Space and time continuum?

Saturday night, I tuned in to the last half of the NCAA men's ice hockey championship game between the University of Minnesota Duluth Bulldogs and the University of Massachusetts Minutemen.

In and of itself, watching the game is not news- or blog-worthy. I’m not one of those people to write about every little thing I do, see or eat, so what I watch on television wouldn’t rank up there, either.

But how I came to be encouraged to watch the close game in progress (it was 1-0 Duluth when I tuned in), who I “watched” the game with and how that was accomplished is blog-worthy or, at the very least, a fun topic to write about.

My friend Lois Backscheider sent me an electronic message: “Are you watching? Bulldogs up by 1!”

After a few more messages involving the score and period, she implored me to find a television on which to watch the “nail-biter game.”

When I had located the channel and found the game, I let her know I was with her in spirit and would cheer on her beloved Dogs, since she’s an alum of the university.

University of Minnesota Duluth Pep Band. Photo by Clint Austin /Duluth News Tribune.

But here’s the background you need to know about Lois and how we came to know each other.

Known to me at the time as Miss Moline, Lois was my Journalism I teacher while I was in 10th grade at Overlea High School. She taught journalism and English classes and also served as the school newspaper advisor.

After finishing her career with Baltimore County Public Schools as the assistant principal at Lansdowne Middle School, Lois and her husband Denny in 1994 moved back to her home state of Minnesota to help care for an ailing parent.

Thanks to the connectedness provided by Facebook, Lois and I became FB friends after not seeing each other since I was a 15-year-old sophomore and she was a rookie teacher. 

Since we reconnected, we have discussed the changing face of journalism and the general delivery of news content. At the time, I was the education reporter for the Frederick News-Post and was long used to digital photography, writing stories on a laptop and filing the finished product to an in-house server where editors had the access needed to do their thing. 

I appreciated not having to go to a library to do research, nor did I have to go to the court house to view trial files or the police station to view charging documents, thanks to the Internet. Frederick County also streamed most of its government and Board of Education meetings online as well as aired them on the Frederick County cable station, which made life much easier on many reporters who needed to double check a quote from someone or verify some little factoid.

But as that sophomore during the school year of 1972-73, I could not have imagined a future with the world at our fingertips and the instantaneous delivery of not only news and photos but also the real-time personal communications that could take place.

So it was one of those awakening moments Saturday night when the gift of what was happening with my former high school teacher struck me.

Over the chasm of nearly 1,200 miles (to say nothing of nearly five decades), Lois and I were watching the same hockey game (thanks to satellite TV) and communicating in real time via Facebook’s Messenger service. She was nestled in her Hermantown home, cuddling with her two dogs after her husband abandoned the game to watch the NASCAR race, and I was watching from a neighborhood pub.

We cheered together when the Bulldogs scored their third and final goal, watched the kids representing her alma mater embrace the national championship trophy after finishing off the Minutemen, 3-0, and then bid each other a good night.

There’s a lot of negative things to be said about the Internet in general and social media networks specifically, and they are definitely tools that need to be used carefully, judiciously and safely.

But it’s moments like Saturday night that make me smile and appreciate the way social media lets us connect and build memories that couldn’t have otherwise happened, short of a well-planned and expensive vacation to make it happen in person.

A little journalism fun at the expense of local man

I realize this is a nerdy journalism thing, but I’ve been having a lot of fun watching the online responses to the challenge of Googling “Florida Man” and your birth date to come up with the story of your life.

Journalists have long made jokes about the ubiquitous presence of “local man.” Used in headlines across the country, Local Man and Local Woman manage to get themselves in more trouble than any one individual could or should be able to handle.

We’ve joked about Local Man’s apparently endless supply of cash that allows him to freely travel the country and how we think he would begin to learn from his mistakes.

While Local Man makes headlines in every little berg and hamlet across this expansive country, his antics always seem to ramp up in states like Texas and Florida, where his activities seem to be a little more creative than those in most other states.

So I laughed when Florida journalists recently felt the need to straighten the record regarding a man who had himself filmed as he baited and attacked a pelican while vacationing in Florida. Original headlines apparently referred to “Florida Man,” but as it turned out, the culprit was actually from Maryland. 

Social media posts immediately decried the identification of the pelican-attacking man as a Florida resident and made sure the world knew the man hailed from the Free State.

With a lot of the nation’s media focus on Maryland, Florida and the now widely hated man, a social media challenge was issued encouraging the Google search of Florida Man along with your birthday and the challenge went viral.

