Something Wicked This Way Comes

So I'm in the costume store tonight. You know, the one that sets up shop for about 6 weeks in some empty storefront and then clears out of Dodge the day after whatever major holiday it was making a mint off of. (In this case, Halloween.)

So perusing the aisles of clown and fairy finery, the traditional witch, goblin and/or ghost gowns, the obligatory gross-out getups of bloodied body parts, the cowboy-or-Indian conundrum, the Mafia mobsters and such, it was apparent the Pirate and/or Pirates' Wench outfit is this year's Must-Have costume. Yes, Disney, we hear y'all toasting your "Pirates of the Carribbean" franchise with a hearty "har-har," and a bottle of rum. Put a cork in it, ok?

But I wander over to the kids section and oh my word! There is a "Bubble-Gum Singer" outfit that clearly channels Britney Spears, bare midriff and all, and a good 5-7 other similar getups where the little girls modeling the outfit are heavily made-up, miniature versions of Christina Aguilara (ripped black tights, plaid skirt, the midriff AGAIN), take-your-pick American Idol with signature sequined microphone, even a Country Pop Princess (yet again baring an awful lot for a pre-pubescent.) I was, in a word, appalled. The little models can't be older than six or seven. What is the world coming to, when costumers would even consider giving little kids the option of poodle skirt vs. micro-mini? (Or parents, for that matter.)

Seriously, it is just one small step from the Bubble-gum gang to the "Legs'Tra" (or whatever its sexualized title is) collection of "Hot Cop," "Lady in Leather," "French Maid" and other not-so-innocent outfits. Let me say it again: one small step!!! Take a look around people! The clown, fairy and Dorothy-of-Oz costumes are exactly the same, even if in different aisles. Just sized up for adults, sized down for kids. Even Simon Colwell would agree that kids need to "dress like kids" and not 29-year-olds, when they are not even nine yet.

Dressing your daughter like Britney Spears for Halloween is not cute. It is not harmless fun. I ask you, dads, if you're not about to let your precious baby out of the house at 14 dressed like that, why on EARTH would you let her out of the house dressed like that at 4? Her grandparents may think she looks like a "doll" but so might the pedophile who very well could be out on his front porch, passing out candy, just praying for more kids to stop by dressed up in next to nothing.

Scary thought?
It should be.

In Memoriam

We don't publicize this often, but every once in a while, we reporters get to write an article
we have personal ties to. That was the case with the memorial tribute I wrote last week about
Jon Dechau, a guy who graduated two years ahead of me in high school. LCS was a very small school,
so every student knew who every other student was. Still,(and I can't believe I'm saying this)
high school is now more than 10 years ago. So my memories of Jon are fuzzy, limited to his ruddy
cheeks, his then-budding devotion to biking, and the bright yellow Dodge Rampage he drove
(trust me, it was quite the unique car.) The MPN tributes are typically just profiles of
ordinary folk in the community, but it's a bit out of the ordinary when 800-plus people crowd in
for a memorial service. So that's just one more reason why I wished more folks could read it. Hence, this
is now accessible for those who might not have had access to the Sun. Sept. 24 edition. (Note:
This version varies slightly from the print version, as I restored a couple of words that served to
clarify phrasing.) I always want readers to feel as though they've gotten to know someone better
through these tributes, mainly because I've always gotten a taste of their personality just by speaking
with family and friends in the process of writing it. But this one is a little bit different. Not just
because of that personal connection, but because a lot of "ordinary" things about Jon were a little bit different,
a little extraordinary, if you will. Read on.



