National DJ Day was January 20, 2022. I'm late to the party. Forgive me for being 'fashionably late'.
My earliest on-air gig was in 1960 when I was eleven years old, but I pretended to be 13. I was writing and reporting high school news stories on KTEL in Walla Walla even though I was still in grade school. I wanted desperately to be a teenager. On my application for membership in the KTEL Coca-Cola Hi-Fi Club, I pretended to be 13 so that technically I would be old enough to belong to the prestigious club.
Burl Barer was the DJ at KTEL at the time. He was perhaps 16 then and smoking cigars! I was shocked to my core when I met him in the studio the first time.
My dad and brother had both worked for KTEL, also in years gone by. My brother was a radio personality "Dan Tory" and did afternoon drive on the station, also on KUJ and K-HIT in Walla Walla. My dad did a live music radio show singing and playing original songs on guitar in the studios at KTEL with one of his brothers and another friend. They were "The Cascadians."
KCYS FM, Richland, WA 1967 with music director Robert MacRae demonstrating the fine art of cueing up the 10-inch reels of tape with classical music
"J.Y" was a teenager living in Walla Walla, who drove all the way up to the Tri-Cities (nearly 60 miles) to spend a night in the studio and observe. He then created the first ever promo for my radio show.with a printing set he had at home.
My first PAYING radio job was after graduation from Upper Columbia Academy in 1967 at age 18 at KCYS FM in Richland, WA. The station was owned by Three Rivers Broadcasting (call letters KCYS represented the Columbia, Yakima and Snake Rivers that converged in the Tri-Cities) and it was a wonderful launching pad for my professional on-air career on the 100,000-watt FM station, which easily blanketed almost all of eastern Washington's Columbia Basin due to its terrain with that mighty signal.
KCYS FM had block programming with an hour of this, an hour of that, e.g. two hours of Top-40 Request Time, an hour of Classical Music, an hour of Polkas and Shottisches, and so on...
After the Tri-Cities it was on to Spokane with no job and only $17 to my name. I found a room to rent by-the-week through the YWCA, and then was hired at KTWD FM in Spokane. Simplest format ever: male vocal, female vocal, group vocal, instrumental, repeat...
Live remote broadcast of KTWD FM from the Washington State Fair in Spokane in 1968 with eager listeners and autograph-seekers gathered closely around the broadcast booth.
My first PRESS CREDENTIALS were issued in the City of Spokane after being finger printed and having my mugshot taken for this authentic card signed by station owner/manager Terry William Denbrook, December 31, 1969.
After a few years in Spokane (marrying a listener, having my first baby, and then moving our family to Seattle) I took a different path entirely for a few years and went into medicine.
Eventually, I returned to radio in Tacoma at KTNT and KNBQ FM. From there to Country KAYO in Seattle...
Next stop was KTAC and KBRD "K-Bird" FM in Tacoma.
Jaynie Dillon's Overnight Club on KOMO 1981-1990
KOMO Radio 60th Anniversary with air staff (seated) Larry Nelson; (standing, left-to-right) Joe Coburn, Jaynie Dillon, Norm Gregory, and Keith Jonasson.
The 60th Anniversary celebration for KOMO had included a choreographed stage show at Union Station in Seattle during the evening on New Year's Eve. I returned to the studio to go on-the-air at midnight as New Year's Day began January 1, 1987.
Eventually, the big break came when KOMO Radio made a spot for me that lasted for just shy of ten years as Jaynie Dillon and The Overnight Club on KOMO.
During those years I was also teaching Broadcast Journalism at Green River Community College and had also taught at Ron Bailie School of Broadcast for a couple of years prior to that, too.
Then back to medicine and health care marketing, community relations in senior living, medical transcription, etc.
Crazy as it seems, along the way, I was incredibly blessed after having been divorced and resolutely single for more than a decade to have had the most incredible person come into my life (not a listener) -- Charles -- my beloved current husband.
Love Me Now Floral Design specializing in tropical and exotic plants and flowers in Steilacoom, Washington. Charles Jones and I created the business in our home and it grew to this retail location where we were for several years in the 1990s. We loved our clients and being located in the heart of the Historic District of the Town of Steilacoom just a block from Chambers Bay on Puget Sound and close to the ferry dock, too.
Charles and I opened a flower shop in Steilacoom and called it Love Me Now Floral Design. We named it after a poem my mother wrote for me when I was a teenager. We did lots of weddings, funerals, trade shows, etc. We specialized in tropical and exotic flowers and plants.
During all the years we were in the floral design business, I also provided voice overs for Clay Huntington's KLAY Radio in Lakewood. Clay was a great man, a legend locally and regionally. He has passed away now, but there is even a street named after him in Tacoma at the entrance to the local ballpark Cheney Stadium. When Clay needed some commercials recorded, he'd call and ask me to come over to KLAY. Rather than paying me with cash or a check, he'd load me up with comps. i.e. gift certificates for a bunch of the station's current advertising clients (bars, restaurants, whatever he had on hand) to be equivalent to the talent fee. It was a great arrangement.
One afternoon at the flower shop -- with no prior warning -- Ichabod Caine and his morning show producer popped in for a visit. He had just taken over the morning show on a new country music station in the Tacoma area KKBY FM 'The Cowboy.' He was doing the morning show. He had come to ask me, implore me to join him on the station and do the afternoon drive show from 3-7 p.m. He pleaded with me to, "Do it for the Lord." Who could say no to that?!?
Charles and I continued operating the flower shop, but I'd leave the store early each afternoon in order to get to KKBY 'The Cowboy'
in time to go on-the-air and do my show. It was a blast!
Until it wasn't...
Until the station was sold...
And overnight it went from being KKBY FM 'The Cowboy' to...
'The Funky Monkey' -- rap and R&B
I was out. The whole staff was out. Poof!
Charles and I have been happily together for 30 years. We have survived unbelievable heartbreak and tragedies -- several that are ongoing, both medical ones and family-related ones -- but we thank God every day that we're still kickin' and that we have each other.
Two years ago, after having only been doing freelance voice overs and having not been on-the-air doing a regular show in over 20 years, a miraculous opportunity presented itself.
