Today (Wednesday) was my last day as a municipal government reporter at the Sun-Sentinel. It's been a long but rewarding three months. Ever since they extended my internship after September, I've been covering city government in four cities clustered south of Fort Lauderdale - Hallandale Beach, Dania Beach, West Park, and Pembroke Park. It was my first real "beat" - in my past reporting internships I covered health as a general topic or was a generalist. The city beat reporters are sort of the foot soldiers of the paper, the ones writing about city commission meetings and what the elected officials decide to do with taxpayer money, spotlighting the movers and shakers in the community, and the ones who do the story on anything that happens within city borders really.
On any given day I was picking up police blotters - the listings of nonviolent crimes that readers seem to like to read - calling the mayor or city manager for an update on something, going to commission meetings which can last several hours, talking to business owners, residents, tourists, driving around, reading some document or Web site, or writing a story. It was busy, busy. In the beginning it was a lot of jumping around, trying to make sure I wasn't overlooking something in one city at the expense of another. By the time I started to hit a groove, my time was up.
One story I was proud of was when Hallandale fired two police officers for abusing a man they arrested, choking and tasering him 15 times one night in April.
Another was a few stories on Dania Beach's efforts to revitalize their gritty downtown area even through seizing property through eminent domain. They also sacrificed a historic hotel that had housed people barely able to scrape by, favoring a new project boasting market-rate condos.
I also liked writing about a French family with a little girl who traveled to Pembroke Park each year for special therapy to overcome her cerebral palsy.
I feel fortunate to have come across these stories and to learn from my mistakes. I also feel more confident in organizing my time and resources because, well, with four cities, you have four sets of elected officials and staff, four sets of issues, four separate little fiefdoms. Ideally there would be one reporter for each city, which we used to have in the office. Now people have to double up, or quad up in my case. At least if I get hired somewhere else to do local government, one or two cities will be cake. At least I hope.
At the end of the day today I sent emails to each of the four city managers telling them I was leaving and to forward any upcoming info to my editor. I never told them I was an intern. Partly I think that was because I didn't want to seem like an amateur. But also I think I was trying to mentally picture myself being a staff writer, or getting hired on as a staff writer. And no reason to tell them I was an intern if I was hired at some point- there'd be a seamless transition. Of course, they didn't hire me. At least not yet.
In any case, as I left the office for the last time, I felt happy to be out but sad too. I kinda missed the 10 hour or 12 hour days. Talking to residents. Being plugged into what was happening. I had only just begun to scratch the surface of my cities.
December 28, 2005
December 25, 2005
December 8, 2005
flying on coke
So I'm at my desk eating a Wendy's spicy chicken meal and reading some document simultaneously to maximize my work time....sad isn't it....and I look at my iced tea cup, which has a bright label on it proclaiming, "Buy 32 drinks = 1 FREE 1-way ticket"
Hmmm, I thought in between parsing sentences of a land use plan amendment ordinance.
Free flight eh? 32 drinks eh? SOUNDS LIKE A SCAM!
But upon closer examination, it seemed like you really can fly on airTran anywhere they fly after sending in 32 drink upc codes. Who's heard of airTran, please raise your hands. Seeing no one, I now close the public hearing. Sorry, I have city government meetings on the brain.
I googled "wendys free flight" and came up with the promotion on the first hit. airTran appears to be a discount airline with ATL as its hub. And they fly to Ft. Lauderdale, San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York, all the places I want to be. You can't fly from SF to LA without going through Atlanta but hey should be a nice trip.
A 20-oz drink at Wendy's probably costs $1.90 or so, call it two bucks. 2 times 32 = 64. 64 dollars in change from between my car's seat and the floor don't seem too bad for a free flight. that's 128 bucks for a roundtrip. And all the soda I could drink in several months. Oh wait, maybe you need to buy a meal to get the cup. and the deal expires at the end of the year or whenever Wendy's runs out of cups with the offer on the side.
hmmm, how to beat the deadline.
well, simply buy Wendy's for everyone in the office, that's it.
could come up with the goods in a couple days.
get everyone obese off of square burgers.
sounds like a plan.
Hmmm, I thought in between parsing sentences of a land use plan amendment ordinance.
Free flight eh? 32 drinks eh? SOUNDS LIKE A SCAM!
But upon closer examination, it seemed like you really can fly on airTran anywhere they fly after sending in 32 drink upc codes. Who's heard of airTran, please raise your hands. Seeing no one, I now close the public hearing. Sorry, I have city government meetings on the brain.
I googled "wendys free flight" and came up with the promotion on the first hit. airTran appears to be a discount airline with ATL as its hub. And they fly to Ft. Lauderdale, San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York, all the places I want to be. You can't fly from SF to LA without going through Atlanta but hey should be a nice trip.
A 20-oz drink at Wendy's probably costs $1.90 or so, call it two bucks. 2 times 32 = 64. 64 dollars in change from between my car's seat and the floor don't seem too bad for a free flight. that's 128 bucks for a roundtrip. And all the soda I could drink in several months. Oh wait, maybe you need to buy a meal to get the cup. and the deal expires at the end of the year or whenever Wendy's runs out of cups with the offer on the side.
hmmm, how to beat the deadline.
well, simply buy Wendy's for everyone in the office, that's it.
could come up with the goods in a couple days.
get everyone obese off of square burgers.
sounds like a plan.
December 3, 2005
News from the front (page, that is)
Woohoo! First time I hit the front page of the paper, today:
"Two Hallandale officers fired over Taser use"
The competition had a story but I got it better, this time around.
