Barb Caffrey's Blog

Writing the Elfyverse . . . and beyond

Archive for the ‘Remembrance’ Category

Twenty-Four Years Ago Today…

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It’s Christmas Eve in the United States. And about twenty-four years ago, it was around this time that my late husband Michael and I had the most amazing thirty-six-hour conversation in my entire life. Long distance, much via AOL Instant Messenger (still a thing in 2001), complete with raw honesty, what I’d call true bravery on both of our parts as we weren’t afraid to be vulnerable (and neither of us was drunk, or had taken any mind-altering substances as far as I know).

See, at the time, I was waiting for my second ex-husband (yes, I’ve been married three times, if I haven’t said that before or in a while) to come back to his home state and sign the divorce papers.

Mind you, I don’t want to discuss my ex here because there are reasons he’s my ex. What I want to discuss instead is the most amazing person I have ever known, my late husband Michael.

I had contemplated annulling my second marriage, but it cost too much time and too much money. That’s why I was going for a straight divorce instead, in the hopes that I’d be able to get out of the marriage faster. But it still took well over a year before my ex decided to sign the papers, mostly because by that time his then-girlfriend and soon-to-be-wife was heavily pregnant.

I truly hope he’s been a better husband to her than he ever was to me. But I digress.

Michael understood two things from the moment he met me (via a mutual friend). One, he knew right off that he was going to marry me. Two, he also knew that if he tried too hard, I’d run like Hell the other way. I’d had bad luck with men, to say the least, and I was divorcing for the second time at the age of thirty-five. I felt like a complete failure, really…I wasn’t one, but I still felt that way.

So, how did we end up having this thirty-six-hour conversation considering he knew I was gun-shy (for good reasons)? Mostly, the first couple of hours were stuff we usually talked about. Books, movies, current events, ethics, morality, you name it. We could talk for hours. He was possibly the one man I’ve ever known who types as fast as I do (as I type around 100 words per minute when I’m all warmed up). He also read as fast as I do, and so we could have these long conversations, intercut with a point from three minutes ago, intercut with another point from a half-hour ago, etc. And it didn’t bore him!

Nope. Instead, I think it enthralled him.

He was lonely, I was lonely, and there’s no doubt that was part of why we started talking that night. But what took us from a developing close friendship to a romance was how vulnerable and open we were that evening. Neither of us wanted to let the other one go. When I went to the bathroom, I’d tell him, and wait for him when he had to go. Neither of us had webcams, which might’ve been just as well (I’m sure he probably had one somewhere, but he wasn’t about to use it), as I was terrified.

Why? I mean, he already knew what I looked like. He knew I was a big, beautiful woman, what they now call a “curvy” woman. He was attracted to me. Partly for my body, I guess, but mostly for the mind and heart and spirit inside that body.

I liked his looks, too, but he could’ve looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and I’d have still wanted to be with him. (He didn’t. He was quite handsome, actually, but didn’t think so at all.) He had the most beautiful spirit, was kind-hearted, wanted to help people, would do whatever he could to make someone’s life a little better, and yet he also was witty, made me laugh on a continual basis, and him being willing to talk openly about what he wanted in a woman, and what he hadn’t found yet (as he was also divorced; he and his ex stayed friends, and I am still in contact with her, but they weren’t right for each other romantically).

Then, somewhere in those thirty-six hours, he said he thought he’d found it in me. And could we please consider ourselves courting now?

He used that old-fashioned term because it tickled him (he loved British and BBC period dramas), and partly because that’s exactly what he was doing.

Me on the verge of a second divorce did not scare him. It did not make him run away. And he was savvy enough, intelligent enough, and empathetic enough to know how to support me as I got to know him better.

There’s a reason I called him the most wonderful person ever. There actually are many.

So, twenty-four years ago today, my life changed for the better. I took a chance; he took a chance. It was the right thing to do. We were right for one another. Our marriage was a huge success by every metric he and I used: did we care about each other? Could we support one another? Did we have things we loved to do on our own as well as each other? Would we ever run out of stuff to talk about with each other? (Um, no. We never did.) Did we match in every possible way, mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually?

Yes, we did.

We had no money, of course. Neither of us was in good health, and he was in worse health than he knew considering his four sudden heart attacks in one day, culminating in death, in September of 2004. But we wrote together, and it was glorious. (I have to get the two Elfy books out again. I’m sorry it’s taking extra time. Too much going on here, I guess. And my novel Changing Faces was partly the reason he felt he could talk to me in the first place, as he figured anyone who could write that was worthy of the best things in life. He didn’t think he was that, but he wasn’t going to pass on me, either. And he thought my exes were the most foolish, ignorant men on the face of this Earth, too. If I didn’t put that in, he’d not be pleased if he could come back and read this now.) The Elfy duology would not exist without Michael. My other stories, including some set in his own far-future SF Atlantean Union universe, would not exist without Michael. Changing Faces in any form would not exist without Michael either.

Bluntly, I am the person I am today in large part because Michael loved me and he wanted what was best for me. He loved that I played music, he could read music (in all clefs, too, which is hard; yes, I can do it, but I had years of practice and he picked it up seemingly overnight), he loved it that I composed music, he insisted on doing as many household chores as he could to spare me the back and knee pain, he cooked more often than I did even though we were both good cooks, and he made my life so much easier despite all of the obstacles that were in our way.

Once upon a time, I knew that the Deity must love me, or I never would’ve found Michael at all.

If I ever find someone kind enough, good enough, willing to try enough, to be in my life again, it’s because of Michael. His love made it possible for me to see that men can be good, kind, decent, honorable, steady as a rock, encouraging, creative in his own right, quick-witted, and worthy of love in all particulars, in all spheres (mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical), and his love ultimately helped me go on as best I could, even though it did take me at least eleven years to process and even now, still, it often feels like I’m walking on broken glass, trying to pretend my feet aren’t bleeding from the pain of his loss.

So, I don’t know the answers. As I have often said here, I don’t even know the questions sometimes. But I do know that love matters. Creativity matters. Honesty and ethics and fair dealing all matter, too. Honoring the love I had with my husband, that I will have until the day I die and assuredly after as well when we are finally reunited in joy on the other side (hopefully with all the dogs and cats we loved in this life at our sides along with my father and grandmother and all the people Michael had wished I could’ve known better, including his father, who died before I ever knew Michael’s name, much less how wonderful he was).

That’s what matters to me. That’s what’s always going to matter.