Out of the blue, I was invited to 'get back in the saddle again' and join the on-air staff of a brand-new radio station Boss Country Radio, an internet station based in Amarillo, Texas. What a hoot! It felt like being alive again!!! As radio people, I think we never get it out of our blood. Maybe it's in our DNA... or as Lady Gaga puts it "Born This Way!"
With my 73rd birthday coming up in just over four weeks, I've pared down my schedule a bit. I still have a passion for writing.
I'm incredibly blessed to be a staff writer for South Sound Talk and have a monthly feature published online. Look for it here https://www.southsoundtalk.com/
I'm also a freelance contributing writer for The Suburban Times. The Suburban Times has more than 30,000 readers. Look for it here The Suburban Times
Thanks for listening. And thanks for being on the show...
Things that drive up medical costs aggravate me. I'm generally a pretty easygoing person. Two, three, no several things have ticked me off in this regard in the last couple of days, or as my husband Charles' mother Mattie would say, "Pitched me off!"
One is that the pharmacist from Walgreens called two days in a row, first thing in the morning leaving urgent-sounding messages on my voicemail that he needed to talk to me about a prescription. When I returned his call, he was actually calling about a nonexistent prescription. He was calling to insist that I should be taking a cholesterol-lowering prescription -- even though my cholesterol and other lipids are perfectly normal. Despite my telling him that my blood levels are checked regularly and are perfectly in range, he kept talking over me and insisting that I need to be on a cholesterol-lowering drug.
Next I received a text message and a phone call from the pharmacy that a prescription for a drug I did not recognize was ready to be picked up. What?!? I Googled the name of it and it is a medication I take, but it is by a different manufacturer, so that's why the name was unfamiliar. However, the prescription was shown to have been ordered by a prescriber who moved to Florida 2 months ago!!! Not only that, I currently have a 3-month supply on-hand from the doctor who replaced that doctor.
To me, it's outrageous for Three Reasons:
It increases a patient's out-of-pocket expenses.
It increases the expenses to the insurance company.
It increases the pharmacy's cost by needlessly spending their professional staff's time filling the prescription and then having to put the drug back in stock. What a waste -- all the way around!
My BIGGEST ANNOYANCEtoday is regarding an UNSOLICITED LAB-IN-A-BOXsent to me by LABCORP.
I've laid-out all of the supplies included in the double-layered box and test kit for the photo that accompanies this post.
Imagine the cost of sending a mass mailing/targeted mailing of that sort, trolling for diabetic patients to send their urine specimens?!?
In my brother's later years of life, he 'had no filters' and would freely speak his mind about anything; he would use the expression "all that crap!" to refer to things he thought were useless. I can just hear him saying that about these unsolicited test kits from LabCorp.
The LabCorp materials create the impression that this is something you must do and must return within 30 days. They guide you carefully step-by-step on how to collect and package the urine specimen, as if you're a certified lab technician. Somewhere in the fine print, it admits that doing this is optional.
By the way, this is the third time LabCorp has sent one of these kits to me!!!
Personally, I think it is all an outrageous, wasteful marketing ploy byLabCorpand they should not be allowed to continue to do it.
October 27, 1981 the worst possible nightmare came to life –
for each of you and for me – when you were kidnapped and sexually assaulted.
We lived at the Lively Oaks apartments in Lakewood just off
Steilacoom Boulevard behind what was then called Manley’s supermarket, which is
where True Value Hardware is located today. There was a chain link fence that
separated the apartment complex from the little shopping center.
I had a beef roast in the oven. It was almost ready for our
dinner. I gave you kids some money and sent the two of you together over to
Manley’s to buy a bottle of pop to go with our dinner.
There was a gate in the chain link fence and also another
unofficial opening that had been made in the fence.
You were gone for what seemed like a long time – about 45
minutes – but I thought maybe you were just having fun, playing in the store,
going up and down the aisles or had perhaps forgotten what you were supposed to
be getting. I tried not to be too worried. You were five and Evi was twelve.
After all, the two of you were together, so I thought you would be safe.
When at last you made it back home on that rainy late October
evening, you burst through the door, sobbing and crying. Evi kept saying, “The
man! The man! The man took us!!!”
“The man” had been standing in the gateway between the
shopping center and the Lively Oaks when you came back from the grocery store. He
was wearing a bandana mask. Even though we had practiced at home what to do if
anyone ever tried to abduct you – to scream, kick, fight back, make as much
noise as possible – his first words to you were, “I’ll kill you, if you make a
sound.” So, you didn’t make a sound. He grabbed each of you by one arm and
dragged you off behind one of the apartment buildings out of sight and
assaulted you there.
After the rapist threatened, he would “kill you, if you make
a sound” and assaulted Evi right in front of you, Jonathan, you were left
feeling so helpless and terrified, you didn’t understand what was happening,
what you were seeing.
Evi pleaded with the rapist let her take off her white parka
that had just come from the dry cleaners so that it wouldn’t get muddy.
And when the monster was done with you, he told you to stay
there for five minutes while he ran off into the darkness and disappeared.
At first, I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what had
happened to you. But as it became clear, I called 911. A detective from the
Pierce County Sheriff’s Department came out to our apartment. His name was
Detective Jim Wagenblast. He seemed nice and took the report at our apartment.
Evi was able to draw an excellent sketch of the rapist with
his stringy, scraggly, greasy, rain-soaked hair. And even though he was wearing
the bandana mask – the way Evi drew his eyes – was picture-perfect.
But then without even going out to the scene of where the
assault had happened, Det. Wagenblast told us to take a dish of some kind, something
like a saucer or something like that, and then go back out there and “feel
around on the ground” to see if we could find a wet spot – the kind of wet spot
that would be consistent with semen – and if we did, to scoop it up into the
saucer and bring it to the lab for analysis. Then he left.
After he was gone, you kids and I went back out there to
‘the scene’ behind one of the other apartment buildings and crawled around in
the rain on our hands and knees, crying our eyes out, patting the ground trying
to feel for any slimy semen that might be on the ground to scoop up into the
saucer for evidence.
After that and the earlier reassurance from Det. Wagenblast
that if I took you kids to Lakewood General Hospital your privacy would be
protected and you wouldn’t have to re-tell your story over and over, then I
took you to the ER. Unfortunately, despite the detective’s promises, you each
still had to re-tell your horror story to three different people at the
hospital, reliving all of the details each time.
