You Know What I Mean

I love horses. When I run my hand down the warm, strong and silky neck of a horse, I feel the power. When my hands get lost in a thick, coarse mane, I feel safe. When I see a rider and horse moving as one, I feel alive.

Steeplechasing is one of those sports that reinforces why I love horses, especially horses in motion:  The tremendous speed as the horse’s nostrils flare and its hooves eat up the ground between jumps that often look like tall, overgrown hedges; the rider’s control of the speed and collection of the mount; the trust given the horse by its rider and the trust give the rider by the horse because neither can see what is waiting on the other side of that jump. Then the moment comes, they round over the jump and for a mini-second they are one — defying gravity.

I love books. I like the smell and the feel of them, the different worlds they bring — worlds I have to participate in to find closure.

Dick Francis brought the world of steeplechasing and books together for decades. The ex-jockey and writer of thrillers died on Valentine’s Day. His passing is a personal loss to his family and friends. His passing is a personal loss to us readers, because on another snowy, cold day we can no longer curl up with a new vision of Francis’ world.

Judy D.J. Ellich

Any thoughts, you also can write me at judye@dailyamerican.com.

It was a balmy summer day in 2008.  U.S. Rep. John P. Murtha was in Somerset County to attend yet another ceremony where he announced funding he had helped come this way for yet another project. I had met the Congressman before on a couple of occasions, but this was the first time I got a glimpse of the man behind the suit. We stood side-by-side for awhile after the announcements and the congratulations. It was his 16-year-old granddaughter, Anne, he wanted to talk about. She was learning to drive. She was doing very well, he said. She was a good girl, he said. With a smile and a twinkle in his eyes, he added he didn’t believe he was in peril, because she soon would be driving him back to his Johnstown office. No matter what his politics, the man had kind eyes. And that day, at that moment, all he was seeing was his granddaughter. I liked the man. I wish I would have known him better. We always think there is time. Time fools us.

Judy D.J. Ellich

Any thoughts, you also can write me at judye@dailyamerican.com.

Neutrality is a figment of our imagination.
As soon as we opened our mouths as babies and are able to articulate with a sound or an animated expression that life isn’t fair unless we get what we want, neutrality goes out the door.
As reporters we are taught and told over and over by the powers that be that we must be neutral in our reporting. By neutral, they say, we mean fair — tell both sides to every issue, even if you believe there is only one.
I cover the courts. More often than not the stress and fear and concern and loss is palpable from the victims and their families and from the defendants and their families.
One day while covering a hearing I realized that the victim’s family was staring at me. I learned later that they thought I was siding with the defendant because I kept sitting smack in them middle of the defendant’s family at the various hearings that deal with the case. It just so happens that where I was sitting is the best place to see and hear those proceedings in that particular courtroom.
I thought about what they said.
At the next hearing, I made a point to sit on the other side with the victim’s family.
My stories stayed the same, telling both sides of the issue, but the perception of that family in the courtroom was that I was neutral. Sometimes it is where you sit or stand that makes a difference.

Judy D.J. Ellich
For anyone who wants to contact me by e-mail — try judye@dailyamerican.com