Steve Crowe

To mark my 59th birthday, I've made a list of 59 Things I'm Thankful For. 59. That I am not 60 yet 58. The wonderful people I work with 57. The wonderful people I've worked with in the past 56. That I have a job, period 55. Our nice, comfortable home 54. Opportunities to travel (e.g., Banff National Park in July) 53. A good car ('09 Honda Accord) 52. That most of my stupid mistakes are behind me. 51. Wood stove fires 50. Books and movies that make me think 49. My men's group 48. Hiking above treeline 47. Hiking poles that let me keep on trekkin' 46. Old friends who want to see me. 45. People who have believed in me 44. High school and college friends who keep secrets. Junior high friends, too 43. Courageous friends battling cancer (Laura, Betsy, Chuck, Bill, Mike, Lois, Fran) 42. That my Betsy is no longer on that list 41. Kids who laugh with and at me (Annie Kate, Charlie, Hope) 40. Moms and Dads of children with special needs 39. Good hea...

 Over the Labor Day weekend, I attended the 40th reunion of West Genesee High School in Camillus, NY, the high school I would have graduated from had my family not moved three months into my sophomore year.  I planned a reunion-within-a-reunion by getting together my fifth grade teacher at East Hill Elementary School, Mr. Campagna, and seven classmates.  First we toured the school at 9 on Saturday, then went to Panera to talk more.  These were some of the people I was with the day President Kennedy was shot, and it was fascinating to hear the impressions of each person about that day, especially Mr. C's. That day happened to be his 32nd birthday. 

In July I took my Uncle Ernie to a Red Sox game. He hadn't been in Fenway Park since the 1980s and much had changed. Around the sixth inning I noticed he was looking toward the center field bleachers as some fans tried to get The Wave going. When it finally reached us, my uncle lamely raised one hand. "What was that?!!" I asked him. I told him this was something they didn't have last time he was at a game, and so he needed to do it right. Next time he did stand up and raise both arms. "You make your 80 year old uncle stand up, that's cruel," he said. "That's another thing that's changed," I said. "There weren't many 80 year old fans last time you saw a game. 80 was old then. It's not any more." We had a great night and, just for the thrill of it, walked down a dark alley on our way back to the garage, a half mile away.

All Stories Are about People — We’re Junior High Kids Who Got Older   Published Nov. 20, 2002 5:59 p By Steve Crowe Special to Poynter Online It was great to have the chance to learn craft secrets from Jon Franklin, the godfather of narrative journalism, in his session, “All Stories are About  People.” The two-time Pulitzer Prize winner, author of “Writing for Story” and U of  Maryland professor explained the connection between character and action: Narratives have meaning Meaning is in character Action reveals character. The key, he said, is to understand the person you are writing about, and to do that you have to get into the character’s childhood. Franklin teaches his students to do psychological interviews of their subjects, to trawl for key events that provide clues to their personalities and the way they look at the world. “Once you get them to tell you the earliest memory, they’re yours,” Franklin said. “You will start to see the personality, becaus...

I like to go to other countries and ask questions in a foreign language and hear people’s answers, even though I don’t understand a word they are saying. In China, I ate water buffalo stomach – even after I knew what it was. But I would be very hesitant to visit a culture where the women first chew your food for you. When my sons were young, I had a magic screwdriver that could fix anything. One time, on a dare from my sons, I jumped off the roof of our one-story house into a snow bank. The snow did nothing to soften the blow as I went straight through to the frozen ground below. I never did that again. Photos from childhood can be very telling. In a photo of me at age 5 I have a pencil in one hand a narrow notebook in the other. I went on to become a newspaper reporter. My brother Bill is 2.5 years older than I am, but I always beat him in whiffle ball home run derby. I only pretend to be a good loser. For home repairs, like replacing a bathroom sink, I tend to tear things...

Written in 2007 I just got back from an unusual family reunion. Over half of the people in the room were blood relatives, and many of them shared my last name and good genes. But my father, grandfather and great-grandfather never knew any of them. These were distant relatives. And I do mean distant. The most recent relative I shared in common with this group was a man who lived from 1728 to 1821. This branch of the Crowe family tree moved to Nebraska in the 1800s and then began to spread out. In 1981 a few of Arthur B.’s nine adult children decided it was time the cousins knew each other, and since then, every three years, the clan gathers somewhere in the U.S. or Canada. They hang a chart of the family tree, which goes back to Ireland in the 17th century, and fill in brackets with names of the latest offspring. The pride of our family, Richard Robert, was a captain in the British army who fought on what turned out to be the losing side of the Revolutionary War, had his land in New J...

