(L-R) Amy McCabe, Dottie Kelleher, Jean Sicard Kelleher, Shauna Kelleher, and Katelyn Bianculli

Kelleher, a veteran schoolteacher who was used to being on the giving end of events like these, was now the one on the receiving end, having been blindsided last April by a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer.

“[On the day of the event] I was so nervous, and I cried and cried and cried,” admitted the mother of two and longtime Canton resident. “I said, ‘How am I going to do this? How am I going to hold it together?’”

Fortunately for Kelleher, one of her childhood friends — someone from her close-knit circle they affectionately call “the chicks” — helped her to put it all in perspective. Noting that most gatherings that size do not occur until after a person dies, she reminded Kelleher that she has a “gift that not many people get.”

“You get to see how many people love you and care about you now,” the friend told Kelleher, her words striking just the right chord at just the right time.

Arriving at the Canton Town Club later that evening, Kelleher was greeted by hundreds of guests, and before long she found herself laughing and smiling and having a “really great time” at the event.

“In my wildest dreams I never believed it would be like that,” she told the Citizen last week, still in awe over the massive turnout.

Initially resistant to the idea of a benefit, Kelleher said her friends went forward with it anyway, and she is now grateful that they did. Others who were “instrumental” in the planning and execution of the event were her sister-in-law Dottie Kelleher, her two nieces, Katelyn Bianculli and Amy McCabe, and her daughter, Shauna.

Held on February 25, the event featured raffles and a silent auction, and according to Kelleher, it was exactly as advertised — a “night of celebration” and a “thank you to all who have helped in countless ways on this difficult journey.”

In fact, Kelleher could not even imagine having to battle this awful disease without the support of her loved ones and community. So many people — from “the chicks,” to the men in her life (husband Michael and son Matthew), to the students and staff at St. John’s School — have been with her every step of the way. Even casual acquaintances, not to mention an anonymous philanthropic organization, have chipped in with financial support and gift cards.

That is not to suggest that things have been easy, of course. Kelleher’s particular form of cancer, pancreatic carcinoma, typically has a poor prognosis, with an average five-year survival rate of only 4 percent, according to the American Cancer Society. That figure can climb to as high as 25 percent under ideal conditions — if the cancer is caught early and the tumor is removed completely.

“Pancreatic cancer, if you do any research — and I did it once and that was a mistake — is extremely aggressive,” acknowledged Kelleher. “And there’s not very good odds; by all rights, if you look at the mean numbers, I should already be dead.”

The good news for Kelleher, in addition to the fact that she looks and feels great nearly a year after her diagnosis, is that her case does not fit the mold in many respects. She has even surprised her doctors, who call her an “anomaly” because of how well the cancer has responded to chemotherapy thus far.

In an ideal world, Kelleher would have already had surgery to remove the tumor. However, due to its size and its placement within the pancreas, she was forced into a kind of waiting pattern that continues to this day.

The actual diagnosis, on the other hand, was sudden and unexpected. After not feeling well for a few weeks, she finally decided to visit a doctor on the Friday before last April vacation. A few days later, the doctors at Newton-Wellesley discovered the tumor in a CT scan, and 45 minutes later she was in an ambulance to Brigham and Women’s.

Almost immediately after that she started chemotherapy, forcing her to take an extended leave of absence from her teaching job at St. John’s and generally turning her life upside down.

Kelleher was fortunate in that she was able to maintain her summer position as a waterfront director at Noble and Greenough in Dedham. However, she also had to be fitted with a pump that administered chemo directly into a port in her chest. She wore this every day for six weeks, alternating with daily doses of radiation treatment that she received at Dana Farber Cancer Center in Boston.

As summer stretched into fall, continually positive results on her CT scans made her a likely candidate for surgery. But after a small procedure revealed additional cancerous cells, Kelleher was ordered back onto chemotherapy — a “super-duper” kind that she has continued for the past several months.

At this point, Kelleher said it is fair to wonder whether she will ever have the surgery. And she has come to terms with that possibility — as long as the reports continue to show that the cancer is stagnant.

Amazingly, Kelleher still has her hair and very often has her energy. The biggest challenge, she said, is a condition called neuropathy, a “weird sensation” that she described as a painful version of “pins and needles.”

Kelleher attributes her body’s generally mild response to a combination of factors, most notably her faith in God and the healing power of loved ones’ prayers. She has also started making regular visits to a friend’s uncle, who is an alternative medicine specialist, and has dabbled in everything from Reiki to Sotai to various herbal supplements.

“I’m not going to lie to you. I hate [chemo],” she said. “But I do think a lot of it’s mental, and I do think the faith component is huge.”

Of course, Kelleher is also very fortunate to have the support of “the chicks.” There are 14 in all, including her, and all of them hail from the Canton High School class of 1977. Some of them she has known since grade school, including close friend Marie Monahan.

Close friends and former Ponkapoag School classmates Jean Kelleher and Marie Monahan at age 6

Besides Kelleher and Monahan, the official “chick” roster includes Lori Arsenault, Karen Atocha, Susan Baker, Vicky Balsamo, Betsy Braconi, Laura Drakos, Leslie Mannix, Stephanie McClellan, Kate McNeil, Karen Tripp, Linda Tucker, and Carol Vesey.

“I don’t stay in touch with any of my friends [from Boston College]. I really don’t,” explained Kelleher. “I’ve lost touch with all of them, and these are the constants in my life. They’re like my family because I have just one sister (Claire Lund). I mean, they were, for months, primarily Marie and Lori, every day they were at my door. Every day.”

Just describing their loyalty and support brought Kelleher to tears, and the same was true when she touched on her 28-year connection to the St. John’s community.

She still volunteers regularly — up to 15 days a month — and the students continue to amaze her with all of their kind words and “stacks of cards.”

Primarily a middle school teacher, Kelleher said one of the most difficult experiences was returning to the school after her diagnosis and explaining her illness to the children.

“I went and we had the whole middle school gathered together,” she recalled, “and I went and talked to them. I don’t know how I held it together.”

“It was difficult, but I was honest and I answered their questions,” she added. “They had a lot of great questions, some that I think I needed a doctor to answer.”

