I’m not really sure I can say that I believe completely in superstitions, but there are a few that cross my mind from time to time. A few years ago, I broke a hand-held mirror, dropping it into shattered pieces all over my bathroom floor. I remember convincing myself that the whole bad luck thing wasn’t real. I can’t really say my luck has been too awful since then, but I haven’t thought about it too much.

I’ve known people who throw salt over their shoulders, and others who will never walk under ladders. I remember telling Michael that opening an umbrella inside was bad luck, but, of course, he defiantly tried it out and he’s still pretty lucky, for the most part.

For as long as I can remember, every time I drive under a bridge with a train going over it, I have to “hold the train up” by raising my hands to the roof of the car. I don’t even know when or how this started (my dad can probably answer that question), but I do know it is something I have done and will always do. What if I don’t and the train comes down on top of my car? I know the odds of that happening are slim to none, but...what if?

Of course, this is something I have passed onto Michael. He added a piercing scream as we drive under the train bridges, but nonetheless, he participates. Every single time. Just the other day, we were heading to his grandparent’s house, and I spotted a train on a bridge a ways ahead of us.

Looking over at Michael in the passenger’s seat, I noticed he wasn’t paying attention as he was engrossed in whatever game or app he had loaded on his phone. As we got closer to the bridge, I nudged Michael and just got a grunt of a response in return. Finally, I said, “Michael, we’ve gotta hold the train up!”

Just in time, he put down his phone, lifted both arms, and held up the train with me. As soon as we were in the clear, he went back to his phone. I smiled, thinking that he, too, will probably teach this to his own kids someday.

I guess it just goes to show that we’re never really too old, or too “cool” to take part in silly superstitions. I’ll knock on wood and cross my fingers that he will always do this with his mom. You can bet your lucky penny that I’ll still be holding the trains up for the rest of my life.

My job is to keep the public informed. My job is to raise awareness when there are issues and to help shine light in dark corners. My job is to uncover things that may otherwise go unnoticed. And it’s a job that I take seriously.

A big decision was made in Grandview last week, and the conversations leading up to it took place behind closed doors, without any public input. That’s just not good government.

I get it, sometimes discussions need to happen privately, and information needs to be disseminated in an appropriate manner, before going public sometimes. But, I sincerely believe that had I not been approached by Judge Johnson prior to last week’s vote in time to write a story, that the vast majority of the citizens in Grandview wouldn’t have even known that the fate of our Municipal Court was in the hands of our six elected aldermen.

If we are truly “Building Tomorrow’s Community,” as the City of Grandview would like us to believe, then perhaps we need to come out from behind closed doors and from underneath our desks. Last week, city administration compared Grandview to Lake Tapawingo. With a population of right around 700, Lake Tapawingo is roughly the size of, as Alderman John Maloney put it, Grand Summit apartment complex. Our grand city of 25,000 residents deserves better. And our citizens deserve to have more say in what happens here.

We are better than this. I’m proud to say that our Board of Aldermen voted, in my opinion, the way they should have last week. Grandview’s Municipal Court will stay in Grandview, where it should be, where it has been since well before any of us have been calling the shots in this city.

Citizens have every right, and the responsibility, to speak their minds and to voice their concerns. Be it spoken, or through written word, it’s our job to let our opinions known and our thoughts heard. And, it’s the city’s job to ensure that this happens, regardless of mandates, funded or otherwise.

Election season is one of my favorite times of the year. It’s full of surprises, some good, some not as flattering, but overall, it’s about people who have the desire and the calling to serve the community.
I commend those who have the gall to throw their name into the circus that election cycles inevitably become. I truly believe that elected officials, no matter their political affiliation, the size of their campaign bank accounts or their thoughts on social and economic issues, are all in the game for similar reasons. There is nothing more satisfying, I’m sure, than knowing you made the right decisions for those you serve.

On Monday night, I had the privilege to serve as moderator for a candidate forum featuring those who have expressed interest in giving back to their community through public service. Jackson County, as we’ve seen on television and read in the papers, has some issues to deal with in the coming months. It is up to us, as voters in this great county of ours, to determine who should lead the charge of becoming fiscally responsible, mending issues with the county jail, and determining how our future should play out.

Without getting too much into politics here, I will say that I personally am impressed with the slate of candidates for each race that affects us in Grandview and South Kansas City. While I may not agree with all of them on every issue, I feel as though they all would be a good fit. They all seem to genuinely care about Jackson County now and into the future.

