It's Halftime in America

Maybe I'm naive or just missed something, but I saw the Clint/Chrysler ad as pro-Detroit, pro-automaker and a good old-fashioned wake up call to Americans that we have been on hard times and that we have a chance to pick ourselves up by our proverbial bootstraps and show the rest of the world what we can do when we put our minds to being the best. But, then, maybe I am really just naive or blinded by the plight of Detroit, the place of my birth and all of my childhood and young adult memories and remembering the hard work of people like my father, Roland Tolliver, and all they have given to the Motor City. But, that's just my opinion.

Vera Romuk, R.I.P.

The following is the Eulogy that was given for Mrs. Vera Z. Romuk by her daughter at her funeral service on Saturday, May 8, 2010. A daughter's love is one that binds her to her mother in the best of circumstances and keeps her memories in her heart even after her passing. Mrs. Vera Romuk, nee Zyznieuski, died at Northwestern Memorial Hospital on Tuesday, May 4, 2010 at 12:40 p.m.. This was eight weeks, two hours and ten minutes after her husband of almost 52 years, Dr. Witold Romuk, passed. Vera was accompanied by her son, John, at the time of her death, much like her husband, Witold, who was in the presence of their daughter, Irena, when he died. I rarely saw them when they were not together and we can now take comfort in knowing that they are together once again.


Eulogy for Vera Romuk

Vera Romuk- daughter, wife, mother and grandmother. My mother began her life’s journey in Vilna, Belarus on September 6, 1931. Her father, Stepan, was a farmer and a tailor, and her mother, Eudokia, was a homemaker and a seamstress. Their simple farm provided much of what they needed with crops in the rich soil, a few animals, and one special white horse that my mother would tell us stories about until her final years. She and her older brothers, Walter and Nikodem helped on the farm and she would often visit the nearby fields to pick berries. Their lives were turned upside down, however, by the ravages of World War II. Caught between the Russian army and the German army, the horror of war was forever imbedded in her memory when she witnessed a Russian soldier shoot her brother, Walter, who at age 19 had refused to fight for the Russians, vowing to be part of the Belarusian National Guard. He would die shortly after, despite an attempt by a German medic to save his life.

The family was uprooted and relocated to a German Displaced Persons Camp, where her father was made to use his tailoring skills to sew clothes for the German citizens and soldiers. After they were liberated by the Allied Forces, the family members were sponsored by families in the United States to move to this country. My mother was 18 years old when she moved in with a family from North Platte, Nebraska in 1949. She completed high school there and the sponsor family had set their sights on her remaining in Nebraska to go to college and marrying their son. She, however, set her sights higher, and was granted a full scholarship to Bradley University in Peoria, where her brother, Nick, was attending. Their parents joined them there and the family was reunited. She added to her growing list of spoken languages by earning a degree in Spanish. I would say that is pretty impressive for someone who spoke no English upon arriving in this country.

My mother then began working as the secretary for the Chief of Police in Peoria after graduation. Mutual friends from a local Belarusian group introduced her to a handsome medical resident, who was 17 years her senior, but who shared a similar background. Fortunately for John and me, and nine grandchildren, they fell in love and were married at St. Mary’s Cathedral in Peoria on July 26, 1958. I was born the following May while my dad was continuing his training to become a pediatrician. Three years later, they had a son, John, and I had a little brother (who’s not so little anymore). When our father began a year of fellowship training at Children’s Memorial Hospital, our family moved to the Ukrainian Village neighborhood in Chicago. This began my mother’s lifelong love of the city and she immersed herself in various organizations and committees that supported and brought to the world’s attention the plight of the Belarusian people in her native country. They would later buy their one and only home on Oleander Avenue in the northwest corner of Chicago, where we would grow up and I would one day meet my husband right in my own backyard!

Our life was a whirlwind of parades, marches, folk fairs, and dinners with local, national and international dignitaries. My mother reveled in her role as a spokesperson for Belarus and all of the Captive Nations. We’d celebrate the Belarusian Independence Day every March and “Christmas Around the World” at the Museum of Science and Industry every December. My mother’s passport said that she was an American, but there was no person I knew who was a greater supporter of her homeland of Belarus with its rich customs, traditions, and heritage. If anyone wanted to know about Belarus, or sometimes even if they didn’t, Vera Romuk was the person to go to. The movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, had nothing on our mother. Every day growing up was our Big Fat Belarusian Celebration. You just have to look at the wedding video of my husband and me…we should have made it into a movie before they did, then we’d be famous and have a lot of money in the bank!

To our mother, Vera, the hallmarks of her life were centered around her faith, her family, her friends and her freedom. She was a patriot through and through and could never understand how people could talk ill of our great country. She had lived through the war and did not or would not take her liberty for granted.

Her faith melded with her heritage at her home away from home, Christ the Redeemer Belarusian Eastern Rite Catholic Church from the time they moved to Chicago until its closing in 2003. We would sit through the long masses, though usually arriving on Vera time, which was a little later than most. John and I and our cousins would become restless waiting for the Agape in the basement of the Church, where the adults would talk about Belarus and the kids would enjoy the baked goods. We thought that was our reward for having to stand, sit, and kneel through such long services, much of which we didn’t understand. The smell of incense somehow still makes me think of donuts and kolachky. Our mother loved the Lord and would never think of missing a Holy Day unless she or one of us kids was too sick to attend, which wasn’t often.

Her family motto was, “The family that prays together stays together”. She believed in traditional values like having dinner together, attending school functions and parent-teacher conferences, thanking people who have helped her, and sharing Sundays together as a family. That was pretty much how it went, except the once a month Sundays that our father had to make rounds when he was on call, and even then he’d often take one of us with him and then we’d come back home for our family dinner. I don’t recall ever staying with a sitter, except for maybe a couple of times. John and I would go almost everywhere with our parents. We especially loved the trips to KFC before heading out to Paddock Lake in Wisconsin. These values and principles carried over when Al and I began our family. While we still lived in Chicago, many Sundays were spent at Christ the Redeemer Church in the morning and at my parents' house in the afternoon. Some things don’t change much, do they, Mary and David?