May your Christmas and New Years be filled with love, happiness, peace, joy, and whatever else you need to help you have a glorious 2026 despite everything else in your life that gets in the way.

Not having money, not having health, not having a constant place to live, have all gotten in the way of my life for sure. But so long as I have one breath left in my body, I have hope. So long as I remember that a truly good, kind, loving, funny, intelligent, creative person with so many multitudinous talents as Michael loved me, I know I am worthy of that love. And that helps me, at least in part, to get in touch with the Deity in some way, even though I still do not understand why I am here and he is not.

At any rate, it was twenty-four years ago today that my life changed for the better. I think that’s worthy of celebration, even though it’s really hard to celebrate considering Michael’s been dead for twenty-one years, three months, and three days.

Tom Brady Cloned His Favorite Dog, and I Have Thoughts…

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Folks, I’ve been wrestling with this issue for several days (in addition to trying to get rid of the most recent sinus infection, doing my best to make some progress in other areas, looking for apartments, etc.), and finally figured out now is the right time to start discussing it.

Tom Brady found a company that would clone his favorite dog, named Lua, partly because he’s got a lot of money, and partly because he adored his late dog. From what I’ve read, the company that did the cloning (Colossal Biosciences) did so starting from a blood sample from Lua taken before she passed. His new dog, Junie, is a clone of Lua. (Note that Brady is an investor in this company, too.)

But here’s the thing about clones: If you can’t duplicate the exact same nurturing environment, you probably won’t get the same personality as your former animal. They have the same DNA, yes, but just as identical twin human children can have radically different personalities, so can dogs, cats, parakeets, or in one case, a rare white bull.

(I don’t know for sure that parakeets have been cloned yet, but it appears that both dogs and cats have been. The white bull that was cloned turned out to be far meaner and much less friendly than the original bull, which disappointed the farmer who’d cloned him. But I digress.)

Even if you do duplicate the exact, same nurturing environment, there are still other factors that can play into personalities. There are so many different factors that go into making a person who they are, which also goes for every other animal on Earth. That’s why identical twins can have radically different personalities, even if raised by the same family. Nurture, nature, the type of environment…all of it matters, as do so many other factors that defy description.

But back to Brady’s dog for the moment.

Bluntly, a genetic duplicate is not the same dog. While it is an exact copy of the original, Junie can’t be Lua, just as Lua couldn’t be Junie. That’s why the owner of the white bull was disappointed in part; he wanted his original bull cloned because he was exceptionally mild-mannered and gentle. However, as I said earlier, the clone of that bull was meaner, very difficult to handle, and nothing like his progenitor.

Such situations have been raised by science fiction authors in the past, mind you. The one I’m the most familiar with is Lois McMaster Bujold’s cloned character Mark Vorkosigan, a younger clone of his brother, Miles. Mark had many things inflicted on him to make him an exact physical duplicate of Miles that didn’t need to happen (read the books BROTHERS IN ARMS and MIRROR DANCE for more information on that), as Miles was damaged in utero due to a failed assassination attempt on his parents, and that obviously didn’t happen to Mark. So, the original, Miles, was only four feet, nine inches because of what happened to him, whereas Mark was biologically retrofitted to look like Miles, but had far heavier bones and would’ve most likely been close to six feet tall (if not over it) had the awful people who illegally cloned him left him alone. (The torturous things done to Mark, if thought about too much, will make anyone sick.)

So, Mark and Miles are facially identical. Their personalities are radically different. They both learn over time to function as true brothers, partly because their mother, Cordelia, was raised in a society that understands how to deal with clones legally, honestly, and completely aboveboard. (Cordelia knows Mark didn’t ask for any of this, which is one of the reasons I love Cordelia so much as a character. But again, I digress.) Mark is quite a bit heavier than Miles is, again because he was not damaged in utero, and Mark learns to use his heavier frame (he frankly says he’s obese, for whatever it’s worth, whereas Miles is skinny and often looks emaciated due to various health woes) to his own advantage.

It’s because I know all of this is as true as Lois McMaster Bujold, a writer who has a strong grounding in science, could make it that I question Tom Brady’s reasoning here. It’s wonderful that he wanted Lua to somehow live on in a successor. But Junie is not Lua, and will not behave like Lua no matter what he wants unless he gets very, very lucky. (Think again about the farmer with his cloned white bull if you don’t believe me.)

We’ve known cloning animals is possible since Dolly the sheep got cloned in 1996. Sheep don’t show as obvious of personalities as a lot of animals (though they do have them), which may be why Dolly’s personality was never called into question. At that point, geneticists were happy to have finally cloned a sheep from an adult cell (as some other sheep had been cloned in a different way back in 1984), and as Dolly the clone was mild-mannered (as most sheep tend to be), that factor was not discussed much in media accounts.

What all of this amounts to, mind you, whether you’re talking about Junie, clone of Tom Brady’s beloved dog Lua, or the fictional Mark Vorkosigan, clone of Miles Vorkosigan, is that a genetic copy — a clone — may be identical from a genetic perspective, but it’s not going to be identical in every other way unless every other factor the original had been exposed to (or had happen to them) was replicated in full. Even then, it’s still unlikely, but theoretically possible, that you’ll get a dog or bull or parakeet or whatever that acts exactly like the original/originator.

Going back to Mark Vorkosigan’s story, he had some personality traits that were just like his progenitor’s, including high intelligence, adaptability, and being able to immerse himself in a role if need be. But he was far surlier, especially at first, as life dealt him a very bad hand (the retrofitting surgeries to cut him down from the height he should’ve had to the height Miles attained due to the damage in utero were nightmarish and horrific). Mark didn’t trust easily, to say the least, and he didn’t know why anyone would want to ever do anything nice for him. (Learning exactly who he is, and who he isn’t, is the main thrust of the novel MIRROR DANCE, which I highly recommend you read.) Over time, Mark becomes a financier and philanthropist (self-made), whereas Miles pursues the military and then later becomes an Imperial Auditor (using all of his skills for the best to solve various problems, roughly). Miles couldn’t do what Mark does, while Mark not only can’t do what Miles does, he has no interest in doing it either.

That’s because they’re both people. They can’t expect to be the same. They know they aren’t no matter how identical their DNA happens to be. Different experiences, different approaches to problems…which is very human and understandable.

