Captain Bernie

Walther lives in the house where his wife, Jackie, was born. He and Jackie have been married for 20 years. They have 3 children: Ian (age 9) and twins, Grayson and Sydney (age 7). Captain Walther was on vacation when the flood hit. He returned home but left his family so that he could take care of the crippling devastation and spare them the debilitating emotional effects of seeing their home and city submerged in water. When Capt. Walther arrived home, he found that three of his basement walls had collapsed. The possessions in the basement and on the first floor are completely destroyed and the conditions of the house are currently unlivable. Until the family can find a permanent residence, Walther lives in a temporary home within the town of Cedar Rapids and his family lives in a nearby town with Jackie’s parents. Despite being separated from his family in a time of need, Bernie has demonstrated amazing strength in the face of devastation and his efforts to rebuild the city and the morale of City Rapids is truly inspiring.

Officer John McDaniels

Officer John McDaniels lived on Ellis Rd, next to the Cedar River, before the debilitating floods made his home uninhabitable. He lived with his wife Julie and their 12-year-old son Drake. Julie ran a daycare center next door to the home that cared for eight children, the facilities of which have been completely destroyed by the floodwaters and has resulted in $150,000 worth of damage. What’s worse, it is believed that their home may have suffered more damage than the daycare center. Their home was one of the first to be hit by the flood. The water tore through their home Thursday morning at 11 AM and John was back to work Thursday evening. As John explained, “I couldn’t do anything at home so I might as well come to work and help someone else.” While the future of their home is still uncertain and the possibility of rebuilding just a mere dream at the moment, John continues to work selflessly and admirably to help the other victims of the Cedar Rapids flood.

Officer Corey Lentz

Before the floodwaters tore through Cedar Rapids, they demolished the town of Palo first. Palo is also located on the Cedar River and one hundred percent of the residents of Palo were evacuated. Most houses in Palo suffered excessive damage, including the home of Officer Lentz. On Wednesday night, the night before the flood, Corey was fortunate to move most of the belongings on the first floor out of his house but was forced to leave the freezer, washer, dryer, furnace, and TV in the basement. On Thursday morning when the flood hit, the water destroyed the remaining items and the house. Officer Lentz is married to Carissa and they have a 5-year-old daughter named Ellie. Although the family is lucky to have moved out some of their belongings before the flood they are still crippled by the loss of their home.

Officer Rod Schulte

Although the home of Officer Rod Schulte sits on a slight embankment, his home was ravaged by floodwater. In his basement he lost his furnace, carpet, sheet rock, and his children’s toys. Officer Schulte lives with his wife Brooke and their three children, Braden (age 14), Sydney (age 7) and Cal (age 5). The biggest problem they face is that Sydney suffers from Muscular Dystrophy and is confined to a wheelchair. Her immobility and health problems only accentuate the effects of the flood. In the aftermath of the flood Officer Schulte takes his daughter to summer camp, comes home to clean, and then returns to work. Although Officer Schulte has proved himself as a brave and courageous police officer in his everyday work and in his efforts after the flood, he finds it difficult to tell his wife that their wedding pictures were lost in the flood.

Marie Brightman

Marie works in the Records room of the Cedar Rapids Police Department. She lives at home with her dog, located across from the Cedar Rapids Police Department. Despite losing everything in her basement to the flood, Marie has been at work constantly. She currently acts as the head of inventory in documenting the department’s losses and was allowed to enter the PD when she was not allowed to enter her own home.

Officer Wayne Handeland

Officer Handeland was working on Wednesday night when his wife, Angie, called to say that they needed to evacuate. Angie and a friend moved everything of importance to them to an upstairs room but lost their furnace, freezer, washer, and dryer to the flood. Their home has sustained immeasurable damage but Officer Handeland continues to work and support others in this time of need.

Officer Jessica Long

Officer Long had just moved out of her home when the flood came. Although she had just moved out she had not yet removed everything from the basement. Her house also suffered water damage to her basement and laundry room and has severely weakened the foundation.

