Column Writing - Rita Haldeman

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By Rita Haldeman PuBlisHeR On thursday, Oct. 2, i will celebrate two years as a breast cancer survivor. Happy birthday to me! all of us who have survived the ordeal of breast cancer have a story to share, and hopefully by sharing, women and men of all ages will be a little more aware that it can, in fact, happen to anyone. more importantly, if caught in the early stages, breast cancer is certainly not a death sentence. the last couple of years have been a little hectic. i have lived in shreveport, louisiana, Greenville, texas, and now here in Huntsville. Go back two years and i was in Greenville visiting with my family doctor for a routine visit. the doctor asked me when was the last time i had a mammo- gram. i really didn’t know the answer, but i told him two years. at that point, he insisted that i have one done that day and that he would make the arrangements. i argued that i had way too much work to do and that i would schedule one soon. that doctor wasn’t taking no for an answer. Within an hour, i was in the Women’s Health waiting room. i had not felt anything abnormal and he hadn’t done any type of exam, so i was a little annoyed at his insistence to have the test done that day. Prophetic wisdom? divine intervention? mammograms are not the most pleasant thing to do, but after it was over, the techni- cian asked me to look at the screen and a mass was definitely present. she asked me if it was there on my last mammogram. i knew the answer was no and the heart pal- pitations started ... the first of many. the technician told me not to worry and that she would get my previous films from shreveport so that the radiologist could do a comparison. the old films came in the next week and i was back at the hospital for an ultrasound and biopsy. the in-between waiting times are enough to drive one to drink, but the final diagnosis was that i had breast cancer. it was a lobular carcinoma and only about 14 percent of women get this type. lobular carcinoma is difficult to diag- nose both by mammogram and ultrasound, yet they found mine. someone above was looking out for me! decisions have to be made and you try and make them with the best information you have. meetings with surgeons, oncolo- gists and radiation oncologists all can be overwhelming when you are trying to deter- mine what the best course of action is for your situation. they ultimately leave all the decisions in your hands and that alone is frightening. mastectomy, lumpectomy, chemo, radia- tion, reconstruction are the words you read over and over as you research all of your options. i had to go to Paris, texas, for a special test that would make sure that the cancer was confined to just the one breast. after finishing that, i noticed there was a Harley dealership next door. We had sold our Harley Classic back in 2002 and had been without a bike since that time. i looked at my husband and said, “do you know what i think would help me get through this and my treatment?” Of course, he said no. “i think i would like to buy another Harley so that i can recapture that sense of freedom, of being carefree with no worries.” Bob really thought i was kidding. i was- n’t and prior to my surgery we bought a Road King. no regrets here. at this time, i didn’t know anyone who had gone through breast cancer. there was no family history. i had no one to talk to who had actually gone through this, and for a moment, i felt more alone than i had ever felt in my life. my husband and kids were great. my friends were supportive. my shreveport church family became great prayer warriors just for me. all these blessings surrounded me, yet i was immersed in fear of the unknown. What i did know is that this was a new season that was heavily surrounded by dark clouds. i could walk through this with a spirit of courage as i tried to praise God in this uncharted territory that we call cancer. i could face this with strength and dignity as this obviously was an intended part of my journey. i could praise Him in this storm if that’s what it took to carry me through. Or ... i could just let it get the best of me and let fear and depression take root in the very fiber of my being. i chose to “fight like a girl,” whatever that means. i decided to go the lumpectomy route. the remainder of my treatment plan would have to wait until the pathology was back, including a test they call an Oncotype dX. this test analyzes the activity of a group of genes that can affect how a cancer is likely to behave and respond to treatment. it helps doctors figure out a woman’s risk of early- stage, estrogen-receptor-positive breast can- cer coming back (recurrence), as well as how likely she is to benefit from chemother- apy after breast cancer surgery. my surgery went well with the exception of the fact they could not get me to breathe on my own and had to intubate me again. i had to spend the night in iCu, and although i have no memory, i have been told that i was not very nice to anyone. not the nurses, not my husband, not my daughter. the publisher i worked for in Greenville has told me that i called her that evening and i was like a wild child. she found it amusing ... thank God. it was not until the end of november that i had all my test results back, and together with my doctor we determined that seven weeks of radiation was a great option for me. Great is probably the wrong adjective, for going through radiation therapy was anything but nice. i decided to take my treatments at the end of the work day so that i could go home when it was over. a little more than halfway through my treatment, one of my employees comment- ed to me as i as leaving. “Bet you are really going to miss leaving early every day when this is all over.” not a smart thing to say to me. i was so tired and my skin was really feeling the effects of the radiation. you could even say i was a wee bit cranky. everyone in the building stopped what they were doing. you could hear a pin drop. my head whipped around like l had the role of Reagan in “the exorcist.” “Really?” “do you think i’m leaving early to go have fun? do you think i enjoy exposing myself to a room full of techni- cians and having my skin burned to a pulp?” i think it was the only time i actually got angry throughout this entire process. i couldn’t get out of there fast enough. i definitely felt bad about it afterward, but at that particular moment in time, my ire defi- nitely got the best of me. in preparation for writing this column, i read my journal for the first time since writ- ing it two years ago. it brought back some unpleasant memories that i had almost for- gotten about. But it also reminded me how blessed i was. the bottom line is this: miraculously, the doctors found my cancer very early. they removed the cancer, treated me with radia- tion therapy and now i have the distinction of being known as a survivor. the title makes me a little bit uncomfortable, but it’s better than the alternative. to those of you reading this, be faithful getting those yearly mammograms. this disease affects one out of eight women and more men are being diagnosed than ever before. despite the fact that there are approxi- mately 2.8 million breast cancer survivors in the united states, the american Cancer society reports that one in 36 will not be able to beat it. Of six of my friends that hung together through high school and beyond, four of us have been diagnosed. my prayer, like the prayer of many oth- ers, is that a cure is found and breast cancer is eradicated from the face of the earth. However, until that time, we owe it to our- selves and to our families to do our due dili- gence by being aware, doing self-examina- tions and annual mammograms. SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 2014 6 THE HUNTSVILLE ITEM breast cancer awareness My journey with breast cancer PHOTO BY JOSHUA YATES/THE HUNTSVILLE ITEM A little more than halfway through my treatment, one of my employees comment- ed to me as I was leav- ing, ‘Bet you are really going to miss leaving early every day when this is all over.’ Not a smart thing to say to me. RITA HALDEMAN/ Pubilsher, The Huntsville Item Breast Cancer Pages_Layout 1 1/23/15 11:58 AM Page 6