These days, most people who run into Kelleher are amazed at how good she looks and find it hard to imagine that it has been almost a year since her diagnosis. And yet for Kelleher, the hardest part now is simply not knowing what lies ahead.

“I’m such a planner,” she confessed. “If you knew me, I’m such a neurotic planner.”

In terms of the cancer, Kelleher said it has basically stayed put, other than a “teeny spot” on her skin that the doctors have been monitoring. If her scans continue to come back clean, she could potentially revisit the option of surgery next fall, but everything is “really up in the air” at this point.

“It’s rotten,” Kelleher said of the disease. “It’s the first thing you think about and it’s the last thing you think about, but there’s a lot that goes on during the day.”

And fortunately for Kelleher, she has been blessed with a triple dose of the best medicine — her friends, her family, and her faith.

“I believe I can be healed in one minute,” said Kelleher. “Am I going to be? I don’t know, but I say, for some reason, I’m on this path and I’m on this journey. And like I said, it hasn’t come without blessings. It puts a lot of things in perspective.”

The year in government ~

The year in schools ~

The year in housing ~

A year of wacky weather ~

A memorable year for Canton parishes ~

A year of remembrances ~

Other top stories ~

The year in sports ~

2011 Retirements ~

2011 Deaths ~

(L-R): Marilyn Geller, State Police Colonel Marian McGovern, Bank of Canton President Stephen Costello, Oren Segal of the Anti-Defamation League; former CPD crossing guard Israel Geller, and Canton Police Chief Ken Berkowitz. (Courtesy of Bank of Canton)

To a generation of Canton kids who attended the Luce Elementary School, Israel “Izzie” Geller was their neighborhood crossing guard, a kind, old man with a European accent who helped guide them safely across the street at the intersection of Sawyer Avenue and Pleasant Street.

To the Nazis who imprisoned him, however, Geller was nothing more than a number, an object of their prejudice and wrath who was taken from his family and stripped of all humanity.

“Coming out of the shower in Auschwitz, my name was not Israel Geller. My name was 159320,” said Geller from his Canton home last week, brandishing the tattoo on his forearm that he will never remove.

He was barely a teenager — not much older than the kids he helped across the street — when Hitler’s army invaded his native Poland and packed the more than two million Jews into ghettos. Forced to wear the yellow Star of David on his clothes, Geller went on to endure more than five years of suffering in various concentration camps before he was finally liberated by American soldiers in the spring of 1945.

That he lived to tell about it is nothing short of a miracle, as an estimated six million Jews were killed by the Nazis during the Holocaust, including both of his parents and all four of his siblings.

To this day, Geller still gets emotional when he recalls this painful period in his life. And yet he has shared his harrowing tale on countless occasions, including most recently in front of a gathering of law enforcement officials at the Bank of Canton headquarters on Turnpike Street.

The purpose of the event, which was co-sponsored by the Canton Police Department and the Anti-Defamation League, was to address current trends in domestic extremism. However, Canton Police Chief Ken Berkowitz also took the opportunity to publicly recognize Geller for his ten years of service to the town as a crossing guard.

In his introductory remarks, Berkowitz, who is also Jewish, described Geller as a “good friend” and a “true hero.” He also reminded officers of their collective responsibility to separate “what is good from what is evil” and urged them to think of Geller whenever they have any self-doubt or do not believe they can make a difference.

Afterwards, Geller stood before the officers and delivered a heart-wrenching account of survival in the face of despair.

He spoke about his earliest memories of the Germans, who arrived in his hometown of Pabianice without warning and almost immediately began restricting the movement of his family, friends and neighbors. He recalled how the Germans began ordering people to work for them, and how he volunteered to go in place of his father.

“Daddy,” he said to his father at the time, “you stay. I’ll go.”

Even in those early days, Geller took risks in order to help others. For instance, he managed to obtain a letter that permitted him to go outside of the ghetto, and every morning he would remove his yellow star and head to the bakery to get some bread for his family.

Geller’s freedom would be short-lived, however, as the Germans began rounding people up to send them to labor camps.

After hearing the news from his kid brother, Geller tried to hide out in a neighbor’s shop, but the very next morning, at “6 o’clock exactly,” he was discovered and ordered onto a train. From there he was taken to a factory, and after a short stay he was shipped out to Benchen, where he spent more than two years performing forced labor on the railroads.

As he later told the Citizen, Geller did anything he could to survive while at Benchen. He performed odd jobs — anything and everything that his overseers asked of him. He collected discarded cigarette butts and accumulated a secret stash of potatoes, which he shared with others at a great risk to his safety.

He even engaged in acts of sabotage in order to avoid the wrath of a particularly cruel police officer.

“The only way we could get rid of him was to take the sacks of cement and rip them apart so he wouldn’t dare go in,” said Geller. “He couldn’t see anybody, that’s how thick the cement was.”

Fortunately for Geller, the German who was in charge of his particular group was kinder than the others. But the men in the other groups, which included one of his cousins, were beaten regularly and watched like hawks.

Meanwhile, life in camp grew considerably worse by 1941, around the time that the Nazis invaded the Soviet Union. By then, Geller recalled, the soup they were given looked like “water from the sink,” and the “loaf of bread that was once divided for two was divided for six or eight.”

If it weren’t for those potatoes they would not have survived. And yet the potatoes also directly caused the death of five men, two of whom were brothers, after they were caught smuggling them into the camp.

A few weeks after those men were hanged, another three were put to death for not being ready to go to work and for resisting a beating from a guard.

When it finally came time to leave Benchen by train, there was a brief moment when Geller thought he might be headed home.

“But we didn’t go to home,” he said. “We went to Auschwitz.”

Although his stay was brief at the infamous concentration camp, Geller was at Auschwitz long enough to be branded with a number and to witness the mass slaughter of Jews.

He still vividly remembers arriving at the camp and smelling the fumes from the crematorium. He then watched in horror as German guards brought wagons full of corpses to be incinerated.

“There were children in those wagons,” recalled Geller, fighting back tears. “Those kids came out dead, the mothers with the kids together.”

From Auschwitz, Geller was sent to Warsaw, the largest ghetto in Poland, where he was ordered to perform demolition work in the wake of a Jewish uprising.

He later spent time in two other camps — Dachau and Meldorf, both in Germany — before boarding another train that was headed for the Alps, where the prisoners were to be executed.

