As someone who worked several years with Shirley Kornberg and came both to know and love her, no words can adequately express the feelings I experienced upon learning of her death.
Shirley was a very rare person; someone who knew no prejudice and who always gave the other person the benefit of the doubt. There are very few people who you can say that about.
She looked at the world with a unique understanding and compassion. She understood the human condition and the ways that a person's experiences in life affect their personalities. She was able to take people for what they are and see the pain behind their personality quirks. And yet she didn't have a degree in social science. But even without a degree she was in her way a great teacher.
I had the good fortune to work closely with Shirley for several years and to count her among my friends. Although there were more than thirty years separating our time framework of experience, it never ceased to amaze me that Shirley had a mind that was open to new thoughts and ideas. She saw beyond the obvious.
She understood the realities of the world and considered a closed mind the greatest crime against humanity. But even with her intolerance for closed minds, she never learned to lash out blindly at a world that had allowed so many inequities to exist. Perhaps that was a failing. She stood defenseless in the midst of so much negativity. She longed for a world free from hatred, intolerance, and prejudice. I can remember distinctly the cry in her voice when she looked around herself and saw a world where people starved needlessly. How many of us can claim such concern or experience so much pain when thinking about how unfortunate others are? And how many of us can claim that we have treated others with the special understanding that the person we look at is a culmination of forces behind control?
It was that special understanding that enabled Shirley to treat those who worked with her and under her with such compassion.
In a system that breeds negative attitudes, her compassion was a rare thing. For me, Shirley was a special friend; one I could talk to despite the almost thirty years that separated us.
To everyone at the Consumer Chapter she was a model of what a manager should be; a person with infinite patience and understanding of what makes us unique. I will miss her as a friend. We will all miss her as a co-worker and supervisor.
Max E. Verga
printed in Local 1549's Consumer Chapter...Union Affairs Volume 2, Number 2 April 1983
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
They Can Touch Us
We walk through the fields
the fields of Gettysburg
are under our feet
and our souls feel the life beneath.
What pressure is there
in these graves
of men; or boys, long dead.
We feel their presence
in soul, in head,
in our eyes so wet.
We can still touch them
and they can touch us yet.
Printed in Amateur Writers Journal, July/August 1988
the fields of Gettysburg
are under our feet
and our souls feel the life beneath.
What pressure is there
in these graves
of men; or boys, long dead.
We feel their presence
in soul, in head,
in our eyes so wet.
We can still touch them
and they can touch us yet.
Printed in Amateur Writers Journal, July/August 1988
Awakening!
I sought a secret behind closed door:
but light beneath I was prepared to explore
and from bended knees to find even more!
Our bright glowing nights of starlit heavens
aglow
are not enough to satisfy every sad faced
boy who passes by and worn woman shows
a shame unequaled awakening spirit freed;
you have accepted glory by raising soul's
pure seed!
printed in Prairie Poet Anthology edited by Stella Craft Tremble
Prairie Press
Charleston, Illinois
1965
but light beneath I was prepared to explore
and from bended knees to find even more!
Our bright glowing nights of starlit heavens
aglow
are not enough to satisfy every sad faced
boy who passes by and worn woman shows
a shame unequaled awakening spirit freed;
you have accepted glory by raising soul's
pure seed!
printed in Prairie Poet Anthology edited by Stella Craft Tremble
Prairie Press
Charleston, Illinois
1965
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Shapelessness of Summer Draining
All swollen streams and filling dreams
Sway the branches from the trees
Drown the fallen leaves with their dying pleas.
The impressionless shadows spilling
And nothing in this forest survives.
No date...
Sway the branches from the trees
Drown the fallen leaves with their dying pleas.
The impressionless shadows spilling
And nothing in this forest survives.
No date...
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