Jean Novak

Jean is an administrative secretary in the Police Department. She is married to Steve who has a repair shop in the downtown area. The floodwater was 10 feet high in the shop. Although they were able to save several belts that were hung high on the wall, they lost everything else to the flood.

Sheryl Daves

Sheryl works in the Records Room of the Cedar Rapids Police Department. Massive amounts of floodwater tore through her home and she lost all her possessions. She has no furniture, no clothing, and no resources. As a single mom, Sheryl is struggling to survive with her children.

Officer Sherry Lester

Officer Lester’s cabin on the Wapsi River was destroyed by floodwater. The rising water left significant damage to the cabin and destroyed all her furnishings.

Aerial Gilbert’s entry into a place of loss was traumatic, sudden and like most loss, it was profound and personal. This is just a glimpse into what she has done with her loss, her heroic journey and teaching us what is possible. She is one of the most inspiring human beings I have known from my past, and have been so blessed to recently reunite with her. She was my Uncle’s wife and such a gift of a human being to me as a child. The imprint she left upon my heart was indelible, and I am sure, the brilliance of her courage will leave an imprint on your heart you will not soon forget.

With gratitude and Grace, Anna

“March 28, 1988, my life changed forever. When I finished my shift as a pediatric nurse at Marin General Hospital, my eyes felt irritated. I put in some over-the-counter eye drops I’d bought at a store. As soon as I felt the pain, I knew something was terribly wrong. I found out later that the drops had been adulterated with lye. I was that one-in-ten-million person who becomes a random victim of tampering. Suddenly I was a toddler in a 34-year-old body. Over the next six months I stayed at home, didn’t do anything but listen to books and music, and thought my life as I knew it was over…” Read on

A ROW IN THE DARK
by AERIAL GILBERT

Carey Chenoweth, Aerial Gilbert and Perry Heffelfinger
The fog was dense and the sun would not be up for another hour. Somewhere behind us was Catalina Island, somewhere in front the California coast. Just moments before my rowing partner, Perry Heffelfinger, and I had put our oars in the water for the start of the 1999 Annual Catalina Crossing, a 33- mile race across open ocean. Perry tried to keep Melee, our escort boat, and her husband, Carey Chenoweth, rowing his single scull nearby, in view, but with the fog and the ocean swells, it became increasingly difficult. I felt the fog on my face and the only sounds were our blades entering the water, the creak of the oarlocks, and our nervous, rapid breathing. Soon I could feel Perry’s oars chattering on the water, and her voice became increasingly tense. “Let’s try the walkie-talkie and see if we can raise Melee,” I suggested. No response. Next we tried the cell phone and again there was no response. Perry saw lights from other escort boats and decided to chase down one of them. We increased the power, but after a few minutes it was no use; our escort was out of sight and seemingly unreachable. Shut in as if in a shrinking room, walls and ceiling closing in, Perry and I suddenly were on equal footing—because I am blind.

We now had to rely on our navigation equipment: a compass and the Geographical Positioning System, or GPS, which we were not very familiar with. We set our compass heading for Marina del Rey and rowed on alone.

In the silence I thought about when I first began rowing in college. I had participated in other sports, but none gave me the joy that rowing provided. The physical skill and teamwork balanced with power was as beautiful to experience as it was to watch, for I still had my sight back then. I looked at rowing as a metaphor for life, individuals working together to eke the most out of their effort. After college, I joined the Sausalito Rowing Club and enjoyed all that San Francisco Bay had to offer—the sea life, the birds. Rowing opened up a new and versatile way to explore Richardson Bay under the Golden Gate Bridge, through Raccoon Straits and around Angel Island. I could imagine the region at different periods of time—when the Indians lived on the land, when Jack London stole oysters from the bay, or when the Liberty Ships were built in Sausalito.

