This happened sometime after the
polls had closed and before the Election Day candidates had begun to share
their speeches of glory, or despair.
I maneuvered through a horde of Republican well-wishers who had gathered at the Holiday Inn Tuesday night and with camera in hand muscled up on to the stage where the tall field of vision provided a landscape of images to be captured through the camera eye. Here, was the assemblyman, James Tedisco. There, was the county district attorney, James Murphy, the newly-minted sheriff Michael Zurlo, and a slew of local candidates mingling with everyday residents of the city. Everywhere were faces laced with intense determination, and eyes fixed to a screen colored with rolling numbers that delivered the election night results.
Among the chaos, a familiar voice called out from the side of the stage. It belonged to Kyle York, who was soaking up the atmosphere and waving hello. We spent a few minutes shooting the breeze. We shook hands. In retrospect you wonder why, at that moment, you couldn’t see the dark clouds gathering, that you weren’t able to offer a few words of advice. A warning. Anything. I asked him to excuse me for a few seconds so I could grab some images of the crowd. The old journalist in him understood. “A good reporter works as hard as a coal miner, except you don’t get to come up for air,” he once commented. I don’t know whether he got that line from somebody else or came up with it all on his own, but it was a good one and something that I’d always remembered.
The comment was posted on one of the many blogs or newspaper sites where he actively posted any of his opinions. And he had many of them: questioning the purity of the water in the Hudson River after it had been bathed with PCB’s; debating the wisdom of Gov. Cuomo’s plan for casinos, disputing the local benefit of GlobalFoundries’ ever-expanding reach; scrutinizing the public placement of a 25-foot-tall 9/11 memorial by warning that the city’s most youthfully misguided residents would climb atop the massive sculpture and unintentionally cause themselves serious bodily harm. He often backed up his statements with reams of documents that served as evidence. In the ether of cyberspace they came attached to bright-color emails with massive fonts. In person, he would occasionally bring props to city council meetings to help make his argument.
That just about everybody disagreed with whatever it was he was arguing about at one time or another, is beside the point. That he cared deeply about sharing information and knowledge with everyone is certain. And he had a rare ability of expressing contrary ideas in a non-threatening, inclusive way that enabled others to listen, even if they disagreed with the idea. “He got along splendidly with everyone, and his cheerfulness, good humor, and generosity of spirit touched everyone, even those who only knew him in passing,” says Byron Joseph Norsworthy, whose Saratoga Hybrid Cabs’ York drove for more than a year.
From atop the stage Tuesday night, the camera caught a few faces in the crowd, but it was mostly non-descript, b-roll stuff, if that. When I looked back down to continue the conversation, Kyle York was gone. I figured we’d resume the chatter at the next city council meeting, or during one of those random Broadway sidewalk conversations that is one of this city’s pleasant charms. Less than 24 hours later, Kyle York was dead. Police say he was working about four floors up on a home renovation project on Railroad Place Wednesday afternoon when he accidentally fell. He was 59 years old.
The suddenness in which a human life can disappear is shocking. To his family, who I do not know, are offered warm condolences. From the journalists he befriended to the politicians whose faces he got in front of, he will be missed. He fought the good fight, and now, just like that, he is gone. The city is a better place for having known him, and now a piece of its fabric is torn with his loss.
He once wrote about the passing of time and how sometimes things change because of unfortunate and uncontrollable events. In his own words: “today’s scene is now a whole bunch worse for the folks here.”
I maneuvered through a horde of Republican well-wishers who had gathered at the Holiday Inn Tuesday night and with camera in hand muscled up on to the stage where the tall field of vision provided a landscape of images to be captured through the camera eye. Here, was the assemblyman, James Tedisco. There, was the county district attorney, James Murphy, the newly-minted sheriff Michael Zurlo, and a slew of local candidates mingling with everyday residents of the city. Everywhere were faces laced with intense determination, and eyes fixed to a screen colored with rolling numbers that delivered the election night results.
Among the chaos, a familiar voice called out from the side of the stage. It belonged to Kyle York, who was soaking up the atmosphere and waving hello. We spent a few minutes shooting the breeze. We shook hands. In retrospect you wonder why, at that moment, you couldn’t see the dark clouds gathering, that you weren’t able to offer a few words of advice. A warning. Anything. I asked him to excuse me for a few seconds so I could grab some images of the crowd. The old journalist in him understood. “A good reporter works as hard as a coal miner, except you don’t get to come up for air,” he once commented. I don’t know whether he got that line from somebody else or came up with it all on his own, but it was a good one and something that I’d always remembered.
