But, it’s for a great cause. We can get rid of diabetes in our lifetime.”
The program is structured so that the participants raise the funds, which cover their individual expenses and a substantial donation to the ADA.
In addition to funding research, contributions also are used by the ADA to assist people living with diabetes, helping them to better manage their health.
“They work to educate people on how to prevent it in the first place, and they provide substantial funding toward a cure,” Sharon says.
Like Sharon, I come from a family with “the sugar,” as it was called when I was a kid. My father, too, died from diabetes; two of my sisters are diabetics, and the sister I lost last month also was a diabetic.
The most recent research has health care practitioners concerned. Diabetes is reaching epidemic proportions in the U.S. More and more young people are exhibiting the symptoms as well. There are many contributing factors to these statistics, but overall a sedentary lifestyle filled with white bread, processed food, and too much sugar is the biggest factor.
Like other chronic disease, there’s plenty that medical science still hasn’t discovered about diabetes. But the experts can tell you how people can develop diabetes and why the diet-exercise connection is so crucial.
Diabetes is the condition in which the body doesn’t produce enough of the hormone insulin to break down food into glucose/glycogen, which is the primary source of fuel for every cell in the body, from the brain to the baby toe. Insulin is produced in the pancreas, and as we consume white bread, refined food, and too much sugar, the pancreas starts to get a little tired. As too much sugar is delivered, the cells’ ability to accept it decreases.
As the system breaks down, insulin has to be introduced into the body, either by oral medication or direct injection.
Our bodies are comprised of millions of tiny, intricate blood vessels in which glucose is transported from cell to cell to provide energy to our brain, our heart, our eyes, our kidneys and the rest of our bodies. When our cells’ sensitivity to insulin is decreased, sugar doesn’t reach the cells to nourish them, and tissue gets damaged or dies.
The more frail tissues—the tiny blood vessels of the eye, heart, brain, sex organs and kidneys—are the first to be damaged, which is why diabetics often suffer from blindness, strokes, renal failure, impotence and heart failure. Frail capillaries also are affected, which is why diabetics are more prone to infections, especially in the extremities, like toes and feet.
Diabetes affects about 6 percent of the population, more than 16 million Americans, and that number is increasing. It is the seventh leading cause of death in the U.S., and in Michigan.
There are almost 800,000 new cases diagnosed each year.
Type II diabetes could account for 90-95 percent of all diagnosed cases of diabetes.
The risk of developing diabetes increases with age and diabetics are 2-4 times more likely to die from heart disease and stroke.
Heart disease is the leading cause of diabetes-related deaths.
Diabetes is the leading cause of end-stage renal disease, the leading cause of new cases of blindness among adults ages 20-74, and 60-70 percent of al people with diabetes show evidence of nerve system damage.
Finally, more than half of lower limb amputations occur among people with diabetes.
If you’ve ever lived with anyone who is a diabetic, or ever watched them die from it, you know how terrible it can be. It’s a slow and horrible death.
Sharon Patterson knows this because she, too, has watched it happen to her father. It helps keep her motivated when the temperatures drop to the single digits and she’s scheduled a long walk/run for that day. It also keeps her going during the week when she uses her lunch hour to do a few laps around the block.
“I’m still short of my $5,000 goal,” she says. “I’d like to encourage anyone who is interested to donate to the cause. I’d be honored to accept any and all contributions, and all contributions are tax deductible.”
If you’re interested in getting involved in Team Diabetes, Sharon extends an invitation to join her in the Disney Marathon next January or the Bermuda Marathon in November 2004.
“I plan to do those marathons with “Team D” too, and it sure would be great to have some company,” she says. “Let me know if you’re interested.”
To reach Sharon or to contribute, mail your check made payable to the ADA to 7417 Steeplechase Ct., Saline, 48176 or visit her Web site at http://events.diabetes.org/memberpages/sharon.
First published in The Saline Reporter Jan. 16, 2003

Tsunami: 2005

Renee Collins — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 02:58:41 +0000

