This eulogy was delivered by Bill Carey at the funeral of Donna Speziale Richards on Thursday, May 31, 2001 St. Cecilia's Church - Solvay, New York
For Donna
I am honored to have a few moments to speak on behalf of those of us
who were Donna's friends and coworkers. I speak on their behalf, but I
will not presume to speak for them. Each of us has our own memories.
This is not an easy thing to do. It is not a task I ever expected to
have. My heart is broken. But, before a heart can be broken it must
have felt something splendid. Donna was something very splendid,
indeed.
Years ago, the mail brought an invitation. It was to a 20th high
school reunion. When I was 17, and graduating from high school,
years seemed like a lifetime.
A lifetime ago, 20 years ago, I was working at WHEN Radio and I had an
appointment to meet with a young woman working at WFBL. She wanted to
come and work for us.
What impressed me most during our talk was her courage.
You see, Donna had never thought she would be in our business. She had
started along a different path. Few make it in our industry without a
very early start.
Donna was coming late, but she decided it was time to leave the
security of the job she held and try something new. She returned to
school, discovered a new talent and followed a dream.
Whether those days were a dream is probably debatable. The hours were
long. The pay was lousy. But we were all still young. The work was its
own reward.
Maybe it was because of the challenges we faced, but each day brought
a feeling of obstacles overcome and goals achieved. And there was
another reward. We also got to know one another as people.... as
friends.
You remember bits and pieces. I can still see her face, flushed red,
as she stood in a crowded hall filing a report on the air. You see,
part of that courage I talked about involved Donna overcoming her
fears. She was a public personality. But she was, at heart, a very shy
woman.
Back in our radio days, Donna won a statewide award for a piece she
did on Vietnam Veterans as they marked the 10th anniversary of the
fall of Saigon. The vets did not have an easy time telling their
stories. But they did to Donna, because they trusted her to keep their
words in context. There are a lot of people in our business who live
by the maxim, Once you can fake sincerity you got it made. Donna was
not one of them. I remember her working on this piece in a studio. It
was on her own time. She'd play the comments over and over again,
slowly crafting the story of their ordeal. There were tears in her
eyes. It was a display of caring for these men. And the story she wove
from their accounts brought tears to the eyes of many others. Donna
learned early that honest compassion is the most powerful tool of a
journalist.
There are some personal memories as well. I don't know if any of you
have any idea of how afraid Donna was to fly. Another challenge to
overcome. It wasn't easy. I remember in 1984, we traveled to two
national political conventions. The trips involved hours aboard a
jetliner. Donna had a simple way of dealing with her fear. As we took
off, she would grab my arm. She would let go when we pulled up to the
gate for arrival. You could have a drink, but it made it tough to eat
the meal. I think I still have the imprint of her hands on my arms.
But, again, some people would have shied away from something they
feared. Donna did not.
We shared a sometimes wicked sense of humor. If she were here today, I
could hear her quoting Woody Allen -- There are worse things than
death. Have you ever spent an evening with an insurance salesman?
Donna and I also shared a taste for unusual music. She may have been
the only suburban, female professional to be seen cruising down the
highway with the Red Hot Chili Peppers blaring. Let alone making it to
every concert she could. She loved Kid Rock. To do that you have to
hear the lyrics -- "Bang a dang diggy diggy diggy, said the boogie,
said up jump the boogie", and think you have heard something very
profound. By the way, a former colleague also says Donna did a great
lip-synch rendition of something called "Here Comes the Hotstepper."
Donna loved dogs. She never had a child, but it would be hard to say
that if Bianca were around. That was her baby. Donna may have been the
only person who baked her own dog treats.
Mary Speziale took care of Donna's coworkers. Every holiday, Donna
would arrive at work with a massive platter of cookies made by her
mother. I will always remember that, because, before I met Donna, I
had actually been skinny.
I am also told that Donna and a number of her female colleagues
gathered frequently for dinner. They labeled themselves "Chicks Who
Chow". I've also been told over and over again this week that Donna
had perfect taste in clothing. What I don't understand with all this
food and all those cookies, how Donna always seemed to fit into those
clothes and never seemed to gain a pound.
There were good times and bad times over the years. You do not become
the woman Donna was, without parents like Amos and Mary Speziale.
Whatever it is that they did needs to be bottled somewhere.
I remember the lowest point in Donna's life. When she lost her father.
Amos Speziale meant the world to his daughter.
I remember when Skip had some heart surgery back in the 80s. His
little sister would have gladly taken his place on the operating table
if it meant he could avoid any pain.
But there were high points, as well. We can all remember the proud
aunt recounting the latest accomplishments of her nephews. And soon,
her list of updates included two young men named David and Paul. That
all happened around 1992. Many of us noticed a change in Donna's
disposition. She just seemed happier. It wasn't long before we found
out why. In the span of just a few years, I had seen a shy, young girl
become a respected professional. But Donna Speziale needed to add a
name -- Richards, to become a whole person. I had never seen Donna
glow the way she did on the day she married Don. Oh, and Don seemed
pretty happy too. And the side benefit to the rest of us was a man we
could proudly call our friend. Ask any of Donna's friends and they
will tell you: It was the smartest thing she ever did.
Don, your strength and courage the past two weeks have shown us just
how true that statement is.
Others may have been far more qualified to speak here today. I must
confess, I have not always been a good friend. When our jobs took us
to different locations, there were times I could have called, but
didn't. Times I could have said, let's have lunch, and I didn't. Maybe
some of you have said the same things to yourselves in recent days.
The words come with some guilt attached. Luckily, for us, Donna
wouldn't let go of friends. She found the time to call, to e-mail, to
make the arrangements for a lunch or dinner. Donna held on for us.
That may be why it is so hard, now. for us to let go.
Two weeks ago, God's finger touched her, and she slept. But, Donna is
not gone. And in a church filled with journalists and cops -- sceptics
by profession -- I don't mean that in a metaphysical way.
When we talk to people who need our help, we'll be reminded of her
compassion, and maybe, just maybe, we'll try a bit harder. Her honesty
will remind us of our need to be truthful, even when stretching the
truth or avoiding it would be quicker. Her courage will touch us when
we need to face challenges. Her persistence will remind us of the need
to hold on to those who are dear to us. To never put off time spent
with those you love.
Donna would have loved this day. Her family, her friends all together.
We have found strength in one another. The trouble comes tomorrow, and
the day after, and the day after.... when we start to write an e-mail
or pick up the phone to call, and then remember.
Two years ago, a friend showed Donna a short piece she had read at her
uncle's funeral. Donna read it and it touched her. She told this
friend that she hoped somebody would read it at her funeral someday.
Here is what it said:
I am standing on the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white
sails to the breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of
beauty and I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a
speck of white cloud just where the sky and the sea mingle in the
mist. Then someone at my side says, "There! She's gone!" Gone where?
Gone from my sight, that's all. She is just as she was when she left
my side, and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the
place of her destination. Her diminishment is in me not in her and
just at that moment when someone at my side says, "There! She's gone!"
there are other eyes that are watching her coming and other voices
ready to take up the glad shout, "Here! She comes!"
Don. David. Paul. Mrs. Speziale. Skip. Cindy. There is no way those of
us gathered here can adequately thank you for the precious gift you
shared with all of us.
And, Donna, old friend, there is no way you will ever know what an
honor, a pleasure and a blessing it was to know you, for a lifetime.
We will forever keep watch on the horizon for a glimpse of your sail,
until it is our time to take to sea, knowing it will be your voice
saying, Here. They are coming.