The house always seemed to be bubbling over with family and friends. There were lively conversations, mostly revolving around Belarus and the Russian government controlling their native land, or about Church or some upcoming celebration or cultural event. Our mother was the quintessential hostess, always ready with baked goods and chai or a full meal if you came at the right time. No one ever left the house hungry, unless they chose to. My fondest memory has to do with her famous “poppyseed” drink. It was always a part of the festivities of the Christmas season and as simple as it was, it was a symbol of her native Belarus and the sweetness of its people. Of course, we would have to check each other’s teeth for weeks to see if there were any seeds still stuck in between. Just last Friday, when we went to visit her in the hospital, she said she wanted some poppyseed drink. On Sunday, with a make-shift strainer of a styrofoam cup with holes punched in the bottom, we made her poppyseed drink at her bedside and this was her last supper. She could barely whisper, but she said that it tasted “so good” to her. It was the sweetness of life and her beloved Belarus upon her lips one last time.

Freedom! How she cherished hers by reaching out to immigrants and compatriots from Belarus and other Captive Nations. Her gift for language allowed her to communicate to people from Ukraine, Poland, Latvia, Lithuania, Russia and other countries that were behind the Iron Curtain. She longed to return to Belarus, and was able to go back twice with our dad. She and our dad were greeted like foreign dignitaries when they returned “home” to Belarus. And it was this need to make others feel welcome that led her to helping those that needed assistance in navigating their new home in Chicago. She knew the gift of freedom and that her friends and relatives in Belarus and other captive nations did not have the same freedoms. She was very passionate about her mission to promote freedom throughout the world and every congressman, senator and politician she met would also be made aware of that, and that included going all the way to the White House where she would let then-President Ronald Reagan know the same thing. And we have the pictures to prove it!

My mother was an intelligent, educated, well-read, curious woman, who spoke eight or nine languages and was as sharp as a tack. It was better not to engage her in a heated debate, because she had a determination, okay, a stubbornness that would wear the other person down until her point was made. Many people would comment on how they always learned something from our mother. She also loved to do crafts, draw and write poetry. Just ask my husband, Al, who became her personal editor over the last 25 years. When I was 7 or 8 she taught me how to crochet. She patiently helped me to make a hat - a beret with a pompon on top! Some of my cousins still have something I crocheted for them years ago! She loved to celebrate special occasions like births and baptisms of her grandchildren with poems. "Babula" loved her grandchildren and was always in her element when they would visit her. It was such a wonderful celebration in 2008 when my parents came out to Freeport with John’s family and we were able to celebrate their 50th Wedding Anniversary complete with Belarusian food and even a limo ride. It was just like they were newlyweds again!

My mother always seemed to find signs in life when something important was about to happen. At the end of her life, the signs were clear. She was on the top floor of Northwestern Memorial Hospital overlooking Lake Michigan and when she was transferred to the Hospice unit, she was in the highest room number in the entire hospital. Just like our mother, she just had to be that much closer to heaven! I can hear her singing, “Nearer thy God to thee.”

While life was not always easy for her, she made sure that she would try to make it easier for others through her generosity of time, donations, and efforts of letter writing, speaking or advocating for the less fortunate. Shortly before she died, she asked me to get a check to the Salvation Army Children’s Fund. I brought the check to our local chapter and the woman was so grateful. She said that her donation would allow children to be able to attend camp this summer, who otherwise would not have been able to go.

Our mother was a courageous woman from humble beginnings. She was a survivor, not only of the war, but of physical challenges, having survived a stroke, breast cancer and never seemed to slow down even after the car accident when her left foot was crushed and had to be amputated. She never felt sorry for herself or wanted to be a burden to others. Her will to be independent lasted until the end. She said to us on the Friday before she died, “Go home and be with your family. I don’t want you to get stuck in traffic.” It was just like her.

Vera Romuk was a woman of style and substance. As you can see by the Belarusian costume that she chose to be buried in and the elaborateness of the funeral service, she loved all of the pomp and circumstance of celebrations. And yes, even though this is a sad day for us, it is also a celebration of an incredible woman, a loving wife, who was not meant to be a widow for long, a wonderful mother and grandmother, and a citizen of the free world. Yes, this costume is the one that she wore the day that she met President Ronald Reagan at the White House during a Captive Nations event. Even among all of the dignitaries present, Vera Romuk would stand out among the crowd.

This noble servant of God met Chicago Mayors Daley, Washington, and Bilandic, Governors Thompson and Edgar, congressmen and senators, but it was always her willingness to help others and her generosity that took center stage.

If someone met Mrs. Vera Romuk, they would never forget her. She had that way about her that could charm, enthrall, and educate a person all at the same time. Her life was one that was well-lived and she told us shortly before she died, “Tata is calling me home to be with him.” Well, Mama, we know where he is and now we know that you are once again by his side.

Mom, thank you for giving me life, sharing your faith in Christ with me, and for showing me how to serve others. I love you. We all do.

Dr. Witold Romuk: R.I.P.

Born: Witold Romuk on July 15, 1914 at home in Jekaterynoslav, Ukraine
to Jan Ulladsyva (Plenko) Romuk. The area of Ukraine was occupied by
Russia and his parents were of Belarusian descent. He was the second
of five children. The family returned to their hometown of Lipniski,
Belarus in 1920 after the Russian Revolution. His father ran a
restaurant in Ukraine before returning home. Upon their return to
Belarus, his parents resumed working their farm and homestead.