How'd I celebrate? I came home from the office after editing the story, at 10:45 pm, cracked open a Sierra Nevada, cooked some speghetti, and watched Leno and Conan. yeah.
HALLANDALE BEACH - Two city police officers were fired Friday after being accused of choking and using a Taser on a man in a holding cell more than 10 times in less than five minutes.
The Broward County State Attorney's Office charged Officer Talous Cirilo with three counts of misdemeanor battery, and Officer Mary Hagopian with one count of misdemeanor battery. Hagopian was a 15-year veteran, and Cirilo was employed for three or four years, said Police Chief Tom Magill. Their arraignment is scheduled for Dec. 21.
"I can't have that in this organization," said City Manager Mike Good, who authorized the firings. "I won't tolerate it."
Their lawyer on Friday said the decision to fire Cirilo and Hagopian was "bogus."
"No way did the city do a thorough investigation," said Barbara Duffy, general council for the Broward County Police Benevolent Association who represented Cirilo and Hagopian. "I'm not aware of any other state attorneys' offices that charge cops for doing their jobs."
The officers have 15 days to challenge the firings.
The dismissals come at a time when police use of Tasers faces mounting criticism. Critics contend that the stun guns are sometimes misused and that the unregulated weapons may be unsafe. The manufacturer, Taser International of Scottsdale, Ariz., contends the devices are safe.
On the morning of April 1, police noticed two men fighting in the back seat of a car on Federal Highway and pulled over the driver, officials said. Cirilo arrested Michael Brack, 23, for domestic violence for the alleged fight with his brother. Brack struggled with officers at the scene, and at some point Cirilo shoved a Taser against Brack's body three times and activated the electricity, police said.
After Brack was arrested and placed in a holding cell, Cirilo choked the handcuffed man, Good said. That incident was recorded by video camera. After being fingerprinted, Brack was led out of sight of the camera, then choked unconscious by Cirilo, Good said.
When Brack woke up, he kicked his cell, prompting Cirilo and Hagopian to shock him with a Taser more than 10 times in four minutes, 22 seconds, officials said. Two Community Service Aides saw the incidents, they said.
Hagopian, who as an acting sergeant was a supervisor at the time, used her body to shield the service aides from entering the room as Cirilo choked Brack, according to a police statement. One of the aides said he saw Hagopian with a Taser in each hand, shocking Brack multiple times.
In June, Internal Affairs presented its case to the state attorney's office, Magill said. The state charged Cirilo and Hagopian in October. On Nov. 16, Magill told the city manager he should fire the two officers.
"We can't accept that behavior," Magill said Friday. "I'm extremely disappointed. We hired them, trained them, did the best we could."
City officials held a meeting on Monday to allow the officers to defend themselves, but only their lawyer, Duffy, showed up.
City Manager Good fired the officers Friday.
Neither officer has a criminal record in Florida. Neither did Brack, according to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. The domestic violence charge was dropped.
Magill said it took eight months to discipline the officers because the state attorney working the case was promoted and the case was given to someone else; the Tasered man, Brack, left South Florida; and Hurricanes Katrina and Wilma took up city police resources.
Every Hallandale officer who carries a Taser goes through a four-hour training session by in-house instructors, said Assistant Police Chief James Kirchoff. About 70 patrol officers carry the devices.
More than 7,000 law enforcement agencies, including the majority of the police agencies in South Florida, use the devices. Critics point out that more than 100 people nationwide have died shortly after being shocked by a Taser.
In Florida, at least 24 people have died since 2001 after being zapped, more than in any other state. Medical examiners attributed most of those deaths to other causes, such as the presence of drugs, including cocaine.
Kirchoff said that the International Association of Chiefs of Police and the Police Executive Research Forum recently put out new Taser guidelines, which the city follows.
After the April incident the department put out a memo telling officers not to "dry tase" a person as Cirilo did when Brack was arrested, Magill said. During a dry tase the electrified darts are not fired; the Taser is pressed against a person's body and activated.
News researchers Barbara Hijek and Bill Lucey contributed to this story.
Chris Young can be reached at ciyoung@sun-sentinel.com or 954-385-7916.
"Two Hallandale officers fired over Taser use"
The competition had a story but I got it better, this time around.
How'd I celebrate? I came home from the office after editing the story, at 10:45 pm, cracked open a Sierra Nevada, cooked some speghetti, and watched Leno and Conan. yeah.
HALLANDALE BEACH - Two city police officers were fired Friday after being accused of choking and using a Taser on a man in a holding cell more than 10 times in less than five minutes.
The Broward County State Attorney's Office charged Officer Talous Cirilo with three counts of misdemeanor battery, and Officer Mary Hagopian with one count of misdemeanor battery. Hagopian was a 15-year veteran, and Cirilo was employed for three or four years, said Police Chief Tom Magill. Their arraignment is scheduled for Dec. 21.
"I can't have that in this organization," said City Manager Mike Good, who authorized the firings. "I won't tolerate it."
Their lawyer on Friday said the decision to fire Cirilo and Hagopian was "bogus."
"No way did the city do a thorough investigation," said Barbara Duffy, general council for the Broward County Police Benevolent Association who represented Cirilo and Hagopian. "I'm not aware of any other state attorneys' offices that charge cops for doing their jobs."
The officers have 15 days to challenge the firings.
The dismissals come at a time when police use of Tasers faces mounting criticism. Critics contend that the stun guns are sometimes misused and that the unregulated weapons may be unsafe. The manufacturer, Taser International of Scottsdale, Ariz., contends the devices are safe.