But they never reached their destination as American troops attacked the engines, stopping the train and liberating all of the prisoners aboard.

Just 20 years old, Geller was a free man but had “nowhere to go.” He ended up moving in with an elderly couple in a small town outside Frankfurt, where he found work as a police officer.

Four years later, without money or family, he arrived at Ellis Island in New York. From there he went to Roxbury, where he met his future wife, Marilyn, and the couple later settled in Randolph before moving to Canton 17 years ago.

More than six decades have now passed since Geller left Europe, but the memories of those dark days still remain.

“It was hard to go through in life, this what I’ve been through,” said Geller, reflecting on his experiences in the Holocaust.

By far the most difficult part was losing his family, although Geller was overcome with joy years later when he was able to track down relatives both in France and New York.

He has also since gone back to visit Auschwitz and other sites in Poland. He initially resisted the idea, but Marilyn convinced him to go for their 50^th wedding anniversary, and he was grateful that she did.

“I told him,” said Marilyn, “This was your homeland. You have to go back, just this once. I didn’t care if he picked up a handful of dirt. You know, it’s like the old cliché: You came; you saw; you conquered.”

Those were the words that appeared on the front page of the Canton Citizen on September 13, 2001 — just two days after the worst terrorist attack in American history.

Even then, in the immediate aftermath of unprecedented tragedy and with the country still “reeling with unbearable grief,” it was already clear that America, on that fateful Tuesday morning, had been permanently altered — that the nation’s collective innocence, or at least whatever was left of it after two world wars and the assassination of President Kennedy, had just been lost forever.

It was also in that September 13 edition of the Citizen that the devastating loss of the terrorist attacks began to hit home across Canton, as residents learned that one of their own, 42-year-old Michael Uliano, a local sports legend with a larger than life personality, was among the missing.

Michael Uliano had a larger than life personality.

Uliano, an employee at Cantor Fitzgerald, had gone to work that Tuesday morning just like millions of other Americans and was in his office on the 105th floor of the World Trade Center’s North Tower when a Boeing 767, which had been hijacked out of Logan Airport in Boston, crashed into the building’s north facade between the 93rd and 99th floors, killing all 92 passengers aboard and an unconfirmed number of WTC employees in the impact zone.

Over 1,400 people lost their lives in the North Tower that day, including Uliano, a beloved husband, son, brother and friend. Uliano’s close friend and co-worker Vinny Abate also perished, along with 656 other Cantor Fitzgerald employees — roughly two-thirds of its entire workforce.

In Canton in the weeks that followed, residents gathered on several occasions as a show of support for the victims and also as a stand of solidarity and national pride. On one occasion, as many as 5,000 residents held “hands across Canton,” lining the entire length of Washington Street to cheer on a procession of public safety workers and town vehicles.

A few weeks later, hundreds turned out to pay tribute to Uliano in a memorial service at the United Church of Christ, where the man known as “Uli” to friends was remembered for his kindness, integrity, and passion for life.

***

It has now been ten years — a full decade — since Uliano and nearly 3,000 others lost their lives in this inexplicable tragedy. Uliano, whose birthday is September 2, would have turned 52 last Friday.

Those who knew him remember a man who was spontaneous and charismatic — a man who had been voted “most spirited” by the Canton High Class of 1978, and someone who, according to former classmate and teammate John Connolly, “could talk a cat off a can of tuna fish.”

“He was just so intense about life and loving and giving,” recalled his mother, Gail Callahan. “He was intense. That’s the way he was.”

Of course, Uliano is also widely remembered throughout Canton for his exploits on the gridiron, a star quarterback who led the Bulldogs to their first Hockomock League title in 1977, highlighted by a 27-2 win over Stoughton in the Thanksgiving Day finale.

But Uliano was so much more than just a gifted athlete; he was a talented poet, actor and singer, performing in various plays and musicals in both high school and college. He was also an avid fisherman and spent much of his life — including every summer — with his family on Cape Cod.

“He was really all about love. That’s probably the best way I can put it,” said Callahan, who noted her son’s fierce loyalty to his family, including his wife, Linda, his eight siblings — Michele, Marianne, Melissa, Mark, Matthew, Martha, E.J. and Nathan — and his beloved cat, Crevice.

It is this remarkable legacy, along with the legacies of all of those who perished in New York, Washington, D.C., and Pennsylvania, that the town of Canton will pay tribute to as part of a special remembrance ceremony on Sunday, September 11, at Veterans Memorial Park.

The ceremony, which starts at 8:46 a.m., will be led by Connolly and will include brief remarks by Representative Bill Galvin, Fire Chief Charlie Doody, Police Chief Ken Berkowitz, Veterans Agent Tony Andreotti, and any member of the Uliano family who would like to share their thoughts about Michael.

During the ceremony, the town will also dedicate a memorial in Uliano’s honor, which was designed by architect Greg Pando with input from a small committee of town officials.

Connolly, who spearheaded the effort, could not say enough about the work done by Pando and the other members of the committee. He also thanked his fellow selectmen for approving the project and for providing the necessary funding to get it completed in time for the 10th anniversary.

In addition, Connolly thanked Chief Doody for preparing the monument’s inscription, which concludes with the following lines: “Your spirit has touched and inspired all who knew you. Your sacrifice will never be forgotten.”

Callahan thought the inscription was “absolutely beautiful” and described it as “very simply put and just very nicely done.”

On Sunday, Callahan will continue her own personal tradition when she visits Hemenway Landing in Eastham, where the family has installed a memorial bench and flag in Michael’s honor. She had previously visited Ground Zero in New York and one day hopes to return to the site — after the National September 11 Museum has opened — but it is at the beach where she still feels closest to her son.

As for the ceremony in Canton, the hope is that the memorial to Uliano remains both personal and transcendent — a lasting tribute to a beloved native son, and a living reminder that we will never be the same.

“And shame on us if we ever forget this day,” said Connolly. “We can’t forget. It’s just too important.”

Following the remembrance ceremony and dedication, the public is invited back to the Canton Police Station on Washington Street for an open house reception in the lobby, where a piece of the World Trade Center will be on display for viewing.

