Self-made entrepreneur bringing vibrancy to uptown

 

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Keith Brideau, 36, is helping to change the shape of Saint John, N.B.’s historic city core. Photo by April Cunningham

As appeared in the Telegraph-Journal on March 6, 2017

Life wasn’t always easy growing up in Saint John’s north end, but for uptown property developer Keith Brideau, it was where he honed a competitive spirit and the drive to succeed.

 

I always felt like I could do better if I worked harder,” he says in his bustling Princess Street office, pausing to sign a cheque and direct a worker to the renovated Bustin’s apartments where new tenants are moving in. “I just didn’t want to be an average person.

Brideau’s father, who was in construction and his mother, a former Crosby’s molasses factory worker, always did their best to provide for their children – once selling the family car to buy Christmas presents. It was that sacrifice and generosity that made him feel “obligated” to do well.

That drive started from a young age, says Brideau, 36, who co-founded Historica Developments with a silent investor from Alberta almost 10 years ago, a company that has grown “exponentially” in recent years, helping to reshape the city’s uptown core.

Growing up on the Boulevard and later the old north end, Brideau played sports, including baseball, karate, badminton, and spent a lot of time in community centres.

My parents were really good at keeping me off the streets.

Brideau soon realized he had the same desire to keep up with kids in the classroom and he started to excel academically, named student of the year in Grade 6.

I always paid attention to people who did well,” he says, although he often had to look beyond his immediate family for mentors. While his family worked hard and had “street smarts,” neither one of his parents finished high school.

The first family member on either side of his family to attend university, Brideau attended the University of New Brunswick, graduating with an electrical engineering degree as well as a technology, management and entrepreneurship diploma in 2003. He was soon hired by Deloitte in risk management and information technology consulting – a role that would allow him to travel across Atlantic Canada.

Meanwhile, Brideau knew he didn’t want to pay someone else’s mortgage, so he made his first leap into real estate. He and his former girlfriend bought a run-down townhouse on Highmeadow Drive for $54,000. They put a few thousand dollars into the property and flipped it for a $10,000 profit.

I enjoyed the process of taking an old townhouse that needed some work, and investing some money, some sweat equity, and turning it around and making it into a place you could feel proud of,” he says. “It got me hooked on real estate.

All while still working and travelling for Deloitte, Brideau immersed himself in the world of real estate, learning about inspections, markets and construction. He also learned to leverage the bank’s money to make a bigger profit. From the Highmeadow Drive house, Brideau next bought a duplex, followed by a three-unit and a six-unit complex with friends. His hunger for development continued.

At one point, Deloitte assigned Brideau to work for a bank in Toronto. He was set up to live in a downtown condominium, complete with a rooftop patio with a view of the CN Tower.

Guys with TV shows and CEOs of big companies who would pull up to the front door in Ferraris, then there’s me from Saint John’s north end,” he says.

What I realized is there was an amazing quality of life we just didn’t have in New Brunswick – I had never seen anything like it.

Brideau knew Saint John was poised for growth, and that there was potential to build a more high-end urban lifestyle. But with limited financial resources, he wasn’t sure how he could tackle it on his own.

One day, Brideau met a man in his Toronto condo’s rooftop hot tub. They struck up a conversation about their backgrounds, and the man said he helped build sports complexes and arenas. Brideau was in awe, and asked him how.

I partnered with people who had more money than I did,” said the man, who turned out to be Gary Green, a former Washington Capitals coach. For Brideau, it was like a light bulb went off.

It wasn’t long before he left the job at Deloitte in 2007 to start his own venture with his brother and a friend.

That first attempt, Home Improvers, did renovations, garages, windows and siding. It also flipped one house with limited success, he says.

You don’t really know what you’re getting yourself into from a business perspective until you jump in the deep end – sink or swim,” Brideau says.

At that time, he started looking for investors to grow bigger. While Brideau had always looked to Kijiji and other for-sale-by-owner sites for the best real estate deals, he started thinking it would also be his key to finding a potential investor.

He got his girlfriend to help him post an ad across the country: “Attention major investors: I’m going to tell you now what you wish you would have heard five years from now had I not told you today.” He laid out the city’s potential for major growth with an energy boom on the horizon, and his own experience in flipping properties.

Brideau’s phone started ringing almost immediately.

