Barb Caffrey's Blog

Writing the Elfyverse . . . and beyond

Signalgate: What the Hell?

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Folks, I feel I must blog on this.

If you do not know what Signalgate is yet, here’s a quick definition. The United States was about to send military planes to strike the Houthis in Yemen. There was a text chain and/or a group chat going on through the Signal app — which, while encrypted, is not a secure thing compared to, say, going into a SCIF (secure place, where you do not bring cell phones, Apple watches, or anything save maybe a pen and paper and that’s it) — that featured the head of the Department of Defense, Pete Hegseth, and quite a few members of the 47th President Donald Trump’s Cabinet. Other prominent people on this text chain were Secretary of State Marco Rubio (who should’ve known better), Department of National Intelligence head Tulsi Gabbard (who also should’ve known better), National Security Advisor Mike Waltz, Trump aide Steven Miller, the Deputy Chief of Staff for Policy (why was he included?), Trump’s Chief of Staff Susie Wiles (who also should’ve known better), and worst of all, JD Vance, the Vice President. (Wikipedia has a precis available here that’s pretty good.)

Really, people? This is the best you could do? We’d not know about this if they hadn’t added a journalist to the call inadvertently (Jeffrey Goldberg, editor-in-chief of The Atlantic). And because of that, along with pointing out that doing all this was not secure and was not safe and shouldn’t happen, Goldberg is getting vilified by many on the right for reasons I do not understand.

There’s a reason you go into the SCIF, people!

What’s that reason? Operational Security, AKA “OpSec.” Something Hegseth said was fine on this text chain or group chat or whatever the Hell it was.

Um, no. It wasn’t.

Look. I am only a former military wife. My ex-husband was in the active-duty Army for almost five years when we were married. If he had done anything remotely like this, he would’ve been sent to Fort Leavenworth so fast his head would’ve spun.

For those of you who don’t know why this is, let me put it to you this way. If you’re in the military, you are supposed to remember something along these lines: Loose lips sink ships. That applies in the Army, though they don’t have ships. It also applies to the Navy, where my late husband Michael served, as well as my father.

In fact, Dad was a radio technician. He knew a lot about OpSec. I think if he were still alive, he’d have burst a blood vessel in his head or something, as what Hegseth, et. al, just did is not something anyone should be doing.

Dad was a non-com. He wasn’t an officer. But he knew what you could say and what you couldn’t. He also knew what mediums you could use if something was not classified, and what you shouldn’t use under any circumstances.

While cell phones were not something that Dad had to deal with in the 1950s when he served, they did have extensive radio traffic. Possibly more than we do now, because we have computers. Anyway, Dad knew that you do not say something out in the open that anyone could possibly listen to or break into/hack into, and you most certainly would not do this from anywhere other than a secure place.

This could’ve killed members of the US military if the Houthis had been tipped off this attack was coming. Only by the grace of God did that not happen.

I mean, one of these people on the chat/text thing was in Moscow. Russia, despite what the current President believes, is not a typical ally of the United States.

So, what the Hell was this guy in Russia doing on an unsecured line texting back and forth about the air strikes that were about to hit Yemen?

Seriously? What the Hell?

I’m particularly disappointed in Gabbard and Rubio. They are career politicians, yes, but Gabbard was an Army Major at one time. She’s not a fool. Rubio was at one time quite canny, and understood what “OpSec” really is a few years ago. But he obviously doesn’t now.

The excuses of “well, we didn’t know” or “these weren’t really war plans” (which go to hundreds of pages) do not fly with me. At all.

My view of this is very simple. If a noncom like my Dad could’ve been sent to jail for less, and trust me, he could’ve, these people have no excuse — zero — for what they did.

Do I want them in jail? No. But I do want them fired, or to resign, effective immediately. Not just Waltz, the NSA. All of them, including the Vice President.

They’ve all shown they can’t be trusted, they have no common sense, and they don’t know what the Hell they’re doing. The current President deserves better from these people, and he’s not likely to get it, so he should ask them all to submit their resignations ASAP. (If not, they should be fired, and if Mr. Trump refuses to fire them, they should be impeached and removed. Every single last one of them.)

