Let’s Find A Cure
The back roads of the Keystone State flow quietly through farms and towns so typical of rural America. They stretch for miles silently targeting each new destination which lies just over the next hill or around the coming bend in the road. It is pleasant race walking here that is, until heavy trucks, busses and lines of automobiles begin to appear. These are signals that a major city is approaching. The smells change too from fresh and aromatic to sooty and nauseating.
Pittsburg is at the confluence great Allegheny and Monongahela rivers. It is an industrial town but one that the city fathers have modernized, cleaned-up and made appealing. Just outside the ball park I stood meditating in front of the statute of Roberto Clement which graces and protects the entrance to the venerable stadium. I was in Puerto Rico on December 31, 1972 when Roberto’s cargo plane overloaded with clothing for earthquake victims of Nicaragua crashed into the Atlantic Ocean. I stood on the shore near the crash site for a long time trying to make sense out of what had happened. Even though his body was never recovered for many of us Number 21 is still out here waiting for his next hit.
I offer my heartfelt thanks the Juvenile Diabetes Foundation and to the thousands of young people who every day bravely await the cure.