David Chesnick has been a freelance writer for more than 30
years. Based in Sarasota, FL, David writes for clients in healthcare,
destinations, luxury real estate, finance and just about anything else. This
piece is typical of David’s thoughtful, reflective writing style. His eloquent storytelling
for Consonant Custom Media, in the publications we've developed for Dattoli
Cancer Foundation and Florida Hospital Zephyrhills, has helped our clients reach
new levels of engagement with their communities, and earned him the respect and
gratitude of everyone involved with these important projects. He’s the real
deal, and more of his work can be seen on his website.
I think about Charles Kuralt a lot. For those who don’t
remember him, Kuralt was a correspondent for CBS. He traveled the country’s
back roads with a small crew in a motor home talking to people: a sharecropper
who sent nine children to college, a man who collected twine, a fellow who
stood on a corner waving to passing motorists. He never condescended, he never
patronized, he was never snarky. He never tried to tug at our heartstrings with
cheap melodrama.
What Kuralt did do was find the extraordinary in the
ordinary. And he made us see it too, through his interest in the people he
talked to and the stories they told. He marveled at humanity and exalted it.
You knew he felt enriched by the opportunity to meet these people and he made
you feel enriched by the experience. Much of this had to do with the absolute
elegance of his writing. It was a marvel.
Like Kuralt, I have always felt enriched by the opportunity
I’ve had to talk with interesting people, to hear their stories, and to tell
them mine. Sharing a bit of my own story always seems to create a level of
trust. It’s the power of empathy. The people I interview sense my genuine
interest in them, and they know they are something more to me than a story I’m
writing.
I think of people like Dr. Elzie McCord, who I wrote about
for the Dattoli Cancer Foundation’s magazine Journey. Elzie grew up picking
cotton, harvesting tobacco, and pulling corn in Georgia as a boy. Insects were
a part of life in the fields and as a boy Elzie developed an interest in them.
He went on to earn a doctorate in the field of entomology, work at DuPont and
teach at New College of Florida and the University of Florida, devoting his
life to working on how to contain the damage they do in an environmentally
friendly way.
When he developed prostate cancer, his research led him to
the Dattoli Cancer Center where he underwent treatment that led to his being
cancer free. But having met that
challenge, Elzie was faced with another, one he described to me as far more
difficult than his own - caring for his wife of 43 years in her battle with
Alzheimer’s. The irony of his predicament is obvious but just as with his cancer
he’s busy doing research, learning all he can, and handling himself with a good
grace that’s humbling.
Then there are Florida Hospital Zephyrhills nurses Carri
Randall and Michael Paladin. They’re part of the largest nonprofit hospital
chain in the United States, the Adventist Health System. But they don’t see themselves
as part of a large organization in which their individuality was lost. Just the
opposite. They both speak eloquently about what they as individuals mean to
their patients, the positive changes they bring to bear on the course of
another’s life and their importance in the process of restoring someone to
health.
Of course there are others: Nurse Rita Risalvato, who helped
develop the protocols for Zephyrhills’ Heart Institute that would not only save
thousands of lives in the community, but her own; Dr. Steve Lyons, Florida
Hospital Carrollwood’s Associate Chief of Staff and Director of Orthopedics who
helped fellow physician Dr. Gregory Wilkerson get back on his feet after a knee
replacement at another hospital failed; and Bob, Ted and Tim Tudor, three
brothers who lovingly looked after one another through their battles with
prostate cancer.
These folks, and the hundreds of others I’ve interviewed and
written about for various projects over the years may not have sent nine
children to college on a sharecroppers income, save twine, or wave at passing
motorists (and I may not write as elegantly as Kuralt, though I try). Their
motives for telling their stories vary: some hope that by telling their story
they will help others along their journey, others want to thank and praise
their caregivers, and some want to make sense of what has happened to them and
put it in a context that will allow them to come to terms with it.
Whatever their reason, they all share a common humanity and
spirit that affirms life. Like Charles Kuralt, telling their stories has become
my life’s purpose.