Jonathan Dechau, the 'ultimate optimist'
The Rushville native is remembered for his smile, spirit and faith.
By RACHEL E. DEWEY
Messenger Post Staff
RUSHVILLE - For years, Jonathan Dechau tried to convince his friend and
fellow cyclist Todd Scheske that Dechau's hometown, Rushville, was "right
on the way" to an East Coast race.
"Just look at a map," the always-positive Dechau would tell Scheske.
The competitive cyclist - "JonBoy" to fellow racers - was 33 when he was
struck from behind by a motorist Sept. 13 while pedaling along the
westbound shoulder of Routes 5 and 20, near Harold Avenue, a few miles
from his Lima home.
Mr. Dechau started riding when his dad, Rick, gave him a BMX bike at age
13. The next year, the two graduated to road bikes and Jonathan began
racing, his dad said. Father and son played baseball, basketball and
hockey together, too.
As a teen, Mr. Dechau biked to his job at the Canandaigua McDonald's and
routinely rode around Canandaigua Lake on Sunday afternoons, his mother
said. In 1991, he graduated as salutatorian from Lima Christian School. By
1993, when he earned a liberal arts degree from Finger Lakes Community
College, he was classified a Category 1 cyclist, the highest amateur
ranking.
Racing at that level for nearly a dozen years, Mr. Dechau was a fierce and
clever competitor who could "time trial like an animal,"  said Scheske,
describing races where Dechau pushed others, including Scheske, to a win.
Mr. Dechau won several Empire State Games and state championships, and had
so many top finishes in time trials, road races and criteriums around the
country, his family literally can't count them all. In 2000, he placed in
the Top 20 at the Olympic trials, and he was planning a pro career with
Noble House Securities when the team's corporate sponsorship fell through.
Still, "he was the ultimate optimist," Scheske said. "You couldn't keep
him down."
Shawn McHugh of Stanley, one of 28 foster children who lived with Mr.
Dechau and his parents through the years, counts himself among many
touched by his welcoming spirit.
"From Day One, Jon treated me as if I was his brother," McHugh said,
adding how much he, then just 14, looked up to him. "He impressed upon me
some life lessons that will never be forgotten, most importantly, that a
life centered around God was a blessing, not a curse."
Even as a teenager, Rick Dechau said, his son carried his Bible to races
and was viewed as a spiritual mentor by those older than he.  "They knew
they could count on him to pray," he said.
Among many of the jobs Mr. Dechau held over the years to fund his cycling
was a two-year stint alongside landscaper Brian Porter of Pittsford. The
two also trained together. Porter is among many who told Mr. Dechau's
family not only of his diligent work ethic, but of frequent calls to
convey encouragement, concern or simple birthday cheer.
"But that was Jon, everything to everyone -always with a big smile, kind
words, and an infectious laugh," Porter said.
"The thing he would say the most is 'God is good,'" said Mr. Dechau's
wife, Debbie, who lived near Batavia and first met him online the night
after she prayed for God to send her someone to help turn her life around.
"He really did bring me a lot closer to the Lord than I had ever been,"
she said. The two were married July 9, 2004.
Mr. Dechau began cutting back on biking to spend more time with her son,
Tyler, and was thrilled when the couple's baby girl, Lillian Paige,
arrived eight months ago.
Every morning, her husband would sing Lily a song he'd made up while he
changed her diaper, Debbie Dechau said, allowing "he wasn't a particularly
good singer" but sang often anyway.
"I try to sing her the same song when I get her up now, just so I don't
forget it and so she'll remember it too," Debbie Dechau said.
Almost daily, he would show off cell-phone photos of Lily to co-workers at
Jim White Metal Products, Inc., where he was learning bidding processes
and administration in preparation to take over his parents' iron working
business.
"He delighted in the littlest things. Something that to somebody else
wouldn't mean diddly-squat just made his day," his mother, Judi Dechau,
said, describing daily phone calls to report Lily cut a tooth or Tyler was
rounding bases at a baseball game.
"He always saw the best in everything and everybody."  

In another unique happenstance, two area web sites, www.buffalophotocd.com and
www.gvccracing.com are just brimming with photos and memories, particularly as
relates to Jon's racing career.  

AP-and-at-'em!

In case you haven't heard by now, the Daily Messenger, the esteemed local paper I write for, has once again laid claim to the state's "Newspaper of Distinction" award from the Associated Press Association. The prizes were handed out Thursday night in Albany.

Never mind. Let me tell you about the shot in the arm this gave many of the Messenger staffers who have been sweating it out the last couple of weeks as touring "suits" march through to take a look at the building, our papers, and property to decide if they want to bid a purchase offer for the company. Let's just say there was no need to drown our sorrows in goat milk this time around. Instead, there was much arm-pumping, hand-clapping, congragulatory yells across the cubicle walls. It was a better energy boost than coffee.

Now, the last time the DM won this award, for the 2004-05 "year," the higher-ups decided to publish a golden banner atop the front page proclaiming "Best Newspaper in the State*" And when you went to the *, you'd read something akin to " for papers with a circulation under 25,000." While it may not sound like much of a compliment, our "classification" is the one with the toughest competition in the state's annual AP awards, because more daily papers fall into that "under 25,000" circulation category than do in the three larger categories (25K-50K, the roughly "above 50K" category and the "above 125K" category). The NY Times and the Rochester D&C compete in the largest category, if that gives you a better idea of the differences. I believe there's something like 5-7 papers in the top category and most are in NYC/Long Island, while there are perhaps as many as 15-20-something in the under 25K category.

Anyway, back to that golden banner. A few of us were wondering if it would begin running again on our front page. But one editor suggested a minor modification, given the circumstances our company is now in. His idea for a banner? "Just try and shut us down now, you (unprintables)!"
He garnered quite a few laughs with that one.