After completing his high school education, Witold went to
Sudetebrandt, Germany where he worked loading wood at a railroad
station, in addition to jobs in a sugar factory and hospital. He returned to Belarus for a short time after having worked in German labor camps and spending time in Displaced Persons camps during WW II. He then returned to Germany and studied at Ludwig Maximillian University in Munich, Germany from
1949-1953. He received the Pope Pius XII International Scholarship to
study medicine at Catholic University in Louvain, Belgium. Dr. Romuk then completed a two year internship in London.

Dr. Romuk was sponsored by a Catholic priest from Benedictine
Monastery in Lisle to come to the United States, where he had to redo his
medical internship, because medical licensing at that time did not recognize foreign country medical internships. He did an additional two years of internship at Lutheran Deaconess Hospital (now St. Mary's
Hospital) in Chicago after coming to the U.S. by way of Ellis Island
and New York City. He completed his Pediatric Resdency at St. Francis
Hospital in Peoria and a fellowship at Children's Memorial Hospital in
Chicago, Illinois. He met Miss Vera Zyznieuski in Peoria through
mutual friends, who were also from Belarus, and they were married on
July 26, 1958. Dr. Romuk, who grew up being considered "stateless"
because of the ever-changing borders of the Eastern European region of
Belarus, Ukraine and Poland, stated that one of his proudest moments
was becoming a United States citizen in 1961.

Dr. Romuk began his career in medicine as an "old-time" doctor, making
house calls and often being paid for his services with bread, eggs,
and various foods. He then began to work for the State of Illinois
with the Chicago Read Medical Center. He was a pediatrician for most
of his career for children with multiple forms of special needs. He
retired after 25 years at the age 75.
He continued to study medical journals and keep up with the latest in
medicine until the last year. One of the most magnanimous acts of Dr.
Romuk was to help in the plight of Belarusian children who were
affected by the radiation fallout from Chernobyl, an area he had
visited in 1986. He kept in contact with experts including doctors at
UCLA and Dr. Romuk sent money and packages of medicine for the
children. He was career-long member of the American Academy of
Pediatrics, where he was a Board Certified Member.

Dr. Romuk's civic contributions were vast, including being an active
member of the Belarusian Coordinating Committee of Chicago, Illinois.
He took part in Christmas Around the World at the Museum of Science
and Industry annually, spoke to groups in Chicago, Cleveland and
Toronto and visited the White House with his wife, Vera, to take part
in a cultural awareness program for Captive Nations, meeting President
Ronald Reagan. He was active in the Folk Festivals in Chicago and many
parades, and was befriended by Mayor Richard J. Daley, Senator Frank
Annunzio and various politicians and dignitaries from all walks of
life. Dr. Romuk could converse with many people at all levels, having
been fluent in seven languages. He had been a lifetime member of
Christ the Redeemer Belarusian Rite Catholic Church in Chicago until
the time of its closing.

Dr. Witold Romuk died peacefully of natural causes on Tuesday, March
9, 2010 at the home of his daughter, Irena R. Tolliver in Freeport,
Illinois. He is survived by his wife of 51 years, Vera (Zyznieuski)
Romuk; his daughter, Irena (Dr. Roland) Tolliver; his son, John Romuk
(Granite Bay, CA); grandchildren, Mary (David) Brown, Veronica,
Claire, Teresa, and Gregory Tolliver of Freeport, Illinois; Shelby,
Scott, Tristan and John Gage Romuk of Granite Bay, California; his sister,
Stacia (Anatole) Sot and brother Fred (Helena) Romuk of Belarus; his
sister-in-law, Anna Zyznieuski of Chicago; and nieces, Mary Ann (Marty) Anderson and Lila (Bobby) Underwood, and Tanya Sot; and nephews Walter (Deb) Zyznieuski, George (Laura) Zysnieuski and Viktor Sot; and several great nieces and nephews; and two great-great nieces.
He was preceded in death by his parents, one brother, Peter, his
sister, Wanda and his brother-in-law, Nicodemus Zyznieuski.

The Rite of Christian Burial will be afforded Dr. Witold Romuk on
Saturday, March 13, 2010 at St. Francis Borgia Catholic Church in
Chicago, Illinois at 10:30 a.m.. Visitation will be from 9:30 a.m.
until the time of the Mass. A memorial fund has been established in
lieu of flowers and may be directed to Muzyka & Son Funeral Home, 5776
W. Lawrence Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 6030.

These Are The Days To Remember the Good Times

New meaning has been added to "life is crazy" around here. I have been around people who are sick most of my adult life. First, working at a psychiatric hospital and then into the field of podiatry. Very rarely have I had to deal with end of life issues, except in my own family, where multiple family members died before the age of 50.

My beloved father-in-law is 95 and now we are working with hospice and the slow decline of this once magnanimous man, who spoke 7 or 8 languages, spent his career helping disabled children as a pediatrician, and promoting Independence and cultural awareness of his homeland, Belarus. Now the days are spent primarily in bed, being turned from one side to the other to prevent bed sores, and helping him up to do his necessary duties. Much of the communication has reverted back to his native Belarusian and my wife must be present most of the time to translate.

No one really likes to deal with death and dying, but we know in our hearts that if at all possible, we want him to go out with the dignity with which he has lived his life. We hold his hand. We keep him warm and we pray that he is not in pain or suffering. One day, when he was still able to sit on the couch, a couple of weeks ago, he awoke from a nap, looked at his daughter, and asked, "Am I still here?".

Yes, Tat, you are still here and in your own way, you will always be here with us. Your love and influence and grace will stay with us forever.

Glad to Be Here

There are days like today that I am glad to be living in the Midwest. Earthquake in Chile and tsunami warnings throughout the Pacific Ocean region and snow covering the East Coast. Here we sit with upper 30's temps and a slightly overcast day. Roads are dry and sitting idly by having a hot Americano and surfing the web.

How often do we complain about where we are living? We don't like it when it's too cold. We tell everyone when it's too hot. It would be easy to dismiss the overall "bland" days when not much is going on, but when we see hundreds or thousands of people dying due to weather related disasters, it is time to appreciate where we are.

