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Show A-14 The Park Record LI- PAICC CITY'S BEST CtEPT IS ONLY IS IV Mike's has the finest quality nursery selection, at amazing prices! All lilacs on sale! Select groups of trees on sale rfer Hot or not, July is still a great time to plant! i;i:vi:KMWKi;t ites away... y!:- Sunday in the Park WedThursFri, July 28-30, 2004 515 North Main in Heber, next to the bowling alley Monday - Saturday, 9am-6pm 435-657-2970 c Sun; 1 1 t M HEAL ..WOMEN f!nVE CHIVES - Fridav. lulv 30 s , , ' ' ., a ' t v 4 . ''':T" . " - - v r fu f (j. r ' '.' i ' vv? r.-rf lcKs ;vv .' Doug had been missing for over 24 hours when mC's Ijfe Flight helicopter found him on a ledge about 1 20 feet below die top of a cliff. He'd fallen while hunting and seriously injured his leg, cutting off blood circulation below the knee. In addition, he was suffering from severe hypothermia. The Life Flight crew hoisted Doug off the ledge and loaded him into the helicopter. Within 22 minutes they touched down at the LeVel 1 Trauma Center at LDS Hospital. Only two hospitals in the region are classified as Level I Trauma Centers. To receive the classification, a hospital must have a wide variety of surgeons and otlier specialist who can respond within a moment's notice to any situation. For Doug, time wis especially critical. Muscle tissue can only survive so long without adequate blood supply. Because deadly toxins were building up in his injured limb, Doug was literally minutes away from losing his leg and possibly his life. As the clock ticked, orthopedic and vascular surgeons worked to restore blood flow to Doug's leg. "Doug was humify minutes away from hstng his leg and possibly his life' Orthopedic Surgeon Thmias Banman, M .D. Today Doug walks, hikes and jogs. While he still must do more rehabilitation, he has the use of both his legs. As . Doug is quick to say, "I'm just glad to have a second chance." To learn more about the Level 1 Trauma Center at LDS Hospital, visit IIIC.com. IHC INTERMOUNTAIN HEALTH CARE THE NUMBHR O N li RATED HtAlTH CARE SYSTEM IN THE NATION By Teri Orr Roots and wings, revisited The weeping birch tree in my front yard is dying and I cant stop crying. This week it is just too much, too sad, too strong a punctuation mark to a difficult diffi-cult year. When I moved into this house in 1980 Jhe tree was already here. The couple who had built this home had lovingly planted several trees in the yard and this one tree, directly in front of the house, somehow gave the place a welcoming and unusual personality. Not unlike the wisdom in Shel Silverstein ever-popular book, "The Giving Tree," this tree was a friend. She held lights on holidays, bird feeders year-round, and once, for a bridal shower, we hung inflatable pool toys from her branches. The tree never complained, in fact, I'm pretty certain the tree was happy. I have since learned this tree never should have been planted in this zone. Despite that, it provided years of great joy, until this season a birch boar found its way into the trunk and branch- The image of those... imposing oaks and maples... will last the rest of my life. So will the memory of my friend, Frances Judson Kennedy, who, according to her tradition, saw the inner light in each and every human being equally, peacefully, powerfully." by-branch, the tree is withering before my eyes. Last week I was in Philadelphia where the trees at the Friends Cemetery were magnificent, magnifi-cent, humbling, awe-inspiring awe-inspiring and so very old and so very tall they defy description. Except to say the maples and oaks were taller than 10-story buildings. They were healthy and lush and green. "Right as rain," as my Irish friend would say. And knowing the centuries they have been there - providing shelter and comfort for generatiohs -1 think the trees are happy. My friend Fran was buried there last Monday with her people. The sun broke through the rainy day and she was laid to rest after her year-long struggle with cancer. Her marker will be no more or less than the identical foot-wide, foot-wide, six-inch-deep marble markers of all buried there. Engraved only with her name and dates of birth and death. She was, for all her elegance and generosity and kindness and humor, a very simple person. That was the foundation of her Quaker faith. At the Haverford Meeting House, built in the early 1800s, there was no music, no showy floral arrangements, no sermons. In the Quaker tradition, her brother spoke first and invited others who felt moved to take a turn. After more than three dozen people of all ages and complexions com-plexions spoke, we had a tapestry of a life well lived - her compassion, wit and generous acts. A Quaker member concluded by saying. "She was quite a gal. You know don't you, you were all lucky to have known her?" We sat on hard benches covered in needlepoint fabric. It was the same hall