The comment was posted on one of the many blogs or newspaper sites where he actively posted any of his opinions. And he had many of them: questioning the purity of the water in the Hudson River after it had been bathed with PCB’s; debating the wisdom of Gov. Cuomo’s plan for casinos, disputing the local benefit of GlobalFoundries’ ever-expanding reach; scrutinizing the public placement of a 25-foot-tall 9/11 memorial by warning that the city’s most youthfully misguided residents would climb atop the massive sculpture and unintentionally cause themselves serious bodily harm. He often backed up his statements with reams of documents that served as evidence. In the ether of cyberspace they came attached to bright-color emails with massive fonts. In person, he would occasionally bring props to city council meetings to help make his argument.
That just about everybody disagreed with whatever it was he was arguing about at one time or another, is beside the point. That he cared deeply about sharing information and knowledge with everyone is certain. And he had a rare ability of expressing contrary ideas in a non-threatening, inclusive way that enabled others to listen, even if they disagreed with the idea. “He got along splendidly with everyone, and his cheerfulness, good humor, and generosity of spirit touched everyone, even those who only knew him in passing,” says Byron Joseph Norsworthy, whose Saratoga Hybrid Cabs’ York drove for more than a year.
From atop the stage Tuesday night, the camera caught a few faces in the crowd, but it was mostly non-descript, b-roll stuff, if that. When I looked back down to continue the conversation, Kyle York was gone. I figured we’d resume the chatter at the next city council meeting, or during one of those random Broadway sidewalk conversations that is one of this city’s pleasant charms. Less than 24 hours later, Kyle York was dead. Police say he was working about four floors up on a home renovation project on Railroad Place Wednesday afternoon when he accidentally fell. He was 59 years old.
The suddenness in which a human life can disappear is shocking. To his family, who I do not know, are offered warm condolences. From the journalists he befriended to the politicians whose faces he got in front of, he will be missed. He fought the good fight, and now, just like that, he is gone. The city is a better place for having known him, and now a piece of its fabric is torn with his loss.
He once wrote about the passing of time and how sometimes things change because of unfortunate and uncontrollable events. In his own words: “today’s scene is now a whole bunch worse for the folks here.”
This
happened sometime after the polls had closed and before the Election
Day candidates had begun to share their speeches of glory, or despair.
I maneuvered through a horde of Republican well-wishers who had gathered at the Holiday Inn Tuesday night and with camera in hand muscled up on to the stage where the tall field of vision provided a landscape of images to be captured through the camera eye. Here, was the assemblyman, James Tedisco. There, was the county district attorney, James Murphy, the newly-minted sheriff Michael Zurlo, and a slew of local candidates mingling with everyday residents of the city. Everywhere were faces laced with intense determination, and eyes fixed to a screen colored with rolling numbers that delivered the election night results.
Among the chaos, a familiar voice called out from the side of the stage. It belonged to Kyle York, who was soaking up the atmosphere and waving hello. We spent a few minutes shooting the breeze. We shook hands. In retrospect you wonder why, at that moment, you couldn’t see the dark clouds gathering, that you weren’t able to offer a few words of advice. A warning. Anything. I asked him to excuse me for a few seconds so I could grab some images of the crowd. The old journalist in him understood. “A good reporter works as hard as a coal miner, except you don’t get to come up for air,” he once commented. I don’t know whether he got that line from somebody else or came up with it all on his own, but it was a good one and something that I’d always remembered.
The comment was posted on one of the many blogs or newspaper sites where he actively posted any of his opinions. And he had many of them: questioning the purity of the water in the Hudson River after it had been bathed with PCB’s; debating the wisdom of Gov. Cuomo’s plan for casinos, disputing the local benefit of GlobalFoundries’ ever-expanding reach; scrutinizing the public placement of a 25-foot-tall 9/11 memorial by warning that the city’s most youthfully misguided residents would climb atop the massive sculpture and unintentionally cause themselves serious bodily harm. He often backed up his statements with reams of documents that served as evidence. In the ether of cyberspace they came attached to bright-color emails with massive fonts. In person, he would occasionally bring props to city council meetings to help make his argument.
That just about everybody disagreed with whatever it was he was arguing about at one time or another, is beside the point. That he cared deeply about sharing information and knowledge with everyone is certain. And he had a rare ability of expressing contrary ideas in a non-threatening, inclusive way that enabled others to listen, even if they disagreed with the idea. “He got along splendidly with everyone, and his cheerfulness, good humor, and generosity of spirit touched everyone, even those who only knew him in passing,” says Byron Joseph Norsworthy, whose Saratoga Hybrid Cabs’ York drove for more than a year.
