Barbara Smith's Blog

Barb's Blog: Bringing Home Hannie

2008-07-05T01:27:00Z

Happy Independence Day! It is one of my favorite holidays. I love the colors of patriotism, the family, and community festivities, and most of all, I love our country.

In the past week, I have spent a great deal of time reflecting on the greatness of our nation as I have been made painfully aware, once more, of the desperate situation in another country that shares a corner of my heart.

It was five years ago, on June 30^th, that I got off an airplane with our daughter Hannah Saba Smith. Hannie, as we affectionately call her, was almost four at the time, and spoke no English. Her native language is Amharic. She is Ethiopian. Her first 4^th of July was spent clinging to me. The parade was fun, and interesting, but the fireworks were frightening, and fuss being made over her by people she did not know, and could not understand, appeared to be confusing. Since then, she has also learned to love this country and appreciate this holiday. In fact it didn’t take long. Within the first year of her arrival in America I asked her what the best part about being here is. She answered: “having a family, a mom and dad and brothers, having pets, having friends, and living in a place where I can be anything I want to be when I grow up.” I then asked her what she hoped to be when she grew up and she said, enthusiastically, “a cheerleader doctor!”

Bringing Hannie to the United States was not without difficulty. It took us two years to complete the process. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Had everything worked as it should have, Hannah Saba would have arrived on American soil without me ever stepping off of it. I am grateful in retrospect for the troubles of life and the lessons they teach. Because of closed down adoption agencies, new Hague requirements, and a myriad of other troubles, I was forced to get on a plane and complete the adoption in Ethiopia. I lived there long enough to love the people, understand the culture, and respect this very poor nation that is so rich in heritage, culture, and beauty. I lived there long enough to feel pain and sorrow for a nation once again in the throws of famine.

Five years ago, I was there when the LDS Church sent famine relief to Ethiopians who were on the brink of starvation. In fact, in the midst of conducting the business of Hannie’s adoption, I covered the famine, and relief for ABC 4. The sorrow and fear-filled eyes of the women who were forced to weigh their children, to determine if they would receive the life-saving food haunt me still. If the child weighed too little, or too much, humanitarian workers from world-wide agencies would send them away until the next weigh-in. Ethiopia recovered from that drought caused famine, but the underlying problem of a lack of infrastructure, in the impoverished nation remained, leaving the perpetual threat of it happening again.

It’s happening again, only this time it’s worse. Drought has again decimated crops. Mothers are once again looking at aid workers with pleading eyes, as they decide if a baby is sick enough to eat, and in a nation of ten million people, twelve percent are in need of emergency food aid, but there is only enough food for those who are in immediate danger of starvation. This is now compounded by the fact that there is global food insecurity. Because of the rising prices of grain, oil and corn, The World Food Program has only been able to get emergency rations for half of the Ethiopians in danger of starvation. The result could be potentially catastrophic. Some aid workers are now predicting the worst crisis since the1980’s when the world watched one-million Ethiopians starve to death on the nightly news.

My heart aches for the mothers of Ethiopia. I lived there and I know they are just like all mothers. They love their children, they hope for the best for them. They dream of a better life. Now, they are dreaming of simply the opportunity for life. They are hoping that the next time their baby is weighed… the food will come. The Ethiopian government reports 75-thousand children are already in peril. I am selfishly thankful that our Hannie is not one of them. I am thankful that today she is dressed in the red white and blue of a nation that also knows poverty and suffering, but does not know the terrible desperation faced by a beautiful people in a far distant land. If you would like to know how you can help you can email me at bsmith@abc4.com

Barb's Blog Fairwell President Hinckley

2008-02-06T06:14:00Z

I am a journalist. I strive to remain fair, unbiased and impartial at all times. Occasionally, there are times when my career and my personal life briefly intersect, and burying the emotion of what is personal, is difficult as I report on what has become public. That was the case this week as I reported on the death of LDS Church President, Gordon B. Hinckley.

President Gordon B. Hinckley was an extraordinary man and leader. With his passing, all who knew him whether it was personally, from his sermons, or his writings felt a deep sense of loss. I was among them.

