LOVE, HALLIE

The Continuing Story of a Powerful Spirit

DRAFT

March 12, 2012

ByTed Geier

With the words of his daughterHallie Geier

Introduction

Are you like my daughter Hallie? Are you thankful for life and love? Do you love everyone on earth… and beyond? Do you yearn to do something special? Do you know what you would do if you had one special power?

My daughter Hallie Geier – my beautiful, funny, compassionate, fiery daughter Hallie Geier – drew her final breath at age 11 3/4 on May 15, 2004, ten hours after a hip-hop class, five hours after a birthday party, and three hours after being struck by an SUV.The day was like many of Hallie’s, including creativity and joy expressed through music and dance, celebrating with friends, and finally, walking with her dog Cherry Lulu. Hallie’s first words after being struck were, “Is my dog okay?”

The loss has been devastating, but the loving, giving, and happy life Hallie began has gone on to blossom in ways that must make her smile.

This publication has three parts: the first focused on Hallie’s life and words, the second on the day of her death, and the last on how Hallie’s spirit has carried on.

Hallie was saving money in her drawer to help children in sub-Saharan Africa – three hundred and ninety-eight dollars that has already been leveraged into rebuilding a shelter for abused and homeless children in Benoni, South Africa.

Hallie’s spirit has encouraged thousands of young people to improve their communities and the world.

Hallie’s directive “People, be nice to each other”, written on the first page of her kindergarten notebook, prompted my wife, Sofia, and our family and friends, to dive into philanthropy and to use each day as a precious opportunity to help others.

Hallie’s compassion – and that of her sister and partner in all things, M.J. – led us to connect with a group of poverty-stricken South African children to raise funds to rebuild their burned-down orphanage, to work with young people across America to provide anti-malaria bednets to vulnerable families, and to work with the Nelson Mandela Foundation

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to promote peace, partnerships, and equality. Hallie is even responsible for the newest addition to our family – Yilinasi “Nasi” Mqadi, who is now M.J.’s sister… and Hallie’s.

I hope and believe Hallie’s most powerful contributions are still to come. She wrote more than a thousand poems, essays, and stories, and created hundreds of pieces of art. Until this publication, only a few have been seen by the public, primarily through the website lovehallie.org and two booklets – Fierce Wonderings and African Poems. However, Hallie’s words touched the hearts of millions when they were recited on the Oprah Winfrey Show, first by Oprah herself, and then by a little girl who had memorized all the poems painted on the walls of the Hallie Dorm at Kids Haven in Benoni, South Africa.

I dream of a day when people around the world laugh, cry, think, and dream as they read Hallie’s words – and when, as a result of those words, people reunite with friends and family, help others, or simply get around to a long-overdue hug. Each of these actions will have a powerful impact, creating meaningful chapters in many lives.

Thank you to the thousands of people who joined Hallie during her life… and beyond. People who comforted our family, people who, inspired by Hallie did something special for someone, whether that was helping a neighbor, buying a malaria bed net for a family around the world, or loving their own children.

Thanks for reading this. I hope you enjoy getting to know Hallie and hearing her story. And, if you are thankful for life and love, love everyone on earth and beyond, yearn to do something special, and know what you would do if you had one special power, or any of the above I hope you will share your story with me.

Love,

Ted Geier

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March 27, 2012

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SECTION I

HALLIE’S LIFE

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Chapter I: Meet Hallie

The EdgeI stand at the edge

My heart races.I stare at the beauty all around me.

I jump.

Hallie Geier, 2003, age 10

Hallie Geier wrote this about herself in April 2004 at age 11 ¾:

ABOUT THE AUTHORThe author’s name is Hallie, which means “looking to the

sea” in Greek. Her full name is Hallie Kassandra Geier. She lives in beautiful, flower-sprigged Sunnyside Gardens, Queens with her wonderful family and her cute dog Geraldine Louise, nicknamed Cherry Lulu. In her spare time, Hallie enjoys reading and playing with her friends and her dog, cooking huge breakfasts for her family, watching old episodes of The Honeymooners with her family and her dog, and working in her newly flourishing garden. Her family inspires her, including her dog, whom she writes entries about all the time. Hallie has also written At Home, a short poem now published on the Web. This year, she also wrote another short picture book entitled A War Against Adeeba. She plans to write a novel before the age of 20 and work with the beautiful animals of the world when she is grown.

The previous year, she describes herself in a poem:

I am a personWho hates breakfast cereal

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And wakes up wishingFor a butlerWho standsBy my bedAnd holdsA silver trayWith waffles.I’m a personWho wonders whyThe world was created.I’m a person Who wantsTo solve every problemAnd can’t.I am a writerWho lovesTo write.

I’m a personWho likes to cookNew dishes.And I like to act and sing.And play soccerWhen I’m good at it.And playing with myFriends.(Don’t I sound social?)I wonder how the universeCan expand, if earth does not.(Does that sound silly?)

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Before nursery school, Hallie’s mind is already spinning. For example, she informs us:

“I know what a wonder-bra is. It’s a bra that wonders. It wonders things like can an egg hatch itself.”

When speaking to me on the phone:

“Daddy, can you see me? Well, can you see my ear?”

This verbatim dialogue takes place at age three:

Hallie: My doll doesn’t like you, Mommy.Sofia: Why?Hallie: She doesn’t like me either. But I love her.Sofia: That’s very unusual for a doll not to love a sweet little girl.Hallie: She thinks it’s not appropriate for me to like her or her to like

me. She’s very rude. She doesn’t listen when I talk.

When she is three, she finds herself in a minivan with her father and The Drifters – yes,

The Up on the Roof and Under the Boardwalk Drifters – at 1:00AM, after they have

performed. As the Drifters disembark, the last member, the bass singer turns to Hallie,

and the following dialogue ensues:

Drifters’ bass singer: Well, goodnight, baby.Hallie: (outraged) I am NOT a baby! I am three years old!Drifters’ bass singer: Well, goodnight, little lady.Hallie: (partially mollified) Goodnight.

In nursery school, Hallie loves a little boy named Joey. As do several other girls. There

is lots of excitement as they try to figure out whom Joey will eventually marry. First,

Hallie informs us that Joey is going to her marry her. Then, there is devastating news:

“Joey’s not going to be my husband any more. He’s going to marry Claire.” When I

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meet Joey, he seems mute and interested only in a spot on the floor, but evidently, he is

an ambitious guy, as he reportedly tells Hallie that he is going to marry her after all,

along with two other girls. This is fine with Hallie. She earnestly and intensely tells us:

“Joey’s going to marry me after all. And Claire. And Jennifer. He’s going to marry all

three of us! He promised. For real. In real life.” She tells us during one school break,

referring to Joey, “If I don’t see my lover boy when I get back to school, I’m going to

scream.”

From the time she is able, and throughout her life, Hallie is very particular about how she

puts on her socks and shoes. She focuses on one foot at a time. First, the sock goes on,

carefully straightened at the bottom and then folded over neatly and evenly at the top.

Then the shoe or sneaker goes on, the tongue carefully straightened and the laces

meticulously tied and double knotted. The process is repeated on the other foot. It seems

to take about ten minutes, and it feels like an hour. Very amusing, except when the

routine is happening while we are supposed to be walking out the door.

Hallie describes herself as a pacifist, and that is true. She is also a focused inferno when

she gets mad – she has a quick temper – she is volatile, and laser beams shoot from her

eyes to yours. I see that look in her eyes when at nine years old, she is mad about

something and she kicks the straw-woven laundry baskets in the hall. I watch her as she

kicks, as her foot goes, much to her surprise, through the side of the basket, creating a

permanent hole, and witness how her demeanor instantly transforms from anger through

shock to intense regret and fear. She goes into her room and cries and cries.

Hallie writes this piece the following year after once again not bringing materials for her

homework home with her. (TFK is short for Time For Kids, a magazine with which

Hallie spends much time):

Deal with it.

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1. What to do when you have forgotten your TFK sheet at school: Deal with it.

2. What to do when you fall and scrape your knee at the park, and your parents are too busy to help: deal (note: deal triple-underlined) with it.

3. What to do when your best friend stops hanging out with you, and you feel lonely: (Duh…) Deal (note: again triple-underlined) with it!!!! (Note: there are faces with open mouths drawn under the exclamation points using the dots as eyes.

4. What to do when you’re riding your bike, and you get a flat tire: (Just a piece of advice), DEAL with it.

You couldn’t believe everything Hallie said, such as this questionable item at age ten:

DreamOne day I had been wondering about the connection between serial killers and cereal. That night I dreamed that a serial killer was chasing me. He wore a black cloak and mustache. He was pelting me with cheerios. Then I woke up and now sincerely hate eating all types of cereal.

Hallie wrote to Santa every year. Here is her last letter:

Dear Santa C.Dude, all I want this Christmas is peace on earth. From hippie to peaceful guy, I tell you that I want peace, love, and harmony. I also want whatever the heck that I get. You could bring me anything, because family (ohana) is the best gift of all. I also ask for my family’s and my health. Especially M.J.’s. I also ask you to make sure that my family likes their gifts. I love you Santa C. dude. You rock! (to the 4th power) and beyond. Thank you.

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Love, Your blessed dude,

Hallie K. Geier

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Chapter II: Flora & Fauna

Hallie loves nature. She is a country girl at heart, frequently describing the country house

she will live in when she grows up, including the fruit trees, the flowers, and the animals

that will live there. At one family gathering, she is detailing the living quarters,

describing the rooms where her children live and where Sofia, myself, and MJ and her

children will stay when we visit. Her grandfather asks her where he and her grandmother

will be staying, and after a thoughtful pause, Hallie says, “There is a lovely hotel

nearby.”

At age six, Hallie connects the joy and beauty of life to creatures great and small. Her

spelling hasn’t caught up with her thoughts:

The Earth is very nice. No Earth no us. The Earth is very special to all of us. The sea creaters glide and the land creatres crawl and the insects tiptoe all around the Earth. I’ll love the Earth forever. I love it now too. I love my friends on earth and beyond. Isn’t this biutiful? Isn’t that bituiful isn’t the Earth bituful? Yes! It is.

Hallie frequently expresses her compassion for all living things, and she applies for a job

in Nora Walsh’s 4th grade class, soliciting a recommendation letter from me that is

included below. Coincidentally, these documents extolling compassion for living things

were written just hours before the 9/11 attacks.

I, Hallie Geier, would like to apply for the job of watering the plants. I think I would be good at this job because I like to water my garden, and I knew that they were living things, and I wanted to help them, and that’s a good thing to feel in watering plants.