Saline Reporter 20050120
FRONT
Area teacher raises dimes from students for tsunami relief
By Renee Lapham Collins, Heritage Newspapers
“Three years ago to the day, if the tsunami had happened, I’d either be dead or on TV with an amazing survivor’s story,” says Brian Kissman.
Three years ago, Kissman and his family were living in Kuala Lumpur, the capital city of Malaysia. Kissman was director of curriculum and school improvement for one of the top private international schools there, and during the Christmas holiday, the family spent several days in Phuket (Poo-ket) and on Phi Phi (Pea-Pea) Island.
“Phuket and Phi Phi are two of the main destinations for people in the international community in Malaysia,” he explains. “We were there in 2001. We spent four or five days in Phuket and three or four days on Phi Phi where we went snorkeling.”
He draws a rough map of the area on a piece of paper.
“Phi Phi is like a big rock with vegetation on it,” he explains, as he marks out the places were tourists stayed in small cabanas or huts. “You can only get from one side of the island to the other by boat. This was all washed away in the tsunami.”
Geographically, Phuket lies on the west coast of the Thai peninsula overlooking the Andaman Sea. The southern portion of the peninsula is Malaysia, with Singapore located at the very tip. Kuala Lumpur was protected from the tsunami by the Indonesian island of Sumatra, which had the highest death toll from the disaster.
The pristine beaches, turquoise water, and tropical, lush rainforests have made this part of the world a popular tourist destination, particularly for those from Europe seeking sunshine in the winter. Phi Phi and Phuket are to Europeans what Caribbean destinations are to Americans.
“From Kuala Lumpur, it’s only a three hour flight, and it’s cheap airfare,” Kissman explains.
On Sunday, Dec. 26, when Kissman first heard news of the disaster, he was in a state of near disbelief.
“It was happening in a place we know and may have affected some of our friends. We were close to many families over there and still are. We thought of them immediately, worried that one of them would have been injured or killed.
He and his family immediately began sending emails to friends in the area to check on their whereabouts.
“We emailed our friends and miraculously, everyone was vacationing on the east coast of Malaysia or in Vietnam other than in areas ravaged by the tsunami,” he said. “We did have some friends vacationing in Sri Lanka. They survived. They lost all they had, but survived along with their child.”
Watching the footage of the disaster was particularly unsettling.
“I saw the boardwalk that I had been standing on three years ago now washed out, but I recognized it,” he says. “It touches me in a way that other people who haven’t been there may not fully understand.”
Kissman, who also has taught in international schools in West Africa, Tokyo, Paris, Geneva, and the Spanish Canary Islands, says, “no one ever talked about a tsunami because it wasn’t seen as a threat.
“I was worried about earthquakes in Tokyo, and even experienced one there,” he said. “But I never worried about that in Malaysia or Southeast Asia.”
The Kissmans arrived in Kuala Lumpur in June 2001, three months before Sept. 11. From the start, they were treated with kindness and hospitality.
“When Sept. 11 happened, Malaysians came up to us and apologized to us and told us that it wasn’t what Islam was all about.”
Kissman watched broadcast after broadcast, and each day saw new video footage of the disaster and what was left of the place he visited three years ago.
“I was watching some of the video on television and there was a couple who talked about the kindness of the Thai people,” Kissman adds. “I heard how some Thai people cared for others even after they had lost everything. The Thai people are very gracious and unselfish. To them, foreigners are guests of honor in their country and also their responsibility.”
After the deadly quake and tsunamis struck, little was left of the coastal areas. As of Sunday, the death toll had risen to more than 155,000 people. As relief workers continue to reach some of the hardest hit areas, more victims are being found, virtually all so badly decomposed from the 95 degree heat and 100 percent humidity that they are being shoveled into mass graves.
Kissman feels a special connection to the victims and survivors of the tsunami because of the time he spent in that part of the world.
“I think that because I’ve been there, I feel a sense of ownership and connection,” he says. “It has made me continue to follow the story and also to have some kind of fund-raiser here.”
To that end, he has initiated a “dime drive,” encouraging area students to donate a dime to a tsunami relief fund.
“There are more than 90 million students in the U.S. If every one of them contributed a dime, it would be just shy of $1 million,” he says. “It could make a tremendous difference.”