Eumenides’ Fable by Steven Leahy (Hair by Wasan Aziz)

In today’s world, it is easy enough to portray an era defined by strokes of violence and hued with shades of sensationalized destruction. Add to this a few spatters of hysteria and finger-painted points of blame, and the result is a masterpiece highlighting a version of life that few, if any, would want to comprise. And yet there it is — the art of war, as old as humanity — capable of slashing people apart.

Or, perhaps, bringing them together?

In light of all this darkness, the artwork of two Massachusetts residents from so-called rival towns of Canton and Stoughton has crossed weaponry and shown that a mode of attack need neither be offensive nor defensive. As the old adage goes … love conquers all.

Armed with stainless steel sheers and a precision-based airbrush, Iraqi-born hairdresser Wasan Aziz and American fine artist Steven Leahy use their respective tools and talents daily to prove that even a caustic element such as war cannot break a loving spirit. With such positive attitudes, they provide better lives not only for their family members, but also for strangers with whom they come into contact. What’s their connection?

A combat veteran with a flair for returning shots of kindness.

For Steven Leahy, there was no question that his future would be anything other than creating art. Upon completing high school, he continued his higher education in fine arts and succeeded in displaying his works throughout the United States by various modes of channel. Currently, his drive has been creating realistic paintings on various substrates, one of which was a set of military dog tags.

“Miniature art has fascinated me recently,” said Leahy. “The impact of these tiny paintings is truly surprising.”

Leahy’s motivation to use dog tags as a base came from good friend and industrial artist Ken Taylor, who collects a variety of metallic articles on account of his profession.

Artist Steven Leahy

“Ken mentioned that he had some blank dog tags [at his shop] and asked if I was interested in a few to paint on,” Leahy said. “During that time, I was in the middle of preparing the work for my show of miniature paintings. It was important to me to have an element of charity with the show. These dog tags simply answered my search.”

Leahy, whose late uncle was a Marine combat artist and a preliminary inspiration for his work, created five works of art detailing missions of each branch of the United States military. The proceeds from the dog tags will be donated to the U.S. Wounded Soldiers Foundation, a non-profit organization providing for the needs of combat veterans deployed in Iraq and Afghanistan.

“My sister [Katie Bartel] recommended the foundation,” said Leahy. “This foundation directly aids soldiers wounded in action as they transition home. I was impressed with all the services that they provide for not only the soldier but the families as well.”

Like many other Americans, Leahy was impacted by the tragic events that transpired nearly a decade ago on September 11. According to him, the terrorist attacks served as an eye opener to understanding the complexity of the enemy now facing the United States.

“I also saw how resilient and connected we are as a nation,” Leahy said. “There is always that image of Americans as fat, lazy and self centered. I was reassured how great this country is by its internal and external response to that vicious attack.”

The attack itself prompted Leahy to take a closer look at the difference in freedom of the U.S. civilians who were under attack versus the freedom of those who would soon thereafter face the U.S. invasion.

“The more I look around this globe, the more I cherish the freedom that we have here in America,” he said. “When I see the atrocities others endure at the hands of a dictator like Saddam Hussein, it makes me value the strength and resolve of this country even more.”

Through his dog tag artwork, Leahy wanted to express his appreciation of the freedom in his country that is defended by the Armed Forces.

“When creating my military-based artwork, I viewed myself more as an interpreter,” he said. “Too much negative press is piled on price tags and not enough on the men and women who are fulfilling their duties with that budget. I wanted to bring that focus back to the soldier.”

It was this constructive outlook along with his ability to see the goodness in others that led Leahy to create his latest painting, “Eumenides’ Fable” (2011), an 11”x12” waterborne on titanium portrait of a female war veteran with whom he had crossed paths and been taken by her story. Upon the painting’s exhibition at the Felos Art Center in Stoughton, one of the features that garnished attention was the subject’s hair, the stylization of which had been fashioned roughly five miles away in Canton’s Savoy Spa, where hairdresser Wasan Aziz likewise touches the lives of those she encounters with her own tale of endurance.

And thus, the three were connected through a bizarre means by a lacerative topic.

Like Leahy, Aziz remembers clearly the day the world reeled from the shock of watching three of the four hijacked U.S. airplanes meet their targets. She was a fully-trained hairdresser, living with her family in downtown Baghdad, when she witnessed the televised recordings of the twin towers crumbling to the ground.

“People were stunned into silence,” she said. “We couldn’t believe what was happening … I mean an attack on America? It seemed unreal.”

Wasan Aziz at Savoy Spa in Canton (Blanka Stratford photo)

But it had happened. As tension and confusion mounted over Hussein’s possible tie to Osama bin Laden as well as his actions regarding the existence of weapons of mass destruction, Aziz realized that it would only be a matter of time before Iraq and the United States would be bound together, first through war and then through attempts at reconstruction.

“Saddam went on television and stated that Osama was not in Iraq,” said Aziz. “But we all became worried as time passed by. We all knew what was eventually going to happen.”

Fortunately for Aziz, love came at the brink of war. An old friend had returned to Iraq for a visit from his permanent residence in the state of Massachusetts. Before the bombs began to blast, sparks were first ignited between the couple. In 2002, Brad Aziz proposed to his soon-to-be wife. They were married in Jordan and shortly thereafter flew to the United States to begin their own life and family together.

However, this did not stop Aziz from being affected by the military operations that ensued. The rest of her family was still in Iraq and, with the removal of Hussein, had to flee to northern Baghdad in order to maintain safe haven due to their Christian background. According to Aziz, although the U.S. succeeded in eliminating a dictator responsible for mass genocide, it had to face the daunting task of dealing with a form of radicalism that would be very difficult to overcome due to its religious context.

“Extremism is a dangerous thing,” she said. “Religion is supposed to be about love. I know many Muslims, Christians, Jews and so on who, even though they are religious by name, give each other the respect and kindness everyone deserves. But then there are people who only see the evil in others. Where does it come from? Where does it stop?”

The latest string of bombings in Baghdad only amplified her concerns and reaffirmed her belief that U.S. involvement is necessary.

“At this point, Iraq needs the United States to help maintain order,” said Aziz. “Right now, it’s no longer a war between countries, but a civil war. Iraq and the United States will have to work together.”