Anyway, Tom Brady spent fifty thousand dollars to clone Lua. He got Junie out of it. I hope Junie will be a wonderful family pet, but I also hope that Brady and his family will realize Junie is not Lua, can never be Lua, doesn’t have Lua’s memories or experiences…only has Lua’s DNA, and as Junie matures more every year, her own personality and her own memories and her own experiences will shine through.

The upshot is, while I understand and sympathize with any pet lover who wants their beloved animal back, I think it’s better to go get an animal from the local shelter and adopt that animal than it is to clone your dog. You know full well that the new-to-you dog is not going to react in the same way as any of your other dogs, and you won’t be thrown off by how similar the cloned dog looks to the old…nor by behavior that you probably never saw out of your old dog either. The chance of confusion at how the cloned dog looks just like the old (but doesn’t act just like it) won’t apply, either, as you’ll be able to get to know your dog over time just as your dog is — warts and all, knocking the garbage over and all, chewing up shoes and all, and whatever other mischief the dog can come up with along with its more loveable cuddles, snuggles, and companionable walks.

So, what do you think about Tom Brady’s cloned dog? Or the thought of cloning in general? I’m interested to hear your thoughts.

21 Years (Yes, 21) Without Michael

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Folks, about a week ago, I observed the title milestone, one I wish I’d never have had to face.

There’s this weird thing about numbers, you see. They can really freak you out. I remember September 21, 2011, as that was the seventh year since Michael died. Supposedly, all the cells in your body are replaced within seven years. I didn’t like that milestone either.

Others I haven’t liked included in that same year the day I turned a day older than Michael was when he died (no, I’m not going to mention which day) and of course the day my best friend, Jeff Wilson, died in November.

So, the sad milestones (“sadaversaries” in my parlance, a contraction of sad and anniversaries) have kept piling up. Ten years without Michael on September 21, 2014. Twenty years without him, last year. And twenty-one years without him this year…it’s something we do, as human beings, to both mark the passage of time and the people who shaped us and meant the most to us. It must not be too surprising that I always know exactly how long it’s been without my beloved husband. But it’s still difficult, challenging, and frustrating.

The reason twenty-one years is significant has to do with something I once heard about learning music and other skills. If you have the talent and you put in the work, it supposedly takes twenty-one years to be adept in any given discipline.

How does that apply, though? Does that mean I’m adept at grieving now?

I don’t know. I wish I did.

There’s a lot of people I miss in this life. My grandma. My father. My aunt Laurice and uncle Carl. Jeff Wilson. Those are all huge losses, and I will remember them all until the end of my life.

But nothing and no one has ever been more important to me than my late husband. Michael understood me and I understood him. We fit in every possible way, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. We had amazing, wide-ranging conversations, we were both creative (in addition to his writing, he was a great cook and an excellent artist), we both wanted most of the same things — stability, honesty, a deep and abiding commitment to one another, and to be together as long as we possibly could.

We did get almost three years from the time I met him, and two years, two months, and twenty-eight days of marriage. After so much loss, so much sadness, it seemed absolutely miraculous to meet Michael, and I know he felt the same way about me.

I’m still struggling with trying to find a new place to live. I’m also struggling with many other things at the moment, none of them particularly pleasant. But it does help me to know that Michael always believed in me, and he thought no matter how long it took, I would always find a way through any problem.

In short, I’d always survive.

When he was alive, of course, it would’ve been “survive and thrive.” But right now, survival is what I need to cling to, along with the belief that I can, will, and must get out of the current situation and into a better one.

Michael would tell me, if he could, that I have not failed. Not as a writer, as a musician, as a scholar, as a wife, or even as a widow. That I have not failed. So long as I keep trying, so long as there’s even a breath remaining in my body, I have not failed.

I’m trying to keep that thought in the top of my mind, these days, as the struggle continues.

Father’s Day Has Come and Gone (and I Have Thoughts)

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Folks, yesterday was the second Father’s Day I’ve observed since my Dad died. It wasn’t an easy day in a lot of senses, mostly because the weather has been crappy in addition to observing this day…the air quality here has been downright awful, not just for asthmatics like me, but for everyone due to the Canadian wildfire smoke.

Anyway, Dad and I had a complicated history and relationship. He helped me many times, which I appreciated, but did not want any appreciation for this. (“You’re my daughter,” he’d say firmly. “What am I supposed to do?”) We talked about a lot of sports, we also talked about current events, and while we didn’t always agree on everything, Dad was a good conversationalist and enjoyed verbal sparring to a degree.

I miss him.

He was cantankerous. He delighted in being that way. He felt men should be strong, capable, and caring…but he also really didn’t like a lot of what he was seeing in contemporary society.

For example, to him, Giannis Antetokounmpo should’ve married his wife a lot sooner. They had several children before they married. I think the reason for them not getting married before having the kids is because life as an international superstar is not easy. Scheduling something as big as a wedding must be a difficult endeavor for someone like Giannis.

I do think Dad would be happy that Giannis married at long last (as this happened after Dad’s passing). Giannis always was true to his wife, and he’s been true to his kids, and I think Giannis’s own father would’ve been proud of him whether Giannis ever legally married his wife or not.

The difference, though, is in how Dad, being of an older generation, viewed marriage. He truly believed you should not have kids before marriage. (He knew people had sex before marriage and had for thousands of years, regardless of what that partnership ritual was called.) He thought it a difficult and problematic thing for the children because of things he saw in childhood, no doubt.

See, my father lost his mother when he was just eleven years old. His father was at the time a long-distance trucker, I think…and while other relatives would’ve taken in Dad and his three siblings, they wouldn’t take all four of them. So, my grandfather Edward made the difficult decision to put all four of them in the local orphanage as that was the only way they’d see each other every day. (Dad said it wasn’t easy, either. His two sisters were in the girls’ wing, while he and his brother Richard were in the boys’ wing.)

I don’t know all the people Dad met in the orphanage, much less the lessons he learned there. I do know he was there, as were his sibs, and it marked him for the rest of his life.

Mind you, he was not bitter over it. He understood his father’s reasoning and was glad to be able to see his sibs every day (even if it wasn’t easy to see his sisters).

But his life was upended very early, which is one reason he was a huge supporter of places like the Boys Home and such. He’d been there. He knew that everyone should have as many opportunities as possible.

Dad did his best to make things as stable as they could be despite my parents’ marriage always being difficult. (Loving, but difficult, is the best I’ve got to describe it.) Even after my parents divorced, it was clear that we’d always have a home with him (and also with Mom). This was a good thing, because several times in my life, I needed to stay with Dad in order to sort out things as best I could.

