Wednesday, June 23, 2004

Strong memories for few moments

By Greg Halstead

I've noticed a couple of important things from reading this website over the last couple of weeks: 1) Professional writers can bring such
emotion into their words that it can be enough to make you cry. 2)People have the power to leave indelible marks on the lives of others
just by being themselves. 3) Most importantly, Casey's wonderful life
is a testament to how she is remembered.

I must confess that I'm not a writer, so I don't have the eloquence that so many of you are blessed with. I must also say that I only had the privilege to see Casey three times but despite the many years, I can remember each meeting like it was yesterday. I am proud to be a good friend of Matt's and I can tell you that he thought the world of Casey.

Matt is a great judge of character and any friend of Matt is a friend of mine.

My introduction to Casey was at a bar in Boston so Matt could have me meet his new girlfriend. I was able to learn in the first 5 minutes that Casey was an energetic, friendly, intelligent, opinionated and pretty woman that just had a zest for life. I knew in the first 10 minutes that she loved Umass, the Red Sox, Lou Merloni and Duke. I also learned how much she hated the Yankees (don't we all).

I knew in the first 15 minutes that this woman was going to do something in her life that few ever get the chance to do. Casey would leave a positive impression on every person she would encounter. I'll bet there are at least 1,000 other people out there that have only met Casey a couple of times and could say how their lives were affected positively by this Angel. How many people do you know that have this ability? My guess is that you won't be able to think of many.

Unfortunately, God felt that Casey's talents were better served in Heaven than on Earth. I'm sure that her spirit is leaving indelible
marks throughout heaven as it has left that type of mark throughout all
of you and probably thousands of others that we will never meet. A
person's life can be summed up by how they are remembered, and it is
very clear to see Casey Kane's legacy will live on forever.

God bless you Casey.

A life's landscape

By Elizabeth Walters
The first thing I ever knew about Casey, months before I made her acquaintance, was that she was sick. Once I met her, it was the last thing I could ever remember about her.

I started work in Anderson in September 2001. Casey was out getting treatment that fall, and the first I heard about her was one night when Stacy and Geoffrey were making her a get-well card. I met her for the first time at their Grammys party the following February. All I knew about her, really, was that she was a sports reporter and had been out of work getting cancer treatment.

Turns out that she knew a lot more about me. “I heard you went to Smith! That’s so cool! I went to UMass! I’m so glad there’s someone else from the Pioneer Valley here!” I was bowled over. Here was this person who had been seriously ill, who had every right to be preoccupied with her own problems, who could have just talked to all of her old friends at the party, and she was interested in talking to me—someone she’d never met before.

But, as I’d soon learn, that was Casey. She understood, in a way I didn’t and possibly still don’t, that everyone needs attention. It’s a rule of journalism, but she knew it should also be a rule of life.
My year in Anderson was the most difficult I’ve ever had. The Sept. 11 terror attacks fell during my first week of work. I was used to a college dorm and found living alone isolating and, at times, frighten-ing. The friends I’d seen every day for four years were scattered around the country, the closest a 12-hour drive away. Although I made new friends in Anderson, I longed for the familiar, for school and for Northampton.

When Casey came back to work, in May, I was still homesick. But talking to her made things better. If there was someone else who knew about Herrell’s and Packard’s and Atkins Farms (funny how so many of our conversations revolved around food and drinking), then it meant that those places existed, that I could go back to them someday if I needed to. She told me about her Pioneer Valley, too—about Collegian parties, about the Colleens in Holyoke, about the importance of late-night slices at Antonio’s. When we talked, I’d see in my mind the trees in fall, the view of the Quad through my window, the profile of Mount Tom rising up as I’d walk past the pond down to orchestra rehearsal.

We talked about many other things that spring and summer — our plans for the future, our families, boys, books we’d read, books I thought she should read, books she thought I should read (some of which she later lent to me), Catholicism, journalism, sledding hills, music, Ireland, the Red Sox.

Casey was so many things, and as I learned more about her, her cancer faded so far into the background as to become an afterthought. She was beautiful. She was glamorous. She was smart. She was funny. She was one of the best storytellers I’ve ever heard, or read. Everybody wanted to sit next to her.

