(If my husband weren’t away at a newspaper conference, I doubt he’d let this run.)
I do love birthdays; mine, yours and everybody’s. Having a birthday means one is living on this side of life — the short side. Eternity stretches out longer than I can think about and I want to celebrate here while the numbers are relatively small and I know there will be something chocolate on the table.
February is a month so full of birthdays. There are those we all celebrate, beginning with Abraham Lincoln and George Washington (Thank you very much for the long weekend your birthdays grant us but a serious thank you for the honorable ways you served our country) Hank Aaron, Ronald Reagan, and Steve Jobs were also born in the year’s shortest month.
There is another birthday in February, and this is the one that matters most to me. On Feb. 5, 1947, Milton and Pauline Hall of Alexandria, Va. welcomed their second son into this world. He was named Arthur Ray after two of his uncles.
Soon they left Alexandria and moved eventually to Las Cruces, N.M., where Art and his three siblings grew up in the hardy, rough-and-tumble way of boys in the small towns of the Southwest. No one feared all the things that modern parents have to guard against.
The children’s days were spent wandering the desert, riding bikes all over town and delivering newspapers on their bikes at 1 or 2 in the morning – with nary a parent in sight! Imagine that, beginning in the third grade.
Newspapers continued to be a big part of Art’s life, and eventually, it meant a move to Cape May County and a long career that began at the Wildwood Leader and culminated with the purchase of the Herald.
In addition to newspapers, there was a lot going on personally in those years. Art and I met in Madrid, Spain, in 1967 and married in 1968. Between 1973 and 1980 we had four wonderful children who have been the great blessing of our lives.
The tragedy of losing our oldest son has caused us to appreciate the daily joys of life and to cherish each moment we have with those we love. Our 12 grandchildren call Art “Opa,” and love the silly ways he teases them.
When he wakes up on Feb. 5, as a 70-year-old man, we will congratulate each other on getting into the really big numbers (I got there first by almost two years). Then we will get on with all the celebration of each ordinary day and call it good.
Happy 70th Birthday, Art, with love from your wife, children, and grandchildren.
Patricia Hall