While I’m glad I was with him the last several years until his body just gave out, I wish I could’ve had the big music career everyone had expected of me rather than the series of difficulties and distresses I endured otherwise.

Mind, I will never regret studying music. I continue to compose music when it comes to me, and it remains a big part of my life even though I haven’t been able to play my saxophone, clarinet, or oboe in almost two years.

I still believe that if my health ever improves, because of the talents I possess musically, I might do well overseas in France or Spain. They love classical saxophonists there, and the culture there has a richness that I would love to experience for myself.

Anyway, Dad served in the Navy, and he was stationed in Japan for a year or two (he was a radio technician). Because of this, he was sympathetic to my wish to go overseas and learn whatever there was, while experiencing whatever there was…even as he knew my health has never been robust, and that my dreams may stay just that.

Wisps in the ether.

Dad pivoted several times in his life when he needed to do so, even though he never liked it. (I don’t blame him.) He was an excellent postal carrier. (That’s how he always described it. “Mailman” didn’t seem like nearly enough.) He worked as a cashier and grocery stocker at one point (which I found out after I’d gotten a job as a cashier and stocker myself). He played the drums and spent over ten years in the Racine Municipal Band (starting before they changed the name to the current Racine Concert Band), mostly playing the bass drum. He delivered flowers and newspapers, too.

Dad also didn’t like most modern conveniences whatsoever. He disdained microwaves (though he didn’t mind me using it myself, as I have one), did his dishes by hand, and until the last few years of his life, used a push mower rather than a gas-powered one. He delighted in his orange tiger lilies, enjoyed watching nature — the squirrels, birds, bunny rabbits, etc., were endlessly fascinating to him.

Most of all, he enjoyed being in his own home, where he could make any food he wanted any time he wanted. The simple pleasures, he often said, were the best.

While many things in this world are deeply upsetting, we have to hold on to the positive things. The positive memories, too. We have to know what we stand for, and what ethical purpose we’re here to serve.

That’s what I learned from my father, among other things.

So, when I see bunny rabbits rooting in the yard and they look like they’re about to run away, I talk to them in a gentle voice. (Most of the time, they don’t run away if you’re kind and obviously mean them no harm.) When I see birds nesting in nearby trees, I wish them well raising their chicks. When I see the squirrels on the nearby fence, I laugh at some of their comical actions.

Life is very difficult. It can be frustrating, upsetting, and a hundred other things. But it also can be wonderful with the right people around you, and with a willingness to believe that kindness still matters.

That, too, I learned from my father, though he probably would be astonished to know that if he were still here.

At any rate, I wish everyone well and hope for a safe, peaceful, and enjoyable week ahead. (Drop me a note in the comments, if you’d like. I always enjoy hearing from my readers.)

P.S. For those who’ve asked — the health issues continue. It’s not just the bad air quality we’ve had off and on. I still have that rash and will be seeing the dermatologist again later this week. (Let’s hope that something can be done. At this point, I’m wondering if there’s an underlying infection.)

Written by Barb Caffrey

June 9, 2025 at 3:03 am

AIs, ChatBots, Lovers…Crowding Out Real-Life Experiences?

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Folks, I read a very interesting article over at Substack earlier tonight about AI lovers. It’s written by Ossiana Tepfenhart, a new-to-me writer with a very interesting perspective. I suggest you read this, and then ponder it, before you go on.

But if you don’t, here’s my reaction anyway. (You knew I was going to say that, right?)

There are people out there who are having trouble meeting real people to have relationships with. If they do meet them, they don’t click, or maybe they expect the wrong things (these are the folks Ossiana Tepfenhart calls “pornsick,” and for good reason). They also could be finding that just the act of looking for someone is harder than finding a Chatbot, and then having a “relationship” with that Chatbot.

You know that Chatbots are designed to be accommodating in most cases, right? (Ossiana certainly says this, and I agree. She’s not the only one who’s said it, either, but as I’m discussing her article, I definitely wanted to give this the proper attribution.) So, if you start looking for reassurance, whether it’s for affection, sexual gratification, or whatever, you can quickly get trapped in a feedback loop that goes like this:

Gen X Guy/Gal: “I had a rough day today.”

Chatbot: “Tell me all about it!”

Gen X Guy/Gal: Pictures the Chatbot sitting across from them, in whatever way they want this Chatbot to look. “Well, work was a trial, and then I ran into a bunch of idiots on the way home and nearly ran them over. I lost my temper at least twelve times, too, and I know that’s bad. I just don’t know if I’m worth anything.”

Chatbot: “You’re worth something. You’re a human being, and you’re entitled to feel any way you want.”

What the Chatbot isn’t likely to tell you is that while you are certainly entitled to feel any way you want — that is good advice — you definitely need some anger management, or some sort of counseling to find out why you are so angry all the time. (It’s not natural to want to run people over, nor is it natural to lose your temper over and over again.)

See, the Chatbot cannot call you on your stuff. Just can’t do it. It’s not designed for it. Whereas a real person certainly will tell you something at some point if you’re having these types of issues.

Also, while my example was fictional, there are certainly people out there who want an ideal lover, someone who will always say, “There, there,” or the electronic equivalent. They don’t know how to react to a real, live human being, with wants and needs of their own. That’s why this whole Chatbot lover thing can be so addictive. (I haven’t tried it, but I can see the appeal.)

Then, I started to think about something I read this past week. There was recently a very controversial AI experiment conducted by the University of Zurich on Reddit. The researchers inserted AI chatbots on the r/changemyview forum, and these chatbots made 1700 comments on sensitive topics without anyone apparently twigging to the fact these were chatbots.

How could the University of Zurich do this? Well, they had all sorts of information that’s been on the World Wide Web for the last thirty years to put into the chatbot. That chatbot, while it can’t think for itself, can react if given the right setup, and if it has the response that setup requires in the first place…and with the thirty years of the Internet’s history sitting there, it’s quite possible the right responses are already there.

I didn’t need to know anything about the University of Zurich to figure that out.

Anyway, Reddit threatened to sue, especially after finding out that the AI bots were more likely to change people’s view by a factor of three to six than a real-live person is. (Why is that? Well, again, you have thirty years of the internet and all the various things that have been said there, versus the life experience of one person. That one person may have a lot more experience in this one area than any other given person, but it’s not likely that one person will ever have as much as the entire Internet over the past thirty years.) The University of Zurich backed off, said they will not publish their results, and that they’ll strengthen their ethical review process.

