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Opinion

Opinion

By Kimberley Lee

 

The death of Peter Robbins resonated with me. He was tapped to be the first voice of Charlie Brown as a child actor in the early 1960s when Charles Schultz began to adapt his popular “Peanuts” cartoon strip for TV and movies.

I grew up with these shows, and so did my children, but it was not just nostalgia that made me take notice of Robbins’s death. His family announced on Jan. 25 that the 65-year-old Robbins had died the week before by suicide. He had long struggled with both mental-health and substance-use disorders.

MHA, the Mental Health Assoc., is the organization I work for, whose behavioral-health outreach clinic and residential programs have long offered support and treatment to individuals with such dual diagnoses. It was especially disheartening to read how the life of Robbins, associated through the 1970s with a character that brought much entertainment to the screen, ended.

The cartoon strip itself was sometimes subtitled “Good ol’ Charlie Brown,” and the world Schultz created was a self-contained one about childhood. Its ups, downs, and misplaced crushes were depicted by characters who were very animated, even in print. No adults are featured, but the characters struggle with plenty of personal issues that often follow into adulthood. Some, like Lucy, can be bossy; some are a bit vain, like curly-haired Freida; and some are self-absorbed, like Schroeder on his piano. Everyone is just trying to fit in or fit into who they are, including Snoopy, Charlie Brown’s beagle, who often retreats into his own world on top of his doghouse or into his imagination, where he fights the Red Baron as the Flying Ace. There is also Pig-Pen, who tells Sally, Charlie Brown’s younger sister, he doesn’t appreciate that name he has been tagged with because of his appearance, but neither does he like the rain to wash away that appearance from a day of playing in the dirt.

They are a complicated bunch, defying stereotypes in their own ways of being and thinking and friendships across neighborhoods and interests.

Schultz, who died in 2000, wondered if his characters would resonate through time, and they do, as Charlie Brown embodies a little bit of all of us emotionally as he navigates this world of personalities. And, of course, should he need advice, there is Lucy, who sets up a Psychiatric Help booth, where she gives her version of professional help for five cents. It is a world in which the timeless troubles and alienations of childhood are on display, but also one in which the characters cope and carry on with their pursuits and come together.

I grew up with all the animated specials, including A Charlie Brown Christmas, It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, and, again, so did my children. Each time these classic movies aired, those 30 minutes provided an opportunity for us to be together as a family, to make a connection, to embrace each other emotionally.

In our house, emotional connectedness happens in other ways as well. For example, once a week, my husband and I pull our girls together (now that they are in college, this is done remotely), we all unplug, and we just simply and sincerely ask them, “how are you?” And not just physically, but emotionally. Their answers have been honest and transparent and emotional at times.

It gave them, at an early age, a green light to talk openly about how they feel from a mental-health perspective, and there was no stigma, no shame, no hesitancy in doing this.

We all know that challenges to mental health start young, and the sooner we address them, the better the outcome.

 

Kimberley Lee is vice president of Resource Development & Branding for the Mental Health Assoc.

 

Opinion

Editorial

It’s been a long, very painful year for all those who love the Student Prince and the Fort restaurant in Springfield.

Rudi Scherff

Rudi Scherff

First, Andy Yee, who acquired the landmark along with several other investors in 2014, passed away in late May after a lengthy battle with cancer. Then late last month, Rudi Scherff, who was owner and host at the establishment for decades, died after his own lengthy battle against the disease.

If Yee will be remembered as one of those who saved the Fort, as it was known, amid trying financial times nearly a decade ago, Scherff will always be remembered as the face of the restaurant. Only, it was more than a restaurant. Much, much more. It was a gathering place, not only for workers downtown, but residents of communities across the region. It was a place to celebrate milestones — birthdays, wedding anniversaries, family reunions — and especially holidays. Spending part of the Wednesday afternoon before Thanksgiving at the Fort was a tradition. It was the same on Christmas Eve, and all through the holiday season

It was the people. It was the place. It was the people and the place coming together.

And Rudi — he was one of those people who needed only a first name — was a huge part of it.

He set the tone. He created the atmosphere. And he gave every single person he touched a story to tell. Usually, many of them. He was a pretty good businessman, but he was a much better ambassador for Springfield and its downtown, always advocating for the city and acting as a cheerleader when one was needed.

His family ran the restaurant, but he was synonymous with it, becoming an almost larger-than-life figure in the process. And while he sold the restaurant to Yee, Picknelly, and other partners in 2014, he remained a fixture there, right up until last week, when he returned to the Fort to lead others in a final singing of “Silent Night.”