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Transcript of Column Writing - Rita Haldeman

Page 1: Column Writing - Rita Haldeman

By Rita Haldeman

PuBlisHeR

On thursday, Oct. 2, i will celebrate twoyears as a breast cancer survivor. Happybirthday to me!

all of us who have survived the ordeal ofbreast cancer have a story to share, andhopefully by sharing, women and men of allages will be a little more aware that it can,in fact, happen to anyone.

more importantly, if caught in the earlystages, breast cancer is certainly not a deathsentence.

the last couple of years have been a littlehectic. i have lived in shreveport,louisiana, Greenville, texas, and now herein Huntsville. Go back two years and i wasin Greenville visiting with my family doctorfor a routine visit. the doctor asked mewhen was the last time i had a mammo-gram. i really didn’t know the answer, but itold him two years.

at that point, he insisted that i have onedone that day and that he would make thearrangements. i argued that i had way toomuch work to do and that i would scheduleone soon.

that doctor wasn’t taking no for ananswer. Within an hour, i was in theWomen’s Health waiting room. i had notfelt anything abnormal and he hadn’t doneany type of exam, so i was a little annoyed

at his insistence to have the test done thatday.

Prophetic wisdom? divine intervention?mammograms are not the most pleasant

thing to do, but after it was over, the techni-cian asked me to look at the screen and amass was definitely present. she asked meif it was there on my last mammogram. iknew the answer was no and the heart pal-pitations started ... the first of many.

the technician told me not to worry andthat she would get my previous films fromshreveport so that the radiologist could do acomparison.

the old films came in the next week andi was back at the hospital for an ultrasoundand biopsy. the in-between waiting timesare enough to drive one to drink, but thefinal diagnosis was that i had breast cancer.it was a lobular carcinoma and only about14 percent of women get this type.

lobular carcinoma is difficult to diag-nose both by mammogram and ultrasound,yet they found mine. someone above waslooking out for me!

decisions have to be made and you tryand make them with the best informationyou have. meetings with surgeons, oncolo-gists and radiation oncologists all can beoverwhelming when you are trying to deter-mine what the best course of action is foryour situation. they ultimately leave all thedecisions in your hands and that alone is

frightening. mastectomy, lumpectomy, chemo, radia-

tion, reconstruction are the words you readover and over as you research all of youroptions.

i had to go to Paris, texas, for a specialtest that would make sure that the cancerwas confined to just the one breast. afterfinishing that, i noticed there was a Harleydealership next door. We had sold ourHarley Classic back in 2002 and had beenwithout a bike since that time.

i looked at my husband and said, “doyou know what i think would help me getthrough this and my treatment?” Of course,he said no. “i think i would like to buyanother Harley so that i can recapture thatsense of freedom, of being carefree with noworries.”

Bob really thought i was kidding. i was-n’t and prior to my surgery we bought aRoad King. no regrets here.

at this time, i didn’t know anyone whohad gone through breast cancer. there wasno family history. i had no one to talk towho had actually gone through this, and fora moment, i felt more alone than i had everfelt in my life.

my husband and kids were great. myfriends were supportive. my shreveportchurch family became great prayer warriorsjust for me. all these blessings surroundedme, yet i was immersed in fear of theunknown.