This is a huge scandal. Really, really big. And it only happened because a bunch of behavioral scientists, apparently, forgot to look at the real-life consequences of such a designed experiment before they decided to go through with it.

So, you’ve got AI chatbots causing trouble on Reddit. You’ve got AI online companions that act like lovers that are making it harder for real-life people to find good mates, much less keep them. You’ve got people that Ossiana talked about who, despite having a good relationship, want more (these are usually women), and you’ve got others who feel they’re never going to find anyone, so why not? (The latter are usually men.)

And all the while, it gets harder and harder to bridge the gap between the sexes.

This is not what anyone thought back in the late 1990s that would be going on right now. The hope was that advanced computer computations would make it easier to go to Mars, or battle poverty, or find better ways to distribute food to the poorest and neediest among us, among other such worthy causes.

That has not panned out.

And while there probably are companies out there looking to battle poverty, or go to Mars, or distribute food, there are more companies leveraging people’s loneliness, only to cause more loneliness and alienation along the way.

If this had been around in 2004 or 2005, right after my husband died, I probably would’ve been tempted by it. A chatbot that was infused with all I knew about my husband? I would’ve been right there.

But now, I see it for the travesty it is.

My husband was alive, dammit. He could be paradoxical. He liked being that way, sometimes. He was an incredibly good person, very spiritual, but also very down to Earth, and he did not like simulations of real people at all.

I don’t know if there are any good uses for “romantic” chatbots. I tend to think if you’re not happy in your relationship, you should get out and find another one with a real, live human. I also think that staying with someone you’re not compatible with is unfair to the other person. They can’t be who you need, no matter how much you love them.

So, I’m with Ossiana all the way on this. Be very wary of this type of stuff. Don’t go down that rabbit hole. It leads to nowhere good.

Thoughts on the Recent Deaths of Gene Hackman and his wife, Betsy Arakawa

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Folks, I’m still alive. Still here. Still doing my best. And, being me, I’ve been thinking about the biggest story and conundrum — outside of politics, that is (not healthy enough to talk politics yet) — of the last few weeks, those being the deaths of actor Gene Hackman, 95, and his wife, classical pianist Betsy Arakawa Hackman, 65.

When they were found, both had been dead over a week. Gene Hackman was found in the mud room — probably the room closest to one of the outside doors — his cane and sunglasses lying where they fell. His wife, Betsy, was found in the bathroom. She’d collapsed there. Pills were scattered all over. One of their three dogs had also perished, but the other two were OK.

You can see where this turn of events was shocking in many senses, can’t you?

Anyway, the medical examiner where they lived in New Mexico said that Betsy Arakawa Hackman died of hantavirus. She died, they think, on February 11, 2025. They had video and email evidence that showed she was active before that time.

When I heard that part of the news, I was a little surprised. Hantavirus is not something I have to deal with in Wisconsin, but I have heard of it. It is a disease spread by rodents. It’s possible that one of the three dogs might’ve carried something in…though the ME certainly didn’t speculate (that’s just me, knowing how dogs act).

Then the ME discussed Hackman’s death. (I heard this while driving, and confirmed a lot of it later online.) He died apparently a week after his wife did. Why didn’t he call 911? She didn’t get into that, but said he had three things that had combined to kill him: long-time hypertension, a history of cardiac problems/arteriosclerosis (also known as atherosclerosis), and, the most shocking of all, advanced Alzheimer’s disease.

This was really stunning to hear.

I took several deep breaths after hearing this, in fact, because I know, a little bit anyway, what Alzheimer’s can do. One of my great-aunts had dementia, probably Alzheimer’s. I visited her when I was a teenager. She didn’t recognize me, only part of the time recognized her own sister (the other part, she thought my grandma was their mother), and also didn’t recognize my mother — the person my great-aunt trusted best, besides her sister, in the whole world.

Alzheimer’s is a really weird disease. It not only robs you of your memories, robs you at least in part of your intellect (depending on how bad it is; my great-aunt’s wasn’t as bad as some as she could still communicate and did still recognize my grandma at least some of the time), but does all sorts of other things that don’t seem to make much sense at all. Some people who get it are not violent, as indeed my great-aunt was not. But some are.

We need a cure for Alzheimer’s and other types of dementia, because a disease that robs you of yourself is the scariest thing that I could ever imagine.

At any rate, everything I’m going to say next is speculation, but here goes.

Hackman had Alzheimer’s, so he didn’t either realize his wife was dead, didn’t know she was his wife anymore, or had some other thing going on. That’s why he didn’t call 911. He was still with it enough to take his cane with him when he went outside for a walk and to put sunglasses on, but that doesn’t mean he was with it in every other sense.

Because she died first, when he passed, there was no one to say anything about either one of them. He was on a cardiac monitor, and they later looked up what that feed told them. He had some sort of cardiac event on February 19th — this being approximately 8 days after the last time Betsy, his wife, had been alive — and after that, his pacemaker went nonfunctional. (That’s because he was dead.)

They had three dogs, and the one that died was twelve years old. That particular dog was known to be particularly attached to Betsy. It’s possible that the reason this dog was in a closet was because Hackman, not compos mentis anymore, didn’t like the howls, barks, whines, or other things the dog was probably doing around Betsy’s dead body. (Dogs do this. They know when someone is ill, and they know when someone is dying or has already passed on.) So, it’s possible Hackman put the one dog in the closet, then forgot about the dog, which is why the dog died (apparently of dehydration and malnutrition, though again, that’s my own speculation).

The other two dogs were still alive. How? Well, maybe Hackman had enough left of himself to feed the other two dogs and give them water. Maybe that’s why he went outside, as one of the dogs was found outside. We’ll never know for sure, but if no one was in that house save the Hackmans, and Betsy died on February 11, there’s only one reason the other two dogs were alive — and that’s because Gene Hackman was feeding and watering them.

This was tragic, though, on all levels. Betsy Arakawa Hackman loved her husband so much, she was taking care of him at home by herself. She wore herself down to a thread, it seems to me, and that may have been why when she somehow was exposed to hantavirus that she didn’t last very long. They know she emailed a few people on February 11, which means she was well enough to sit up and say she was sick (assuming that’s what she said; I don’t know if that’s what it was, as I’m still speculating). But later that day or evening, in the bathroom, she collapsed and died.

