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Crossing Jordan.
Dec. 25th, 2015 07:38 pmThis post was supposed to be about something else. Either the passive-aggressive connotation that "Merry Christmas" has taken on in recent weeks, or a review of TFA which the kids and I finally saw together today.
Those possible subjects were pre-empted in the worst of ways at about 10 this morning.
I have friends from Cornell days- except I can't recall meeting either back then- but I remember their names from the radio. They both worked for WVBR, the independent Cornell radio station, at the same time I worked for The Sun, the independent Cornell daily newspaper. Years went by; once social media started connecting people, their names quickly surfaced on my computer. I remembered them, and friended them, and they me. Through that, I got windows on their lives, which included the lives of Peri's kids, both around the same age as ours. Their son, Justin, went into theater, quite successfully; their daughter, Jordan, chose the journalism route that I once dabbled in and that Peri and her second husband continued their careers in.
I never met either of their kids, nor did I ever get to meet up with them, in Ithaca or back on Long Island visits, but I enjoyed the tales of their lives and their kids' lives, because you just do. Jordan got work after graduating last year, at an ABC TV affiliate in the Carolinas. Her parents posted clips from stories that she covered, events she was involved in, and other Proud Parent moments.
Two days ago, Jordan lost her life in a car accident. I'm told that the weather down there, much unlike New York's, has been violent and dangerous in recent days. I awoke today to the posts from her parents, her colleagues, and all of their friends, about this sudden and tragic silencing of a professional life only just begun.
My heart broke. It still hurts. Again, I never met the young woman; I maybe shared a palm's worth of mutual comments with her on either Peri or Peter's Facebook pages. But I could sense the talent, the caring, the professionalism she exuded, even mere weeks and months into the profession she chose to honor. Her profession. Her parents'. Mine, still to some extent. And that of many of you reading this, past or present.
Her life will be celebrated on Long Island this Sunday. I will not be there. But these things will be:
- my prayers for those dealing with this impossible tragedy;
- my honoring of her memory, here and every time I will ever see any name associated with her or her family;
- my hope to be able to do anything, answer anything, connect to friends I have in that region of the Carolinas who might be able to help in practical ways.
I enjoyed reading the occasional blog pieces that her parents linked to. Many of them ended with her personal tag line, "You heard it here first,..." More than once when I saw that, I was reminded of "And so it goes," the similar tag used by longtime broadcaster Linda Ellerbee, who recently announced her retirement. Around the time of that retirement, Jordan and her parents wrote about her inspiration and connection to their lives. This remarkable woman's career was far too short, but contained memories that will live on in generations of co-workers, viewers, close friends, and even the occasional random parent acquaintance....
and that of his daughter.
Those possible subjects were pre-empted in the worst of ways at about 10 this morning.
I have friends from Cornell days- except I can't recall meeting either back then- but I remember their names from the radio. They both worked for WVBR, the independent Cornell radio station, at the same time I worked for The Sun, the independent Cornell daily newspaper. Years went by; once social media started connecting people, their names quickly surfaced on my computer. I remembered them, and friended them, and they me. Through that, I got windows on their lives, which included the lives of Peri's kids, both around the same age as ours. Their son, Justin, went into theater, quite successfully; their daughter, Jordan, chose the journalism route that I once dabbled in and that Peri and her second husband continued their careers in.
I never met either of their kids, nor did I ever get to meet up with them, in Ithaca or back on Long Island visits, but I enjoyed the tales of their lives and their kids' lives, because you just do. Jordan got work after graduating last year, at an ABC TV affiliate in the Carolinas. Her parents posted clips from stories that she covered, events she was involved in, and other Proud Parent moments.
Two days ago, Jordan lost her life in a car accident. I'm told that the weather down there, much unlike New York's, has been violent and dangerous in recent days. I awoke today to the posts from her parents, her colleagues, and all of their friends, about this sudden and tragic silencing of a professional life only just begun.
My heart broke. It still hurts. Again, I never met the young woman; I maybe shared a palm's worth of mutual comments with her on either Peri or Peter's Facebook pages. But I could sense the talent, the caring, the professionalism she exuded, even mere weeks and months into the profession she chose to honor. Her profession. Her parents'. Mine, still to some extent. And that of many of you reading this, past or present.
Her life will be celebrated on Long Island this Sunday. I will not be there. But these things will be:
- my prayers for those dealing with this impossible tragedy;
- my honoring of her memory, here and every time I will ever see any name associated with her or her family;
- my hope to be able to do anything, answer anything, connect to friends I have in that region of the Carolinas who might be able to help in practical ways.
I enjoyed reading the occasional blog pieces that her parents linked to. Many of them ended with her personal tag line, "You heard it here first,..." More than once when I saw that, I was reminded of "And so it goes," the similar tag used by longtime broadcaster Linda Ellerbee, who recently announced her retirement. Around the time of that retirement, Jordan and her parents wrote about her inspiration and connection to their lives. This remarkable woman's career was far too short, but contained memories that will live on in generations of co-workers, viewers, close friends, and even the occasional random parent acquaintance....
and that of his daughter.