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Unsubstantiated...

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, April 5 -- I detest bullyism. Alway have, always will.

It reduces the level of our existence ... demeans it, and often draws the worst out of us.

Phoebe Prince -- certainly not the first victim of bullyism, but in this age of tsunami-style informational waves, the most catalytic -- reacted with suicide. If you've missed the coverage of that desperate act's aftermath, then you're clearly not a current-events kind of person.

I've followed it, and pondered it, and drawn on my own experiences to try to come to terms with it. And the bottom line, on a personal basis, is this: I have, when confronted by bullies, reacted with a sort of controlled anger -- a "not to my house and not to me" mentality. I'm not proud of it, but neither am I ashamed.

My first memorable brush with bullyism came when I was in high school -- as a runt that a particularly distasteful fellow decided to push around. I took it from him for a very short time, and then challenged him to meet me in the parking lot after school. I took along a couple of friends -- not to back me, but to scrape me up and carry me away should it go as I expected.

But the bully didn't show up. And lo and behold, he was always civil to me after that.

I encountered it in my high school gym teacher, too -- a very large fellow who literally threw me out of his office and into a nearby wall when I told him I couldn't dress for gym because of a stiff neck. It was a legitimate malady, but without a doctor's excuse. In the absence of an excuse, the teacher told me to suit up and participate. I declined, and he threw me. The collision with the wall didn't help the neck.

My next stop -- minutes later -- was the principal's office, where I lodged a complaint. That resulted in school action, at my parents' insistence, against the teacher. He kept his job, but he was on notice and was very nice to me after that.

I've encountered it in my role as a reporter -- when an irate caller threatened to enter the newsroom where I worked and use my head for batting practice, and another time when a fellow phoned to berate and threaten me. In the first instance, I made sure the front door to the building was locked; in the second, I turned once again to authority, calling the Sheriff to alert him not only to the threat, but to the person his deputies might arrest if I turned up dead. I didn't hear anything further on the matter.

I've encountered bullyism second-hand, too -- where it affected my children. Three instances come to mind that occurred in school -- years ago now, but still fresh in the memory. One thing about bullyism: it scars, and lasts.

In two of those instances the bullyism involved teachers -- one directly (involving my oldest son, for which the teacher was called to account) and one more deviously, where a teacher at the very least failed to discourage bullying of my middle son, and I believe actively encouraged it. I couldn't prove that, though, since bullies often operate in the shadows. I confronted her, and pleaded my case to the administration, but was rebuffed. And so I pulled the boy from that school for the duration of the year, sending him to one in another community.

The third incident was pure students-on-student physical bullying, involving my youngest son. The school -- despite some positive efforts by one guidance counselor -- could not curb it, and so I pulled that boy out, too. This was in the eighth grade. He attended school in another district starting the next year -- and found a pronounced absence of bullies. He stayed there through graduation, went on to a successful college career, and now has an excellent job in the Washington, D.C. area.

I could go on -- but the simple point is this: There are lots of bullies out there, and oftentimes in a school environment.. If such a situation exists -- and persists -- in the classrooms, in the hallways or at lunch or recess, parents of the victimized should be proactive, or at least creative. And that might involve, as it did with my family, creating a new environment through the simple act of extraction and/or transfer.

I'm sure the fine folks who run the school where Phoebe Prince attended would -- until the past few days -- have told anyone who asked that whatever was going on there was not abusive, and that any reports to the contrary were a figment of the conspiratorially minded. Or put another way: the reports were "unsubstantiated." That's a useful term of the ineffectual or, worse, the bully enabler. It is a word large enough to hide behind.

*****

The fact is, very few of us like confrontation, and thus allow the relatively small cadre of bullies to flourish. It's easier to let them do their thing -- but in a school setting, this is particularly onerous. Allowing it -- turning the other way, saying "Well, that's just kids being kids" -- breeds a culture that can too easily become ingrained.

While I'm not trying to indict every district, it appears that such a culture, such ingrainment, might well have been the case in South Hadley High School in Massachusetts -- Phoebe Prince's school. The physical abuse and verbal and text taunts against her were not only allowed, but reportedly allowed to escalate. The district ducked and bobbed afterward, trying to avoid the spotlight, but when the district attorney -- herself a graduate of that school -- brought charges against nine students, it was hard to hide.

The facts emerged from the dark, where the fungus grows -- from the dank world of the devious. And the facts were disturbing, as they always are with bullyism.

Yes, I've seen it first-hand. And you've probably seen it first-hand. But most of us don't want to say anything or do anything about it, unless it directly affects us. And then sometimes we still don't act. It's just easier not to, we tell ourselves.

And yet ... the bottom line is this:

Bullies are, underneath it all, just cowards. They need to be confronted, and when they are, they will more often than not fold up their attitudes and slink away -- whether young toughs, misguided teens or troubled adults.

What is so hard, really, about understanding that -- and taking appropriate action?

******

I contacted area superintendents asking about their take on bullyism -- whether it's in their schools; if so, to what extent; whether they have a School Resource Officer; and if not, how they deal with the issue themselves. I received responses from Watkins Glen and Trumansburg.

Said Paula Hurley of T-burg:

"I think it is in every school. We are trying very hard to address it proactively with character education and awareness, as well as responding to the individual reports made by students. I think that students are afraid to report it many times as they do not want to experience repercussions from the incident being addressed. It usually will take more than one report to really get an idea of what is happening---and by that time the student being harassed may have been too intimidated to report in the future. We surely try to follow up, but without a report, it can be hard to do.

"We try to make staff very visible during the ‘unstructured’ times of the day (class changes, recess, etc), but no matter, students will find where adults are not…

"We also do mediations with students when they think that might be beneficial.

"We do not have a school resource officer, but I do think South Seneca and Lansing still do (maybe not after this year)."

Added Tom Phillips, whose Watkins Glen district, along with Odessa-Montour, shares a School Resource Officer, Trooper David Waite.

"I don’t think it is prevalent in our district, but we do have incidents in which kids are bullied. I have to say we have created a "Caring Community" culture through the PBIS program at the Elementary School and the implementation of advisory services at the Middle School. Yes, David Waite plays a critical role in educating students related to respect and appropriately dealing with conflict.

"As for my take, I think bullying is a symptom of students not feeling connected or in some cases rejected from their peers or school. For many students, school is the place where their identity is valued the most. Connections (some good, and some not so good) are mostly fostered in the school environment.

"The key to creating a caring environment is a caring staff that fosters the development of positive student/teacher interactions -- that encourages students to view adults as advocates. We also believe it is critical to have a comprehensive student support network centered in the Guidance Department of each building. An example is the high school, where we have added a career counseling component as well as intervention specialists. Both of these additions to the high school have enhanced the student support network as well as provided transition services for students as they contemplate what they will do after high school."

*****

And earlier:

A little of this and that ...

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, March 29 -- Spring musical season is over, and I for one am glad. It's not that I found fault with either the Odessa-Montour or Watkins Glen efforts -- The Wiz and Bye Bye Birdie, respectively -- because I didn't. They were beautifully realized.

It's just that shooting and processing and laying out all of the photos can be a bit draining. Counting dress rehearsals, I think I did 10 groups of photos in two weeks. The end result was worth the effort, I think, but that doesn't mean I'm any less tired.

I know, I could cut back, but the kids put so much effort into the plays, it just seems as though the photos are a well-deserved -- if minor -- reward.

*****

And yet, fatigue or not and ready or not, here comes the spring sports season. I'm actually looking forward to it, because it will get me outside. I think I need the outside, at least on sunny days. I crave the sunshine.

It probably has something to do with the aging process, but each year I find the winter a little more daunting, and the absence of warming sunlight increasingly depressing. I suppose that's why retirees head for warmer climates.

No, I don't plan on retiring. It wouldn't suit me.

******

Speaking of retirement, I received a phone call Sunday from an old friend with whom I had lost touch. I hadn't spoken to him in 15 years, in fact. He is living now in South Carolina, and decided to reconnect because ... well ... because he has been following matters back here by reading The Odessa File.

He brought me up to date on his life, which has included retirement since he suffered a heart attack and had a quadruple bypass last year. The attack happened "out of the blue," he said, and very nearly killed him. He is but a year older than I am.

As if his health problems weren't enough, his 20-year-old son has cancer. The young man is battling bravely, exceeding doctor's expectations, but the outlook -- as is too often the case -- is not encouraging..

It was great to hear from my friend, but the call left me a little unsettled -- natural, I suppose, when all that we sustain as humans is brought into such sharp focus.

********

Reverting back to spring sports, I ran into an acquiantance at Bye Bye Birdie who told me an acquiantance of hers had been wondering why this website was carrying fewer stories lately, especially in sports.

Well, my acquaintance told her acquaintance, there haven't been any sports contests lately. Between seasons ... you know?

I shook my head, smiling at the quirky ways of some people.