There’s an oil painting of Rudi hanging in the restaurant’s Heidelberg Room, and the bar area is now named after him. We have those things to remember him by. But really, we don’t need them.

We have the stories. We have the memories. And that’s more than enough.

He will certainly be missed.

Law

That Is the Question, and Here Are Some Answers

By Valerie Vignaux, Esq.

Valerie Vignaux

Please allow me to interrupt your quarantine gratitude journaling and victory gardening to demystify a topic apt for these unfortunate times: probate.

I have found in my legal practice that most consider probate to be a dirty word. I have also found widespread misunderstanding of what that dirty word really means. What better time than during a pandemic to learn about the legal process surrounding death?

What, then, is probate? It is a process to appoint someone to be in charge of your probate assets after you die, and to distribute those assets according to your wishes. You ask, one eyebrow raised, “what are probate assets?” Excellent question — I can tell that you are a close listener.

Probate assets are property (such as real estate, bank accounts, cars, investment accounts, and retirement funds) that you own in your name alone at your death. These assets do not have a joint owner (like a joint bank account you might have with a spouse). These assets do not have a designated beneficiary (like on an IRA or a life-insurance policy that lists a child as beneficiary). In order for anyone to be able to access these assets after your death — to pay bills, to make distributions to loved ones — the assets must go through the probate process.

“I have a will!” you proclaim with confidence, “so there won’t be any probate.” But you are wrong, my friend. It is not the existence of a will that prevents probate; it is the absence of probate assets that prevents probate. It is how you own something that dictates whether that process must be undertaken, not whether you have a will.

“Then I shall tear up my will!” you cry out. Please, no. Your will makes this process easier, in part, by telling the court whom you want to be in charge of those assets. In the old days, when we shook hands with gusto and gathered at bars to buy overpriced cocktails, we called this person the executor or executrix. Today — really, since 2012 — the personal representative fills this role. Same job, different name.

“What, then, is probate? It is a process to appoint someone to be in charge of your probate assets after you die, and to distribute those assets according to your wishes.”

Your will also informs the Probate Court who will get your probate assets. Additionally, if appropriate, your will names your desired guardian of your children, in the event you die leaving minors behind. (Please wash your hands and stop touching your face.)

“Probate is the fourth circle of hell,” you sigh with resignation, “and I will take great pains to avoid it.” Here’s the dirty word bit, and what so many believe: probate is complicated, takes forever, and costs tons of money. This is not, however, necessarily true, and it is often not true at all. Of course, it depends upon the nature of your assets — perhaps you own many properties in different states, or a family business. Probate’s difficulty depends, too, upon your family circumstances — maybe you don’t have highly valued assets, but your children do not get along and there is a high likelihood of challenge over your collection of red hawk tail feathers.

For most people, probate is simply a process with clearly defined steps and a timeline. Getting help from an attorney can make the process even easier.

You now know, because you’re a quick study, two ways to avoid probate (add a joint owner, designate a beneficiary). But here’s something radical to consider: you might not want to avoid it. There are situations in which it makes good sense to force your assets (some or all) through the probate process. Your will can serve as a master plan for what happens to all you leave behind. That document allows you to spread your wealth (whether millions in cash or a trunkful of hand-sewn face masks) among all of your loved ones equally, or unequally. Your will can even create a trust that can hold assets for minors, those with poor spending habits, or a disabled family member.

If you name your children as beneficiaries of your life-insurance policy and die while they are still minors, a conservator will need to be appointed to receive, hold, and manage those funds for the benefit of your children — kids can’t just inherit money. The conservatorship process, another Probate Court endeavor, also takes time and money — often more than probate itself.

If you instead name your estate as beneficiary of your life insurance (“such madness!” you gasp, but bear with me), those funds will be handled according to the master plan — your will. You can avoid the necessity of a conservatorship by directing those funds into a custodial account at a bank, or by including a trust in your will that will hold the money for the benefit of your children. This is just one example of many.

I work with clients regularly to avoid probate and still achieve their desired goals. But sometimes I recommend that they embrace the process because it makes the most sense for their situation. Probate doesn’t have to be a dirty word. Working with an estate-planning attorney, and perhaps a financial advisor, you may find this is true for you. It’s important that everyone have a plan in place, but let’s all try to stay alive for a good, long while.

Valerie Vignaux is an attorney with Bacon Wilson, P.C., and a member of the firm’s estate-planning and elder-law team. She assists clients with all manner of estate planning and administration, including probate, and provides representation for guardianship and conservatorship matters. She received the Partner in Care award from Linda Manor in 2017, and served on the board of directors for Highland Valley Elder Services; (413) 584-1287; [email protected]

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