On the morning of April 1, police noticed two men fighting in the back seat of a car on Federal Highway and pulled over the driver, officials said. Cirilo arrested Michael Brack, 23, for domestic violence for the alleged fight with his brother. Brack struggled with officers at the scene, and at some point Cirilo shoved a Taser against Brack's body three times and activated the electricity, police said.
After Brack was arrested and placed in a holding cell, Cirilo choked the handcuffed man, Good said. That incident was recorded by video camera. After being fingerprinted, Brack was led out of sight of the camera, then choked unconscious by Cirilo, Good said.
When Brack woke up, he kicked his cell, prompting Cirilo and Hagopian to shock him with a Taser more than 10 times in four minutes, 22 seconds, officials said. Two Community Service Aides saw the incidents, they said.
Hagopian, who as an acting sergeant was a supervisor at the time, used her body to shield the service aides from entering the room as Cirilo choked Brack, according to a police statement. One of the aides said he saw Hagopian with a Taser in each hand, shocking Brack multiple times.
In June, Internal Affairs presented its case to the state attorney's office, Magill said. The state charged Cirilo and Hagopian in October. On Nov. 16, Magill told the city manager he should fire the two officers.
"We can't accept that behavior," Magill said Friday. "I'm extremely disappointed. We hired them, trained them, did the best we could."
City officials held a meeting on Monday to allow the officers to defend themselves, but only their lawyer, Duffy, showed up.
City Manager Good fired the officers Friday.
Neither officer has a criminal record in Florida. Neither did Brack, according to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. The domestic violence charge was dropped.
Magill said it took eight months to discipline the officers because the state attorney working the case was promoted and the case was given to someone else; the Tasered man, Brack, left South Florida; and Hurricanes Katrina and Wilma took up city police resources.
Every Hallandale officer who carries a Taser goes through a four-hour training session by in-house instructors, said Assistant Police Chief James Kirchoff. About 70 patrol officers carry the devices.
More than 7,000 law enforcement agencies, including the majority of the police agencies in South Florida, use the devices. Critics point out that more than 100 people nationwide have died shortly after being shocked by a Taser.
In Florida, at least 24 people have died since 2001 after being zapped, more than in any other state. Medical examiners attributed most of those deaths to other causes, such as the presence of drugs, including cocaine.
Kirchoff said that the International Association of Chiefs of Police and the Police Executive Research Forum recently put out new Taser guidelines, which the city follows.
After the April incident the department put out a memo telling officers not to "dry tase" a person as Cirilo did when Brack was arrested, Magill said. During a dry tase the electrified darts are not fired; the Taser is pressed against a person's body and activated.
News researchers Barbara Hijek and Bill Lucey contributed to this story.
Chris Young can be reached at ciyoung@sun-sentinel.com or 954-385-7916.
Copyright © 2005, South Florida Sun-Sentinel
November 24, 2005
Gotta start listening to more Prarie Home Companion
Garrison Keillor, bless your heart. If only Generation iPod saw eye-to-eye with you. Scroll down to section in red (emphasis mine).
Garrison Keillor, Tribune Media Services
Published November 23, 2005
Pause to give thanks for simple things
Garrison Keillor, Tribune Media Services
Published November 23, 2005
Family, friends, good health (knock on wood), lots to be thankful for, including this $1.59 rollerball pen and its flowing cursive line that makes me feel as elegant as Michel de Montaigne.
Gratitude makes sense for an American. We occupy a bountiful country of great civility (yes, really) and robustness and freedom, and if not the No. 1 Country in the World, nonetheless it has some great stuff, including Lake Superior, the Supreme Court, the Four Tops ("Baby, I Need Your Lovin'") and the World's Largest Ball of Twine Ever Rolled by One Man (12 feet in diameter) in Darwin, Minn. Cawker City, Kan., claims a bigger one, but it's more oblong and was done by committee.
Truly, we should be thankful. And we do try to be. But the English language is so rich in terms of complaint and insult and groaning and rather sparse in the Exaltation Department, so the Lord doesn't get praised as he should.
Instead, we bellyache, we kvetch, we get our undies in a bunch. After all, we're descended from people who considered rejoicing to be bad luck: It tempts fate.
So they grumbled about the weather, politicians, children, popular music, new cars, anything modern, and complained about their health year after year until they died and went to heaven, where no doubt they are a little edgy even now--nice place, paradise--a little surprised at who else is here, harrumph, harrumph, but never mind--plenty of bliss, no tears and so forth--not sure how long it can last, but we shall see.
As for me, I am grateful for the functional. In our home, we are going through a series of malfunctioning coffeemakers that sputter and vomit quarts of hot brown sediment on the kitchen counter and floor, and that makes me grateful for things like this pen, which really is a pleasure. Or Google, which can bring up 2.3 million references in .03 seconds, none of which sheds light on the subject, but they distract you so that instead of writing about "The Mill on the Floss" by George Eliot, you get interested in dental hygiene.
I'm glad for the e-ticket, which frees us from standing in line at the airline counter so that we can swiftly go stand in line at the security check.
And let us all be thankful for the newspaper, a truly useful object. The press is the watchdog of a free society, and while TV reporters are styling their hair and practicing winsome facial expressions, newspaper reporters are on the phone, knocking on doors, doing the work, holding power accountable. And you read their work and absorb something from it, or not, and then you spread the newspaper out on the floor and it absorbs paint drips, or you pack it in a box around fragile objects, or you roll it up and swat cockroaches, or stuff it into cracks to keep the wind out, or stuff it under the kindling and light the fire--one simple thing with six distinct uses. Or you can recycle it and it will transcend into cardboard.