Published Jan. 20, 2005 in The Belleville View, The Saline Reporter

Squibs: Tattoos (from 2004)

Renee Collins — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 02:56:11 +0000

There is a certain mystique about tattoos. For some people, covering their bodies in piercings and permanent ink is a serious form of self-expression, one that borders on a religious experience.
The art of tattoo dates back centuries. Tattoos were found on a 5,000-year-old man from the Bronze Age, and European explorers to the South Pacific found the native peoples of Borneo and Polynesia wearing more tattoos than clothing. In fact, the word tattoo comes from the Tahitian “tatu,” which means “to mark something.” Some historians think tattooing has been around since 12,000 B.C.
Pete Townshend of The Who wrote and performed a tribute to the ancient art of human identification and protection in a song called “Tattoo, which appeared on the 1967 album, “The Who Sell Out.”
Townshend sings, “Welcome to my life, tattoo.
I’m a man now thanks to you. I’m sure I’ll regret you,
but the skin graft men won’t get you, You’ll be there when I die, tattoo.”
I’ve never been one to pine away for a permanent picture of anything on my body. Tattoos involve using needles to put permanent ink three skin layers deep into whatever part of your body you wish to identify.
On a recent trip to Indianapolis, I had occasion to engage in a little tattoo show and tell, and while I’m not planning to get my own body art, I did find the experience fascinating. Even more compelling was finding out exactly what made them do it.
Jeremy, 24, wears his hair in that trendy style common to the 20-something group—sides and back “high and tight,” but with the top half pulled back into a pony tail on the crown of the head. Jeremy is a manager at a block manufacturing company; he sports pierced ears, and admits to having had a pierced eyebrow and bottom lip.
“The company I work for said the earrings were okay, but the other piercings had to go,” he says. “I was surprised that they didn’t mind the tattoos.”
Jeremy’s tattoos are nothing short of impressive. They are all done in black ink, and cover his entire arm, from shoulder to wrist. On his forearm, a man saws off his own leg; under the bicep, a nude woman is tortured. There are skulls and chains and daggers and all manner of suffering and death, some of it recognizable from the covers of rock bands like Metallica and AC/DC. Other images apparently were just the imagination of the artist.
Jeremy takes a pull from a bottle of Bud Light before rolling up his shirt sleeve so I can get a better view of these horrific renderings. He tells me that chose these images because he isn’t very good about expressing himself, and had a tendency to repress a lot of his emotion, especially anger. I am fascinated by the intricacy of the artwork. He says he plans to get his other arm done, too, but expects it would probably be a little different theme. A crown of thorns adorns his left bicep.
“This is the first tattoo I ever had, and I’ll probably just get it covered with something else,” he says. “It’s flash.”
Flash?
“Flash is the tattoo you get when you go to a place and just pick from the designs that they have (displayed),” Jeremy informs me. “This isn’t a very good tattoo. See how the ink kinda runs?”
Shannon, a 32-year-old mother of two, has a variety of tattoos—all in color. There is the palm tree and sunset on her right calf, the go-kart on her left shoulder and arm, and various vines, flowers, and tropical-themed subjects across the small of her back, across her shoulders, and down her arm. She wanted a tattoo while she was in high school, but her parents wouldn’t let her get one. So, she waited until she got married at the age of 21. She says that getting a tattoo or “tat” is very painful—more so than childbirth. “If you decide that you don’t like the tattoo, it’s better just to get it tattooed over with something else because getting them removed is really more painful,” she says.
Her husband, Chris, who also is in his early 30s, takes off his shirt to display a sprawling depiction of a go-kart and driver. The driver is their 6-year-old son. Chris has pierced ears as well.
Shannon confesses that she had her nipples pierced because her husband found the idea “sexy.” I tell her I would have to draw the line at body piercing, no matter how much my husband might want me to get it done.
Shannon and Chris had the tragus/tragi of their ears pierced. For the uninitiated—or the unpierced—the tragus is the projection of skin-covered cartilage attached to the head just above the earlobe. Quite a painful place to get a piercing, I’ve heard.
Young Joe has tattoos on most of his body, or at least, what is exposed. He is wearing those shorts that young men favor these days—you know, the ones that hang so low on the hips the crotch is at the knees. He hikes up his pant leg to show me this massive color tattoo of a tattoo machine.
“What is it?” I inquire, puzzled.
“A tattoo machine,” he says with some pride.
The tattoo covers the skin of his thigh from his hip bone to his knee. I learn it was done in several visits by a local tattoo artist who charges $10 or $15 an hour. Jeremy, standing by, comments that he has about $5,000 in tattoo “hours” on just his arm.
“Tattoos are sacred to me,” says Joe. “They are graffiti.”
He sports three eyebrow piercings, a couple of nostril piercings, and a lower lip piercing. I hear a clacking against his teeth—his tongue is pierced. I don’t ask whether he has any other unseen piercings. He has numerous ear piercings, and his earlobes are separated by a ring about a 1/2″ thick and about an inch in diameter—my father would have called it a washer. The skin of the earlobes hangs down a little on either side of the ring. I put my finger through the ring because at first I thought it might be filled with plastic or glass. He also has a tragus piercing in each ear.
But the piercings seem secondary to the drama of the tattoos. Not quite Ray Bradbury’s “Illustrated Man,” the elaborate, intricate skin carvings are a testimony to the efforts of one tattoo artist, a 44-year-old fella by the name of Tim. I meet him, finally, and we go outside the pub to talk more about tattoo artistry.
Tim is about 6’8,” a big man wearing a navy and white bandana on his head and a pair of hoop earrings. He has tattoos, also, but fewer than those of his customers. He has been doing tattoos about 15 years or so, although he is a paint contractor by profession.
“For me, tattoo is like a religious experience,” he explains. “Like a calling.”
He says he “screwed up” his chance at art school due to making bad decisions about women in his younger days, and did a stint in the U.S. Army before his career as a paint contractor. When he first started experimenting with tattoo, he says he had a passion for it and what it represents.
“Women are what really killed a lot of the tattoo business,” Tim laments. “Once they decided that tattoos were fashion, parlors started springing up all over the place.”
Tim used to make a lot more money in tattoo art than he does these days, but he doesn’t care that much about the money.
“I like coming up with designs for customers, and working with them to get the tattoo to where it matches what they have in mind,” he says. “I don’t do anything that looks Satanic or like devil worship, either. There is some scary stuff and people out there these days.”
Unlike Jeremy, Chris, or Joe, Tim had heard of Bradbury’s classic book and had read it in high school. He hadn’t thought about it in a long time, though, and says he might have to go back and re-read it. He comments that he would like to have his whole body covered in tattoos.
“They’re like a religion,” he says. “There’s just no other way to explain how I feel about it.”
First Published in The Saline Reporter, April 1, 2004