The News Tribune reported the crime in one short little
story. But the lifelong impact, the toll that took on our family
can never be measured completely. It changed who each of you – Evi and Jonathan
– are forever afterward. It changed our family. It devastated our family. And
yet that monster disappeared into the darkness, never to be caught or held
accountable after his few minutes of ‘pleasure’ and leaving our family with a
lifetime of damage.
Prior to that night Evi had always had a lot of friends. We’d
have sleepovers at our apartment with a dozen or more little girls with
sleeping bags lined-up from one end of the living room to the other. But after
that, Evi would never have more than one close friend at a time.
Jonathan, your view of the world was formed that night,
because you were left feeling so completely helpless and powerless. That shaped
a lot of your behavior over all the years since. Do you remember “watching your
TV eye?”
For several years after that night, you’d suddenly seem to
go into almost a trance-like state, staring off into the distance. You’d
giggle. I’d ask you what you were doing. You’d say, “I’m watching my TV eye.”
But it wasn’t for several years before you were actually able to put into words
just what exactly your “TV eye” was. Finally, you explained it to me. You would
“watch your TV eye” whenever you’d be reliving what had happened that night,
October 27, 1981 and seeing what that man was doing to Evi and feeling so
helpless, you would block it out of your mind by instead switching on a
favorite TV show in your head and “watching your TV eye” rather than being
tormented by reliving what had happened that night. Once you were finally able
to verbalize that to me, it seemed that those episodes of “watching your TV
eye” were no more. Somehow you had come to terms with it.
As a family we went to therapy, each of us to individual
therapists for a time. Evi went the least amount of time, but the therapist she
saw said that she would be most affected by what had happened to her when she
was older and would be involved in a serious relationship. Jonathan, you went
for a longer period of time and saw two or three therapists off and on over the
years including after going into treatment down in Oregon. I saw a therapist
consistently for several years, because I had a lot of issues and have
struggled ever since with the guilt over how I could have let that whole
nightmare happen to the two of you. I should have been wiser. I should have
protected you better.
I failed you both also by allowing Allen to come into our
lives and into our home. I will never forgive myself for that. Where he had
been a military police officer in the Army, I felt that he was someone who was
trustworthy and that you kids were safe with him. So, after being divorced from your dad, that's why I married Allen. That was the most important
thing to me -- that you and Evi were safe. Even though he betrayed my trust in our relationship in those two
years we were together by sleeping around and fathering other kids with other
women during that time, it wasn’t until many years later that I found out what
he had been doing to Evi during that time, too. Here when I was going to work
in Seattle at KOMO at night and believing that you and Evi were safe at home in
Lakewood with Allen, instead he was doing unspeakable things to her. Not until
her suicide mission to St. Lucia and then after she and I were at the ICU in
Miami Beach, it was only then that the doctor who was caring for her there
shared with me that she had told him what Allen had been doing to her all those
years ago. It was absolutely diabolical that anyone would ever do that to a
child, but even worse to have done that to her after what she and you had been
through at the hands of the masked rapist/murderer prior to that. the worst and most despicable excuse for a stepfather ever.
Evi was a wonderful kid and a great student, always responsible, caring for you and so loving. And I was so proud of Evi for her passion for animals, her work
at Button Veterinary Hospital, her college life here, then serving in the Army,
and going on to college from there. My heart was broken into a million pieces
when she went to St. Lucia to commit suicide.
Marrying Charles was such a happy occasion. I was so proud
of you, Jonathan! And so happy to have both of you – Evi and Jonathan – with us
for the wedding:Evi creating floral
arrangements and so many other special touches and Jonathan walking me down the
aisle to give me away. My heart was bursting with pride to have both of you
there and to be a part of our special day.
But it was only six weeks after Charles and I had gotten
married and when she had come home for our wedding, that Evi decided to kill
herself. I didn’t see that coming. Again, something else I will never forgive
myself for…
But after getting help from the U.S. State Department (they sent a Learjet down to St. Lucia to pick us up) and
bring her back to Cedars Sinai Hospital in Miami Beach where she was admitted to ICU, she drifted in and out of consciousness over the next few days. I was advised to seek legal guardianship of her. She flew into a rage when she learned I wanted to obtain legal guardianship of
her so that when/if she survived, I would be able to bring her home to Washington
to continue caring for her. She ordered the nurses to put it in her chart that
I was not allowed to see her. And I have never seen her, heard from her or
spoken with her since that day. It’s been 27 years now! I think I’ve been
punished enough. A lot of people who serve time for murder serve shorter
sentences than that. But Evi has banished me (apparently) forever – and yet –
she not only survived, but moved back to Washington herself, got married and
had a child. A grandchild I have never seen – except in pictures that were
inadvertently sent. My heart continually aches over this unresolved brokenness…
And you, Jonathan, here when Charles was in Seattle for the
kidney transplant back in May of 1997 and you were living with us, then when we
finally got home back to our apartment in Lakewood, you were gone! Gone without
a trace. No note, no nothing. Just gone. And for the next ten years I couldn’t
find you. I searched everywhere. I asked your friends. I called the hospitals.
I checked the jail roster. I read the obituaries. I checked Facebook. I did
Google searches. But it wasn’t until I found a Google reference to Justin
Prozora in a post on Google by Donna Bagley, and then I searched for her on
Facebook and found her there, that I finally was able to reconnect with you
after ten years of an agonizing search for you. And now more years of silence
and alienation…
So, here’s what has led me to write all of this to you today
– and I’m hoping you will forward this email to Evi, because it is important
for her to know, too – all of it.
Back in 2005, there was a horrific crime case here in the
Northwest that involved a guy who had kidnapped, raped and murdered children –
a young brother and sister.
The instant I saw him on TV at his arraignment back then I
felt that I recognized him.
I recognized him from the sketch that Evi drew of the rapist
who kidnapped the two of you back in 1981.His eyes are still the same.
I began some research into more of that guy’s background.