I had so many people calling me I had to keep a spreadsheet of all the conversations,” he says.

One woman in particular from Alberta had done her homework. She asked for references and a couple weeks later, came with her husband for a tour of Saint John. Brideau convinced them to invest.

We became business partners and set up a model where they would invest a bunch of money and I would earn my ownership,” he says. Historica Development was born.

They started with 55 Canterbury St., the old Aberdeen Hotel, merging hotel rooms to create 15 apartments, with lower level offices and restaurants. From there, they moved to a number of other heritage buildings in the uptown area.

For the former Bustin’s furniture building that spans from Germain to Canterbury along Grannan Lane, they brought on more investors, including partners from Saint John and Alberta. The building is now home to restaurants, a comedy club, a gallery and a pub with new apartments on the upper floors.

We’re growing the business now exponentially and in order to grow at that point, you need to bring on more partners.

The company is about to complete the Bustin’s portfolio in the next month or two, then plans to close on more properties. Brideau’s goal is to do three times as much work in the next 10 years as he has completed over the past decade, and he hasn’t ruled out moving beyond Saint John.

He says the uptown investments “make sense” for the Historica partners because they represent low-risk potential. The real estate is cheap, Brideau does the bulk of the work in an environment he understands, and they end up with assets that pay for themselves. Saint John doesn’t have the peaks and valleys of other cities, and the difficulties with renovated historic buildings tend to keep the competition away.

It takes someone like me who has the experience from the ground up to be able to turn these buildings around and bring them to life,” says Brideau, who works alongside his wife Margot Brideau. They have two daughters.

It also takes mental strength, he says, adding some projects feel like a “nightmare” in the thick of it.

But you know what they say, if you’re going to go through hell, you’ve got to keep going. I keep a thick skin because the problems turning these old buildings around and having them meet today’s code – all that difficulty creates opportunity.

Ray Strowbridge: From wrestling ring to political arena

As appeared in the Telegraph-Journal on Jan. 23, 2017

The last time Ray Strowbridge saw his father, he was eight years old.

Growing up without a dad was “incredibly hard,” he says, as his mother, Margaret Haigh, struggled to make ends meet on Scott Avenue, one of the poorest streets in the Kennebecasis Valley.

But on that apartment-lined avenue crawling with children, Strowbridge, now 41, remembers then-Fairvale mayor Jigs Miller stopping by to talk to residents. His pockets were always filled with candy.

I was always fascinated by him, and politics,” says Strowbridge, who has been a Saint John city councillor for nearly five years. “People would flock to him.

Those early impressions continued to impact Strowbridge, who was born in Newfoundland, as he moved through elementary school. In Grade 6, his teacher orchestrated a mock election between three classes. They organized political parties and ran campaigns.

Strowbridge was elected president.

I dreamed of becoming a politician,” Strowbridge, who represents the east side’s Ward 4, says over a coffee at Tim Hortons on Loch Lomond Road. “I’ve always had a strong sense of community and where I belong.

As Strowbridge got older, his interests temporarily changed direction. Like many youth of his generation, he started to idolize the stars of the World Wrestling Federation, now known as the WWE. Posters of Hulk Hogan plastered his walls.

It was my religion growing up,” he says, adding he now connects his fondness for Hulk Hogan to the lack of a father figure in his life.

By the age of 16, Strowbridge made the “stupid” decision of dropping out of high school to pursue a wrestling career. He attended “wrestling school” in Moncton.

It wasn’t long before Strowbridge says he realized he wasn’t good, adding he returned to school and got his diploma a short time later.

I wouldn’t make it to Wrestlemania,” he says with a laugh. “It was a really big growing up moment.

Still, Strowbridge maintained his passion for wrestling, making appearances in Atlantic Grand Prix Wrestling. He took on the persona of “Teddy Too Sweet Champagne,” a drag queen dressed in pink with a feather boa. The idea is to get a strong reaction from the crowd by getting fans to either love you or hate you, he says. Strowbridge was a “good guy.

It’s now been about 10 years since he has wrestled, though “they keep asking me to come back,” he says.

Strowbridge, who has been a paramedic for 20 years, says he has never taken any heat for his unique interest in wrestling.

Most people think it’s pretty cool,” he says, adding many locals who follow the wrestling scene remember his “Too Sweet” persona.

