Second place winners, Arts Unlimited District 214/Daily Herald Community Arts and Writing Contest, 2025

Visual Art: “We Are People” by Madalin Ramos

Poetry: “Jazz” by Harry Trumfio

Judge’s comment: The beat of the music comes through in the rhythm of the poem. The metaphor of the music filling the sky is clever and powerful. The poem is filled with beautiful, original imagery like “spilling into the audience's souls.”

Licorice stick, bone, ivories,

skins and horn converse

improvising syn-co-pation

horn-man trumpets seizing notes

from the treble clef

reverberant

melody surges from his bell.

Other musicians battle for their turns

cutting in with deliberate whirling of

pitch and timbre each inventing

while the skins

pound in propulsive rhythmic rhyme.

Crescendos’ surges bouncing from the ceiling and walls

and then syncopating jazz sounds spilling into audience’s souls

Out through barroom doors soars improvised schemes

Smooth, soulful at times or raspy and harsh

swing up into the starry heavens

overflow the Dippers, pour down onto Orion

swirl around the vain queen, Cassiopeia

and leap beyond the Hubble,

torrents of ever-changing,

harmonious creativity.

Prose: “Once Upon a Time … And Now, a Warrior” by Michael Philipp

Judge’s comment: With such stark honesty and attention to heartbreaking detail, the author takes us on his battle with Parkinson's disease. With humor he explains this disease to children, and they seem to understand. But with adults? That's why we need to read his story.

Parkinson’s disease (PD) snuck up on me 15 years ago. Initially I noticed three symptoms: a minute tremoring of my right eyelid, a ratcheting of my left shoulder muscles as I bench pressed weights, and a bizarre scissors-like twitching of my left index finger. There were additional symptoms but I didn’t realize their association with Parkinson’s: stooped posture, loss of my ability to smell, and smaller handwriting. Discussion of the symptoms with my primary care physician led to a neurology referral 12 years ago.

The neurologist completed a comprehensive evaluation. He answered my questions but I don’t remember him explaining why my index finger scissors-twitched or my shoulder muscles ratcheted. With genuine concern for my care, he told me to return when and if the symptoms intensified.

Three years later my tremoring left arm triggered a return visit. The neurologist diagnosed Parkinson’s disease. I began taking the medication, Carbidopa/Levodopa. This seemed easy enough to handle.

Less than two months later, Parkinson’s delivered a 1-2 punch that knocked me off my feet. While on an Alaskan vacation with my wife and friends, severe neck stiffness took hold. It was cervical dystonia, a condition associated with Parkinson’s. I couldn’t look right or left without turning my body. My head bent forward with my chin nearly on my chest. I couldn’t hold my head up to look people in the eyes. I hadn’t bargained for this. As symptoms lingered, I wondered what can I do?

As for treatment, muscle relaxants did nothing. Botox was ineffective. I sought care from a Movement Disorder Specialist, a neurologist who specializes in the treatment of Parkinson’s, and from a chiropractor who utilized applied kinesiology. Both were helpful. But the neck condition didn’t noticeably improve for 8 months. And what about my sense of me? Who am I now?

Once upon a time, for 30 years prior to my PD diagnosis, I provided mental health counseling and crisis services to children, teens, and families. I helped them manage anxiety, depression, loss, and deeply felt emotions.

And now, in retirement I’ve volunteered for the past eight years as a child care worker at Maryville Academy’s Crisis Nursery. The children, birth to 6 years old, frequently cope with the challenges of poverty, limited resources, and various crises. I presented to them, then and now, with stooped posture, left arm tremor, and herky-jerky arm and head movements caused by my medication. I also offered a smile, care, and my downward looking gaze that makes eye contact easy with the kids.

But 3-, 4-, and 5-year-olds don’t miss a thing. They call life as they see it: “You’re slow.” “You shake.” “You’re different.” I do hold my head funny. It’s cocked to the side, bent forward, and twisted. So, with a puzzled look on their faces, the children ask me with a glance or with words, “What are you doing?” “Why do you move like that?” My initial response was a stumbling wordy answer that dissatisfied even me. Then I said, “I’m dancing.” I had forgotten the common sense principle, KISS: Keep it short and simple. Now I tell them that I take medicine that helps me but it gives me the wiggles. Kids are satisfied. Were it as simple with adults!

Once upon a time, prior to PD, I taught future psychologists and teachers of 3- to 6-year-olds to listen, to appreciate a child’s way of seeing the world, and to help children manage problems big and small. My distracting Parkinson’s movements were not yet present. Embarrassment and self-consciousness were not issues.

And now, with increased Parkinson’s symptoms, I’ve retired from mental health work but I continue to train teachers and child care workers. Sometimes, I forget my symptoms. I might hold typewritten notes in my tremoring left hand. It takes me a minute to realize that the sound of rustling leaves is not rustling leaves. It’s just me holding notes in my wiggling hand. I’ve become self-conscious.

So, at the start of each new training class, I now introduce both myself and Parkinson’s. Meet the primary PD symptoms of tremor, stiffness, slowness of movement, and balance problems. Additional symptoms such as a freezing of leg or arm movements and soft speech might also show up. I share my experience of these symptoms. Talking about PD eases our mutual self-consciousness. It creates connection and decreases distraction from our focus on the wonder and curiosity of young children.

Once upon a time, I was well coordinated and athletic with above average ability in many sports. I had my share of championships and come-from-behind victories. Once upon a time, I enjoyed the magic of a 252-yard hole in one.

And now, I’ve lost the smoothness and efficiency of movement that made sports and physical activities look easy. It’s a painful loss. Those who have known me through the years know of my loss. Those who don’t know me see the stiff, less coordinated, tremoring, older guy. I don’t accept that view of myself.

I remember the 1-2 punch that Parkinson’s threw at me with my neck condition. It is with me every day. Either I choose to live as a Warrior, or I give in and give up.

Warriors find a way. I am a Rock Steady Boxer and a graduate of AMP (Accelerated Movement for Parkinson’s) at Gregory Boxing Gym. My park district offers a gigantic workout facility. Tucked into one corner of the workout room is a 75-pound heavy bag for boxing workouts. I work out there.

After warming up, I put on my hand wraps and take out my boxing gloves. I plunge my right hand into the glove and tightly secure the closure. Then I shove my left hand into the second glove and find someone to tighten the closure. Facing my opponent, Parkinson’s, I nod and work through my punches as I pummel the heavy bag. I pound the bag with speed punches followed by various combinations: left upper cut with a right roundhouse, jab, power punch, power punch. I remember to dance around the bag. Movement and intense exercise are my antidotes for Parkinson’s. After 25 minutes of sparring with the bag, I’m satisfied and I’m spent. I declare victory. Taking off my gloves, I turn toward the gym. I am greeted with head nods and smiles. I fought well today. I am a Parkinson’s Warrior.