Like Leahy, Aziz has spent much time deliberating on the idea of freedom itself, as well as the rich cultural history of her country of origin and what it will take for it to reclaim its rights.

“There are different freedoms in both countries,” she said. “I have a more independent life in the United States. But the free and excellent education I received in Iraq helped me succeed here. I think both countries could benefit from learning from each other. My hope is that people will one day look around and see what’s really going on and start using their minds to make this world a better place.”

For Aziz, a better place starts at home. With her husband, she cares for her two sons, Andre (7) and Ivan (5), while working full time. Without the physical support of her extended family members, she is well aware of the responsibilities of being a provider while simultaneously progressing as an artist and building relationships with those she serves. Steve Leahy is no stranger to that sense of duty. He looks after his three children, Colin (17), Emily (16) and Matthew (12), while continuing to inspire others around him.

“I find it comforting to continuously see art transcend differences between people of different cultures,” he said. “Creativity is a common language, and when given the chance to be heard or seen, incredible things happen. It makes me very happy that Wasan and her family found a way to create a life that allows her to do what she was truly meant to do.”

His painting “Eumenides’ Fable” is currently on display at Canton’s Savoy Spa.

Note from the Author

I’d like to extend my warmest wishes and gratitude to Steve Leahy and Wasan Aziz for their humbling stories and keen sense of decency. Although I am the veteran mentioned in the above article, it goes without saying that there would be no article without these two generous individuals. As for the readers, a simple message remains. Our histories build us and our differences show colors that go far beyond that which shows externally. There is a world to gain from being good to those around us. Those who teach hatred spread it thicker than oil on canvas. Those who preach evil draw it back into their lives. Perhaps it’s time to learn the art of kindness.

Editor’s note: Blanka Stratford is a 1998 graduate of Canton High School. She served for over two years as a combat photojournalist in Operations Enduring and Iraqi Freedom. Stratford, 30, was honorably discharged in November 2004 and is currently working on a book about her experiences after the war.

Patricia Bonito-Wolffe

Wolffe, a lifelong Canton resident, was among the thousands of officers from across the commonwealth who traveled to Woburn on New Year’s Eve for the funeral of John “Jack” Maguire, the veteran police officer who was shot and killed the day after Christmas by paroled armed robber Dominic Cinelli outside a Kohl’s department store following an attempted jewelry heist.

Like a lot of Massachusetts residents, Wolffe has struggled to understand how the board members could have possibly determined that Cinelli, a career criminal serving three life sentences, had somehow deserved another shot at freedom when they released him back in 2008. Then again, Wolffe was not exactly surprised, either – not after being forced to live out his own personal nightmare when the same parole board voted to release his sister’s killer, Robert E. Sorensen, after several prior denials and a 22-year stint behind bars.

“I feel terrible for the Maguire family,” said a somber Wolffe in a telephone interview last week. “The parole board made a victim out of them, and being a victim myself, I totally feel their pain.”

To this day, Wolffe said it is still extremely painful to talk about the 1988 murder of his sister, Patricia Bonito-Wolffe, who was stabbed and suffocated in the bedroom of her Pequit Street home in the early morning hours on June 18. Sorensen, who had been in a relationship with Patricia, had planned the crime in advance and had returned to her home after work to carry it out while Patricia’s two young children and a neighbor’s child lay asleep in an adjacent room.

Wolffe, who at the time was fresh out of the Police Academy, said the crime was a textbook case of first-degree murder, yet Sorensen was inexplicably allowed to enter into a plea of second-degree murder, making him eligible for parole after 15 years.

Wolffe said his family protested the decision by the district attorney’s office to accept the plea, but were told by an assistant prosecutor that it wasn’t the family’s decision to make.

“I was absolutely astonished that they didn’t want to pursue it on a first-degree basis,” he said, “especially under the circumstances, considering the violent nature of the crime and the fact that she was attacked at her most vulnerable point. As for why the commonwealth allows these pleas in the first place, I honestly don’t know.”

Wolffe said his family now feels as if they have been victimized twice by the judicial system – first with the plea agreement and again with the parole board’s decision more than two decades later.

“I absolutely thought it was a poor decision on their part to free my sister’s murderer,” he said. “Unfortunately, we knew at the time that he would be eligible for parole some day, and we kept hoping it wouldn’t happen, but he subsequently was.”

Wolffe said his entire family attended Sorensen’s most recent parole hearing, and just as they had at all the others, they implored the parole board to reconsider the brutal nature of the murder and keep him locked up. Canton Police Chief Ken Berkowitz also attended the hearing and read a brief statement of support on behalf of the family.

“Basically we argued that he doesn’t deserve a second chance at life,” explained Wolffe, “because Patricia’s not going to have a second chance at life.”

Wolffe did not elaborate on the arguments made on Sorensen’s behalf, other than to note that Sorensen was represented at the hearing by a retired superior court judge. However, he did point out that Sorensen was allowed to remarry while in prison and has since moved in with his wife.

“That’s just the way the judicial system is in Massachusetts,” said an admittedly frustrated Wolffe. “It seems that they’ve lost sight of the victims of crime in their haste to allow people with life sentences to come out and have a second chance at being members of society.”

While there is no evidence to suggest that Sorensen poses a danger to the people of the commonwealth, Wolffe said the documented failings of the parole board, particularly as it relates to the release of Cinelli, should cast a shadow of doubt over all of their recent decisions.

Wolffe added that his sister’s murder stands as proof of what Sorensen is capable of, and when asked if he thinks the man could hurt someone else, Wolffe did not hesitate in saying yes.

“Of course I’m worried,” he said. “We’re being asked to trust him that he’s going to go back into society and be a contributor, that he’s somehow been rehabilitated.”

Wolffe said Sorensen’s horrific act devastated his entire family, while the subsequent legal decisions only served to exacerbate their pain. At the same time, he praised the governor’s swift action in shaking up the parole board, calling it the “absolute right thing to do” to help restore public confidence during these trying times, and he remains hopeful that the justice system will continue to realign its priorities and seek justice at all costs – if not for Patricia specifically, then at least for any future victims of crime.

Wolffe is also grateful to have the support of his fellow officers and of Chief Berkowitz in particular, and as painful as this experience has been, he believes it has made him a better police officer.