Aside from sports, there has been quite a bit of news lately. It might look like less than before, though, because of three moves. I've reduced clutter on the Home Page, moving PSA ads to their own page and starting a Recent News page. And I've been listing some Inside stories up high on the Home Page instead of giving them each a photo promo.

*******

I was reading on the Editor & Publisher website that a new age of online journalism is supposedly about to start with the implementation of a pay-as-you-go policy by Rupert Murdoch at his papers, starting with The Times of London.

Murdoch has vowed to erect such "pay walls" at all of his papers, with "the price for a day's access" on this first one in London "the same as the cover price for the weekday print Times."

Says a Murdoch spokesman: "At a defining moment for journalism, this is a crucial step towards making the business of news an economically exciting proposition. We are proud of our journalism and unashamed to say that we believe it has value."

That kind of move hasn't worked to any great effect anywhere yet, but it has been discussed throughout the industry. Murdoch's attempt should prove interesting.

*******

On another matter -- related to the above through economics, I suppose -- I received a note from B. Moralis, who has weighed in with philosophical thoughts here once before. This time he (or she) -- a person of position -- wrote:

"I just read an article about the increase in the murder rate in New York City during the first quarter of the year and how Mayor Bloomberg has tied the increase to budget reductions and the economic downturn.

"You know, people tend to see the financial meltdown as something done to someone else, but in reality the impact of all of this mess has manifested itself in each community across the nation. From county employees to public safety to a student's ability to go to college to funding for public education, the reality is the impact has come to our community in the form of a loss of service or increases in taxes or both. Not to mention the loss of employment opportunities.

"The reality is, simply put, the financial collapse and the cost of the bailout are now coming home to Schuyler County."

*******

And earlier:

A dark day, a darkened light...

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, March 26 -- Okay, who among you figured -- at the start of March Madness -- that Butler was going to the Elite Eight?

Anybody?

No, I thought not.

Syracuse, up 54-50 Thursday night, allowed an 11-0 Butler run at the worst conceivable time.

Game over. Season over.

Now that was painful to watch.

*****

And then there was Cornell.

It went up 10-2. Then came a 12-0 Kentucky run as part of a 30-6 first-half romp, and it was out of reach. The Big Red outscored the Wildcats 14-6 to pull within eight points with less than nine minutes left, and whittled it to six points with 5:25 left. But that was as close as it got.

Too bad.

So long, Orange; so long, Red. It was a Black Thursday, indeed.

*****

Is there anybody besides me and Mayor Keith Pierce who thinks the Department of Transportation's plan to remove the blinker light on Route 224 -- Main Street in Odessa -- is a bad idea?

Nobody else seems to be saying.

According to information brought to my attention this week, the blinker was put there in 1938, in reaction to some accidents. That makes sense, and probably more so with today's layout. It's a nasty spot, what with a side street, a busy gas station, some commerce, and an often poor line-of-sight up and down the road.

The village says that DOT studied the situation and decided the blinker wasn't needed any longer.

Does that mean there's less traffic than there was 72 years ago? And does it mean vehicles are going slower?

No? I thought not.

How, exactly, does the DOT measure the reaction -- perhaps slight, but perhaps telling, too -- of a driver entering the village too fast who lets up on the gas when that blinker impresses itself on his or her brain?

The light is due for removal in late spring or early summer, village leaders have been told.

I repeat: It's a bad idea.

******

Tops Markets is closing P&C stores in Cortland and Ithaca as it continues to evaluate its purchase of the Penn Traffic groceries in the Northeast. It says it is also selling some stores in Northern New York to Price Chopper (of Schenectady) while it evaluates other stores based on condition and "economic viability."

Tops, of Western New York, acquired the stores of the Syracuse-based Penn Traffic Co. through a Penn Traffic bankruptcy action in January. Other stores closed by Tops have included a P&C in White River, Vt., and Quality Markets in Lakewood, NY, and Erie, Pa.

I haven't seen anything yet about the Watkins Glen P&C store. Has anybody heard anything?

******

And on an up-note, I received the reassessment on my house from the Schuyler County Real Property Tax Service, and was pleased to see that while the assessment level has climbed, my expected town and county taxes are going down.

If I were a drinker, I'd hoist one to that.

******

And earlier:

The Sweet 16 sweet indeed

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, March 22 -- The Sweet 16 is set, and as always, there is a lot of hype about the upsets -- particularly of Kansas. But this is a pretty normal NCAA basketball tournament.

By that I mean that of the 16 surviving schools, there are three No. 1 seeds and three No. 2 seeds still in the hunt, and 11 of the 16 teams are no lower than No. 5 seeds. The higher seeds, as usual and as expected, are still the primary forces to be reckoned with.

A big surprise, of course, is No. 12 Cornell's dominance in its first two games. But anyone who harkens back to the team's near-miss against then-No. 1 Kansas in the regular season might recognize this showing isn't a fluke.

It's great to see Syracuse playing so well, too. The Orange kind of limped in after that Big East tournament ouster. But they too have been dominant in two NCAA contests.

I, for one, look forward to what happens next. In theory, at least, Syracuse could meet Cornell for the national championship on April 5th. -- although it's perhaps worth mentioning that Syracuse defeated Cornell 88-73 on November 24th.

*****

In a related subject, I certainly hope that CBS straightens out whatever problem was causing its picture feed to look like a computer streaming experiment Sunday. It was so jumpy, my eyes are still twitching. And let's hope the network shows better sense than it did in cutting away from the Xavier-Pitt game with 0.4 seconds left, with Pitt down by 3 points and inbounding the ball.

*******

On the same day that both SU and Cornell were making the Sweet 16, the Tioga Central High School girls varsity basketball team -- the IAC Small Schools champion and Section IV, Class C champion -- fell in the Class C New York State title game by two points to Marion Central at the buzzer.

It was no doubt a tough loss to absorb. How often, after all, do you brush up against your dream, and reach out to grab it -- only to have it elude you?

I enjoyed watching Tioga this year, even if it did defeat Odessa-Montour three times. The Tigers are a fine group of players -- a number of whom we'll see this spring on the softball diamond. It so happens Tioga also has an exceptional softball team, led by lefty pitcher Sarah Wayson (a member of the basketball team).

******

Away from sports ... the Watkins Glen School Board -- looking for ways to overcome that $825,000 cut in state aid that may or may not stand as proposed by the governor -- is waiting to see how many teacher retirements are coming, so that it can get a better fix on how many teacher layoffs will occur in the next school year. Superintendent Tom Phillips says teachers thinking about retirement have until the end of March to decide, so the number of layoffs is still up in the air.

The Watkins board and administration are understandably uneasy about the layoff situation, but are intent on holding the tax-levy increase to a reasonably low level -- and to do so without digging into reserve funds. Tapping into those, Phillips has said, would be unwise -- especially if the shaky economy makes budgetary matters even worse next year.

Which is a distinct possibility, especially in the absence of the Federal Stimulus funds that helped so much this time around.

******

And speaking of Phillips, he pointed out something I had missed -- an NCAA wrestling championship by a Cornell freshman who graduated last year from Lansing High School: Kyle Dake at 141 pounds.

Dake led the third-ranked Big Red to a second-place finish behind perennial champ Iowa in the three-day Division 1 championships that concluded Saturday in Omaha. "He was the only Cornell champion and a Section IV alum!" wrote Phillips in an e-mail.

Dake, a six-time letter winner at Lansing and a two-time New York State high school champion (and a finalist another time), is enrolled in Cornell's College of Agriculture and Life Sciences.

He won the NCAA title match Saturday 7-4 against Iowa's Montell Marion, helping Cornell to its highest finish ever at the annual tournament.

Not a bad weekend, all in all, for Cornell -- even considering that its women's hockey team lost its national title game in triple overtime. That sting was countered by a championship by the men's hockey team in the ECAC Hockey tournament. The men's opener in the NCAA Tournament comes Friday in Albany against New Hampshire.

*******

And earlier:

Hannah is honored again

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, March 19 -- Hannah Hubbell was honored again Thursday, this time by the Sullivan Trail Chapter of the American Red Cross as it presented its annual Heroes awards at a breakfast at the Holiday Inn Riverview in Elmira.

The organization presented awards to five individuals and one group in three categories: Life Saving, Community Impact and Life Time Achievement. The one that stood out for Schuyler County residents was a Life Saving award presented to Hannah, who at the age of 6 made news of the very good kind in early December.

Hannah (at right) -- a student at B.C. Cate Elementary School in Montour Falls -- was honored by the Red Cross for her actions in securing help after the car her mother was driving skidded off Route 224, struck a tree and came to rest near a creek. Hannah, a passenger in the back seat, freed herself from the wreck and scrambled up to the roadside to flag down help. Her mother was seriously injured in the crash, but is recovering and was on hand for Thursday's award ceremony.

This is the second honor for Hannah, who received a special award from the Schuyler County Sheriff's Office soon after the incident. We had a column about it, which you can see by clicking here.

As I indicated then, and have said since, this is a girl of uncommon common sense. Give that previous column a read and you'll know what I mean.

