This weekend I attended the Memorial Ceremony for Anthony Shadid. As I snuggled into a seat on the third row at the Civic Center, surrounded by people I knew, Tyler Hicks was pointed out to me. He was the photographer that was with Anthony when he died. He came over and hugged a person directly in front of me. He embraced several people. They were individuals I think he primarily knew through Anthony, and my guess is, not that well. Yet I took notice of how he enveloped each person. Tyler hugged like Anthony used to hug, an uninhibited full body embrace. It was nice. I immediately liked him. A lot.
The service began and the Master of Ceremonies was the U.S Ambassador to Syria. It was the most beautifully orchestrated service I have ever attended. Over the course of two hours, a dozen speakers ranging from editors at the Washington Post and New York Times were interspersed with teachers, friends and family. Tyler was the fourth person to speak on Anthony's behalf. He had worked with him for several years, and had even been held captive in Libya with Anthony. Yet Tyler didn't recount the days they spent being beaten and tortured, but rather commented on the "insignificant small things he remembered," like the advice Anthony had given him about speaking in public. He didn't mention Anthony's last moments, but instead shared the story of how happy Anthony had been just days before. At a spur-of-the-moment party with Syrian activists. Anthony, arms in the air, merrily clapping with military objectors as they played music and sang. It was a nice memory and referenced by others as they took their turn at the podium. Speakers conveyed awe at Anthony's exemplary professional accomplishments, while others emotionally remembered Anthony as a son, brother, husband and father. The influence of Anthony's life was vast and immeasurable. A friend of mine later compared him to the likes of Will Rogers, which seemed appropriate. Sitting there, it felt like being part of a historical event. I think that feeling was real.
Hours later, I continued to ruminate about everything I had seen and heard at the ceremony. My thoughts swirled around Anthony's last journey to Syria. His life path of adventure and spontaneous community. His completely unexpected life-ending asthma attack. Shocking. Of all the things, asthma. Growing up, I was unaware that Anthony even had asthma. The circumstances surrounding his death struck a cord with me though. And I thought of Tyler. For me, the horror of that moment was palpable even though I really didn't know details. Until I read the New York Times article by Tyler, seemingly written moments after his good friend's memorial.* The first part of the article was an attempt to summarize the political upheaval in Syria. The second half were details about Anthony's death. I have read it several times since yesterday. Each time I cry and cry. And each time, I visualize Tyler. Frantically trying to save his friend. The shock. The helplessness.
I have replayed a similar death scenario in my mind for most of my life. Many summers ago, my mom was driving my brother to the hospital during one of his frequent childhood asthma attacks. Due to construction on Memorial Road, traffic was heavy. My brother was struggling to breathe, his face pressed against an air conditioning vent for more air. Stuck in gridlock, my brother collapsed. He stopped breathing. My mother rolled down the window and screamed for help. She frantically yelled at a construction worker to help her. The stranger got in the car and performed CPR all the way to the hospital where my brother was officially pronounced dead in the ER. When a friend came to get my mom, she wouldn't leave my brother's side and keep repeating, "He's cold...he's so cold..." I wasn't there, but the snapshot of my mom, in the car, helpless, will always be with me. And, because of that, my heart goes out to Tyler. Flagging down a truck, taking Anthony to a village clinic, risking the lives of himself and others in the vain attempt to revive him. And the treacherous journey back to Turkey with smugglers, sneaking Anthony's body through barbed wire, to get him out of Syria. It almost resembles a hero's tale, but it's all too real...and horrific...and tragic beyond measure.
I didn't get a chance to meet Tyler while he was in Oklahoma. I probably never will. But if I could convey one message to him, it would be to thank him. To thank him for being there. For fighting for Anthony's life. For his courage to write about the event and fill in the details surrounding his death. Most of all, I am thankful to Tyler for carrying Anthony over the border. So Anthony could actually come home to his family. For this, Tyler Hicks, I am most thankful.