“It’s made me more sensitive to victims of crime, that’s for sure,” said Wolffe. “Being a victim yourself, you can relate to what people are going through, and perhaps offer a little comfort during what is certainly a very difficult time for them.”

Editor’s note: Information on the above-referenced crime was obtained solely from Don Wolffe, the victim’s brother, with corroboration provided by Canton Police Chief Ken Berkowitz. Robert Sorensen, the man convicted in the 1988 murder of Patricia Bonito-Wolffe, was not contacted for this story. Attempts by the Citizen to reach the Massachusetts Parole Board were unsuccessful.

For as much as Smith still loves to cook, she knows full well that it is not as easy as it once was – not with the tanks and tubes from her round-the-clock oxygen therapy now getting in the way. Besides, she is hoping to avoid another hospitalization after enduring back-to-back stays in October and November, the last one prompted by an oxygen-level reading near 80 following a light workout on the treadmill.

While such occurrences are rare these days – thanks in large part to an extended rehab stint at New England Sinai Hospital in Stoughton – they are also to be expected for someone with Smith’s diagnosis. Her condition, known as interstitial pulmonary fibrosis, is a chronic, progressive form of lung disease that produces irreversible scarring, which not only limits breathing but restricts the flow of oxygen to the bloodstream. Unlike other interstitial lung diseases, there are no known causes or treatments for IPF, and the prognosis is generally poor.

In Smith’s case, the doctors gave her nine months of life around the time she entered Sinai last March – roughly nine months ago. And yet, in spite of all she has been through and will continue to endure, she has managed to remain active and incredibly upbeat, while still possessing a great sense of humor.

“I know full well, obviously, what the end result is; it’s a terminal disease and it will happen,” she said. “But I can tell you one thing, if anyone brings a rocking chair into my house and expects me to sit on it, there’s no way, and they’re going to end up wearing it on their head.”

For Smith, perhaps the toughest part of the whole ordeal, aside from the physical symptoms, has been learning how to accept help from others. She said it was especially tough when the offers came from the Canton Police Department, where she had worked for many years as secretary to the chief.

“To me, I had been almost like a mother figure to those police officers,” she explained. “How could I face them again? I figured that if I was so needy myself, how could they feel comfortable going to me with their problems?”

Eventually, Smith relented, and it was a good thing, too, because people on both the town side and at the Police Department were determined to help. They brought regular dinners – police officers on one night a week and the women at Town Hall on a separate night. DPW Operations Manager Danny Teague even came and cooked in her kitchen, and Smith said he made “the most fantastic omelets.”

“How blessed am I, really?” she said. “To have people do those things for me, it’s just so wonderful.”

Smith said that she “absolutely loved” working for the town of Canton, including her time with the Finance Department, as well as all those years alongside Police Chief Peter Bright in a closet-sized office on Revere Street. She also loved to bake, and as a result, Thursdays turned into “goodie day” down at the police station – a tradition that continues to some extent even today.

Following her retirement from the department, Smith turned to another love of hers – her cottage overlooking Sebago Lake in Maine. It was in Maine, in fact, during her second year of retirement, when she began feeling pain in her side after long walks.

She eventually sought out medical attention, and after a battery of tests lasting several hours, she received the news that it was lung disease.

“I thought, ‘How can that be?’” said Smith, recalling her reaction to the diagnosis. “I mean, I’m active. I’m a walker. I feel too good.”

The next several months were a rollercoaster of hospital visits and trying to manage symptoms. By the time she was admitted to Sinai for long-term rehabilitation, doctors had already informed her that there was little they could do.

Looking back on it now, Smith credits the doctors and nurses at Sinai with saving her life. She was there for four weeks in all, and by the end of her stay, she was stable and ready to resume her normal activities.

“To think, you’re coming from hospice – from hospice – and you can go home and do anything,” she said. “I never got such good care. The people there were wonderful.”

Still, the next several months were a struggle for Smith, especially with regard to the oxygen equipment, as she felt it diminished her in some way. She was even embarrassed to go out in public – to the point that if she drove through downtown Canton she would take the tubes out of her nose.

At the time, she thought that people would gawk and stare if they saw her; she now admits she was wrong.

“I said to myself, ‘You need it, and this is what keeps you going, so accept it.’ And I finally have,” she said.

These days, Smith is happy with who she is, and she tries to make the most of every day – even if her “lovely little disease” forces her to improvise.

For instance, on Thanksgiving, knowing she would not be making the trip to her daughter’s house in Vermont this year, she decided to have two holidays at once. So they enjoyed her home-cooked dinner, then they all celebrated Christmas together, complete with presents and an imaginary “three-and-a-half-foot, beautiful, lighted Christmas tree” that sat proudly atop the table.

As for Christmas day itself, Smith already has four offers for dinner (“How great is that?”), and she just found out that her grandson Bobby – whom she raised, along with her late husband, Bill, from the time he was a toddler – is coming home for the holidays.

According to Smith, she and Bill had the “ride of [their] lives” raising Bobby, who is now a petty officer in the Navy. There were so many special moments – between the three of them, between herself and Bill, both here in Canton and out on the lake.

And that is what she chooses to focus on this Christmas – not her medical condition, or how much time she has left on this earth, but all of those “wonderful, wonderful memories” of time spent with loved ones.

“Life is good,” said Smith. “It really is.”

Tom Connolly and his crew celebrate on Italian soil after being rescued from Nazi-occupied Yugoslavia in late December of 1944. Also pictured are OSS agents George Vujnovich and Nick Lalich.

Instead, they are fixed firmly on the memory of his old friend and former coworker at Emerson and Cuming, the late Tom Connolly, whose stories of rescue and adventure as a crew member on a B24 bomber had always fascinated Seery during their time together at the Canton-based chemical plant throughout the 1960s and early 1970s.

Seery, who is now retired and living in Canton, said it had been years since he had thought of those stories when, seemingly out of nowhere, he came across this article about Vujnovich in the Boston Globe, and suddenly it dawned on him why it all sounded so familiar: Vujnovich’s mission had rescued his old pal Tom.

It wasn’t just Connolly, however. As it turns out, and as Seery soon recalled from his days at Emerson and Cuming, Operation Halyard was massive; in fact, it was arguably the greatest rescue mission of World War II, not to mention the largest air rescue of Americans behind enemy lines in any war, with more than 500 downed pilots rescued — without a single loss of life — between early August and late December of 1944.