The results were hysterical.

Florida Governor Ron DeSantis Googled his Sept. 14 birthday to find “Shirtless Florida man is back to take Hurricane Florence because the Internet made it so.”

Meh.

It apparently doesn’t take much to de-escalate a police situation involving Florida man, as evidenced by the headline of “Slice of pizza convinced Gulf Breeze man to end police standoff.”

But some Florida residents will put themselves at peril trying to escape police, as proven by “Florida man jumps in canal of toxic blue-green algae fleeing a traffic stop, say police.”

Florida Man has been accused of exposing himself to an exotic dancer, putting semen in a coworker’s water, and hitting his pregnant girlfriend with a bag of tortilla chips during an argument over the unborn baby’s paternity.

The ambitious guy  has fought huge pythons, been attacked by a bear, and won a $451 million Mega Millions jackpot. He’s a busy, sometimes brave, sometimes belligerent but always entertaining sort of guy.

The Florida Man challenge took on a life of its own and became the subject of many newspaper articles explaining the popularity of the task and printing some of the results. Many reporters took to creating lists of the top headlines involving Florida Man, knowing that editors like writers to stay on top of trends and create “clickable” articles.

An online search of the challenge brings up a huge lists of articles, as well as the occasional advice to not participate in searches that reveal personal information like your birth date.

To give equal opportunity, I discovered a headline about the Florida woman who thought she had food poisoning after eating bad Chinese food and ended up giving birth to a healthy, full-term baby that she supposedly didn’t know she was carrying. The Pensacola News Journal ran the story under the headline of “Pensacola woman mistakes 37-week pregnancy for bad Chinese food.”

My birthday search brought up several wild and crazy Florida Man headlines, including “Florida man says he only grabbed his mother by head to kiss her,” from the Brevard Times; “Florida man stood in fire chanting gibberish,” from the Bradenton Herald; and “Teens who laughed and recorded a drowning man in his final moments won’t face charges,” from CNN.

But my favorite headline I found in my search was “Florida man wasn’t drinking while driving, just at stop signs.” Those born on July 12 can claim it for themselves.

Please feel free to share your results if you have taken (or now will take) the Florida man challenge. 

Have fun!

A blessing and a curse

One of the best things about living in a small town is knowing just about everyone. A "quick trip" to the grocery store for one or two items can stretch into hours because of the friendly conversations held in every aisle and every department with neighbors, friends and store employees.

But when tragedy strikes your little town, knowing everyone becomes a liability because chances are you know the people involved. And if you don't, you know someone who does.

Such was the case Sunday morning when word spread that one of Edgemere's favorite daughters and shining personalities was the victim of a domestic murder-suicide.

And to further drive home that small town philosophy, I spent time with Ami Garrison that ended up being among her last hours on this earth.

Ami Garrison
Photo courtesy of Ami's Facebook page

Ami was at Edgemere's Bay Shore Bar and Grill on Saturday supporting a fundraiser for some Loyola Blakefield students planning a mission/language immersion trip to Chile and Peru this summer.

She had her daughter Alexis with her, and she was her usual bubbly, smiling, happy self. She bragged — in a loving, motherly way — about her daughter's strong work ethic and her recent job move from Food Lion to Pompeian Olive Oil Co.

The mother and daughter also talked of Alexis' upcoming 21st birthday and their plans to celebrate the milestone at Robbie's, their family-owned pub on Sparrows Point Road.

After painting a wine glass with a festive St. Patrick's Day motif and supporting an accompanying raffle, Ami and her designated driver settled in with some friends at the bar to celebrate the Irish holiday.

Again, with everyone knowing everyone else, Ami made the rounds with hugs, laughs and chats with most customers. She probably hugged every person in the bar when she left to go home.

Just a little while later, word spread about police activity on Willow Avenue — a possible domestic barricade situation. 

And the breathtaking news the next morning that the barricade escalated to a murder-suicide and the beautiful soul named Ami Garrison was dead at the hands of her boyfriend.

The community has already wrapped its arms around Ami's family, including her children, Alexis and James ("Bub"), her parents Ed and Kathy, and sister Brandy, and her many friends, colleagues and extended family members.

It is a familiar embrace for the family that was uplifted and supported about 11 years ago when Ami was badly injured in a horrific car crash. She suffered a severe brain injury, among many other physical injuries and wasn't expected to survive.

But survive she did and many considered her a walking miracle.