Congratulations, Hannah.

****

As I tend to do when flummoxed by government, I try to put the given situation into perspective the best way possible, and that is sometimes through verse.

While following the most recent stratagems of Democrats in Congress in their push to get President Obama's Health Care Bill passed, I flash-forwarded to the upcoming vote itself, which may or may not (at last reading) be accomplished through a parliamentary maneuver called Deem and Pass.

Anyway, imagine that the vote has passed, and the bill is headed to the President's desk for his signature. The poem, in that case, will go like this:

Deem and Pass,
Shock and Awe.
Holy Moly:
It’s the Law.

Health Reform is here at last;
Arms were twisted, deals were vast.
Now we’ll see what’s good, what’s bad,
If we’ve been saved or we’ve been had.

*****

There was an interesting speaker Thursday at the weekly Watkins-Montour Rotary Club luncheon: Steve Beaver (pictured at right), who is a vocational horticulturist at the Willard Correctional Facility, which is also known as the Willard Drug Treatment Center.

The site of the former Willard Psychiatric State Hospital has served its current purpose since 1995, and Beaver -- son of Rotarian Stan Beaver -- has worked there for three years. It is a campus created as an option for low-level drug offenders and parole violators, with stays of 90 days.

Beaver described the inmates' days, which are divided either into educational or vocational programs (such as the one he teaches), Alcohol and Substance Abuse Training to try and curb addictions, and work squads -- shoveling snow, working in the kitchen, collecting garbage, mowing and the like.

Beaver said he loves being a horticulturist and loves being a teacher, so the job has great appeal to him. However, he said "you have to remember where you are," and accordingly be prepared for any potential trouble.

And earlier:

Reputation can be so tenuous

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, March 12 -- I've often marveled at how fragile reputation can be ... or how tough. But mostly how fragile.

1. Sometimes a person's reputation is built solidly on one trait.

Example: I knew a kid back in high school who was a bit of an underachiever, except at the poker table. He had a reputation of being a proficient and heartless master of the cards. Not a bad way to be perceived. And that's how I remember him.

2. Sometimes a person's reputation is undermined by rumor or outright fabrication.

Example: There was a girl in my high school who had the reputation of being a slut. In the social circle I inhabited, her name was synonymous with that. I don't know how she earned such a reputation, because from what I learned in later years, she was anything but loose. But the perception stuck to her. Some reputations cannot be escaped, no matter how unjust.

3. There is the reputation that comes with inherited position.

Example 1: Paris Hilton is famous for being rich and famous -- and has parlayed her ditzy act into a consistent public persona. It's not a bad place for her to be. She has our attention, and nothing she does, good or bad, seems to affect our perception. Call her reputation rock solid.

Example 2: Ted Kennedy also inherited position -- it was handed to him by his father -- to such a degree that not even Mary Jo Kopechne's death completely derailed him. It set him back, for sure, and likely cost him the presidency, but he had a long and storied Senate career.

4. There is the reputation that must be earned. That applies to most of us.

Example: Somebody like former Congressman Eric Massa falls into this category, too -- a man whose reputation had to be built from the ground up, and which could grow only through achievement. He had to earn his position and hope that a sound reputation followed.

He was doing pretty well, it seemed. His Congressional office issued a steady stream of press releases that were a huge improvement over his predecessor's. He was scheduling town-hall meetings throughout his 29th Congressional District on many weekends. He was well-spoken in front of a crowd -- an independent voice of reason.

****

And then, just like that, Massa went off the rails -- came out with an announcement that poor health was forcing him not to seek reelection; and then proclaimed, after word started swirling about an ethics investigation, that he was stepping down within days. He just couldn't fight anymore, he said.

And then he tried to fight anyway -- after the fact -- after he had tried to dodge the wrecking ball coming his way, after it had grazed him and knocked him off his pedestal and out of his job.

He tried to fight -- one can only wonder why -- by going on the air on a Hornell radio station, and then leaping to the national stage -- to Glenn Beck's and Larry King's TV shows. That was unwise, and the result was predictably disastrous.

"A klieg-light meltdown," one commentator described Massa's appearance on Beck's show, where the ex-Congressman admitted to "groping" in a "tickle fight" with staff members.

That revelation aside, Beck had hoped for much more -- some way to smear the Democrats in the White House. And so, at the end, when nothing of the sort had issued from Massa's mouth, Beck called the interview a waste of time and apologized to his viewers.

Then hours later, King, taking into account the admission of "groping," asked Massa if he is gay -- which Massa refused to answer because such a question "insults every gay American. Why would anybody ask that?"

Both Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert had a resultant field day on their shows, mocking Massa and Beck. (Stewart dubbed the matter "Sour Gropes." And Colbert referred to the former Congressman as a "wrestling hobbyist.") David Letterman and Jimmy Fallon -- and probably most comics in the country -- weighed in, as did cartoonists, at least one of whom compared Massa to Tickle Me Elmo.

And suddenly not just a career, but a reputation, had been run through a blender.

This website has not provided accounts of all of the twists and turns of "The Massa Mess" (as Fox News has called it). It's unfortunate enough that Massa chose to pursue a path of reputational self-destruction in the week following his first announcement. I decided not to help him along that path.

I'm just going to say this, with some sadness and a sense, still, of disbelief:

If you see a wrecking ball coming your way, and you dodge it the first time with minimal injury, don't stand there and try to embrace it as it swings by again.

The radio interview and the Beck and King shows constituted that second swing. They were of such power in this age of instant and endless news coverage that they were a very wide-reaching and unstoppable force.

Eric Massa was not an immovable object.

He should have just closed his mouth and gotten the hell out of the way. He should have just left the stage without trying to utter the last word ... without saying anything more at all, really.

******

*****

And earlier:

The girl from whom I fled ...

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, March 5 -- I'm sitting here, mulling, trying to write a column on ... well, I know not what. It just seems like I should be saying something. I think this feeling, this need has something to do with all the head-shaking I've been doing lately.

We have a governor who can't seem to get out of his own way. We have a Congressman who said, reasonably enough, that health was forcing him out of a run for re-election; but then decided to resign in the shadow of a seemingly unseemly allegation. We have a Congress that seems hell-bent on ramming a health-care bill through, damn the rules. We have an economy that is spluttering, and we have, as a result, a lot of folks out of work and possibly more to follow -- including some of our teachers.

We had a respite called the Olympics, which were inspiring and entertaining (although I've seen enough curling to last me a very long time), and we've been entertained by the success of the Odessa-Montour girls varsity basketball team. But the drabness of the winter has seemingly counterbalanced those pluses.

So, I'll do what I do when I'm feeling a little down. I'll look backward for some kernel from my past that can part the clouds. Let's see ... why don't I visit the girl who said I had eight personalities? That's always good for at least a tenuous smile.

******

Her name was Karen. She was blonde, and cute, and smart as heck. She was a freshman at Michigan's Albion College in my freshman year there; a classmate.

We met at a mixer, I think; at least that's where she first made an impression. We danced, and it felt right, and we started hanging out together between classes, and in the evening, and on weekends.

We were, in short order, something of an item; although I must say that my friends -- a small group from my dorm with whom I had quickly bonded in the first few weeks of school -- didn't take to Karen. They sensed in her a need to control. I, of course, was blinded by her blondeness and, well, the fruits of dating.

But over time, which is to say weeks -- I did not, before ultimately embarking on marriage to someone else much later, date anyone for longer than weeks -- the relationship soured. Most notable, to my mind, was her assessment of my personality ... or rather my multiple personalities. I don't recall exactly how she broke them down, but I think there was the Fun Charlie, and the Cerebral Charlie, and the Typically Male Charlie, and the Romantic Charlie, and so on.

I heard about this assessment -- this dissection of my persona into eight distinct entities -- second- or third-hand; Karen did not actually psychoanalyze me to my face. But as she tried to gain control over our social life -- where we'd go, who we'd see, which friends I could have, and so on -- she also seemed to want to control my mood ... my personality at any given time. She clearly wasn't enamored of the eight personalities in their entirety, but there must have been something in there that she liked. I imagine that most of all, she wanted to be with the Doormat Charlie.

Predictably -- at least it's predictable in hindsight -- I started avoiding her. Not that she was that easy to dismiss. It was a small campus (her father, parenthetically, was a professor there, meaning she was actually both of the college and a townie) and she cornered me eventually, and forced me, in my awkward way, to offiicially end it. I think she wanted to see the Nervous Charlie, and possibly force an appearance by the Regretful Charlie.

But end it I did.

*****

We shared the same campus for another three-and-a-half years, but I don't think we encountered each other very much. She ended up dating a fellow from one fraternity, while I joined another fraternity. Social standing and alliances at Albion were very Greek-oriented.

I don't know what became of Karen after graduation, although I imagine she did very well in life. As I said, she was extremely bright. But every so often -- such as in economically and politically depressing times -- I think back to her, almost as if she has remained a touchstone across my years. In any event, she obviously left an impression.