From atop the stage Tuesday night, the camera caught a few faces in the crowd, but it was mostly non-descript, b-roll stuff, if that. When I looked back down to continue the conversation, Kyle York was gone. I figured we’d resume the chatter at the next city council meeting, or during one of those random Broadway sidewalk conversations that is one of this city’s pleasant charms. Less than 24 hours later, Kyle York was dead. Police say he was working about four floors up on a home renovation project on Railroad Place Wednesday afternoon when he accidentally fell. He was 59 years old.
The suddenness in which a human life can disappear is shocking. To his family, who I do not know, are offered warm condolences. From the journalists he befriended to the politicians whose faces he got in front of, he will be missed. He fought the good fight, and now, just like that, he is gone. The city is a better place for having known him, and now a piece of its fabric is torn with his loss.
He once wrote about the passing of time and how sometimes things change because of unfortunate and uncontrollable events. In his own words: “today’s scene is now a whole bunch worse for the folks here.” - See more at: http://www.saratogawire.com/article/1658/131107-york-dimopoulos/#sthash.OjUxasFA.dpuf
I maneuvered through a horde of Republican well-wishers who had gathered at the Holiday Inn Tuesday night and with camera in hand muscled up on to the stage where the tall field of vision provided a landscape of images to be captured through the camera eye. Here, was the assemblyman, James Tedisco. There, was the county district attorney, James Murphy, the newly-minted sheriff Michael Zurlo, and a slew of local candidates mingling with everyday residents of the city. Everywhere were faces laced with intense determination, and eyes fixed to a screen colored with rolling numbers that delivered the election night results.
Among the chaos, a familiar voice called out from the side of the stage. It belonged to Kyle York, who was soaking up the atmosphere and waving hello. We spent a few minutes shooting the breeze. We shook hands. In retrospect you wonder why, at that moment, you couldn’t see the dark clouds gathering, that you weren’t able to offer a few words of advice. A warning. Anything. I asked him to excuse me for a few seconds so I could grab some images of the crowd. The old journalist in him understood. “A good reporter works as hard as a coal miner, except you don’t get to come up for air,” he once commented. I don’t know whether he got that line from somebody else or came up with it all on his own, but it was a good one and something that I’d always remembered.
The comment was posted on one of the many blogs or newspaper sites where he actively posted any of his opinions. And he had many of them: questioning the purity of the water in the Hudson River after it had been bathed with PCB’s; debating the wisdom of Gov. Cuomo’s plan for casinos, disputing the local benefit of GlobalFoundries’ ever-expanding reach; scrutinizing the public placement of a 25-foot-tall 9/11 memorial by warning that the city’s most youthfully misguided residents would climb atop the massive sculpture and unintentionally cause themselves serious bodily harm. He often backed up his statements with reams of documents that served as evidence. In the ether of cyberspace they came attached to bright-color emails with massive fonts. In person, he would occasionally bring props to city council meetings to help make his argument.
That just about everybody disagreed with whatever it was he was arguing about at one time or another, is beside the point. That he cared deeply about sharing information and knowledge with everyone is certain. And he had a rare ability of expressing contrary ideas in a non-threatening, inclusive way that enabled others to listen, even if they disagreed with the idea. “He got along splendidly with everyone, and his cheerfulness, good humor, and generosity of spirit touched everyone, even those who only knew him in passing,” says Byron Joseph Norsworthy, whose Saratoga Hybrid Cabs’ York drove for more than a year.
From atop the stage Tuesday night, the camera caught a few faces in the crowd, but it was mostly non-descript, b-roll stuff, if that. When I looked back down to continue the conversation, Kyle York was gone. I figured we’d resume the chatter at the next city council meeting, or during one of those random Broadway sidewalk conversations that is one of this city’s pleasant charms. Less than 24 hours later, Kyle York was dead. Police say he was working about four floors up on a home renovation project on Railroad Place Wednesday afternoon when he accidentally fell. He was 59 years old.
The suddenness in which a human life can disappear is shocking. To his family, who I do not know, are offered warm condolences. From the journalists he befriended to the politicians whose faces he got in front of, he will be missed. He fought the good fight, and now, just like that, he is gone. The city is a better place for having known him, and now a piece of its fabric is torn with his loss.
He once wrote about the passing of time and how sometimes things change because of unfortunate and uncontrollable events. In his own words: “today’s scene is now a whole bunch worse for the folks here.” - See more at: http://www.saratogawire.com/article/1658/131107-york-dimopoulos/#sthash.OjUxasFA.dpuf