* Story in NYT wrtten by Tyler Hicks:
https://myaccount.nytimes.com/auth/login?URI=http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/04/world/middleeast/bearing-witness-in-syria-a-war-reporters-last-days.html
Monday, March 5, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Remembering Anthony
Anthony Shadid. To say that I knew him well would be misleading. We grew up in the same neighborhood. I hung out with him in college. It was never a romantic thing, but I liked him. I really really liked him. He was part of the fabric of my youth. As years passed, whenever someone would mention his name, I would always ask with a smile, "Wow, Anthony. How is Anthony?!" I think probably a lot of people felt that way. Anthony was special. Even at an early age, he had a profound humanity about him. A certain zen-ness that connected him to people. It was remarkable considering his jet-pack intelligence. It could have been off-putting, but instead, it was engaging...and endearing.
Fresh out of high school, I remember floating the Illinois River with a group of friends. After accidentally being tossed over-board, Anthony fished me out of the rapids and I ended up canoeing with him the rest of the day. While our friends exemplified a floating frat party, Anthony and I meandered along the river, contemplating the meaning of life. We had a cooler of beer. We were very deep. It was lazy and lovely and we were the absolute last ones to make it down the river. I can still remember coming upon our friends, cat-calling that we had finally arrived, and how their drunken merriment was so different, so out-of-place from our buddhist boat trip. I don't really remember what we talked about that day, but I do remember the babble of the river, the trees that lined the river bank and us not having a care in the world. And Anthony. I remember Anthony.
Years later, the same group of friends met up in DC. Several of us were summer interns for politicians. Anthony interned at a paper. One night, we all went to happy hour and stayed until closing. We talked about current events and politics. We were profound, yet profoundly silly. It was the kind of night where we dared each other to drink out of a shoe...and we did. When the bar closed, we all headed over to Anthony's for a night cap. We were a swerving pack of drunken scamps. The boys pushed and punched each other. One fell into the bushes while trying to pee. I remember Anthony and our friend Jeff colliding, tumbling over each other into the grass and bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Giggling. Uncontrollable giggling. We were quite a group. Upon arriving at Anthony's apartment, he put on his favorite tunes, which of course, were not on the pops hit chart. His music was magical and mysterious, and filled with lyrics from the Middle East. As we settled around the room, crashing onto the couch or floor, Anthony started his "Arab Sexy Dance". This is literally what he called it. In his khaki pants and disheveled button down shirt, he clapped and gyrated. His ancient mating dance. He loved it. And we loved him. One by one, we joined him in his Middle Eastern mosh pit. Giggling while we half danced half stumbled, pretending to know the words. Dancing with Anthony. Until the wee hours of the morning. Dancing. And giggling.
Over the years, I would occasionally hear about Anthony. I followed his career as it was reported on the news. Sometimes it was daring and great, other times it was scary and heartbreaking. I remember hearing about his divorce and was sad for him. His job was hard. His lifestyle took a strain. But he fell in love again. And got married. And had another baby. And his life was full. And big. And purposeful. From a bullet wound in the West Bank and torture in Libya to chance-of-a-lifetime interviews and Pulitzer Prizes. His life was lead in the midst of war, but when I learned of his death, I literally said out loud, "Oh Anthony. Noooooo....". The power of social media is so quick, I knew before some of his relatives. And then I learned how they were told, and how they crumbled in greif. Anthony. Sweet Anthony.
In the last 24 hours, I have been pouring over the internet, searching for more news about Anthony. About his prolific life. His impact on the world. I found one quote particularly compelling. It is from the commencement speech he gave last June at the American University of Beirut. It was in reference to his experience of being held captive in Libya and I feel it encapsulates his essence:
“There is nothing exhilarating about escaping death. Its very prospect felt to me like a poison, spreading through your body. It lingers far longer than the bruises, and it lasts long after the memories fade of hands and legs bound by wire, in scenes so familiar to me over so many years in Baghdad and all the other cauterized cities in Iraq.”
Below are posts I felt compelled to share. He meant so much to so many. But to me, I remember the canoe ride...and the dance...and the giggling. I remember Anthony.