You can't do that with images on a screen.
These days I am grateful beyond words for a swimming teacher, Alyssa, who is a functional person of a very high order. Twice a week, she takes my sandy-haired, gap-tooth daughter in tow and puts her through her paces.
Alyssa is young, blonde, brimming with confidence, with broad shoulders and a car horn voice. She hollers, "Kickickickickickkick" and "GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO," and the little girl puts her head down and swims for all she's worth.
A few months ago, she was timid in the water, like me, and now she is a fish, all thanks to her wonderful teacher, a taskmaster with a sense of humor, who is in the pool with her pupils, unlike the Schwimmfuehrer of my youth who strode alongside the pool and showered us with contempt and ridicule.
Alyssa's gift is enormous to us. My daughter gets a taste of discipline and success, and this makes me very happy. So much that is dismal and destructive in the world, but for me, the joy of a 7-year-old girl putting on her swim goggles almost makes up for it.
Thanks be to God for the teachers of the world.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Gratitude makes sense for an American. We occupy a bountiful country of great civility (yes, really) and robustness and freedom, and if not the No. 1 Country in the World, nonetheless it has some great stuff, including Lake Superior, the Supreme Court, the Four Tops ("Baby, I Need Your Lovin'") and the World's Largest Ball of Twine Ever Rolled by One Man (12 feet in diameter) in Darwin, Minn. Cawker City, Kan., claims a bigger one, but it's more oblong and was done by committee.
Truly, we should be thankful. And we do try to be. But the English language is so rich in terms of complaint and insult and groaning and rather sparse in the Exaltation Department, so the Lord doesn't get praised as he should.
Instead, we bellyache, we kvetch, we get our undies in a bunch. After all, we're descended from people who considered rejoicing to be bad luck: It tempts fate.
So they grumbled about the weather, politicians, children, popular music, new cars, anything modern, and complained about their health year after year until they died and went to heaven, where no doubt they are a little edgy even now--nice place, paradise--a little surprised at who else is here, harrumph, harrumph, but never mind--plenty of bliss, no tears and so forth--not sure how long it can last, but we shall see.
As for me, I am grateful for the functional. In our home, we are going through a series of malfunctioning coffeemakers that sputter and vomit quarts of hot brown sediment on the kitchen counter and floor, and that makes me grateful for things like this pen, which really is a pleasure. Or Google, which can bring up 2.3 million references in .03 seconds, none of which sheds light on the subject, but they distract you so that instead of writing about "The Mill on the Floss" by George Eliot, you get interested in dental hygiene.
I'm glad for the e-ticket, which frees us from standing in line at the airline counter so that we can swiftly go stand in line at the security check.
And let us all be thankful for the newspaper, a truly useful object. The press is the watchdog of a free society, and while TV reporters are styling their hair and practicing winsome facial expressions, newspaper reporters are on the phone, knocking on doors, doing the work, holding power accountable. And you read their work and absorb something from it, or not, and then you spread the newspaper out on the floor and it absorbs paint drips, or you pack it in a box around fragile objects, or you roll it up and swat cockroaches, or stuff it into cracks to keep the wind out, or stuff it under the kindling and light the fire--one simple thing with six distinct uses. Or you can recycle it and it will transcend into cardboard.
You can't do that with images on a screen.
These days I am grateful beyond words for a swimming teacher, Alyssa, who is a functional person of a very high order. Twice a week, she takes my sandy-haired, gap-tooth daughter in tow and puts her through her paces.
Alyssa is young, blonde, brimming with confidence, with broad shoulders and a car horn voice. She hollers, "Kickickickickickkick" and "GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO," and the little girl puts her head down and swims for all she's worth.
A few months ago, she was timid in the water, like me, and now she is a fish, all thanks to her wonderful teacher, a taskmaster with a sense of humor, who is in the pool with her pupils, unlike the Schwimmfuehrer of my youth who strode alongside the pool and showered us with contempt and ridicule.
Alyssa's gift is enormous to us. My daughter gets a taste of discipline and success, and this makes me very happy. So much that is dismal and destructive in the world, but for me, the joy of a 7-year-old girl putting on her swim goggles almost makes up for it.
Thanks be to God for the teachers of the world.
Happy Thanksgiving.
November 23, 2005
Pre-Turkey day at the airport
I'm typing away at my laptop at Ft. Lauderdale airport like some kind of road warrior. The place has free wireless in all terminals as a male voice tells me over the PA system. The only catch is it's slow as molasses.
Fortunately, what's not slow as molasses is the security line I got through. I came to the airport about 1'45" before my flight, which is extremely unlike me. I normally like cutting it so that I join the tail end of my boarding group on the plane without ever needing to sit on some uncomfortable chair. But with the holiday flight and bad weather in the midwest and all, I figured better safe than sorry. This just goes to show I should continue getting to the airport with eight minutes to spare because I got through security in 52 seconds without a wait and my gate was mere feet away, on supposedly the worst travel day of the year. But I don't want to jinx it because we still have to go through Chicago.
BTW, for some reason I always order cranberry juice when I fly. Or ginger ale. I never drink either of those beverages when my feet are on solid earth. I wonder why. Is anybody else like that?