Squibs: Independence Day 2003

Renee Collins — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 02:22:55 +0000

On Friday, U.S. citizens will mark the 227th birthday of our nation. Filled as it is with beach parties, tubing, picnics and fireworks, it’s difficult sometimes to determine just how important Independence Day is to the citizenry.
If the purpose of celebrating July 4 is to commemorate our collective independence—our struggle to invent ourselves as a democracy where everyone’s rights are protected—well, as a nation, we’re falling pretty short of that lofty goal.
There are other holidays throughout the year that call to mind the sacrifices others have made so that we can enjoy our freedom—Veterans Day, Memorial Day, Presidents Day—and like Independence Day, these typically are marked by clearance sales at department stores and specials on alcohol, potato salad, and cold cuts.
Marketing opportunities flourish around the holidays, with various retailers taking advantage of the spirit of the season to make a few bucks. It is the American way; pure, unfettered capitalism disguised as patriotism.
Independence Day is important not so much as for its historical significance as its status as a “paid day off” for those of us with such a benefit. So it should come as no real surprise that voter turnout at the polls is sinking to new lows nor should it be news that the citizenry seem unbelievably unconcerned about anything happening beyond the confines of their backyard barbeques.
It’s a far cry from the great spirit of freedom so central to the lives of our parents, a patriotism watered down considerably with changes in culture, political attitudes, and the events of our times. Independence Day seems to lack the historical relevance it once had—even as recently as the 1940s. But there is relevance there and clear, documented evidence of the bloody struggle and sacrifice contained in events that spawned the free nation we now take for granted.
Fifty-six men forfeited their financial security and even their lives in 1776, when they drafted the Declaration of Independence. These men weren’t rabble rousers or wild-eyed revolutionaries, either. Twenty-four of them were lawyers and jurists. Eleven were merchants, nine were farmers and large plantation owners. They were soft-spoken men of means and education with the security of wealth.
But, they valued liberty more.
They signed the Declaration of Independence, vowing “For the support of this declaration, with firm reliance on the protection of the divine providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.”
It became their death warrant.
Five of the signers were captured by the British as traitors and tortured before they died. Twelve of them had their homes ransacked and burned. Two lost their sons, who were serving in the Revolutionary Army. Another had two of his sons captured. Nine of the signers fought and died from wounds or hardships of the Revolutionary War.
They suffered.
Carter Braxton of Virginia was a wealthy planter and trader. He watched his ships swept from the sea by the British Navy. He sold his home and properties to pay his debts and died a pauper.
Thomas McKean was forced to move his family from place to place after constant hounding by the British. He served in Congress without pay, and his family was forced to stay in hiding. Eventually, his possessions were taken from him and he lived in poverty.
William Ellery, Lyman Hall, George Clymer, George Walton, Button Gwinnett, Thomas Heyward, Edward Rutledge, and Arthur Middleton all had their properties looted by vandals and soldiers. AT the battle of Yorktown, Thomas Nelson Jr. noted that General Charles Cornwallis appropriated his home for British headquarters. Nelson quietly urged General George Washington to open fire on his home, destroying the Nelson house. Nelson died eventually, bankrupt.
Francis Lewis’ home and properties were destroyed. The British jailed his wife and she died within a few months.
John Hart was driven from his wife’s bedside as she lay dying and the Harts’ 13 children fled for their lives. The British laid his fields and gristmill to waste. Hart lived in forests and caves for more than a year and when he returned home, he found his wife dead and his children vanished without a trace. He died of exhaustion and a broken heart.
Lewis Morris and Philip Livingston suffered similar fates.
In the Revolutionary War, we weren’t fighting the British—we were British subjects fighting our own government. And while it’s a little tough to relate to these 18th century gentlemen with their powdered wigs, cropped pants, and tights putting the final touches on their death warrant, we can relate to those who fought and died in World War I and World War II, the 58,000 men and women who died in Vietnam, and the scores of Gulf War veterans, as well as troops in Afghanistan and Iraq who have answered a call to fight for freedom.