What i did know is that this was a newseason that was heavily surrounded by darkclouds.

i could walk through this with a spirit ofcourage as i tried to praise God in thisuncharted territory that we call cancer. icould face this with strength and dignity asthis obviously was an intended part of myjourney. i could praise Him in this storm ifthat’s what it took to carry me through.

Or ... i could just let it get the best of meand let fear and depression take root in thevery fiber of my being.

i chose to “fight like a girl,” whateverthat means.

i decided to go the lumpectomy route.the remainder of my treatment plan wouldhave to wait until the pathology was back,including a test they call an Oncotype dX.this test analyzes the activity of a group ofgenes that can affect how a cancer is likelyto behave and respond to treatment. it helpsdoctors figure out a woman’s risk of early-stage, estrogen-receptor-positive breast can-cer coming back (recurrence), as well ashow likely she is to benefit from chemother-apy after breast cancer surgery.

my surgery went well with the exceptionof the fact they could not get me to breatheon my own and had to intubate me again. ihad to spend the night in iCu, and althoughi have no memory, i have been told that iwas not very nice to anyone. not the nurses,not my husband, not my daughter.

the publisher i worked for in Greenvillehas told me that i called her that eveningand i was like a wild child. she found itamusing ... thank God.

it was not until the end of november thati had all my test results back, and togetherwith my doctor we determined that sevenweeks of radiation was a great option forme. Great is probably the wrong adjective,for going through radiation therapy wasanything but nice. i decided to take mytreatments at the end of the work day so thati could go home when it was over.

a little more than halfway through mytreatment, one of my employees comment-ed to me as i as leaving. “Bet you are reallygoing to miss leaving early every day whenthis is all over.” not a smart thing to say tome.

i was so tired and my skin was reallyfeeling the effects of the radiation. youcould even say i was a wee bit cranky.everyone in the building stopped what theywere doing. you could hear a pin drop. myhead whipped around like l had the role ofReagan in “the exorcist.”

“Really?” “do you think i’m leavingearly to go have fun? do you think i enjoyexposing myself to a room full of techni-cians and having my skin burned to a pulp?”i think it was the only time i actually gotangry throughout this entire process.

i couldn’t get out of there fast enough. idefinitely felt bad about it afterward, but atthat particular moment in time, my ire defi-nitely got the best of me.

in preparation for writing this column, iread my journal for the first time since writ-ing it two years ago. it brought back someunpleasant memories that i had almost for-gotten about. But it also reminded me howblessed i was.

the bottom line is this: miraculously, thedoctors found my cancer very early. theyremoved the cancer, treated me with radia-tion therapy and now i have the distinctionof being known as a survivor. the titlemakes me a little bit uncomfortable, but it’sbetter than the alternative.

to those of you reading this, be faithfulgetting those yearly mammograms. thisdisease affects one out of eight women andmore men are being diagnosed than everbefore.

despite the fact that there are approxi-mately 2.8 million breast cancer survivorsin the united states, the american Cancersociety reports that one in 36 will not beable to beat it. Of six of my friends thathung together through high school andbeyond, four of us have been diagnosed.

my prayer, like the prayer of many oth-ers, is that a cure is found and breast canceris eradicated from the face of the earth.However, until that time, we owe it to our-selves and to our families to do our due dili-gence by being aware, doing self-examina-tions and annual mammograms.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 20146 THE HUNTSVILLE ITEM breast cancer awareness

My journey with breast cancerPHOTO BY JOSHUA YATES/THE HUNTSVILLE ITEM

A little more thanhalfway through mytreatment, one of myemployees comment-

ed to me as I was leav-ing, ‘Bet you are reallygoing to miss leaving early every day when

this is all over.’ Not a smart thing

to say to me.

RITA HALDEMAN/ Pubilsher,The Huntsville Item

Breast Cancer Pages_Layout 1 1/23/15 11:58 AM Page 6

Page 2: Column Writing - Rita Haldeman

After living in Chambersburgfor six years, Bob was offered aposition as a pressman inShreveport, La. It was a biggerpress, a bigger paper and thusmore opportunity. Sounded like agood idea for his career path. Iknew that breaking the news tomy parents was not going to beeasy for as I told you last time,one year after I moved toChambersburg, my parents fol-lowed me. I remember vividlymy Mom asking me “where theheck is Treesport, Louisiana?I’ve never heard of it.” I musthave told her Shreveport a hun-dred times but she continued tosay it her way.

This was October of 1998 andin June of that same year I hadlost my very best friend in a hor-rific motorcycle accident. Donnaand her husband Danny were thefriends we were visiting whenwe made the decision to move toChambersburg. Bob and I were abig part of Danny’s support sys-tem as all of his family was backin Bucks County. After Bob hadaccepted the position I rememberspeaking with my publisher,John, as to how I was going toleave Danny. He reminded methat I had always said that Iwould follow Bob wherever inorder to further his career. Johnreminded me that I was marriedto Bob and not Danny and thatwe had to do what was best forour family. He stressed that thiswas a great opportunity for Bob.The decision was made.