My own personal reaction? "Don't 'Mess' with the Best" (I even briefly considered it for a possible blog post headline.) But that's just because I'm so gosh-darn proud of the work we do around here. And I'm not talking just reporters (although the writing weighs rather heavily with the judges). The editors, page designers, press room technicians, carriers and those in the circulation and advertising departments keep the whole thing working as a well-oiled machine. Without them, great editions like the six-day countdown to Bush visit coverage wouldn't have happened. The commemorative "Worth the Wait" edition published the day after Bush came to Canandaigua wouldn't have happened. (Yes, that was one of the editions submitted for consideration in the "Distinction" award - so thank YOU, Mr. President!) Without those folks, our day-after election edition wouldn't have happened. (We always clean up on that sort of local coverage, if I do say so myself. And yes, that, too, was one of the dates the judges requested.)
Providentially, the other required submission was our paper's annual report on "Sunshine Week," when newspapers tout the highs and lows of the state's Open Meetings Law and its bearing on freedom of the press. Providentially, our "Sunshine" edition was published the day after our Presidential paper, and it was still stocked with lots of leftover George W. Bush coverage.

So, yes, I felt it in my bones that we were going to be named "Best in State" again this year. I was convinced it was a matter of when, not if. And I was even more convinced when the AP wires made the early announcement the Daily Messenger won 10 writing, graphic and photo awards in August. (They always hold the "Newspapers of Distinction" prize announcement until the night of the awards banquet.)

This was definitely a red-letter day at the office. I think I can sum it up in one word:
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!

Scene about town ...

In descending order, the various miscellany seen here, there and yonder in my travels this weekend:

70 still life paintings, Oxford Gallery, Rochester: The show is called "Seeing Things" and runs through Oct. 14. My art professor friend had three oil paintings on display, one of which had sold (for $3,200!!) before the reception. Yes, I am slightly ignorant about the whole numbers game that is the world of fine art, but after this weekend, whew! I've had quite the education. Alas, she is already so far beyond my meager budget, I can only window shop her work.
In the slightly-more-affordable category, I much enjoyed "Cumbrian Spring" by Toni Putnam, an encaustic (ie: colored wax) on panel (that was a "mere" $700).
Random thought: What is it, exactly, that inspires some artists to title their works figuratively (for ex: "The Good Egg," "Cheese Trap Act,""Table for Three?" or "Persistance of Conflict") while others stick with the literal (for ex: "Still Life with Japanese Lantern and Stacked Stones," "Anjou Pear," or "Nested Mangos")? I find I prefer figurative, but I would love to know how they choose names for each one.

22 restaurant patrons in the 5 o'clock hour, Sinbad's, Park Ave., Rochester: Also seen, (and consumed) six delicious dolma (aka "grape leaves").
Random thought: If a Mediterranean diet is supposedly one of the healthiest ever, I will happily convert. Hey, I'd even consider doing a "Jared for Subway" type gig for them.

Six scoops of homemade ice cream, atop three cones, Shark's Custard and Candy, Bloomfield.
Any faithful Red Zone reader should know by now it's the best in my book. Time is running out to enjoy it this season. They're only open two more weekends, noon - 9:30 p.m.
Random thought: Would someone please invent a coffee cookie dough ice cream?

Five random fishermen, Lagoon Park, Canandaigua.
Random thought: Are there actually fish to catch in that little outlet, or is it all about male bonding and/or looking "productive" when actually doing next to nothing?

Two seagulls balancing on a board left floating in the water, Canandaigua Lake. I'm not kidding. I saw it with my own eyes.
Random thought: How is that even possible?

One gorgeous pink sunset, spanning Canandaigua Lake, as much a feast for the eyes as
One divine raspberry pie, seductively sitting on my plate at home, was for the palatte.
Random thought: Pink (in all its variations) really is the most delicious shade.

Marking the Moment: Five Years Later

If you read my post on the "World Trade Center" movie, you may recall the reference to the "9/11" documentary filmed by French brothers, Jules and Gedeon Naudet. Well, it aired again Sunday night on CBS, and again, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the screen.

Only this time, the documentary had the added benefit of an update at the end, touching base with many of the firefighters filmed to see how they and their lives had changed, five years later. The rookie the brothers had originally set out to profile when they began filming at the fire station months earlier had left the "house" to join the terrorism haz-mat (hazardous materials) team. The chief, whose firefighting brother had died in the south tower, is now the head of the operations center, having been promoted a couple times since. Naturally, some of the men had retired. A few had gone so far as to move away from New York City altogether. Survivor's guilt seemed to have plagued many, and as was just hinted at, some may eventually be plagued with a respiratory illness I bet will come to be nicknamed "WTC disease" or some similar 9/11-related moniker . But their stories, their memories resonate just as powerfully. I was still riveted.