Freedom does have a price—measured not in dollars but in the blood shed and the lives given so that we can go to have a picnic on the beach and bash politicians and everyone else with whom we don’t agree. We are called upon to make our own sacrifices so that these “blessings of freedom” are visited on our children and grandchildren. For us, no blood is required—only the responsibility to know the issues and speak out—in letters to the editor, in our everyday lives, and at the ballot box—that is what future generations will demand of us—not that we shed our blood but that we had the courage to pull free from the bonds of apathy and remove the blinders we’re wearing to the state of the nation—and the world—in which we live.
Independence Day isn’t about blindly stuffing ourselves with hot dogs, watermelon, and Bud Light. It’s about our accountability as citizens of the U.S. to protect and defend our rights by expressing them.
First published in The Saline Reporter, July 3, 2003

Squibs: Off the Beat in 2004

Renee Collins — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 02:21:07 +0000

By Renee Lapham Collins, Associate Editor
In this hectic, sound-bite-driven world of ours, some of the most interesting and entertaining headlines never make the front page, often escaping notice by readers conditioned to a quick perusal of the A-section.
Last week, for example, I happened upon some offbeat reports filed by the Associated Press. Here is a sampling of the strange, mystifying, “we didn’t make this up” news around the world.
Dog Eat Dog
According to a report filed by the AP, Princess Anne, daughter of Queen Elizabeth, will be sending her bull terrier Florence to an animal psychologist “to avoid having it euthanized after it attacked a royal maid and fatally mauled one of the Queen’s beloved corgis.”
Florence will be examined by psychologist Roger Mugford, who indicated the attacks may have been related to an “underlying medical factor.
“We’re not talking about an inherently aggressive or dangerous dog,” Mugford said. “I am sure it is just a dog who is feeling a bit out of sorts about something…and is feeling a bit cranky.”
When I’m feeling out of sorts, I always take a bite out of someone’s leg. It can be quite soothing.
–Hannibal Lechter
Chomping at the bit
From London, we travel to Bangkok where, on Jan. 6, an 80-year-old elephant named Morakot living in captivity in Thailand, had fallen into poor health and was suffering from malnutrition because she had lost her fourth set of teeth.
Elephants, we learn, have four sets of natural teeth throughout their lifetimes. Once they lose their last molar, they die of starvation.
Enter Dr. Somsak Jitniyom, a local veterinarian, who devised a set of dentures for the aging pachyderm and fitted them in her mouth while she was under sedation.
The false teeth were described as a U-shaped denture six inches wide and six inches long made from stainless steel, silicone, and plastic.
He reportedly said that, while he wasn’t sure whether anyone else had ever made dentures for an elephant, he knew that animal dentists had fitted elephants with “false” tusks.
It’s not clear whether the good doctor used an elephant-strength denture adhesive or simply relied on tried and true multipurpose duct tape.
In the nude
A 44-year-old British citizen reportedly was convicted of breaching the peace and sentenced to spend three months in jail following an attempt to walk the length of Britain in the buff to promote public nudity. He received credit for one month served.
The charges stem from a Nov. 29 incident in which the man was strolling through the village of Evanton in the Scottish Highlands in his birthday suit, accessorized with a pair of socks and a pair of boots. He carried a knapsack.
The gentleman, say reports, had been repeatedly arrested since last June, when he struck out from Land’s End in southwest England on his 847-mile journey to John O’Groats in Scotland’s far north. He sought to promote “public nudity” through his pilgrimage.
The man was arrested after a village resident expressed concern about the affect the sight of a naked man would have on women and children.
The hiker argued in court that he had been exercising his right to free expression, stating, “There is no law saying ‘Thou shalt not go naked,’” he said.
Whether the walker was forced to don orange coveralls during his court appearance remains unknown.
In the Garden
In Hudson, Fla., a man named Bill Martin has purchased 240 acres of property outside of Tampa to develop a Christian-themed nudist community, which he plans to call “Natura,” according to wire reports.
“The Bible very clearly states that when Adam and Eve were in right with God, they were naked,” the executive director of the project, David Blood, was quoted as saying.
The property, which Martin purchased for some $1.6 million, is an old nudist colony that has fallen into disrepair. According to reports, Martin hopes to have it cleaned up enough by April so that he can host a naturist marriage retreat and nude baptism ceremony.