Bob left for Treesport inNovember while I stayed behindto sell the house. Louisiana is notexactly around the corner fromPennsylvania so time togetherwas spent via cellphone. Yes, wedid have those in the late 90s. InJanuary, my mother was diag-nosed with pancreatic cancer. Itwas an incredible shock to all ofus. After all, she had had a strokewhen she was 50, a heart attack

at 60 and nowat 64 she hadbeen diagnosedwith cancer.

At that time,being told thatone had PC wasa definite deathsentence. Weknew shewasn’t gettingout of this one.For some reason known only toGod, I decided to go with her toher first chemotherapy session.That was a good decision,because my father, as part of theVFW honor guard, was held upat a funeral and was not there. Atthis point in time we knew shehad cancer but had no idea of theprimary. As the nurse was insert-ing the chemo needle and lackingany compassion, she announcedto my mother that she had pan-creatic cancer and that the aver-age life span after diagnosis waseight months. We both just staredat this nurse, completely dumb-founded. Then it became all tooclear. My mom’s first response tome was “don’t count themonths.” This was January and itwas quite apparent that eightmonths meant August. I told mymom is was OK to cry, scream ...whatever she needed to do. Afterher session was over I will onlytell you that I went back to thatnurse and had a less than amiableconversation regarding her lackof any bedside manner.

Now life was really gettingcomplicated. Bob was inShreveport, I was trying to workfull-time, handle two young kids,take care of my mother, supportmy Dad, provide updates to mysisters and be there for my friendDanny. It was a crazy time. Itwas a stressful time.

The house sold in March and Ibecame frantic. This time it was-n’t about leaving Danny, it wasabout leaving my mother who

was obviously dying. TheScriptures tell us not to worryabout the problems of tomorrowfor today will present enough ofits own. True enough, but Icouldn’t help but worry abouthow I was going to do this. Myheart ached for my husband butthis was my mother we weretalking about.

Oh ye of little faith. In Apriland two weeks before I wasscheduled to move to Shreveport,my mom went into a coma. Mysisters came into town andtogether, with my father, wespent that last week keeping myMom comfortable, sharing fami-ly stories, laughing, and crying aswe waited for the inevitable tohappen. It was a difficult weekbut it was a good week. We hadthe gift of being together just aswe were before we all marriedand started families of our own.To this day, we still laugh atsome of the antics that took placeduring that week. Call it comicrelief but it is the laughter that welike to remember most. And wedid a lot of that. In fact, we wereall sitting in the kitchen laughinghysterically when she took herlast breath . . . exactly one weekbefore I was to be in Shreveport.And they say God doesn’t have aplan?

We buried my mother and Iprepared for the two-day trip toShreveport. At this point ourhome had been sold and I wasstaying with my Dad. I can stillsee him in his blue paisley robeand work boots. A site for soreeyes, yes, but that was my dad.He sent off with his traditionalbig breakfast and we then trav-elled for two days, stopping inBirmingham, Ala., for the firstnight. I tried calling my Dad butmy sister Catherine indicated hewas sleeping, but she would lethim know that I had called.

We arrived mid-afternoon atour destination and Bob met us at

our temporary apartment as wewere not set to close on our newhouse until Friday. Bob had toreturn to work, so the kids and Iunloaded the car and settled in. Itwasn’t an hour later that my hus-band returned to the apartment.He had something to tell me, buthe just kept saying he didn’tknow HOW to tell me. Finally,after what seemed like forever,Bob announced that my Dad haddied. This was too much to bear.After all, we had just buried mymother. How could life be socruel? And really, couldn’t hehave done this before I drove twodays with two teenagers all theway from Pennsylvania toLouisiana? It’s odd whatthoughts pop into your head atsuch inappropriate times.

I was the oldest and I was2,400 miles from home.Settlement was two days awayand my furniture was en route. Ihad to pull it together, I hadthings to do and plans to makeand I had two children that werebeyond any consolation that Icould provide. I wanted to justcurl up and cry, but I had nochoice but to start planning ourreturn to Pennsylvania. I wouldneed to give Bob power of attor-ney to handle the settlement onour new house in Bossier City.My son David would stay withhim. I’d have to find someone towait for our furniture to be deliv-ered. Flight plans had to be madefor all four of us. Endless phonecalls had to be made. To say itwas chaotic is an understatement,but the bottom line is that every-thing came together and wereturned to Chambersburg in twoshifts to lay my father to rest.