From earthquakes to tsunamis to blizzards...yeah, I'll stop and think and thank God next time I have to shovel a few inches of snow off of the driveway. It's a small price to pay.

A Day of Respect

A Day of Respect will soon be here, but each day should be one of respect. It should start from the top down and despite their "apologies" to Tim Shriver, President Obama and Chief of Staff Emanuel need to stop their derogatory, degrading, and demeaning comments about children and adults who have special needs. This isn't PC, people, this is a request for respect for all human beings. And it is not only a left or right issue (Mr. Limbaugh can keep his inflammatory comment about the subject to himself, too and offer an apology), this is one of parents, siblings, family and friends who have given fully of themselves to ensure as good a life for the children and adults who cannot fully fend for themselves, nor defend themselves.

Teachers, students, politicians, citizens and people everywhere need to remember the old saying of "walk a mile in my moccasins" and get their heads out of their proverbial arses and use their brains when it comes to their use of hurtful language. It is heard from the hallways to the Beltway in America. Children and adults tend to be marginalized by society. No one is fully aware of the day-to-day struggles, details, and duties, as well as the diligence interspersed with small victories that come with our children with special needs. There is such a wide spectrum of disabilities that often people with special needs are not recognized as such. Just ask a parent of a child with autism or cerebral palsy or a multitude of other conditions about their lives. Take a few minutes to get to know them and don't forget for a minute that for each "tragic" story in the news about children that are abandoned or abused, there are thousands that are in a family or facility that provides love, compassion, care, and kindness. We must never lose sight of this and continue to diligently defend the rights, encourage the dignity and support those who have special needs and those who care for them.

Happy Birthday, Coach!

There are very few people in the world who make me perk up my ears and really listen to their message. Coach John Wooden, who turned 99 on October 14 is one of those people. From my youth in the 60's following the phenomenal success of the UCLA Bruins to the later years of reading his books and stories about his success as a college player, coach and brilliant life coach, he has been one of the most influential people in my life. Even if it has been from afar.

A few years ago I wrote a column for the paper about Coach Wooden that ran in March, 2001. It is being reprinted here for his birthday. Hoping to see him reach 100!

Life Lessons from a Hoops Legend

by

Roland Tolliver

I am just a common man who is true to his beliefs. John Wooden

Once upon a time in America there was a little watched basketball tournament that usually featured the same team every year, only their opponents would change. The result in ten out of twelve years was the same, including seven consecutive national championships. The NCAA basketball tournament, the Sweet Sixteen, the great office pool parlayed into millions of dollars in gambling was once played before half-filled stadiums, attended mostly by students there to support their schools. Teams like Loyola and Marquette would even win an occasional title, but nothing like the teams from UCLA and their coach, John Wooden. The glamour of players like Pistol Pete Maravich, Elvin Hayes, Austin Carr, and Calvin Murphy would spark interest in their individual talents on other teams, but it was almost always the team play of UCLA that would walk away with another championship.

For the non-sports fan or those that could care less about college basketball or the tournament, there is hope in the message from the most famous messenger to come out of college basketball. This man who would not allow dunking in practice, who kept meticulous notes of every practice, who stressed that the team work as one unit, whose practices were harder than most games, shared his humble message with legions and legends. Men looked to him as a second father, a mentor, and an exemplary role model. Students of the game have tried to imitate him, some more successfully than others. And through it all, no one has been able to attain even a modicum of his accomplishments during their careers.

I recently came across a book simply titled Wooden by Coach John Wooden with Steve Jamison. I have read a great deal about Coach Wooden, including his biography, They Call Me Coach, and I always learn something new from his insights. In this more recent book Coach Wooden shared a list of principles that his father gave him when he graduated from High School in Indiana. In this day of uncertainty among our youth, the high school shootings and the bullying and harassment of fellow students, these lessons can serve as a starting point for parents and children in gaining an appreciation and a respect for life.

In the chapter titled, "The Gift of a Lifetime", Coach Wooden was given an old wrinkled two-dollar bill and a card with a verse on one side by the Reverend Henry Van Dyke that read:

Four things a man must learn to do

If he would make his life more true:

To think without confusion clearly

To love his fellow-man sincerely,

To act from honest motives purely,

To trust in God and Heaven securely.

On the other side of the card it simply said "Seven Things to Do." It read as follows:

1. Be true to yourself.

2. Help others.

3. Make each day your masterpiece.

4. Drink deeply from good books, especially the Bible.

5. Make friendship a fine art.

6. Build a shelter against a rainy day.

7. Pray for guidance and count and give thanks for your blessings every day.

These principles are timeless and mean as much, if not more today than they ever have. I especially like the idea of making each day a masterpiece, as each of us has the power to do a little better today than yesterday. Each of us has the opportunity to follow the golden rule with each person we meet, treating them as we would like to be treated and most importantly passing this idea on to our children, who in this period of history are in need of our guidance daily.

I don't know if your team is still in the running for the office pool or the on-line contest. Maybe you are like me and just enjoy the sport and root for a favorite team, "Go Spartans!" I like to see a well-contested, fundamentally sound game. One that is fair and exhibits a level of enthusiasm and determination.

No matter who is left to cut down the nets at the end of the final game, there is one more game left to play, one that is more important than all of the ones it took to reach the pinnacle of a basketball season. This is where Coach Wooden's lessons are best suited and where he felt that he should be making the biggest difference in his players' lives. Coach is now 90 years old and most of his former players and the current group tower over him, but he continues to be held in high esteem by those who know him and those who only know the legend. He continues to stand tall with a quiet voice that speaks volumes. For in the end we still have to play the game of life and that is the one that matters most.