Later this week, as the paper is published, I’ll provide for you on our website (www.jcadvocate.com) a quick synopsis of each candidate who presented either at the Grandview or South Kansas City forums. County Executive, Sheriff, Legislator and State Representative races were all represented, and I’ll provide information, in their own words, to help you make an informed decision on Tuesday, August 7.

Whomever we choose to lead the charge and in whatever capacity those leaders serve, if their heart is in Jackson County and it’s people, I know that we’ll be well taken care of.

Several months ago, as 2017 came to a close and we were in the beginnings of 2018, my dad approached the family and stated that this year, he’d be turning 65, and he’d like to celebrate in a huge way.

He’s big on birthdays, and has always made a great deal of them, especially his own. He loves parties and the attention that a good birthday celebration brings. But, for his 65th, he decided to take things to a whole new level.

Last week, after a few months of planning (and renewing passports), our family boarded an airplane headed for beaches, sunshine, and all-you-care-to-drink strawberry daiquiris. With swimsuits, sunscreen and sandals in tow, we voyaged to Jamaica, a country none of us had explored before.
Michael and I climbed the Dunn’s River Falls together, an experience he and I will likely always remember, and I’m thinking my legs will still be sore from it for days to come. We swam with dolphins, watched as Michael checked out stingrays, tried jerk chicken, and learned to say “yeah mon” and “no problem” like we belonged there.

My favorite part, though, was watching my dad and my son, my two Michaels, swim and play in the ocean together. You would have thought they were both about five (though one is 12 and the other now 65), the way they laughed and splashed at each other and looked for treasures.

As far as family vacations go, this one certainly tops my list. When I was a kid, we took mostly road trips, and I had to spend all day next to my brother fighting over temperature control. This trip, with my brother, my son and parents with me, we made memories of adventure, culture, togetherness and love that will last for at least my lifetime.

I believe in the profession of journalism. I believe that the public journal is a public trust; that all connected with it are, to the full measure of their responsibility, trustees for the public; that acceptance of a lesser service than the public service is a betrayal of this trust. I believe that clear thinking and clear statement, accuracy and fairness are fundamental to good journalism. I believe that a journalist should write only what he holds in his heart to be true. I believe that suppression of the news, for any consideration other than the welfare of society, is indefensible.

While Walter Williams, the first dean of the Missouri School of Journalism, penned the Journalist’s Creed more than a century ago, his words still ring true in newsrooms across the country. In fact, his words hang on my wall, directly in front of where I sit at my desk in my office, serving as a daily reminder of the importance and the duty that I have to the community I serve.

Not everyone always agrees with me. Sometimes those disagreements come in the form of letters, other times phone calls. Some are anonymous, some are brave enough to let me know who they are. Every once in a while, I’ll receive a visit from someone who wants to tell me face-to-face to let me know what they think.

I have felt unsafe a time or two. I’ve received threatening phone calls or emails, and I’ve been told not to write certain things certain ways. I have had to call the police and I have had to watch my back...I think every journalist who is doing his/her job has felt this way at least once.

Last week, though, when news of the tragedies in Annapolis, Maryland came across my desk, I couldn’t help but think how easily this could have been my own newsroom, or how much we take for granted every day. The irony that the same day, a front-page story regarding a recent active shooter training ran on my front page was not lost on me.

No one goes to work knowing whether or not they’ll make it home at the end of the day. My heart breaks for my cohorts at The Capital Gazette, for those who lost their lives to a monster, and for those who were left behind to write the stories. Their work continues, whether or not they are grieving. They put out a damn paper. And I’m pretty damn proud of them for doing so.

I’d like to give the rest of the space in my column to those five in Annapolis. There’s room here, just as they have taken up a part our hearts. Rest in peace, friends. You will be missed.
In memory of The Capital Gazette five:

Gerald FischmanRob HiaasenJohn McNamaraRebecca SmithWendi Winters

Grandparents are pretty special, and I had a special kind of relationship with each of mine. They all, in their own unique ways, offered me guidance and love, compassion and grace, understanding and pride. I learned from the best there was. My grandparents were hard-working, giving, honest and humble people.

I had them all in my lives for much longer than most, and my son also had a relationship with all but one who left us before Michael was born. Where there is life, there is also death. And unfortunately, my family, my brother and I, have lost our final grandparent.

