Terminally ill man talks about special friendship

By TOMIE LUNSFORD
Telegram Staff Writer

The unknown never was something for him to fear.
For more than 35 years, Chuck Tredway was a truck driver, forever pulling in some new city. Every face he saw was a stranger's.
But it didn't bother him. Every road led home to his wife.
Now, Tredway is 54 and attached to a tube that feeds him his breathing air. He's on hospice care - living while dying.
It's been a year since Tredway's doctors diagnosed him with lung cancer and chronic heart failure.
'There's tightness in my chest, shortness of breath and dizziness,' Tredway said, his voice strong but crackly. 'And here recently, my short-term memory has started to go.'
The broad-shouldered man paused a moment to take a breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the hand towel on his lap.
'I know I'm dying. I could die tonight - or I could die next month. There's no way to tell,' Tredway said matter-of-factly, explaining his death depends on when the blood flow to his brain stops. 'It's all set up for when it happens. A nurse will come to administer the morphine drip. I imagine when the brain and heart stop at the same time, it hurts pretty bad.'
Tredway laughed. He says he has no desire to confirm his assumption.
'The only thing I'm afraid of now is not being on the right side of the track when I do die,' Tredway said, smiling.
It's not a fear that nags at his every thought, though.
It's a fear he's faced. One Tredway said he has come to understand.

Pastoral care is a difficult, but rewarding calling

By TOMIE LUNSFORD
Telegram Staff Writer

Watching people die isn't routine for most of us.
But for those in the field of pastoral care, it is.
Comforting a person as he or she takes the last breath is a duty for chaplains, church leaders and caregivers, said Vic Killian, chaplain at King's Daughters Hospital.
'The role is a special one,' said Killian, who will be moderator for the Oct. 27 conference designed to educate the community about pastoral care.
For Judy Hoelscher, chaplain with the Scott and White Hospice team, the role is an honor.
'When a person passes, it is a sacred, holy moment,' Ms. Hoelscher said. 'It is a privilege to be with someone when they go from this world to the next.'
For Rodney Kruse, another chaplain from Scott and White Hospice, the job is rewarding.
'Because they have given me something - a real, honest visit,' Kruse said. 'That's something that's important to me. A good visit is a gift.'

Belton Belles share a longstanding tradition - cheesecake photographs

http://www.lubbockonline.com/stories/101407/sta_101407117.shtml

This Temple Daily Telegram story was picked up by the Associated Press

By TOMIE LUNSFORD 
Telegram Staff Writer

Their photo album seems like it could belong to anybody.

It's full with pictures of friends enjoying themselves on vacation - rafting, hiking, sightseeing, chatting and laughing. But then come the bathing suit pictures.

There's picture after picture of six women in bathing suits, posing in the middle of Times Square or on a pirate ship in Cancun, Mexico.

It's tradition for the album's owners: Janette Kornegay of Amarillo, Pat Parker of Belton, Nita Pate of Temple, Edna Drake of Arlington, Janice Wright of Temple and Patricia Gray of Crisfield, Md.

Patricia is the youngest at 691/2, Edna's the oldest at 71 - and the rest are 70. The close friends - who say they're more like sisters - have been taking bathing suit pictures for 19 years. "It started in 1988," Janette said. 

California crash kills Belton grad

By TOMIE LUNSFORD
Telegram Staff Writer

Before a bunch of medals adorned his U.S. Air Force uniform, he was the star of a group of Belton friends who called themselves the Magnificent Seven.
The late Lt. Col. Raymond Roessler had a dynamic personality, said Mike Beevers of Belton, one of the Magnificent Seven graduates from Belton High School's class of 1982.
'He was outgoing, popular, witty and fun,' Beevers said. 'He was our alter ego. He was the way the rest of us wanted to be.'
Roessler, 43, died early Friday morning while piloting a single-engine plane that crashed near the top of Cajon Pass, between the San Bernardino Mountains and the San Gabriel Mountains in Southern California.

Growing up special: Families adjust to life with unique children

By TOMIE LUNSFORD
Telegram Staff Writer

'People think it's sad to have kids like ours, but it's not,' said Barbara Kane of Killeen. 'We laugh more than anything.'
Mrs. Kane's 8-year-old son, Matthew, was born with Negative 2P, a rare chromosomal disorder that limits physical and intellectual ability.
'We make sure there's a lot of laughter,' Mrs. Kane said. 'You don't think about the future. You never know about tomorrow. All you have is today.'
That philosophy, she said, makes the good things so much more special and the bad things not worth mentioning.

No detail escapes tis graphite artis

By TOMIE LUNSFORD
Telegram Staff Writer

A pencil is all he needs to make others go 'wow.'
Jonathan McGinnis doesn't just draw. He draws detail. The faces from his portrait art look like reflections from a mirror.
'He did a drawing once of Johnny Cash,' said Michael Donahue, chair of the Temple College art department. 'Every wrinkle and down to every pore in his nose, Jonathan got it right.'
After graduating from a Kansas high school five years ago, McGinnis attended TC on an art scholarship, earning his associate's degree in 2005. While there, Donahue said, McGinnis excelled and started to expand his creativity.
'I mainly do pencil drawings - with graphite,' McGinnis said. 'But there was an exercise where you were given a blank canvas and told to do whatever you see in your head. Most of those, I like to do in marker with bright colors.'

For two men, the code still calls: Volunteers bring Morse code to railroad museum

By TOMIE LUNSFORD
Telegram Staff Writer

To the untrained ear, it's gibberish or white noise. The quick-to-come dashes and dots sound like never-ending bullet shots or beeps - depending on the volume and type of key used.
But to 90-year-old Norman Resor and 79-year-old Floyd Bumpus, the shots and beeps make perfect sense.
'I don't hear dots and dashes, I hear words,' Reser said. 'When I speak, you don't hear 't, h and e.' You just hear 'the.' It's the same for me.'
The two gentlemen work the telegraph booth at Temple's Railroad and Heritage Museum. Telegraphy is a method of communication that predates the telephone; it uses Morse code. For more than 100 years since the Civil War, trains talked to each other with telegraphs.
'If you have one train coming from one direction and another train coming from the opposite direction on the same track, and if you don't have a way to talk, well then you have a problem,' Reser said. 'Morse code was how the depots would communicate arrivals and departures.'