There was no time to get accli-mated. No time to settle in. Theonly thing of any importance wasfamily and getting back toPennsylvania. Everything had towait. Unpacking, enrolling kidsin school ... even grieving had to

be put on hold. I had discoveredafter the death of my first hus-band, that grieving is a very realand necessary process. It’s OK tohurt. It’s perfectly acceptable tomourn. It takes time to under-stand, to accept and recover fromloss. And although I will neverhave all the answers as to whythis happened, I take comfort inknowing that my Dad had onlyone week to experience the hurtof losing the best friend he everhad. Although his grief over thedeath of my mother was real, itwas short-lived.

There’s an old country tuneentitled “Just Beyond the Moon”that was sung by Tex Ritter backin the 60s. I can remember Dadsinging these lyrics to Mom andof course it would bring her totears. We never imagined itwould be her waiting behind themoon for him.

“I’ll just sit there by a star, andI’ll watch you from afar,

“Till I see you walking towardme someday soon.

“Then together hand-in-hand,we’ll find our promised land.

“And we’ll settle down forev-er darling, just beyond themoon.”

I found a peaceful, almosteasy feeling in knowing thatsomewhere she was waiting forhim to welcome him Home!

The death of my parentsexactly one week apart was oneof the most tumultuous events ofmy life. I had become an orphanand despite that I knew Godtakes care of the widows andorphans, I was not happy withthe label. Add that to a new state,a new city, a new home, a newjob, new schools for the kids, anda new church. Together thattranslates to major life changesall at once. However, it was byfaith and grace that we survivedand thus began the next leg ofour journey and 12 years asLouisianians.

By BOB Orkand

Special tO the item

Don’t be overly surprised if at noon-time, Friday, Jan. 20, 2017, on the weststeps of the U.S. Capitol Building, HillaryRodham Clinton is inaugurated as ournation’s 45th president. She’ll be 69 bythen, the same age as Ronald Reaganwhen he took the oath of office for thefirst time, but that didn’t slow the Gipperdown, nor did a bullet to the lung on the69th day of his presidency, 33 years agotoday, March 30, 1981 (more than likelythe only presidential assassination attemptin history caused by infatuation with ateen movie actress).

Reagan went on to become, not onlyour oldest, but also one of the most impor-tant, most consequential presidents of the20th century, despite his Hollywood lead-ing-man background and penchant fornodding off during long-winded Cabinetmeetings. What kind of president willHillary be?

Hold on a second there, Bob. You seemto be anointing her as president when shehasn’t even announced her candidacy.Matter of fact, exactly one week ago theHouston Chronicle ran a two-columnheadline over an Associated Press storythat proclaimed, “Clinton says she’s unde-cided on 2016.”

Undecided? The only thing Hillary’sundecided about is which dress or pantsuitto wear for her inauguration: the redpower dress or maybe basic black.Anyone who doesn’t think she’s been run-ning — and running hard — ever sinceshe and her entourage were blindsided in2008 by Illinois Sen. Barack Obama’supset win in the Democratic Party’s pri-mary hasn’t been paying close attention.

Think back to last Oct. 22, whenHouston-area Democrats gathered at theUptown Park mansion of ArthurSchechter, whom President Bill Clintonappointed ambassador to the Bahamaspresumably because of the attorney’sfund-raising expertise. Well, Hillary leftHouston, following the first “Ready forHillary” fundraiser in Texas, with a cool$250,000 from the evening’s meet-and-greet. Surely you don’t think the quartermil was for the Bill Clinton PresidentialLibrary in Little Rock?

And that was just the beginning. InTempe, Ariz., a week ago, Hillary told agroup of Arizona State students that she is“very much concerned about the directionof our country,” although she’s still “unde-cided” about making a presidential run.Translation of her statement out of politi-cospeak: “The United States has many,many problems and I’m the person whocan fix them!”

To be sure, if anyone has the resumeand credentials to hold forth in the OvalOffice after Barack Obama vacates it a lit-tle over 1,000 days from now, it’s HillaryRodham Clinton: former first lady, senatorfrom New York and globe-trottingSecretary of State.

Oddsmakers in Las Vegas haveinstalled Hillary as an early 2 to1 favoriteto win the presidency in 2016 regardlessof her Republican opponent. New Jersey’sGov. Chris Christie — despite all the flakhe’s caught from the Fort Lee lane-closurescandal — is tied with Florida Sen. MarcoRubio at 12 to 1 odds, tops among GOPhopefuls. Rand Paul, Jeb Bush, Ted Cruzand others were longer shots to capture theRepublican nomination and win the presi-dency.

So while the GOP candidates are brawl-ing among themselves for their party’spresidential nod, guess who’ll be cruisingalong, enjoying fair winds and followingseas? Who in the Democratic Party is like-ly to challenge Mrs. Clinton? VicePresident Joe Biden? He of foot-in-mouthdisease? Not likely. No, Hillary will enjoysmooth sailing to her party’s nomination atits national convention in the summer of2016.