His name is Joseph Duncan. He was convicted and given not just a life sentence,
but was also to be executed. What else I learned about him – even though the
high-profile part of what he was convicted for and sentenced for did not
include all of his crimes – he is the one who is also tied to the kidnapping
and murder of two young sisters from a motel in Seattle; their bodies were
found in Bothell or Lake Forest Park. His pattern is obviously that he would
always take two kids -- always young siblings.
What I also learned is where Joseph Duncan was at the time
of your kidnapping and the sexual assault on October 27, 1981. He was a
juvenile then and living at Western State Hospital in one of the cottages on
the West End of the hospital campus, the ones that are right alongside the rock
fence. They are unlocked and only have adult supervision part of the day. The
patients/residents are free to come and go, and walk about the community. It
isn’t a stretch to see how easy it was for him to walk the 2 blocks to Manley’s
and the Lively Oaks apartments where he kidnapped you and Evi. And when he said
he’d “kill you, if you make a sound” – he meant it. That became his pattern and
he repeated it over and over as an adult.
I’ve known for years now that he is in prison awaiting the
fulfillment of his death sentence. I even contacted the FBI about him once he
was in custody, since he had committed crimes across state lines in Washington,
Idaho, Montana – and also now linked by DNA to a murder in California, too. I
asked the FBI to pursue further follow-up of your case from 1981.
What led me to write to you today is that it was on the news
yesterday that Joseph Duncan is terminally ill with a brain tumor, so he will
be dying soon – sooner than he will be executed by the State.
I just wanted you and Evi to know that the monster who did
that to you – to both of you – and to our family will soon be dead and gone.
It is still my hope that we can all be reunited one day
before any of us dies… I will love each of you forever.
On Saturday, March 27, 2021 Joseph Lee Duncan's miserable life came to an end. It's unfortunate that the trail of misery and heartache that he inflicted on so many families will not end with his death. But at least he is dead and cannot hurt anyone else now. --Mom
Serial killer and child molester Joseph Duncan, 58, dies on death row from brain cancer decades after slaughtering three young boys and an Idaho family
Duncan died in a hospital Saturday while serving a sentence on federal death row at a prison in Indiana
Duncan's attorneys disclosed late last year that he had terminal brain cancer
The 58-year-old was convicted in 2005 of killing nine-year-old Dylan Groene, his brother Slade Groene, 13, his mother Brenda Groene, 40 and her fiance Mark McKenzie, 37
DNA evidence linked Duncan to the 1997 killing of 10-year old Anthony Martinez in California while he was on parole for a rape charge
Duncan was also linked to the killings of two young girls in Seattle in the 1990s.
In 2005, Duncan was accused of molesting a young boy on a playground in Minnesota. He posted a low bail and skipped town.
Duncan was driving to Washington, where his family lived, when he said he spotted the Groene children playing outside their home along Interstate 90.
He planned to kidnap the children, buying night vision goggles and stalking the family.
Duncan videotaped many of his crimes against the Groene children, leading a veteran investigator to say the footage shook him to his core.
'While I would've liked to witness his execution, knowing he is now standing before God being held accountable for what he has done, what he did to my son, and the horrible crimes he committed to others, that is the real justice,' Anthony Martinez's father, Ernesto, said.
Anthony's younger brother, Marcos, said there is now 'less evil in the world.'
'Nothing can bring my brother back, but now Duncan can never hurt anyone again. Because of him, I will spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to fight against any evil left in the world,' Marcos Martinez said.
'God has brought pure justice for all those Joseph Duncan has hurt,' he said.
When
speaking of vaccinations, here in the US, we refer to them as an 'injection' or a ‘shot’ but in
England and elsewhere around the UK, they call them a ‘jab.’ No one likes
needles. But somehow a ‘jab’ sounds more-to-be-dreaded. Yet in these days of
the coronavirus pandemic, there is nothing more highly sought after than a
COVID-19 ‘jab’ or 'injection' – whichever way you may refer to it.
Today
was our lucky day! Charles and I were both scheduled for our first COVID-19
vaccine injections at 10 o'clock this morning. Everything went smoothly once we
found the actual location and we both received the vaccinations from nurses who
are now designated as "vaccinators."
The
one thing that was confounding was that in the days leading up to the scheduled
appointment time, no one had been able to tell us exactly where to go.
"St. Joseph Medical Center" was the only information as to the
location. Even in the official email confirming the appointment, it only said
"St. Joseph Medical Center."
"St.
Joseph Medical Center" is a huge complex. One person said they thought
"only the ER entrance was open so it must be there."
I had
called the hospital and they refuse to take calls to answer any questions about
COVID-19 and only refer people to their website, which does not include the
location of where the vaccinations are being given.
I
also wrote in through the "MyChart" portal to inquire and received a
templated response that was completely useless. It included two phone numbers
to call and neither of those were answered by humans and each of them also only
referred callers to their website for information. Sigh...
After
I had called both numbers to no avail, I wrote a reply back to the templated
response I had received to my initial inquiry. I did not expect a response. But
I received one. It was the same template as the original one with a line of
original text added to it explaining that the employee responding works at a
remote location and doesn’t know the answer.
This
morning, we headed out almost an hour early ahead of our appointed time.
Indeed,
there was a sign out on 19th Street at the ER entrance indicating that the
COVID-19 Vaccination Clinic was there. Hooray!
We
turned in at the ER entrance and thankfully there was one parking spot
available at the far end of the lot. When we made it over to the ER entrance,
we were greeted by another sign that said "No COVID-19 Vaccinations
Here". What?!?
Beyond
that there was yet another sign showing the layout of the hospital campus and
the street address of the building where the vaccine clinic was actually being
conducted.
We
drove to that location – several blocks away – and then found a handicapped
parking space in the back lot across the street from the medical center and
hoofed it back across the street to the hospital building.
As we
approached the hospital entrance, we noticed people coming out doing the 'Happy
Dance' and posing for pictures with a wallet card in their hands.
Once
inside, we followed the circuitous route around the hallways (marked by blue
tape on the floor with demarcations every six feet to maintain social
distancing) until we had followed the 'yellow brick road' (in this case 'blue')
to where there was a herd of people waiting. Maybe that's what 'herd immunity'
is all about?!? (Just kidding...)
