Our villagers for the month of January, a very special couple, are Lola and Larry Glass. They love Pine Run and we love them. Both contribute their talents to Pine Run. Lola plays the organ at Sunday services and Larry has been Villager Board Treasurer for 18 of the 19 years they have lived here.

Lola was born in Danville, PA. Her mom, Evangeline, taught elementary school and her dad, Earle, was an interior decorator and had a store in Danville. Lola had two sisters, Lorraine and Virginia. St. Peters, their family church, needed an organist and since 15-year-old Lola was already proficient at the piano, the church paid for her to take organ lessons. Lola graduated from Danville High School and enrolled and graduated from Bloomsburg State Teachers College where she majored in elementary education.

But it was after college that life really changed for Lola. Almost like a movie plot, Lola decided she wanted to waitress for the summer at the Windsor Hotel in Cape May, NJ. She had never been to the shore before and her father objected to her going. That didn’t stop her. She met with a family friend, who happened to be the bank president, and borrowed $100 promising to repay the loan as soon as she earned enough to do so. He agreed and promised not to tell her dad.

When Lola arrived at the hotel, the desk clerk, realizing that Lola needed help, offered to drive her to her rented room, a block away from the hotel. This nice, young man continued to look after her. He showed her around Cape May, the beach and the ocean and answered her questions concerning her job and the area. Oh, the young desk clerk was Larry Glass!

Larry was born in Bryn Mawr, PA. His mom was named Salome but called Bunny by family and friends. His dad, Laurence, passed away the year Larry was born so Larry was raised by his mom and maternal grandmother. They believed that Larry should have both a good education and discipline so they enrolled him at the Waldron Academy and Malvern Prep School. Larry graduated in 1947, attended Temple University for one year and then enlisted in the army where he spent four years in the Signal Corps in Communications. He was stationed in Anchorage, Alaska, at Fort Richardson, which housed army training films. Larry was in charge of the Army Central Film Library.

Lola and Larry married in the summer of 1953 and they purchased a home in Hatboro. Lola taught first grade at Doylestown Boro School and Larry started as an expediter at Leeds and Northrup Instrument Co. Lola, because of her love of music, attended Westminster Choir College where she became proficient in conducting and teaching choir music. Larry took over his family’s investments as the only son and grandson, and retired from Leeds and Northrup.

The Glasses have three wonderful children, Sandi, Beth, and Larry Jr. When the children were deemed old enough, they began taking family trips in rented Winnebagos. For three summers, they travelled across the U.S., providing, as Lola said, “a memorable family togetherness”. When the children graduated from college, Lola and Larry traveled on their own on Tauck Tours in the U.S. and Europe.

Then, one day, Larry had a life-changing discovery. He learned that he had a sister he had never met, living in France. His father had been previously married but Larry’s mom and grandmother never spoke about it. After the sister’s mom died, she wrote to Larry and that was a new beginning. Lola and Larry became acquainted with his sister Annabel, her husband Rodney, and their family spending three weeks visiting them in France. The Glass family moved from Hatboro to Doylestown in 1963 where they lived for
35 years. Lola was the organist and choir director at Doylestown Methodist Church for 18 years. In 1993, she was asked to fill in as director of the Pine Run Chorus because the chorus leader was leaving. A Christmas program’s success led to Lola being hired as the new director. A chorus of 12 became a well received chorus of 40. A village resident accompanist made it possible for the chorus to accommodate a great variety of guest groups and soloists. Another resident videotaped the programs which were replayed twice the following week on the Pine Run TV channel.

The Glasses moved into Pine Run in 1998. They love their apartment, the folks here, think the food is great and love the location. They love their volunteer jobs and say that moving here was a wise decision. We wish them all the best in their years ahead at Pine Run.

— Elinor Cohen

At first I couldn’t believe it. Yes I knew there was some risk. The doctor said, The lump in your throat has enlarged. Your thyroid will have to come out. I don’t think it’s malignant, but we can’t take a chance. I was scared, but I kept repeating to myself, “It’s not cancer and 90% of the patients are fine.”

I have always been an optimist. Celebrated rainbows, snowflakes, the Spring, sounds of tree frogs. As a child my favorite book was The Little Engine That Could. I wanted to read again and again how against all odds, the little train would chant, I think I can… I think I can, and climb the mountain to get to the other side.