Busted
A suspect who reportedly robbed a 7-11 store at gunpoint was caught by police after he stupidly left his jail identification card at the scene of the crime.
According to deputies in the Kern County, Calif. sheriff’s office, the robber covered his face with a bandana, and donned a hat and gloves. After allegedly robbing the store, he ran into a nearby backyard and tossed the incriminating clothes, the handgun, and the jacket he had been wearing—with his county jail property identification card in the pocket.
Deputies recognized the suspect from the ID, went to his house, and reportedly found him hiding in the attic. He apparently had attempted to change his appearance by shaving his head and leaving the remains in the kitchen waste can.

Originally published in The Saline Reporter, Jan. 15, 2004

Life lessons from the basketball court

Renee Collins — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 15:20:06 +0000

I watched a kid trying to shoot baskets last night in the gym. He was small, and eventually got tired of missing the mark, so he started heaving his basketball against the wall, practicing for the day when he would be tall enough to play above the rim.
The bigger boys and a couple of girls were scrimmaging full-court style, still playmates, these boys growing into men, caught on the tender edge of adulthood. They look young, 14 or 15 maybe, half have taken off their shirts signaling a split from backyard playmates to competitors.
They race, sylph-like, back and forth, shouting at each other, not quite men, but seemingly eager to get there. At night they drift off to dreams of being the next Isaiah Thomas or Michael Jordan, leaping into the air to slam one into the basket, the spotlights gleaming, the fans screaming.
Perhaps Isaiah is inspiring our young friend, again attempting to sink a basket, leaping and jumping, then bending down to dribble under each leg, imitating the pros.
Shoes squeak on the polished wood, the shrill sound of stops and starts, quick moves from side to side. Two men watch from the sidelines, crouched, Indian-style, studying technique, planning strategies, calling fouls, perhaps seeing what kind of players these boys may one day become.
The little guy is forced out, now, as the big boys practice free throws. Just the right movement of knees and wrists, the proper propulsion to knock the ball gently into the basket. Too much power, it bounces off the backboard. Too little, it falls short.
Once again, the players run back and forth, each taking a role in the game, trying to blend into a single team personality.
Their lives are distant from ours. These boys are standing at the edge of summer vacation, their worlds no bigger than the basketball court in the high school gym, their concerns no greater than how much practice time they can squeeze in before going home to take out the garbage and mow the lawn.
There are no such timeouts for adults, no summer vacation filled with games and bicycle rides and forts in trees. It’s the great irony of life—to spend so much of our childhood wishing we were older, and so much more of our adulthood wishing we were children, and longing for the sweet safety of playtime, of lying in the backyard staring at the clouds for no particular reason except that it felt good.
As I watched these boys running up and down the court, I knew if I asked them why basketball, they would shrug and say “because it’s fun.” Their enjoyment of the game, of sprints up and down the court, of a world that exists only inside the boundary of the court, that is all that matters.
For their parents, days of summer are long forgotten, replaced by worries about the mortgage, the car payment, how they will fund braces for these soon-to-be men so that they can step into the world with perfect Hollywood smiles, walking billboards of parental sacrifice. All parents want their kids to have better than they did—the competitive spirit of basketball is translated into an unconscious need to be recognized as better parents than their own had been.
The quest for perfect children and the overpowering enjoyment of the game swirl around the court, played out in an elaborate succession of leaps and shouts; clad in Nike wear, the players show off NBA-inspired moves, fortifying their parents’ dreams.
In the bleachers, parents watch, shouting encouragement to their sons, criticizing the referee who dares to call their child on a personal foul, playing the role of protector and defender, unwilling to let their son be hurt by a bad call, blinded to the lesson of accountability that comes with breaking the rules of the game.
Some of these boys will absorb the lessons of life with the skill reserved for sinking three-point shots. Others will huddle beneath the protective armor of parents whose children never make mistakes. Most will grow up and watch their own sons and daughters struggling to reach the rim, praying the ball will tip ever so slightly into the basket.
They may remember the enjoyment of the game, and finally see the lessons they learned as young players: there are rules to govern and penalties for breaking them; there are rewards for teamwork and punishment for discord; there are winners and losers.
Most importantly, there is the lesson of life: it’s not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game—inside the lines or out.