There
was one man we encountered on the way in, who was following the blue line, but
going against the arrows, and he appeared to be like a charging, angry bull. We
could only surmise that after he had gotten all the way into the vaccination
area he had been turned away for some reason, perhaps not having an
appointment. But he would mow down anyone on the blue line in his exit path, if
you didn’t get out of his way.
Once
we had safely navigated the path, the serious waiting began...and the
distribution of clipboards…paperwork…screening questions...and the "clean
pens" (so we were informed) ...and then at last into the room with eight
computer work stations where nurses and their assistants were administering the
injections and scheduling the follow-up second vaccinations.
The
‘shots’ / ‘jabs’ were absolutely painless. Even less painful than my insulin
syringes!
The 'vaccinator' was pleasant and professional. It's your choice whether you want the
injection in your upper right or left arm in the deltoid muscle (near the
shoulder joint).
We
were given cards with our follow-up appointments and the record of our first
injections.
After
that we were sent to a huge Observation Room with chairs spaced six feet apart
in which to sit and wait for 15 minutes in case any untoward allergic reactions
or symptoms were to develop. The staff in that room also handed out bottles of
Nestle's water to anyone, who wanted one. That was a nice touch.
Once
the 15 minutes were up, we were on our way. Charles was off to dialysis and I
was on my way home for a nap. No ill effects from the vaccine, just drained
from the process...
I am
doing the 'Happy Dance' in my heart that we are among the fortunate ones who
have secured our first dose of the vaccine now and are scheduled for the second
one. At least on Round Two, we'll know where to go.
But
it boggles my mind why the communication on the part of a mega healthcare
system, which until a couple of months ago was St. Joseph Hospital, part of CHI
Franciscan Health, but after the recent merger of the two healthcare systems is
now Virginia Mason Franciscan Health, is so poor as to create a daunting
juggernaut for people – seniors in particular -- to receive simple, clear
communication about where they can receive their COVID-19 vaccinations.
I can only imagine that adults living in and around the
Seattle-Tacoma area today, who were here February 28, 2001, have their own
personal memories of the Magnitude 6.8 Nisqually earthquake that struck at
10:54 Pacific Time that morning. What follows is my story…
My husband Charles and I opened a flower shop in the 1990s called
Love Me Now Floral Design in the Historic District in Steilacoom. We’d suffered
insurmountable financial difficulties and despite having put our hearts and
souls into the business, we had finally surrendered to the reality that we had
to close the business.
February 28, 2001 was our last day in the shop. I had a
medical appointment at the University of Washington Medical Center in Seattle
at 11 a.m. to learn the results of a series of tests at the UWMC Roosevelt
Clinic. I drove myself to Seattle. Charles stayed behind at the flower shop
packing up boxes for our move-out.
Traffic on I-5 had flowed nicely. And when I arrived at the
Roosevelt Clinic, it was 10:50. Whew! Perfect timing. Just enough time to find
a parking spot in the underground garage and take the elevator up to the clinic
on the top floor of the medical center.
I pulled into the garage hoping beyond hope there’d be a
vacant spot on ground level, but it was full. I began my spiral down into the
garage to the next floor underground. It, too, was full.
I continued down to the third floor below ground hoping and
praying for an open parking stall. There wasn’t one.
On down, down, down to the fourth floor below ground – the lowest
floor of the underground parking garage – desperate for a parking space as the
time for my appointment was edging closer.
But I didn’t see any open spots.
It was 10:54. All at once every car alarm on every vehicle
began to wail. All of the cars and trucks and vans in the entire parking
structure were rocking back and forth violently. The cacophony of sirens from
alarm systems was deafening. The concrete and steel beams of the structure were
undulating above my head.
We owned a Chrysler Town & Country LXi minivan at that
time and used it for floral deliveries as well as being our personal vehicle.
In the driver’s seat of the van, my head was quite high and seemingly close to
those beams that were bouncing wildly up and down. So many thoughts were going
through my mind – things I’d never thought of before, things I’d never had to
think of before – for instance, should I stay upright in the driver’s seat and
hope that my neck would be snapped so I’d die instantly? Or should I hope for a
possible rescue despite the certainty of being buried alive in the rubble and
perhaps try to lie down on the floorboards of the minivan in the hopes that at
some point I might be found and rescued – injured, but alive?!? I didn’t know
what to do.
The other car in front of me had stopped, so my path forward
was blocked.
I decided to jump out of the van. Instinctively, I ran
toward the elevator – only perhaps 30 feet away from where my van had been
forced to stop.As I reached the
elevator, the power went out and the elevator car crashed with a thud in the
elevator shaft. Yes, in hindsight, I know that “In Case of Emergency…” no one
is ever supposed to use an elevator. But in that moment, it seemed the most
expeditious possibility for escaping from the almost certain fate of being
buried alive four stories below ground in the earthquake.
With the power out and the air filling with dust from the
concrete that was being pulverized by the gyrations of the earthquake, the only
visible light four floors below the earth was from the little green EXIT signs.
All I could do was follow those and run as best I could up
the merciless concrete spiral ramp, circling around and around and around. By
the time I got up to the level that was two floors below the earth, there was a
bit of light leaking through and that gave me hope that I might actually
escape.
Eventually I did make it back up to the parking garage
entrance and out onto the street level and sidewalk beside the medical center.
But then what?!? What was I going to do?!? Was I going to go back into ‘that’
building? And try to go to my medical appointment – as if nothing had happened?
Or was I going to walk back down into that dungeon of darkness and try to
retrieve my minivan and head for home? I didn’t know what to do.
Everyone from inside the building had exited out onto the
sidewalk. Of course, there was terror that the building’s façade would collapse
on us, so we all stayed out there for a time until the ground motion had settled
down.
Eventually, I gathered my wits about me as best I could and
entered the building. I climbed the staircases and went up the several floors
to where the clinic was located for my appointment. Everyone there seemed as
jittery as I was.
One particularly strong memory is that when the doctor came
into the exam room, he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. When he
turned on the faucet, rusty, brown water came shooting out.
The next hurdle was to find the courage to choose to walk
all the way back down that spiral ramp to the fourth floor below ground to
locate my minivan and (hopefully) be able to extricate it from the dungeon.