Fran had been married in, where according to her faith, each guest was asked to sign the wedding certificate. Lore tells us that if a Quaker couple decide to divorce, you must return to all those guests and explain why the union didn't work. Fran's husband passed away almost 20 years ago. Soon after, she started dividing her energies between the East Coast, Utah and Hawaii. In time, she found a companion for this chapter of her life, Ralph Gates. Fran became a board member of the Park City Performing Arts .Foundation before we had the building, now known as the Eccles Center. Her grandfather, A.J. Judson, had been the executive director of the New York and Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestras. He had start ed both Columbia Artists and Columbia Broadcasting Systems. He had brought classical music through a touring tour-ing program during the Depression to rural America. Once, when she was about 12 with her grandfather in Central Park, he asked her where the most important city "was for music in America She thought it was rather obvious obvi-ous and said New York. He carefully told her no, the most important city was any small city in America. That's where people need the music the most, he said. So Fran spent the last decade bringing music to small cities on the east coast and here in Utah. We, at the Eccles Center," along with thousands of students in Summit County, were the recipients of the String Orchestra of New York City, The National Orchestral Association's own orchestra, the Lark Quartet, the Elements Quartet and numerous individual composers and musicians. But Fran, just as enthusiastically, supported support-ed cutting-edge dance and thoughtful family programming. program-ming. She supported our staff with travel and cul tural offerings rarely made possible for such a small nonprofit like ours. Fran gave us more than support. She gave us experiences. She loved my children, chil-dren, especially my daughter who works with b me. And she was thrilled I was enjoying the gifts of grandmotherhood. She loved her children and doted on her own grandchildren. She delighted in my successes and listened to my failures. After every performance -every one - she would call the next morning and relive the best parts of the night before. She was generous with her gifts to be certain but she was generous with her spirit spir-it and her time and her compassion. I cannot count up the lessons I learned from her. I am inspired by her Quaker example to look for the light of God in every person. And I will miss her like crazy. Fran's passing is the fifth in my life since March. All friends who have left now, seemingly together. Which is why the tree dying has thrown me for a loop. When I returned from Fran's funeral, a dear friend took me to lunch. She put down her fork and in her no-nonsense voice said what she was about to say would not allow any discussion or argument on my part. She would buy me a new tree to replace the weeping birch. It would be to celebrate cel-ebrate all my grandchildren. The thoughtfulness of the gift left me (albeit temporarily) tem-porarily) speechless. So the weeping birch tree will be cut down. I will leave a stump for remembrance. I will have a little ceremony for the joy the tree gave me and my children and the neighbors and the birds. I will mark its passing wilh sadness sad-ness and love and then I will be ready to give my energies to the flowering crabapple tree set to take its place. A tree to bring joy and to celebrate a new generation. The image of those strong, towering, imposing oaks and maples in the oldest cemetery in America will last the rest of my life. So will the memory of my friend, Frances Judson Kennedy, who, according to her tradition, tradi-tion, saw the inner light in eaqh and every human being equally, peacefully, powerfully, on any day of the week but certainly on all she spent here, all those Sundays in the ParkL. '' Teri Orr is a former editor of The Park Record and director of the Park City Performing Arts Center. Core Samples By Jay Meehan The settlement I'm in a back alley, cuttin' my own deals with a guy in a trench coat who says he's got what I need. It's not really about me, you understand. So what if I'm a finagler, a conniver, a contriver - I'm really only here to help. It's public service. We whisper. It's about the compact disc "minimum advertised price" antitrust legislation, says I. His nod tells me he knows the deal. His raised eyebrows spell out "corporate collusion" in some arcane semaphore. We speak the same language. We're in concert. Back in March, the Utah Attorney General's office was all ballyhoo over the settlement from litigation against large music distributors and retailers involved in - say it ain 1 so price fix- ' 3 ! ing. We on the buyer's end of the biz shudder to think that big business would use our music addiction against us. . They cooked-up