September 10, 2001

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To Whom It May Concern (Ms. Walsh, I presume):

I’m writing to offer my unqualified recommendation of Ms. Hallie Geier for the position of Plant Waterperson.

Ms. Geier is a passionate lover of nature, and is a nurturer. For her, there will be no nature vs. nurture; you will get both.

She is responsible and reliable. Your plants will be treated as if they were her children (her very quiet and virtually motionless children).

I close with this poem for the occasion:If its someone you seek who plants will waterI heartily endorse my younger daughter.

Please contact me if you have any questions or comments. And, in grading this letter, please be kind.

Sincerely,

Ted GeierFadduh

Hallie, humiliated as always by her father’s attempts at humor, crossed out the word

“fadduh” before handing in the recommendation letter.

Then, Hallie imagines what it would be like to be a dog.

Dog’s Point of View

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I see my friend in front of me, swinging my bell to see what I will do. I crouch, tired of this game. I smell spices, and excellent food cooking, but no one gives me any. I hear music and clapping above my head. When I look up, I see my people beating drums and dancing. I see platters of food and a little boy demanding some. As my little boy shakes the bell again, I get up and dance. This isn’t that bad! A little boy with a drum watches me. I’m important!!

Later that year, she writes:

We are not so smart as we think we are. Other animals are so much more intelligent. Sure, we know how to spell but hey! Who knows!! Chimps might know how to spell too! Anyway, we are the only ones who kill each other. They kill other animals, but not their own species! We do! All in all, humans are bright. But there are many qualities that we do not possess.

Hallie finds magic in a dilapidated playground in the Catskills…

I will never forget the time when my family went up to visit the summer cottage that my grandparents were staying in. There were trees hung heavy with apples, and everything was wonderful. One fresh, gorgeous morning, my father, mother, my sister, and I went to a deserted sort of playground, with a tire swing and a large haystack. My sister and I spotted a herd of deer, in a meadow. As soon as the herd spotted us, they ran away, leaving one little brown deer standing there, eyes staring inquisitively at us. We took a couple of tentative steps toward the deer, sure he would run. But, he just stood there, watching. We noticed he had some spots on his back. The deer was merely a fawn! All of a sudden, the deer took stuttering, short, slow steps toward us. The deer, my sister, and I all stared at one another.

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Then, as if in a trance, we all glided towards each other. It was magical. He never took his deep, brown eyes off my sister and I. All at once, my dad’s voice rang out, seeming louder than usual. He was calling for my sister and I to come back. The deer, looking distrustful, cast us a frightened glance, then ran away to the protection of the rest of his herd. But the eyes of the deer will stare into mine for all of eternity.

Hallie anticipated a relationship with a frog at age four – at one point, she asks me:

“Daddy, can you shave a frog?” I have absolutely no idea what brought that one on.

FaGE AND Me MACK Froggie and me makeA GooD TeeM a good team.Tis is Me This is me.I LovE I love you.YoU LoVE Love,HALLIE Hallie

Six years later, she actually teams up with a frog:

FREDDY THE FROG(The Story of a Survivor and his Owner)

When I went to that carnival in the park last year I had no clue that when I came out I would be an even happier girl than I’d been before I went there.Here’s how it all started…. Natalie Schultz and I were standing at a game counter, trying to win a lizard or frog. We each won an extremely small FROG in a tiny plastic cup full of water. I had never had a pet, and it gave me an inexplicably warm happy feeling inside, and I liked the feeling.

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I took my miniscule amphibian home and named him Freddy. My parents said that if he lasted the night in a big bowl full of water with a large rock, in the morning we would buy him a tank and other necessities for a frog.In the morning, my mom woke up first. She didn’t see Freddy in the bowl, and she thought he was dead. She said, “oh no, Hallie will be so disappointed.” Then she turned over the big rock and there was Freddy darting frantically about in his pitiful bowl. So, I went to the store with a very disgruntled father and we bought some green gravel, a little fake log, and some tropical fish food (because frogs and toads eat that). Then, we went home.My Freddy is still alive. Natalie gave her frog to Laura Urciouli, and Laura’s cat knocked over the fishbowl where the frog, Groucho Marx, was staying, and Natalie’s and Laura’s frog dried out. Eww.Let’s get back on track.My Freddy has lasted for over a year now. When I put fish-food in his tank, he hides under his big rock and he attacks his food. I found some tiny seashells once and I put them in his tank. They are almost as big as he is! Freddy’s antics are adorable. I absolutely love my dear frog Freddy.

That winter, she writes:

Everything is white with snow. My neighbor Mrs. Scanlon’s yard is covered in frostiness. All the trees are white instead of green. As I look into my favorite bush in her yard, I notice that it has an occupant. It is a red bird. Maybe it’s a cardinal! I’ve never seen one! It looks over at me. It shivers – with cold or fear – I can’t be sure. The red is stunning against the blinding white of the tree. For a single moment, we stare at each other. I accidentally step n a twig, and the moment shatters. Darn it. The bird flew away and landed on my next favorite

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tree. Now that the moment is in the past, I know that I probably will never see the bird again. I haven’t so far. It was an amazing moment – never to be repeated. Not even the snow is the same.

If Bugs Died Out

I hate it, but this is a professional opinion – if bugs died out, the world would be over. But, there’s something worse. If humans became extinct, the earth would flourish. Forests would regrow. And what is best for the earth would happen. I think that humans deserve one more chance. I know that people could live without cutting down all those trees, and causing that much global warming. We are destroying earth each time we turn on our cars, or leave the lights on after we leave the room. I turn off lights, and people will not adjust themselves just so that the world is healthy. I see the catch. If we keep destroying the earth, what will our descendants do? What will they think of us? They sure won’t pray to our spirits to help them! Stay tuned…

After seeing a dolphin show at age ten, Hallie says she wants to work with dolphins when

she grows up:

I really admire dolphins. Their smooth gray skins are gorgeous. They are really smart, too! If they all pushed up against a moving water barrier, they could push through. I love the sound of their voices cackling to each other, and the way the sun sparkles on their skins. I love the way they look when they leap out of the water with droplets gleaming around them as they dive nose first into the rippled water. I love how if you get close enough you can hear them breathe through the holes at the top. I really admire dolphins.

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Later, she implores us to protect water-dwellers:

What we’re doing to sea life3 Baby Dolphins caught and strangled in fishing nets! Whale killed by cruise ship! Oil spill in the Atlantic Ocean! 40 seabirds killed!... scream the headlines in newspapers. And things get worse and worse. Whales washed upon beaches, and people who build larger and larger docks on top of oceans. People have invented motorboats that slice through the waves and kill the wonders of the sea that we’re lucky enough to have on this earth. But let us take a moment to stop and consider why all these things are happening. Are cruise ships and oil rigs wonders of nature? Are they out of our control? No. Sharks eating fish, barnacles sticking to rocks, those are out of our control. Why shouldn’t we hold back the scary forces of man-made things? Let’s stop the madness!

On a lighter note, Hallie defends and celebrates pigs:

Poor Pigs!The word “pig” is being used un-fair-ly to pigs. I mean, for example, if someone eats a lot at a party, everyone calls them a pig. Well, sure, pigs eat a lot, but that’s the way they are! It doesn’t matter that they are greedy! It’s in their nature to eat a lot. The word should not be used as an adjective! It should be used in its proper way, the noun! Anyway, horses eat a lot as well! Why not call someone who eats a lot a horse! For example: you fat horse!

At age eleven, Hallie empathizes with an elephant she encounters at a zoo:

The Elephant is one of my favorite animals. It is not the barnyard type, or the household breed, but an African, Asian, or Indian wild species.

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Though it is very strong, and has the potential to be wild and dangerous, and is, a little, it has a gentle nature. The first time I rode one of those harnessed elephants that they have at the zoos on sunny days. My first impression was of the elephant’s alarming size, and of how intimidating it was. And then, when I got close, I saw how sad its eyes were. The people in the zoo saw its purpose to be that of a common horse! It knew its purpose was to run wild, do something for its race. It probably knew it would grow accustomed to its captivity. But that’s not enough!

In her last week on earth, Hallie takes on fur coats:

Breeding Minks for CoatsImagine your whole life leading up to one thing, only you don’t know it. This is how the minks live. Why? Because we, humans, like their fur. Not to pet. To wear. In addition, the one thing in life that the minks don’t know that they’re waiting for is death. Minks are bred so that when they’re nice and large they’re killed and skinned brutally. Then, a few weeks later, they’re strutting down 5th Avenue on the back and arms of a rich old lady. You’re not exactly alive. You’re a coat. A cold, lifeless coat. Let’s stop breeding minks for coats.

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Chapter III: Performance

In second grade, Hallie follows in her sister's footsteps and begins to perform at the Main

Street Theatre. Unlike her sister and father, Hallie is shy, very nervous about performing,

yet drawn to it. She writes the following two poems the next year, first focusing on the

fear, then refocusing on the excitement:

Stage Fright!Opening nightI hear clappingI feel slapping on my backI already feel thatstage frightthough I’m not on stage yetI feel like my characterSensationalWhen I finish, I feel proudI tell them how much I like it herePlease let the next performance be near!

Opening NightOpening NightI hear clappingI feel slapping on my back for good luckAlready I feel that excitementThough I’m notOn stage yetI feel like my:

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great, daring, perfect, sophisticated characterSensationalWhen I finish, I feel proudthe crowdis wildI enjoy it hereIt is so pleasant and merry hereI hope next timeI bring down the house!

I fly through the air.I swing and I carpe diemDancing is always there.Just cha-cha, and carpe diem

car•pe • diem – Latin, “seize the day”

Hallie’s entire sixth grade class is learning ballroom dancing. Hallie is passionate about

it. She insists on teaching me the cha-cha in her room, and we rock and roll in the living

room. Hallie’s school invites parents to a performance in which, at one point, Hallie’s

whole class waltzes in a large circle on the stage. There are more girls than boys, and the

deal is that girls without partners will dance alone. I see Hallie dancing that waltz–

rotating gracefully in orbit around the center of the stage with her imaginary partner, a

confident smile radiating both serenity and excitement. Today, I imagine her with the life

partner she might have had, and I yearn to dance with her, to share her bliss, as she glides

through life.

She does all she can to qualify for the school’s ballroom dance team – three boys and

three girls who will represent the school in a competition. Five girls compete. Hallie

practices and practices. Sofia and I think we have never seen such wonderful dancing in

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a young person. She is graceful, passionate, and electrifying. And, she is not chosen. I

pick her up from school, and she cries half the way home. Hallie has avoided success in

order to avoid failure many times earlier in life – she has a self-acknowledged fear of

failure. When she was about eight, she told her mother she wanted “encouraging gifts”

for her birthday. So having “gone for it” with the ballroom dancing, getting rejected is

tough. I am proud of her reaction after the rejection – she insists, over my negativity, that

she go to the competition with flowers for her classmates, and she greets them with

enthusiasm.