Her ability to thrive after such an experience makes her sudden and violent death at the hands of another all the harder to understand. I know none of us is guaranteed anything beyond the current moment, but I have problems with Ami benefitting from the combination of modern science, prayer and perseverance and surviving a potentially fatal crash only to have her life taken by anger and/or other negative emotions.

It is unnerving but also oddly gratifying to know that I shared time and space with Ami during what ended up being her last happy, fun hours in this life.

I'm sickened that her last moments were probably filled with terror but I have to take solace in her afternoon and early evening spent supporting her community, laughing and chatting with friends and throwing back a few beers and Irish Car Bombs in celebration of St. Patrick's Day.

After Ami had recovered from the crash, she got a rather large tattoo of angel wings inked on her back.

Many believe she now has her own set of real angel wings.

Godspeed, my friend.

Unbelievable!

Six years ago, I wrote a semi-humorous column for Dundalk Patch in which I poked fun at the lyrics of several Christmas songs.

I pointed out the suggestive overtones of “Baby It’s Cold Outside” and the bullying tactics employed in “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

It was a light-hearted, word-nerd analysis of popular songs sung by generations over the years.

In 2012, when I penned (keyboarded?) that column, I could not have anticipated the political climate of 2018, to say nothing of the #metoo movement.

So to say I’m shocked to hear that there are serious efforts to ban “Baby It’s Cold Outside” from the airwaves (and several radio stations have promised to stop playing it) and planned protests of Rudolph is an understatement.

In listening to some of the pros and cons being tossed around regarding the songs and the supposed ill behavior being touted, I am hearing many of the things I brought upon in jest six years ago … the violence, particularly against women, often touted in rap music being one.

I think it’s sad that something that was fodder for a fun, light-hearted column six years ago has now become the latest chapter in the #metoo book.

I would like to think that there are much more serious and real problems in regard to sexual harassment and abuse, and I don’t really think Christmas song lyrics from the 1940s, ’50s and 60’s are the inspiration of that behavior. 

Unfortunately, there are too many other places that model and inspire that kind of abusive behavior — maybe those are the situations we need to be protesting and working to change.

Here’s the column as published on Dundalk Patch on Dec. 25, 2012:

Ever Really Listen to Christmas Song Lyrics?

Around-the-clock Christmas music for the past month has caused me to really listen to the words—and I'm shocked!

By Marge Neal, Patch Staff | Dec 25, 2012 10:43 am ET | Updated Dec 26, 2012 7:40 pm ET

I love Christmas music and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

And I'm not a Christmas music snob—I listen to it all. I have some very musically inclined friends who are a little snobby about their music; if it isn't classical music or traditional folks songs from across the globe, it's junk as far as they're concerned.

Me? I like it all.

And I get to indulge in it all this time of year, thanks to radio stations that play Christmas music around the clock from before Thanksgiving to just after the big day.

I listen to a Baltimore station at home and a Washington station in the car, so I get a fair mix of styles and artists.

I love hearing the old Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Steve Lawrence and Edie Gorme, Tony Bennett (and the new Tony Bennett) and Nat King Cole; the medium-old Paul McCartney, James Taylor, Reba McIntyre and Barry Manilow; and the newer Sarah McLaughlin and Barenaked Ladies, Lady Antebellum and Blake Shelton. And old-timers like Rod Stewart have brand-new seasonal albums out.

And because I've already told you I'm not a Christmas music snob, I like Pachebel Canon and Ave Maria (which get more play this time of year) as much as I like White Christmas and even the hippopotamus song—though I am tiring of the Grinch song.

But have you ever really listened to the lyrics of some of the time-honored songs sung around the fireplace each year?

Don't let the lilting, soothing melodies fool you—some of these songs are mean and demanding and others are a little on the risque side.

While they'll never challenge some modern rap for most hateful song ever, I thought you might get a kick out of me bringing some of these "innocent" songs to your attention.

Let's start with "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."

Sounds innocent enough, right? It starts out with a group wishing others a merry Christmas, but then the demands start.

The group wants figgy pudding and a cup of good cheer, and they want it brought to them.

Then, after making their demand, they further state that they won't go until they get some, so bring it RIGHT NOW.

How rude.

Next up is "Baby It's Cold Outside," more of a Christmastime pop song first popularized by Johnny Mercer and Margaret Whiting and then Bing Crosby and Doris Day. There are also many more modern versions.

In this suggestive (for its time) song, a couple is enjoying a date by the fireplace while a snowstorm rages outside.