Casey was the cool older sister I’d never had and always wanted. I wanted to be just like her; I still do. Being in her company was always a treat, and an honor.

But those first nostalgic dialogues she shared with me were an outright gift. When she barely knew me, Casey gave me a way to move on from my past while keeping it alive, and moving on is what I needed if I was to ever be happy again.

As it turned out, we both went back to New England in fall 2002, her for a stem cell transplant and me for a job in New Hampshire. I got to visit her, and we took several excursions. We went to Fitzwilly’s for dinner and beers. We went to the Hangar with Matt. We went to hear Mount Holyoke’s Christmas vespers with Chris and Maryka. (Casey said her vocal range wasn’t wide enough for her to sing along, so, in her typical make-lemonade style, she whistled “O Come All Ye Faithful” and “Joy to the World.”).

In the time we spent together, I never asked her why she was so nice to me that night. Maybe she sensed that I needed someone to talk to – that I was lonely, that I was, to be honest, unhappy most of the time. More likely, she just saw me sitting there and decided to introduce herself. After all, that was Casey. She never wanted anyone to feel left out.

On the day before her funeral, when I was driving south on 91, I realized that my geography of the area had shifted. Here was not just Northampton on my right, here was Casey’s Amherst on my left. Towering to my right was Mount Tom, where Casey and her brothers learned to ski, back when Mount Tom still had skiing. Still miles ahead was the house with the basketball hoop, just down the block from the elementary school, on a street named for her family. In helping me reclaim my old stomping grounds, I now realized, Casey had given me something far more precious: the landscape of most of her life.

The valley had never looked more beautiful.
Liz worked with Casey at the Anderson Independent Mail.

Thursday, June 17, 2004

A Spirit Finaly Free

There are few people in the world that truly inspire you to try. Now, when I say "try" I don't mean that you don't give an honest effort every day.

Try in the sense that I mean is the effort that comes from the heart, not stretching to reach for the remote.

I was a hack photo technician for the Collegian my sophomore year. Scared as I was to walk into the office, the people were welcoming, especially one. I had the luck of the draw to be the photog for the Ben Folds Five show one night in Northampton. The reporter for the show was this woman named Casey.

I'd talked to her in the office, but that was the extent of my knowledge of her. After that night, I can say that my life was changed for the better.

We went to Wendy's to order some food before the show. When I received my change, I tried to do a smooth no-look drop of the change into the charity collection they had, I missed. Casey laughed and laughed and, instead of feeling silly, I laughed as well. I still smile when I think of that laugh.

Casey encouraged me to become an editor, and I in fact, changed my entire semester's schedule around specifically to work with her the next semester.

We spent hours dancing on desks to Fat Boy Slim, listening to music way to loud for others to work, and again, laughing.

Casey encouraged me to become Managing Editor, and I thank her to this day.

Casey yelled at me when I told her how much an Internet editor's salary was.

As I sat in my chair at the office, I got the e-mail. "I have cancer." The world stopped, for a second. Then it started turning, as Casey joked and described so plainly what she would be going through, as if she was having a cavity filled.

At that moment, I made a decision, one that I don't think I ever told her: When I am lucky enough to become a parent, to be blessed with that awesome responsibility, I want my first child's name to be Casey. (Thank God it is a Unisex name, I'd have a hard time explaining to my son why his name was Jennifer or Suzanne.)

If there is one person in this world blessed enough to have half of the passion, the drive and the gift to make people smile that Casey did, and still does, well, I'd want them playing on my team.

It's amazing that you can hear things through your heart, I still hear
the clink of the change on the floor, the laugh, the more laughing, and the smile. You think that you can't hear a smile? I can hear her smile right now.

Casey is a spirit to me, and now she is free to fly. She can now follow Lou Merloni to all his various starts in the Majors, minors, Independent Mexican League, his career as a coach in the Cape Cod League, and eventual presidency.

Hopefully that is making you smile Casey, it's the least I can give
back.