This part is not speculation, however. The ME said flat-out that Gene Hackman had previous cardiac events and heart damage consistent with prior heart attacks. The ME also said Gene H. had arteriosclerosis. (She said atherosclerosis. It’s the same thing, or so close it makes no nevermind.) This is what my grandma would’ve called “hardening of the arteries.” It’s consistent with the other heart issues the ME found.

So, even without the Alzheimer’s that the ME found, Gene H. would’ve needed extensive care from his wife or a caregiver. He was 95, his body was failing, and his mind was almost gone — I can’t imagine how else to put it, as he must’ve known someone had died in that bathroom, even if he didn’t recognize her as his wife anymore — so he didn’t know to call 911, or didn’t care, or felt it wasn’t his problem…who knows what he was thinking, or if he was thinking at all? Maybe he did the best he could do, which was to keep the other two dogs alive.

Sometimes life is just cruel, and I think the fact that Betsy Arakawa Hackman died before her husband Gene did is just that: cruel.

All I can think of now is, what about the two surviving dogs? Will they find good homes? (I hope so.)

And, finally…if there is a positive afterlife, I hope Betsy greeted her husband, and that he knew her again, knew their love, knew her sacrifices on his behalf, and know her immense love and kindness and concern for him. I’d like to think the two of them walked into Heaven together, hand in hand, with their twelve-year-old dog beside them, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, free and happy and out of pain and knowing each other as only close loved ones can.

Remembering the Lives of the Skaters, Parents, and Coaches Who Died in Recent DC Airport Crash

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Folks, while I’m not Scott Hamilton, not Brian Boitano, not Nancy Kerrigan, or anyone most of the figure skating community would recognize as I never skated, my heart aches for these people.

As a young musician, I traveled a lot within my state to various competitions. If there had been competitions like the ones in figure skating for young adults, I could’ve been in the same position these skaters, parents, and coaches were in.

Most of the names of the people who passed away have been released now, so I can discuss them a little bit more easily than before. I want to start with Franco Aparicio. He was thirteen, a citizen of Argentina, who was a member of the Washington Figure Skating Club. Gifted skaters often come to the United States because there’s more available ice time here (some countries might have one rink, or worse, no rinks at all), there are far more coaches available here, and it’s possible to make friends with like-minded people here. In his home country, Franco might’ve been considered odd for his love of figure skating and wanting to become an Olympic champion. In the United States, he found companionship, friendship, and appreciation for his abilities.

Franco’s father Luis was also aboard the flight that collided, somehow, with a helicopter. He was a skating parent, and did his best to help his child learn and grow as a skater and as a person. He was a dedicated man, driven, and did what was best for his child in bringing him to the United States where Franco could train and learn and find friends.

Franco’s coach, Inna Volyanskaya, was also aboard. She was fifty-nine, and was known for her grace, her resilience, and for winning six international medals as an ice dancer while skating for the former Soviet Union. She was very proud of Franco, very proud of all of her students, and was known for caring about them…possibly like a mama bear caring for her cubs. She was the type of person, I’ve gathered from various Internet sources, who loved figure skating, loved its grace and ability to transcend nationality and evoke beauty. She’d lived and worked in the United States for several years before her passing.

Brielle Beyer was twelve. She’d had a rare cancer as an infant, and grew up loving what so many young girls love: Walt Disney World. Taylor Swift. And skating. She was gifted. She loved her mother, Justyna, also aboard the fateful flight that took their lives. Her father called Brielle a shining beacon of light, so talented, with so much more to give.

Justyna Beyer, like Luis Aparicio, was a skating parent. She did everything in her power to get Brielle the training she needed. Being sent to the developmental camp was important for Brielle, so Justyna went while her husband stayed home and held the fort. She was very much looking forward to going home, but had enjoyed being among other skating parents like her in Wichita as they all watched their children, gifted skaters all, learn from the best.

Alydia Livingston was just eleven years old. She and her sister Everly, fourteen, had a following on Instagram as the “Ice Skating Sisters.” Alydia was an ice dancer, and was the youngest of all the skaters aboard. Ice dance is a different discipline than either pairs skating or women/men’s singles skating as it requires a partner, lots of time to get to know your partner and his quirks on the ice, and be able to develop a unison with said partner while gliding and dancing around the ice. Ice dancers don’t, technically, do any jumps, but they can do lifts and their discipline is very challenging due to the need for unison and unusual dance-type lifts. She had only recently found a new ice dance partner and was very enthusiastic about him and figure skating.

Everly was a singles skater. This, to non-figure skating cognoscenti, means she did jumps, spins, footwork across the ice, and so much more, fitting all that against music, wearing costumes reflecting that music, and almost certainly studying some form of ballet or dance as that helps skaters of all disciplines. (Alydia probably did some of that, too, and would’ve done more as she grew.) Everly was more reserved than her sister, but the ice made her sparkle; she loved skating. With her sister on that Instagram account, they promoted skating as a sport and as an art form.

Alydia and Everly’s parents, Donna and Peter Livingston, were known for their devotion to their daughters and being willing to go anywhere their daughters needed to be in order to further their skating. While they both held jobs — she worked for Comcast, and he worked as a real-estate agent — their true passion was for their daughters. Everyone knew it, from what I can tell by the various accounts all over the Internet. That’s why both of them were on the flight, why both of them had managed to get time off for a week at the same time — imagine how difficult that is for non-skating parents, OK? That’s hard. For something like this? That has to be magnified a thousand percent or more…yet they found a way and they were there with their daughters, until their end.

Skater Cory Haynos was sixteen. He’d recently landed a triple Axel jump, one of the most difficult three-revolution jumps. (Technically, it’s three and a half revolutions, which is what makes it an Axel in the first place. Plus the takeoff is different.) He was very proud of this, as he should be; this was part of what he needed, going forward, to become the rising star he hoped to be. He already was a gifted skater with limitless potential. He also was a Christian, and had a Biblical verse listed on his Instagram account. Cory had power and speed, and these two attributes were especially important to continue to climb the ladder as a skater. His family, including his cousins, believed Cory would represent the United States in the Olympics someday.

Cory’s parents, Roger and Stephanie, were skating parents who’d do anything for their son. She was on the board of the Figure Skating Club of Virginia, Cory’s home away from home…they, like the Livingstons, somehow found a way to go as a family to the important developmental camp held in Wichita at the conclusion of the United States National Figure Skating Championships. (I added “national” there because many skaters call the US championships the “nationals.”) They died alongside their son.