I think what struck me most was hearing the French brothers themselves talk about how that day had changed them. Somewhere toward the end of the original footage, you see the members of the company straggling back in to the station, most covered in that chalky ash, cursing in frustration and confusion, then embracing one another. They are silently keeping tally of who has made it back safe and who is still unaccounted for. The Frenchmen were separated too, each with a camera, recording the horror, and each thought the other was dead. Reunited at the station, they too, embrace. Miraculously, every one of the 50 men of that crew survived, though they all lost friends or relatives who had either worked in or near the towers or served in another fire company. And then one of the Frenchmen appears (Jules, I think?) telling how close he now is with his brother. A clip of Gedeon's wedding plays; life has begun moving on for him, too. But even in the wedding footage, you can see the connection; both brothers seem much softer (and not just because one of them is wearing one of those ruffled-lapel powder blue 70's-era suits. Goodness, I hope he liked it because it was "vintage.") You can tell how grateful they are for the gift of one another.

Another indelible: the firm resolution in the firefighter's eyes, their turn of speech, the way you can tell they have chosen, irrevocably, to look back on it with a very specific perspective, or describe it with an unchanging phrase. If the Naudets update this film again in another five years, I know these men will not lose those phrases, that look in their eyes.

It's much like the simple resolution I made rushing out to report on what became the first of many assignments covering what seemed like every possible local angle of the aftermath of that day. Sometime then or in the first few days after, I just made a decision: I'm always going to call it, write it as the Sept. 11 terrorist "attacks." Yes, it was tragic, but "tragedy" wouldn't make the cut. Nor would "calamity" or even "catastrophe." No, it was always going to be "attacks."

I've never been to New York City. I never knew what it was before and what it is now, except for what I've seen in pictures, or moving pictures. Robert DeNiro was standing in front of a beautiful golden panorama, one of the memorials that has been built, to narrate parts of the new clips, the updates woven in at the end of the film. I think that I would love to touch that memorial, read it, soak it in. But if I never get there, that's ok.

I have my own memorial, that one simple word. And I resolve to keep it.
That's how I choose to remember.

Do NOT Feed the Wildlife!

I was going to post this wild-and-crazy dream I had early last week about being taken hostage by the infamous Bucky Phillips and collecting the reward for helping the police capture him.
It seemed funny at the time, and naturally I blame the whole thing on falling asleep that particular night to the chatter on the police scanner (occupational hazard) as another Bucky alert was being called out.

At first, the random scanner broadcasts had me on high-alerts, guessing troopers would catch him as we listened. But then, I confess it devolved into something of a mild amusement because the guy has been on the run the entire summer, and with each successive broadcast over the scanner they seemed thisclose to catching him and somehow he still got away.

But it's not funny anymore.

Somehow, the ever-increasing danger associated with each alert, the fact that he went from being "armed and dangerous" to "armed and extremely dangerous" had just been lost in the repetition of it all. Well, all that changed when I got back in town on Labor Day only to learn that, early over the weekend, this escaped prisoner had ambushed two troopers with one of the high-powered rifles he was believed to have stolen the night the latest alert prompted my stupid dream. One of the officers died of his injuries. He was only 32, and he left a wife and child behind.

Now I'm nowhere close to amused; I'm angry.

See, there's been a bunch of local yahoos down Southern Tier way that have reportedly been aiding and abetting this particular fugitive. I'm sure they would swear they haven't actually helped him, but I daresay hawking "Got Bucky?" t-shirts and eating so-called Bucky burgers is going to go a long way toward turning the suspect into some warped version of a local folk hero. That makes it a lot harder for the police to reinforce the image of what this man truly is: a murderer and thief on the run from justice.

The yahoos helped create the very environment in which a few dim-wits have gone so far as to literally assist Bucky in eluding capture, reportedly by leaving him food, supplies, and likely unlocked backwoods cabins etc. to hole up in. It eerily echoes one particular episode of "Numb3rs" from last season where a small town turned tracking a fugitive into a near-cottage industry. Reportedly, the weekend shootings were "retaliation" against troopers who dared to intercept and interrupt relatives and/or others believed to be giving Bucky a helping hand.

People! Have you learned NOTHING from shows like "Wild America" or even "Dateline?"
Do NOT feed the wildlife! (Or in this case, the Wild Man.) Bears, mountain lions and other wild animals, even raccoons, cannot be domesticated. They cannot be placated. And letting them help themselves to scraps, garbage or what-have-you is only asking for trouble in the long run. Because pretty soon, the garbage and the scraps cease to satisfy them, and before you know it, it's like they've taken over. They come right up on front porches or break through screen doors to help themselves to whatever's in the refrigerator ... or the baby bassinette. And then a whole town is held hostage by the beasts.

So no one should be surprised that kids in Chautaqua County schools are spending recess inside, that motorists are being delayed at checkpoints, that hunters may be facing cancellation of the shooting season. Such is life when a suspected murderer is on the lam in one's own backyard.

If the yahoos don't like living under such restrictions, they ought to consider burning those t-shirts and calling for the man's capture instead. I'm not kidding.

Clearly, neither is Bucky Phillips.