First published June 12, 2003 in The Saline Reporter

Heidi Cobb: Friends, coworker mourn loss

Renee Collins — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 14:57:54 +0000

Heidi Ann Cobb, account executive for Heritage Newspapers in Saline, died Tuesday, May 25 at her home after a 5-year battle with cancer.
Heidi was born March 11, 1954 in Detroit, the daughter of John and Eva (Eschenweck) Cobb. On Aug. 17, 1979, she married David Kinsvater in Ann Arbor. and he survives. Heidi and her husband had made Bridgewater Township their home for 30 years, where she served on the township Planning Commission. She also was active in a variety of community and school organizations, including the Saline Area Chamber of Commerce.
“It’s a sad day for the chamber—for all of Saline,” said Larry Osterling, executive director of the SACC. “Heidi was just everywhere and she came to everything. She was one of the finest—the best people—I ever met.”
Heidi attended Schoolcraft College and the University of Michigan, where she majored in art and was a potter for 20 years, before coming to work at The Saline Reporter in 1995. For the past 4 years, she was an advertising account representative serving the Saline area community.
Michelle Micklewright, advertising manager at Heritage Newspapers, said she always was “amazed by what Heidi could accomplish, even when the cancer had spread to her lungs, liver and bones.
“I had always known that Heidi takes great care with and was dedicated to serving her customers, but this became even more evident when I handled some of her customers for a few days while she was undergoing treatment.
“The majority of her customers were not aware of her condition. They cared about her because she was such a great asset to them and to their businesses.”
Micklewright said that “watching Heidi’s dedication to her job is like making a deposit into our own bank of persistence.
“Being in the office each day, and enjoying the hustle and bustle is the medicine that Heidi prescribed to herself to keep the fire burning inside her soul. She was a hard-working, kind, considerate person.”
In March, Heidi celebrated her 50th birthday, and she was treated to a score of good wishes and a big cake at the annual Saline Salutes program. She also was honored as the Heritage Newspapers’ Employee of the Month for going above and beyond the requirements of her job.
“Heidi was a real professional,” Osterling said. “She gave her attention to everybody and she just had this knack of knowing what helped other people. I’m proud to say I knew her.”
Added Micklewright:
“Heidi taught us all to be strong and never give up. She taught us that dedication goes way beyond coming to work each day. She taught us that no matter what life deals you, it doesn’t mean that you give up what you love.
“Because it just might be the best medicine you can give yourself.”
In addition to her husband, Heidi is survived by: two daughters, Kirstin Kinsvater of Ypsilanti and Piper Kinsvater of Saline; her parents of Westland; and a brother, Bruce Cobb of Columbus, Ohio.
At Heidi’s request, cremation has taken place. The family will receive visitors on Friday, May 28 from 4-8 p.m. at the Robison-Bahnmiller Funeral Home in Saline.
Memorial contributions may be made to Hospice of Michigan. Envelopes will be available at the funeral home.