Last week, the city of Philadelphiamade an opening bid to stage the conven-tion — worth millions to the host city —which Columbus, Ohio, also wants tosponsor. “I hope Columbus is our compe-tition. We’ll blow them away,” said U.S.Rep. Bob Brady, chairman ofPhiladelphia’s Democratic Party.

That may well be the only presidential-level competition for the Democrats in2016 until Tuesday, Nov. 8, Election Day.Meanwhile, GOP presidential contenders(potentially as many as a dozen) will besniping at each other, spending megabuckson TV, newspaper and social media ads,and doing their level best to convince

mainstream Americans that theRepublican Party is way out of touch witha moderate, centrist position that embracespeople of all backgrounds across the polit-ical spectrum, and which most Americanswant.

The GOP’s best hope? Retaining con-trol of the House of Representatives thisNovember, which seems to be a given,and also picking up six or more currentlyDemocratic seats for control of theSenate, which could very well happen,given voter disenchantment with Obama’srecord of failed domestic and foreign poli-cies. With Obama’s approval rating thismonth in a Wall Street Journal/NBC polldropping to a new low of 41 percent, with54 percent of us unhappy with the job he’sbeen doing, Democratic politicians haveevery right to be antsy about their elec-tability. And they need to keep distancingthemselves between now and Novemberfrom the ObamaCare disasters and otherfailed initiatives of the current administra-tion.

Hillary is already being lionized asAmerica’s next great hope. A book pub-lished last month by two Washingtonpolitical reporters, Jonathan Allen andAmie Parnes, treats her as if she’s the sec-ond coming of FDR. Matter of fact, thebook’s title is “HRC,” as if we’d better getused to that set of initials. Even The NewYork Times’ book reviewer took issuewith the book, saying “I found it hard notto feel for two reporters excavating evenminor moments in search of significance.”

The Wall Street Journal called the volume“rapturous” in its glorified depiction ofHRC’s rebirth from the ashes of her defeatby Obama in 2008.

But wait! There’s more! This June,Hillary will publish her own memoir ofher globe-trotting years as Obama’s secre-tary of State. How will she handle heragency’s mismanagement of the BenghaziAffair and its subsequent cover-up?Probably the same way she’s dodged bul-lets all her political life, by deception, eva-siveness and untruths (Whitewater, healthcare reform, missing files later foundunder the bed, “sniper fire” in Bosnia, etc.)

The only suspense in all this on theDemocratic side is Obama’s involvementin Hillary’s presidential quest. How neigh-borly will Clinton’s dedicated army ofstaffers want to get with an unpopularpresident? And what will Obama want inreturn for his support? Maybe appoint-ment to the U.S. Supreme Court in a cou-ple of years? (Don’t laugh, it’s been donebefore. Look up ex-President WilliamHoward Taft, appointed as chief justiceeight years after leaving the White House.)

So as things now stand, the Vegas odds-makers seem to have it right: Hillary lookslike a shoo-in to become our next — andfirst woman — president. As for the GOP,its best hope lies with control of bothhouses of Congress in the coming four oreight years in order to limit the extremesto which HRC and her party would like totake our nation.

OpiniOnT h e h u n T s v i l l e i T e m / s u n d ay, m a r c h 3 0 , 2 0 1 4 / 4 a

rita

haldeman

Hillary gets set for presidential run in 2016

Where is Treesport, Louisiana?

Page 3: Column Writing - Rita Haldeman

By BoB orkaNd

SpEcIaL To THE ITEM

You realize, of course, thatthere are some among us whosteadfastly refuse to acknowl-edge that visitors from anotherplanet (other planets?) havedropped in at Planet Earth fromtime to time.

Determined to resolve theissue once and for all about inter-planetary and intergalactic visi-tors, Belinda and I journeyed inmid-June to Roswell, N.M.,committed “to boldly go” (“StarTrek” split infinitive bedamned!) to the locale of one ofthe world’s most heavily publi-cized UFO incidents.

As was preliminarily reportedin the space two weeks ago,although we didn’t personallyexperience any confirmed alienswalking around Roswell, someof our fellow tourists certainlyprovided abundant cause forscrutiny. But first and foremostamong our concerns was to getto the bottom of the outer-spacevisitors whose flying saucerallegedly crashed near Roswellback in July 1947.

The Cowboy Café (1120 East2nd St., a few minutes’ drivefrom the International UFOMuseum) seemed like a goodplace to launch our inquiry, sinceBelinda had read a favorablereview about it on the Internet.The café’s quaint, hospitableambiance, with rough-hewnplank-wood tables and wall-mounted black wrought-ironcowboy and cattle figures — gar-nished with a barbed wire motif— made a perfect setting for ourlunching experience. Belindaordered the green chili cheese-burger ($7.99), which came withperfectly prepared french fries.As smoke poured from her earsfrom the potent chili, I sensed shewas having an out-of-this-worldculinary experience.

