Congratulations to Raja Abdulrahim, a fine reporter at the Times Herald-Record and a consistent Gangrey voice, for earning a gig at the LA Times. She says she's headed to a newsroom full of passion and talent, and she'll contribute to that mix, for sure.
Here's to Raja.
Don't let 'em give you any guff about those rubber chickens.
Congrats.
Wait, wait, wait. Let us get together a counter offer - 40 percent raise, four rubber chickens and a coke.
Wow. Congratulations.
This is hopeful.
Did anyone else get this feeling -- a vague notion, probably not true but present nonetheless -- that with the way things have been going, the Times, the Times and the Post would never hire anyone again?
I mean, there was a time when pretty predictably, the decent mid-sizes would feed to the Oregonian and the Miami Herald and the Dallas Morning News and the St. Pete Times and the Boston Globe, and then those papers (plus a few others) would feed to the nationals.
This sort of transition seems increasingly rare.
Thanks all. Doyle, they offered me FIVE rubber chickens and a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt.
Just let us keep the Chick-fil-A puppet, OK?
Here's one of Raja's many gems, from 2005. She will be missed:
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Finding his path
Walking two hours to Mass every day, this blind man knows exactly where he is going
By Raja Abdulrahim
Asphalt. Earth.
Asphalt. Earth.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He'll follow the grass line all the way from his house to the National Shrine of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, more than 2½ miles away. Charlie Paduch takes small, careful steps, his white cane extended in front of him.
One tap on the sidewalk, one on the grass.
For 15 years, Charlie has religiously made this walk to morning Mass. It takes him two hours.
Sometimes there's too much snow for him to navigate the sidewalks and shoulders. Sometimes a friend spots him walking and gives him a ride. But usually that doesn't happen. So Charlie makes the walk alone.
Asphalt. Earth.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
THE WALK gives him time to think.
But if you ask him, he'll tell you about the accident 43 years ago. He was 23 and an eager volunteer firefighter when he fell into a lye pit during a fire at a chemical plant. Nine years and several eye surgeries later, Charlie put the black glasses on permanently.
As a child, he says, he briefly entertained ideas of becoming a priest. After the accident, he recognized the difficulty of studying at a seminary and instead became a lay Carmelite, someone who follows much of the same rules as a priest but lives outside the church. Indeed, more than 2½ miles outside the church.
Charlie could probably get a friend or fellow parishioner to drive him every day, but he likes to walk and reflect, even as morning traffic buzzes by.
CHARLIE WALKS CONFIDENTLY, occasionally with no more than a foot between him and the vehicles. What might scare some sighted pedestrians doesn't seem to faze him.
As he walks, he'll talk to you like a tour guide. A sighted tour guide. He points out the state hospital, calls out the names of roads and warns you of muddy sidewalks. He's lived in Middletown so long, he has these roads memorized.
He stops at the light, tilts his head a little to the side and listens to the direction of traffic. A few seconds after the light turns green he hears the vehicles drive alongside him, so he's back on his way, white cane warning him of curbs, telephone poles and garbage cans.
But there's a lot he can't know around him. That, he leaves to faith.
SOMETIMES CHARLIE thinks back to more than 40 years ago and wishes he never had answered the fire call.
For several years, he attended the monthly healing Mass at Mount Carmel, hoping to see again.
"But the Lord has other plans," he says. "Sight or no sight, I'll keep my faith."
Now he prefers to think of his blindness as having a purpose. Perhaps even an inspiration to others.
"A lot of people, they're impressed," he says. "I don't know why. It's life; you do what you have to do."
HE SEES WITH HIS SOLES and the tip of his cane. He knows when to turn a corner or cross a street. And he knows just when to make that right turn up the steep road leading him to the shrine.
His hand touching each pew as he passes, Charlie feels his way to the front of the shrine. He takes out his black rosary beads from a small leather case.
Today, he and the few other worshippers scattered among the pews meditate on the sorrowful mysteries of Jesus, including the crucifixion. While leading the rosary, Charlie reflects on these and the mysteries within his own life. Things he has to accept no matter how hard.
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you," he recites, absentmindedly fingering the gold crucifix hanging from his neck.
The struggles and sacrifices Charlie recites help him to deal with the trials and tribulations in his own life.
"In you, O Lord, I seek refuge; do not let me ever be put to shame: in your righteousness deliver me. Psalm 31:1" reads a passage from Charlie's rosary book.
"THE MASS has ended," the priest says. "Let us all go in peace."
And find our way here again tomorrow.
Asphalt. Earth.
Asphalt. Earth.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
So does this mean we can't have a witty back-and-forth on Saturday afternoons anymore? Or do can we still do that bi-coastal?
Good luck, homegirl.