So, in the spirit of our times, I would like to invoke the memory of Karen -- blonde, bright, capable, controlling, and someone from whom I fled.

It was, I imagine she would say -- if for no other reason than to get in the last word -- the Shortsighted Charlie in action.

******

Okay. That's my Karen story. Now I will tell you that while there was a Karen, and there was some truth to the fact of her eight-personality assessment, most of what I just related was embellished.

I structured it as allegory.

The fact is, I've always suffered from a bit of Shortsighted Charlieness -- from tunnel vision. But in running this website, I have on occasion embraced that particular shortcoming. I use it to shy away from the negative in stories -- from depressing matters involving governors, Congressmen and the economy, for instance -- except when unavoidable, like when a forced resignation occurs. And, to go further, I cover very little in the way of police and court news -- very little of the underbelly of our society.

I also tend, as in the case of my allegorical Karen, to bristle when anyone -- and in general I'm referring to our so-called leaders -- tries to control a situation through intimidation or silence or bullyism or character assassination or whatever. I see it nationally a lot, and on the state level alarmingly often, and locally on occasion.

I will leave it to you to speculate exactly from whom I have fled -- who, in essence, is not covered here for reasons more practical than allegorical ... more a matter of my preference.

In the meantime, I owe a thank-you to Karen (who has probably long since forgotten me) for serving as the untameable shrew here. She really was nicer than that.

*****

And earlier:

Legislature members (from left) Dennis Fagan, Tom Gifford, Mike Yuhasz and Paul Marcellus listen as Schuyler County League of Women Voters president Max Neal explains Thursday's program at the joint Rotary Club-League luncheon.

The time to hesitate is through

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, Feb. 26 -- I was a big Doors fan back in the '60s. Jim Morrison was flat-out cool in an independent, give-'em-hell kind of way. His music spoke to my generation. And among my favorites from him was "Light My Fire," which included the classic line "The time to hesitate is through."

That came to mind, oddly enough, as I sat pondering the goings-on during a joint luncheon meeting of the Watkins-Montour Rotary Club and the Schuyler County League of Women Voters on Thursday at the Watkins Glen Elks Lodge.

On hand to answer questions from the luncheon crowd were Schuyler County legislators Tom Gifford, Dennis Fagan, Mike Yuhasz, Paul Marcellus and Glenn Larison. And first among the questions from the audience was one that asked, in essence: "Would you support a move away from multiple school districts in the county and toward a single, countywide school district?" The questioner mentioned how we have one superintendent for each district, when in fact we could have one, period.

Larison (pictured at right), a veteran lawmaker and a former School Board member in the Odessa-Montour district, said he thinks a county school district "is an idea that should be investigated" by getting the Boards of Education of the affected districts together to discuss it. This has been done in the past, he noted, without success. "But times have changed," he said, with enrollment down significantly over the years in the O-M district.

Legislator Yuhasz, who was principal at the Watkins Glen Elementary School for 25 years, said there were "many joint meetings on consolidation" during his tenure, and that each one "ended in failure." It all came down to "ownership," he said. "Watkins Glen didn't want it to be the Odessa-Montour/Watkins Glen district, and Odessa-Montour didn't want it to be the Watkins Glen/Odessa-Montour district."

Legislature Chairman Tom Gifford said that Schuyler's small population is overseen by eight town governments, four village governments, a county government, a state government, and three school districts (the Watkins, O-M and Bradford schools are all located within Schuyler).

"They're probably overgoverned," he said of the 20,000 county residents, adding that "shared services are doable."

An audience member mentioned that other school districts actually have at least part of their boundaries within Schuyler -- including the Dundee and Trumansburg districts, which could make a countywide district a little complex to effect.

(Parenthetically, the Trumansburg district has a sizable portion of its area within Schuyler -- which is why T-burg scholar-athlete-citizens, along with similar representatives from the Bradford, O-M and Watkins Glen high schools, are part of the annual Top Drawer 24 team honored in a spring ceremony at the State Park. That broad representation -- team members from four school districts -- is mandated by the Top Drawer executive committee in recognition of the way in which all of us who live in Schuyler County share a common land and heritage ... and should, ideally, share a common vision.)

******

The word "merger" was not mentioned at that Rotary-League session. It is a hot-button word, and "consolidation" seems to flow ever so nicely in comparison.

But it's essentially the same deal -- a sharing of services for the greater good, which is to say for the good of We The Taxpayers.

This is a difficult time as school districts grapple with the governor's proposed reduction in state aid and with growing health and retirement costs. The Watkins Glen district is feeling the squeeze created by those factors.

Superintendent Tom Phillips (pictured at right) has let it be known that in the ever-changing landscape of the 2010-2011 budget, insecurity is the byword. He and the School Board have arrived at figures and plans that may or may not be adopted, depending on what shape the state budget ultimately takes.

Right now, the district is looking at eliminating Driver Education during the school year, two Reading teachers, one Art teacher, a part-time Physical Education teacher, a Math teacher and an administrative position (that last one through retirement). After planning all of that and applying $900,000 of Appropriated Fund Balance toward the budget (thus reducing reserves), and by assuming the state will restore half of the proposed $825,000 state-aid cut, the Board found at its most recent session that it was still looking at a 6.7% increase in the tax levy.

"And that's not acceptable," said Phillips, explaining that he was directed to trim the levy hike to 4% or less.

But so much can go wrong -- starting with that assumption of state-aid restoration. If half of the aid reduction is not restored, he said, "then we'll be looking at grade-level and subject-area teacher cuts."

But factors like unforeseen departures or retirements would mitigate the damage.

"I want to emphasize we're in the preliminary stages, bouncing ideas around," he said.

******

The Watkins Glen district is not alone in its problems, of course; all districts have them. And when it's time to prepare next year's budget, things will likely be worse in the absence of the positive impact derived this year from the federal Stimulus Funds. If no such stimulus is repeated, that will only add to the challenges -- from state government on down.

The legislators on hand at Thursday's luncheon touched on the problems they face in the county's next budget -- a task so daunting "that we're already discussing it, and we usually don't start to do that until August," said Fagan (pictured at right). There will no doubt be choices made that will not be well-received, he said, noting: "The reality is we won't be very popular."

That comment, perhaps, helped send my thoughts back to the '60s -- back to Jim Morrison and The Doors, back to "Light My Fire," back to a group that had little difficulty with popularity. And maybe it was the oddity of the day Thursday -- a storm blanketing us, a quiet that reigned outside (broken by the occasional plow), a mood that begged introspection -- that led me back, too.

I swear, sitting at the window of my home later, looking outside, I could imagine the legislators lining up, instruments in hand at the luncheon, a spotlight on them as they performed a song that might secure that elusive popularity. They sounded like The Doors in my imagination, but certainly didn't look like them.

Instead of lead singer Morrison, guitarist Robbie Krieger, keyboardist Ray Manzarek and drummer John Densmore, I envisioned Larison, Fagan, Marcellus and Yuhasz, respectively, with Gifford managing -- and manning the spotlight. And joining them, fiddle in hand, was Superintendent Phillips.

Larison, I imagined, was leaning in toward the microphone, crooning:

The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now; if we don't, we lose
And our votes become a funeral pyre
Come on folks, we won't retire
Come on folks, we won't retire
We'll try to lead the county higher.

You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Our situation isn't dire.
Come on folks, we won't retire
We'll work till we no longer fire
Our goal will be to workers hire.

The time to hesitate is through
It's time to be a thrifty buyer
Consolidate, budgets imbue
With shared services that will inspire
Come on folks, we won't retire
We'll work for you, we will perspire
Until we lead the county higher ...

*******

And earlier:

'The issue is about survival'

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, Feb. 19 -- I make it a habit not to weigh in any longer on matters involving school district consolidation -- or for that matter consolidation of any kind. I'll do the occasional story, but I'll generally keep my opinion to myself.

It's a hot-button topic that sometimes proves a little too hot.

But I received a message the other day that I will pass along. It was a private message from someone who would seem to be in the know, but not a message to which he wanted his name attached.

Like I said: hot.

Anyway, call him B. Moralis.

While there are a few examples locally of shared services (such as the recently completed, jointly occupied building on Decatur Street in Watkins Glen), this writer says that more of an effort is needed. He writes that it is time "for the county, towns, villages, judicial systems and -- yes -- schools to begin the discussion of how we can best serve our community and keep costs reasonable."

He goes on:

"Some would say we are well past reasonable, but this much is fact… if we continue to work in isolation, the cost of doing business will continue to spiral out of control. It is time for the leadership within all of these organizations to come together and devise a plan that regionalizes services and reduces or contains costs to the property owners of Schuyler County.

"This issue is far bigger than who is 'king' (or queen) of the county, town, villages, courts, police departments, roads or schools. This issue is far bigger than 'Indians' and 'Senecas' -- about who plays on what team, about who starts, about who is the coach. This issue in these times is about survival.