I had the opportunity to meet President Hinckley on three occasions. Each was memorable for me. On the first occasion, I was covering the return of the University of Utah basketball team. They were returning from their national championship game to a hero’s welcome, and a special parade in downtown Salt Lake City.

I was gathering interviews along the parade route with my photographer, and in the process, I had also gathered three small University of Utah flags being waved by enthusiastic fans. Even though I graduated from BYU…they thought I should share in their joy. I had planned to take them home to my boys. While on the parade route, I received a frantic phone call from ABC 4. I was informed that President Hinckley, President Monson, and President Faust were, unexpectedly, on the steps of the administration building. I was asked to run (literally because we had been dropped off by a news van and didn’t have a car) to the office building, and try to catch them on camera as the Ute’s float went by. We ran four city blocks. They were still there, and the float had not yet passed by! I attempted to run up the steps to where the First Presidency stood and was quickly surrounded by very stern looking security officers. The commotion caused President Hinckley to look down, and our eyes met. It suddenly occurred to me that I had three flags, that there were three of them, and that they, as Ute alum, would want, and need them more than me. I raised the flags in invitation. The President beckoned me up. He was genuinely grateful, and it was fun to see his enthusiasm in that moment. I gave the other two flags to President Monson, and President Faust, and only a moment later the Ute float carrying the honored basketball team passed by. The three stood together waving the flags and singing “A Utah Man Am I.” It was a joy to share that unique moment in time. President Hinckley then said a few words on camera about his pride in the team and their representation of Utah.

My second encounter with President Hinckley occurred the day his best seller “Standing for Something” was released. He called a press conference to talk about the book. I had been given an advance copy and read it the night before. I was struck that it was both simple and profound. During the interview I asked specific questions about the book. In particular, I remember asking him about his definition of the media “nattering nay bobs of negativity”. He answered the question candidly and with his notorious wit and humor. It was a tremendous opportunity to sit down with him in a room with only a handful of my colleagues from other media outlets. President Hinckley left the room following the interview. The other photographers and journalists had packed up their lights and already gone. My photographer was waiting for a light to cool so we could pack it away, so we remained. President Hinckley’s public relations officer popped his head in and asked if I had a moment. I told him that I did, and asked if there was something I could help him with. He said “The Prophet would like to see you in his office.” My heart skipped a beat. I suppose I should have been full of joy, but for a brief moment I was very concerned that I had done something to offend him in some way. I responded with “Why??” I was assured that he had simply noticed that I had obviously read his book and he wanted to know what I thought of it. I was ushered into President Hinckley’s office. I was overwhelmed by that meeting, and it is one that I will forever remember. He was so humble, and genuine, and loving. The sparkle in his eyes was remarkable. I looked around at the trappings of his office. It was large, and comfortable, tidy, but also the office of a man who was very busy. Our meeting was short. He asked me what I thought of “Standing for Something” I told him it was timely, well written, and that it would be a best seller. I’m not good at predictions, but that time, I was right. We spent a few more minutes in personal conversation, and I left feeling that, for a brief moment, I had been touched by greatness.

The last time I saw him in person he was with Marjorie. They were at Utah Valley State College and were receiving honorary degrees. I happened to be on the Board of Trustees for the college at that time. I sat next to Marjorie during the ceremony. At one point, she kindly reached over, and gave my hand a squeeze. I remember wishing that I could be more like her and hoping that in my elderly years I would be as spry, kind, and intelligent. What a wonderful woman she was. What a perfect companion for him! He spoke that day, and was his usual witty and wise self…then she spoke and I remember thinking she was his equal in every respect. She may even have been more witty and humorous than him on that day. I remember looking on in awe of their relationship with one another. Their deep love was so apparent.

These are just my small remembrances of a giant of a man. I shall miss him greatly along with so many of you. I will miss him personally for many reasons, but I will miss him professionally too, for his openness towards the media. I will miss his willingness to sit down with journalists, and candidly answer questions, whether it was nationally renowned journalist such as with Mike Wallace of 60 Minutes, Larry King of Larry King Live, or even me.

