Friday, April 03, 2015

Youth Biography on Ryan White Available

In 1985 the eyes of the world turned to the Hoosier State and the attempt by a thirteen-year-old Kokomo, Indiana, teenager to do what seemed to be a simple task--join his fellow classmates at Western Middle School in Russiaville, the school to which his Kokomo neighborhood was assigned.

The teenager, Ryan White, however, had been diagnosed with Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome from contaminated blood-based products used to treat his hemophilia. "It was my decision," said White, "to live a normal life, go to school, be with friends, and enjoying day to day activities. It was not going to be easy."

White's words were an understatement, to say the least. His wish to return to school was met with panic by some school officials and parents. The controversy about White and the quiet courage he and his mother, Jeanne, displayed in their battle to have him join his classmates is explored in the eleventh volume in the Indiana Historical Society Press's Youth Biography Series. The Quiet Hero is written by Nelson Price, who wrote about White's odyssey during his days as a reporter and columnist for the Indianapolis News. Price goes beyond the scenes and brings to light stories and individuals who might have been lost in the media spotlight.

In Price's book, White, who succumbed to his disease in 1990, comes across as a normal teenager who met an impossible situation with uncommon grace, courage, and wisdom. "It was difficult at times to handle; but I tried to ignore the injustice, because I knew the people were wrong," White said. "My family and I held no hatred for those people because we realized they were victims of their own ignorance."

The Quiet Hero: A Life of Ryan White costs $17.95. The hardback book is available from the IHS's History Market.


Anonymous said...

Le fabuleux chemin du soleil.

Ici, dans le
souffle perpétuel
du nouveau
matin, il y
a le portrait du
courage qui
marche en silence
comme la pluie

Francesco Sinibaldi

Francesco Sinibaldi said...

En la luz cristalina.

la luz cubre
el suspiro
siento el ave
cantar la
melódica rima.

Francesco Sinibaldi

Stanley Workman said...

Imagine a City...

Imagine a city where every home had on it's front lawn a piece of sculpture or an art installation.

Imagine a city where each and every business invited artists to exhibit their work to the company's patrons.

Imagine a city where instead of gifting clothing, electronics, chocolate, or cash, a work of art was given, and appreciated.

Imagine a city where each and every home housed and preserved an art collection. Where insecurities over self-interests were dispensed with, and collections reflected those varied tastes.

Imagine a city where glass, pottery, painting, photography. fibers, basketry, and even graffiti were embraced. Where the artists themselves were looked upon as a treasured resource. No matter their perspective.

Imagine a city where any construction project involved multiple artists, in its' execution.

Imagine a city which preserved its' creative heritage and embraced it.

Imagine a city which understood, that capturing a slice of life had merit. But to alter a communities perspective to embrace all thought and belief, strengthened it, not weakened it.

Imagine a city which led the World in cultural munificence which would then reap the reward of becoming a global mecca.

Imagine a city which could step outside of what others were doing could walk the path of its' own making.

Imagine a city where meetings to enact such change, needn't take place. Rather a spontaneous change came from its' citizenry itself.

Imagine a city which artists flocked to; enabling them to create without fear of censorship or derision.

Imagine a city not dependent upon their museums or art schools for their lead in any discussions of artistic merit, but rather the career artists themselves.

I have imagined this city since childhood, as have most of my colleagues. Instead we've swum through muck, hoping such change would miraculously happen without distracting us from our labors. Or moved to the closest metropolis which appeared poised to take the plunge.

Cleveland, like most cities, while not a blank canvas; is one, where the image it sports has faded beyond restoration. The time to paint over it has come. Shiny new unaesthetic buildings, are simply masking the rot.

Marc Breed, Fine Artist

"In the distant future, when America is a mere shadow of itself, who historically, shall be remembered? In sports, an argument can be made for Ruth, Chamberlain, Gretzky, Ali, et al. In Art, there is but one name, Breed."

-Smithsonian Magazine

Francesco Sinibaldi said...

A sky full of thoughts.

As a concept
in the sky
full of dreams,
as a beautiful
moment that
always appears
with the sound
of a fine bird....

Francesco Sinibaldi

Francesco Sinibaldi said...

Sweet little candor....

a delicate
in the light
of your faith,
sweet little

Francesco Sinibaldi

Anonymous said...

Le fabuleux chemin du soleil.
( last version )

dans le souffle
léger d'un matin
musical, il y a
le portrait du
courage qui
marche en silence
comme la pluie
mélodieuse qui
dessine la tristesse:
j'appelle le sourire
d'un regard éternel,
la voix de l'espoir
et le son de la grâce
qui revient dans
le coeur...

Francesco Sinibaldi

Francesco Sinibaldi said...

Like a melody.
( last version )

When the joy
of a blackbird
glows in the air
with a careful
appearance her
juvenile candor
lightens the heart
of a beautiful garden
and so, near the
edge of a fountain,
your inner delight
returns in the sunrise
to describe the
reflection of
an intense emotion....

Francesco Sinibaldi

Francesco Sinibaldi said...

Un murmure de paix.
( last version )

Dans la vigne
un regard
assoupi qui
chante le
matin et la
voix du soleil,
dans le coeur
qui racconte
le présent pour
donner la finesse
d'un moment
éphémère: je vois
le sourire d'un
berger solitaire,
la lueur de la
fille et le tendre
bonheur de l'oiseau

Francesco Sinibaldi

Anonymous said...

El fervor de la memoria.
( last version )

Siento un susurro
dónde el miedo
pasajero se
transforma en
una rima, veo
la luz en el viñedo
cuando un sueño
reaparece como
el canto del diamante
en el limpido
destino: muere
la poesía, revive
la tristeza en la dulce
cantinela de una
cándida mujer
que regresa en el
pasado recordando
la delicia...

Francesco Sinibaldi

Anonymous said...

Sweetness and virtue.
( third version )

Sweet and present
delight, when
the sound of a
blackbird spreads
in the air with
a certain rapidity
I see your profile
proceeding alone
while the candour
returns and the
wind's intuition
appears near
a shade: the soft
wind invites you
to cry, a tender
sensation remains
in the dark to discover
your wonder...

Francesco Sinibaldi

Anonymous said...

La voix des sens.
( last version )

Dans la nature
des sourires,
et dans l'aube
de l'espoir qui
dépeint le matin,
une image s'évanouit
en créant le profil
de la prairie silencieuse
qui chante la tristesse
et puis donne le
soupir d'un moineau
solitaire: je voudrais
la lumière pour décrire
la jeunesse d'un
rayon fugitif...

Francesco Sinibaldi