Ken McDonald worked with Casey at the Massachusetts Daily Collegian.

Saturday, June 12, 2004

Will's eulogy

By Will Martin

Why Casey? If you knew Casey, if you knew here at all, if her life even touched you once, you've asked why.

Why not the drug dealer? The murderer? Why not the bad people of this world? Or as Casey might ask, why not one of the New York Yankees?

I don't know why, but for some clues, I turned to Casey. Casey loved to read and among her many books I found "The Problem of Pain" by C.S. Lewis, who himself lost a wife to cancer.

From that book, one line stands out. Lewis states "God whispers to us in our pleasure, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains."

If Lewis is right, God whispered often through Casey. Casey knew pleasure.

Casey personified pleasure. Whether it be a simple beer among friends or climbing South Carolina's highest peak only months after her first bout with cancer, Casey refused to allow life's cirumstances to deny her life's pleasures.

If Lewis is right, God also spoke through Casey, because through her battle with cancer, she awakened many a conscience.

Young coworkers were reminded that life isn't about the next paycheck or next year's vacation, but it's about what you'll do with today.

A locker room of high school football players learned from Casey that their troubled homes and questionable lots in life were not insurmountable injustices, but challenges from which they could grow.

Casey's daily courage pricked our conscience with the truth that warriors aren't found just on battlefields, but heroism is all around us, if we'll only slow down long enough to look.

In the end, Casey knew pain, which brings us back to why. Why, if Lewis is right, would God send an angel like Casey through a hell like three rounds of cancer? What was he shouting to her? To us? I don't exactly know.

But I know Casey found God through the pain. In one of our last moments alone, she told me that I could hold her hand on this side of eternity, but that Jesus gets to hold it on the other - in her words, "the perfect package deal."

I've cursed God plenty throughout my 32 years of life, including the past several days. But now, seeking His grace, for my own existence, I will choose to view Casey's life and illness and death, not as injustices, but as a loving shout from a father trying to speak and whisper to his hurting child. For those of you who love Casey, and you are many, I hope you will find the grace to do the same.

We'll miss you Casey.
Will delivered this eulogy at Casey's funeral.

Friday, June 04, 2004

A Patient and a Friend

By Stacy Parkhurst

I’m sure most of us have been asked where we were on 9/11/01. Well, I was in Casey’s room in our transplant clinic in Greenville, SC.

I was Casey’s nurse during her first stem cell transplant. She came into our clinic for her daily assessment and IV fluids after her high-dose chemotherapy the week prior. Casey had the TV on and we saw it all on live TV when the attack occurred. Like everyone else, we were shocked and couldn’t believe what we were seeing.

During the day, Casey kept all of us nurses up to date on the news and did her job as a reporter even though it wasn’t sports. And, I think we all shed a tear that day because we knew our world had changed.

Casey’s world changed first when she was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma in 2000. However, she didn’t let it slow her down and she wasn’t angry at her diagnosis. I asked her once if she ever felt angry and she said “at first but then you realize you just have to cope and move on”.

A lot of people would be angry at such a fate, but not Casey. I am always inspired and amazed at the strength and courage patients like Casey display. I never heard her complain about her disease or curse at God for allowing such to happen. With a smile beaming on her face, she came to the clinic daily for weeks until she recovered and always entertained the nurses and doctors with jokes, sports talk, and just being Casey. She inspired the other patients in the clinic who were just starting with transplant and was always willing to share her experience with them.

I will never forget one hat she liked to wear. We called it her “Pippy Longstocking” hat. It looked silly but it was Casey and she told me once it made her feel happy. When she wanted something from her parents, she use to joke and say she would play the “C” card and she would get it. Casey found humor in the midst of her storm. She was easy to love and we all did.

Casey and I became friends and kept in touch after she recovered from her first transplant. I knew it was a risk to allow a patient to become such a friend but it was a risk worth taking. We had a lot in common: both of us loved pink, wearing tiara’s (she had a real one, I don’t), silver jewelry, and loved laughing. She always knew how to cheer me up and make me laugh.