Barb's Blog Thanksgiving

2007-11-23T04:18:00Z

THANKSGIVING

My country, ‘tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died Land of the pilgrims pride”. Every morning, from Kindergarten through fourth grade, I sang this song with all of the gusto of childhood. It always followed the Pledge of Allegiance. It caused me to think, even at an early age, about the Pilgrims on a regular basis.

Now, so many years later as an adult, I confess that I rarely think of those first settlers. But I always do on Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving at my house is a race to get the turkey on the table, hot, along with all of the other items that also must be served hot. It’s a busy holiday for those in the kitchen. To bring things back into perspective, about fifteen years ago, I started putting twelve cornels of corn on every plate. When family and friends are gathered at last, the story of the Pilgrims is told.

In 1620 they set off on the Mayflower. They came to this new land for religious freedom, and opportunity to create a better life. The journey across the ocean was difficult. Their ship almost broke apart, tossed upon treacherous waters. When they finally arrived on the sand dunes of Cape Cod, their troubles were far from over. Half of the Pilgrims died that first winter, more women than men; they froze, and starved to death. That brings me back to the cornels of corn our plates this afternoon. Legend has it, that at one point, the Pilgrims were rationed to twelve pieces of corn a day. Still, despite incredible personal loss, and abject poverty, this group found reason to give thanks. So, before we eat our turkey, yams, stuffing, salads, etc. each guest shares twelve things they are thankful for. It was a tradition initially met with resistance, but oddly, now is one looked forward to. It ends in tears of gratitude for most.

I am thankful this Thanksgiving for Thanksgiving itself. I am hopeful that the continual encroachment of Christmas marketing will not diminish the celebration this holiday. We owe a debt of gratitude to those first Pilgrims. They showed courage, persistence (when offered a ride back to England on the Mayflower, not one accepted) and above all, they showed gratitude. They laid the foundation for the nation that we enjoy today. “Let freedom ring.”

Changing Seasons

2007-10-03T03:32:00Z

I love the seasons, but not equally. I have come to accept winter, and even enjoy it, at least more than I did when I was growing up.

I grew up in Midway, Utah in a wonderful old pioneer home built in the late 1800’s. The farmhouse started out as a two room dwelling that had been added onto many times over its history. The original dwelling is made of native pot-rock and those deep walls provided natural insulation against the cold and the heat, but the windows, also from the pioneer era, let in a mighty draft when the snow started to blow. In Midway we got a lot of snow. There were times when it drifted over my head and up to the windows of that old house. Getting to the door required walking through a tunnel of snow and ice, painstakingly removed from the walkway with my Dad’s shovel and a lot of persistence. The path to our barn was icy, and seemed much longer in the winter months, as we traversed it to care for our livestock. It was so cold waiting for the yellow school bus in the mornings that my breath would freeze before it could leave my nose. So it is no small wonder, I suppose, that I didn’t like winter much. It meant long hours spent indoors, bundled in sweaters, waiting for spring to come, so I could head back outdoors to climb trees, ride horses, and work in my parent’s garden, and go camping and fishing.

Fall represented the end of summer to me and nothing more. The return of sunflowers meant the return of school days. The reds and oranges meant the return of snow and dark winter days ahead. I am not sure when I became wild about fall…when it became my favorite season. It happened gradually, like the changing of the leaves. But now, I look to the mountains in late August, searching for the most subtle changes in hue. Looking forward to the stunning reds, oranges, and yellows and muted browns. A drive up one of our magnificent canyons is a tradition. Vivaldi’s Four Season’s is the perfect companion for such an excursion. It always leaves me in awe of the beauty of Utah and feeling grateful that we have four seasons. Sure, I know that the snow will follow. This year, it came early. But, I have come to enjoy the beauty and stillness of winter as well. I enjoy warm fires, fuzzy socks and sweaters, and crisp frozen mornings that catch your breath. I have learned to treasure the moments of life…even the cold and dark ones.