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Chapter IV: School

In first grade, Hallie writes this un-spell-checked letter to her teacher:

Dear Missy (Smith)Sometimes I spell realy realy hard words like one hundred and twenty five. Some words are simple to me some are hard. Here are some sratiges for if you dont know a word you want to spell: sound it out, ask a friend. I love writing so I think I should spelling better because that will help me with my writing. I like spelling. Its good to be a good speller because then you can spell good and you can help other people with thair spelling. Here is a poem about spelling:

Spelling is good spelling a treat it is something we do and you can do it too and you can help people with it too woo hoo!

Sincerly, Hallie Kassandra Geier

In fourth grade, Hallie writes this note to her teacher, Nora Walsh:

Dear Ms. Walsh,

Before school started yesterday, I was nervous because I had a new teacher and I didn’t know who she was and I was going into 4th grade which is a hard grade.

Then I met you, my teacher and you were really nice and it wasn’t so bad, because then I felt welcome. Do you know what that the first trip is? If do know please tell me.

Sincerely,

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Hallie K.Geier

In fifth grade, Hallie writes this letter to us about school:

Dear Mom/Dad,

I am having a great time in 5th grade. I am making new friends, and learning every day. Ms. Palmquist is one of the best teachers I’ve had, because she explains things thoroughly. I feel very good about 5th Grade.

My favorite special subjects are Gym and computers. I am very good at both of them. (I think.) My favorite regular subjects are spelling, reading, and writing. I know I am good at them. I need help in math. I don’t know any thing about decimals.

I seriously need to catch up on my reading responses. I think that the reason I’m not doing them is because I’m just not interested. Please help. Also, I need help on organizing my backpack. Please HELP!! I don’t need to work on my behavior because I am very behaved.

Thank you for reading this. If you help me, I will touch the sky.

With GreatAppreciation,Your hopeful daughter:Hallie KassandraGeier

Hallie writes these spelling word sentences:

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apology: A regret acknowledgement of an offense or failure.I have had to apologize to Senorita Austin numerous times for reading on the stairs.

centimeter: One hundredth of a meter.I was in a 7-centimeter race with a snail. I took a tiny step. “I win!” I yelled.

dentist: a person qualified to treat the diseases and conditions that affects the teeth and gums.I sometimes like to go to the dentist’s office, and sometimes I definitely don’t.

forfend: To prohibit, to forbid, to prevent.“God forfend, one of your helmets fell off while you were riding your bikes, then I would have to find someone else to lead my parade!”

protest: A statement or action expressing disapproval or an objection to something.I plan to protest about the war with Iraq.

sobriety: the state of being sober, or solemn, seriousness.Some kids in my classroom, I’m not pointing any fingers, could use a bit more sobriety.telescope: An optical instrument designed to make distant objects appear to be nearer.Personally – I think this is immature – some children roll up important papers to make pretend telescopes.

vogue: the prevailing fashion at a particular time.I read a “Vogue” magazine yesterday and didn’t understand more than 5 words of it.

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vague: Of uncertain, indefinite, or unclear character or meaning.I began my new job today. I walked into my new bosses office. “Ahem,” I said. “I’m here.” “Hello,” she answered vaguely. “I’m really busy now, sell me what you’re here to sell later.”

verbose: Using or expressed in more words than are needed.My father is very verbose, especially when it comes to quoting his own silly proverbs!!

waylay: to ambush or stop someone unexpectedly.As I tried to make my way to the door, 3 small children attempted to waylay me. Hah! I almost squashed them as I burst out of the waiting door and slammed it, too breathless and overexcited to even think of closing the door in a civilized way.

Hallie composes her final piece on reading – and redrafts it six times – before settling on

this version:

Dear Books that I have read and loved, Without you, life would be awful, scary, and uneventful. You wouldn’t be there to protect me or make me smile inside. I get my culture, vocabulary, everyday lifestyle, and memories from you. You’re the only ones who never yell at me or tell me what to do. You lift my life, the way I try to lift-a-line in writing class. You really make my day. For example, remember how Ella Enchanted (one of my *best books), made me laugh out loud yesterday when Ella found out that Hattie and Dame Olga wore wigs? Or the way Catherine called Birdy grossed me out when Catherine’s father picked a very unusual way to put out the fire? My precious volumes, you definitely win first prize for being the wisest inanimate objects I know of. You give me

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advice and help me understand people’s attitudes with one simple explanation of a character’s behavior.

I’ve wondered... how can I repay you for all you’ve taught me? I never can. All I can do is tape up your tattered bindings when I rip them from reading you so many times. Trying to protect you is something that I will always do, through rain or shine.

Thanks for all the times you’ve cheered me up and brightened my days. Like three months ago when I was sick and I read Lifted up By Angels, and it all felt better. Or when I was so bored last Tuesday, and I picked up Betsy and The Great World, and flew on your illustrated wings away to Germany and France. Thanks again for being my best books.

Your Friend and increasingly consistent and constant reader, Hallie K. Geier

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Chapter IV: Food

Two journal entries at age ten:

Dear Journal,Have you ever tasted sugar cane? Of course you haven’t. My dad bought some at the store yesterday. The way to taste the sugar is you cut a block of it off, and chew it, until there’s no sugar left. The whole cane of it is not in the shape of a cane, or a candy cane. It’s just a cylinder. The outside is brownish green, and the inside is yellowish white. It is so yummy. I wish you could taste some. Sincerely, HallieP.S. About that last line, you’re a book, so you can’t taste it no matter what.

I bite into the donut. I feel the sweetness rush into my mouth. I feel the strawberry jelly explode into my mouth and slide quickly down. I feel the powdered sugar fly into my mouth and stick to my lips. I lick it off and smack my lips together a little too loudly and receive a haughty glare from my sister, who hates it when I do that. I take another bite and lick my fingers happily. I know that I have sugar all over my jelly-covered face. I begin to talk with my mouth open, earning another glare from my sister. I swallow quickly. How embarrassing. I grab a napkin, and dab at my mouth, open it, then decide not to buy my sister. I’m embarrassed enough.

At age eleven, Hallie compares people to fruit:

Mangoes I am of a mango spirit, my mother says. She tells me that I am sweet, and colorful. When I was being born, the food that she craved was mango. I guess I fed on mangoes before I was born. My mom says that’s why I’m “sweet.” Mangoes are delicious, but I

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hate them mushy. Once I thought of a great motto- ‘Mangoes’ are like people, You like them sweet, but you don’t like them mushy! (Side note-my father likes them mushy. He says then they are sweet, but I know better.)

Pomegranates are like worlds. All the seeds inside are the people – all different shapes and sizes. Some are strong and bright red, others are light brown and mushy. For people, some are strong and determined, and some are weak and complete pushovers. The white skins are cover-ups-lies, deceitful people who argue and promote hate and wars instead of world peace and worldwide love.

Apples can imitate a person’s mind. Part can be sweet, and part can be sour. But even in the sourest apple, there’s a trace of sweet. On the outside is the skin, which keeps inside changes in the fruit or personality.

Bananas are like people because while each one is sweet, each one has bumps, or problems. Some “people”/bananas have more brown spots than others. But in the end, people can stop doing bad things and become sweet. And brown, disgusting bananas can be baked and made into banana bread.

Cherries are like people, come in many different colors and shapes. Maraschino black, sour…some are unripe; some are coated with the “sugary lies” that also afflict people. Some bad people lie to pretend that they are good. Other cherries/people remain the good way that they were.

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Chapter V: Friends & Family

Here are a couple of Hallie’s journal entries about friends:

It was my 4th birthday party, and I was elated. Little did I know that soon disaster would strike. My friend Laura threw up several times in the bathroom. Meanwhile, children were climbing around, on the play set, everywhere! Then a miscellaneous person announced that the cake was coming! “Yes!” I shouted. “Woohoo!” There was a commotion. We all shoved ourselves around a table. The cake was brought glimmering faintly with five candles. I leaned forward, with everyone holding their breath. Except for Natalie, who had taken a deep breath. Before anyone could grab her, she had blown out my candles! I tried desperately to strangle her. The party ended in disaster. We had no extra candles.

My friend Olivia is getting a jet plane when she turns 14 years old. Her father promised! He is pretty rich. She is going to take jet lessons over summers. Then, at age 14, she will be old enough to (word erased) it. We will save and scrimp our allowances until then, so that we will have enough money to travel all over the world! We hope to discover new life or animals, and write it up and start a monthly magazine about all of our findings. Not to mention taking our families and closest friends on a free trip to Hawaii! ‘Wink!’

When Hallie is four, she tells her mother, “Daddy and I, we are the jokers of the family.”

Six years later, she writes:

There’s Something About…Murray

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Embarrassed. That’s how I feel when my family goes on a vacation or something. Okay.

Let’s say that we’re on a vacation, and we go to a nearby park or playground. For some,

un-interpreted reason, little boys like to come and play with us. Here’s the embarrassing

part: My dad just says some like: “Oh, hi.” Then he says something such as “Oh, and

Murray, how are you?” CAN YOU IMAGINE THAT? Before they get a chance to say

their name, he names them his own way, silly names such as Murray, Medwick, Mervin,

Clem, and many others. What’s with that? You’d have to ask my dad.

P.S. My dad’s name is Charles/Ted.

The following poems from first grade about Hallie’s mom, Sofia, speak for themselves:

MOMMAMy mom is beautifulShe has wavy hairAnd dark brown eyesI love her. She hasPretty beige skin and The nicest look and more.Her name is Sofia.Her voice is pretty it soundsLike spring rain I loveHer very much

MOMMAMommaI LOVE youI will never let you downBecause I love you and you love meYou are so prettyIt’s thrilling you’re you

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And I love youYou are so pretty you are so prettyYou are like a dancing starIn the sky.

At age ten:

I asked my mother questions today

I asked my mother stuff today.She told me seven thingsFirst why the earth turns round the wayWhy birds always have wings.Why buttercups are always yellow,Why good butter tastes so mellow.Why she loves me,Why sometimes I cry,And why I ask questionsThat begin with why.

Hallie writes of her sister M.J. (Martha Joan):

My sister ate my pretzels?So what should I do?Speak to her real calmly?Or yell until I split in two?Should I make her owe me money?Should she pay a fine?Well she had better do something, fast!‘Cause those pretzels were mine.