Recent Column in The Journal Standard

The Great Health Care Debate

By

Roland Tolliver

Dan, a small business owner in the Chicago area, conscientiously paid his health insurance premium for over twenty years. Each month the bill would come and each month he would cut a check and forward it to the company. About two summers ago the company received the largest order it had ever had. The company was working almost around the clock and he was right alongside them. Thirty days lapsed and he was notified that his policy was cancelled. A couple of months earlier, he found out that his cholesterol was slightly elevated. He had gone in for a physical prior to running a marathon. Dan offered to send in his check, but the company wouldn’t reinstate him for, yes, you guessed it…a pre-existing condition. Dan cannot get health insurance without paying so much that it would create a major financial hardship for his family and his business. Dan favors the “Public Option” in the health care plan as proposed by the government.

Dan’s story is not unique. We, here in Northwest Illinois, are hearing this type of story almost daily. Businesses are downsizing. People are being “walked to the door” and the ranks of the uninsured or underinsured are growing with each lost job. The emergency rooms are becoming more crowded as people seek health care without the insurance or wherewithal to pay the medical costs. Medicaid ranks are growing, even though the state doesn’t have the money to pay existing bills. The number one reason for bankruptcy in our country is because of health care costs from a catastrophic illness or injury. What is our country to do? How will we be able to afford it? And what cost will there be as a nation becomes sicker, grows older and as the Baby Boomer Generation reaches Medicare age?

I had the opportunity to take part in a Health Care Forum in Chicago on September 1, 2009 at the WTTW studio in Chicago. There were only 24 guests invited to be a part of the audience and the panel included Senator Dick Durbin (D-IL), the Senate Majority Whip; Dr. Jeremy Lazarus of the AMA; Dr. Paul Handel of Health Care Service Corp, the parent company of Blue Cross/ Blue Shield Illinois; and Kevin Scanlan of Metropolitan Chicago Health Council, which represents 140 Chicago area hospitals. The hour long program, which was one of the most civilized I’ve seen, focused on some of the major issues which are currently (and will be) affecting Americans from all walks of life. Those of us in Stephenson County and throughout our region represent a microcosm of what is happening throughout the country and the health care issue is being rabidly debated, but goes much deeper than the rhetoric that is offered on the nightly cable news and on talk radio.

I presented a question to the panel about the problem that rural America faces in recruiting and maintaining physicians. There is currently a shortage of between 7,000-10,000 primary care physicians in America. This number is expected to grow to approximately 50,000 by the year 2020. Whether it is a preference for an urban lifestyle over a rural lifestyle, or whether it is the fact that the average medical student is graduating with a student loan debt load of over $155,000 even before they start in practice, fewer physicians are going into general practice. Another factor in the physician shortage is the cost of malpractice. This is another topic in the national debate, but was not addressed at the forum in Chicago. While the reform of tort laws is certainly an important issue, it is not the only factor for the escalating costs of health care.

The debate will continue to rage on, as it has for many years. Some feel that the current administration is forcing their plan onto the public. There is fear of so-called “death panels” and rationing of health care. In some ways, that is already going on in our country. From experience, however, it is not usually the public insurance, i.e. Medicare, which limits a physician’s ability to practice medicine. Their guidelines are straightforward. It is more often private insurance companies that are making the patients and their physicians “jump through hoops” when it comes to ordering necessary exams, prescribing the best medications for certain conditions as indicated, and being able to perform the procedures needed to allow a patient to live a pain-free or at the least, a more comfortable life.

No matter which side of the health care “debate” that one is on, we cannot deny that something has to be done for coverage of over 46,00,000 uninsured people in America. Neither can we afford to continue driving potential doctors away from the medical profession, because we will have an even greater divide in people receiving health care. We in rural America will suffer the consequences at an even greater percentage than in urban areas. We cannot afford this for our sakes, for the sake of our children and grandchildren and for the sake of our community’s overall well-being.

The questions are difficult and real answers about the cost of health insurance, prescription medications and the cost of poor lifestyle choices affect all of us. Let your voices be heard by writing our Senators and Congressmen. When the President speaks to the joint session of Congress this week, we must remember that it is ultimately up to each of us to make informed choices and take ownership in this issue and in our own health, whenever possible.

To view the Health Care forum, please visit WTTW’s Chicago Tonight website

or go to:http://www.wttw.com/main.taf?p=42,8,8&vid=090109a

Dr. Roland Tolliver is a podiatrist and freelance writer from Freeport.

Health Care Forum WTTW

I had the fortune of being one of 24 guests invited to take part in a health care forum at WTTW in Chicago on September 1, 2009. The forum was one of the few that I've seen that has been civil, even though there were dissenting sides of the issue present. The forum's expert panel included Senator Dick Durbin (D-IL), the Senate Majority Whip; Dr. Jeremy Lazarus of the AMA; Dr. Paul Handel of BC/BS's parent company; and Kevin Scanlan of Metro Chicago Healthcare Council.

The questions/comments were relavent to the topic, though a couple of issues were either skirted over or weren't discussed in the 53 minute program. The host was Phil Ponce, longtime Chicago television newsman.

The most heated portion of the debate took place between Sen. Durbin and Dr. Handel. The Public Option, while favored by many, is being hotly contested and dissuaded by the Health Insurance companies. I had the most difficulty swallowing the "reason" why the CEO of Health Care Service Corp, the parent company of BC/BS of Illinois makes over 12 Million Dollars per year.

The consensus seems to be that those who have employer-based health care insurance are happy with it and those who are uninsured or underinsured (or like some of us are paying exorbitant amounts for less than optimal insurance with high deductibles) look at the public option as a way of being able to afford health insurance without going bankrupt or struggling to make ends meet.

There has been, and unfortunately always will be, some form of rationing of health care. It happens here in the USA and in countries with socialized or nationalized health programs. The underlying issue is that no matter what comes down through the House and the Senate, it will end up costing more than we can afford. We can't afford to do nothing, either, though.