March 28, 1988, my life changed forever. When I finished my shift as a pediatric nurse at Marin General Hospital, my eyes felt irritated. I put in some over-the-counter eye drops I’d bought at a store. As soon as I felt the pain, I knew something was terribly wrong. I found out later that the drops had been adulterated with lye. I was that one-in-ten-million person who becomes a random victim of tampering. Suddenly I was a toddler in a 34-year-old body. Over the next six months I stayed at home, didn’t do anything but listen to books and music, and thought my life as I knew it was over. Then an acquaintance from the boathouse called and said, “I am taking you out rowing in a double.” She told me that I didn’t need to see to row and that she would steer the boat. The skeptical owner of the boathouse nervously agreed to let me try. I instantly remembered my technique and realized that sight wasn’t important. For the first time I was able to escape for a few moments the ever-present awareness of being blind, and just feel the boat and the oars as I moved my body in the coordinated rhythm of the stroke.

Over the next couple of years I mastered techniques that would allow me to live a normal life without sight. I attended the Orientation Center for the Blind in Albany, California, where I learned independent mobility with a cane, reading and writing in Braille, how to cook and live independently. I attended Guide Dogs for the Blind, where I got my first Guide Dog, Webster, a yellow Labrador retriever. On my first walk with Webster I got an inkling that I could walk as fast as everyone else and I could move without evaluating every step I took. With my regained dignity and self esteem, I went back to work at Marin General Hospital, first developing x-rays, and then as a medical transcriber. I also volunteered at Guide Dogs, giving tours of the their campus. In 1994 I was hired full time as their Director of Volunteers, and currently manage 425 volunteers who work in many capacities on the San Rafael campus.

Aerial (left) and her rowing partner Perry Heffelfinger prepare for the 1999 Catalina Crossing.
On New Years Day 1998 I was introduced to Perry Heffelfinger, who had rowed the Catalina Crossing for nine years in a single rowing shell. Perry wanted to row Catalina one last time in a single, but asked if I would consider rowing with her in a double in 1999. Could I row for six hours continuously? Was I strong enough? Could I endure the pain? Was I good enough to row with Perry? In 1998 we tested the waters together. Perry hadn’t spent much time rowing in a double. It was awkward at first, having to consider another person in the boat, keeping our strokes in unison, Perry talking me through what she wanted me to do. In the beginning we were like two teenagers learning how to dance together—we needed some time to get coordinated in the boat. We decided we would first attempt a short race before committing to Catalina. We entered the Open Ocean Rowing Regatta (OORR) in May 1999 and came in second behind the US Women’s National Rowing Champions, with a respectable time of 1 hour 15 minutes in this 8 mile race. Perry realized I had the stamina and strength to match hers, and that Catalina in a double was possible.

We needed a double rowing shell we could borrow for the race, a rack and vehicle to transport the boat, and a powered escort boat to transport us out to the island and guide us through the race with a crew to cheer us. Bill Erklans at the OORR agreed to let us borrow his double for Catalina, a 29-foot Maas Dragonfly.

Aerial and Perry still smiling after a hard workout
Twice a week Perry and I would row for two hours, and, if conditions allowed, we would row around Angel Island. I joined a local gym and did weight training to increase my strength. We also did one twenty-mile row in preparation for the distance. Many details had to be considered–what to drink and eat during the race, what to wear, equipment such as life preservers, a compass, a Global Positioning System device, walkie-talkies, a cellular phone, seat pads, lights, and flares. I read the few accounts of the race that exist and talked to veterans of the race. The one common thread that all agreed to was that the race doesn’t really begin until the last two hours. The contest is truly against yourself, against your desire to quit because of the pain. I heard stories of seasickness, near-misses with freighters, and rough conditions. However, they were unanimous in their sense of great satisfaction in completing the race.

To be continued….in the next issue of Incredible People you’ll read about Aerial Gilbert’s amazing 32 mile race in the Catalina Crossing. Don’t miss it!

You can read more on Aerial and her current pursuit and triumph of heading to the Beijing Paralympics in 2008. I have posted a link to her blog which has amazing photos, more of her words and some incredible films on her rowing, training and achieving her dreams.

http://home.earthlink.net/~gdbdeanne/worlds2003/

Aerial Gilbert’s entry into a place of loss was traumatic, sudden and like most loss, it was profound and personal. This is just a glimpse into what she has done with her loss, her heroic journey and teaching us what is possible. She is one of the most inspiring human beings I have known from my past, and have been so blessed to recently reunite with her. She was my Uncle’s wife and such a gift of a human being to me as a child. The imprint she left upon my heart was indelible, and I am sure, the brilliance of her courage will leave an imprint on your heart you will not soon forget.