Fast forward to 2012, and Strowbridge threw his hat in the running for council after spending time on his now 11-year-old daughter Brooklyn’s Parent School Support Committee. The political fire in his belly never burned out, he says.

That first term on council under former mayor Mel Norton was an intense experience for the political rookie, as the politicians navigated one problem to the next – whether it was the desperate need for pension reform or securing funding for the city’s massive drinking water system overhaul.

So far, Strowbridge says this second term under Mayor Don Darling is rather quiet in comparison. It’s not as easy to point to big accomplishments in the first few months of this mandate, he adds.

The thing is, we don’t have any huge, crippling problems,” he says. “We’re like hungry soldiers looking for a fight, but there isn’t one. There are no big wins, because there are no big problems.

Strowbridge says there is a definite difference in the leadership styles of both Darling and Norton, but he doesn’t see that as a problem. Darling is not as “strict” in meetings as Norton was, for example. And Darling “doesn’t micro-manage.

With fewer problems to tackle, Strowbridge says he sometimes struggles with how to focus his energy. But he has found a happy medium in focusing on local neighbourhood needs.

He’s eager to see a splash pad built in the Forest Hills area, for example.

And he has just received word that the city will set aside $10,000 from its capital budget to build a dog park and shelter at the Little River Reservoir. These are the things he hears about when he goes door to door, he says.

They’re tangible – they matter.

A member of the city’s growth committee, Strowbridge says Saint John residents need to stop comparing themselves to the outlying communities.

We will always be more expensive because we’re bigger,” he says. It also doesn’t make sense to compare the city to Moncton, which is geographically smaller than Saint John.

Council recently voted to hold the tax rate, which hasn’t changed from $1.785 per $100 of assessed value for nine years. Strowbridge believes it doesn’t make sense to drop it by a cent for the sake of a few dollars in savings for each resident when the city’s revenues would drop by $673,000.

Why don’t you keep your $20 and pave roads, or improve a park. Taking $20 off my tax bill is an insult to me. Why not keep that money and invest in something that matters?

 

Mom ecstatic as boy gets gift of health – Telegraph-Journal

By April Cunningham

Zackary Shaw may not make it home for Christmas, but he’s already received the greatest gift.

After years of battling leukemia, including a second diagnosis last spring, the nine-year-old from Back Bay, near St. George, has just received news that an umbilical cord stem cell transplant was a success.

“My heart is exploding with so much happiness right now,” says his mother, Courtney Shaw, who remains with Zack at Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto, on Thursday. “It was the best feeling in the world to tell him he fought cancer for the second time. There are no words to describe what I’m feeling.”

Preliminary results from Zackary’s October stem cell transplant were a 100 per cent match, Shaw says, meaning his old cancer cells are gone and he is completely cancer-free.

The news could not have come at a better time for Zackary and his parents, who have spent months in Toronto after a series of intense chemotherapy and radiation treatments leading up to the transplant.

He was diagnosed with chemotherapy for the second time in May, just seven months after finishing treatments. This time, the cancer had spread through his blood, chromosome 21, brain and spinal fluid and his bone marrow.

But just as Zackary and his mother hoped he would be given the all-clear to return home to the Maritimes in time for Christmas, a series of infections led to his readmittance to hospital.

Shaw, who has been forced to keep her chin up, saying positive through the battery of tests, treatments and pain she has been forced to watch her son endure for the past four years, called it “just another bump in the road.”

What was once a Christmas wish to return home to St. George, west of Saint John, faded to a slim hope of even making it as far as Halifax, where Zackary would remain close to pediatric oncologists at the IWK and where they could reunite with his sisters, Jennika, 14, and Harley, 4, who remain in St. George.

“We aren’t sure when we’ll be home,” Courtney says. “But if we don’t make it, we will Skype the girls Christmas morning from here.”

The latest setback had wiped Zackary’s typical sweet, demure smile from his face — aside from the day he had the chance to meet a few members of the Toronto Maple Leafs, his mother says. He was downtrodden, leaving his mother to make any attempt she could to bring a smile to his face, as they played “Russian roulette” with his fragile immune system.

This latest news was the lift he needed.

******

Back in 2012, Zackary had been lethargic and ill for months, and while his doctors thought he had throat and ear infections, the antibiotics they prescribed weren’t doing a thing. They finally sent him for bloodwork.