Fortunately, what's not slow as molasses is the security line I got through. I came to the airport about 1'45" before my flight, which is extremely unlike me. I normally like cutting it so that I join the tail end of my boarding group on the plane without ever needing to sit on some uncomfortable chair. But with the holiday flight and bad weather in the midwest and all, I figured better safe than sorry. This just goes to show I should continue getting to the airport with eight minutes to spare because I got through security in 52 seconds without a wait and my gate was mere feet away, on supposedly the worst travel day of the year. But I don't want to jinx it because we still have to go through Chicago.
BTW, for some reason I always order cranberry juice when I fly. Or ginger ale. I never drink either of those beverages when my feet are on solid earth. I wonder why. Is anybody else like that?
November 16, 2005
'cane time II
Right outside my porch....
These trees hit that nice pristine '65 Mustang that my landlady owns. But somehow it wasn't even scratched.
I didn't put the plastic lawn chair there for dramatic effect like some paparrazzi disaster photographer. That's where the chair landed.
'cane time
I didn't have this blog when Hurricane Wilma smacked South Florida but I figured I might as well blog it a bit. Of course, a picture is worth a thousand words so:
in the aftermath, here's a tree that fell right at my landlady's front door. That's the hurricane shutter on the right, the white awning there. It was lowered over the window before the storm so that any debris, such as that tree right at my landlady's door, wouldn't break the window and bring rain and hell's breath into the home. The neighbor put it back up for some reason after the storm passed. I couldn't even get from my front door to the front yard because so many trees had fallen on the path.
November 13, 2005
u b the cartoonist
I must admit I'm hooked on the caption contest on the New Yorker's Web site. Their cartoonists draw a new cartoon each week sans caption. You can submit a caption online, the staff select three and you vote for the funniest. Winners get a signed print of the cartoon. I know it's not a vacation to Aruba but hey, I've got walls that need decorating.
the cutting room floor 0'00'00'02
After Hurricane Wilma smacked us and knocked out the power and made some people homeless, I heard a city official mention a French family in town with a girl who needed to go to the hospital each day. The paper likes stories of how people cope after the hurricane, so I followed up with the family after the immediate aftermath drama stories came out.
The following is my exact draft to the editor. It is unedited. Note- checkmarks in the text just indicate that the name is spelled correctly. Below that is the printed version.
BY CHRIS YOUNG
STAFF WRITER
PEMBROKE PARK- At a white mobile home with green trim, a little girl named Margot sits at a patio table, coloring with markers. She draws an orange house with a red roof and clouds around it. She wears a pink and orange T-shirt, blue pants, and red Nike sneakers.
Margot calls out in French to her mother, Emmanuelle√, that she needs to go to the bathroom. Emmanuelle pulls her to her feet with both hands and walks her inside. Though Margot is 8 years old, she walks unsteadily, like a toddler.
Even this is an accomplishment.
Margot Simon√ was born two and a half months premature. She has cerebral palsy, damage to her brain that limits the use of her limbs. Doctors in France told her parents she would never walk.
But they were determined. They found a doctor at the University of Miami School of Medicine√ whose special therapy helps Margot learn to use her muscles and limbs. The Simons come to see him twice a year, three weeks at a time.
The trips aren’t vacations. They cost one-third of the family’s income. Father Jean-Pierre√ is a mechanic and Emmanuelle is a hairdresser. They worked extra hours to come out. A French foundation created in her name and an international service organization, Richelieu International√, support the family emotionally and financially. Richelieu hosted picnics in Pembroke Park where the supporters met the family and held a fundraising auction.
This trip, the Simons stayed at a home belonging to the past president of Richelieu. They arrived three days before Hurricane Wilma struck, and spent the storm in a safer house. For the next week they had no power, which was hard because Margot is afraid of the dark.
Each morning they went to therapy for an hour, had lunch in the hospital cafeteria, then went home to do exercises to strengthen Margot’s muscles. Sometimes they went to a nearby pool where Margot can walk upright in the water.
At the end of the third week, Margot is tired. She writes a message on the back of her drawing of the house, but not in cursive because her muscle control isn’t fine enough yet.
Emmanuelle, 34, says she does well in school. They fought to keep her in a regular school, not a school for the disabled. She likes to play outside with friends, study French, and read books, but not Harry Potter because that scares her.
A WORK-OUT
One Monday, a typical session, the Simons entered the Brucker Biofeedback Laboratory√ at the Miami Jewish Home & Hospital at 10 a.m. Bernard Brucker√, a man with a thick beard and friendly demeanor, motioned Margot to sit in a chair.
An assistant attached two pairs of electrodes to her sides on the muscles. The electrodes went through a thick black cord to a grey box with the words, “neuroEDUCATOR II”on the front.
Margot looked at a large computer monitor with two graphs on it. The upper graph showed her brain activity going to a muscle on her right side, the lower graph of her left.
There was a jagged line across each graph, a target level. Brucker, who pioneered the technique 25 years ago, held her by the shoulders and said, “Lift up your left leg.”
Margot unsteadily lifted her left. A jagged line crept up the graph toward the target line.
“Get the green line up!” Brucker said encouragingly.
Margot kept looking at the screen and lifting her leg. The lines eventually climbed higher than the target, indicating that somewhere in her brain, motor neurons were forming more connections to her leg muscles, forcing them to work more.
The first two years, Dr. Brucker says, Margot couldn’t stand or even sit up straight in a chair; she would crumple over. When they stood her up and held her stationary, she cried because her mind told her she couldn’t do it, he says.
He gave Margot her two custom canes with multicolored designs on the shafts that her mother made and backed away.
“Walk toward me,” he said.