BARBS BLOG/THE PERIL OF MIDNIGHT GARDENING

2007-07-11T01:59:00Z

I love flower gardening! I find a lot of satisfaction in taking a weed choked spot of my backyard, and bringing it to life with splashes of color. I lose track of time when my hands touch dirt. Maybe that’s why I like it so much. It’s a relaxing and creative process.

My last gardening experience however, was anything but relaxing! The heat of the day made getting those tender plants I had purchased into the ground less desirable. It was the day before Independence Day. I had a crowd coming for BBQ and to watch fireworks. I wanted the yard to look good. I looked at the plants a couple of times, but the thermometer was reading close to one-hundred. I decided to wait until the sun set.

The rest of the Smith clan headed off to the movies to escape the heat. I decided it was a perfect opportunity to get those plants in. The evening was sultry, but pleasant. The sounds of the neighborhood reflected the impending holiday. The teen neighbor next door was having a jam session complete with a drummer and electric guitars. As I prepared the bed and began to lay down weed barrier, they were unwittingly serenading me with old seventies rock tunes. I smiled to myself and wondered how they had been introduced to the songs they were playing. Dogs barked, and kids shrieked as they played games of chase, and the sound of an occasional fire cracker caused me to worry about the status of fire safety in my neighborhood.

It was late when I busted through the backyard gate with my red wheelbarrow loaded to the brim with plants, decorative rocks, and bark. I was now in a hurry, anxious to get the plants into the ground before everyone returned from the movie. As I came down the slight slope into the yard, the load began to shift. My focus went immediately to the maroon snap dragons, now hanging perilously from the side of the wheel barrow. I was so focused on them that I failed to notice the bright yellow sprinkler in front of me. It’s the fun kind. It sprays sideways in rotation while creating a fountain in the middle. It’s perfect for running through on a hot summer day. In fact, I bought it for my kids with that purpose in mind. It conveniently has wheels on the back for easy movement. It was only a fraction of a second, but the ride I took on the sprinkler seemed a lot longer! It ended up sliding to the left, my ankle twisted the same direction, and the wheel barrow turned over to the right. I haven’t felt that kind of pain in years! I screamed for a minute. I admit it. But the band next door played on, the house was dark, and now from another house in the neighborhood blared the sounds of “God Bless America”. There was no one to hear. It was better that way, really.

I took deep breaths, and my thoughts oddly turned back to gardening as I lay flat on my back, writhing in pain, and staring at the tree overhead. I decided it was lovely from that angle, and didn’t need to be topped after all. I got up, put weight on my left foot, and contemplated the idea something might be broken. Then, I finished planting with a flurry, knowing the next day I wouldn’t be able to walk. On the fourth I made soft ice cream, in a soft cast on my left ankle, in between soaking in an ice bucket.

My ankle still looks terrible. It’s swollen and almost as colorful as the pink, purple and maroon garden I planted, which by the way, looks great! I just wish I had planted it in the daylight.

BARB'S BLOG: RUNNING/LOVE&HATE

2007-06-15T03:31:00Z

If you think running hurts, try chemo. I had to remind myself of that a few times while running the 13.1 in San Diego…because really, running does hurt. It helped to be running for a reason. It helped to remind myself of the people I know, and have recently met, who find hope in the money raised for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society. When things got hard, and they did, I thought of them, and everyone of you who contributed. Because of all of you, I was named top fundraiser in the nation by the Leukemia Lymphoma Society. It’s a huge honor, and one I share proudly with you.

It was an interesting race for me. In fact, the whole running experience has been a bit of an adventure.

Training: It’s rigorous and time consuming. One of the benefits of Team in Training is that you are actually missed by your team if you don’t show up for your Saturday run, unlike the nameless folks at the gym, who don’t know you have a goal of any kind. The runs consumed a good portion of Saturday mornings for about six months. The benefit; new and wonderful friends who were fun to spend time with. Other benefits: being able to run up and down a long flight of stairs without gasping for air, trying to pretend that you aren’t winded. Then, there are those muscles in my calves, wow, so there are actually muscles in the lower leg? I had no idea; I had never seen them before. They were also the ones that complained the most after the long runs.