While she ate, I savored a verynice hamburger, meanwhile eye-balling the crowd for any indica-tors of alien presence. Our har-ried waitress was too busy serv-ing the indigenous clientele to

pause for an interview, soBelinda and I went on to theRoswell Chamber of Commerceand Visitors Center, where welearned from the two youngwomen in attendance there thatvirtually everyone in Roswellhas stories of grandparents, auntsand uncles who had had personalencounters with aliens. Oursearch was heating up!

Thus emboldened, we struckout for the UFO Museum andGift Shop. (Belinda has nevermet a gift shop she didn’t like.)From books I bought there,together with a green flyingsaucer model for our 6-year-oldgrandson (Spinning UFO Infini-Top, 32 different light patterns,uses three AAA batteries includ-ed, $8.99, allegedly made inShantou, China), and from themuseum’s elaborate displays anddioramas, I’ve pieced together adefinitive account about the“Roswell UFO Incident,” whichI’m now prepared to go publicwith for the first time. Are yourspace-capsule seat belts fas-tened? Here are my uncensored,unedited findings:

An enormous thunderstormrocked the J.B. Foster sheepranch 75 miles northwest ofRoswell the night of July 4,1947, rousing ranch foremanWilliam Ware “Mack” Brazelfrom sleep. Mack slept in a bunkat a shack on the ranch, with nophone, electricity or runningwater, while his family resided inthe town of Tularosa. With thenearest neighbor 10 miles dis-tant, Mack was certain that whathe had experienced was noIndependence Day fireworks;rather, he sensed he had heardsomething crash, perhaps anexplosion in the sky. He was 48years old and a solid, dependablecitizen, according to all accounts.

The following day, he drovehis truck around the hardscrabblegrazing grounds, noting that hissheep were sheepishly avoidingone particular area, so he drovethere first, encountering a debrisfield he estimated at three-fourths of a mile long and thewidth of three football fields. The

“bright wreckage” consisted ofsmoky-gray rubber strips, tinfoil,tape, some form of rough paperand sticks, all of which he gath-ered up, uncertain what to dowith it.

But on July 6, 1947 — 67years ago this very day! — Mackdrove to Roswell to sell somewool and decided to pay a call onSheriff George Wilcox, to whomhe “whispered kinda confidentiallike” that he might have discov-ered the remnants of a crashedobject from outer space.

Wilcox acted promptly tobring Brazel’s find to the atten-tion of authorities at nearbyRoswell Army Air Field(RAAF), causing the RoswellDaily Record to run a four-col-umn banner headline on pageone of its July 8 edition, “RAAFCaptures Flying Saucer onRanch in Roswell Region.” Atthis point, the cover-up begins.Base commander Col. WilliamBlanchard, who initially hadauthorized the press release, wasoverruled by Fort Worth-based8th Air Force commander, Brig.Gen. Roger Ramey, so thatBrazel’s finding was turned intoa crashed “weather balloon”which was perhaps part of ahush-hush military projectdubbed Project Mogul. (Mogulwas a top-secret activity thatinvolved flying microphones inhigh-altitude balloons to monitorsound waves created by SovietA-bomb tests.) Brazel wasplaced in custody at the air fieldfrom July 9-12, where he mayhave been intimidated or perhapsbought off by the Army. (It’sworth noting that not long after-ward he was seen driving aroundRoswell in a brand-new pickuptruck and was rumored to havepurchased a meat-packing com-pany!)

Despite the fact that alien bod-ies may have been treated at theRAAF base hospital, despite thefact that military pilot “Pappy”Henderson claims he secretlyflew alien bodies to other air-fields, to this day the militarymaintains that no spacecraftbearing extraterrestrial life ever

crashed in the Roswell area.So those are my findings

resulting from our Roswellexcursion. To this day, the UFOcover-up continues. Have younoticed that the new movie,“Earth to Echo,” about an E.T.-like character, which opened intheaters this week, has beenalmost universally panned, withreviewers using adjectives suchas lame, exhausting, senseless,unfortunate, annoying, charm-less, oppressive, and unwatch-able to describe it? Let me askyou: What’s going on here?Simply that our governing estab-lishment doesn’t want us to learnwhat there is to know about visi-tors from outer space and wantsto discourage any renewed inter-est in the subject.

Undaunted, I’m now prepared— after careful scrutiny andinvestigation — to publish herefor the first time my roster ofaliens currently operating at highlevels of our governments inWashington, D.C., and Austin.Doing so, I realize that my dis-closures are subject to censorshipand expunction, but I do so in thehope of revealing the identities ofthe aliens among us.