The man does everything in his power to convince the woman to spend the night, while she says her parents, siblings and even her maiden aunt will be waiting for her to come home and judging her if she does not.

"I ought to say no, no, no sir," the lady says.

"Mind if I move in closer," the man responds."

Later in the song, he asks, "How can you do this to me?"

She responds: "There's bound to be talk tomorrow."

In true fashion of probably the 1940s, the songs ends with the impression—but not the declaration—that she spends the night.

There are others, like "Let It Snow" and "Winter Wonderland" — you can look them up if you'd like (the links take you to the lyrics).

But let's end with "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."

What is probably one of the most popular Christmas tunes among the elementary school-age set is in essence a song about bullying, with many of the defined characteristics of bullying mentioned.

Rudolph, because he is physically different than the rest of the reindeer, is laughed at and called names by his peers.

He is excluded and shunned; forbidden to play games with the other reindeer in the neighborhood.

Only when his special, different physical attribute saves their butts do they accept him into their inner circle.

Oh, and the really bad guy in this song?

Santa Claus himself.

As the responsible adult, he should have stepped in and put an end to the bullying but he looked the other way.

Guess who's on the naughty list now?

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Christmas decorations at the home of Kathi and Boyd Crouse, also known as Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus.
Photo by Marge Neal

Edgemere: Global Influencer?

Who knew Edgemere could be such an international trend-setter?

Making its rounds around social media right now is news of 50 stuffed bears that are being spotted at various locales in the Parisian community of Gobelins. While the stuffed bears are usually found one or two at a time, 37 of them were spotted at the Grand Hotel des Gobelins, according to an article on matadornetwork,com.

A local bookseller named Philippe started the Parisian phenomenon, with the goal of bringing the community together. He lends the bears out to local residents whom then place them at various spots around town. The beige bears have been spotted in lecture halls, on balconies and at sidewalk cafes, according to photos posted by residents.

The travels of the Bears of Gobelins are being chronicled on their own Facebook page.

The Bears of Gobelins. Facebook photo

As many of you will recall, the Edgemere community recently bonded over the travels of Big Blue, a toy bear that looks like it could be a colorful cousin to its French counterparts. The big blue bear was first spotted hanging from a mile marker on the Baltimore beltway, and then made its way to the North Point Peninsula gateway sign and the Edgemere-North Point Volunteer Fire Company before being taken home for safekeeping by its owner.

Just in time for the holidays, Big Blue has reappeared. He was recently spotted on the playground at Edgemere Elementary School and then he was pictured enjoying an adult beverage at a local bar.

Big Blue enjoying some adult time at the Muddy Beaver.
Facebook photo

While Big Blue’s owner may not have originally started out with the goal of bringing the community together, as was the wish of bookseller Philippe, that’s exactly what happened. Photos appeared on Facebook’s The Edgemere Page, and before long, folks were commenting, laughing at the prank, suggesting places the bear could visit in the future and giving him an abundance of monikers.

Even when Blue disappeared, residents would chime in every now and then, asking if the bear had been spotted recently.

So now he’s out and about again, and 50 of his cousins are all the rage in the French community of Gobelins. It will be interesting to see if the idea spreads even more. I'm sure none of you ever really thought of our little town of Edgemere as a global influencer!

I’m not naming the bear’s owner because I haven’t yet reached out for permission to do so, but thank you once again for the needed warm and fuzzy story!

Star light, star bright ...

In this neck of the woods, there’s probably no better way to celebrate the beginning of the Christmas season than with the annual lighting of the Star of Bethlehem.

So if you don’t already have plans for tonight, get thee to Tradepoint Atlantic in Sparrows Point for the ceremony that pays homage to the community’s roots of steel as well as the Pennsylvania hometown of Bethlehem Steel and the birthplace of Jesus Christ.

Tradepoint officials have gone out of their way to preserve Bethlehem Steel’s local heritage and many of the plant’s more visible, iconic, physical pieces. The company's loving treatment of the star built by employees is but one example.

The 28-foot-tall, 1.5-ton star graced the top of the L-Blast furnace on the steel plant’s property for decades. When the furnace was razed, the star was rescued and stored for future use. After being refurbished, the star was installed on the side of the former plant’s wastewater treatment plant — a temporary location until a higher and more permanent home was identified.

This year will mark the fourth time Tradepoint officials will throw the switch to illuminate the star’s 196 bulbs. More work was done on the star this year, including the conversion to LED lights, according to Tradepoint’s website. And the star has a new location atop the campus’ water tower.