Margot extended one cane, then took a tentative step with the opposite foot. She put out the other cane and followed with the other foot. She walked towards Dr. Brucker, then her mother, then across the room to her father.
“Her foot used to cross over the other, but she has learned to keep them straight,” Brucker said. “Her foot still drags but she’s learning to raise the knee higher.”
Brucker took the canes away, then stood her up, holding her by the shoulders.
“We’re getting muscle control for standing,” he said. With a word of encouragement he let go of her shoulders. Margot stood for an instant, then began to fall forward like a pole.
He stopped her fall.
“She never had the opportunity to learn balance,” Brucker said.
To Margot, he asked, “Do you think you will walk without canes?”
“I think yes,” she said in French.
“[The therapy] is absolutely superb,” Emmanuelle says later. “Thank God we were able to meet Dr. Brucker.”
JUST BEING
Back at the house, Margot takes her father’s hand and walks down the block and back. She is proud that she can walk 600 meters at a time, albeit with the canes or her parents’ support.
“She doesn’t want to use her wheelchair,” Emmanuelle says. “She wants to be normal.”
The parents want more results. At first, Emmanuelle says, the goal was to get her out of the wheelchair. When she did that, the next objective was, “let’s see how far it can go.” If she eventually can walk, they want her to be able to run. Margot says she wants to ski one day.
The parents want Margot to undergo surgery next spring to change the angle of her hips in her pelvis, a procedure French doctors are recommending. Brucker strongly disagrees, saying his therapy plus regular physical therapy is better.
If they go ahead with the surgery, it will be a year before Margot returns to South Florida.
Michael Soucy√, the family’s host, says every time he sees Margot she has improved.
“She’s our little angel,” he says.
Margot finished her drawing of the house with the clouds.
“I like being like everybody else,” she says.
The Brucker Biofeedback Laboratory is at 305-762-3882.
Chris Young can be reached at ciyoung@sun-sentinel.com or 954-385-7916.
FINAL VERSION
French girl learns to walk, thanks to Miami doctors
By Chris Young
Staff Writer
Posted November 12 2005
The following is my exact draft to the editor. It is unedited. Note- checkmarks in the text just indicate that the name is spelled correctly. Below that is the printed version.
BY CHRIS YOUNG
STAFF WRITER
PEMBROKE PARK- At a white mobile home with green trim, a little girl named Margot sits at a patio table, coloring with markers. She draws an orange house with a red roof and clouds around it. She wears a pink and orange T-shirt, blue pants, and red Nike sneakers.
Margot calls out in French to her mother, Emmanuelle√, that she needs to go to the bathroom. Emmanuelle pulls her to her feet with both hands and walks her inside. Though Margot is 8 years old, she walks unsteadily, like a toddler.
Even this is an accomplishment.
Margot Simon√ was born two and a half months premature. She has cerebral palsy, damage to her brain that limits the use of her limbs. Doctors in France told her parents she would never walk.
But they were determined. They found a doctor at the University of Miami School of Medicine√ whose special therapy helps Margot learn to use her muscles and limbs. The Simons come to see him twice a year, three weeks at a time.
The trips aren’t vacations. They cost one-third of the family’s income. Father Jean-Pierre√ is a mechanic and Emmanuelle is a hairdresser. They worked extra hours to come out. A French foundation created in her name and an international service organization, Richelieu International√, support the family emotionally and financially. Richelieu hosted picnics in Pembroke Park where the supporters met the family and held a fundraising auction.
This trip, the Simons stayed at a home belonging to the past president of Richelieu. They arrived three days before Hurricane Wilma struck, and spent the storm in a safer house. For the next week they had no power, which was hard because Margot is afraid of the dark.
Each morning they went to therapy for an hour, had lunch in the hospital cafeteria, then went home to do exercises to strengthen Margot’s muscles. Sometimes they went to a nearby pool where Margot can walk upright in the water.
At the end of the third week, Margot is tired. She writes a message on the back of her drawing of the house, but not in cursive because her muscle control isn’t fine enough yet.
Emmanuelle, 34, says she does well in school. They fought to keep her in a regular school, not a school for the disabled. She likes to play outside with friends, study French, and read books, but not Harry Potter because that scares her.
A WORK-OUT
One Monday, a typical session, the Simons entered the Brucker Biofeedback Laboratory√ at the Miami Jewish Home & Hospital at 10 a.m. Bernard Brucker√, a man with a thick beard and friendly demeanor, motioned Margot to sit in a chair.
An assistant attached two pairs of electrodes to her sides on the muscles. The electrodes went through a thick black cord to a grey box with the words, “neuroEDUCATOR II”on the front.
Margot looked at a large computer monitor with two graphs on it. The upper graph showed her brain activity going to a muscle on her right side, the lower graph of her left.
There was a jagged line across each graph, a target level. Brucker, who pioneered the technique 25 years ago, held her by the shoulders and said, “Lift up your left leg.”
Margot unsteadily lifted her left. A jagged line crept up the graph toward the target line.
“Get the green line up!” Brucker said encouragingly.
Margot kept looking at the screen and lifting her leg. The lines eventually climbed higher than the target, indicating that somewhere in her brain, motor neurons were forming more connections to her leg muscles, forcing them to work more.
The first two years, Dr. Brucker says, Margot couldn’t stand or even sit up straight in a chair; she would crumple over. When they stood her up and held her stationary, she cried because her mind told her she couldn’t do it, he says.
He gave Margot her two custom canes with multicolored designs on the shafts that her mother made and backed away.
“Walk toward me,” he said.
