Go easy, my friend

This week I lost a friend. It hurts.

Most of us have too few people in our lives who we call close friends. Chuck Gallagher, who died Wednesday morning, was one of those for me. 

We worked together for almost 30 years at the Reading Eagle,including about 10 years as the top editors in the newsroom. During that decade, before he retired as editor in 2008, we spent countless hours together. 

Almost every weekday he would come into my office early in the morning, usually with his first cup of bad coffee from the office vending machine, and we would discuss that day’s paper. We would talk about issues in the community, news in the world and personnel in the newsroom. During those discussions we would solve the problems of the newspaper, Berks County and the world beyond. If only others had listened.

Sometimes we talked about our families. 

Some days he would launch into some of his lines from one of the many theater productions that were so special to him. I often wondered which he loved more—the real world of news or the imaginary world of the stage. 

He often shared old stories of his experiences in the Air Force or his early newspaper days as a police reporter. Some of those he told several times, but I never minded hearing even the ones I could have repeated to him. I treasure them, including the ones I won’t share.

At the end of the late afternoon news meeting, he and I would remain in the conference room after the other editors had left, and we would rehash the day and revisit some of the things we talked about that morning.

It’s amazing how well we got along. He was a long-time Philadelphia Eagles fan, and I remain a long-time Dallas Cowboys fan. For many years, at Christmas, he would give to me something related to the Cowboys – a pennant signed by Roger Staubach, a miniature helmet signed by Bob Lilly, an autographed Troy Aikman jersey, a game-worn jersey by a lesser-known defensive back, and a plaque with a piece of the turf from the old Texas Stadium.

We did share a love for the Philadelphia Phillies., which is more than can be said about his life at home. His tolerance of differences in sports was evident by his long-time marriage to Ellen, a New York Mets fan. I believe, in his mind, it was Ellen’s only flaw.

Chuck liked good whiskey. Even more, he loved Guinness, which he called mother’s milk.

If we were out together and having drinks, he would ask me if I wanted a light beer. That irritated me a bit that he would imply I didn’t like or couldn’t handle real beer. Eventually I realized that in Chuck’s mind everything other than Guinness was light beer. 

We didn’t share political views. One of us was slightly to the left. The other slightly to the right. You can guess which. But it never affected our direction of the news. We both believed in balance and fairness.

We also didn’t share spiritual views, but I did pray for him and still do.

Sometimes Chuck talked in code, which I came to understand. For example, when I hired a new artist and introduced him to Chuck, one of his first questions to the new guy was, “BC?”, meaning “Are you from Berks County?”

Chuck also loved writing poetry, and I loved making a point to him that what he wrote seldom rhymed.

For many years, he gave a one-minute preview on TV-69 of the news coming in the next day’s paper. He would write out his script and then do it from memory. Sometimes it would require a few takes but he always got it right. There were some good outtakes however, which the guys at TV-69 saved and put together to play at his retirement program. 

In his later years, he looked the part of an old-style newspaper editor, wearing suspenders and carrying a little extra around the middle. 

Chuck and I were very different men who shared a passion for the news business. He was a colleague. He was a mentor who prepared me for my turn in the editor’s seat. But, mostly, he was a friend.

Even after he retired, we met for lunch several times each year, resurrecting our early morning discussions. In recent years, it was difficult to watch as his health declined. Isn’t that always true with someone special in your life?

When I went to see him last week, I thought it might be our last time together. I left him with the words he so often told me when we’d part: Go easy.

Go easy, my friend.

Sometimes life throws curveballs

A good reminder in a column I wrote almost three years ago.

Some things are simply beyond our control. Sometimes we just have to accept things and move forward.

It takes most of us many years to learn that there are times in life when no matter how hard you try, you can’t win or have things your own way.

When no matter how good your intentions, it’s time to stop fighting lost battles and start looking to the future.

When no matter how much you want to help or protect people, you need to let go and hope for the best.

When no matter how much you talk and how well you reason, people may not understand or just may refuse to even listen.

When no matter how well you plan and how well you prepare, things spiral out of control.

In my six-plus decades on Earth, I have come to know that sometimes you can’t control life. Sometimes life controls you.

Sometimes the solution isn’t in quitting, it’s simply in accepting.

Sometimes there’s no way to prevent pain and suffering, and your love and caring isn’t known or accepted until you pick up the broken pieces.

Sometimes sadness may be the path to get to happiness.

Sometimes understanding comes in its own time.

Sometimes progress comes through surrender.

Sometimes success happens through patience.

If you understand all of that, you also may understand how often life mirrors the game of baseball.

There are few perfect games.

Sometimes we hit home runs. Occasionally we hit a grand slam. More often than not the results are far less impressive.

There are days when life comes at us like a 100 mph fastball. We learn to watch and prepare for it. Then, often when we’re not expecting it, we see a curveball, a knuckleball or a changeup, and our well-intentioned swing meets nothing but air.

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t swing again, but before we do it’s important to accept that the previous pitch is over and the next pitch is a fresh start.

There are many ways to win in the game of baseball. Through experience, we learn that walks sometimes can be as important as base hits, that there are others who will back us up when we make mistakes, that errors are part of the game and that we get more than one strike.

Sometimes the game goes extra innings. Other times it is cut short because of storms.

We also learn that in most cases the harder we work, the better we get. But even that doesn’t always guarantee success.

Like in baseball, much of what happens in our lives is the result of choices we make: where we stand, how much we concentrate, how well we prepare and what sacrifices we are willing to make. It’s true in our relationships, our jobs and our accomplishments. Circumstances and opportunities play big parts, but much of where life goes depends on our own actions and decisions.

Sometimes it’s a matter of the energy we invest in things. Other times patience guides our progress. Either way, we can’t always blame others or ourselves for the results. Sometimes it’s just the way the ball bounces.

Perhaps it is most important to remember that we won’t win every time, but we should be happy that at least we had the opportunity to play the game. Even when we lose, there’s something to be learned that may help us at some point in the future. Regardless of the results today, if we’re lucky, there may be another game tomorrow, and whatever the previous results, the scoreboard will be wiped clean.

Unless, of course, it rains. Because in baseball and in life, there are some things we simply can’t control.