Health Care Shortage

The site above tells of the current and projected shortage of doctors in America. The push for national healthcare continually forgets one very important fact. In countries that have nationalized or socialized medicine, the physicians are able to go to medical school for much less cost (and in some countries for free) to medical school if they qualify for admission. American medical students are graduating with an average debt of $150,000. How can a student enter practice knowing that they will not be reimbursed at a rate sufficient to cover even their student loans, let alone the additional costs, such as malpractice. Rural areas, where reimbursement rates are lower, will be hit even harder and are already suffering from a physician shortage.

The problem will only get worse with the proposed healthcare initiative being strong-armed into existence by President Obama. We've had patients that have lived in countries, such as Great Britain, with nationalized health care and they've reported that there was a waiting time for basic services of up to six months or more. Insuring more people will not only overwork existing doctors, but will disinsentivize people from considering going into medicine. If there is change in the cost of going to medical school, it would offer more qualified students a chance to study medicine and create an environment where financial renumeration is not such an overarching issue. Somehow, I don't see the cost of medical school going down anytime soon, though.

Father and Son

This is the first weekend that my son, G., and I have had a father and son weekend where we've stayed overnight somewhere. His soccer team has been competing in the Midwest Soccer Cup in St. Charles, Illinois. They had a tough 2-1 loss this morning, but with two wins yesterday and the point totals, they made it into tomorrow's playoffs as the wild card team. It is fun to watch them grow into young men, the current pretzel tossing contest aside, they've taken to competition with a healthy attitude. They are still at the stage where they are playing for the thrill of playing. They like the competition more than practices, but, hey who doesn't.

I remember fishing and hunting trips with my father. There weren't club soccer teams or traveling baseball teams when I was my son's age. Now there are both and club volleyball, basketball and other sports where the kids play throughout the year. I don't know which is better, or maybe it is just that things are different. The joy of trying various sports and activities is missing sometimes, but the level of competition seems to be at such a higher level than in previous years. Either way it is fun to be with the children throughout these endeavors, either athletics, dance, music, or speech (as any one of the children have done at one time or another).

Time for some sleep, as the next game comes around early in the morning.

The Long Weekend

The Twin Cities were the sight of our recent and rare chance to get away for a few days. We are grateful that our daughter and son-in-law are willing to help out with our special-needs daughter, and our other two younger children. This week is special for the fact that my beloved, Irena, will be 50 on Friday. She didn't want a vacation, or a trip to Hawaii, or a "surprise" party. She wanted to go and have an "Oprah Makeover" as was featured on her show. reVamp Salon in Minneapolis is where Christopher Hopkins and his extraordinary staff of designers, estheticians, among others brought out the "new" Irena. Not that I saw anything wrong with the old version. She literally received the royal treatment and the photos do not lie. It is said a picture is worth a thousand words, so I'll stop here...

Bird was the Word

I saw Mark "The Bird" Fidrych pitch at Tiger Stadium five times during the summer of '76. He brought a lot of heart and joy to a city that was already starting on a downward trend. The sold out stadium was raucous on those nights and everyone wanted a curtain call whether he pitched a complete game or left early. The only time I remember the stadium being that much fun was the game where Denny McLain won his 30th game.

Mark made the game fun, not only for those in attendance, but for his teammates, as well. He kept the Tigers in almost every game he pitched that season with a 19-9 record and 2.34 ERA. He pitched 24 complete games that year. That is a career for many of the coddled starters in today's game. Hair flopping, mound grooming, and ball talking were just a few of the styles he brought to the field. None of it would have mattered if he hadn't pitched so well, though. It was a competitive nature and pinpoint accuracy that made him what he was that year.

Unfortunately, fame can be fleeting. He injured his knee jumping over the dugout railing (there was that juvenile streak in the fair-haired boyish charm). He tried to come back too soon and with his mechanics off, he then injured his shoulder. The Bird would only go 10-10 the rest of his career only showing glimpses of the brilliance of 1976.

Just like Mark "The Bird" Fidrych left the game too soon, so did he leave this life too soon. There may be no second acts, but there can definitely be fond memories. Godspeed, Bird, may you fly high, throw straight and bring such joy to the next life.

The Other "R" Word

The following column appeared in the Freeport Focus the week of August 19, 2008 about the time of the release of the movie, Tropic Thunder. It is being reprinted here as today is the Day of Acceptance for people of all abilities. Please click the title link above for more information from the Special Olympics. In light of the condescending remarks of our President on the Jay Leno Show recently, this is indeed a teachable moment for America and the world. Remember to be kind to all you meet.

The Other “R” Word
By
Roland Tolliver

“As we grow as unique persons, we learn to respect the uniqueness of others.”
--Robert Schuller

“The best comedy of the Summer,” scream the headlines in the entertainment industry.

“Film critics stand firm against “Tropic Thunder” protests by advocates for the disabled,” states another in The Los Angeles Times.

There are no protests scheduled outside of the Lindo Theater. At least not that I have heard and there doesn’t need to be one. People have every right to view a movie, just like they have the right to sending in there letters to the editor or saying what they want to in the privacy of their own homes. It apparently doesn’t matter that large groups of people are offended or that a derogatory word has become so pervasive in our society that it is regularly used by students and teachers in our school district to refer to anyone who may be a “little slow.”

Just don’t say it in front of me, please. I’m not sure what it is in our society, but people have a tendency to marginalize those that are different from them. There have been endless struggles in our country to excise the cancerous language of prejudice in our society. The Chinese and others of Asian descent were not allowed to marry a Caucasian until well into the 1940’s, when we allied with China during World War II, even though thousands of Chinese died helping to build the Transcontinental Railroad. The Irish were thought to be here only for their brawn during the same time period.

The Japanese were forced into internment camps during WW II, even if they were born in our country. Polish jokes were commonly told to indicate that they were stupid. The African-Americans in this country suffered years of indignity, which is why I cannot comprehend their wanton use of the “N” word in rap songs. I was incredibly surprised by the use of the word “uppity” when a letter to the editor in The Journal-Standard was used to describe Senator Barack Obama. It has such a disparaging connotation that I expected a much more vigorous protest to that particular letter.