Margot extended one cane, then took a tentative step with the opposite foot. She put out the other cane and followed with the other foot. She walked towards Dr. Brucker, then her mother, then across the room to her father.
“Her foot used to cross over the other, but she has learned to keep them straight,” Brucker said. “Her foot still drags but she’s learning to raise the knee higher.”
Brucker took the canes away, then stood her up, holding her by the shoulders.
“We’re getting muscle control for standing,” he said. With a word of encouragement he let go of her shoulders. Margot stood for an instant, then began to fall forward like a pole.
He stopped her fall.
“She never had the opportunity to learn balance,” Brucker said.
To Margot, he asked, “Do you think you will walk without canes?”
“I think yes,” she said in French.
“[The therapy] is absolutely superb,” Emmanuelle says later. “Thank God we were able to meet Dr. Brucker.”
JUST BEING
Back at the house, Margot takes her father’s hand and walks down the block and back. She is proud that she can walk 600 meters at a time, albeit with the canes or her parents’ support.
“She doesn’t want to use her wheelchair,” Emmanuelle says. “She wants to be normal.”
The parents want more results. At first, Emmanuelle says, the goal was to get her out of the wheelchair. When she did that, the next objective was, “let’s see how far it can go.” If she eventually can walk, they want her to be able to run. Margot says she wants to ski one day.
The parents want Margot to undergo surgery next spring to change the angle of her hips in her pelvis, a procedure French doctors are recommending. Brucker strongly disagrees, saying his therapy plus regular physical therapy is better.
If they go ahead with the surgery, it will be a year before Margot returns to South Florida.
Michael Soucy√, the family’s host, says every time he sees Margot she has improved.
“She’s our little angel,” he says.
Margot finished her drawing of the house with the clouds.
“I like being like everybody else,” she says.
The Brucker Biofeedback Laboratory is at 305-762-3882.
Chris Young can be reached at ciyoung@sun-sentinel.com or 954-385-7916.
FINAL VERSION
French girl learns to walk, thanks to Miami doctors
By Chris Young
Staff Writer
Posted November 12 2005
| She needed to go to the bathroom. Her mother, Emmanuelle, hoisted her to her feet and, with both hands, walked her inside the house. Though Margot Simon is 8 years old, she walks unsteadily, like a toddler. Even this is an accomplishment. She was born 2 1/2 months premature and has cerebral palsy. Even at age four she couldn't stand or sit up straight in a chair; she would crumple over. Doctors in France told her parents she would never walk. But her parents found a doctor at the University of Miami School of Medicine with a special therapy. The Simons come twice a year, three weeks at a time, trips that swallow one-third of the family's income. Their most recent visit to South Florida ended Friday. Father Jean-Pierre, 38, is a mechanic, and Emmanuelle, 34, is a hairdresser. They worked extra hours to pay for the trip. A French foundation in Margot's name and an international service organization, Richelieu International, supported the family emotionally and financially. Michael Soucy, the family's host, said Margot improves every time he sees her. "She's our little angel," said Soucy, who let the Simons use a mobile home he owns in Dale Village. Each morning they went to therapy for an hour, had lunch in the hospital cafeteria, then exercised Margot's muscles at home. Emmanuelle said Margot does well in school. They fought to keep her in a regular school, not a school for disabled children. She likes to play outside with friends, study French and read books, but not Harry Potter because that scares her. During one recent therapy session, Bernard Brucker, head of the Brucker Biofeedback Laboratory at the Miami Jewish Home & Hospital, sat Margot in a chair. An assistant attached electrodes to her hips on the muscles, connected to a computer. Margot looked at the computer screen. "Lift up your left leg," Brucker said. Margot obeyed and a jagged green line appeared onscreen, inching toward a target level. "Get the green line up!" Brucker said encouragingly. Quickly the line shot above the target, indicating that in her brain, neurons were forming connections to her leg muscles. "Her foot used to cross over the other, but she has learned to keep them straight," Brucker said. "Her foot still drags, but she's learning to raise the knee higher." He asked Margot, "Do you think you will walk without canes?" "I think yes," she said in French. Back at the house, Margot finished her drawing of the house with the clouds. She took her father's hand and walked down the block and back. Emmanuelle watched from the patio. At first, she said, the goal was to get Margot out of the wheelchair. When she did that, the next objective was, "Let's see how far it can go." If she can eventually walk by herself, they want her to be able to run. The Brucker Biofeedback Laboratory is at 305-762-3882. Chris Young can be reached at ciyoung@sun-sentinel.com or 954-385-7916. |
the cutting room floor 0'00'00'01
This is a feature I will call "the cutting room floor." Legend has it in the old days of film editing, one had to literally splice together one's lengths of film in stepwise fashion. The scraps that didn't make it fell to the floor.
On occasion I will post stories I wrote for the paper that either never made it to print, or were pared down by The Man (merciless editors) to the point you couldn't recognize them anymore.
Imagine you're Michaelangelo and the Medici family sends you a letter saying, "yeeeaaaaahhhh, you know what, we're only going to be taking half of your Pieta'.... yeaaaaaaaaaahhhhh. The other half we're going to crush and add to our driveway."
I'm not trying to put myself in the same company of Michaelangelo but hopefully you get my point. We all have stories that we KNOW deserve XX amount of space in the paper, or xx minutes on the air or whatnot. Or we labored so hard on them, outlined the important information to include, paid attention to pacing and story arc, added suspense or little nuggets here and there. And then when the editor gets it, he/she says, sorry, too long.