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At age eight, Hallie is worried about M.J:

My sister has the flu and I’m feeling very bad because I drank two cups of the ginger ale that is for her stomach. So I promised her when the bottle was gone, I’d take my own money and go buy another bottle all for her.

And at age ten, she looks forward to a lifetime with MJ:

My sister and I are really close. We can tell each other secrets, and know that the other won’t tell. She has always been there for me because she is three years older. She has been through most of the trouble that I am going through, or have gone through. She can give me advice and I completely trust her. I usually follow her advice because she’s three years older – three years wiser. Sometimes, if the one of us is feeling sad, angry, or insecure, the other one can relate and make us feel better. Sometimes she helps me with my homework, and sometimes doesn’t even understand it. But usually she’ll jump right in with “This times 7 times 8…” And figures out what I have to do. She’s always there, from talks, to math problems. Always has been, always will be.

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Chapter VI: Making A Difference

At age ten, Hallie writes this mission statement for her life:

To Do Something SpecialI want to do something special this year, or even 20 years from now. I want to stand out sometime. That may be the reason I’ve decided to become a doctor when I’m grown. Most kids think that’s stupid, even you may be thinking that too as you read this. But, I want to help. Anything! I can help clean up my neighborhood, wash away mean words written on walls, so no one has to be reminded of the hate that lingers in this world. I’m getting off point. Anyway, I want to help the class community, or help raise money for starving people. I want to become more active in peacemaking, and helping people make the right choices. I want to help save endangered species. I want to discover the cure for cancer, and save lives. I just hope I get the chance.

Several weeks later, Hallie writes an entry consistent with To Do Something Special.

Then, she writes a poem based on that entry:

Superheroes don’t have to be big guys in red capes or cute little power puff girls. Superheroes can be those people that you see picking up trash, on your way to school. It can even be somebody who helps replant forests. They can be people who help at animal shelters, or donate money or food to homeless shelters. Or helping an old lady across the street, or feeding a friend’s pet while they’re away. I know that most kids (while growing up) want to be the kind in red capes. But, I want to be the kind of superhero that I just described.

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In fourth grade, Hallie is in a class with a boy who has an emotional problem. She tells

us in empathetic and caring tones about how he physically lashes out when he gets upset.

Hallie tries to help him calm down, talks to him. They each know they care about each

other, but one day, she goes to him in the middle of a fit, and he slaps her face. Hard.

She literally turns the other cheek, speaking with concern to the principal about what will

be most helpful for the boy.

One Super PowerI have been thinking about a new idea. If humans could have one super power, what would it be? I have finally decided that it would be the power to see things from another’s perspective. I think that if the arsonists in California discussed yesterday could see how frightened and upset their victims were, they wouldn’t have done it. The power wouldn’t be there if all you had to see was why your microwave wasn’t working. It would kick in when you got an F on your science report, and are about to yell at your teacher, or you are going to kill someone because you think they killed your father, and then the power would kick in and you would see that your teacher thought that you hadn’t been thorough, or that the person hadn’t killed your father. You could be in a war and hear the enemy’s mind praying to make it home safe. There wouldn’t be as many wars.

And, she scrawls in her journal:

War

War is somethingThat should onlyBe played in cards!Dona – GrantNobis – us

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Pacem – Peace

The year before, she writes a spelling word sentence for the word “verbal,” and you can

say where her heart is:

I am verbal and a pacifist.:

Reacting to Abraham Lincoln’s quote: “The best way to destroy an enemy is to make him

a friend,” Hallie writes:

Enemies are formed by hatred. They are formed perhaps by an accident, a fear, but hatred builds up until you are enemies. If you give peace a chance, resolve your conflict, there is no way to fight.

In her sixth-grade essay The Roles of Women in the Middle East, Hallie writes:

CAN WE? NO! CAN WE? NO? CAN WE? NO! CAN WE? -- ABSOLUTELY NOT!Picture this: you’ve just moved to Kabul. You’re walking down the streets of Afghanistan looking pretty, and you know it. You’re wearing this glitzy tank-top and flared jeans. You’ve just bought a great new pair of heels, and you’re flaunting them as you walk noisily down the sidewalk. Suddenly you realize that it’s very quiet. Every one of those hooded dark women that were gliding down the street has turned in your direction. Each clasps the hand of a man. All of a sudden, several men run toward you with their guns pointed. They whip you and beat you and you scream, and they whip you harder, asking you angry, confusing questions. “Who is your husband? Your father? Your brother? We will punish them!” They spot your polished nails and cut off a finger. Now picture this: You’re inside your home. You are a different person with a different name. All of a sudden, Taliban members burst in, look around, then grab you before you have time to

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put on your chador so they will not find you. You are never heard from again. Get the picture?

Several weeks before her death, Hallie focuses on taking action:

Do Americans have a responsibility to aid poor countries?“The gift without the giver is bare.” First of all, this is not a “responsibility.” It’s a calling. No one can force you to give your money away to someone. It is not something you must do. But, it is something that you should do. Why? Because everyone deserves a better life. Put yourself in a poor position. How would you feel? Would you want someone to look down at you and turn up your nose? I know the answer. No. You would want someone to rush to your aid and pull you out of poverty. Now we should turn to another issue. It’s not enough to give just money. You must give them reproducing money, in the form of a farm animal, or a job or business that can save them again and again. It’s not enough to just thrust money at them and walk snootily away. Remember, this is not a responsibility. It is a calling. Will you answer?

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Chapter VII: Death

You couldn’t meet a more cheerful optimist than Hallie. However, at night, she

occasionally experienced night terrors – a state of sleep where she would sit up, scream

and cry, and fight the demons of her fears. When awake, she grapples with death in her

writings from time to time.

When she is in nursery school, she tells us: “I would like to go to heaven to meet God. I

would bring chicken.” MJ quickly responds: “Hallie, I think God is a vegetarian.”

We discover these after the accident, and are stunned:

People should not have control over life and death. Here is an example of a mishap that could occur if we did have that power: Two best friends have a huge fight. One is overcome with emotion and quickly wishes her best friend were dead, BANG, her best friend is gone, and she never forgives herself. That is just one of the bad things that could happen if us humans could have total control over life and death.

A response to the book Ella Enchanted:

What would I not do if I were an Immortal 10 yr. old; What I would miss most

I would miss getting married. I would also miss being an aunt. I would miss out on high school and stuff. I would miss being a children’s doctor. Driving. Independence. Your family and friends. College.

Can’t force me

It circles,swoops,

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Tears familyafter family asunder.

Who will be the firstTo answerTo it’s deathly,Unearthly call.

Unseeable, it weavesIt’s way throughMany lives,Souls.

I will not answerTo its call.It cannot force me to.

Staten Island Ferry

I was just informed on the news that the Staten Island Ferry has been in an accident. The wind made the waves very big, and the boat couldn’t seem to slow down at all and they went blasting full steam towards a pier and they crashed into it. Many people were hurt and injured, and 10 people died. When I first heard about this, I said “I am never setting foot on that ferry again!” But my father told me that nothing in the world is ever completely safe, not even doing nothing! I slowly realized that this was true. There is no life without mistakes, worries, or deaths. There is also nothing without a price.

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Our next-door neighbor, a first-generation Chinese woman, dies in 2003, and Hallie is

home when her relatives knock on the door and ask us to help them deal with the

situation. Later, Hallie writes this letter to Mrs. Lee:

Dear Mrs. Lee

Hi, Mrs. Lee It’s Hallie, the little girl next door, that you always let pick your honeysuckles from that bush… You may not remember me that well. I didn’t know you too well I guess… but I thought you to be generous, a kindly lady that lived next door to me. I know this may seem a little disrespectful to write, but why and how did you die?

All I know is that relatives of yours rang our doorbell, wondering if we knew why you weren’t answering your door. Then we went over, somehow got the door open, and they found you lying on the carpet outside your bathroom… My mom called the ambulance and they arrived and confirmed that you were … well, dead.

Who will live there now? Do you think they will let me pick the honeysuckle bush if it ever regrows? I miss seeing you in the morning when I leave for school.

Warmly,Hallie K. Geier

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SECTION II

HALLIE’S LAST DAY

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It is 4:00 PM on May 15, 2004.

I pick up my 11¾ year-old daughter Hallie from a friend’s birthday party at the Museum

of Television & Radio.

Hallie is excited to have just performed in a radio play, The Shadow, in which she plays

the narrator, a reporter, and a couple of other one-line roles. She tells me she enjoyed it.

We talk about how she and her sister MJ will participate in the AIDS Walk the next day.

We discuss MJ’s anemia, which Hallie is worried about, and we decide to get MJ some

chopped chicken liver, even though M.J. and Hallie are both now vegetarian (something

they had both decided to do while riding in the car about a year earlier). Hallie says she

will urge M.J. to occasionally eat chicken liver to maintain her health. Hallie goes into

the Stage Deli and picks up two pounds.

We head to Roosevelt Island to pick up Sofia and MJ.

Hallie asks me to throw her some spelling word challenges.

Then, Hallie tells me that one girl insisted on using a high voice when acting in the radio

play, then a dreadful British accent inappropriate to the character. I say that Hallie

understood that acting was best when the actor was real. Hallie then does a spot-on

Ralph Kramden imitation from the Honeymooners episode where Ralph is “acting” –

atrociously – in a play. She says “Rachel,” as Ralph said it, and I laugh as hard as I ever

have, and she laughs too. I say, “Hallie, that was very funny for two reasons. First,

because you came up with such a good example of what was going on with that girl, and

second, that was a great imitation!”

That pleases Hallie, and she goes into entertainer mode.

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She tells me about the wonderful night before when she and her mother had gotten

dressed to the nines for her school’s silent auction event. She tells me she put all of her

raffle tickets into the box for the prize “Teacher for a Day,” and she won. Hallie tells me

she has already given a lot of thought to her lesson plan and gleefully says, “I asked the

teacher if I could give homework, and she told me that she’d be disappointed if I didn’t!”

Hallie calls Sofia to let her know we are going to arrive. However, instead of telling her,

she goes into schtick mode, and when Sofia answers, she says, in a high, nasal voice,

“Hello, this is the little man. Who is this I am talking to?” Sofia asks her to get serious,

but Hallie is on a roll, -- going through all kinds of jokes and routines, culminating with

the line that she used when she was two years old to crack up Sofia, “Sha-mooooo.” This

line was generally accompanied by rubbing her bare belly – she was still in diapers when

she began this routine! When she was little, Hallie once said “Daddy and me – we are

the jokers of the family.”

Hallie has had a wonderful day so far. She has made it special for me as well. At

10:30AM this morning, I was awoken, after getting home from a business trip seven

hours earlier, by a kiss on my cheek from Hallie. She told me she was on the way to her

hip-hop class but was happy I was back.