Race 1 Salt Lake Marathon: 13.1 that’s longest run I’ve ever done in my life. I know that there are plenty of you out there that have done the 26.2, but this was HUGE for me. The start of the race was really exciting. So many runners! It was almost a party atmosphere, great music, free Gatorade! That excitement lasted to about mile six. Then fatigue set in. Luckily, some of you were waiting for me on the race route, cheering me on with signs and encouragement. I appreciate you. I also appreciate the Barber Shop owner in Sugarhouse for the use of his restroom facility. One of the distinct downsides of marathon running are the porta-potties.

At mile eight there was a cheer station set up with people from ABC4 and friends from the Leukemia Lymphoma Society. Thanks for the hugs, and the orange Gatorade. You wouldn’t believe how much a different flavor can be appreciated!

Mile ten was where I decided that running is really a mental exercise. I was full of positive self-talk at that point. I can do this, just a few miles more, but by mile twelve, not so positive, and not feeling so good, thinking unhappy thoughts.

That’s when the Team in Training Coach ran out to greet me. It’s a tradition for TNT. Coach Dave ran about 42-miles that day. It was an odd thing. I hadn’t liked running with Coach Dave much to that point. He’s a super nice guy, but he always made me run farther, and faster than I wanted to go. That’s kind of his job as coach after all. Seeing him at the end of that marathon was like seeing my dearest friend. I suddenly just LOVED him. He was coming after me, bringing me home. He encouraged me to run across that finish line. I did. Then our photo-journalist Aaron Kimball, stuck a camera in my face and said how do you feel? I almost threw up. The thought of how that would look on You Tube for the next decade was all that helped me hold it together.

Race 2 San Diego, Rock and Roll Marathon: 13.1. I had done this before. I knew what to expect. I thought. The line-up for this 20-thousand person marathon was at about five in the morning. There was the same excitement and energy, and rock and roll bands too! There was plenty of free sports drink to be had, and thousands more who were running for the same cause as me.

Running at Sea Level is great! It really is. We ran around the city, and around the city and around the city. There were bands playing at every mile marker. Some were really fun. There were running Elvis’s, people with purple and green wigs, and miles and miles lined with cheering spectators. We finally left the city and ran around Balboa Park. It’s lovely. I could have happily stayed there all day running in circles. Then it was into a canyon, on a closed-down freeway. It was about mile seven. The freeway was brilliantly engineered for sports cars, sloped for efficient turns, not for knees and ankles. I met my photojournalist Todd at mile eight for Advil. From there, it was into the suburbs. There were bands playing the whole way. Every mile a new band, and Cheerleaders. I heard there were two hundred from area schools. Every step, more people to cheer you on. Mile eleven, Utah’s Team in training cheer site. Friends wearing purple and green metallic wigs with painted faces. Offering hugs and more sports drink. Two miles to go.

Mile 13.1 the finish line! What a crazy and insanely wonderful thing to do! What a great cause! I am tired, and strangely, VERY hungry. I am also happy to have been a part of it. So happy to have raised the money for research, so happy to know that maybe with the help of our Utah viewers and scientists worldwide, we will find a cure for blood cancer. So, I can’t believe I’m saying this, willing to do it all again.

BARB'S BLOG Running For A Cure

2007-06-06T22:28:00Z

She’s just a little girl; little girl who should be wondering if there really was a maiden who once escaped from a tower by letting down her hair to a handsome prince. This little girl, however is wondering when her own hair will grow back, and if chemo-therapy can really cure the Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia that has taken away her strength and her ability to live a normal childhood. This child’s name is Canyon.

Her mom recently wrote to me and shared her photo, and her heart. She said “watching a child, your child, endure chemo-therapy for cancer, and only being able to observe from the sidelines tears at your emotions. It is calming to my mind and heart knowing that your team is raising money to assist in research to find a cure for this disease.”