That brings us back to the people that have become the most marginalized in our society and the ones that are least able to defend themselves. The assault on people who are mentally challenged in our society is reaching epic proportions. When school-aged students regularly call people “retards” it shows a total lack of understanding. They can, perhaps, claim ignorance. When teachers use the same word in like fashion, it shows a lack of compassion. When Hollywood perpetuates this negative stereotype without regard to the consequences, it shows a level of mean-spiritedness that will only exaggerate the problem. This is where “Tropic Thunder” has crossed the line.

Much of the early press about the movie was for the Robert Downey, Jr. character, who undergoes a “pigmentation process” in order to portray a Black actor in the movie. While this certainly sets another low standard for the industry, it pales in comparison with the discriminatory social commentary in regards to people that are mentally challenged.

The most disturbing aspect the producers and director, Ben Stiller, make with their movie, is that they know it will appeal to young adults and teens, who themselves are still impressionable, and their “Don’t Go Full Retard” mantra will likely become this summer’s movie catchphrase. How does a parent or a sibling or a relative of someone who has brain damage, epilepsy, Down’s Syndrome, autism, or a variety of injuries, illnesses or hereditary conditions that affect the brain explain the rude comments made by the insensitive about them?

Have any of these people ever lived with a child or an adult who “doesn’t fit in”? Have the insensitive people ever been in a store when someone’s brain-damaged child or teen is throwing a temper-tantrum in the middle of an aisle? Do people think that seeing a T-shirt with the above slogan helps the situation? Or are people that unconcerned with the feelings of others these days? It truly makes me sad that people can be so unkind.

I know from which I speak… I’m not a prude. I don’t go around pretending to be the captain of the politically correct police. I have enjoyed some of the movies of Ben Stiller, Jack Black, and the other actors in this movie. I have even seen the mentally challenged in some of their movies portrayed in a positive, sensitive light. What I don’t get, and I admit that I am refusing to see the movie, is how or why their portrayal has gone astray. Are producers and directors that hard up for material that it is now acceptable to denigrate the people in our society who are least able to stand up for their own rights?

Decide for yourselves what to do when it comes to the movie, everyone is in their rights to do so, but think about the implications of encouraging this prejudicial movie to be a financial success. Think about how its message seeps into the brains of the most impressionable segment of our society and how that venom then spews forth in our schools and our community. Think about all of the people that have fought for generations to eliminate social prejudice in our society and how much still exists. Then think hard about giving your hard-earned money to people who still “don’t get it.” Maybe, just maybe, they will get the message we are sending. And then maybe our children, family members, friends and acquaintances will know compassion, understanding and respect in their schools and communities. Maybe!?

Dr. Roland Tolliver is a freelance writer in Freeport. He has been fighting the good fight with his wife and family for their daughter, Claire, and others with mental and intellectual disabilities for more than a decade. He may be reached at rtolliver@kastlepublishing.com or through the blog “Pretzel City Logic.”

Special Olympians Deserve Better

Our President's off-handed attempt at a joke about his bowling has turned into a minor firestorm. I understand that his bowling is pretty weak, but then again so is his recent attempt at being humorous. For those of us with children who have participated in Special Olympics, the comment was another example of how people with special needs are viewed as less worthy of respect. There is a good chance that this is not how he really feels, but oftentimes the true colors of one's opinions come out in the unscripted moments. Grandma used to say that someone can be book smart, but dumb as a piece of coal when it comes to common sense. Looks like this is one of those moments. We can hope that some good comes out of the Presidents' gaffe.

Where Have All the Children Gone?

It doesn't seem possible, but the children do move on. Our friends, Steve and Petra, let us know recently that their son, Jason, has moved to California. He has been interested in writing screenplays and found some people to live with in the L.A. area and has taken the chance to follow his dream. I wouldn't be surprised to see our daughter, Veronica, do the same thing in a few years (once she graduates from college, please!).

When our oldest daughter, Mary, went off to college, it happened so soon after her high school graduation, that in some ways it didn't fully register. She came back with her degree and her fiance, David. They will be married two years in June. Yes, they do grow up much quicker than we imagine. Sometimes, they come home. Sometimes, they move on. I have now lived in Illinois for almost 28 years, though I still feel that Michigan in many ways that it it is still my home state. One of the recent reminders for me was when I went to see the movie, "Gran Torino". The movie was filmed primarily in the Detroit area with the closing scene taking place along Lake Shore Drive/Jefferson Avenue along Lake St. Clair. There were so many memories brought back from that one scene alone. Driving along the lake. Biking along the lake. Running along the lake. Going north toward the last town where I lived, St. Clair Shores, before moving to Chicago in 1981.

The landscape of Detroit has changed so much in the past two decades. Most of these changes began in the 1960's and 1970's after the riots of 1967. The great "White Flight" took homeowners and longtime residents out of the city and to the ever-developing suburbs that were taking shape. The migratory patterns have continued over the years with movement continuing farther north into Oakland and Macomb counties. The farm land of our youth is now the next mall or subdivision. The areas around Lincoln High School and the Van Dyke School District are now lower income housing areas in many cases and the once middle-class is now the lower middle-class or even lower income areas. The school district is now much more integrated than when I left the area in 1981.

We don't get back "home" much anymore. Travel is more difficult with a special-needs daughter and an active family. When I do go home, the old haunting grounds look so different, but the streets remain about the same. I go on auto-pilot and get around just fine, but the landscape is very different, especially the farther out I go. The tract of land where we used to ride our motorcycles has been developed and the woods are mostly gone. The "corner store" is long gone and the mega-stores are taking over the area. What has changed more recently is the vast number of homes for sale, foreclosed or being auctioned off. It was recently announced that approximately an additional 17,000 jobs will be lost in Warren, where I grew up, due to the closing of automotive plants and cost-cutting measures by GM and Chrysler. There will be more than that, though, as the ancillary companies that are related to the auto industry.