"Simply put, the monies are not available for us to continue to function in a system that is decades old. The stimulus monies are ending in 2011. Where will the next 'Pot of Gold' be found? We have burdened our children and grandchildren with debt because we are unable or unwilling to change. We have burdened our communities with property taxes so high people are leaving our state. The time for real, effective, meaningful change is upon us. Our future is at stake.

"While the financial crisis is one of national and state proportion, it does not absolve local leaders from the responsibility to work together to ensure the future for our region. Clearly state and national elected representatives will not willingly address the consolidation issue. Their standard response is “That is a Local issue of Local Control.”

"Well, local leaders, the solution is clearly up to you.

"Can you or will you rise to that challenge?"

*****

In case you hadn't heard -- or haven't seen it in the Legal Notices section on our Odessa Government page (here) -- we have two candidates for the two available trustee positions coming up for election in Odessa on March 16.

Incumbent Peggy Tomassi has been joined on the ballot by Timothy Hicks (pictured at right), the Schuyler County Watershed Inspector. Assuming there is no successful write-in campaign, Hicks will take the seat held for years by Rita Decker, who chose not to seek reelection. The term of office is two years.

Voting that day will be from noon-9 p.m. at the Village Municipal Building.

*****

And earlier:

Coming soon: Tour de Cure

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, Feb. 14 -- We've had bicycling visitors to our area in the recent past in the form of the Bon Ton Roulet --a cycling tour of the region that takes place over the course of a summer week and has many of its participants camping at predetermined locales, such as the grounds of Watkins Glen High School

In this year's Bon Ton Roulet, for instance, the tour goes from Auburn to Keuka College on Day 1, from Keuka to Naples on Day 2, and so on. The major stop will be Watkins Glen -- with arrival on Day 4, a stayover on Day 5 and departure toward Cortland on Day 6. This all happens in the last week of July.

But before that, we will have a bicycle event of a different sort -- a fund-raiser to help fight diabetes. It's called the Tour de Cure, and it will happen in our area on June 26, headquartered at Clute Park in Watkins Glen. It will, say its organizers, be an annual event.

Tours de Cure are actually run in 43 states, and in several highly successful locales across New York State -- at Saratoga Springs, Verona Beach, Rochester and Buffalo.

Now the Central New York American Diabetes Association plans to start a Tour de Cure here, with an initial goal of attracting 300 riders, 30 teams, and $90,000. Ultimately, after a few years, says the Central New York director, Alicia Shiland (shown in photo), the event will attract many more riders than that, and raise considerably more money.

"Saratoga Springs," Shiland said recently, addressing the Watkins-Montour Rotary Club, "raises $700,000 annually. And $2 million is raised across the state." But those other races have many more cyclists than Watkins can expect, having been in existence for years -- 14 years, in Saratoga Springs' case.

The day will feature a 100-mile (Century) trek as well as much shorter ones; the routes will have rest stops and food stops. Headquarters will be at the start-stop locale of Clute Park, where entertainment will be provided.

Money is raised through registration fees and pledges. "We ask $150 in pledges from each participant," said Shiland, "though I doubt we'd turn away someone with $120."

If you're not a bicycle rider, but want to participate, "we need volunteers," she said. "We need lots of volunteers, for staffing the rest stops, for serving food, for set-up, for clean-up ... for lots of things."

The organization is also looking for sponsors. Right now, said Shiland, Schuyler Hospital is the biggest one.

If anyone is interested in helping out or sponsoring, check out www.diabetes.org/tour. That should get you in touch with the people you need.

*****

A fellow writer wanted to pitch in anonymously on a story I started that was introduced here not long ago. It's a tale that opens in a bar, and has to do with the coming return of some as-yet unknown figure. (See that first effort on my Recent Columns page here.).

Anyway, this writer -- a talented sort -- understood the direction in which I was heading with the story and wanted to contribute. And so she has in the following paragraphs, which are full of puckishness. The story resumes in the same bar. It goes like this:

Thomas Dout, showing all of his 60 years and then some, was at the opposite end of the bar, near the rear, nursing a beer while offering advice to his friend Matthew:

“No matter how much you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationary,” he said, slurring his words slightly.

“True,” murmured Matthew, who punctuated the response with a burp. “But when he returns, I fear that I, as well as you, will have much to answer for. The things I have witnessed, and you have witnessed, and we have contributed to ... all I can say is "Oh, my God."

"Amen," said Thomas, and shook his head. Oh, my God, he echoed in his mind.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in town, Andrew Peters -- a sport fisherman by preference, and a petty criminal by chance -- was busy at home, working on his computer. He was trying to create identification for his latest project, ID that would be foolproof -- would escape detection by the authorities.

He too had gotten word of the pending return. He had received e-mails from his brother Simon and from Thomas Dout about it. And he had been far from tranquil since then.

He isn't going to like this; not any of it, Andrew thought as he continued working. If I were smart, I'd clean up my act now.

But he continued working, tinkering on his computer. His television was on, providing background noise. He always worked best with background noise.

"Stay tuned," a male announcer was saying, though Andrew wasn't paying much attention. "When we return, our headline story will be 'Cannibals ingest missionary, get taste of religion.'"

Andrew looked up.

Did he really say that? he asked himself, and shook his head. Maybe I heard wrong ... pretty funny, though.

He returned to his task, but a thought worked its way in as he did. It was this: Ingesting anything -- any experience -- that is contrary to habit is often the work of the devil.

And he had been ingesting quite a few contrary experiences lately.

No, Andrew thought. He won't be happy.

*****

Congratulations to the Watkins Glen High School boys varsity swim team for winning the Section IV, Class C Swimming and Diving Championship -- the first for the program since 1993. And the team made it look easy, outdistancing the nearest opponent by 102 points.

*****

And earlier:

A little girl with a lot of grit

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, Dec. 18 -- She sat there, so tiny among the giants in the room ... the adults. She looked like a sapling among Sequoias.

And she was the center of attention.

Six-year-old Hannah Hubbell, who had gained fame locally through her actions following an auto accident four days earlier on the road to Van Etten -- about a mile east of where Beach's Diner used to operate -- was seated now in a chair made for adults at the end of a conference table in the office of the principal at her school, the B.C. Cate Elementary School in Montour Falls.

It was four days since her mother Holly had lost control of their car on some ice as she crested a knoll in a section of road that twists and dips. The vehicle went off the right side of the road, slid down an embankment and hit a tree, coming to rest mere feet from a pond that could have gobbled up the car had it traveled that far.

The details of how Hannah climbed from the wreck and sought help, and returned to free a friend of hers named Summer Eldridge have warmed many a heart around here, and attracted the attention of other media. And those actions earned Hannah a special award Thursday there in that room with all of those large people.

Sheriff Bill Yessman coordinated the award effort, preparing a special certificate designating Hannah a Young Hero. He presented it to her there in front of two TV cameras, the Odessa-Montour Superintendent of Schools, James Frame, and the deputy who first came to Hannah's aid out there along the road to Van Etten: Andrew Yessman, son of the Sheriff. Andrew used to go to that same school, B.C. Cate, a few years back.

Also in the room were Hannah's grandmother, Barbara Hubbell, aunt Emily Hubbell, great uncle Blaine Hubbell, grandfather Robert Hubbell, great grandmother Clara Wheaton, and sister Kylee, a fifth-grader at Hanlon Elementary School in Odessa. Kylee was leaning against a window in the back of the room, recording the event for posterity.

"Everybody's here," the sheriff told Hannah, "because you did a very special thing the other day when you helped your friend and your mother. We decided we wanted to do something special for you, too."

After he presented the certificate -- nicely framed -- to Hannah, gifts were presented to her by Andrew Yessman, and she was interviewed by Kelsie Smith of WENY-TV while a cameraman from WETM kept his camera rolling, in tight on Hannah. The interview effort proved fairly futile, for Hannah was a bit overwhelmed by it all. She gave shy, short, soft responses until finally Smith gave up. But it still made for good TV later, because the child is cute ... and the circumstances of the story are compelling.

******

Andrew Yessman got the emergency call on the day of the accident, a call delivered through dispatch from a pickup truck driver after the driver had been flagged down by Hannah on that cold, icy road to Van Etten. Cell phones are useless out there, so the driver went to the nearest residence, which was about 100 yards away. While the call was being made from there, a second pickup stopped, driven by a woman traveling the road with her 9-year-old son, himself an elementary school student in Horseheads.

"When I arrived, Hannah and Summer were in that pickup truck," said Yessman, "and the boy was helping his mother." They had convinced Hannah -- who was crying from the pain of her ankle, bruised in the crash -- to lie down, and were trying to make sure she was comfortable.

"And that's when I met Hannah," said the deputy. "She was crying, but I told her what was going to happen, about the ambulance that was coming, and about the trip to the hospital, and she said simply 'Okay, okay, okay' to everything. I was surprised she was as together as she was. She was able to tell me her name, and the names of her parents, and where she lived, and her phone number."