Or as Rachel Maddow put it — I hope I get it right — “These aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. They’re quite dull tools. But this is who we have in charge of our national security.”

Unsaid, but very obvious, was the subtext of this: God help us all.

Catching Up (Including Some Thoughts on Milwaukee Sports)

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Folks, I thought I’d just type something to you all today, mostly so you’d know I’m still alive and doing the best I can.

The last several months have been beyond difficult. Sometimes, I’m not sure I know when the stress ends and I begin. The only good thing I can point to is that I’ve been able to write more…it’s more that my writing is demanding that I set it down than anything. (Most writers have been there a time or three.)

I’ve also been able to write some music from time to time, though it’s fitful. For example, right now I have a multiple movement piece going, and not one of the movements has been finished. They’re all started, which is great. But if I don’t figure out where the melodies are, where the harmonies should be implied (this is a solo saxophone piece, in case anyone’s wondering; since the sax cannot play chords on its own, the best anyone can do in a solo piece is to imply what the harmony might well be), and figure out how to end these movements while trying to tie them all up in a nifty bow, I’d be doing myself a disservice.

You might wonder why I say that. It’s because I know, as my late husband Michael used to say, that my first language is music. My second language is words. This is why I listen so much for what something sounds like, as well as how it flows, in words. It’s probably why before I started writing a great deal of fiction, I’d written quite a few poems.

I also have made some excellent progress with the can’t-tell-you-yet-project. Here’s to hoping I make even more progress in the upcoming week.

I’m also looking forward to the start of Major League Baseball’s Opening Day. The Milwaukee Brewers will be opening up their season on March 27 in New York City as they’re scheduled to play the Yankees. A few days later, they will return to Milwaukee and play their first home games of the year.

(Yes, the Los Angeles Dodgers played the Chicago Cubs in a two-game series in Japan on March 18 and 19. I’m sorry, though; that did not feel like Opening Day or even Opening Week to me, instead feeling like two glorified exhibition games that the Dodgers get to take two games as “wins” for the regular season. I was not impressed.)

As per usual, I’m also keeping an eye on the Milwaukee Bucks. They’ve been playing well, for the most part, despite having games where their star players either are not able to play, or are dealing with significant injuries that can’t help but hamper them. Giannis Antetokounmpo is, to my mind, the best player in the NBA. He is excellent defensively, has a great mid-range jump shot, can take the ball to the basket on just about anyone, and somehow, the coaching staff has gotten him to lay off the three-point shot (as it’s really not Giannis’s strength at all). He dishes out assists, pulls down rebounds, and scores over thirty points a night regularly. Between him and Damian Lillard (an excellent three-point shooter and much better defensively than I’d expected), the Bucks go into just about any game believing they can and will win. (Then it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.)

So, that’s about it. I’m writing and editing as I’m able, watching sports as I always do, keeping the home fires burning as best I can also, and am looking for the silver lining, even if I don’t yet know where it is.

What are you all doing this week?

Written by Barb Caffrey

March 23, 2025 at 7:19 am

Mourning the Passing of Milwaukee Bucks Legend Junior Bridgeman, 71

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Junior Bridgeman was the type of person everyone should want to be. He came from very modest means, once building a stereo out of spare parts with his brother (spare parts he’d scavenged, I’d heard) because otherwise he couldn’t listen to music. He played fourteen years in the National Basketball Association (NBA), most of them for the Milwaukee Bucks, and turned the money he made there (about $350,000 over his full career) into over a billion dollars by the time he passed away suddenly earlier today.

I say all that, because it’s been reported widely, especially in Wisconsin. But Bridgeman was known for his kindness, his optimism, his humility, and for being a family man around these parts, far more than his business acumen (which was formidable) or his friendships with other NBA players like Earvin “Magic” Johnson, Alex English, even Shaquille O’Neal. Bridgeman was the type of guy to do anything for anyone, as he had a good heart, a kind soul, and truly cared about others.