We arrive home. It is just after 5:00 PM on this beautiful spring day. Hallie goes to her

grandparents’ house two blocks away and picks up her dog.

She comes into the house and gets a birthday gift to bring to another friend who lives a

block away.

Hallie heads out the front door with her dog Cherry and the gift.

I am in the upstairs bedroom writing a memo on the computer.

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I hear a horrible sound – an instantaneous combination of screeching brakes, glass

shattering, a huge bang, and a dog yelp.

I run downstairs, and as I enter the living room, Cherry – bloodstained – runs by me and

up the stairs.

As I rush through the front door, I cut through two vans parked closely together and see

an old black SUV standing in the middle of the street.

I jog around it and see a young woman bent over a child lying on her back less than a foot

from the passenger-side front door of the SUV. It is Hallie. She has a few cuts and

scrapes but seemed to be all right.

“Daddy,” she says, “is my dog okay?” I assure her Cherry is fine.

She has another question: “Daddy, am I going to die?” I tell her she will not, but that she

will probably be spending a few weeks relaxing with a lot of ice cream.

She tries to get up – it is encouraging to see that she can move her arms and legs – even

more gratifying to note she is lucid and does not appear to be in pain. There are no

obvious major wounds or bleeding.

All of this has taken place in less than a minute.

Simultaneously, several things become obvious about the woman who had been bending

over Hallie. First, she had been driving the SUV. Second, she had tried to help Hallie.

Third, she is devastated. “Let her be okay,” she cries repeatedly while sobbing

convulsively.

As I kneel by Hallie, I say to the people who are quickly gathering around us, “someone

help this woman.” I had recently heard a radio essay on WNYC by a woman who had

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accidentally killed a child with her car – a completely innocent accident that had left the

essayist permanently devastated. I do not believe Hallie will die, but I see the driver

melting before my eyes.

Sofia comes out moments later, and within minutes, police arrive, followed soon after by

an ambulance. The paramedics get out and start treating Hallie, connecting tubes to her,

talking to her. One of them looks up at me and says, urgently, “Keep her talking.” Why

is he being so dramatic?

I tell Hallie to tell him about the Clinton School for Artists and Writers, and Hallie recalls

her teachers and subjects.

Meanwhile, a well-meaning neighbor had gone into our house and tells Hallie’s sister MJ

that she should not go outside.

A small crowd is forming. Hallie is loaded onto a gurney and into the ambulance. “One

of you can come,” says the driver. I urge Sofia to go, saying I will take the car. The

ambulance pulls away.

The ambulance races to the hospital. Sofia sings to Hallie, who is losing consciousness.

Her last words to Sofia, as she struggles to remove her oxygen mask, are: “I can’t see.”

I arrive at the hospital and enter the Emergency Room. I walk through the front door,

and look into a small room to my right as I go by. I see a dozen people in surgical attire

crowded around a table, and I catch a glimpse of the bottoms of two feet at the near end

of the table. They are Hallie’s. This is bad.

Sofia is standing outside with a social worker, who tells me they are operating on Hallie.

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An hour has passed. We are told Hallie is being moved to an operating room where they

will try to stop the extensive internal bleeding. Then we hear they have removed her

spleen. We are told the situation is very critical.

Another hour passes, we are told they are moving Hallie to a triage room where they are

going to ice her down to slow the bleeding. She is out of surgery, a hopeful sign.

We are moved into a private room. This does not seem ominous.

A half hour later, we are told they are still icing her down, and the doctors will come in

soon to give us more information.

The doctors come into the room. As I type this, I wish with all my being it were not true.

The doctor says, “When Hallie first arrived, we began a procedure…” I cut him off and

say, “Is she alive?” The world stops. He says nothing for a moment, and his face emits

all of the agonizing emotion doctors are not supposed to feel. He shakes his head slowly

from side to side and murmurs “no.”

Minutes later, we are lead into a room where Hallie is lying on a narrow bed with sheets

pulled up to her neck. Her hair is matted with sweat. She has the disconnected end of a

breathing tube in her mouth. The nurse tells us it cannot be removed since the autopsy

had not occurred. Her eyes are partially open, as they often were when she was asleep.

We used to say that her eyes were so big she could not completely close them. She is not

behind them. We stay with her for a while. It is brutal – simultaneously numbing and

excruciating. We reluctantly say goodbye and leave, all of us kissing her forehead one

last time. We will never in this lifetime see her again.

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SECTION III

LIFE AFTER DEATH

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As we leave the room, two police officers come up to us and express condolences. One,

a woman, tells me quietly that she thinks we would want to know that their investigation

had already concluded that Lara, the driver, had not been intoxicated or speeding. I thank

them and thank the other staff as well.

I leave the hospital ahead of everyone and buy sodas at a Chinese take-out place. The

bored server seems to indicate that the world is still turning. Then, we walk out of the

hospital together. I ask Sofia if she thinks we will still be ourselves, or if we will morph

into mourners for the rest of our lives.

It is about ten p.m. We go to my parents’ house and sit at the table. I begin calling

family members and friends.

My cousin Valerie Kinnally and her husband Tom come over around midnight. Tom lost

a hundred friends and acquaintances two and a half years earlier at the World Trade

Center, and he’s had a lot of practice dealing with unexpected deaths in a family. He tells

me that over the next weeks we will be hearing some of the most bizarre things from

well-meaning people. He says that because the loss of a child brings up such strong

feelings in people, they just say whatever they are compelled to. He turns out to be right

– and it is a good warning, as we are now prepared to smile and nod even when people

say things like “God just wanted her back in heaven,” and “I know how you feel because

I just had dental surgery.”

We do not sleep. Around ten the next morning, we are told the yellow tape has been cut

down, and we can go home. We do.

When we walk in the door, we see Hallie’s kindergarten notebook sitting on the piano.

We open it, and see that on the first page she had written RYAN AND ALL THE PUPL

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(people) BE NICE TO EACH OTHER LOVE HALLIE.” We take this first post-life

message from Hallie both poignant and directive.

Friends, family, and neighbors come in and out throughout the day, bringing food and

sharing our grief.

I find myself looking for Hallie’s writing and starting to discover the written gems she

has created – messages of joy, compassion, humor, and love.

We go up to Hallie’s room and are reminded that Hallie has been saving money in her

drawer money to help children affected by AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa. We count the

money -- $398.

Reporters have been waiting outside the door, and a friend asks if we want to talk to

them. Sofia and I talk it over and decide to do so. We tell reporters from the Daily

News, New York Newsday, and the New York Post that we are happy to talk to them

about Hallie and that they can take photos, but we ask them to do two things: 1) share

with their readers Hallie’s words: “People be nice to each other Love, Hallie,” and urge

them to do something positive in Hallie’s memory, and 2) to make clear that we don’t

blame the driver who hit Hallie and urge anyone who knows her to go take care of her.

I call my friend and business partner Chris Campbell, who screams when he hears the

news. He arrives from Connecticut almost instantaneously. It turns out his sister was hit

and killed by a drunk driver when he was Hallie’s age.

Much to do and think about: a memorial service, burial or cremation, letting people

know, starting an organization of some kind, caring for each other.

With friends and family encouragement, we decide to start what we initially call the

“Hallie Fund,” which we expect will promote kindness and positive action, and

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specifically help children in sub-Saharan Africa affected by AIDS. This initiative will

evolve into LOVE, HALLIE Foundation.

On Monday, I drive to the city morgue with Sofia’s brother in-law Scott to identify

Hallie's body. It turns out that you choose to either go in and see the body or view a

photo. Scott thinks the photo is a better idea, and I agree. They bring out a photo of a

body bag zipped open to reveal Hallie’s face, eyes now closed. I confirm that it is she

and return the photo. I emerge from the morgue and my phone rings. It is Lara, the

driver of the SUV that hit Hallie, returning my call. She expresses her regret and

sympathy, and I tell her that we don’t blame her and that we know that it was an accident,

that Hallie would wish her a happy life, and that this is a tragedy we share. I feel lucky

that I am able to connect with her, and feel Hallie’s spirit throughout the call. A few

months later, with the pro bono assistance of our dear friend, Alan Friedman, an attorney,

we are able to resolve the matter with Lara’s insurance company in a way that causes her

no expense or stress, and provides us with some funds to support our philanthropic

efforts.

THE MEMORIAL GATHERING

We decide to have a memorial gathering on Tuesday, three days after the accident.

Friends arrange to have it at the multi-denominational church on Roosevelt Island.

We enter the church. There are makeshift displays of Hallie pictures, a mailbox for

people to write notes to us and to Hallie and a crayon mural in development.

We see a thousand people packing the room, along with reporters from the Daily News,

Newsday, and the Post.

Hallie’s body is not with us – I find out later it is cremated as the memorial is taking

place.

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We have invited Sofia’s sister-in-law’s father, a Greek Orthodox priest, to welcome the

guests. He outlines what is to come: a non-denominational service with remarks from

Sofia and me, several performances, and then an open microphone where anyone can

speak. He then offers his own perspectives in a kind and thoughtful way.

Sofia and I both speak from notes we have prepared. We tell people that we will be

arranging a celebration of Hallie’s life to occur that summer, and that we are creating a

foundation inspired by Hallie.

Peter Yarrow of Peter, Paul and Mary sings a version of one of Hallie’s favorite songs,

Puff the Magic Dragon, adding a verse about Hallie. Odetta sings Kumbaya a capella. A

chorus of friends of Hallie’s sings Happiness from the show You’re A Good Man Charlie

Brown and other songs.

My brother Bob, a professional pianist, plays music he has been teaching Hallie:

Pachovel’s Canon and Moonlight Sonata. He tells us that his seven-year old daughter

refused to learn piano from him, but had begun studying with Hallie as her teacher.

Then, people go up to speak. A line forms and lasts for several hours. The majority of

the speakers are children. A boy steps up and speaks emotionally at Hallie’s memorial

service, telling the gathered of Hallie’s friendship, how valuable it was to him, and how

sorry he was for his behavior. We realize he is the boy who had hit Hallie in elementary

school, the one who she cared so much about. Sofia and I are both swept toward him,

hugging him and telling him that Hallie is his friend, and we know she loves him wants

him to be okay.

MJ and Our Town

MJ has been rehearsing for months to perform the lead role, “Emily,” in the Thornton

Wilder play Our Town at the community theatre across the street from the church where

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Hallie was memorialized. She is scheduled to perform four times the weekend after

Hallie’s death.