“I got the phonecall at work,” Shaw says in an interview over Facebook video chat, Zackary snuggled next to her. She was just a few days into her new job as a Charlotte County physiotherapist when she received the news that her four-year-old son had leukemia. “I couldn’t even go home to pack my bags. They wanted him straight through to Saint John, and at 4 a.m. the following morning we went by ambulance to Halifax.”

It was scary, Courtney says, but she put her trust in doctors and the healthcare system.

“When you’re going through this, you don’t know what to expect,” she says. “It was all a foreign language to me.”

Little did she know she was entering a medical world she would become only too familiar with over the coming years, as they ferried Zackary back and forth between Saint John and Halifax for nearly four years.

He finished his final treatment on October 17, 2015.

Only a few months later, on May 30, the cancer was back.

It seemed to come out of nowhere, Courtney adds, since only six days prior, Zackary’s weekly test results were completely clean.

“Then he started having signs of weakness in his arms,” she says, adding it was a symptom of infection. “He couldn’t write, or pick up his chair at school to put it on his desk at the end of the day.”

Zackary was at his father’s house one day — his parents are separated — and he went to the Saint John Regional Hospital for bloodwork to see what was behind the weakness.

Once again, Courtney got the call at work. “He had relapsed. This time, it was a more intense diagnosis,” she says. “That’s why he needed the bone marrow transplant.”

Although Courtney and Zackary’s father, Jaret Wentworth, were told he would likely need the transplant, they were warned that even with 28 billion people on the registry, the chances of a match are rare.

One day before the St. George community organized a September bone marrow clinic — which attracted nearly 200 people willing to add their names to the registry — officials found two matches suitable for Zackary.

What ended up being the selected match came from the umbilical cord blood of a baby boy, which they hoped would make Zackary healthy again.

In a process that only took 25 minutes, the small bag of blood dripped through the lines in Zackary’s chest, leaving what Courtney describes as a strange yet pungent odour or cream corn in the hospital room for days after the transfusion, Courtney says. The smell leaked from her son’s pores.

******

Ask Zackary his age, and he jokes that he’s 100 years old.

What does he want for Christmas?

He shakes his head, looking down. “Nothing.”

The past few weeks have left a boy that his mother describes as “always playing, always on the move,” utterly depleted.

“He was very, very sick this time around,” she says of the second diagnosis. “He just didn’t have the energy to do anything.”

He lost his hair much faster, too.

The first time Zackary was diagnosed with leukemia, life because a series of predictable tests and treatments. But nothing has been predictable about these past few months, Courtney says.

“It’s been one disaster after another. Bad news upon bad news. So when we get good news, we’re like, ‘Finally.’”

As a mother, Courtney says the entire journey through cancer, the disease that can only be described by expletives, has been a lesson in patience.

“Doctors are slow,” Zackary chimes in. Courtney laughs.

“There’s never a true answer,” she says. “There’s always a possibility of something else happening. There’s always a waiting game. It’s one test to the next.”

Courtney has her down moments, for sure, but staying positive is so important, she says. In fact, it’s the only way to soldier on.

“No parent wants to see their child suffer,” she says, eyes welling up with tears. “It can get emotionally hard sometimes. But you just keep going. Life doesn’t stop.”

A new chapter

My very first job in journalism was to write feature stories about the Bruce Peninsula for the local tourism organization sometime around the year 2001. It was a student’s dream job: all kinds of latitude and time to write about the beautiful land I grew up in. I learned how to generate stories, how to interview, how to use the inverted pyramid, and I realized that writing, a thing I loved, could become a path to a career.

My editor was Phil McNichol, a retired journalist from the Owen Sound Sun Times. He would land in the office with his dog and a straw hat, and cut through my writing with a red pen. It hurt, but it was a necessary pain. I had to learn that I may have been a decent writer, but I had a lot to learn. I could always get better.

We grew quite close that summer, as he figured out I had thin skin but someone with passion and a drive to make a difference. I started thinking about applying to journalism school.

But he warned me, clear as day: Journalism can be amazing, but hard. It can be a grind. It’s not your job to make friends. The pay isn’t great, and you put in way too many hours with no thanks. It can take over your life and use up all your head space, hurting your personal relationships.

I heard him, and I felt a little concerned. But I grew up on a farm, and all of it sounded vaguely familiar. On a farm, there is no such thing as 9 to 5. Stress is a given. Hard work is valued. Because what you do is important. It has meaning. And money isn’t everything.