It’s a brutally cold and windy day, but the ceremony from 5 to 6 p.m. is free and open to the public. Follow the event signs on Bethlehem Boulevard and Riverside Drive to get there.

Tradepoint Atlantic workers moved the Star of Bethlehem to its new home atop a water tower.
Photo courtesy of Tradepoint's Facebook page.

Tradepoint Atlantic workers pose with the Star of Bethlehem after installing it on the property's water tower.
Photo courtesy of Tradepoint's Facebook page.

Last year's lighting ceremony when the star graced the side of Tradepoint's wastewater treatment plant.
Photo by Marge Neal

Turning back time

Fifty years ago this school year, 44 rag-tag students, clumped together primarily because of the year they were born and where their parents chose to live, became the latest group of kids to form a community and claim the desks in Room 17 at Mars Estates Elementary School in Essex.

After five years, we were finally at the top of the heap — sixth-graders at last — and to cap it all off, we had the cool teacher that everyone wanted — Ernest C. “Ernie" Nuetzel himself!

Mr. Nuetzel would be the first male classroom teacher for most of us, though there was a group blessed to have him for fifth- and sixth-grades.

That group of kids that moved on to junior high school in 1969 had largely been together since first grade. A few kids transferred in and out of Mars Estates over the years, but the school’s population was relatively stable. And while some kids moved in and out of groups from time to time, most of our sixth-grade class had been together a majority of those six years.

Ernest C. Nuetzel's sixth-grade class at Mars Estates Elementary School, 1968-69. Note the class size of 42 students with  two absent that day, according to Mr. Nuetzel's impeccable class list carefully printed on the back of his copy.

Our parents were mostly blue-collar workers, with many at Bethlehem Steel, General Motors and similar places of employment. We were a down-to-earth bunch, most of whom lived in the nearby brick row home community of Country Ridge or elsewhere along upper Back River Neck Road.

Yesterday, 11 of those kids gathered to celebrate the passing of 50 years since we were those sixth-graders — many of whom, regardless of education later attained, still consider Mr. Nuetzel their all-time favorite teacher.

And again, to cap off the gathering of old friends, we were graced with the attendance of both Ernie and his wife of 57 years, Gail.

Fifty years later, some of those kids gathered to reminisce with teacher Ernie Nuetzel (front row, third from the right) and his wife, Gail (second from right). Photo by Don Wright.

Most of us graduated from Kenwood High School, so we have seen each other over the years at various high school reunions. And connecting on Facebook has really allowed us to keep up day-to-day with both concerns and celebrations. 

But meeting in person with a group of folks with a concentration specifically on our lives as 11-year-olds was special, to say the least. I had not seen several of these folks since high school, and like any group, I was closer to some than others in school.

So to say that it was fun and interesting and fascinating to see those kids after all these years and hear their life stories is an understatement. It was fun to hear stories about life in Mr. Nuetzel’s class that stuck in some folks’ minds but apparently were completely erased from the minds of others.

At one point, later in the afternoon, I sat back and watched folks interact as if they had last seen each other just the previous day. A comfort level settled in and these “kids” laughed, shared stories, hugged, cried, remembered and cared.

Ernie, who retired from Baltimore County Public Schools as an assistant principal, cried or teared up several times as students shared with him the impact he had on their lives. To be certain, and just to provide some balance, he was not perfect in the classroom (find me anyone who is) and most of us have a story about him we’d just as soon forget. But he was a young educator at the time, and the positive anecdotes and life lessons learned in Room 17 far outweigh the negative. 

Many of us have our first memories of Mr. Nuetzel as being the man who, on Nov. 22, 1963 — when we were in first grade — ran around the school yelling the president had been shot.

In the days before universal kindergarten and widespread preschools, we were clean slates with relatively little knowledge of the world outside of our small communities when we started first grade. I remember us as 6-year-olds looking to Mrs. Higgins and asking what a president was. We received out first civics lesson that day.

So on Saturday, Terry, Sharon, Lillie, Debbie E., Tracey, Joann, Debbie W., Carol, Charlie, Mike and I gathered to honor Ernie Nuetzel and reminisce about life in Mars Estates’ Room 17 during the 1968-69 school year. We laughed a lot, remembered a lot, cried a little and learned a lot about the adults we have all become — all while erasing a half-century that somehow has passed since those innocent times.

It was, in a word, magical.