With gratitude and Grace, Anna

“March 28, 1988, my life changed forever. When I finished my shift as a pediatric nurse at Marin General Hospital, my eyes felt irritated. I put in some over-the-counter eye drops I’d bought at a store. As soon as I felt the pain, I knew something was terribly wrong. I found out later that the drops had been adulterated with lye. I was that one-in-ten-million person who becomes a random victim of tampering. Suddenly I was a toddler in a 34-year-old body. Over the next six months I stayed at home, didn’t do anything but listen to books and music, and thought my life as I knew it was over…” Read on

A ROW IN THE DARK
by AERIAL GILBERT

Carey Chenoweth, Aerial Gilbert and Perry Heffelfinger
The fog was dense and the sun would not be up for another hour. Somewhere behind us was Catalina Island, somewhere in front the California coast. Just moments before my rowing partner, Perry Heffelfinger, and I had put our oars in the water for the start of the 1999 Annual Catalina Crossing, a 33- mile race across open ocean. Perry tried to keep Melee, our escort boat, and her husband, Carey Chenoweth, rowing his single scull nearby, in view, but with the fog and the ocean swells, it became increasingly difficult. I felt the fog on my face and the only sounds were our blades entering the water, the creak of the oarlocks, and our nervous, rapid breathing. Soon I could feel Perry’s oars chattering on the water, and her voice became increasingly tense. “Let’s try the walkie-talkie and see if we can raise Melee,” I suggested. No response. Next we tried the cell phone and again there was no response. Perry saw lights from other escort boats and decided to chase down one of them. We increased the power, but after a few minutes it was no use; our escort was out of sight and seemingly unreachable. Shut in as if in a shrinking room, walls and ceiling closing in, Perry and I suddenly were on equal footing—because I am blind.

We now had to rely on our navigation equipment: a compass and the Geographical Positioning System, or GPS, which we were not very familiar with. We set our compass heading for Marina del Rey and rowed on alone.

In the silence I thought about when I first began rowing in college. I had participated in other sports, but none gave me the joy that rowing provided. The physical skill and teamwork balanced with power was as beautiful to experience as it was to watch, for I still had my sight back then. I looked at rowing as a metaphor for life, individuals working together to eke the most out of their effort. After college, I joined the Sausalito Rowing Club and enjoyed all that San Francisco Bay had to offer—the sea life, the birds. Rowing opened up a new and versatile way to explore Richardson Bay under the Golden Gate Bridge, through Raccoon Straits and around Angel Island. I could imagine the region at different periods of time—when the Indians lived on the land, when Jack London stole oysters from the bay, or when the Liberty Ships were built in Sausalito.

March 28, 1988, my life changed forever. When I finished my shift as a pediatric nurse at Marin General Hospital, my eyes felt irritated. I put in some over-the-counter eye drops I’d bought at a store. As soon as I felt the pain, I knew something was terribly wrong. I found out later that the drops had been adulterated with lye. I was that one-in-ten-million person who becomes a random victim of tampering. Suddenly I was a toddler in a 34-year-old body. Over the next six months I stayed at home, didn’t do anything but listen to books and music, and thought my life as I knew it was over. Then an acquaintance from the boathouse called and said, “I am taking you out rowing in a double.” She told me that I didn’t need to see to row and that she would steer the boat. The skeptical owner of the boathouse nervously agreed to let me try. I instantly remembered my technique and realized that sight wasn’t important. For the first time I was able to escape for a few moments the ever-present awareness of being blind, and just feel the boat and the oars as I moved my body in the coordinated rhythm of the stroke.

