Leann and Kevin Brady in happier days.
Working as a reporter for 25 years has made me cynical.
The “if it bleeds, it leads” philosophy still pervades the media, leading to quick judgments on what is news. Very seldom is there any thought given to “yes, we can print that, but should we?” Recent examples of this include printing photos of workers at the World Trade Center on Sept. 11 jumping to their deaths as the inferno closed in. Only last week, a major metropolitan daily carried front-page color photos of a young reporter being shot. Apparently, no thought was given to the fact this young lady had family members and that schoolchildren might see the cover on newsstands as they walked to school.
I have reported on the murders of children, witnessed the aftermath of a plane crash before police or paramedics arrived and seen the Machiavellian machinations of politicians whose sole interest is feathering their own nests and making sure they are re-elected.
We tend to define news by what is corrupt, malicious and criminal.
(One of the joys of working with the paper you now hold in your hand is that is not their mantra. Sure, there is reporting on crime and important issues that impact the community, but it is all sifted through the lens of community service with the gentle, guiding hand of editors, writers, owners and staff who live here and care about this community.)
So yes, years of growing up in a war zone in Northern Ireland and a professional life covering mostly crime, corruption and death has hardened my heart a little. Frankly, I didn’t have much faith in the rest of you. I thought everyone was just out for themselves. If someone was kind, there had to be an ulterior motive.
My wife died last week after a short battle with cancer. Three months from diagnosis to death. My head caved in the first few days. It was overwhelming. How would I care for my son? What were we going to do about health insurance? How would I earn more income? (My wife, a sharp cookie, earned about four times more than I as a medical billing and collections expert, advising hospitals and doctors on how best to squeeze fees from insurance companies. If you have ever dealt with any of these companies, you know what I am talking about.)
But then my cynical soul heard from you.
Several Observer readers wrote long letters of support sharing their own stories and phone numbers if I needed to talk. Another friend, a man many of you know well, offered to switch jobs with me: I would take the full-time job, and he would take over freelancing. Read that sentence again. He offered me his job! My co-workers at this paper offered anything I wanted. “Bring your son to my house for the weekend,” one told me.
Others I have interviewed over the years in South County for stories have also sent along their heartfelt condolences.
Then there were other former colleagues who set up a website to benefit my son’s college and arrange a memorial at a landmark building in Riverview. They are taking care of all the costs and bringing food and helping set up the hall. I am helping, but these ladies are doing everything to make it look and feel warm and welcoming. Left to me, it would be a bedsheet over a table with a picture of my wife.
Friends from high school and college have been in touch. Childhood mates from Belfast, which I left when I was 16 for a new life in New York, have reached out. Every relative, from Dublin to Belfast and Manchester (England) to New Hampshire has sent condolences messages. My brother Paul dropped everything and is flying here from Ireland to be with my sons and me.
I even received several lengthy letters from a woman whose daughter has Stage IV cancer, yet she took the time to comfort me and advise me on what to do next.
All this is to say: All of you have washed away some of that cynicism. I know now this world is filled with decent, honest folks who care. They don’t have an ulterior motive. I am seeing the world differently today.
And perhaps that is the last and greatest gift my wife, Leeann, bestowed on me.