Written in 2007 Since having a total hip replacement seven weeks ago, I've been getting around on a pair of crutches. But I never complained about it. "What's not to like about it?" I'd say to sympathizers. "Pretty women hold doors for me and old people offer me seats on the bus." Today I switched to my Nordic hiking poles after my surgeon took one look at my X-rays and declared himself very pleased. With the poles, I can still keep about 25 percent of the weight off my hips or less if I want to exercise the muscles. But my time as a hobbler has opened my eyes to the kindness of strangers, especially women. Why women? There are definitely more women than men in the area where I work. But I think it also happens to be a fact that women are more sympathetic and nurturing than men, or at least more willing to act on their sympathy. The difference became very plain one day when I went for a walk and passed through several doors. I reported to my colleagues t...

Written in 2007 Every five years or so, I run into my high school classmate Ellen. We live about three miles apart, in neighboring communities -- not unusual, except for the fact that we are 150 miles away from our hometown. We just happened to have landed in the same area. The first time we bumped into each other was in a supermarket parking lot. Another time it was at a Dunkin' Donuts. Last Friday it was on a train from Boston. I was standing up to get off at the next stop when I spied a woman in sunglasses, three rows ahead looking at me as though I was a ghost from her past, which, of course, I am. Ellen and I have always taken these serendipitous moments as a gift. When we had the time, we sat down over a cup of tea or coffee, to catch up on our lives. And that's what we did on Friday. As always, I came away renewed and energized. Why is that? I wonder. I think there are three reasons. First, we share common roots. Our class had only 74 students, so everyo...

Written for Eons in 2008 Had an eerie experience at work this morning. At 11:30 a.m. I realized that I was the only person in my office. Nine empty desks. I walked over to the next office area and found only one person out of seven. A third office and only one of five. A fourth office had only one of three. "We missed the Rapture," I said, referring to that event when the "faithful" are taken up to heaven to escape the Final Judgment. "We've all been left behind." I felt sad for a moment. And then my 25-year-old colleague Lee spoke up. "That means there should be a lot of jewelry around here!" Talk about putting a positive spin on things!

The most memorable kiss of my life never left my lips. This is my sad story: For a year after college, I tried to woo the cutest and most interesting woman I had ever met. But even after we'd gotten together a half-dozen times she didn't seem to have a clue that I wanted to be more than friends. One February day we took a walk with snowshoes through a wildlife sanctuary. Soft, newly fallen snow coated the pine trees, and the sun, shining so bright, wrapped the scenery in a warm embrace. After walking for an hour, we sat down on a bench. I maneuvered my arm around her, careful to keep my hand on the back of the bench and not on her shoulder. Like an angler landing a prize bass, I knew that any abrupt movement on my part might shake her loose. So we sat there, soaking in the beauty all around us. Then, when the moment was just right, I leaned toward her. Our eyes met in a magical moment, and I gently kissed her. Well, that’s what should have happened, but it didn’t....

This is a blog I wrote for Eons in 2007. When I sat down to write my first blog I had to get past two obstacles. The first was technical and had to do with filling in forms and clicking buttons. The second was emotional and had to do with trying hard not to sound ignorant or foolish. The technical obstacle was manageable because I was surrounded by colleagues who know a lot about blogging and all things technical. When I got stuck I turned to them for help. Thanks, Pat. Thanks, Chad. But here I want to address the emotional factor because that caught me by surprise. The idea of sending my unedited thoughts out into cyberspace did not appeal to me. Maybe it's a generational thing -- many young people have no problem with it. Maybe it's a stage of life thing -- I expect everything that flows from my fingers should be profound and perfect. Maybe it's my subconscious warning me about problems that come about when I send out emails and memos on the fly. I started t...

This is a blog I wrote for Eons in 2006. This is my first blog, and the period coming up will mark the completion of my first blog sentence. There – that was it. I can revise the sentence if I want to, but I’m going to just put my thoughts out there, in the spirit of blogging, and not try to edit myself before I know what I’m saying. I’m just thinking out loud, and then I’m going to send this out into the blogosphere and see if anyone is listening. I am 54 years old and blogging is one of the things I have never done until this very moment. I must admit, at first I wasn’t too keen on the idea of blogging. But my boss, who is in his mid-30s and knows a lot about blogging, said I have to blog, so that is what I’m doing. I have been a writer and editor and even a college professor, and I believe that the secret to writing (William Zinsser) is rewriting. But that’s not what blogging is all about. Blogging is talking out loud with your fingers. It’s starting to be fun. Just thinking and wri...