Then you have to go back and slice and dice and pare and take out everything including the kitchen sink to fit some heartrendingly small space requirement. This usually happens on deadline too. Who knows if the final story sounds anything remotely like the version you turned in.
Of course, I'll be the first to say that EVERYONE needs an editor. EVERYBODY. And almost without exception the final result is better. (this is one reason why I hate blogs. No editing.)
Anyway, whether the final story was better than the draft is not the point. The point is the feeling you get when The Man tells you to chop it in half for space. (The Man isn't necessarily your immediate editor but a person much higher on the org chart who makes the story decisions, in case my editor ever reads this.)
So here we go. See TC 0'00'00'02 for the first installment.
On occasion I will post stories I wrote for the paper that either never made it to print, or were pared down by The Man (merciless editors) to the point you couldn't recognize them anymore.
Imagine you're Michaelangelo and the Medici family sends you a letter saying, "yeeeaaaaahhhh, you know what, we're only going to be taking half of your Pieta'.... yeaaaaaaaaaahhhhh. The other half we're going to crush and add to our driveway."
I'm not trying to put myself in the same company of Michaelangelo but hopefully you get my point. We all have stories that we KNOW deserve XX amount of space in the paper, or xx minutes on the air or whatnot. Or we labored so hard on them, outlined the important information to include, paid attention to pacing and story arc, added suspense or little nuggets here and there. And then when the editor gets it, he/she says, sorry, too long.
Then you have to go back and slice and dice and pare and take out everything including the kitchen sink to fit some heartrendingly small space requirement. This usually happens on deadline too. Who knows if the final story sounds anything remotely like the version you turned in.
Of course, I'll be the first to say that EVERYONE needs an editor. EVERYBODY. And almost without exception the final result is better. (this is one reason why I hate blogs. No editing.)
Anyway, whether the final story was better than the draft is not the point. The point is the feeling you get when The Man tells you to chop it in half for space. (The Man isn't necessarily your immediate editor but a person much higher on the org chart who makes the story decisions, in case my editor ever reads this.)
So here we go. See TC 0'00'00'02 for the first installment.
November 9, 2005
wow
Hello cyberspace,
This is my first blog entry on my first blog ever. woohooo! I have now entered the world of online publishing. What revolutionary technology! What democratic empowerment!
What mastubation.
Whoever's out there in blog-land, I resignedly join your ranks. I always thought having a blog was sort of presumptuous. If I just wanted a diary or journal for myself, there'd be no need to put it online. If I wanted to stay in contact with friends, I'd just call them on the phone. I guess there's a bit of showiness in us all, thinking that what we write is stimulating or witty enough that other people would hold up part of their day to read it.
Why would I want such satisfaction? I mean, I see my name every once in a while in the byline of a newspaper article; it's not like I'm new to information dissemination.
I think it's partly to give myself a new outlet for what George Carlin calls brain droppings. To perhaps punt around ideas for stories. and actually now that I think about it, to practice writing. Supposedly I'm a writer. Or at least I use words in my job.
In truth, I've been meaning to start a blog for a while. What held me up? I couldn't think of a name. Really, I could have started one up years ago if I had the right name. It's like getting a tattoo- I suppose I would get one if I knew what the hell I could choose that I wouldn't kick myself in the head for 50 years later. Yes, I know, a blog could be as temporary as the neurons in one's head after a night sparring with Mssrs. Jack and Jin. I guess I'm a little neurotic.
I had settled on "Cognitive dissonance" but somebody already took it. I liked cognitive dissonance in a pop-psychology kind of way. It has to do with resolving sets of conflicting beliefs in one's head. But I also like the word "dissonance" for its purpose in music. More on that at some later time.
Anyway, this first post is getting long enough.
I suppose I've reconciled my desire to have a blog with my previous scorn of bloggers and blogging.
You see, cognitive dissonance would have been perfect.
This is my first blog entry on my first blog ever. woohooo! I have now entered the world of online publishing. What revolutionary technology! What democratic empowerment!
What mastubation.
Whoever's out there in blog-land, I resignedly join your ranks. I always thought having a blog was sort of presumptuous. If I just wanted a diary or journal for myself, there'd be no need to put it online. If I wanted to stay in contact with friends, I'd just call them on the phone. I guess there's a bit of showiness in us all, thinking that what we write is stimulating or witty enough that other people would hold up part of their day to read it.
Why would I want such satisfaction? I mean, I see my name every once in a while in the byline of a newspaper article; it's not like I'm new to information dissemination.
I think it's partly to give myself a new outlet for what George Carlin calls brain droppings. To perhaps punt around ideas for stories. and actually now that I think about it, to practice writing. Supposedly I'm a writer. Or at least I use words in my job.
In truth, I've been meaning to start a blog for a while. What held me up? I couldn't think of a name. Really, I could have started one up years ago if I had the right name. It's like getting a tattoo- I suppose I would get one if I knew what the hell I could choose that I wouldn't kick myself in the head for 50 years later. Yes, I know, a blog could be as temporary as the neurons in one's head after a night sparring with Mssrs. Jack and Jin. I guess I'm a little neurotic.
I had settled on "Cognitive dissonance" but somebody already took it. I liked cognitive dissonance in a pop-psychology kind of way. It has to do with resolving sets of conflicting beliefs in one's head. But I also like the word "dissonance" for its purpose in music. More on that at some later time.
Anyway, this first post is getting long enough.
I suppose I've reconciled my desire to have a blog with my previous scorn of bloggers and blogging.
You see, cognitive dissonance would have been perfect.
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