a conspiracy, con-spiracy, you say, to wring a few extra simoleons from our already threadbare coffers? They had an angle? They manipulated and negotiated in secret? mmmmmm This, in America? It's almost too difficult to fathom. Where's the love? Utah slice of this windfall pie, according to the AG, would come in somewhere over $350,000, the cash to be split among consumers who jumped through the proper hoops no later than the day before they first heard about it. As a sidebar to this pay-off, and this is where I come in, the announcement also stated that 43,500 CDs were to be distributed to schools and libraries throughout the state. Well, as has been mentioned previously, libraries are my beat. I have been known to stalk the printed word up one aisle and down another. The verbs, especially, are growing somewhat tired of the harassment, but the nouns, split between the subjective and objective, dont see it as much of an issue. To them, it!s all about trust. Or, maybe, antitrust. But back to the alley and the trench coats with collars turned-up and the whispering in shadows about the relative rela-tive value of one CD against another and the surreal aspect of how this seemingly nefarious undertaking arrived upon my plate. Quite probably, it relates to past life misbehavior. That one loves to bite me. What happened was that most libraries received multiple mul-tiple copies of hitherto unheard of titles where one or none would have done nicely. If the libraries didnt immediately bond with their allotment, then it was up to them to trade with other libraries to get a better fit. And that is where the cottage industry of trench coats and fedoras enter the mix. In order to better represent their constituency, libraries now needed agents in the field to bargain on their behalf, to broker deals on the fly, to negotiate the labyrinths of CD multitude. And, for the most part, that is why back alleys were invented. fit They cooked-up a conspiracy, you say, to wring a few extra simoleons from our already threadbare coffers?... They manipulated and negotiated in secret? This, in America? Its almost too difficult to fathom. Where's the love?" Who knows how we got here. In the beginning was the lawsuit, and then other states jumped onboard and then the righteous were victorious and the first back alley deal was cut between the "representatives of the people" and the CD folk. It would be very interesting to follow the methodology methodolo-gy used by the distributors and retailers as they decided which CDs to put in the boxes they were shipping to the various Attorneys General around the country. And, possibly, even more interesting to follow the trail of logic involved with Utah's AG and the resultant allocations to schools and libraries hereabouts. This very newspaper reported in a recent edition that, due to the aforemen-tioned aforemen-tioned redistribution cir cus, the Park City Library is now in possession posses-sion of five copies of Whitney Houston's version ver-sion of "The Star-Spangled Star-Spangled Banner." Now, if that doesnt open a can of digital worms, I'll burn you a copy of the Jimi Hendrix rendition. Although I've long been aware that there is such an animal as the "single" CD, I've never actually seen one and certainly wouldn't want to run into one in a dark alley. But that is exactly what happened. Negotiations ensued. Bids were tendered. The action was fast and furious. And then the light bulb went on. For the most part, these CDs had nothing to do with the resource mission of a library. What did I think I was going to end up with, "The Complete Hank Williams" nine-CD box-set, when all I had to offer was a package deal featuring Brittney Spears, Christina Aguillara, and a hard body, or is it a shortstop, to be named later? No, this was more about the library's entertainment component a needed role within the community and one they fulfill admirably. Many were the times I would stop by the Wasatch County Library and pick up a batch of Ed Abbey tapes for a southwestern road trip. And other than the fact that they made you want to drink beer and pull over and nap under your truck every couple of hours, they were as entertaining as all get-out. I imagined this whole thing, of course. Kristen-my-librarian has too much on her plate, what with moving into the brand new Wasatch County Library and all, to make a big deal about boxes of free CDs arriving without an appointment Since most of the new furniture is still on the horizon, the containers will probably be enlisted as tables and chairs and objects d'art for the short term. But she knows that if she ever needs a semi-scrupulous agent to represent the library's assets in the hard-boiled hard-boiled world of CD swapping, I am waiting in the wings. And as far as my fee? Maybe we could begin discussions on the new "poetry on compact disc" section. I'm sure we will arrive at a settlement. |