Bill O'Connor update

Here's e-mail from Bill O'Connor:

Harry -

I much enjoyed reading about former colleagues on your blog. The further I am from the time at the Beacon, the more I realize how privileged I was to work with such talented people. In the daily combat of getting out a paper, we all banged heads now and then. And, in fact, most of our heads were rather large. One needed a large ego to survive in the newspaper world. Or maybe it was just that the business attracted those of us with inflated noggins. I know that none was more inflated that my own, or denser. But I always appreciated the care that was taken to make each day's paper as strong as possible, even if it meant listening to you growl and Tom Moore shake his head sadly at my efforts.

I remarried in 2002. Her name is Elsbeth. Although born and raised in Switzerland, she is more American than anyone else I know. She has four grown children, as do I, so holidays can be busy indeed. Elsbeth and I just returned from a month in Kenya. We went with a team of fourth-year medical students from Ohio University and some Akron doctors. They participate in what is called SHARE KENYA, an annual adventure that is now in its seventh year. Our headquarters were in Kisumu, but we spent each day out in the bush, visiting villages and setting up free medical clinics. Elsbeth and I went as journalists and I am now in the process of putting together a mag piece on the adventure although, to tell you the truth, there is a hell of a lot of material and I'm not sure I want to work that hard. But Kenya was an eye-opener. The poverty and squalor are appalling and the government is terribly corrupt. The "elected" officials steal anything not nailed down. I'd love to nail them.

I hope to write the story while in Switzerland. We leave Friday for a three-week stay in Grindelwald, where Elsbeth and her brother have a chalet. She'll ski while there. I tried skiing last year and discovered something about myself - I'm a confirmed coward. But Ott should know that it takes 45 minutes to ski some of the runs and Elsbeth can ski right down to the house. In the winter, the farmers drop all their fences and everyone flies down the mountain, everyone except a certain cowardly Irishman. But I do enjoy the village. So while she skis, I'll write in the morning and then go to the village and drink wickedly strong drinks, flirt with the waitresses and then be joined by my red-cheeked wife, still all fired up from flying down the Alps. At night, we sit on a balcony, bundled up, and watch the silence.

I've finished two novels of a trilogy. The first one is at a publisher right now, but literary novels are a damn hard sell. Hemingway used to cry when he got rejections. I curl into a fetal position and whimper.

I still spend a lot of time trying to keep Porter out of jail. It's a tough job. But I think his wife is doing a nice job on the column.

I hope you are well and that each of my former colleagues finds joy every day. This time of life, I think, is the best. We're finally wise enough, maybe, not to take ourselves too seriously. That's when the real fun begins. Peace.