The play is rife with parallels to our situation. In the first act of the play, Emily is a

young girl, in the second act, she is married, and in the third act, she has died in

childbirth. In that act, she is in the graveyard and is given a chance to go back in time to

see her twelfth birthday. The theatre assumes that MJ will not be able to perform. Sofia

and I encourage MJ to drop the play, but she is determined to proceed “for Hallie.” She

rehearses on Wednesday and Thursday and proceeds to light up the stage, expressing the

play’s central message: life is profound and a cause for celebration. Sofia and I are

moved and very proud.

The local tabloids each run several articles in the days immediately following the

accident. On Monday, they focus on Hallie. On Tuesday, they shift to how we are

dealing with the driver – the front page of the Daily News has Hallie’s picture with the

headline AMAZING GRACE: Mourning Dad Consoles Driver. On Wednesday, they

focus back to Hallie as they learn more about her at the memorial.

I run a small business, CineMuse, with several associates. They encourage me to take

time off. Sofia writes scripts for the daytime serial Days of Her Lives. The show gives

her several weeks off, and then her colleagues actually take turns writing her scripts for

her for another six weeks. Thus, we are both able to mourn, we are inspired by Hallie to

develop the foundation, and I find myself compelled to compile her writings.

For the first month after the accident, neighbors and friends take turns preparing and

delivering meals to our house. We feel loved and taken care of.

We hear from several people that Hallie’s life and words, as well as how we have

responded to the tragedy, have become the subject of sermons in churches and

synagogues in the weeks after the accident.

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I am a fan of the usually hapless New Jersey Nets, and Hallie was a fan as well. The Nets

are, astonishingly, in the playoffs in a crucial game with the Detroit Pistons. One of the

Nets radio announcers, Chris Carrino, leads off the broadcast of that game with a tribute

to Hallie, and quotes her: “People, be nice each other. Love, Hallie.” The Nets lose – a

reminder, in case we needed it, that not everything is going to work out the way we want.

As I compile and word-process Hallie’s, I tell myself that there may be an opportunity to

use Hallie’s words and deeds to create an enormous amount of good for the world. Seven

days after Hallie’s death, I write the following to describe my initial thoughts on a

potential mission (To encourage acts of kindness and to provide support to organizations

that promote good health, culture, environmental stewardship, peace, and respect) and

objectives for what we are currently calling The Hallie Fund, soon to become LOVE,

HALLIE.

In the first two weeks of Hallie’s death, we receive hundreds of cards and letters from

friends, family and strangers. Eventually, we respond to all of them with personal notes

in a card with Hallie’s photo, one of her paintings, and this poem on the cover:

Flower, on the windowsill,flower drooping to a tilt.What can I do for you?Yellow, white, how can you bloom?What can I do for you?Ah! I know what I shall do!I’ll water you, until you overflow with life.

I do much of the word-processing of Hallie’s writing after everyone else has gone to bed.

I feel connected to her, and find myself laughing at her humor, inspired by her passion for

the good fight, and occasionally stunned, no more so than when I found the Path to

Nowhere written in pencil on the back of one of her journal entries:

The path to nowhereI set out on the winding path to nowhereFeeling Confident.

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I have a pack on my back,And water I lack,My clothes covered in lint

I set out on my path to run from trouble,To let go, to fly, away from the rubble.The panic, the screams, they ring in my ears,My family’s faces, all covered in tears.At last I feel free.

I am told that I need to collect Hallie’s ashes from a local funeral home. I happen to be

driving by the funeral home on an errand and decide to go in and pick them up. I tell

them who I am and a man comes out and hands me a black box the size and shape of a

shoebox. I take it, and am surprised to find myself silently sobbing. The man hands me a

box of tissues and tells me to take my time. I do. Then I bring them home and put them

in a high cabinet in the dining room where they will not be accidentally discovered by

anyone else.

Before the accident, I cried rarely. In the days and weeks after the accident, the

emotional pain becomes physical – my chest is constricted and burns – I feel love and

concern for Hallie radiating from it. When I cry, liquid pours out of my eyes, nose, and

mouth, and sounds come out of me that I’ve never heard – high-pitched wailing. My

whole body shakes, convulses. Late at night, I hold Hallie’s ashes and weep.

I go with my father to the police station to pick up a copy of the accident report. I tell the

front desk officer why we are there, and we wait about fifteen minutes with no response.

Then a captain comes out with another officer and says they want to talk to us. He tells

us how sorry he is about our loss and how moved he is by our response to the tragedy.

A Song Emerges

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It is about two months after the accident, and I am home alone. MJ and Sofia are in

Chicago. I am playing guitar and singing songs for Hallie such as Fire and Rain and

Happiness. And weeping. I feel compelled to write a song. I start playing Pachovel’s

Canon, seeking variations and wailing something that becomes a melody. I think of this

poem written by Hallie at age ten (which now meanders from room to room on the walls

of the Hallie Dorm at Kid’s Haven in Benoni, South Africa):

Firefly WonderingsI wonder what fireflies doWhen it’s light?Cold, without shine,Until comes the night?When they float in people’s faces,Instead of being caught,They are taught that in the day,They are thought of – As ordinary flies.OrdinaryNothings.Do they feel lonely,Like I do,When the day ends?Do they miss us?The friends who catch and let them free?I, miss, them.

I open my computer and the lyrics for a song I title Firefly pour into it:

Come home funny Hallie

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For an ordinary day

Let’s go out to the garden

Is there something we can play?

Hey my funny Hallie

Would you like to play a game?

Go inside and read a book

Do you remember your name?

Is it you who just flew by me

A firefly aglow

Are you sitting here with us now?

I really want to know

I really hope it’s so

Would you like to play some music

Or sit and watch TV

Or walk the dog around the block

And look up at a tree

You always embraced nature

Your love just grew and grew

I can’t hold you anymore.

Is someone hugging you?

Is it you who just flew by me

A firefly aglow

Are you sitting here with us now

I really want to know

Don’t want to let you go

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Could you send us a postcard

Or whisper in my ear

Tell me that you’re happy

Ease my chilling fear

That your mind is gone forever

That you’re soul’s no longer here.

I hold onto your ashes

And hope that you’ll appear.

So sit my funny Hallie

In that old maple tree

I’m loving you forever

Wherever you may be

Is it you who just flew by me

A firefly aglow

Are you sitting here with us now

I really want to know

I really love you so

Josh Graduates High School

Hallie’s older half-brother Josh, who lives in New Jersey with his mother, has been

planning to move in with us at the end of August as he begins college in Brooklyn.

While he has spent weekends, vacations, and large parts of summers with us, this is the

first time he is truly going to live in the same house, so Hallie’s death just a couple of

months before makes this an even more difficult transition for him. We go to his

graduation three weeks after Hallie’s death, but it is difficult for any of us to celebrate

this milestone in the spirit it deserves.

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The Janitor’s Son

Hallie read me about half of The Janitor’s Son. It is about the relationship between a

father and child. A few months after she dies, I begin to finish the book myself while

lying in her bed, trying to hear it in her voice. On page 61, I find a yellow post-it with a

prediction from Hallie about how the book will turn out. We finish the book together.

Halliestock

At the memorial service, we tell attendees that we will be organizing a celebration of

Hallie’s life on her birthday. I start sketching out ideas for an event that will combine

performances, positive actions, and opportunities for young people to learn about ways

they can get involved in nonprofits. This is inspired in part by Hallie having asked me to

find someplace she could volunteer, and my subsequent inability to do so, despite my

nonprofit background. My first idea for a name for this event is “Goodstock,” since my

vision is for it is similar to Woodstock – peace, love, and music – but substituting

positive action for the drugs. However, it turns out “Goodstock” has already been taken

by a touring Christian festival – just as well, since we then change the name to

“Halliestock.”

We start convening meetings of volunteers for the Hallie Fund, now named LOVE,

HALLIE Foundation, because a) Hallie signed so many of her writings that way, and b)

we saw love as the basis of the Foundation’s work. The first initiatives of the Foundation

are compiling and publishing Hallie’s writings and organizing Halliestock.

Halliestock is scheduled for a date in late August at Sunnyside Gardens Park, where

Hallie had played for years with her friends. We line up fourteen nonprofits, sixteen

bands, and dozens of well-known actors and other celebrities. A friend at the Daily News

helps us publicize the event… and Hurricane Ivan arrives that morning, dumping several

inches of rain and turning the Park into a mud pit. It is raining, hard, three hours before

the event, but we decide to proceed anyway, in case the rain stops. We set up the sound

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and lights, the admissions trailer, the tents for the nonprofits, and the rain stops just

before the starting time.

A few hundred brave souls show up. We are pleased to hand them the first collection of

Hallie’s writings, a sixteen-page book entitled Fierce Wonderings designed by Christine

Cirker, who volunteers with us for several years.

Halliestock performances begin two hours late because of technical problems, and the

performers risk electrocution and cope with a sound system that only half works half the

time. Some highlights: Nile Rodgers and Chic arriving through the mud in a limo to

perform their classic hit We Are Family with M.J. and her group Kassandra, Kimya

Dawson and the bands BETTY and Ida perform, Barbara Feldon reads Hallie’s essay The

Gentle Eyes of A Deer, and NYC Schools Chancellor Joel Klein joins a group of students

reading Hallie’s spelling word sentences. Giant murals celebrating peace and love are

created on the fence, and nonprofits sign up volunteers.

Thirty people offer to donate blood at the donation truck set up at the entrance to

Halliestock, and many are disqualified for various reasons. Ultimately, fourteen pints of

blood are collected, the exact same amount of transferred to Hallie in the hours before she

died.

Oprah

The family is exhausted after Halliestock and the publication of Fierce Wonderings. It

would be nice to say that the event was organized in a joyous, celebratory manner, but in

fact, there was conflict, anger, smashed computers, and general angst, and the

disappointment of the low attendance after the hurricane emotionally drained a family

that was already on “Low.”

Now what? A call from a producer of the Oprah Winfrey Show answers that question.

When we first get the message, we think they might want to talk to us about our current

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focuses: youth philanthropy, AIDS in Africa, and kindness. When we return the call, it

turns out they want to have us on the show with Lara, who was driving the SUV that hit

Hallie. Our initial reaction, reinforced by the first friends we speak to, is to say “no.”

Fortunately, another friend who had been a producer on Oprah tells us that, unlike most

tabloid shows, Oprah will not exploit us, and that while we may be “past” the story of the

accident and how we dealt with it, many viewers would benefit from it. He urges us to

do it, and we take his advice. A few days later, the producer and a film crew arrive at our

house. They interview us and shoot film reenactments. Several days after that, Sofia and

I are on a flight to Chicago. After a night in a hotel, we are picked up by a limo. We are

riding with a very sad couple. It turns out they are a Texas-based minister and his wife.