Nothing ever felt so good as to be able to head out from
Seattle on southbound I-5 headed back toward Tacoma and Pierce County. It was
an other-worldly experience that afternoon though, because everyone – all of
the drivers on the freeway – seemed to be shell-shocked to some extent. People
were in a trance-like state as they drove. They were / we were all driving
slowly, courteously, looking straight ahead, no one was zipping in and out from
one lane to another. It was almost like a massive funeral procession all the way
from Seattle back to Tacoma.
We didn’t have cell phones back then, so I didn’t know how
Charles was until I was able to get back to our flower shop in Steilacoom.
Thankfully, he was safe. Light fixtures fell and boxes toppled over, but
Charles wasn’t injured.
The epicenter of the quake was only three miles from our
store right out in the middle of the ferry lanes; ferries go from Steilacoom to
McNeil Island, Anderson Island and Ketron Island.
At the time M6.8 Nisqually quake happened, we were
housesitting for a retired couple, who lived near Lake Louise in Lakewood. They
were away on a year-long road trip in their truck and 5th-wheel
trailer. That evening when we closed up the shop and returned to their house
for the night, the earthquake had left some eye-popping surprises for us.
When we walked into the kitchen every drawer was open. It
was as if the place had been ransacked. Every single drawer had been slid all
the way open. We couldn’t believe our eyes! And then when we went into the
bedrooms and bathrooms, it was the same in every room of the house. Every
drawer had been jiggled all the way open by the rocking and rolling of the
earthquake.
We closed all of the drawers and then fixed ourselves some
dinner.
After dinner we sat down in the family room. That’s where
the fireplace and TV were located, so we’d usually relax there in the evenings.
On the fireplace mantle, the homeowners had a souvenir from
one of their previous trips somewhere. I’m not sure exactly what it’s called. I’ve
seen this sort of thing in gift shops at Ocean Shores and other beach
communities. I’ll just call it a ‘sand frame’ for lack of a better term.
The ‘sand frame’ has several different types of sand and
fine gravel in it plus some kind of liquid (possibly oil or water, I really don’t
know) and it is sealed between two panels of glass that are mounted in a wooden
frame. The frame can be flipped over so that the sand / gravel and the liquids
inside mix together and settle out to create interesting patterns. Something of
a novelty item…
Neither Charles nor I had touched the ‘sand frame’ that day,
night or anytime. But it had just been in even layers of the different types of
sediment. We both remembered that.
But that night, February 28, 2001, as we were watching TV,
the ‘sand frame’ caught our attention. It had changed. And it had changed
dramatically and alarmingly!
It had gone from being even layers of sediment in the frame
to having taken on the appearance of two underwater volcanoes erupting with
huge ash plumes spewing forth from them. I will include a photo of it. I wish
the picture was of better quality. But it boggled our minds to see the
transformation that had occurred on the day of the Nisqually quake!
In the days following the M6.8 Nisqually quake, Chambers
Creek Road was blocked through Steilacoom in the area by the old paper mill due
to damage to the roadway and terrain. Since traffic was not allowed through
there on the roadway, we parked back at the mill and hiked in to get a closer
look and snap a few pictures.
Two of the pictures accompany my story in addition to the
one of the ‘sand frame’.
One shot shows the width of a fissure in the ground along
Chambers Creek Road near the mill. There are orange and white traffic cones
adjacent to the fissure. Those will give you a good idea of the width of the
gash in the earth.
The next picture is near the dam along Chambers Creek Road.
There is a massive boulder there. It has been there for a long time. But what
was new as a result of the Nisqually quake was that the earth immediately
adjacent to it either rose up or dropped away from it by a measurement of at
least 18-inches. That’s a very significant movement of earth that I don’t think
most people in the area realize even occurred here during the Nisqually quake.
For a couple of years after the quake I had a very difficult
time with going into parking garages – above or below ground – and elevated
roadways where there might be any motion or instability of the structure. That
day, February 28, 2001, was more traumatic for me than I realized at the time.
That brush with death, the possibility of being buried alive, was something I
had a tough time shaking it (no pun intended).
I’m thankful Charles is the patient person he is. He stood
by me through it all, and it wasn’t easy over those next two years. The one
bright spot in the trauma of that day – February 28, 2001 -- was that my test
results at UWMC were negative and that was a huge relief, so I was glad that I
had not only survived the brush with death four stories below ground that
morning, but also that I had stayed for the follow-up appointment.
Last year we bought a new computer that came with an anti-virus
program. Recently we had decided to purchase the often-advertised and
highly-touted Norton Anti-Virus with LifeLock Identity Theft Protection that offers
up to $1M of coverage.
I entered the requested information online and hit a
snag. It said it was unable to complete the transaction and directed me to call
a certain number in order to proceed. I was baffled, but I called Norton to find
out what the problem was and complete the registration, payment and download.
The representative put me through what I would describe as an interrogation.
Eventually, she put me on hold for about 15 minutes. I was determined to tough
it out, so I waited until she returned.
When she came back on the line, she
informed me that they would not be able to allow me to purchase the Norton anti-virus
program.
“What?!?”
She said that they use Equifax for verification and Equifax
had no record of the existence of my Social Security number. She asked me to
check my Social Security number again.
“Are you SURE that is your Social
Security number???”
I told her I have had it since I was a young girl! I know
it from memory, but I also have my Social Security card in my wallet. I even
offered to snap a picture of it and send it in to verify it, but (of course)
she said they “cannot accept that.”
She put me back on hold again for several
more minutes while she conferred one more time with her manager.
When she
returned to the line, she told me that even though they would NOT offer me the
anti-virus program for my computer that they WOULD sell me the Norton LifeLock
Identity Theft Protection with $1M coverage.
I told her that was insane! How
nutty is it that they WON’T protect my computer (worth a few hundred bucks) but
they’ll provide a million dollars of identity theft coverage?!?
When they’re
telling me that they CANNOT even verify that I exist, but NOW they’re willing
to offer $1M Identity Theft Protection for someone whose identity they cannot
even CONFIRM?!? Ludicrous! And outrageous!
I told a close friend of ours about
this insanity the following day. He works in IT and is an all-around brainy and
super-knowledgeable guy. He asked me if we have any credit cards. We don’t. We
just have a Visa debit card linked to our checking account where our Social
Security is direct deposited.