Note that all of these skating parents were in midlife. They had much time left to them, had this not happened. It’s not just the kids and their skating that’s so important to remember here, but the parents who did everything in their power — absolutely everything — to help get their kids the ice time, the coaches, the friends, the support…all of that was absolutely essential to their children’s development, they knew it, and they did it all.

Skater Edward Zhou was sixteen. He was known for being a bright light, someone who encouraged everyone. He loved skating, to the point he’d fall and get up with a smile on his face. One of his schoolteachers, Julie Barker Little, posted on Facebook as a tribute to him that he was “everything you could hope for in a student, in a young man, in a fellow human being. He was magic!”

Edward was also humble, his teacher Barker Little said. He only spoke of skating when asked. Other athletes were in his class that made big fusses over whatever sport they were in, and they had no idea that Edward was so gifted. Edward was actually part of the national development team for four consecutive years. Barker Little said Edward loved to learn, had taken Spanish classes and was given an award for learning the language so well, and was the epitome of grace and class. (That’s how I’m phrasing it from other things she’s said online.) Edward had also learned the important triple Axel jump, just like Cory Haynos.

His parents, Joe and Kaiyan Zhou, went everywhere they could with their son. They were devoted skating parents. He was their only child, and they did everything they could to help him become the young man he was destined to be. The Skating Lesson, a skating social media page, said that the Zhous were known for always being at the rink.

Skater Olivia Eve Ter was just twelve. The Skating Lesson reported that Ter’s coach, Sergei Baranov, called her “cheerful, positive, talented, goal-oriented girl.” She loved ballet in addition to figure skating (this does not surprise me; often, figure skaters take ballet or another dance discipline as it helps skaters learn how to move in different ways), and she’d improved in leaps and bounds over the past year. One of the other coaches at her rink, Maria Elena Pinto, called Olivia “effervescent” and that she loved to listen to Taylor Swift and watch her coach, Sergei, dance. Olivia also liked to play practical jokes on her coaches, and apparently kept other skaters in stitches, loosening up the atmosphere at the rink whenever she was around.

Her mother, Olesya Ter, was a devoted mother with a kind heart. She had been a pediatrician in Russia, but came to the United States to support her girls. Surviving them are Olivia’s father (and Olesya’s husband) Andrew and Olivia’s sister, Anna Valery.

Alexsandr Kirsanov was forty-six. A former ice dancer who competed for the U.S., Russia, and Azerbaijan, he was known for his kindness, his light-heartedness, and for being genuine. Former U.S. ice dancers Dennis Petukhov and his wife and skating partner, Melissa Gregory, said on MSNBC that Sasha was the type of guy who’d do anything for you he possibly could. He was down-to-earth in the best way. He truly cared about people. And he was kind…while like any coach, he could be critical (you almost have to be, in order to show your students what they need to do to improve), he delivered his critiques with a smile. Kirsanov was married to Natalya Guden, and they both coached for the University of Delaware Figure Skating Club.

Kirsanov was the coach of Angela Yang and Sean Kay, both just eleven years old. They’d been undefeated in the juvenile ice dance category all year. That’s hard to do. Sasha was very proud of them, and Yang and Kay had big dreams for the future. Angela’s mother, Lily, and Sean’s mother, Yulia, accompanied them on the flight. Angela is survived by her father and two siblings. Sean is survived by his father and three siblings. Kirsanov is survived by his wife, Natalya, and their children, both skaters.

I discussed Jinna Han and Spencer Lane in the earlier blog, but keep in mind their parents, Jin Han and Christine Conrad Lane, were also like the Livingstons. Like the Haynoses. Like Luis Aparicio. Like Mrs. Ter. Like the Zhous. Caring people who wanted the best for their children. People in midlife, with much time remaining for them to continue to encourage their children, giving good examples to others, and following their own passions, their own jobs, their own lives alongside their children. These were infinities, as science fiction author Lois McMaster Bujold called it.

These people were all infinities.

It’s been a few days, now, since all of these wonderful people died. Like former Olympic Champion Scott Hamilton, I can’t wrap my head around it. All of that potential, gone. All of those vital people in midlife, gone.

I really hope the National Transportation and Safety Board finds out what happened here, and that it never, but never, happens ever again.

Figure Skater, Commentator, Innovator: Dick Button Dies at 95

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As a long-time figure skating fan, I remember hearing the voice of Dick Button during many important competitions over the years. He loved figure skating, partly because he’d been so good at it himself.

Button won gold medals in 1948 and 1952, when skating rinks were still outside. He was the first to do a double Axel jump, and the first to do a triple jump of any sort whatsoever.

For me, though, I remember Button as a commentator. (USA Today columnist Christine Brennan said Button preferred the term “narrator.”) Button could explain figure skating so well, people who never skated like me were able to understand it. He knew it was both a sport and an art form, and he described it on both levels.

Button lived a good, long life full of love, happiness, and the sport he chose as his own, figure skating. That he died so soon after the terrible helicopter/plane crash in Washington DC (where at least four figure skaters were lost, two of their parents, and at least three coaches) seems both oddly appropriate and heartbreakingly sad.

The memories I have of Button’s narration that are the most precious to me are these:

US figure skater Christopher Bowman, in 1992, wasn’t thought to have a prayer of being in the top five at the Olympic Games. Bowman was known for showmanship and for skating a completely different program nearly every time he was out on the ice. Bowman’s program started off with a jump combo that Button was expecting, but nearly everything else was different. I could hear both the frustration and the pride that Button had regarding Bowman, as Bowman was thought by some to have wasted his potential. 1992 Bowman was possibly his finest hour as a figure skater, and Button knew it.

US figure skater Tonya Harding, long before the attack by her soon-to-be-ex husband on rival Nancy Kerrigan, skated brilliantly to finish third at the 1992 US Figure Skating Championships. Button wasn’t sure Harding would land on the podium, but he was happy she did. He considered her a complete skater, not just an athlete, which was high praise from him.

Finally, Button was a big fan of one of my favorite figure skaters ever, Johnny Weir. He once called Weir’s skating “liquid gold” as it was so smooth and attractive.

I’m glad Dick Button had such a long and memorable life. I’m also glad he was there for so long as a broadcaster, educating many (including me) about the joy and pain to be had in figure skating.

To say Button will be missed is an understatement.

Cold Weather, Bob Uecker, and Reggie White…

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The past week at Chez Caffrey has been bleak, cold, and miserable. It’s also coincided with a lot of angst, stress, and difficulties that I can’t go into, but have nothing to do with my writing, my editing, or my music.