One day, she tried to teach the nurses how to dance in the clinic. (I don’t have any rhythm so she got a big laugh). And of course, she educated all of us on who Lou Merloni was. When she moved back to Boston for further treatment, she continued to update me in letters and I would call her to check on her status. She came by to visit last fall when she was in SC for a wedding. She was the same ole Casey and kept us entertained during her brief visit.

When her Mother called me on May 17, I knew it was the end and this was what I had dreaded for so long. Casey asked her Mother to call me and she wanted to speak to me. I can honestly say that was the hardest few moments of my life. I knew it was our last conversation. She could only say a few words due to the oxygen mask but it was good just to hear her weak voice. My prayer became a prayer of mercy and that death would not linger and she would be comfortable during her final moments.

I feel so privileged to have been a very small part of her life and I appreciate her Mother, Eileen, calling me at the end. My heart still aches and the tears are still there. But, I am reminded of what a friend said to me, “don’t be sad it’s over, be glad it happened”.

I am very glad that a friendship developed out of such a circumstance. A lot of people think working with cancer patients is sad and depressing. Patients like Casey remind us of the joy in life and to not take life so seriously. Everyday is a gift from above and life is precious. Now, Casey has a brilliant tiara! She is and will forever be my hero!

Stacy is a nurse at the Cancer Center of the Carolinas.

Motown memory

By George Miller

Just before her big road trip to South Carolina in the summer of 1999, Casey Kane embarked on a smaller but no less memorable roadie with
three other Intrepid Travelers -- Matt Vautour, Andy Ayres and me -- a quick hitter to Tiger Stadium in Detroit, in its last season of operation, for a Saturday afternoon Red Sox-Tigers game.

It must have been only two or three days before the event that we threw the whole thing together. With a rented candy-apple-red Jeep Cherokee as our chariot, we three guys left the Gazette shortly after midnight, after Matt and Andy had busted out Saturday's edition. Off to Holyoke we went to pick up Casey (I remember feeling vaguely uneasy that we'd wake up everyone else in the house), and we were westward bound.

During that overnight run, we encountered a good portion of the Woodstock '99 crowd on the road and in the rest areas along the New York State Thruway. Maybe Andy and I, as the two 30-somethings in our group, didn't quite fit that demographic, but we found the Rage, Limp Bizkit and Chili Peppers fans most amusing. I confess to a certain disappointment that I wouldn't get to see the lovely Jewel perform. (I will also spare Matt another gratuitous comment about Adam Duritz.)

The next stop that stands out was in Brantford, Ontario -- hometown of
The Great One himself, Wayne Gretzky -- where we gassed up and fumbled
through one of those "I-was-told-there-would-be-no-math" moments, attempting to figure out exchange rates and liters-gallons conversions.

It was late morning when we crossed the Ambassador Bridge from Windsor to Detroit, and with a 5 p.m. start to the baseball game, we had some time to pick up our tickets at Tiger Stadium and to figure out our itinerary. It didn't take long to decide: A side trip to Ann Arbor was
clearly in order.

Once there, we took in the empty but improbably vast expanse of Michigan Stadium, walking around the entire bowl, peering in through the press box windows and thinking wistfully of maybe covering a UM-OSU football game there someday.

After a late lunch, it was back into Motown to pick out a distant parking spot and make our way into the stadium, although a severe thunderstorm delayed the start of the proceedings. Mark Portugal was pitching for the Sox -- that couldn't possibly be good news -- but Jeff Weaver went for Detroit, and lived up to his home run-prone reputation by coughing up five long balls. Boston hit seven in all that day, three by Trot Nixon and two by Nomah, in an 11-4 victory.

For myself, I was pleased with the W because the Red Sox' all-time record with me in attendance was, and remains today, well below .500. If Casey felt any disappointment that Lou Merloni didn't play that day, she showed no sign. There was little doubt, though, that of the four of us, she was easily the most thrilled by her team's decisive victory.