The minister explains that he accidentally shot his son. When we get to the show, we are

brought into a dressing room, where, as we have our hair done and faces made up, we

watch the segments that are to proceed ours – a guy who accidentally killed his wife and

dog via carbon monoxide, a man who lost his son in the woods, and the minister. Now, it

is our turn. Oprah begins by telling the story of the accident and then interviewing Lara.

We are brought out, and Sofia, who has never seen or spoken to Lara before, sees her on

the monitor, and Sofia gasps as her heart opens to her. We are brought on, and Sofia

gives Lara a big, reassuring hug. It is very emotional. Then, we surprise Oprah. Oprah

knows there is a surprise, but does not know it is for her. We tell her about the money

Hallie was saving in her drawer to help children affected by AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa.

Then we hand her that money, We tell her that we trust her to figure out the best way to

put Hallie’s wish to work, and then we hand her a $10,000 contribution from LOVE,

HALLIE to Oprah’s Angel Network. Oprah tears up, and she promises to personally take

the money to Africa.

In sixth grade, Hallie had studied the Baka tribe (formerly known as Pygmies) of

Cameroon, and compiled a notebook full of information and observations before writing

and illustrating a book called African Poems. Christine Cirker donates the design and

Jane Rosenthal, Craig Hatkoff, Nestle’s cover the printing, and we publish African Poems

in early 2005.

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In early 2006, Oprah invites us back to Chicago. This time, M.J. joins us. Oprah pops us

on the set, and says, “you surprised me, now I surprise you.” She shows us, along with

the studio audience and millions of viewers around the world, a video of her visit to Kids

Haven in Benoni, South Africa, where Oprah has contributed Hallie’s money, along with

a substantial additional amount, into renovating a dilapidated dorm for children who have

been raped and abandoned. The result is the “Hallie Dorm,” where, in addition to

beautifully renovated facilities, several of Hallie’s poems have been painted on the walls.

Oprah reads the first stanza of one, entitled When I Was Younger:

When I was younger

My cradle was the whole world

When I was younger

People talked to me

And I talked back to them

But only in my mind

I knew who I was

And who I was going to be

You

Because you took care of me.

Then, Oprah shows us video of her showing the residents there new home. There are

screams of genuine joy, dancing, and singing. However, the last group of girls begins

crying after Oprah tells them that they “deserve it.” Oprah tells them they are all strong

and beautiful. “You are not what happened to you, you are what you make of what

happened to you,” Oprah admonishes them, telling them of her own repeated rapes, and

then tells them about Hallie and her wish to help them have a better life. The video

concludes by a resident reading a letter saying that this gift is greater than gold because it

is love, and then showing one of the young residents, two weeks later, reciting When I

Was Younger, which she has, along with everything else of Hallie’s painted on the walls,

memorized.

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We then have the chance to tell Oprah about our adventures in the sixteen months since

we last saw her…

HALLIE’S ANGELS AND THE CHILDREN OF AGAPE

M.J. decides to create a kid-led, direct action arm of LOVE, HALLIE. She organizes

planning meetings with her peers. Craig Hatkoff and Jane Rosenthal –prominent

philanthropists who knew Hallie and the rest of the family – make a generous personal

contribution to LOVE, HALLIE, and they invite Hallie’s Angels to take part in the

upcoming Tribeca Film Festival, an event they founded.

With a booth and time on the main stage to fill, M.J.’s team gets to work. They create a

Cool to be Kind booth that encourages kids to get involved in various causes, and they

organize an amazing stage program featuring performances of Hallie’s writings and

songs by actors and musicians including MJ’s group Kassandra, the group BETTY, Taj

Mahal, and Peter Yarrow.

And one more group of six girls…

A few weeks before the Festival, on April 16th, we hear this story from an AIDS

organization: some children in Durban, South Africa, who had lost their parents to AIDS,

had formed a chorus at their orphanage, the Agape Children’s Center. Well-meaning

volunteers at the orphanage decided to organize a series of concerts in Great Britain

featuring the children – a trip, concerts, fundraising for the orphanage – what could be

better? What could go wrong? The kids rehearse for months as arrangements are made,

visas and passports are secured, and a CD is recorded… Then, in November 2004, an

uncharacteristically somber Zodwa Mqadi, Agape’s Director, informs the children the

tour is being “postponed.” The children are heartbroken. Well, at least Agape had not

burned down. That happened two months later, in January 2005, when a faulty wire

caused the whole facility to go up in flames. Forty-one children were moved into a trailer

with no running water or electricity.

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Ten days later, with funds provided by LOVE, HALLIE, six girls from Agape arrive in

New York, and three days later, stage and screen star David Hyde Pierce is introducing

them to America at the Tribeca Film Festival.

Before they take the stage, M.J. informs them that Hallie’s Angels have reached their

fundraising goal of $10,000. She tells them that a new goal has been set: $55,000 by the

end of the year to help rebuild the orphanage. Jane Rosenthal happens to be in the room

at the time – inspired, she personally matches the $10,000 raised to date. A week later,

the children return to Agape – having appeared on Good Morning, America, at a house

party hosted by musician Dan Zanes, and at several schools, and having met Alicia Keyes

and seeing her perform – with $55,000 in hand to rebuild the orphanage.

Two weeks later, dozens of Hallie’s friends and family mark the first anniversary of

Hallie’s accident by participating in the annual AIDS Walk, as Hallie had planned to do

the year before.

Some new and unfortunate facts emerge regarding the Agape Orphanage. However,

before I get into the details, let me introduce my daughter Nasi. Why didn’t I mention

her before? Because she wasn’t my daughter before. When the six Agape children arrive

in April 2005, we notice that one of them, thirteen year-old Yilinasi “Nasi” Mqadi (the

“q” is a click), is taking responsibility for them, breaking up fights, and speaking on

behalf of the group. She tells us that she plans to be president of South Africa when she

grows up. Nasi responds to a high school student who says, “So, do you all have AIDS?”

by saying, “None of us is infected by AIDS, but we are all affected by AIDS.” She and

MJ instantly and deeply bond. After she leaves, Sofia, M.J., and I decide to offer to

“sponsor” Nasi and cover all of her living costs through college, knowing that she will

pay it forward when she graduates. We call Zodwa at Agape after learning Nasi is her

granddaughter, coming to Agape after Nasi’s father died when she was five and her

mother four years later. Zodwa tells us she will convey the offer to Nasi, and later she

calls back to tell her Nasi has accepted, but wants to know if we would like her to live

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with us. We are all by the phone, and we all instantaneously answer “yes.” Just like that,

our family expands. Although we never formally adopt Nasi, she is our daughter, our

sister, and our partner in the good fight. After coming to live with us, she receives a full

scholarship to Columbia Preparatory School thanks in part to an introduction by, where

she plays basketball and acts, and is then awarded a full scholarship to Bryn Mawr

University. She returns to South Africa, skipping a term in 2010, to take care of her

dying grandmother, Zodwa, then returns to Bryn Mawr where she is, as of this writing, a

junior.

Back to the unfortunate details… Agape needs a lot more than $55,000 – they are

running out of food, utilities are being shut off, and the building will cost a lot more than

anticipated. We try to raise more funds for them, but generally hear “we already gave.”

The children who inspired everyone with their presence have faded back into the abstract

and overwhelming problem of global poverty and disease.

What to do?

It is 3:00 AM, a hot, summer morning in July 2005, and I cannot sleep. I move to

Hallie’s bed so Sofia will not wake up. An idea arrives. I get out of bed, go downstairs,

and turn on the laptop. I open a spreadsheet and a document, and start bouncing between

the two, creating a plan. Why not bring the entire group of 41 Agape kids to America to:

a) take care of them, and b) raise the funds needed to rebuild and run Agape? (Spoiler

alert: We do NOT end up bringing 41 kids to America! But read on…)

The next morning, I present the plan to Sofia so that she can shoot it down. Instead, she

second’s the motion. We talk to several family members and neighbors who offer to

help. So crazy, it might just work…

I run the idea by Chris Campbell a few times. He is not moved. Finally, he says: “I just

don’t understand what’s so bad about the kids being in a Winnebago?” Ah! He hadn’t

realized it was a truck trailer without utilities and running water. Now, he’s concerned,

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but he’s still not exactly on board with the idea. He points out that for a lot of the kids, it

would probably be better for them to stay in South Africa if they were in a safe, clean

place. “I’ll pay for that,” Chris says, “and you guys bring over the kids who would really

benefit from the experience.”

Now it’s August 2005. Chris has rented a summer camp for the kids to move to on a

temporary basis, and I am on my way to Durban to visit Agape for the first time and to

bring ten Agape children back to America.

Not as easy as I thought! The US Consulate is reluctant to issue visas, especially for the

boys – they worry that if we bring them in, the kids will never come back. A week goes

by, and still no visas. On the other hand, I’m having an amazing time with the 40 kids at

the orphanage, singing, reading, taking them all to a mall (only lost one, found him fast!).

However, we need to make this happen. How can I convince the Consulate? With the

help of a sympathetic staffer, I make an appointment to bring the kids to the Consulate.

We arrive, and the kids go in to meet staff members one by one. The point they need to

convey is that they are happy at Agape, and are just going to America to help the

orphanage. Then, they sing for the staff. We are told to wait.

While we are waiting, the kids come up to me. They have been watching live coverage

of the devastating effects of Hurricane Katrina on New Orleans, viewing children and

adults huddled in the Superdome. Incredibly, M.J. had just flown down to New Orleans

several days earlier, and is in the area now. Sofia assures me M.J. is fine, but the kids are

concerned. The following dialogue takes place:

Nasi: We’ve made a decision. We are raising money when we go to America. Right,

Bear?

(They all call me Bear, as in Teddy Bear. They still do.)

Me: Yes.

Nasi: We are going to give the money we raise to help the children in New Orleans.

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(The other kids enthusiastically shake their heads in agreement.

Me: Actually, we are going to give that money to Agape to take care of the kids here.

Nasi: But we are fine! We have clothes, food, and we’re loved. Those kids (pointing to

the TV) are the ones who need help!

(All the kids are with her on this one)

Me: We’ll figure something out.

(Eventually, Zodwa decides that 10% of what is raised should go to help children in New

Orleans. “I tithe, and I am teaching them to do that as well,” she says.)

The Consulate staff emerges. They hand me ten visas. One of them says, “I’ve never

seen such happy kids.”

A week later, we arrive in New York, six girls, four boys, and a middle aged guy

suddenly submerged in Zulu children’s culture.