When the dreaded day came and the operation was over, the lump WAS benign. I knew it! I crowed. I had a hoarse and raspy voice like a person making an obscene phone call, but the doctor assured me, my voice would come back.

At home I was glad to snuggle down beneath the patchwork quilt, push back the January gloom with bright blooms, cheerful cards, phone calls, handmade books from children at school, food, wine, and good cheer supplied by close friends who came to support Earl and me. Each morning I would wake and say hello, hello, hoping to hear my voice. Only a sliver of sound came out.

After a month with no improvement, I went back to the doctor. He looked down my throat with a mirror, and shook his head. The nerves are damaged. You have a paralyzed vocal chord. I’m sorry but there’s nothing to be done. You have all the voice you’re going to get.

Earl had to push me out the door. The thought of going back to my job as elementary supervisor in four schools with only a whisper, was mind boggling. I knew my days as a part time college instructor and consultant for the American International Schools had ended.

I tried to be cheerful and brave and have those attributes sunny handicapped people have in movies. On the outside, I smiled, but inside I felt my world had collapsed. Communication was who I was. Now at the store, saying “three pounds of seafood salad” so it could be heard, was almost impossible.

At home, Earl helped me locate a portable microphone, and set it up for me to carry around. At school, staff members reached out in loving ways. Notes in my box, a squeeze on my arm, hugs in the hall, a pot of tulips for my office and the secretary who always said…Oh you sound so much better today. I didn’t. But she helped me to think… maybe…

Nine months passed. No change. Then I met a kindergarten teacher from another district. She also whispered. She had had the same operation. But her whisper was louder and stronger than mine. We compared notes. “Go see Renee Blaker, a speech pathologist from Doylestown. If anyone can help you…she’s the one.” I called Renee the next morning. “I’ll need a doctor’s prescription,” she said. We made an appointment.

The doctor snorted at the idea of speech therapy. It won’t do any good. Waste of time. he said. Teflon surgery would be a better bet. “I want to try,” I insisted. He sighed, and signed the paper reluctantly.

Renee was kind, compassionate, and competent. She heard me whisper, read the doctor’s report, smiled at his negative assessment and said “I have a little magic in my pocket.” She was my kind of person! For the first time I felt a stirring of hope. “I can help you, if you work,” she said. “You need to practice five times a day for 15 minute periods. I’ll see you twice a week.”

It was December. As I drove home, the first snowflakes whirled on the windshield and I thought I heard a little voice in my head say… I think I can… I think I can. I started with hard vowels; any, every, each, out, and moved on to phrases; alter the arbor, etch a sketch. Five times a day for 15 minutes I said them week after week. My voice still whispered. However, being able to take some action felt like partial control. I’ve always believed in the power of visualization. Every day while pushing out those phrases, I imagined standing in front of the school auditorium packed with parents, speaking loudly and clearly.

January, February, March… Now I was up to sentences; It’s odd that Arthur’s not at Eileen’s tea. I said so often Earl would sometimes get into bed saying… “It is odd about Arthur.” April, May June… No change. Sentences turned into paragraphs. Still, I practiced. When we sailed on the Chesapeake or Lake Nockamixon, my words wouldn’t carry. The wind would whip my whisper away. Some days, when I went for speech therapy, I just cried. We didn’t do sentences. Renee and I talked. She understood I had to mourn my loss before I could move on. Her staunch belief that I could retrieve my voice gave me courage to continue.

And then it was Labor Day. Time for another school year. Teachers said, “Oh… you sound stronger.” I thought maybe I did, but I wasn’t sure. November. Time to welcome my reading volunteers at the Bridgeton School. The auditorium was full. The audience got very quiet. I picked up the microphone.

“Welcome…” I said… Out came my voice!

I couldn’t believe it. People rushed up to give me a hug. After all that practice… and my mental picture of speaking in public and being heard. It happened! I still had a paralyzed vocal chord but the other one had moved closer and was working for two. I felt as if I got my life back. All that practice, support from my husband, friends, colleagues, and the caring competence of an outstanding speech pathologist paid off.

And maybe some of the credit should go to that © Little Engine That Could …

I think I can … I think I can…

— Kay Winters