There wasn't time to gloat or celebrate, though. Back we went the same way we'd come for another overnighter, chased by thunderstorms through Ontario, and we rolled into the Gazette parking lot at about 7:30 or so
Sunday morning, some 31 hours after we'd left. We were sore and tired but exhilarated, and I made sure to give Casey a big hug and wish her
well, because she was headed to So-Car and the Independent-Mail barely a week later.

Fast-forward to March of 2003 and Day 1 of the NCAA men's basketball
tournament, when the usual cast of reprobates gathered at Smokey Bones
BBQ in Springfield to watch wall-to-wall hoops all afternoon. Thinking
back, in the handful of times I had seen Casey following her diagnosis, that day she was the most healthy and upbeat that I had seen her -- a fact driven home after she cleaned my clock in several matches at the pool table.

I last saw Casey at the Jack Leaman tribute on April 18 of this year,
when we sat together at the Curry Hicks Cage. It was clear that she was
ailing and it broke my heart to see it. Yet, for an event to honor one
of the seminal figures in UMass history, there was no doubt that Casey
would be there.

Hearing how she spent her final days with the Red Sox ever-present on
the TV in her hospital room brought me back to that wild weekend in July of '99. Although I cannot say that I knew Casey nearly as well as many others who have shared their remembrances here, I have only to think of her unabashed glee at Boston's home-run barrage that evening, and the successful outcome to our lightning-fast trip to Motown(complete with real lightning), to instantly remind me of her vibrant spirit -- a memory that will always abide with me.

George works at the Greenfield Recorder.

Wednesday, June 02, 2004

Light the Night

This is a little down the road, but it's something to think about:
The Light The Night Walk is a two- to three-mile evening walk that features illuminated balloons to celebrate and commemorate lives touched by cancer.


For Massachusetts Residents:
Sept. 19 Northampton Look Park, 4:30 p.m.
-- I'll be doing this one as will, I think, some of Casey's family. If you're interested in walking or sponsoring me, let me know.

Sept. 26 Worcester

Sept. 30 Boston

Oct. 2 Falmouth
Oct. 3 Wakefield


For South Carolina residents
Sept. 16 Columbia
Sept. 30 Aiken
Oct. 7 Rock Hill, Spartanburg, Hilton Head
Oct. 14 Charleston
Oct. 21 Myrtle Beach
Oct. 28 Greenville




For more information contact:
(800) 688-6572
hoagl@ma.leukemia-lymphoma.org
More information on each individual event is available at the link above.

Everyone will miss 'Casey' Kane

This ran in the Wednesday, June 02, 2004 edition of the Springfield Rebulican's Holyoke section.

By Mike Burke.

Kathleen C. "Casey" Kane, a jewel in the fabric of Holyoke, was taken from us on May 19 after a lingering illness that she battled with all the courage and fortitude anyone could imagine.

Casey was only 28 years of age and she crammed a whole lot of living in that all too brief span of time.

Casey was a 1993 graduate of Holyoke High School, where she was class salutatorian, and was a 1999 graduate of the University of Massachusetts at Amherst.

While in high school, she received 12 varsity letters for participation on the swimming, tennis, soccer and field hockey teams, and if that wasn't enough, she was also a member of the marching band.

At UMass, Casey was sports editor and editor in chief of the Daily Collegian.

After college, Casey lived in Anderson, S.C., where she was a sports journalist at the Independent Mail Newspaper from 1999 to 2002, covering a variety of sports, including the University of South Carolina Gamecocks. She was vice president of the Association of Women in Sports Media.

That is factual stuff but it doesn't really say what Casey was really like.

She was talented as a writer, so much so that I wanted her to be on staff of this magazine. She not only knew sports from playing the games but she knew what made participants tick. She knew what they were thinking, she knew the process, what it took to succeed, and she wrote about it very well.

Because of illness, try as we might, it just didn't work out that she would grace these pages with her prose. And I feel badly about that.

But I feel honored that I knew her, that I was able to interview her and get to know her and what a fine person she was.

Casey was very proud of her family. She also loved this city and it showed in her writing and in her attitude. She was friendly and, despite her illness, a very happy person.

My deepest sympathies to her parents, Bill and Eileen, her brothers Christopher and Timothy, and to all of her other relatives and friends.