Still, I wasn’t sure I was cut out for journalism, especially in the big city. So I went to Wilfrid Laurier University and took Communication Studies. I got involved in the Cord, the student paper, and quickly got addicted to the news business. I was proud of the fact that I pulled all-nighters every week on production night. I loved running out of class to get an all-important interview with the university president. I loved challenging norms and asking tough questions of the student union. There was nothing like seeing people reading my articles in the student lounge. This felt like the most important, meaningful work I could pursue. I went on to study journalism at Western, and eventually got intern work at a handful of southern Ontario dailies.

In 2009,  when the Waterloo Region Record went through a series of lay-offs, I was not spared. Desperate to stay in the business, I sent my resume across Canada, and ended up getting a summer internship at the Telegraph-Journal in Saint John.

I drove 1,600 kilometres in a 1997 Volkswagen Jetta, bringing two cats and a few belongings (including a vacuum and my Canadian Press Style book). I found a furnished apartment and thought I’d give it a go here, for $12 an hour. It was the right time in my life for a big change. Before long, it felt like home.

Over more than six years, I’ve had the privilege to follow many stories, big and small. I’ve written about everything from stray cats to crime and city politics. I’ve interviewed mascots and premiers and war veterans and police. I’ve laughed and cried with my interview subjects. I’ve convinced them to tell me their stories, their secrets, their frustrations and fears.

Having the chance to craft and share these stories has been a true honour.

But life happens, and times change.

I still love journalism. I believe in its power to provoke, move and entertain. Community journalism is particularly important as the world gets smaller, and the channels of communication become more cluttered. We need a way to make sense of our world, and our place in it.

Yesterday morning, I clicked on my voice recorder and flipped to a clean page in my Telegraph-Journal notebook for the last time. It was a fairly typical day, but I find it fitting that my last interview as a city hall reporter was with the mayor.

In my new job at AdvocateDaily, I will still be writing and interviewing experts on a variety of legal topics. I’ll be building sources in a new way. But I will no longer be a newspaper reporter – something I once believed I was destined to do for a very long time.

Still, I’m thrilled to have a new opportunity at my feet. A chance to build new skills and put my existing ones to the test. I’m ready for a change.

To everyone at the Telegraph-Journal and throughout Greater Saint John, please know I am forever indebted to you for welcoming a girl “from away” and accepting her as your own. For allowing her to participate in the community from such an incredible standpoint. For allowing her to ask questions and trusting her with your words.

Signing off for now,

@reporterapril

If I could run…

This past weekend included three New Brunswick races that would have been so great to participate in:

– The St. Andrews Father’s Day 5-Miler

– The 3-km memorial run for RCMP officers gunned down in Moncton on June 4

– The Bay of Fundy Marathon (between Maine and NB)

Lucky for me, I got to tag along with my husband and friends who ran the St. Andrews road race. Once again, I was in the cheering section, watching my baby daddy gallop along the pretty streets of St. Andrews on the Passamaquoddy Bay.

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A bagpiper serenades runners along Water Street in St. Andrews.

It appears to be a challenging course, with a “lung-burner” hill near around the fourth mile. It was also slightly windy, misty and humid on Sunday, making for less-than-ideal conditions. Still, it was fun to be apart of the event, watching friends make that awe-inspiring run toward the finish line. Just another bit of inspiration for me to get back at, hopefully a few weeks after our baby is born toward the end of June.

The Bay of Fundy Marathon just sounds cool. I want to add it to my running bucket list. When else could you cross an international border over the course of a run? It’s a Boston-qualifier, includes a 10-K, and seems to cover a picturesque course between Lubec, Maine and Campobello Island, NB. One to mark on next year’s calendar, for sure.

As for the Moncton run, an estimated 7,000 people showed up on Sunday to walk, run and cycle, raising an estimated $100,000 for the fallen Mounties’ families, according to media reports.

I – like many New Brunswickers, and indeed Canadians – felt deeply impacted by the Moncton shootings. I wrote stories from the Saint John newsroom (only about an hour away), including on my last day of work before maternity leave, when I co-wrote an obituary piece on Const. Doug Larche, one of the three slain officers. As well as a treasured father, husband and police investigator, Larche was a runner. He landed a personal best half-marathon time in Fredericton this spring at 1:41:40 (an impressive time, considering many runners, including me, struggle to get under the two-hour mark). Just another reason why these shootings still feel close to home.