Over the next couple of years I mastered techniques that would allow me to live a normal life without sight. I attended the Orientation Center for the Blind in Albany, California, where I learned independent mobility with a cane, reading and writing in Braille, how to cook and live independently. I attended Guide Dogs for the Blind, where I got my first Guide Dog, Webster, a yellow Labrador retriever. On my first walk with Webster I got an inkling that I could walk as fast as everyone else and I could move without evaluating every step I took. With my regained dignity and self esteem, I went back to work at Marin General Hospital, first developing x-rays, and then as a medical transcriber. I also volunteered at Guide Dogs, giving tours of the their campus. In 1994 I was hired full time as their Director of Volunteers, and currently manage 425 volunteers who work in many capacities on the San Rafael campus.

Aerial (left) and her rowing partner Perry Heffelfinger prepare for the 1999 Catalina Crossing.
On New Years Day 1998 I was introduced to Perry Heffelfinger, who had rowed the Catalina Crossing for nine years in a single rowing shell. Perry wanted to row Catalina one last time in a single, but asked if I would consider rowing with her in a double in 1999. Could I row for six hours continuously? Was I strong enough? Could I endure the pain? Was I good enough to row with Perry? In 1998 we tested the waters together. Perry hadn’t spent much time rowing in a double. It was awkward at first, having to consider another person in the boat, keeping our strokes in unison, Perry talking me through what she wanted me to do. In the beginning we were like two teenagers learning how to dance together—we needed some time to get coordinated in the boat. We decided we would first attempt a short race before committing to Catalina. We entered the Open Ocean Rowing Regatta (OORR) in May 1999 and came in second behind the US Women’s National Rowing Champions, with a respectable time of 1 hour 15 minutes in this 8 mile race. Perry realized I had the stamina and strength to match hers, and that Catalina in a double was possible.

We needed a double rowing shell we could borrow for the race, a rack and vehicle to transport the boat, and a powered escort boat to transport us out to the island and guide us through the race with a crew to cheer us. Bill Erklans at the OORR agreed to let us borrow his double for Catalina, a 29-foot Maas Dragonfly.

Aerial and Perry still smiling after a hard workout
Twice a week Perry and I would row for two hours, and, if conditions allowed, we would row around Angel Island. I joined a local gym and did weight training to increase my strength. We also did one twenty-mile row in preparation for the distance. Many details had to be considered–what to drink and eat during the race, what to wear, equipment such as life preservers, a compass, a Global Positioning System device, walkie-talkies, a cellular phone, seat pads, lights, and flares. I read the few accounts of the race that exist and talked to veterans of the race. The one common thread that all agreed to was that the race doesn’t really begin until the last two hours. The contest is truly against yourself, against your desire to quit because of the pain. I heard stories of seasickness, near-misses with freighters, and rough conditions. However, they were unanimous in their sense of great satisfaction in completing the race.

To be continued….in the next issue of Incredible People you’ll read about Aerial Gilbert’s amazing 32 mile race in the Catalina Crossing. Don’t miss it!

You can read more on Aerial and her current pursuit and triumph of heading to the Beijing Paralympics in 2008. I have posted a link to her blog which has amazing photos, more of her words and some incredible films on her rowing, training and achieving her dreams.

http://home.earthlink.net/~gdbdeanne/worlds2003/

Campbell, a December 2005 Murray State graduate, was snorkeling in Florida when she was fatally attacked by an alligator in early May.

An art major, Campbell devoted much of her time to drawing, printmaking and photography. Dawn Yankeelov, Campbell’s mother, said art was a constant presence in her daughter’s life. “When I was a reporter in Florida, I used to take her to meetings I would cover and she would take a box of crayons and color pictures for people at the meetings,” Yankeelov said. >More…

These poems are from Dawn Yankeelov. Her daughter Annmarie was killed on 14 May, 2006. I believe this was Mothers Day. >More…

I’d rather eat ten penny nails than go to a victim’s impact panel and listen to a lineup of broken people tell the story of how their life was forever changed by a drunk driver.

But a friend of mine asked me to go for support as she told her story, an ordeal she goes through every month the panel meets.

After promising to go, I put it off for months. Finally, I could put it off no longer. I went. Her story and the others broke my heart. These are tales of dreams destroyed. Get a tissue before you start reading one story, the story of Grace. You are going to need it. >More…