George*

Some of you may be familiar with a custom begun recently in Japan where the government seeks out uniquely talented individuals and classifies them as living treasures. These artist and artisans, often of advanced age and occasionally feeble, are recognized for their skills in calligraphy, tapestry, paper-making, painting, pottery, and the like. These living legends are given nation-wide deference and a small, token-like stipend.

We at SJA have a similar situation. George Zanotti has been sharing his uniqueness with us for what seems a lifetime, but, in fact, has been a mere twenty years. Who has not seen what he can do with a common Magic Marker and a piece of scrap paper? Give this man some yarn, a little crushed foil, a dash of glitter, and a dollop of glue and he's in ecstasy. Who has not passed his desk without so much as uttering a passive "Ooh, Aah, or Tsk-Tsk"? His bulletin boards have inspired minimalists everywhere and have set the standard here at SJA. How many of us have seen his eyes gloss over as he creases a fresh sheet of of construction paper or when he tries out a virgin nib? George, we have watched you in amazement!

Additionally, his skills have not been limited to only the arts. What this man can do with with his daily ensembles...well, breathtaking is close to the truth. I personally have seen him take shoes of different color, different style, and different material and wear them together with a degree of style and grace that is rarely matched in the pages of GQ. You want to talk about dexterity? What George can do with an automobile is material made for legends. How about his death-defying trips across town on potential snow-warning days? Heart stopping for sure.

George's various skills even carry over to his spirituality and worship. What can't be said about his traveling shrines and just-made relics? How many associate pastors have been left mystified and awe struck by this man's amazing and clever liturgy preparations? Bless you, George, your rewards, as you well know, are not of this world.

Quite frankly, George, without your twenty years of service, SJA would have been much less of a place, and, no doubt, your second twenty will make the school much more than it already is. And finally, in the adroitly chosen words of a first-year teacher: "George, we all hope to be just like you when we, too, grow up!" Best wishes always, you are, indeed, a real treasure.

*Little did I know when I wrote this in 1984 to help celebrate GZ's twentieth year of teaching at SJA that I would be posting it twenty-five years later celebrating his forty-fifth year in the classroom. Congratulations are in order for that long-serving achievement.

Read All About It

With recent stories detailing the demise of many big city newspapers, and with our own papers giving up daily home delivery, I was reminded of an essay I wrote a few years ago when labor/management were at loggerheads stopped the Detroit presses and left my world blank.
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You don't miss the water 'til the well runs dry is an old, worn-out adage that still drips with truth today. When various unions decided to take on the Detroit papers, most people reacted with little or no alarm. For them daily information came from so many sources that missing one was no big deal. They could live without the old news with CNN, MSNBC, cable, satellite dishes, the internet, and a regular cornucopia of fast-breaking electronic stuff. But not for me.

You see opening the front door, taking in a full blast of pre-dawn air, bending down to pick up the tightly folded morning paper is the perfect wake up exercise. I love releasing the sections from their bound form and reading the bold headlines which capture the the story du jour in a succinct, clever word order. The ink and paper have a certain smell that compliment the aroma of brewed coffee. The columnists and reporters are my pals. They inform, challenge, and entertain me. We share laughs, stats, and concerns.

As the newspaper strike took affect, my mornings were disturbed. My good friend wasn't on the porch, waiting for me chuck full of news, editorials, movie reviews, etc. I was lost. Sitting at the table, I felt lonely. The cereal in the bowl tried to make small talk...no luck. The hot coffee helped, but it, too, missed its sidekick. The Mrs. did her best to inform and entertain, but even her great charms were no substitute for Mitch Album, game day reports, news analysis, cartoons, coupons, and puzzles.

As the day progressed, things did not improve. Radio and television brought a small degree of relief, but they just couldn't get up close and personal like the characters on the page. I felt like a refugee in a strange land without my paper. I needed help.

Fortunately, help came in the form of a partial labor-management agreement. Nothing was settled. No one, neither owners nor unions, was really satisfied, but the presses would roll again. Yeah! Selfish, maybe, but I was pleased. My morning roll-up would return. The sun would come out, a glorious day would follow, and everything in the world would find its way back into print. And so, everything was well again.