To begin with: In Washington,aliens can be found

This week my column focuses onone of the most incredible womenI have ever known. My sister

Mickey is only 14 months younger than Iand our early years together had our shareof sibling rivalry. However, starting in highschool and continuing intothe present, we haveshared something specialthat goes way beyond thefact that we are sisters.Mickey has always livedin Pennsylvania and I havemoved about the countryover the course of the last20 years. But despite themany miles, we have man-aged to not only sustain asister-like relationship butgrow a remarkable and enduring friendship.There is not a week that goes by that we donot speak to each other at least once if notmore. She has been there supporting methrough every part of my life. We may notalways agree, but the love we share isunshakable. What a blessing she is to me.

Despite our closeness in age, Mickey andI are polar opposites, which probably iswhat keeps it interesting. She lives on a 14-acre farm in Applebachsville, Pa. She andher husband grow most of their own vegeta-bles and then can and preserve them forwinter eating. They raise goats, butcherthem and eat them. They do the same withtheir chickens. I don’t do any of those thingsand the running joke when I visit is that Iwant her to go to the local WaWa and pickme up a dozen of “old” eggs. I’m not a fanof the goat burgers either, although they arevery lean.

Mickey has the first nickel my mothergave her for milk money while I on theother hand have never been labeled as beingthe frugal one. She lives in an old farm-house built in 1803 and I buy as new as Ican get. She has a husband who has com-pletely renovated their house and barn whileI have a husband who is dandy, not handy.

She lives without air conditioning while Iwouldn’t live without it even if I was still inPennsylvania. She raised four kids withoutone single phone call from a principal whileI certainly can’t say the same. She still has aTV antenna and gets three channels while Irequire a dish with more stations than Ineed. She carries a pay-as-you-go flipphone, while I have the latest iPhone. She isa staunch Roman Catholic who believes inmiracles while I tend to be more of theblack sheep who left that church about 30years ago. Mickey pays cash for her vehi-cles while I, like most of us, take on a carnote. This leads me to the latest story thatshe shared with me. It is known that Mickeyis extremely mild mannered and it takes alot to get her ire up. But once she is mad,you’d be smart to stay out of her way.

So back to vehicles ... This was a coldwintery day, and my sister has been calledupon to chaperone a class of kids from St.Theresa’s parochial school as they visitedthe Crayola Factory in Easton. For somereason she needs to drive herself to andfrom, although I’m not quite sure why. Shedecides to take their old Ford Taurusbecause it’s better on gas than their muchnewer F-150. Into the parking garage shegoes and the driver’s side window won’t godown. She has to open the car door and inchher arm out the door to get the ticket.

The day progressed rather uneventful andnow it was time to go home. As she creepsup to the gate to pay her ticket the windowgoes down. She has worried all day as to

how she was going to pay to exit. This par-ticular day had temperatures in the 20s andthe rains were torrential. You may haveguessed it, but upon exiting the parkinggarage, the window would not go back up.So there she is with no other option but todrive up Interstate 78 with 18-wheelersblowing bitter cold rain into her open win-dow as they passed. She has the heaterblowing out as much hot air as possible toovercompensate for the wind and rain thatwas driving into her open window. Withinminutes, my sweet, demure sister had turnedinto Cruella DeVil from “101 Dalmations.”She’s screaming at the truckers, screamingat the drivers who are passing her by andscreaming at her husband who isn’t even inthe car. I’ve seen my sister mad on morethan one occasion but I would have givenanything to been able to see and hear theresponse of the other drivers as they lookedupon this crazy screaming lady driving upthe interstate with her window down duringa fierce winter rain storm.

What I found more comical than all ofthis drama was that once she turned onto theroad she lives on, the window automaticallyjust went up. I’m not thinking she thought itto be a miracle. But given the age of the carand the ongoing challenge of her oft timesinoperable window, my only suggestion toher was to take some of her savings and“buy a new car.”

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State Sen. Charles SchwertnerP.O. Box 12068Capitol StationAustin, Texas 78711(512) 463-0105(512) 463-5713 (fax)

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U.S. Rep. Kevin Brady301 Cannon BuildingWashington, D.C. 20515202-225-4901Huntsville office: (936) 439-9532www.house.gov/brady

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Bob Orkand, an Elkins Lake resi-dent, vanished under unusual cir-cumstances while he was preparingthis article for publication. His lovingwife, Belinda, immediately reportedthe disappearance to Huntsvillepolice authorities, prompting PoliceChief Kevin Lunsford to file animmediate MDR (MysteriousDisappearance Report — HPDForm 1947A, Alienation ofAffections) with state and federalalien-monitoring task forces.Commenting about her missing hus-band, Mrs. Orkand said, “This ishighly unusual. It’s just not like himto leave the house without lettingme know.”

An enduringFriendship

rita

haldeman

OpinionTHE HUNTSV ILLE I TEM SUNDAY, JULY 6 , 2014 / 4A

From the Publisher’s Desk

Rita Haldeman is the publisher of The HuntsvilleItem. She can be reached at (936) 295-5407 or byemail at [email protected].

Roswell’s Aliens: Where Are They Now?