At her wake, there was a picture of Casey with former Red Sox player Lou Merloni. They were laughing and having a pretty good time. I remember thinking when I saw the picture, "That's how we all should remember her, smiling and having a fun time."

The family requested donations to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, Division of Development & the Jimmy Fund, 10 Brookline Place West, Floor 6, Brookline, MA 02445-9924.

We will all miss her for her talent and her personality and her many other gifts.

But I will always remember her for her courage and bravery in the face of illness.


Rest in peace, Casey Kane.

Mike Burke is the Springfield Republican's longtime time Holyoke reporter.

Coach

By Lorraine Kennedy
A familiar feeling comes over me as I struggle to find the words to describe how much Casey meant to me. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been regularly checking this web site, eager to read the latest additions to this collage of memories dedicated to our dear friend. The stories have spurred me to dig out my old photos and read through the numerous letters that I received from my Collegian buddies after we all moved our separate ways after graduation. With that, the memories have come flooding back.

Now -- as I watch the clock tick past 1 a.m. and finally conquer that first paragraph – I happily remember the many late nights and long days I spent in the Campus Center basement. Here are few misty-eyed memories…

As a fledgling reporter terrified of making my first cold call to a source for a news story, Casey catches me in the act of writing down each question and attempting to rehearse exactly what I want to say. She nudges me to quit procrastinating, get on the phone and get it done. (I never lived that one down.) “Coach,” as we fondly called her as Editor in Chief, was always an inspiration to me as a journalist because of her confidence and her unyielding passion for a field that wasn’t always kind.

It’s early October 1998. Laura Forster hosts a Superhero party at her apartment in honor of all the Collegian people with birthdays in October. This is the first time all of us who have been working together since the beginning of the school year decide to party together. Casey (dressed as Jem, as I recall) somehow finds her way into the bathtub but soon discovers that she’s unable to exit though the bathroom wall and has to call for help. It’s a pivotal night for the group. Despite our diverse backgrounds, we are bonded by our love for journalism and booze. Thereafter, we are inseparable.

It’s February 2002 and a 7-page letter from Casey arrives at my then-address in Ireland. She tells me about a weekend she spent with Laura and Julie Fialkow in Atlanta and assures me that I was missed. She lovingly describes her boyfriend, Will. She tells me how happy she and her brothers were to give her parents a trip to the Tour de France, especially considering all they had done for her. She glosses over references to her illness and talks excitedly about her plans for a trip to Ireland once she recovers from her stem-cell transplant. The tone is sunny, hopeful.

I’ll cherish that letter and all the other happy notes she wrote to me over the years. And I know I’ll always think of her when I see a package of Twizzlers or hear mention of Lou Merloni. Casey will always hold a special place in my heart.

Lorraine worked with Casey at the Collegian.

Tuesday, June 01, 2004

All shamrocks and Red Sox

By Matt Vautour

I spent part of yesterday sitting in Casey's Holyoke bedroom. Her parents generously told me to take anything I felt a special connection to.

The temptation was to return with a van and leave with half the room. Almost every-thing in the room holds some significance. From the sweater in her drawer that she wore on our first date to the happy pink hat that she had on when we went to lunch earlier this month.

The bedroom was Casey, all shamrocks and Red Sox. A photo of cancer survivor Lance Armstrong was displayed not far from a bag of unfinished medication, the image of her hero just inches from the tools of her fight.

Moonlight Graham could walk past a hat shop without buying his wife a blue one. Casey always laughed at that scene in Field of Dreams. Casey’s “blue hats” were address books and photo albums. She had scores of both lying around her room. Every trip to the mall seemed to include a purchase of one or the other.

Most of the address books were filled out to at least C, maybe D, until she'd found a new one, with a shiny cover to capture her attention.

The scrapbooks weren’t just photos stuck to a page. These were artwork, with fancy back-ground paper and her inscriptions written in fancy marker.

She's always loved to pick a theme and create the perfect photo album. Her room was filled with albums for every-thing from the Collegian to baseball trips to Kane family history. The books are stacked on her dresser and piled on her bedside table.