Most of the airmen, including Connolly, had been shot down over Serbia while on bombing runs to the German-occupied Ploesti oil fields in Romania. They spent the next several months hiding out in farmhouses, aided by Serbian farm families and protected by Serbian Chetnik guerillas, who were led by General Draza Mihailovich.

Vujnovich, a Serbian American working in the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), a precursor to the CIA, was the one who convinced American officials to carry out the rescue mission. It was an elaborate plan — one that involved dropping OSS agents into enemy territory, then building makeshift airstrips on mountainous terrain before sending in a fleet of C-47 cargo planes to pick up the stranded soldiers — and yet it was a total success.

“It’s such a fantastic story,” noted Seery, who has spent the past few weeks learning as much as he can about the mission, even searching local libraries for The Forgotten 500, a complete history of the rescue by Gregory A. Freeman.

Of course, the average American knows little, if anything at all, about Operation Halyard, because the mission was kept secret by the United States military for decades. And the reason, as Seery is quick to point out, has everything to do with the politics of the time, most notably the British and Americans’ waning support for Mihailovich and the Chetniks in favor of a rival faction, headed by the communist leader Tito.

Meanwhile, as the communists gained control over Yugoslavia, the credit for the rescue went to Tito and his forces, while Mihailovich was portrayed as a Nazi sympathizer and put on trial for war crimes in 1946. In America, many of the former airmen went to great lengths to clear Mihailovich’s name, even making a highly publicized trip to Washington, D.C. in an effort to declassify the documents detailing the rescue mission; however, on July 17 of that year, Mihailovich was executed by firing squad and buried in an unmarked grave.

Even to this day, Seery remembers the anger and resentment Connolly harbored, not only toward Tito, but also toward the U.S. government for not doing more to protect his hero.

“Tom and his crew even wanted to go back to Serbia and testify for Mihailovich, and the U.S. State Department wouldn’t let them go,” said Seery. “It’s a shame — one of the greatest rescue missions of the war, and all these years the truth had been kept under wraps.”

Seery also has more than just his memory to rely on. Besides conducting his own research, he recently reached out to one of Tom’s two sons, Ted Connolly, who has in his possession a veritable treasure chest of historical documentation on his father’s wartime experiences, including dozens of photographs and letters — and even a few weapons.

Ted, who grew up in a house on Pleasant Circle and attended Canton schools, remembers hearing the stories as a kid — of his father’s crew being shot down over Yugoslavia and the Chetniks helping them out. He was also keenly aware of the “disappointment in [his father’s] heart over Mihailovich being sold down the river.”

At the same time, Ted said his appreciation for the Halyard mission and his father’s role in it has grown exponentially over the years, especially as he has gotten to know various members of his dad’s crew, and in some cases, the children of crew members. He also could not say enough about Freeman’s book, The Forgotten 500, which, much to Ted’s surprise, included pictures of his father in Yugoslavia that he had never before seen.

(Click on Page 2 to continue reading)

Haley Walsh

“Some have the rockiest start, and they keep falling, but they continue to try to get past the rocks — getting scratched,” she continues. “They work, fail, retry and do whatever it takes to get to the top — and once they do, all the work pays off, and the other side is a nice smooth way down.”

All this from an 11-year-old girl who just started sixth grade. Haley loves playing soccer, but is an avid writer and illustrator and would like to be an author when she grows up. She already has a significant head start: in addition to her latest motivational book, she’s written several adventure stories, starring Froggy, a humanized frog. She’s kept a detailed journal and she published a school newspaper while in fourth and fifth grade.

“I just like expressing my ideas and being able to share them,” said Haley, who started writing as soon as she could “pick up a pencil.”

Haley lives in Norton with her mother, Stacey (nee Hickey), father, Kevin (both Canton natives), and a younger and older sister. If life is a mountain, Haley’s has had a rocky start — she has Cushing’s disease, a tumor on the pituitary gland — but you would never know it when meeting her. She has an infectious smile and is wise beyond her years.

“Haley, as you get to know her, will surprise you in many, many ways, so I’m not surprised anymore by her; I’m more amazed by her,” said proud mom Stacey. The two sat in their kitchen last Friday afternoon, sharing Haley’s remarkable story.

Cushing’s disease is rare, especially for children. It’s been something Haley has dealt with for four years now, going through two surgeries, multiple medications and radiation treatments. Haley actually best describes what Cushing’s disease is in her self-published children’s book Super Swearingen (named for her neurosurgeon Dr. Brooke Swearingen at Massachusetts General Hospital).

Haley’s main character, aptly named Pituitary Gland, lives in the town of Brainton (the brain) within the country of Bodyan (the body). Pituitary Gland, as Haley explains, plays an instrumental role, controlling the growth of the country (the body). Pituitary Gland is the “size of a grape,” but is “very powerful,” instructing the other residents (glands) of Bodyan (the body) what to do.

Pituitary Gland is attacked by the antagonist, Cushing’s Disease, which takes over Pituitary’s office, making Pituitary fall asleep and disrupting the other Glands in the office. Super Swearingen (the doctor) comes to the rescue, getting rid of Cushing’s and restoring things to their normal state.

“I’ve always loved writing, but I think my experience has improved it a lot,” Haley said.

However, Haley’s journey has not been as cut-and-dried as her book depicts. Stacey said she first started noticing possible symptoms in the summer of 2006 — unusual roundness in Haley’s face and stomach, weight gain, trouble sleeping, and mood changes. Stacey said that her sister, Michelle Powers, a nurse and Canton resident, was the first one to mention the possibility of Cushing’s in December of 2006.

By January of 2007, Haley was officially diagnosed with Cushing’s, and in March of that year had brain surgery at MGH. The surgery was deemed successful, but about 19 months later the symptoms started popping up again. Haley’s cortisol levels (a chemical hormone produced by the body to help manage stress) increased, a telltale sign of Cushing’s.

Haley had her second brain surgery in April of 2009, but Stacey said that by the summer of 2009 she realized the surgery had not worked. Haley then started taking medication to try to keep the symptoms at bay, but that did not work either, so her dosage was increased, but she became ill and went into liver failure.