You know how Google’s motto has often been summed up as “Don’t be Evil,” right? Well, Bridgeman’s personal motto should’ve been something like this: “Do good. It matters, whether it looks like it or not.” That, along with living his personal values and faith — in himself, in others, and in the world at large, along with faith in the Higher Power — was what Junior Bridgeman was all about.

I remember seeing Bridgeman play on television when I was young. He could do anything. He was a great passer, he was a gifted scorer, could play both forward and guard despite the fact he was only 6’5″ (short for an NBA player, even then), and was perhaps the best sixth man in the entirety of the NBA for most of his career. (A sixth man, for those of you who don’t know anything about basketball, is the first guy to come off the bench after the five people who start the game. He’s often one of the most important people on the team, as while he doesn’t have the cachet of a starting player, he’s expected to put up nearly as good of numbers and be an optimistic and maybe even a benevolent presence to be emulated by players not as good as himself that were also on the roster. I know I put that in a very wordy way; I apologize.)

So, being a sixth man was in some ways beneficial to Junior Bridgeman. He knew he didn’t have to be in the limelight all the time to live a good life, have a great career (his number is retired by the Bucks; he wore the number two), and do his best. Some stars, once the limelight is gone, do not do well; there are many stories of the Ryan Leafs of this world, where they get into DUIs, other legal troubles, and can’t acclimate themselves to the pace of a more normal life. Fortunately, Bridgeman did not have that trouble at all.

Bridgeman, recently, became a minority owner of the Bucks. (Yes, he went from player to part-owner.) I don’t know a better rags-to-riches story than that, because it showed the current players that with far less money than they have now, Bridgeman was able to overcome and become a very savvy and accomplished businessman.

But that’s not really how I remember Junior Bridgeman. How I remember him isn’t even the on-court presence or the adept passing skills or the sweet jump shot Bridgeman possessed. Instead, it’s his penchant for helping others.

When we lose someone as kind-hearted as Junior Bridgeman, some of the light goes out of this world. The only consolation we can have is this: he shared his light for as long as he could, and maybe kindled light in others, who will continue to be beacons throughout their lifetimes.

I mourn the loss of Junior Bridgeman tonight. I hope his family, friends, teammates, the entire Bucks organization, and anyone else Bridgeman ever knew or ever helped will be comforted, somehow, by what I said above.

The light he shared matters. The example he set also matters.

But damn, I wish Junior Bridgeman was still here with us, to help more of us see the light.

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.

Surfacing Briefly…

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Folks, right now I am battling a case of the flu. I suspect it would be considered “mild” as I can think, but it’s not pleasant, regardless.

So, while I have plenty of things to say, my health is the priority right now.

Mostly, I just wanted to use this opportunity to urge you to be good to one another, and treat others the way you, yourself, want to be treated. As always, if you can keep from spreading vitriol (which I define as “bad stuff for the sake of bad stuff,” which is a lot different than speaking truth to power), do it, as the world has more than enough vitriol to last several thousand lifetimes as it is.

Music I’m listening to: Poppy’s “New Way Out” is attractive, though I don’t understand why she always has to say “Poppy” in all of her songs. (Her voice is distinctive enough that I don’t need that cue.) “I need a new way…I need a new way out” is a lyric that can’t help but resonate strongly with me. Other favorites include “Monsters” by Shinedown and of course “Hold on to Memories” by Disturbed.

Book I’m avidly waiting for: Sharon Lee and Steve Miller’s DIVINER’S BOW, the latest in their trademarked Liaden Universe. If you haven’t read any of their work yet, go do it ASAP. Good places to start include SALVAGE RIGHT, FLEDGLING, PLAN B, LOCAL CUSTOM, CONFLICT OF HONORS, and SCOUT’S PROGRESS. There’s action, romance, believable aliens, and all sorts of other details that cement these novels as being the excellent works I know them to be. Note that if you read one, you’re likely to find them as addicting as I do…in the best of senses. (So read, people!)