He said that’s why we are “invisible” to Equifax.
He advised us to at least open a secured credit card account in order to become
visible to Equifax.
But in the meantime, we have subscribed to a different anti-virus
software program provider.
Ironically, within days of that nonsense with
Norton, my email inbox has been receiving a steady stream of discount offers
from them for both the Norton Anti-Virus program and their LifeLock Identity Theft
insurance. Pffft! No thanks.
September 17, 1927 an unforgettable force of nature was
unleashed upon this Earth: Laurel Piippo was born. She’d be 93 this week, but despite multiple, hard-fought battles she waged against four different types of primary cancers (not metastatic cancers, cancers that had spread from one
location to another, but each one unique unto itself in their origin), her wild, exuberant life came to an end August 26, 2015. But since it’s her birthday week, I’ve had her on my mind – and always in my heart – I’ve been impressed to share some things with you about Laurel and what she meant to me.
She was my ultimate confidante and I was hers.
Specifically, she gave me her longtime computer, which contained all of her writing of many, many years, not wanting all of the personal stories contained therein to fall into anyone else's hands. I removed the hard drive from it and kept it in a safe for years, but wiped it cleaned a few months ago -- zapped it intentionally with a bulk eraser (degausser) -- to protect her ultimate privacy in life and in death -- so that she could take to the grave all that she had intended to leave untold. My
final disposition of her hard drive was in keeping with her wishes. That's all
I can say. But there would have been a treasure trove of material there, if she
would have consented to do otherwise with it.
Laurel lived for opera -- anywhere in the world. Anyone who might have ever made the mistake of thinking that because
she loved opera, she loved classical music. Uh, no. She didn't love classical
music. She didn't enjoy attending performances of the symphony. She didn't love musical theatre. She didn't love Broadway. She certainly
didn't love Broadway show tunes. She LOVED opera. Period. She endured
everything else.
She did not want an obituary to be written about her. She definitely did not want a morbid funeral. But she did allow for what she referred to as an "awake wake" and meticulously planned it herself. In other words, she wanted to go out in style -- on her own terms -- and orchestrated a big celebration of life while she was still living, so that she could be present -- AND see who showed up to share her stories. But that was it. Others have written about her, but I dare say I knew her better than anyone. https://www.tri-cityherald.com/.../article33307245.html
It was my good fortune as a student at Kennewick High School to have “Mrs. Piippo” (Laurel Piippo) as my English teacher. She was a wild woman! She even gave me an “F” on a paper I wrote once. It was supposed to be a ‘true story.’ She added that she thought it was “so fantastic, it could not possibly be true. If it was true, you would have received an A+!”
She was not just a great teacher in my own opinion, but even years after her retirement from Kennewick High School when the school celebrated its centennial, she was voted “Favorite Teacher” out of all 100 years that the school had been in existence. Clearly, she earned the title of "Teacher of the Century!" Her husband Toivo Piippo was a beloved teacher and record-setting coach in Richland, Washington. The two of them were a dynamic duo shaping the lives of young people for decades.
She was known to be tough. Students lived in abject fear of her ‘red pen’ as she would critique their often-feeble attempts at creative writing. If you were a good student, there was no need to live in fear. By ‘good student’ that simply meant if you completed the assigned course work, participated in class (looked awake and alive), and made an effort – you were ‘in like Flynn.’ I was a good student. I loved her from the start.
It was in the mid-1960s and early in her teaching career when my fellow classmates and I were under the tutelage of this zany woman with an expansive vocabulary who opened up a whole new world of literature and experiences for us bringing in people from foreign countries as guest speakers into our classroom. If they were flirtatious with the students, she would quickly put a stop to that.
But just having this exposure to people from exotic places around the world was quite novel and eye-opening. At that time, there were no Black students in our school and Kennewick still had “Sundown laws” on the books. It was as white as white can be. The John Howard Griffin book Black Like Me was on our reading list. When Mrs. Piippo signed my yearbook, she admonished me to, "Remember to beware of foreign men and to stay away from the Ku Klux Klan!"
Every year during her teaching career, she organized trips with her students and family members as chaperones to travel to Europe. Oh, the memories that were made!
Laurel Piippo with grandson Micah shown during a cruise after her retirement from teaching when she had launched her own travel agency to show others the world
When she retired from teaching, she launched her own travel agency. During her lifetime she traveled to more than 110 countries. She would go any length to see an opera production! And to introduce others to the opera.
When she was just a little girl – a second grader – she came home from school one afternoon. As she walked through the house, calling out to her mother, she found her in the master bedroom -- dead. She had committed suicide.
The trauma of that haunted Laurel for the rest of her life.
According to Laurel, her father had never been very involved with the day-to-day lives of the children and was at a loss as to how to care for them. As if it wasn’t bad enough that their mother was dead – and what Laurel had seen that day – her father sent each of the children away to live with other relatives – separating them by great distances and completely breaking up the family. I have always believed that that is what fueled her passion for opera, that the stories allowed her to lose herself in them and let her emotions out, let those tears flow, as she had had to hold her emotions in over so many years about the painful death of her mother and loss of her family when she was a little girl.
I left Kennewick High School after my cousin Kenny Howell was killed in a car v. train crash. He and I had both planned to be doctors. But that’s a story for another day…
I went away to a private Christian boarding school for my senior year. But Mrs. Piippo and I had a special bond and we remained in contact. Our letters went from being handwritten to typewritten to composed on the computer to taking the form of email in the later years. We each wrote voluminously back and forth to each other from high school in the '60s all the way through the end of her life -- we were still in regular contact via phone and email.
She was a prolific writer although not particularly tech savvy. I encouraged her to create a blog. She left that for me to do on her behalf. So, I formatted a blog for her. She’d write the articles and email them to me, then I’d upload them to her blog. https://piippospassion.blogspot.com/
We became very close when I was in my early 20s. I was working for a neurologist in Seattle at Northwest Hospital at the time, Dr. Ted Rothstein. Laurel was suffering from some symptoms (twinkling lights in her eyes) that I recognized as scintillating scotoma, a precursor or prodrome of possible impending stroke. She was clueless about the potential significance of it. But I convinced her it was critically important that she be seen in consultation STAT. She trusted me enough to come to Seattle and be seen. Indeed, her BP was sky high and she was on the verge of a stroke. Ever after that, she credited me with having saved her life. That was our bond.