The Van Etten Fire Department had preceded Yessman to the scene by moments, and the Odessa firefighters soon arrived with a Jaws of Life used to extract Hannah's mother from the wreck. And then two Schuyler Ambulances arrived -- one to transport Hannah and her friend, and one to transport Hannah's mother. They all went to Robert Packer Hospital in Sayre -- the area in which Hannah's friend resides.

That, in fact, was the reason for the journey east on the road to Van Etten. Holly Hubbell and her daughter, who live in Odessa, had been taking Summer home.

******

Hannah's mother had been seriously injured, as the story on our People page attests: broken ribs, punctured lung, lacerated spleen. The doctors have been watching the spleen closely, to see if it repairs itself. Holly's husband Robert has been spending a lot of time at the hospital, and so was not present at the award ceremony. He had taken both his daughters, Hannah and Kylee, with him the previous two days, but now they were back in school. As of Thursday, Holly's condition was improving, she was out of the Intensive Care Unit, and family members said they hoped she could come home on the upcoming weekend.

"But it will be a long recovery," said Barbara Hubbell, Hannah's grandmother.

In her interview, WENY's Kelsie Smith asked Hannah what she liked to do with her mother, and Hannah, ever so shyly, smiled and said: "Shop." And what does she want to do with her mother after Holly returns home? Go shopping? Hannah shook her head. "Watch a movie," she said softly.

******

Sheriff Yessman goes to the B.C. Cate school monthly as part of a Lions Club program whereby he promotes Character Education, presenting certificates to kids for their various in-school achievements.

"But I don't usually wear the uniform," he said. "I try to disassociate one from the other."

On this day, though, he was dressed in a black uniform, looking very official. It was because of the special nature of the day. He has, on occasion, presented a Citizen's Certificate of Appreciation "to people who do something like this or contribute in some significant way to the county. But those have always been adults. This is the first time we've ever presented a Young Hero Award."

*******

Imagine if you will that you are a wisp of a girl, short and slight and easily overwhelmed by giants in a room who are all looking at you. Imagine you are that girl riding in the back seat of a car driven by your mother on a journey that goes suddenly wrong -- your world spinning and then stopping abruptly, violently, as the vehicle hits a tree. Imagine you are stunned and in pain -- that your ankle is caught by twisted metal where the side of the car has buckled inward. Imagine your mother is trapped in the front seat, injured, not responding ... or responding in obvious pain.

Imagine that your heart is beating and confusion reigns. Your whole world has suddenly been reduced to a metallic trap, with windows broken in all around you. Shattered glass is suddenly a part of your world. It is cold, and your friend seated next to you is frightened, and you don't know what to do. Scream? Cry? Pray?

Or do you somehow free yourself despite the pain, and get out? Then what? You are six years old, not exactly full of emergency experience.

What do you do?

That's how to measure this amazing feat -- by putting yourself in the shoes of a 6-year-old, if you possibly can ... and by walking in those shoes from that car, and scrambling in those shoes up that embankment, and standing in those shoes as you wave at passing motorists, urging them to stop. And then by returning in those shoes to free your friend before climbing the embankment once again.

******

This 6-year-old is decidedly special. But what she did, says her family, is something that doesn't surprise them, because she can be very focused, very logical.

And that's how she responded in this emergency. She acted with a calm and coolness that are uncommon in one so young.

But there in that room at B.C. Cate, she looked like you might expect a 6-year-old to look under those circumstances: shy and taken aback by all of the attention, and not given to long answers.

But the others in the room spoke for her -- the sheriff, the deputy, the family members. They talked about the accident, and the aftermath, and the publicity, and the award. They talked about the remarkable nature of what had transpired out on that road to Van Etten.

"We are so thankful," said Barbara Hubbell, her grandmother.

"Really ... this," and Barbara motioned toward Hannah, as if to encapsulate all that the little girl is and all that she had done on that day, helping to save her mother.

"This," she said, and hesitated again, seeking the words. And finally she found them.

"This is our Christmas miracle," she said.

Photos in text:

From top: Hannah with her Young Hero Award; Hannah talks to Deputy Andrew Yessman; members of the family (from left, great grandmother Clara Wheaton, grandmother Barbara Hubbell, great uncle Blaine Hubbell, and aunt Emily Hubbell); Hannah's sister Kylee records the ceremony.

******

The misfit ...

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, Feb. 7 -- I received a lot of positive feedback from my last column, The Relationship Game, which recalled an episode from my long-ago past involving a first love. That column is still on this page, down below.

Anyway, that feedback -- plus the fact that some sort of sinus malady slowed me down this past week -- put me in a reflective mood. When feeling lethargic, or just downright lousy, I either read or reflect.

In particular, but for no particular reason, I fastened in my reflections on a short period in my high school days in which relationships of a far different kind than those with females were plaguing me.

I'm talking about my attempt to fit in as an athlete with the jocks of the school.

As I said in that other column, I was something of a dweeb back then -- short, unremarkable in looks, lacking confidence. I often balked at trying things for fear of failing at the attempt. But there was one thing -- one sport -- at which I excelled, or at which I could compete at an above-average level. And that was baseball.

I played T-ball, Little League and Babe Ruth League -- mostly with some success, with the exception of the time Bubba Phillips, a major leaguer then playing with the Detroit Tigers, watched me pitch. (See Bubba.)

Despite those (mostly) successful experiences, I shied away from trying out for baseball in my first year of high school, which in my district (Bloomfield Hills, Michigan) was 10th grade. However, I decided at the last minute in 11th grade to attend a tryout for the school team.

Most of the athletes out on that baseball field were recognized jocks -- identifiable by their swagger and their letter jackets and the girls who seemed to flock around them. They were also, more importantly, known by the coach, a math teacher in the school named Hal Henderson. He had been the baseball coach for several years, and thus had a preconceived idea that spring of the makeup of his team even before a tryout was held.

Accordingly, I mostly shagged fly balls and stood around with other lesser lights at the tryout, waiting for a chance to hit a few balls pitched by Henderson himself. I did make a couple of early attempts to get to the plate, but was rebuffed both times by larger boys -- jocks -- who blocked my way so their own friends or teammates could hit. Finally, as dusk settled in, Henderson called out:

"Anybody who still hasn't batted?"

Two of us raised our hands, and Henderson motioned the other boy -- even more overmatched by the situation than I was -- into the batter's box. Alas, five swings later, including four whiffs, the boy was motioned out again.

It was my turn.

I settled in -- batting lefty (though I'm right-handed, I had long since found it more comfortable than hitting from the right) -- and awaited Henderson's first offering. It came in fat over the plate, and I took an easy swing and sent a line drive flying past him, not far from his ear.

He twisted around to follow the flight of the ball -- it landed in center field -- and then turned back toward me, a look of curiosity on his face. He nodded slightly, wound up, and delivered another pitch -- which I lined into right field.

Henderson paused, considering me, and then went into another windup and threw again. And for the third time I connected, this time swinging late but sending the ball skipping past third base, into left field.

Henderson was shaking his head now, I imagine in disbelief. He held his arm up, ball in hand, and rotated his wrist -- a sign that he was going to throw a curve. It came in on the far corner of the plate, and I had a little trouble with it, but got enough of it to send a soft looping liner just over shortstop and into left field.

After another pause -- and another studied look by Henderson in my direction -- he threw a second curve, but it was in the dirt and I let it go by. The next pitch, another curve, was on the inside part of the plate, and I turned on it, hitting a screamer down the first-base line.

Dusk was rapidly turning to dark now, and Henderson waved me off.

"That's it!" he called out, and everyone headed for the locker room. I glanced toward the coach as I left, and could see him looking at me, appraising.

******

I would like to report that that tryout was a turning point in my life -- that I went on to great success on the ballfield, and to a scholarship, and to a major league career.

But I can't. None of that happened.

Oh, I made the varsity. It was hard for the coach to ignore a hitter. But I didn't get much playing time, and in fact ended up being shuffled back and forth between varsity and junior varsity. The JV squad was a little thin on talent, and Henderson thought I might be able to help them out on occasion. But the JV coach had preconceived notions about his lineup, and I wasn't among them.

So I learned to sit the bench. That, of course, is the fate of many a young person, and I wasn't complaining. I became a pretty good bench jockey, razzing the opposing pitcher whenever the umpires would permit it. If I couldn't produce with my bat, I figured, I could produce with my mouth. That sort of thing is generally discouraged nowadays.

Anyway, I didn't fit in on either team -- a situation exacerbated by the fact that in gaining a varsity berth, I had taken the spot that had seemed destined to go to a fellow who was a friend of several of the team's starters. Accordingly, they razzed me as much as I razzed opponents' pitchers, and they took great delight in throwing pebbles at me during post-practice laps.

Such was the pecking order back then, the athletic caste system.

Not that I harbor any grudges -- at least any deep ones. It was a great learning experience, really; a guidepost, as it were, for my life that followed.