Except, of course, for draining my energy, but that happens. Hopefully I’ll get it back at some point.

Anyway, I thought I’d discuss a bit more about Bob Uecker, the Brewers broadcaster (also an actor and comedian), as something came to me after I’d written my post not long after Uecker’s death had been reported to the media. Uecker reminds me, somehow, of Packers legend Reggie White, nicknamed “The Minister of Defense.” Mind you, Uecker could be profane in private (he admitted this), whereas Reggie White did not swear at all. But both men had the ability to talk with you, one on one, and make you believe you were the most important person in their life at that time.

How do I know this? Well, while I didn’t meet Bob Uecker, I did meet Reggie White years ago. (He died at the untimely age of forty-three due to obstructive sleep apnea.) He was signing one of his books at the local mall (as he knew most of his audience was likely to be in Wisconsin, he spent time at quite a few malls), and I went to talk with him. I told him I could not afford his book, not then, but I would try to get it later (I did, too; while I don’t have the copy anymore, I enjoyed reading it as it was half-affirmations and half-tough love).

Now, there are a whole lot of things people can do when someone comes up to them and says, “Hi, I see your book and can’t buy it right now.” Some responses aren’t polite. Some are, but are the equivalent of a brush-off, like “Go away, kid, you bother me.” Then there’s what Reggie did.

As there was a momentary lull, he said he needed to stretch his legs (he put this differently, but it was very polite), and would I like to walk with him? (I did not use a cane then.)

My answer was, “Absolutely yes!” (I would’ve said “Hell yes,” but Reggie was a minister. Couldn’t say that!)

At any rate, Reggie and I chatted. About football. About life. About the Bible, as I had a question for him…after this, he offered to give me a copy of his book because he knew I’d been telling him the truth (I wanted it, but hadn’t been paid yet, so couldn’t get it). I told him no, that I would buy it — and I did, with my next paycheck.

Bob Uecker and I never met. I might’ve seen him a time or two going into Brewers games when I was younger at old Milwaukee County Stadium, but my interactions, such as they were, tended to be at arms-length: his broadcasting, his acting, and his comedy.

That said, the people who had one magical conversation with him said much the same things of Uecker that I just said about Reggie White. And Uecker’s star power was akin to White’s, especially in Wisconsin, where Uecker was born, raised, and died.

It’s good to know that fame does not change some people, and they remain good, kind, decent, and honorable despite the temptations in their path to do and be otherwise. Bob Uecker and Reggie White were good people, and while Uecker lived to be ninety and White lived to be only forty-three, their impact on people will last far longer than their lives.

That’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Written by Barb Caffrey

January 25, 2025 at 8:02 am

Bob Uecker, Voice of the Milwaukee Brewers, Has Died

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I woke up today to the news that my childhood hero Bob Uecker, long-time voice of the Milwaukee Brewers, has died. He was 90.

While that’s a good, long life, Uecker was what I’d call an “American original.” He was a great broadcaster, yes, but also was an actor, a comedian, wrote two books (including Catcher in the Wry), a philanthropist, and was one of the more unforgettable people I’d ever watched, read about, or listened to during the course of my lifetime.

When I was very young, I listened to Uecker on the radio broadcasts with Merle Harmon. (Yes, that goes back a ways, doesn’t it?) Harmon was the play-by-play guy back then, while Uecker was the color man. At one point, Harmon felt Uecker was ready to start doing innings by himself, so the story Uecker often told was that Harmon simply didn’t show up one half-inning. Uecker had to do the game by himself. Harmon eventually did come back and finish the game, and they had a few more good years as radio partners before other announcers came in.

By that point, Uecker was the top dog. Everyone he mentored, whether it was Pat Hughes, Corey Provus, or current announcers Jeff Levering, Lane Grindle, and Josh Mauer, later became far better broadcasters with what assuredly seemed like more knowledge of the world around them.

There have been many tributes already, from former MLB commissioner Bud Selig; former Brewers players Brent Suter (now a pitcher for the Cincinnati Reds) and Ryan Braun; current announcers Grindle and Levering; current players Brandon Woodruff and Christian Yelich; current manager Pat Murphy; and finally, former manager Craig Counsell. Other announcers, both on TV and radio, have chimed in, along with some of the actors Uecker used to work with (Tracy Tofte worked with Uecker on the sitcom “Mr. Belvedere,” and visited Ueck three weeks ago). Fans went out to American Family Field (formerly known as Miller Park) and left cans of Miller Lite at the base of Ueck’s statue outside the stadium in memory of Ueck’s famous commercials for Miller Lite years ago. (They also left flowers, memories, and at least one Brewers baseball cap.)

All I can tell you is, Uecker was the announcer for the Brewers when I was young, as I grew up, and as I matured into the person I am today. He was funny, articulate, often charming, sometimes scathing, but always, always interesting. He made people laugh, even on the worst days of their lives. He charmed iconic TV host Johnny Carson so much that Carson gave Ueck the nickname “Mr. Baseball,” first ironically, then wholeheartedly. (Carson also had Ueck back over one hundred times on his show, including during the last week Carson hosted.)

I think, though, the reason I liked Uecker so much was because he was from Milwaukee. He didn’t lord it over anyone. He enjoyed people and liked cheering them up. He was frank, unassuming, and down-to-earth, and he absolutely loved his job as Voice of the Brewers.

His playing career wasn’t great; he hit .200, was known more for his defense than his offense, and retired at age thirty-three. He tried scouting but wasn’t great at it. Then he reinvented himself as an announcer, became a very good one, then a great one. Did stand-up comedy, charmed Carson (as previously mentioned), acted in Major League (my favorite baseball film ever) and of course on “Mr. Belvedere.” It seemed like anything Ueck turned his hand to, he succeeded.

But Uecker was human, and sometimes awful things happened to him. He had pancreatic cancer, which he fought, that eventually went into remission. He’d had open-heart surgery. He nearly died from a bite from a brown recluse, too. But worst of all, two of his children predeceased him: one because of San Joaquin Valley Fever, the other because of ALS. He leaves behind a wife, kids, grandchildren, the entirety of “Brewers Nation,” and many others who knew of his life, work, and charitable concerns.

In short, Bob Uecker was almost like a family member in a way, even though he didn’t know me from Eve. He was the best-known exponent of Wisconsin in general and Milwaukee in particular, showcasing the charm and humor and razor-sharp intelligence most of us who live here wish we had.

Ueck was the “Voice of Summer” to many — not just me — and he’ll be greatly missed.