Golden Globes continued…
- Verve is an underused word. I’m gonna use that tomorrow.
- Notice that they’re not playing Meryl off with music.
- Honest, compassionate speech from Meryl (also now known as T-Bone).
I don’t share political messages as much as I used to, however, in light of the Supreme Court’s decision tomorrow on Health Care Reform, I ask you to think of it in these terms: My brother battled a life-threatening medical emergency three years ago. If this legislation is struck down, he will not be eligible for health insurance should he ever lose his current coverage (because he now has a pre-existing condition). His medical bills were astronomical, and under HCR, there is NO LIFETIME CAP. If it is struck down, it’s highly likely he only has a couple of years remaining of having health care coverage due to limits.
My brother works full-time, has a great family, pays his taxes, owns a home, and had a bad hand dealt to him. There is NO reason why he should have to pay a penalty - that could potentially change his quality of life - for something that was out of his control. Or as some would even say - an act of God.
It may not be the most perfect of reforms, however, for the average person, it’s the right thing to do. Health care is a right for all - not the privileged.
This true story appeared in the Mountaineer in Waynesville, NC earlier this week, penned by my aunt, Mary Ann Enloe. I’ve heard this story from my mom over the years, and my aunt’s writing captures the spirit of the memory - despite sad circumstances - beautifully. It’s easy to see that my mom’s spirit has always been kind and compassionate. I’m so thankful to have grown up in a home filled with kindness and love, with no judgement of others. Only respect, appreciation and celebration of differences. I love you mom. Merry Christmas.
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When I was growing up in Hazelwood, Christmas meant piling into the car with Mother, Daddy, little sisters Emily and Betsy, and Aunt Debrayda, to head for the sleepy north Alabama town of Wedowee.
My grandmother Stella McKay Fisher, “Nonnie” to us, was a widow and she remarried the year I was born. Her new husband was a doctor 25 years her senior. Dr. O. C. Mastin practiced medicine in Wedowee in a wing of their Main Street house and he was the town’s only doctor. There was no pharmacist. If he prescribed it, he had to know how to mix it.
This was an Alabama of segregation; of separate water fountains; of sitting in the back of the bus; of eating in the kitchen at the cafe if your skin wasn’t white. My step-grandfather would have none of that. His waiting room and examination room did not have signs that said “White” and “Colored." If white folks didn’t like it, they could go all the way to Anniston to the doctor. In Wedowee, Dr. Mastin was it.
The Mastins’ combination home-doctor’s office overflowed at Christmas. Pallets on the floor, sofas, roll-away beds in an unheated sunroom, all became places to sleep as Daddy, his three sisters, and their families converged from all directions for Christmas at Nonnie’s.
When Nonnie’s seven grandchildren swooped down on Wedowee, we had the run of the town. The newspaper’s society editor would call Nonnie on the candlestick telephone ("number, please?”) to get details about various arrival times. Suzie of Suzie’s Cafe across the street inquired too, so she could have the ice cream man leave a tub of chocolate. Apparently I was the only child in Wedowee who had to have chocolate.
Occasionally because of Daddy’s work schedule at Dayton Rubber, we’d have to travel on Christmas Eve day, not getting to Nonnie’s until after dark. Daddy kept Emily and Betsy occupied by telling them to look for Santa in the sky. I decided I saw him, too. It was fun to imagine. .
When we passed the Randolph County High School and headed down the hill,. Mother would say with excitement, “You girls wake up and brush your hair. We’re almost to Nonnie’s!”
The biggest Christmas tree we’d ever seen towered over the pump organ in the living room filled chock-a-block with Victorian Eastlake furniture and ‘Gone with the Wind’ lamps. When Daddy unloaded the car’s trunk and added all the wrapped gifts we had brought to the mountain of goodies already surrounding the big fat tree, there was hardly room to walk. Everybody gave everybody a present and opening them on Christmas morning was not orchestrated. We were allowed to light in, paper and ribbon flying.