I learned, quite simply, how to wander about groups of people as an outsider, doing my work, ignoring nasty stares, ignoring the pebbles. I learned to be both participant and spectator -- to soak up as much around me as I could without getting too personally involved. I learned to absorb and analyze -- and to try to take something instructive from every interaction.

And, ultimately, I found a career that suited that temperament perfectly.

I became a journalist.

******

And earlier:

The relationship game ...

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, Jan. 27 -- I got word here the other day that a former sister-in-law of mine had died, a woman named Kip George. She was in her late 60s -- not all that many years beyond me. I don't know the cause of death -- just that she had been ill.

She was really a figure from my long-ago past -- I saw her only once in the last 30 or so years, back about four or five years ago -- and so I should not be emotionally invested in her passing. But oddly, it has triggered memories.

I have in recent days recalled her earlier years -- her dogs that chewed on her Ethan Allen furniture, her job in a professional setting in Syracuse (insurance, I think), and the fact that she was a sleek blonde with a string of boyfriends, including a guy who was relatively powerful in the state Legislature. She was, in truth, pretty impressive.

But we never much warmed to one another; we always seemed to have our claws out, aimed at one another. And once her sister and I had divorced, I lost touch altogether.

Such is life.

Anyway, as I've tended to find anytime someone I've known has passed from our presence, my mind has turned backward -- in this case not so much to her as to other people I've lost, and back even beyond them.

It's an interesting phenomenon, this looking backward, and in this case it was like the spinning of a wheel. I let it spin until it stopped at the point where, I believe, my life first became complex -- muddled by the advent of relationships.

You probably all remember it: your first love. Although I prefer to think of it as my first venture into a minefield.

*****

In truth, I had been smitten before. There was a girl in nursery school who wore polka dot dresses. Patti, I think her name was. And there was Dee Dee in the fourth and fifth grades, who always kept a list of her favorite guys, and reportedly dispensed kisses during recess to whichever lucky soul topped the list. But since I was a little dweeb and never one of her favorites, I never could verify the truth of that rumor.

And I suppose you can count my seventh-grade teacher -- a beautiful blonde in a junior high school north of Detroit. She had all the guys in class drooling, and I was no exception. When she managed to convince one of the Detroit Lions football players to visit the class, she secured her reputation. The Lion was a friend of hers, and not just some big, ugly lineman. This was a sleek wide receiver named Terry Barr. That was just too, too cool.

And then along came Vicki.

She was the sister of a classmate; a younger sister, a year behind me. She imposed herself on my radar in my junior year in high school by smiling widely one day and telling me she had no intention of going out with me.

I hadn't remembered asking, or even thinking about it; but now it became all I could think about. She was very cute, and very ... well, we used to call it built. Stunning, really. And so I was easily reeled in, easily smitten -- and not at all ready for prime time.

Vicki taught me about kissing -- rather marvelous, I decided quickly -- but she also taught me about keeping my hands to home. She was not about to let me learn too much.

And so I was confused, and controlled, and feeling a little guilty at my urges, and the whole thing ran its course in just three months. At that point she turned her back on me, and I became, for the first time in my life, a discard.

One of the oddities of the relationship had been Vicki's insatiable quest to learn what my first initial -- A. -- stood for. I signed everything A. Charles or A.C. And I, never having cared for my first name, refused to reveal it to her. She would say "It's Alan, isn't it?" Or "I know, it's Adam!" It became sort of a game, but I tired of it, so one day, when she said "I bet it's Andrew," I smiled sheepishly, as though abashed, and let her think she was right. And after that she called me "Andy" -- until she dumped me, after which she didn't call me anything.

Fast forward to my graduation. She was attending because her sister was graduating that day along with me and about 300 other people.

As each student's name was announced by the school principal, that student would climb steps to a dais and receive his or her diploma. This was outside on the athletic field; a bright, warm day.

When my name was called, I blanched.

"Augustus Charles Haeffner," the principal intoned. I hadn't anticipated the entire name, but of course (I realized with a sickening feeling) that's how they had it on the school records.

There was a murmur across the crowd as I approached the dais. You could almost hear the collective crowd chewing on the fullness of the name. And so I was a bit red-faced as I picked up my diploma and made my way back to my seat.

After the ceremony, amid all the back-patting and handshakes, I suddenly sensed someone at my side. I turned, and there was Vicki, a couple of feet away, staring at me, her mouth half open and her eyes crinkled in confusion.

She was shaking her head, and started to speak. She stopped momentarily, looked at the ground, and then back to me again.

"Augustus?" she said in disbelief.

I smiled at her, and turned away.

And that's the last time I ever saw her.

******

I heard a couple of years ago that she had ended up getting married, and having a career. It came up in the course of email exchanges I had with the organizer of a high school class reunion -- actually a two-class reunion that would include my class and the one immediately behind mine. Both Vicki and her sister were going to be there.

Alas, I hit a bad patch just before the reunion, and decided not to make the eight-hour drive to Michigan. I was told afterward that the sisters were a bit disappointed that I didn't show up.

But I'm not.

I've managed to enjoy that final moment for years. The look on Vicki's face -- the shock of Augustus! -- was just too rich to ruin with a forced friendly reunion.

******

And now, having revisited that time in my life, my thoughts have returned to the present -- and to the passing of my former sister-in-law.

And as they have, I've realized that while my final words -- my final exchange -- with her those four or five years ago did not measure up to the impact of my final moments with Vicki, they too resonate.

After all those years had skittered by between our meetings, just four words passed between Kip and me.

I had delivered my eldest son -- Kip's nephew -- to Northern New York for a gathering of her clan at the family cottage. She was in the backyard, gardening, when I arrived, and after a couple of minutes she made her way around the building. She spotted me, slowed her pace, and practically growled:

"Hello, Charles," she said.

"Hello, Kip," I replied cheerily. And she went on past me, onto the front porch and into the cottage. I left shortly thereafter, thinking how odd the incident was, and how angry she seemed -- and then I remembered that that entire family was none too friendly toward me after her sister and I had divorced.

And I thought, too, that she had aged significantly -- and I tut-tutted that fact ... until I remembered that I too had aged.

Four or five years have passed since then, and now ... well, now she can't say anything more. But I can, and so will close with this:

So long, Kip.

And if you're reading this: Hello, Vicki.

God bless both of you.

You made my life a little difficult ... and a bit richer.

I hope I returned the favor.

*****

And earlier:

This guy goes into a bar...

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, Jan. 21 -- I think I might work on a new novel. Not the sweet, historical, quasi-religious kinds I've produced before. After publishing the last one of those, The Maiden of Mackinac, a friend chastised me for creating a whole new Native American mythology without crafting it into a page-turning whodunit.

So I've decided to try something with a little more immediacy. It's about the return of a fellow to a land he once trod -- and the fear and glee and anticipation it unleashes in old followers and in government and business leaders. He is seemingly both beloved and reviled, cheered and hissed, protected and threatened.

It starts like this:

Simon Peters is in a bar in Upstate New York, talking to a bartender who is only partly listening. Simon says he doesn't normally drink, but ...

"He has returned. He's returned to exact a pound of flesh, of that I am sure. We have a great deal to answer for, you and I."

The bartender, roused from his own reflections, looks at the man.

"Say what? You and me? I didn't do anything. Hell, I don't even know you."

Simon eyes him up and down, and asks:

"What's your name, barkeep?"

The bartender half-smiles; he is missing a couple of front teeth. But aside from that he has no distracting flaws; was once probably a handsome young man. He is short, on the roundish side, his hair thinning, his face ruddy

"Jim," he answers. "Jimbo, some call me.".

"Well, Jimbo, you're right," says Simon. "You don't know me. But you'll have to answer, same as me. Same as anybody."

Intensity follows ... psychological, physical, pseudosexual ... all those 'p' words. Along with a pace that is pulse-pounding, perplexing and pleasing.

It should be fun. (And for those of you who tend to look for hidden meanings in my writings, it will no doubt be full of them. I imagine you're already studying the exchange above for just such meanings. Knock yourselves out.)

*****

Another fun thing was a WETM-TV newscast the other night (Monday) that featured a couple of Odessans -- Jeff Greuber of the Committee To Dissolve the Village of Odessa, and village Mayor Keith Pierce. They were being interviewed by a WETM-TV reporter who said he got onto the whole village dissolution story through The Odessa File. (See the column about dissolution lower on this page.) And WETM followed that up by sending reporter Chuck Brame, himself of Schuyler County, to the Village Board meeting that followed on Tuesday night. (See a report on that meeting here.)

It's always nice to see local folks get some attention.

*****

The reporter and cameraman who visited Odessa on Monday headed down to Watkins Glen afterward to interview Josh Navone, an attorney who, with his wife Lisa, is renovating the old Flat Iron Building on Fourth Street into loft apartments and possible commercial space.

Sure enough, there was a little story on the news that night featuring Josh in front of the camera. (The Navones also operate the Malabar VII sailing vessel on Seneca Lake.) The Flat Iron lofts -- the facility will have parking -- start at $725 per month. For more details, call 607-733-6600.

