My journalism journey part 14
During my five years in Anaconda, I was fortunate to have many interesting stories to cover. There were so many colorful people in the town, I wish I could remember them all. I can remember cir****tances and the people, but not all the names. It's at this time, I wish I had kept a journal. Alas, I did not. I have just my memories.
One of the most memorable people was an elderly woman, born in Serbia or Croatia (I can't remember exactly where; there were sizable populations of both ethnicities in the area) who traveled alone to Anaconda to meet her fiancé. Can you imagine the journey? By ship, by yourself, then the long train ride across the country? Then, she arrives at the train station, only to be met by a policeman instead of her intended. What has happened, she wonders. Well, the policeman tells her that her intended is working at the smelter, not to worry, he's safe, and he's just there to escort her to a house.
She marries and has children, they live in a cabin up in the mountains by Georgetown Lake. During the week, her husband is in town working at the smelter, so she's alone with the kids at this remote location. Snow socks them in many times in the winter. She lives there after the kids leave, her husband dies, as she ages and has grandkids, who urge her to move into town. She still shovels her own snow and bakes and cooks for the growing family even into her 70s and 80s. Finally, her family convinces her to move into town with them.
Even then, she still is out there shoveling snow. You have to get up early to beat her to the chores. She's a tough, resilient woman who has endured all the trials of life has thrown at her. She's into her 90s and while her grandkids beat her to the snow shoveling chores now, she still is in the kitchen, baking doughnuts for the family and for charity events.
I met her when she was 98. She had a sweet smile and spoke very softly, with a tinge of the accent of her native country. Her hands were gnarled from hard work. But her eyes sparkled when she spoke of her life, all the things she had done over the years. She didn't regret a thing.
Grandma died a few days before she would have turned 100. I felt sad she didn't reach that milestone but knew she was satisfied with all the twists and turns she had taken on the road.
Another story I wrote concerned a drunken driving accident. The man, Scott, who was a photographer took his family - his wife, mother-in-law, two children and sister - out to the Big Hole area to take senior photos of his sister, who was to be a senior in high school that fall.
They were returning home when a man, whom I'll call Bob, was driving erratically, crossed into the other lane and hit Scott's SUV head-on. He was driving drunk and without a license or insurance.
Scott's wife and mother-in-law were killed in the collision. His sister sustained minor injuries while his daughter had major injuries to her legs, spine and arms. His son had head injuries that didn't appear bad at first but later proved very serious. The boy, then 4, was pushed back to a mentality of a 2-year-old and has to relearn many things.
The girl, who was 7, was forced to endure many surgeries to get back in shape. But she still needed physical therapy to be able to what girls her age were doing.
I met the man and his family as the suspect was getting ready to be sentenced. This wasn't the first time he was driving under the influence. He had three other offenses, and his license had been revoked the last time, but he decided to drive anyway. And he was drunk again.
The court-appointed public defender pleaded that Bob's family would be punished, too, if Bob were sent to prison. He noted that Bob had been going to Alcoholics Anonymous since the accident, hadn't had a drink and had been going to scheduled check-ins.
But Bob still got sent to prison, small restitution for the family who lost loved ones and children who lost parts of their lives. How do you pay back a man who lost his wife or children who lost their mother?
As a young person, I had sometimes driven after having a few too many. It's not something of which I'm proud. After doing that story, I realized the personal toll that drunken driving took. And I resolved never to do it again.
There were other people, too, like the man who was a POW in both World War II and Korea. I met him once in a bar while doing a story about something else. We spent most of the time talking about his service record instead.
For a small town, Anaconda had more than its share of characters.
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