Luckily, there was no permanent damage and she started taking a different combination of medication. When this proved unsuccessful, she started radiation treatments at MGH this past May. It takes up to 24 months to see if the radiation has worked, so, as Stacey explains it, her daughter’s battle with Cushing’s is in a state of limbo.

All through this “wild adventure,” as Haley puts it, she has remained upbeat. She missed minimal time from school and never uses her bout with Cushing’s as an excuse. “She’s really handled herself with amazing, amazing grace and amazing dignity,” Stacey said. “She makes this process easier on me and her father.”

But even Haley has days where the ordeal becomes overwhelming. “Every once in a while I get really frustrated and I practically break down — I just don’t understand why basically,” Haley explains. “But in my mind, I know there has to be a reason, which I’m hoping is because I’m going to become an author and illustrator.”

Haley’s writing is filled with metaphors and, as evidenced by her Super Swearingen book, she has a knack for explaining things in a creative and easy-to-understand way. She kept a journal during her early stages of Cushing’s, chronicling each trip to MGH. She has a binder full of illustrations — some of animals, some of Disney characters, some of landscapes. Her ultimate goal is to one day write an autobiography.

“At the time, I thought [writing] was her way of coping, and then as she’s gotten older I realized it’s just her way. It’s not necessarily her way of coping, it’s just how she expresses life,” Stacey said.

“It’s just what I enjoy doing,” Haley added.

When asked where she stood on her own mountain, Haley paused and thought about it for a moment. “Right now, I’m not really sure,” she said. “My mountain started off with a bunch of different paths, and [I was] not really sure which one I was supposed to take. Then, after I started understanding what was going on, that’s when the rockiest part happened.

“And then after my first surgery we were thinking that I was all better, that was a pretty smooth [path], and then when I found out that Cushing’s had come back, it was like a huge rock just kind of appeared in front of me,” she continued. “I just kind of found my way around [the rock].”

Right now, Haley feels like she is at a fork in the road. Nevertheless, whatever path she takes, no matter how many twists and turns it takes to reach the summit, Haley seems bound for success.

“As bad as Cushing’s has been and as awful as it has been — because it has been — it’s made her who she is now,” Stacey said.

“There is a reason for everything,” Haley writes in the final page of Take a Good Look Around. “You just have to believe.”

Tommy MacDonald, center, chats with Eli Cleveland of the production crew between takes. (Photo courtesy of WGBH Educational Foundation)

While he said it was uncomfortable the first couple of times he had it put on, he now uses the few minutes it takes to apply the makeup before filming begins to clear his mind and “get into the mindset of doing the job,” as he puts it.  MacDonald, host and producer, is putting his game-face on, in both a literal and figurative sense.

After making a name for himself in local woodworking circles for crafting his antique-style custom furniture pieces, MacDonald is taking his talents to a television set near you when Rough Cut – Woodworking with Tommy Mac premieres nationally in October.

“It’s like a dream come true,” MacDonald said. “I set my sights on it so long ago and just to have it bear fruit, it’s been really astonishing. It’s like an out-of-body experience. I see it happening, but I don’t believe it’s me.”

Much of the series, produced by WGBH and distributed by American Public Television, is filmed right here in Canton at MacDonald’s Draper Lane woodworking studio.

The first season includes 13 half-hour-long episodes. Each show will take a field trip to a different Boston area landmark, like the USS Constitution, the Old North Church, or the historic John Adams house in Quincy for design inspiration. Then MacDonald returns to his Canton studio with the information he gathered from the trip and applies it to a smaller, more approachable woodworking project, like a blanket chest, wall cabinet, or flag box.

The flag box episode, which coincides with a field trip to the USS Constitution, is slated to air around Veterans’ Day and will have a special treat for Canton viewers. After MacDonald is finished showing how to build the triangular flag box, he is joined in the studio by five members of the Canton Veterans Honor Guard — Robert DeYeso (Army), Gerald Gallagher (Marines), Frank LaBollita (Army), Edward Lehan (Air Force), and Jack O’Neill (Navy) — who demonstrate how to properly fold an American flag and place it within a flag box. Interestingly, LaBollita was MacDonald’s sixth grade shop teacher.

Air conditioning is going to be installed soon at MacDonald’s woodworking studio, but there was no relief from the heat the afternoon of July 8 when he was taping the segment with the Canton veterans. It was 90 degrees outside that day and maybe twice that inside — or so it felt — but the stuffy and humid conditions inside the studio-turned television set didn’t faze the laid-back, cool, calm and collected MacDonald, or the veterans for that matter.

“It doesn’t bother me,” MacDonald said. “I’ve worked outside my entire life doing construction work. It’s inside, so at least we’re out of the sunlight.”

Executive producer Laurie Donnelly said even the nationally syndicated shows produced by WGBH have local roots, helping to add a personal touch to the program, which is definitely the case for MacDonald’s Rough Cut; Canton is well-represented in this series.

Canton resident Al D’Attanasio appears in three episodes in the upcoming season, playing Home Improvement’s Al Borland to MacDonald’s Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor. D’Attanasio, a longtime woodworker in his own right, facilitates conversation during the studio portion of the show, asking MacDonald questions about the techniques he is using to complete the episode’s project.

Al D’Attanasio has his makeup applied before the taping gets underway. (Courtesy photo)

The two met about six years ago after D’Attanasio retired following more than 30 years as the assistant principal at the Luce school. MacDonald calls his friend his “ultimate sidekick.”

“Having been a woodworker for a long time, to be a part of this is truly exciting,” D’Attanasio said. “It’s a very unique experience. I never thought I’d end up being a part of a TV show.”

In addition to D’Attanasio, Canton resident Mark Libby will also make an appearance on the show this season, as will local guests Steve Brown and Eli Cleveland (who also serves as a production assistant on set).

While only a half-hour show, a considerable amount of time is spent filming each episode. Donnelly said it takes about one full work day to film each project in the workshop and about a half day to film each field trip. Just the flag folding segment itself, which will only take a small portion of the 30 minute show, took more than an hour to finish.

It can take up to a week to edit each individual episode. MacDonald said taping began in May and he is hoping to have it finished by August, so the show is on schedule for its October premiere.

(Click on Page 2 to continue reading)