*****

I'm glad to see that Eddie Peters is back in operation in Watkins Glen. He's one of the business owners burned out in that nasty Franklin Street fire last year. His Village Variety Shop was left a charred ruin. Eddie had a lot of stuff in storage, though, and found enough material to start up his business again, this time next door to his old store -- in the former Newsroom. He's got antiques and collectibles and assorted other items there. He opens at noon five days a week, and is closed Sundays and Wednesdays. .

*****

Here's a shout-out to the corps of photographers who have joined me in shooting sports events for this website, in some cases for well over a year. Mike Stamp, Kaye Stamp, Susan Bleiler, Don Romeo, Liz Waite, David Waite and Liz Fraboni have been doing a terrific job bringing you the action. And Coach Justin Mucitelli at WGHS has been providing great individual and group shots of his indoor track team. If you see any of these shooters, tell them thanks. They really are doing it for you, the community.

******

And earlier:

On dissolving the village ...

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, Jan. 10 -- I love the smell of contentiousness in the evening.

Yes, I've borrowed and altered a famous Apocalypse Now quote, but that doesn't mean it isn't true.

There is, first and foremost on my radar, the matter of the proposed dissolution of the Village of Odessa. You know: Kill Vill. (Yes, there I go, borrowing from the movies again.)

The fact is, there is a group of folks in the village who formed a unit called the Committee to Dissolve the Village of Odessa. They met a couple of times in December; I don't know about before that.

They prepared a petition to be peddled around the village: Petition for Local Government Dissolution, it's titled. Its lead paragraph reads:

We, the undersigned electors and legal voters of the Village of Odessa, New York, qualified to vote at the next general or special election, respectfully petition that there be submitted to the electors of the Village of Odessa, for their approval or rejection at a referendum held for that purpose, a proposal to dissolve and terminate the Village of Odessa.

Pretty straightforward, yes?

Well, no ... not really.

The committee name, said committee member Jeff Greuber at a meeting on January 5th at St. Benedict's Church, "is a misnomer." What the committee is really seeking, he said, is a study of whether the elimination of village government would save its residents money or cost them more.

Okay. I can see that. So what about the Petition for Local Government Dissolution? That seems pretty direct; pretty extreme.

Well, he said, the group is really just seeking that study. Another committee member, Andy Parker, indicated in an exchange of committee e-mails that the peititon wording is legally necessary.

The meeting of committee members at St. Benedict's, as it turned out, didn't really turn out to be much at all. Greuber was present, and so was a former Odessa mayor, Jack Fowler, along with the fellow who let them in the church.

"I'm the turnkey," the fellow said. His name is Tim Jaynes, and he was in the news not long ago after the Village of Odessa suspended him from his role as Superintendent of the Department of Public Works. He forced the issue with a hearing, but ended up fired. His case created some sympathy among various village residents, a couple of whom I saw listed as members of this Committee to Dissolve the Village of Odessa.

Naturally, that prompted this question from me: Was the committee -- there were nine names listed on the minutes of a meeting on December 22nd -- an offshoot of the Jaynes case? Was this a matter of retribution?

"Not at all," Jaynes assured me. "This was being discussed long before all that (case) happened."

"The subject is nothing new," added Fowler, who served as mayor back in the 1970s. "When I first went on the board, back around 1968, some of the old guard in Odessa were discussing dissolving the village government -- although I don't think anything came from it." The details, he said, are lost in the mist of decades long past.

*****

I find civic activism to be an admirable thing. But it's been my experience that if you want to start a movement, it helps to have a cohesive organization. A committee in absentia doesn't really cut it. And confusion in its own ranks -- symbolized, I think, by a misleading committee name -- can't help.

You're either a Committee to Dissolve the Village of Odessa, or you're not. And legal necessity or not, the petition is either a Petition for Local Government Dissolution or it isn't. At least in the public perception.

Personally, I have no problem with the goals avowed by Greuber and what he referred to in one e-mail to the Village as "our small band of anarchists." In this day and age, when the world is changing so radically and the economy twisting so tenuously, it can't hurt to look for answers that might improve on the traditional.

For traditional, while it might be good, also might not be. Just because it's always been done one way doesn't mean there isn't a better way.

The Odessa village officials apparently see it the same way. They've been seeking a grant through the Schuyler County Partnership for Economic Development (SCOPED) that would fund a study showing which is more beneficial: a world with the Village of Odessa in existence, or a world without it, where its various services might be contracted out or enwrapped by the enveloping Towns of Catharine and Montour.

The next time the Village Board meets, on January 19th, it will update anyone present about the progress of its fund-seeking. And those in attendance, Greuber and Fowler said, will include some of the committee members. But, they added, as long as the Village Board is pursuing the same goal -- information -- that their group is seeking, then the Committee to Dissolve need do nothing more.

But they will be watching.

******

And earlier:

Sheriff Bill Yessman talks to Hannah Hubbell before giving her the Young Hero Award.

And earlier:

Years later, beacons still ...

By Charlie Haeffner

Odessa, Oct. 17-- I've been thinking lately about a couple of young ladies I once knew.

They both died young, and I've never been able to come to terms with that. I know that life is unfair, and indiscriminate, and full of nastiness -- both natural and manmade (which, one could argue, is also natural). But sometimes knowing all of that doesn't seem to help.

One was named Annette Slavsky. I met her at a dance in Birmingham, Michigan, when I was 15 and she was a half-year younger. We were both too young to drive, so our relationship consisted of little more than phone calls to one another, and a couple of more dances.

She was a little, dark-haired beauty, and I was in that easily-smitten part of my life, so she had a sizable impact. But lacking mobility, and in fact living in different communities -- she resided in Birmingham and I was miles away in Bloomfield Hills -- we never quite clicked in the manner of substantially committed couples.

We lost track, in fact, as college loomed and life started taking me over. In her case, death overtook her. She died of a heart ailment -- a heart attack, I was told -- when she was 21.

*****

The other young lady was Mary Lou Norton, a year behind me at Albion College in Albion, Michigan. She was the sister of a female classmate of mine, and she fastened herself to my side -- as a sort of pal -- almost from the moment she arrived on campus.

Her nickname was Loupie -- or maybe it was Lupe or Loupy or some other configuration; I never did see the nickname in print, and never bothered to ask. But the nickname was a play on the Lou part of her name.

She was a strawberry blonde with a quick, toothy smile, a wonderful laugh and a habit, when she was sitting next to me, of tapping nervously on the seat or, sometimes, on my knee. We were, as I said, pals, and eventually dated for a short time. But I was more interested romantically in another girl, and so Loupie took a back seat to that situation -- and gravitated to a friend of mine, eventually becoming engaged to him.

But that relationship too fell by the wayside, and Loupie ended up with a fellow who -- as I recall -- was a member of the geeky fraternity on campus. (We were very judgmental back then, and segregated into fraternities identifiable by jocks and devoted partiers and scholastics and those perceived as geekishly awkward).

She married the young fellow, and was living back near her home base north of Detroit when, in her late 20s, she became pregnant and gave birth ... and died. She was hit with a stroke during childbirth, was stablilized, and was resting afterward -- the child was fine -- when a second, fatal stroke struck.

I learned about this a year or more later, in a call from my ex-wife, a woman I had married in college and who was friends with Loupie's sister and had known Loupie quite well -- but had drifted away from both in the intervening years. She was angry with me.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about Loupie," she seethed over the phone.

"Loupie?" I said. "What are you talking about? What about Loupie?"

"Oh, I suppose you're going to play innocent, and say you didn't know."

"Know what?" I persisted. "What's happened?"

"You mean you really don't know?" The anger was ebbing.

"Know what, dammit?"

And she told me about the strokes, and about Loupie's passing, and about how she had just recently learned about it by chance from the sister.

"God," I said, and I slumped against the wall.

Up until that moment, I don't think I had an inkling of the impact that Loupie had had on me. But now I suspected it was significant, for the breath was rushing from my lungs, rather painfully.

I don't recall much else about the conversation, for numbness was setting in.

And some tears.

*****

Now, decades later, with only a relatively few folks around who give Loupie much of a thought, I imagine, she haunts me much in the way that Annette Slavsky does.

Maybe it's the accumulation of years on myself, and the wish that I were younger. Maybe I harken back without intent to an earlier time, when life stretched out in a long vista, and seemed as though it might last forever.

But it was in that era of optimism -- in that time of hope and anticipation -- when Annette and Loupie were stopped, literally, dead in their tracks. Just like that.

The injustice of it -- the suddenness and permanence -- left me stunned and, I guess, scarred.

They still live in my memory, of course -- and rather vividly -- their outer and inner beauty a beacon, just as their friendship and counsel and, yes, goodness were beacons to a young man making his way uncertainly into the adult world.

If I had one message I could send to them -- if they in fact were near a celestial telegraph or computer -- it would be this:

"God bless you, girls ... and thanks. Maybe we'll meet again."

******

******

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