From September until mid-December, the children live in our home. Four of the girls

and a chaperone share M.J.’s (and what will be Nasi’s) room in the attic. Two girls sleep

at my parent’s house, two blocks away, and the four boys sleep in empty rooms at my

sister’s house, three blocks away.

It is a wild, exuberant, haphazard, time. Volunteers arrange concerts and appearances in

Connecticut, Denver, Detroit, Los Angeles, and all over the New York area.

A few highlights:

Appearances at churches in Detroit and Los Angeles (including the inspiring,

coincidentally-named Agape Church), where thousands of people warmly greet

the children and contribute tens of thousands of dollars.

Singing with Alicia Keyes and Paul Simon to benefit an AIDS organization.

Going to school (for brief periods, sadly, the Patriot Act prevented the kids from

formally attending school)

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Playing in snow for the first times in their lives at our house upstate.

In addition, some lowlights – to save lawsuits rather than protecting the innocent,

representatives of two churches never sent the money they raised, costing Agape

thousands of dollars. Moreover, we have to shield the kids from at least one older female

volunteer whose love for the kids starts to stray from the Platonic zone.

At the end of this second but not final trip to America, we bring the kids to Holland on

the way home, where more funds are raised. While everyone is friendly, and overall the

Holland trip is a big success, one event stands out in our memories – the girlfriend of our

Holland host has “arranged” a “concert” for the kids – we are brought to a town square

outside a large church It is about 20 degrees Fahrenheit. The kids are freezing. There are

no microphones, no stage, no audience, and there is music being broadcast from speakers.

The girlfriend exhorts the children to sing. It is ridiculous, but since they’ve done so

much work, I tell the kids to sing a few songs, and I will get them hot chocolate (yes, of

course I would have anyway!). Fifteen minutes later, they are shivering, having

“performed” for several perplexed passersby. We go in for hot chocolate, and the

organizer comes back and tells me, “they need to go back out there or my girlfriend will

kill me! Please!” She is in the background, apoplectic, telling anyone who will listen

that the kids need to “learn to work.” It occurs to me now that she might make a good

fourth wife for Newt Gingrich.

“I know this is ridiculous, but please go out there and sing a couple more songs,” I say to

the kids’ disbelief. I then pull the trigger I hadn’t used before or since, “I will give each

of you twenty dollars.” They are out there in a shot. This is the orphans-raising-funds

version of “you don’t want to know how the sausage is made.”

It is now Christmas in Holland. M.J. and Sofia are not here because a strike at the Post

Office has made it impossible for them to get passports. So, now, I am in the house of

the host’s family, where after the niceties, everyone has divided between the Dutch

speakers and the Zulu speakers. It is, while not my worst Christmas, perhaps my oddest.

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The children make several more trips

A volunteer at Agape had been shooting footage for what he hopes will be a documentary

about the triumphant tour of Great Britain in 2004. Instead, he documents the failure of

that project, the fire, and then the trip to New York. He produces that film, We Are

Together, and it ends up winning the audience choice award at the 2007 Tribeca Film

Festival, and is seen on HBO. The AIDS organization that introduced us to the Agape

children provides support to the film and Agape on the condition that the Geier family

and LOVE, HALLIE are not featured in the film. We agree to that condition so that the

children and the organization will get that support. We fly Zodwa over for the premiere.

WE VISIT SOUTH AFRICA

It is February 2006, and we are in South Africa. We bring breakfast for 70 to the Hallie

Dorm at Kids Haven in Benoni, South Africa, our chance to meet the children who

ultimately benefit from the coins and bills Hallie had saved in her drawer. One of the

girls reads us a letter written by another young resident who is too shy to read it to us.

The letter begins the way you might expect – the girl was raped by her uncle, she is HIV

positive – but then the message takes an unexpected twist – she is not complaining, but

rather explaining that she is lucky because she has learned that she can survive and be

healthy, and that she can help other children who are not as fortunate as her.

A couple of days later, M.J., Nasi, Sofia, and I are driving in KwaZulu-Natal with a

couple of volunteers in a nine-passenger van. We are going to visit a school. We have

passed many hitchhikers and have not stopped – we have been told the risk of carjacking

is too high.

As we turn onto the entrance ramp to a highway, we see a man, about 40 years old,

hitchhiking. He’s wearing a suit and carrying a valise – we guess he is a businessman.

He has an urgent look, and I ask the passengers if it is okay to pick him up. Nasi says we

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should, so we stop. A couple of young black kids run toward the car from across the

street, and I get ready to drive away. They run past the car – they were just crossing the

street.

The man gets in the car. Turns out he only speaks Zulu. Nasi confers with him, then tells

me he is heading to Durban. “Tell him we can get him half way there,” I say. Nasi

speaks with him some more. He is speaking to her quietly and intensely. Nasi gasps.

“Bear,” she says to me, “he is going to bury his daughter.”

We learn that his 21 year-old daughter had died of AIDS several days earlier in

Swaziland, several hundred miles to the north. He is a poor villager who could not afford

the medication that would have saved his daughter. Now, he has collected enough money

from his neighbors to pay for the burial and for the train fare from Durban that will get

him to and from Swaziland, but he does not have enough money for bus fare to get to

Durban, a couple hundred miles from his home. He tells Nasi he had been walking for 30

hours. We offer to have him stay with us in our hotel – that we will drive him to the train

in the morning. He politely and firmly declines – he must get to his daughter as soon as

he can. We pool our money and give him about 500 rand (a little less than $100) and the

food we have in the car. It has begun to rain, and Nasi buys him an umbrella. We find a

cab that will take him to Durban. He is crying silently as he leaves the car. We are

reminded that, despite losing Hallie, we are so much luckier than so many people, and

feel blessed to have met this man.

RAY CHAMBERS AND VETO THE ‘SQUITO

In 2006, M.J., Nasi, Sofia, and I meet Ray Chambers. Ray used to own the New Jersey

Nets, our favorite team. Starting with almost nothing, he made a fortune in business and

dove into philanthropy, almost single-handedly bringing Newark, his hometown, from

the absolute bottom of urban despair.

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We tell Ray our story to date, and ask how we can work with him. Ray tells us that he

believes the way we can make the most impact is to join him in the fight against malaria.

We do.

I take a leave of absence from my company and help Ray found Malaria No More.

LOVE, HALLIE creates Veto the ‘Squito, a youth anti-malaria campaign, and ten Agape

children return to America to take part. Scholastic publishes a magazine focusing on

malaria and highlighting Hallie and the Agape Children, and they distribute it to every

fifth grader in America. Time for Kids, Hallie’s favorite magazine, runs a feature on the

campaign. As a result, thousands of middle schoolers get involved, and through their

fundraising efforts LOVE, HALLIE provides funding for bednets for more than 20,000

families. In December, the Children of Agape perform with M.J. at the White House

Summit on Malaria.

MADIBA

In 2008, the Children of Agape are invited to perform with Annie Lenox of the

Eurhythmics for 200,000 people at Nelson Mandela’s 90th Birthday Concert in Hyde

Park. That day, Nasi meets Nelson Mandela (known as Madiba), has a private meeting

with Bill Clinton, who advises her on how to make a difference in public policy, then

closes the concert hand in hand with Amy Winehouse singing Free Nelson Mandela as

the band Queen and the Soweto Gospel Choir back them up. Quite a day!

In 2009, the Nelson Mandela Foundation, having learned about Hallie through the Hyde

Park event, invites LOVE, HALLIE to join them in launching Mandela Day. As a result,

thousands of young people come to Grand Central Station during a five-day period in

July as the two organizations present Madiba & Hallie. The production features the

actual words of Nelson Mandela and Hallie Geier as though they were having a

conversation about the joy of life, the beauty of the planet, the need to be willing to

sacrifice, and how to turn your enemies into partners. The shows include several songs I

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wrote, and makes it clear that Hallie and Mandela are kindred spirits, while urging

audience members to find the Madibas and Hallies within themselves and get involved in

the good fight.

HALLIE’S 18TH BIRTHDAY

In 2010, we celebrate Hallie’s 18th birthday on August 18th with a special event including

an exhibit of Hallie’s art, videos, a blog, and a concert broadcast live on the web.

We send out an invitation with one of Hallie’s most exuberant poems on the cover:

Excitement

Oh my gosh,Oh my goodness!How grand,How grand,How grand!

My gosh!I feel bouncy, and soAmazedI can hardly contain my Excitement!

There is something, insideme.

Its name is excitement!

The concert features readings of Hallie’s poems and essays, and a performance by

Hallie’s Comets, a group convened for the sole purpose of this concert. The band

includes me, M.J. and ten other musicians, including bassist Joe Caputo, who had played

with Hallie in 2003, designed the LOVE, HALLIE logo, and wrote the song I Am At

Home, with the chorus from Hallie’s poem:

At Home

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I sit in the old maple.Through its wide, swaying branches,I see the blue sky.A rainbow arcs across it.A bird sings.I am at home.

At one point, a video featuring Isabella Hatkoff and her father Craig flashed on the giant

screens. Isabella and Craig had recently published a book about Winter, a baby dolphin

who survived losing her tail. Craig and Isabella informed the audience they had told

Winter about Hallie’s admiration of dolphins, and that Winter then created a painting for

Hallie. The audience then saw the painting unveiled and placed with Hallie’s painting of

dolphins.

At the end of the celebration, singer-songwriter Kimya Dawson, best known for her

songs in the film Juno, makes a surprise appearance with her friend Pablo Das. She has

flown all the way from Seattle to be at the event. Kimya included Hallie’s essay about

empathy in the cover of one of her CDs, wrote and performed a song with MJ that

appeared on that CD, and now, at the concert, she performs a beautiful song she has

written to Hallie.

NOW

I speak to Hallie every day, probably every hour I am awake. With endless help from my

sister, Liz, I have posted much of Hallie’s art can now be seen with her writings at

halliekassandrageier.wordpress.com. I have written songs about her, inspired by her, and

using her own words. I look back on the eleven years of her life and the eight years since

her death, and I know that, despite the pain, I am so lucky to be Hallie’s father. I believe

that the mission to “do something special” that I share with her, her family, her old

friends, and those who have come to love her, is not complete.

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I wonder what we should do next.

Hallie?

The UniverseWhere does the universe end? Does it? Is it really always expanding? Why? Those are just some of my fierce wonderings. I don’t know any of the answers. I wish I did. Are there really over a million stars? What is the earth made of? Why is it the only planet that life as we know it can live on? Is the earth perfectly round? If not, why not? I could literally go on for eternity. But I’ll let the universe take care of that.

So, what next? I guess we’ll let the universe take care of that.

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