Rolling Stone Magazine recently profiled Detroit and the ghost town that it is becoming. Large tracts of land, where even coyotes are now seen roaming, loom desolately between abandoned or run-down houses. Large factories and warehouses sit idly by with broken windows and grafitti-filled walls.

So, where have all the children gone. Whether it is in Northwest Illinois where jobs are becoming more scarce or in my hometown, Detroit, area, the children are moving to where they can make a decent living. We have two younger children still at home. One day they will have to make a decision. Where will the children go?

Even More Photos from No Exit

More Photos from No Exit at North Central College

No Exit

Veronica was in her first major performance at North Central College this past weekend at the new Madden Theatre. The play was No Exit by Jean-Paul Satre and was directed by third year student, Abby Stark. The cast of four performed with zeal for this psychological drama about three people stuck in hell, which is defined as "other people." The following photos were taken after the play and identifies the major characters: Sean Driscoll as Garcin; Veronica Tolliver as Inez; Kathryn Bauer as Estelle; and Kati Riess as the Valet. They should all be proud of the show and their performances.

NIU Moving Forward

The following column was published last year, days after the massacre on Valentine's Day at the DeKalb campus of Northern Illinois University. It is reprinted now as a memorial to those who lost their lives and as a tribute to those who continue to carry on despite the tragedy. God bless.


How Do We Understand the Incomprehensible?
By
Roland Tolliver

“It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style.” --Oscar Wilde

I’m tired of moments of silence, lighting candles and makeshift memorials. Don’t get me wrong. I understand the reason behind them, but I’m just mentally, emotionally and spiritually drained by the need for them. I’m tired of the senseless murders that are happening on our campuses and in our streets. I’m tired of feeling the tightening of the encompassing circle of death, especially as it comes ever closer to home. I’m tired of having to read headlines about deranged or mentally ill individuals who feel that they have to go out in “a blaze of glory” by taking innocent victims with them. Aren’t you tired of it, also?

This time it hit particularly close to home, not only geographically, but personally. One of my daughter Mary’s best friends was scheduled to be in that room for a 3:30 p.m. class. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of students from northwest Illinois attending Northern Illinois University. We keep hearing the refrain, “It isn’t supposed to happen here,” but it has and we feel helpless to stop it. We hear suggestions to arm the instructors or that we should allow concealed weapons, so that students can protect themselves. How? Do we have ROTC members standing in each class with rifles loaded and ready to defend our rights to be educated? Would the massacres at Virginia Tech or at NIU have happened if we had surveillance cameras in every classroom with guards standing ready to intervene?

I feel like I know the instructor who was shot and then chased by the gunman. I’ve known his grandmother for years and she has shared with me his many accomplishments in the world of paleontology. Joe Peterson is working towards his doctorate in a field that most of us probably don’t understand. His passion has been shown at the Burpee Museum and in the discovery and excavation and recovery of Jane, the dinosaur. He was married last summer and was settling into his academic life at Northern. His grandmother always speaks glowingly about him. She says that she doesn’t always understand what it is he does in paleontology, but she has always supported him. I can imagine that one of the last things she would have been worried about was that her grandson would find himself running for his life during a class. He was shot in the shoulder, but what kind of scar will actually be left, knowing that five of his students are dead. Five students who minutes earlier had probably been watching the clock looking forward to Valentine’s Day or to the weekend or just finishing class so they could go to the bathroom. Then all hell breaks loose and the only thing on the mind of more than a hundred students is, “How do I get out of here?” How does a teacher or anyone comprehend this?

What I’m sensing, and this doesn’t come from exhaustive psychosocial analysis, but from just a curiosity about human nature, is that we have moved into a phase of “disconnect” when it comes to this type of senseless killing. Have you noticed the way in which the killers burst into rooms with guns blazing and they start just wiping out innocent victims? Go back to Columbine or Virginia Tech and now to NIU and many other incidents in between and you have this vigilante mentality that permeates the killers. Now, look at the types of video and computer games that have been prevalent among the age-group that has been predominantly responsible for these attacks. These games, like Grand Theft Auto, often depict a person who has the ability to kill without conscience and when you are “killed” in the game, you just start over. I don’t know if the NIU killer was a “gamer,” like the Columbine murderers were, but there are frightening patterns developing among the ones who have killed so many of our students. Boys and young men, especially, seem to lose the ability to separate virtual reality from reality and when one adds mental illness into the equation, it becomes even more volatile.

NIU’s president, John Peters, was very forthcoming in a press conference the day that these innocent students were slaughtered when he said that sometimes there is just no way of preventing this type of tragedy from occurring. When someone is determined enough, they tend to find a way to carry out their plan. And it had to have been planned for him to sit in a hotel room in DeKalb for three days, to purchase the guns in advance, to mail the items and the letter to his girlfriend, and then to proceed to the lecture hall with the concealed weapons. Mental illness or not, he had the wherewithal to follow through with his plan.

How does a bright individual like a Kazmierciak or even a Kaczyinski go from amicable to annihilator of human life? What mental buttons are pushed that lead to such a drastic and tragic transformation? How can one person say he was “just the sweetest guy” in retrospect when he has just blown away unsuspecting people in such a cavalier way? What are we missing here? What piece of the story doesn’t make sense? How do we get to the underlying questions in everyone’s minds: “Why did this happen?”; “Why does it keep happening?”; and “What can we do about it?’

There are no immediate answers, just like there are no easy answers. Those that have stained our innocence often leave us clueless, because they take their own lives before any answers are forthcoming. Those that are left behind, like Joe Peterson, the wounded, those that escaped, and the families of victims are left to painfully ask, “Why?”