So Friday was the start of the weekend. Clearly.
After beginning work at the Ithaca Journal on Thursday, I returned to work on Friday only to find myself mired in the same busy work. I was (and for all practical purposes, still am) compiling a profile of all the interns for Bruce Estes, the managing editor. I finished up what Bruce told me to do, and waited around for him, but after about an hour I split. The Stanley Cup was in town, and I knew I could get good access.
I was right. I found Cornell Sports Information Director, Laura Stang, and asked her what I needed to do to talk to some of the players and coaches. After she told me, I also asked if it would be possible to speak to Joe Neuwendike (Of New Jersey Devils fame). She rolled her eyes, but gave me the info I needed.
Coach Schafer was going to present Neuwendike, and Mike Tallman (The man of the evening). In turn, Neuwendike would then present the cup. All I had to do was wait off to the side, and he would apparently speak to me later.
I was floating around. While not as excited as most, I was still intoxicated about talking to Neuwendike (funny, since I have probably mispelled his name wrong about a million times). Like everyone else, I was buzzing about the cup, Joe, and seeing Shafer play.
All nice things, but not what was important.
As things went on, as I "donated" my five dollars to the Mike Tallman fund, as I sat there with my friends, I started to sober up. I had come with the idea of writing something about the Joe and the Cup, but now that I was in Lynah rink, it all was changing.
When I was in L.A., Times columnist T.J. Seimers told us we would all fade away into the crowd. He lamented for us, and urged us not to go. Three months later, I knew exactly what he meant.
The pack mentality of the media was focused on Neweundike, but the crowd was focused on Tallman. That was the story, and as he was brought onto the ice, I realized it.
It was startling. Most people on the Lynah ice don't use wheelchairs, but Tallman isn't like most people. He's stronger, and even though he's limited to the confines of his chair, he's also somehow larger than Newendike, the cup, and even life itself.
After Newendike was done on the ice, I went over to the dressing room area, but not to talk to him. Instead I waited in line to talk to Mike Tallman. I wanted to know what it was like for him, how he had adjusted, and what this day of giving meant to him. In short, I wanted to know why Newendike would use his day with the Stanley Cup to benefit him. What made Mike Tallman special.
And while waiting in line, I found out.
Mike Tallman, class of '90, had played Hockey at Cornell. But in April, he suffered a spinal injury during a pick up game. The next few weeks were greuling, but he eventually rehabilitated enough to resume most normal activites. He was, however, bound to a wheelchair. The evening's events were to benefit his family, and help pay for his hospital bills.
But that wasn't what made Tallman special. There was something else.
Besides Tallman's attitude, which made you like him the minute you met him, he was a Cornellian through and through. He grew up in Ithaca, wanted with all his might to play Cornell Hockey, and eventually got his wish. While he may no longer possess the ability to walk, he does still have his memories, and families.
That's right -- families -- plural. Besides his loving wife and daughter, Tallman also has the Cornell family. In short, what made Mike Tallman "so special" was his time spent on East Hill.
While the other reporters were busy talking to Newendike, I was busy watching Tallman. Sure I was invading on what should have been private moments, but I was part of the public in a public place. I, like the others in the crowd, wanted to know more about this remarkable person, and his journey to recovery.
Eventually the other reporters came over and joined me, but not with the same purpose. They wanted a sound bite. I wanted to know the whole story.
When most people went home that night, I'm sure they talked about Joe Newendike and the Cup. Hell, I did. But I'm also sure they stopped for a minute to thank the powers that be. Those who went home most likely reflected with loved ones, paused and felt sorry for Tallman. And in that regard I wrote my story.
But not quite. Instead of feeling sorry for Tallman. Instead of using his injury to elicit emotion, I used it to illustrate a connection which I have already written of here. The connection between Cornellians.
You may think of it what you want. You may think of it as Networking. But then pardon me if I think of you as mistaken. It is indeed a bond of friendship and love, and something stronger than words can explain. In short, it's the reason I'm proud to call myself a Cornell student. Becuase I'm part of something that's better than what you can get at other institutions. I'm part of the family.
The rest of the evening was mixed. Newendike left early, so I didn't get my photo with him, but I did find him for an interview. Funny, I didn't even use his qoutes -- they weren't necessary. I also went out afterwards, to rejoice in the beauty of life with my fellow man, but in this case it was both good and necessary. I needed to experience living, and find something to be thankful for (I found it).
So for those of you who take the time to read my ramblings, I urge you to do the same. Remember Mike Tallman, and whether you be Cornellian or not, remember to be thankful for the people you call Family. Now get out of your chair and go experience life -- it truly is worth living.
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