Anyway, hold tight to your moral compass, and remember that what is popular may not always be right. Open your minds, refuse to cede any of your mind to anyone in advance, and always, always question authority.

I’ll be back when I feel better.

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.

Young Figure Skaters and Their Coaches Aboard Plane in Recent DC Airport Crash (Updated)

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The Washington Post reported today, January 31, 2025, that there may be as many as twenty young skaters, parents, and their coaches who were on American Eagle flight 5342. This page will be updated as more information comes in. These skaters and their parents, along with their coaches, deserve to be remembered.

While no official word has come yet, the Boston Figure Skating Club has released the names of several skaters and coaches who were on board a flight to Washington, DC, from Wichita, Kansas last night. That flight collided with a helicopter; no one knows yet how it happened, but it’s believed no one survived.

There were sixty-four crew and passengers on that flight. Among them were two young skaters, Jinna Han and Spencer Lane; their parents, Jin Han and Christine Lane; their coaches, Evgenia Shishkova and Vadim Naumov. Han was only fifteen years old, and Lane was just sixteen years old.

Edited to add: Two young figure skaters from the Washington Figure Skating Club also have passed away, those being Everly and Alydia Livingston. They were fourteen and eleven, respectively. Their parents Donna and Peter Livingston also perished.

Edited to add: Figure skater Cory Haynos, sixteen, and his parents, Stephanie and Roger Haynos, also were among the victims. He’d just landed a triple Axel jump for the first time at the developmental camp. That is a huge accomplishment for a young skater, and his potential, like the other skaters who passed away, was limitless.

Edited to add: Skaters Brielle Beyer and Edward Zhou, both of the Figure Skating Club of Northern Virginia, have also passed away. Beyer’s mother, Justyna, and Zhou’s parents, Kaiyan Mou and Joe Zhou, were also victims.

Also edited to add: Delaware Figure Skating Club lost coach Alexandr Kirsanov and young skaters Angela Yang and Sean Kay.

The United States Figure Skating Championships were held this year in Wichita. That’s why the young skaters and their coaches were there. After the championships, there’s usually a developmental camp for skaters with potential to climb higher. (Everyone in figure skating goes to these championships if they have the financial wherewithal to do so, unless they’re ill. It’s a very small community in a number of ways.)

I don’t know anything about Jinna Han or Spencer Lane, except that they were good skaters. They had excellent coaches (who, as noted above, have also died). They had boundless optimism, as future Olympic hopefuls must. They were hard-working, as figure skating is a demanding discipline. They wanted the best in life, the best in their sport, and the best from themselves, which is why they had stayed longer to attend that important developmental camp.

I do remember seeing their coaches, Shishkova and Naumov, skate back in 1994, when they won the world figure skating championship. They were brilliant, both technically and artistically. It’s not a surprise to me at all that they became coaches, nor is it a surprise to me that they were excellent coaches. (Not every figure skater becomes a coach, but those who do tend to be outstanding as they understand everything about it from the beginning of their careers until the end of their performing days.)

I mourn them all.

Edited to add: Coach and retired figure skater Inna Volyanskaya, a citizen of Russia, also perished in this crash.

The human cost is incalculable.

As one of the skaters said online at a social media site (I can’t remember which, as I heard this reported by local radio in Wisconsin rather than saw it), “Hug your loved ones. Hug them every day. Hug them hard.”

None of us knows the future. None of us knows what day will be our end, or how it will come. We can only make the best of the time we’re given.

One thing I do know about those figure skaters and their coaches is, they definitely did that. They lived in service to their art and to their sport. Their parents did everything they could to give their children a chance to excel in one of the most exciting, yet expensive, sports that has ever existed. The costumes, the choreography, the coaching, the ice time…sometimes it seems like the bills go on and on, all for a few brief moments in the sun.

Yet those brief moments in the sun — their short programs, their long programs, their experiences as they go to various events, etc. — are worth everything.

I wish this hadn’t happened. I don’t understand it.

But the unknown skater who said “Hug your loved ones” is right. That’s all we can do, as we continue to celebrate our own few, brief moments in the sun.

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.