As I’ve explained many times, back in the fall of 2009, I reached out via e mail to Christie Herbst, one of the then editors of this newspaper, to see if there might be any open space for one more columnist in this periodical once a week. Within about 20 minutes, she responded basically asking, “When can you start?” Under the title of “View from the Bullpen,” my career as a journalist began. [I’d have to go back and look, but within the next couple weeks of that first narrative, I almost think I mistyped the title of the column to read “Voice from the Bullpen.” I found I liked that one much more so I and kept it, “the Voice.” (Maybe it had something to do with my big mouth.)]

I always enjoyed writing in school. In my early years of my education, I would write poems of praise to our Cafeteria Workers at St. James School (Mrs. Rix, Mrs. Foti, Mrs. Cusimano, and Mrs. Alette) who thanked me with an every once-in-a-while, bigger scoop of mashed potatoes, maybe an extra piece of bread on Spaghetti Tuesday (which was always great for dunking in the wonderful homemade sauce) or a larger dessert cookie, hence the reason I’ve never been a lean, mean, any kind of machine. I was asked many times after college graduation, to help friends and relatives write letters that they needed for job applications, or college applications, or even to send out for whatever reason or purpose. After teaching for a while, I went to a writing workshop offered by our district, and we had to write a piece to share with all others in the class, and which was spiral bound with all my fellow participants of the class. I was a regular in writing and submitting Letters to the Editor of this periodical. I felt many times that I was given a gift of saying what others couldn’t find the words to say, and I tried to use that gift as best I could. It took a long time to reach that goal.

When I was young (and it hasn’t gone away completely), I had a bad disposition. Many family pictures showed me often with a frown on my face. I was a naughty kid, I wasn’t the most respectful (through no fault of my parents) child I should have been, and most of the time I spoke (usually loudly) before thinking about what I wanted to say and how to say it.

It was probably when I reached my 30s, that it sunk in to write down what I wanted to say, go back and read it, and make sure it was serving my purpose the way I wanted it to be served. That’s not to say that I couldn’t emphatically speak my opinion or tell some things like I felt they were, but somewhere in there, I learned how to be a little more tactful, and a little less offensive. My mother and father always tried to teach me that, but in my teens, and twenties, I didn’t always want to listen to them, and I haven’t fully been a hundred percent successful in keeping my mouth shut when I should). (Two huge mistakes on my part.)

After I retired, Sally told me she thought I could write a book. I thought she needed to see a psychiatrist (pronounced fis-ee-a-kee-o-trist, ala Ricky Ricardo), but she kept telling me that, and so I listened to her faith and encouragement towards me and gave it a shot. I ended up writing a book about my experiences as a father, trying to give our kids opportunities/experiences on a very small, very limited budget, but it was more about trying to make, and give them, my attention and time by planning activities with the whole family. It was easy with Jon, because he was the batboy for teams I coached when he was young, and he was more interested in sports (baseball through College, soccer and basketball from age 5 through High School) than were the girls and he also played drums in Middle School, but the girls had their interests too, as we attended all three’s music concerts (Chasy playing violin and singing with the A’Cappella Choir, Chrissy playing the Clarinet), and all their holiday programs, their swimming lessons, Chrissy doing Gymnastics and Middle School Band, Chasy cheerleading for a year, and joining Middle and High School orchestra and choir, and all three altar servers at our church. We’d also take camping trips on weekends, we’d do Sunday Summer picnics at Allegany State Park, and Long Point, so we did make time for those, and other, activities (Cleveland Baseball, though it really wasn’t the girls’ cup of tea, but Jon enjoyed it more) where we all could be together, while we were all together as a family before the girls (who were 14 and almost 13 years older than Jon was) moved on and started their future lives. We did take the girls to Cleveland to participate in Hands Across America in 1986, where the girls donated money collected in our neighborhood and brought to the Memorial Day weekend scheduled event.

My book was not a Best Seller, and it wasn’t on the top ten thousand of any list, but it was my printed and copyrighted book, and I was so appreciative that Sally encouraged and supported me to attempt such a task.

It was around then, I began my columnist gig with The Post-Journal. People asked me why I started doing something like this, and my favorite responses were because I enjoyed writing, and I wanted my kids to know Jamestown, NY, where I grew up, was much different than Jamestown, NY where they grew up. I was very appreciative (still am) that Cristie Herbst, said “yes.”

Book one was followed by a Coach’s Guide I put together, and it was based on my Baseball Coaching experiences, but was written to be adaptable to other sports and activities as well. My next book, in betwixt all my PJ narratives, was a series of Short Stories that were set in/around my classroom, but weren’t about teaching content areas, or grades, or maps and charts, they were stories inspired by things that went beyond Reading, Writing, and Math, and it was aptly titled, “Beyond Reading, ‘Riting, and ‘Rithmetic. Some of the stories were memories of comedic incidents, some were about certain student achievements/accomplishments and their gratitude shown towards me, and some are recollections that are just a few of the many special memories I’ve stored away.

None of the books or narratives penned, or even two-finger typed by me, are, or ever will be, worthy of a Pulitzer Prize or National Press Club Journalism Award, but one thing I can feel very good about, and I do, is that they are all mine. I’m proud of being able to use what some people have kindly referred to as a talent, and the opportunities given to me, and the feedback received from readers, to do what I absolutely love to do each week. I will be eternally grateful for the encouragement from Sally, my kids, family, friends, and all the readers who have been loyal to the “Voice from the Bullpen,” these past circa 823 (need to do an updated accurate count, but I do have the clippings of every one) narratives for which Ms. Herbst, Mike Bird, and all the editors who have worked with me, are responsible.

Thank you all for taking this ride (which I hope will continue for many more miles of my life) with me, and for all your feedback and encouragement.