Their story is all too common in Utah, and nationwide. Every five minutes someone is diagnosed with Leukemia, Lymphoma or Myeloma. Every ten minutes someone loses their battle against these cancers. I know some of those people personally. My GM, David D’Antuono, our climatologist, Clayton Brough, his son Richard, and Jeff Mantle our senior audio technician are all now in remission thanks to treatments made available through research. Randy Ortiz, a dear friend, and engineer at ABC 4 was diagnosed with Myeloma. He did not make it. He’s been gone a year now and we still miss him.

ABC 4 has been a long-time supporter of the Leukemia Lymphoma Society, but this year we wanted to do more. We wanted to raise more money, create more awareness, and hopefully save lives by encouraging early detection, and funding more research and better treatments. I was asked to spearhead the movement by joining the Society’s Team in Training. I was a little reluctant in all honesty. I hadn’t run in years, and wasn’t even sure I still could if I wasn’t being chased by a large creature with teeth. I was, however, willing to try.

Training for my 13.1 miles began in the dead of winter on a frosty morning, well before sunrise at fourteen degrees. The run around Sugar House Park was only three miles but oh, it felt like so much more. I was comforted by the fact that we had great coaches to encourage us and show us how to stay injury free. The next Saturday was easier, and with each run confidence grew. As time progressed, I got to know my teammates: Dianna, who was diagnosed with Leukemia when her baby was just a toddler. She was too weak to hold him, but he would give her butterfly kisses in her sleep. Then there is Marsha, she’s a marathon runner, who was also diagnosed with blood cancer, she says she runs to live. Heather Smith runs for her little boy, he’s a toe-headed pre-schooler that will steal your heart in a heartbeat. He is still in treatment. There are way too many others with similar stories. Then there are my other teammates who were simply running to help, to help people they had never met. Each was raising money as they ran. Friends, families, and business associates came forward to aid in their efforts to fund a cure.

Our goal at ABC 4 was daunting: 30-thousand dollars. We first took our plea online, then on newscasts through the month of May. Thanks to many, many wonderful viewers who gave anywhere from two dollars, to thousands, we were able to achieve and surpass that goal. I can’t thank you enough. Thank you for caring. Thank you for contributing. Thank you for sharing your stories. Thank you.

I am headed off to do my part now. I will run with all of you in my heart. The miles will be shorter, and my feet a little lighter thanks to all of you who care enough to make the dreams of so many come true... including a little girl who just wants to be well enough to dream again. A little Utah girl named Canyon who now knows that there is a legion of support behind her in a state that never stops giving.

Race For The Cure

2007-05-16T03:04:00Z

It's one of my favorite events of the year. A day when lives are celebrated, loved ones lost are remembered, and thousands come together in once cause, dripping in pink (my favorite color) to find a cure for a terrible disease: *** cancer.

I will never forget my first Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. It was rainy and cold. I was asked to be the master of ceremonies for the event on short notice. I expected a low turn-out due to the weather. That was probably my only expectation. I was stunned at what I experienced that day! Despite a constant chilly drizzle thousands of warm hearted individuals began arriving early in the morning. Each had a story it seemed. They were there for "Nana" running for mothers, walking for sisters, carrying daughters, memorializing aunts. Running, walking, laughing, crying, suddenly we were all family. ABC4 tattoos were adhered to soggy cheeks, but despite freezing hands, it didn't feel at all cold.

I was there because I was asked to represent the station on that day. I was also there to support Wesley Ruff and his wife Val, a *** cancer survivor. It was a long battle for Val. Sadly, one that she lost less than a month after last year's race. Her courage, compassion, strengh and dignity were inspiring to the bitter end.

That first year there were not many people left at The Gateway Plaza as we finished closing remarks about our gratitude to sponsors, and as we expressed our hopes that everone would join us again the following year. The band was playing a melencholy tune when I stole the microphone and for a couple of magical moments, belted "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" It came from somewhere deep in my soul... so touched by the events of that day. I offered it as a prayer above the rain that someday, there would be a blue, blue sky; a day when pink would no longer represent a disease, but the power of a group of people to overcome it. When pink would simply just be my favorite color, and not something I wear to honor all of those who continue to fight.

This year there were 16-thousand of us at the Gateway and each step we take collectively, is one step closer.

Thanks!