Laurel Piippo (left) hosting elegant tea party with Claude Oliver, Diane Anguanst and Carl Holder
As time went on Laurel had her first bout with cancer, and then another, and another, and another… Each cancer was a different primary tumor. She suffered so much!
Laurel Piippo faced it head-on and bravely underwent round after round of:
Surgery
Radiation
Chemotherapy
Laurel Piippo raged against the barbaric cancer treatments referring to them starkly as:
Slash
Burn
Poison
Laurel Piippo had T-shirts emblazoned with
“Slash, Burn & Poison”imprinted on them.
She would not be silenced.
She was not going down without a fight!
And she would not go quietly into that dark night!!!
Her cause, her lifework became laser-focused on improving quality of life and quality of care and treatment for cancer patients. Specifically, the fact that the costs for radioisotopes to treat cancer are exorbitantly high. The reason? Most of them have to be imported to the United States. Why? Because anything and everything to do with radiation and nuclear-anything in the US is viewed in such a negative way, that it is virtually impossible to have the radioisotopes produced in the US in the quantity that are needed for American patients. Consequently, they have to be purchased from other countries and imported at a very high cost.
When she learned about that – and living in Richland, Washington since the early 1950s – she was acutely aware of the goings on at the Hanford Nuclear Reservation, she was also aware that one of the major nuclear reactors was being mothballed at a cost of Billions of dollars a year – just to have it mothballed. She researched the issue thoroughly, doggedly and determined that it COULD BE RETOOLED and COULD BE used for the PRODUCTION OF MEDICAL ISOTOPES.
That fueled her crusade to stop the shutdown and mothballing of that reactor and instead CONVERT it to the production of medical-grade nuclear isotopes for treatment of cancer patients so that even though the patients would still need radiation therapy, at least it would significantly decrease the cost of their treatment by having the isotopes manufactured her in the United States.
Laurel Piippo devoted 100% of her life-force to building a consortium of scientists, patients, family members, community leaders (Kiwanis & others), and political leaders to try to make that happen. She even organized a “Cancer Fighter Train” – an actual TRAIN – and took ALL of those people who were involved on a sojourn from the Tri-Cities in Washington to a government and scientific meeting in California in the Bay Area to try to convince the Nuclear Regulatory Commission to HALT the process of ‘mothballing’ that reactor at Hanford and instead CONVERT it to the production of much-needed medical-grade nuclear isotopes.
Despite all of the science and all of her energy and all of her best efforts: It didn’t happen.
Laurel Piippo’s friendship to me through the years was a bond that could not be broken. However, in my own family, when I met Charles (who is now my husband) and wanted to just introduce him to my father, I was instantaneously disowned and disinherited. Why? Because he’s black. Or I should say, because my father could not get past the fact that Charles is black and refused to even lay eyes on him or ever even meet him. That phone call was the last time we ever spoke. I had just wanted to arrange a time to have an introduction. But, no, that was not going to happen. That was it. I was no longer part of the family.
That year at Christmas I received a card in the mail from my father. I was quite eager to open it. The front of the card said, “With Warm Holiday Greetings…” but inside he had typewritten “I never did hate Blacks, but I did and I do when they ‘take’ White girls.” His final words to me. He died without having met (much less) ever getting to know Charles, whom he would have had the best time with. Charles would have laughed at all of his jokes and been so loving. Such a shame…
Laurel Piippo with Charles Jones aboard the Link Light Rail train in downtown Tacoma after the three of us had attended a performance at the Pantages Center
Charles and I were married in a lovely outdoor ceremony in Pioneer Park on the Bandstand in Steilacoom alongside Chambers Bay on a warm July summer evening on his birthday now more than 26 years ago.
Charles’ mother was radiant and dressed elegantly that evening.
Left to Right: Toivo Piippo, Laurel Piippo, Jaynie Jones, Charles Jones and Mattie B. Jones
And it was Mr. and Mrs. Piippo who had driven all the way across the state from the Tri-Cities to ‘stand-in’ as parents for me during our wedding ceremony.
Left to Right: *Edward Charles Rippe (Bible-bearer), Whitney Cook (flower girl), Debbie Cushon (matron of honor), Rev. Simpson, Jaynie Jones (bride) and Charles Jones (groom) *Edward Charles Rippe is our godson. Today (2020) he is an internal medicine physician in practice in Manhattan, New York City, NY
Mr. and Mrs. Piippo welcomed us to stay in their home in Richland anytime. Likewise, whenever she or they would be traveling, they would come and stay at our house in the Tacoma area.
Charles and I were delighted to have them as our houseguests. It was an honor and our privilege. I don't drink wine, but wine was one of Laurel's passions and great pleasures in life. She got such a kick out of it when she would be at our house. We don't even own proper wine glasses. But we have crystal stemware water glasses. I would pour her a 'glass' of wine -- full to the brim. I didn't know that that wasn't how it was done. But she was happy to be treated to the extra measure. No complaints.
Charles and I would chauffeur the two of them around to visit local wineries such as the Baron Manfred von Vierthaler Winery in Sumner, a taste of Bavaria locally, with a view of the Puyallup Valley. Happy memories of sightseeing right here without having to travel halfway around the world!
Laurel loved a bargain and would bring back tiny treasures from her travels -- always something she could negotiate a great price on or she wouldn't be happy with it or even purchase it at all. She relished referring to herself as "Cheapo Piippo." She savored getting a bargain and was as frugal as could be. She made her teacher's salary stretch over the years and she certainly didn't waste her savings in her retirement years either.
At other times when they would be flying out of the Seattle area, they would stay at the SeaTac Marriott hotel. With her frequent business and as a travel agent she would always have dining comps. She thoroughly enjoyed treating us to Sunday brunch (especially for free with her comps) at the Marriott. Even though she was always thin, the would take multiple return trips through the buffet referring to herself as "Miss Piggy." What a hoot!
We shared so much love and countless laughs throughout the years.