First published in The Saline Reporter, May 27, 2004

Bob and Woodie Merchant mark 60 years together

Renee Collins — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 14:54:15 +0000

The longest ever marriage reportedly lasted 86 years, while the longest living married couple marked their 79 anniversary last February.
Woodie and Bob Merchant of Saline are gaining on the latter record, marking 60 happy years together on June 12.
At the heart of their marital longevity, according to Bob, is never having a fight. Woodie attributes the success of their relationship to Bob, “the sweetest man in the world.” They can’t give each other enough credit for the happiness they have shared.
“We brought each other up,” she declares.
Over a recent cup of coffee at the Merchant residence off Whitlock Street, Woodie reflected on six decades with Bob, remembering their 1943 wedding day in Yale, how she felt, what she wore, and other fragments of the past that remain fresh in her memory.
Take the Daniel Green slippers, for example. The war years meant shortages and sacrifices. Instead of shoes, Woodie wore white satin Daniel Green slippers with a pink satin lining.
“They were lovely,” she said.
That day, said Woodie, she remembers greeting her guests, cutting the cake, and talking with friends. But underneath the trappings of the wedding and reception was a sense of excitement.
“I was really excited that day because I was going to be with Bob forever,” she said.
The Merchants met while students at Michigan State in 1940. Woodie, from Yale, in the Thumb, was studying music while Bob, a Detroit native, was in the agriculture program. A city boy, Bob and his father were unlikely partners in the farming biz, which is how he and Woodie settled in Saline. Their first home was on 190 acres off Maple Road.
Woodie went from the college classroom to the role of farmer’s wife, and Bob went from college to the cultivator.
“We’ve had lots of adventures in this little community,” she said. “We really had a wonderful time with the farm, and we did a lot of traveling and camping with our kids.”
The Merchants have become a Saline legend of sorts in their 60 years in town. Woodie taught scores of Saline children how to play the piano as well as giving them an appreciation for music that they would carry into adulthood. She worked at Storybook Gardens, a preschool operated by Jackie Tull, and she volunteered in many organizations, including the Saline Community Hospital Foundation Board, the Foundation for Saline Area Schools, and a host of others. Woodie also served on the Saline Board of Education for several years, and has written a regular column for The Saline Reporter, “Welcome to the Neighborhood.”
Bob, a farmer for many years, as well as a businessman, has worked as a real estate agent, a job he still does today, and is active in the Saline Rotary Club.
Helping keep their marriage on an even keel is their belief that even married folk need some time away from each other. Bob typically goes to “deer camp” in November, and to the “island” in June.
Bob’s health hasn’t been the best in recent weeks, and he spent a few days at Saline Hospital.
“I asked him if he still planned on going to the island,” Woodie commented. “He said, ‘Hell, yes, I’m going!’
“He’s worked really hard to get himself well, and I’m glad because he needed to go, and to know that he could do that. It really was wonderful.”
She knew she didn’t have to worry since middle son Jim Merchant would be going along with the rest of the male members of the family, and Woodie knew the son would look out for the father.
Jim, she said, “mollycoddles us.” She explained that he considered having his octogenarian parents to move in with him. But Woodie knows that she and Bob are doing just fine in their Whitlock Street home.
Their life together is so intertwined that Woodie doubts she has much to worry about if she does end up a widow.
“I’m not afraid to live alone,” she said. “I wouldn’t be living that much longer anyway.”
Neither Woodie nor Bob show any signs of slowing down. But life now is different from the way it used to be.
“There are things that you don’t understand, but there are good things, too,” she said.
Like the friends and family that have been the focal point of their marriage.
“I loved raising a family and sometimes, I get lonely for my children—not as they are now, but as they were when they were little.”
Most of those friends and family have been witness to the success of the Merchants’ 60-year-old union, celebrating birthdays and holidays together, mourning at their side when son Rob died of cancer in 1998, right around this time of year.
Two days after their wedding anniversary, Bob will turn 83, and no doubt there will be some kind of celebration with friends and/or family, just as there likely will be for a 60th anniversary.
Woodie said recently that she expected to celebrate the milestone quietly with family and without the fuss and fanfare each planned for the other on their respective 80th birthdays.
As she said shortly before reaching her eighth decade,
“This isn’t (our) world anymore and my kids are going to have to get used to that. You reach an age where you realize that this isn’t your world anymore, that you’re passing this world on.”

From The Saline Reporter, June 2003