There are boxes and piles of more photos and empty albums that she never got to. I smiled through tears for a most of the late afternoon as I went through them, trying not to get fingerprints on them.

You're all in the photos. Chances are if you knew her well enough to read this site, there’s a picture of you and Casey, smiling together, in one of the scrapbooks.

I wonder if she knew that putting those albums together that she was creating a illustrated history of her life and people that she cared about. I think she was always more aware of her own mortality that she let on. Put those books in the right order and you have her autobiography in smiles.

I’ve gotten a lot of advice and words of comfort in the past 12 days. The best of all of it came in an e-mail from a co-worker.

“The reason we feel such deep sorrow is because we felt such deep joy. Without joy there is no sorrow; they are, in a way, the result of the same thing. In a way, you are privi-leged to feel such sorrow.”

He’s right. I feel privileged to be in a lot of those photos. I feel privileged to have sat next to her at countless ball games and have the Kodak paper to prove it.

I feel privileged that she sought me out to celebrate of some of her greatest days and for comfort in some of her darkest hours. I feel lucky to have spent her final days with her.

I’m just sad there won’t be more.

The Definition of Passion

By Matt Perrault
As I now approach my sixth year in the south, I can now call myself a full-fledged southerner. It is something that I never thought I would do but to be honest, it has taught me so much about life, family and the importance of caring for those who care for you. Being a thousand miles from the nearest family member or college friend forces you to think about those kind of things. Yet keeping in touch, as many of you know, is not something that I do. Call it tunnel vision or single mindedness, it's just something that I am guilty of. However, since learning of Casey's passing - so many wonderful memories of "the basement" have come flooding back. I guess I am writing to remember Casey but also to allow myself to remember all of you who are reading this and reach out.

Casey Kane is someone I will always be inspired by. I apologize for using present tense but her spirit will never be gone to me. Maybe its just easier for me to think of her as the bright-eyed, Red Sox fan who used to razz me about WMUA vs. Collegian battles rather than the girl battling cancer who I last spoke to two years ago at the Alabama vs. South Carolina game in Columbia, SC.

Casey had "it"....the passion, the drive, the thing that has led so many of us far away from home in pursuit of a dream that may never become reality. Yet, she knew the journey for us is so much more special than any destination we might see. She embraced her craft as home and brought such a high level of professionalism to everything she wrote.

I have a special memory of Casey that I will forever hold close. It was the last time that I got to spend time with her. It was towards the beginning of her treatment back in 2001-2002 football season I believe and she had just recently lost her hair (which had her down a bit) but she was so pleasant to be around. As we sat inside the Williams-Brice Stadium press box before Bama took on South Carolina, we couldn't get through 5 minutes without an interruption from a fellow media member who wanted to wish her well.

She had been working in South Carolina for a brief period of time, but already Casey had impacted the community. It was a wonderful outpouring of emotion and respect from her fellow colleagues.

Passion is what keeps me in the south today. It was what lead so many of us to the "basement" and its the first thing I think about when Casey comes to mind. I have met several people over the past few years from Amherst College, Smith, Mount Holyoke etc...and many often ask how I got into the field of radio. I tell them the long story short about WMUA, the Collegian, and UMass Athletics but that really isn't the whole tale. The media is what attracted me to the "basement" - but the people who I met there is what kept me coming back night after night, morning after morning.

Casey Kane was one of the first people that I ever met when I walked into the Collegian and she will forever be one of the first people that I think about when I remember the times working in the UMass Media.

In closing, I guess I want to thank Matty for putting this site up for all of us out-of-towners to read. The names have been like a memory stick for my brain - bringing back so many wonderful and hysterical moments. I only wish I wrote this sooner but I have just returned from a 10-day trip to California. From the parties at the Amherst Motel to the long drives for road games to the feeling of being the last person out of the Campus Center Garage - it has been a real treat to see the names on this site. I hope one day we can all get back together and remember those crazy times in the late 90's. Thanks for letting us do this Matty - my heart goes out to you buddy.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

-Theodore Roethke

Matt and Casey were student media at UMass together.