Rolling Stone:
http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/blogs/national-affairs/in-memoriam-anthony-shadid-20120217
"Anthony Shadid: Quite simply the best":
http://www.csmonitor.com/World/Global-News/2012/0217/Anthony-Shadid-Quite-simply-the-best
Excerpts from Anthony's articles:
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2012/02/17/world/middleeast/20120217_shadid_excerpts.html
Social Media outpouring of respect:
http://thelede.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/02/17/on-twitter-an-outpouring-of-respect-for-shadid/
Fresh out of high school, I remember floating the Illinois River with a group of friends. After accidentally being tossed over-board, Anthony fished me out of the rapids and I ended up canoeing with him the rest of the day. While our friends exemplified a floating frat party, Anthony and I meandered along the river, contemplating the meaning of life. We had a cooler of beer. We were very deep. It was lazy and lovely and we were the absolute last ones to make it down the river. I can still remember coming upon our friends, cat-calling that we had finally arrived, and how their drunken merriment was so different, so out-of-place from our buddhist boat trip. I don't really remember what we talked about that day, but I do remember the babble of the river, the trees that lined the river bank and us not having a care in the world. And Anthony. I remember Anthony.
Years later, the same group of friends met up in DC. Several of us were summer interns for politicians. Anthony interned at a paper. One night, we all went to happy hour and stayed until closing. We talked about current events and politics. We were profound, yet profoundly silly. It was the kind of night where we dared each other to drink out of a shoe...and we did. When the bar closed, we all headed over to Anthony's for a night cap. We were a swerving pack of drunken scamps. The boys pushed and punched each other. One fell into the bushes while trying to pee. I remember Anthony and our friend Jeff colliding, tumbling over each other into the grass and bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Giggling. Uncontrollable giggling. We were quite a group. Upon arriving at Anthony's apartment, he put on his favorite tunes, which of course, were not on the pops hit chart. His music was magical and mysterious, and filled with lyrics from the Middle East. As we settled around the room, crashing onto the couch or floor, Anthony started his "Arab Sexy Dance". This is literally what he called it. In his khaki pants and disheveled button down shirt, he clapped and gyrated. His ancient mating dance. He loved it. And we loved him. One by one, we joined him in his Middle Eastern mosh pit. Giggling while we half danced half stumbled, pretending to know the words. Dancing with Anthony. Until the wee hours of the morning. Dancing. And giggling.
Over the years, I would occasionally hear about Anthony. I followed his career as it was reported on the news. Sometimes it was daring and great, other times it was scary and heartbreaking. I remember hearing about his divorce and was sad for him. His job was hard. His lifestyle took a strain. But he fell in love again. And got married. And had another baby. And his life was full. And big. And purposeful. From a bullet wound in the West Bank and torture in Libya to chance-of-a-lifetime interviews and Pulitzer Prizes. His life was lead in the midst of war, but when I learned of his death, I literally said out loud, "Oh Anthony. Noooooo....". The power of social media is so quick, I knew before some of his relatives. And then I learned how they were told, and how they crumbled in greif. Anthony. Sweet Anthony.
In the last 24 hours, I have been pouring over the internet, searching for more news about Anthony. About his prolific life. His impact on the world. I found one quote particularly compelling. It is from the commencement speech he gave last June at the American University of Beirut. It was in reference to his experience of being held captive in Libya and I feel it encapsulates his essence:
“There is nothing exhilarating about escaping death. Its very prospect felt to me like a poison, spreading through your body. It lingers far longer than the bruises, and it lasts long after the memories fade of hands and legs bound by wire, in scenes so familiar to me over so many years in Baghdad and all the other cauterized cities in Iraq.”
Below are posts I felt compelled to share. He meant so much to so many. But to me, I remember the canoe ride...and the dance...and the giggling. I remember Anthony.
Rolling Stone:
http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/blogs/national-affairs/in-memoriam-anthony-shadid-20120217
"Anthony Shadid: Quite simply the best":
http://www.csmonitor.com/World/Global-News/2012/0217/Anthony-Shadid-Quite-simply-the-best
Excerpts from Anthony's articles:
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2012/02/17/world/middleeast/20120217_shadid_excerpts.html
Social Media outpouring of respect:
http://thelede.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/02/17/on-twitter-an-outpouring-of-respect-for-shadid/
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