Last week, after a long struggle with cancer and all that encompasses it, my grandpa Richard D. Ott took his last breath. His wife, Doris, whom he married when I was a teenager, was by his side, and told my mom that he left us quietly and peacefully. I’m thankful that he’s no longer hurting.

Grandpa Richard lived the farthest away. He had moved to North Dakota to become the director of the North Dakota School Board’s Association before I was born. But despite being a day’s drive away, he still made time to spoil me some.

When I was nine, I took a trip up there, by myself on the airplane, to see him. There’s an old video somewhere of this trip, but I don’t need to see it to remember the good times we had while I was there. He taught me how to use a steak knife, and he showed me how to use a walking stick to keep the bears in Glacier National Park at bay. With him by my side, I learned to love and appreciate horses for their beauty and strength, and I still wish I had continued riding.

He loved to tell jokes, though they were the kind that instead of laughing, I’d just roll my eyes. He was a teacher, and an encourager, and I knew he was always reading my words each week, as he was the first person to subscribe when my family took over this paper in 2012.

He was also a little stubborn, and even in death he made sure to get the last word in for his obituary. So, I’ll offer him that courtesy here. My grandpa, in his own words, left with dignity and grace, and we will surely miss him and his corny jokes.

Greetings:
When this is read, I will be wherever it has been determined that I should go following life in this world.
I was born September 14, 1933, in a suburb of St. Louis, Missouri, and ended up with the name Richard D. Ott after a series of adoption procedures.
Thanks to everyone for an exciting and satisfying life. Many people, even some I didn’t know, gave me so much. Thanks to all you kind folks.
To my cherished friends and family, I offer a huge bouquet of gratitude.
Special thanks to my oldest daughter, Becky, and her family, and to my youngest daughter, Joni, and her family. From the day each of you girls came along, you’ve been sheer delight.
Then there’s my wife, Doris. Words can never express my appreciation for all she has done for me, and for all she has meant to me. Living with her has been an ongoing courtship.
I’ve asked that there be very little commotion to mark my departure. (But I probably have little to say about that now.) However, rather than having folks take a lot of time away from work, travel a long distance, buy flowers, send cards, establish scholarships, etc., I’d prefer that you go out to a nice restaurant, enjoy a big meal, give me a positive thought and go about your lives.
If you feel compelled to do something beyond this, send a donation to an animal shelter of your choice. Many of my furry friends live there.
May your time on Earth be as happy and rewarding as mine was.
Richard D. Ott.

There’s something about a good love song that I just adore. Whether it’s a song about falling in love, love coming to an end, or finding love again, I always find some way to relate to the lyrics. Known as one of the most popular and influential artists of all time, Frank Sinatra’s songs were about all kinds of love, and Sammy Cahn’s words were romantic and relatable.

For the next month (through July 8), Quality Hill Playhouse takes visitors back to a time when Sinatra’s voice and Cahn’s writing were the perfect match from Vegas to 87 hit recordings, which won Cahn four Academy Awards for Best Song (“Three Coins In The Fountain,” “High Hopes,” “Call Me Irresponsible,” “All The Way”.)

Shows at the Playhouse are entertaining, educational and full of surprises. I’ll be honest, heading into this particular revue, I really didn’t know much about Sinatra, and had never even heard of Cahn before. But, with the director’s bits of history throughout, and music that spoke to my soul, I left with a deep appreciation of both incredible musicians.

In this final installment of the Playhouse’s Singing the American Songbook series, Sinatra’s Songwriter: The Genius of Sammy Cahn celebrates the career of Frank Sinatra through the man who penned much of it in this stylish cabaret revue. The show features favorites from Sinatra’s early big band years in 1930s New York (“Until The Real Thing Comes Along,” “Please Be Kind,” “I Could Make You Care”) to hits from his Vegas acts of the 50s and 60s (“Teach Me Tonight,” “Only The Lonely”). Enjoy over two dozen Sammy Cahn-Frank Sinatra hits performed by vocalists Lauren Bradshaw, Lauren Braton, and Joseph Carr, led by pianist and emcee J. Kent Barnhart. Ken Remmert on drums and Ben Tervort on bass put the “swing” in this swinging tribute.

Quality Hill Playhouse, a nonprofit cabaret theatre, is known locally and nationally for entertaining, inspiring and educating diverse audiences from all generations. For more information, or to purchase tickets to see a show, visit qualityhillplayhouse.com.