Daniel

A writers job is time consuming. Whether you're hearing impaired or not writing any story can be exhausting. I was in the middle of writing this article, when I heard about the murder of American Wall Street Journalist, Daniel Pearl, in January of 2002, only a few days after his kidnapping and disappearance in a foreign land.

Daniel Pearl was only 38 years old. He was married and the couple were expecting their first child in only two months. Daniel graduated in 1981 from a High School in California. I felt a wave of accord past between myself and a person I had no personal knowledge of during his life.

I had already graduated from a Junior College in 1974. I lived in Chicago, IL and Richmond, VA before my returning to CA to live permanently. The only paper I was published in was a newspaper I received from a night course I took at Temple City Adult School. I wrote a piece on a High School Production of "Fiddler On The Roof." I also wrote about a course on "Floral Arrangement." I remember showing people one copy when I arrived in Richmond, VA in 1982.

Three years later I moved back to Los Angeles, CA to remain permanently. I was still writing stories, poems, and working on my second novel. When I was employed by the Los Angeles County Registar-Recorders Office in 1986, I was given a hearing test. I learned (for the first time) I was losing my hearing. I paid little attention to the news. Until one day my new employer Phyllis Houston at the Food and Drug Administration inquired as to my hearing problem.

Although I lost my job, I am now able to understand the end of the denial turned out to be to my advantage. I am the person I am today because I was meant to be a writer. So was Daniel Pearl even though it cost him his life.

One of the reasons I believe I experienced such a closeness with this man, I never really knew. Would be due to the fact my older sister Karen lived in Israel on a Kibbutz. Karen was a teacher learning about the lifestyle of the Israelis. On one occassion, I heard on the news an American woman was killed from the same Kibbutz my sister was living on. I phoned the American Red Cross for information. A few days later my prayers were answered. My own sister had called me from Israel to let me know she was alive and well, just very shaken. She also stated that she had missed the attack by being on the bus with some children and the driver. I still (to this day) feel very fortunate my sister was spared on that day. I wouldn't have my niece Molly Rose, or my second nephew Daniel Charles Livingstone.

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