My most memorable Wedowee Christmas Day took place in the late 1940's and it was not about our frenetic consumerism. It was about a beautiful four-year-old black child from down on the river whose father hauled her to Dr. Mastin’s on the back of a flat bed wagon pulled by a mule.
The hulk of a man in overalls didn’t ring the bell to Dr. Mastin’s office that Christmas morning. He beat on the front door to the living room.
“My baby fell into the fireplace," he said. Tears inched down his face and dripped off his chin.
Dr. Mastin, in his 80’s and sharp as scissors but stooped and frail, motioned for Daddy to help him carry the child into the examination room. Nonnie went on ahead to get the table ready. She had been Dr. Mastin's nurse from early in their marriage and the only nurse’s training she had was what he taught her.
Daddy came into the living room and whispered to Mother, "It’s not good. Her nightgown is burned to her.”
Our Christmas stockings were three-feet-long works of art handmade by Aunt Debrayda and they marched across the edge of Nonnie’s ornate mantelpiece like a Christmas army stuffed and lumpy from a holiday feast. My middle sister Emily was still a toddler in 'feet pajamas’ and she clamored for her stocking. When an aunt took it down and gave it to her, she scrambled over to the interior door to Dr. Mastin’s examination room. We weren’t permitted to enter that door.
“No, no, honey, we can't go in there," Mother said as Emily reached for the doorknob.
Emily clutched the stocking that was as big as she was, looked up and said, "I want to give this to the little girl."
Without further words Mother took Emily by the hand and quietly they entered the forbidden room. On tiptoes, Emily gingerly placed the stocking beside the burned child on the examining table.
Later that Christmas day, Daddy and Dr. Mastin took the little girl to nearby Roanoke where she died in the small hospital.
But she had a Christmas stocking that year. A big one.
Every Christmas, part of my heart is in Wedowee, Alabama. And all of my heart thanks Dr. Mastin and Nonnie for showing us by example that judging folks by the color of their skin was wrong.
If you’re a PR professional or student active on Twitter, Google Buzz, Facebook, etc., you may have seen the #happo hashtag sometime during the past week or so. Short for Help A PR Pro Out, Happo is the brainchild of the way awesome Arik Hanson and Valerie Simon.
Instead of using the power of social media for evil (though who in their right mind would do that?), PR folks from across the country are going to use their combined powers for good on Friday, February 19. The goal is to connect job seekers with those who have jobs available. Senior level practitioners, recent graduates, mid-level account executives - heck even those journalists looking to make the jump to PR should block out much of their Friday in order to take part. To learn more about the inspiration for this project, click over to Arik’s original post.
So now what?
If you’re a job seeker, now’s the time to show your stuff. Post a blog telling folks why you’re a rock star. Grab your Flip Cam (what - you don’t have one?) and let the world know of your PR awesomeness via YouTube. Keynote expert? Put a presentation together. Then craft a 140-character pitch and tweet your links to these items on Friday with the #happo hashtag. HAPPO champions in your market (and all around the country) will then tweet, re-tweet, Facebook and Buzz your information.
If you’re fortunate enough to be on the other side, and have PR job openings to share, then spend some time on Friday checking out the amazing talent available. Follow the #happo hashtag and reach out to those people who may be a fit for your organization. There are some amazingly talented individuals out there looking for a great job and HAPPO is excited to make a love connection with as many people and organizations as possible.
Here in Florida, there are three HAPPO champions - because we’re THAT awesome. John Sternal (@sternalpr) is covering South Florida, Jamie Floer (@jamiefloer) has Central Florida under contr0l and I’m rocking North Florida (@bonnieupright and @prville). But if you’re in a different part of the country, no worries - there’s a HAPPO champion near you. Check out the HAPPO Web site for full details, including selected job posts, champions list, even a few HAPPO puns (c'mon - we’re PR people!).
If you’ve got any questions, feel free to tweet any of us listed on the Web site, or email me directly at bonnie@uprightpr.com. HAPPO days are here again!