Easing into maternity leave

April Cunningham

Telegraph-Journal

SAINT JOHN – 

For the past five years, I’ve capped off most days by writing a couple of these, followed by the news. When you have something on the screen, it’s easier to get started on the story.

Now I have a whole year of parental leave. A year to learn a new skill that I hope makes me better at everything: motherhood. (Can you add that to LinkedIn?). On Friday, after a whirlwind news week for New Brunswick, I said so-long to my work mates and headed for home.

It will be such an adjustment to focus away from news and inward toward family for the new several months. So far, about one week in, I am loving it.

With less than two weeks to go before we meet our baby, I have been bustling with energy, trying to get our home ready. I am a real list person and there are sticky notes everywhere. I have been cleaning, shopping and gardening. By the end of every day, I’m exhausted.

I planted some herbs on our deck as well as a mini-vegetable garden in our back yard.
I planted some herbs on our deck as well as a mini-vegetable garden in our back yard.

 

I’m still trying to go for walks at least a few times a week to keep active and fit. With this beautiful June weather, it’s not hard to find an excuse to get outside. A couple days ago, as I walked (ambled?) through our neighbourhood, another mother pushing a stroller yelled out “You go girl!” from across the street. It encouraged me to continue at a much brisker pace than normal.

Today, halfway through my walk, I got some pain through my back and couldn’t wait to get home. At first I thought it might be the start of… something. But I think I was just sore and tired. It’s always an interesting balance, keeping fit while pregnant.

Visiting Cavendish, PEI, at 36.5 weeks.
Visiting Cavendish, PEI, at 36.5 weeks.

If the baby comes by the due date (June 25), that means there are only 13 days to go. It will be gone in a flash.

My goal is to get my to-do lists taken care of now so I can relax with my husband for the rest of our pre-baby time.

What a blessing this pregnancy has been. I’m ready for motherhood. Bring it on!

Another reason to run

One dark, January evening eight months ago, I was trying to get my stories finished at work and get home at a decent hour. It was close to 5 p.m. when my cellphone rang with a tip.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but go to Martha Avenue,” my source said. “You’ll get the biggest story since Dick Oland.”

As if, I thought. Nothing could be bigger than the Oland murder, an unsolved case involving the Moosehead Breweries family that rocked the city two years ago.

Still, I thought it should be checked out. I called more sources, who acted shifty when I asked what was going on at Martha Avenue. A photographer’s sixth sense kicked in, and was eager to tag along with me to the scene. Off we went.

We parked at the top of a knoll, out of sight of police who were arriving on the quiet, residential street. The officers walked in a duplex in plain clothes. Within a couple minutes they walked out with a man in cuffs. Cindy, the photographer, burst out of the car and snapped away furiously.

She showed me her preview screen. The image was grainy in the failing light. But my stomach dropped.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” I said, trembling. “It’s Donnie. It’s Donnie Snook.”

It was sickening. It was the same city councillor I had spoken to dozens of times before. And somehow, I instantly knew why. The rumours were true. He was sexually abusing little kids.

The Telegraph-Journal the day after Snook's arrest, Jan. 10, 2013
The Telegraph-Journal the day after Snook’s arrest, Jan. 10, 2013

I could barely operate my phone to call my editor at the newsroom to explain what we saw. A few minutes later, I confirmed it was the RCMP’s Internet Child Exploitation unit who made the arrest. We all hoped it was a mistake.

This past week, it was confirmed once and for all that it wasn’t.

For two full days in court, we heard stomach-turning details about Snook’s crimes. He admitted to his guilt on 46 charges on 17 male victims over the past 12 years.

The betrayal this community is feeling is palpable. I sense it in so many people I speak to on a regular basis. There is a lot of anger too. But most of all, a sense of loss. The loss of innocence in all those children, who only needed someone to love.

One mother told me it felt like someone had died when she found out Snook had taken sordid videos of her son. I heard her cry in court as Snook promised he never disseminated those videos online. There’s no proof, but we’ll probably never know for sure.

My job is to report these things. I am only the messenger. But I can’t help but feel drained, empty, and sick after telling these stories. I hesitate to express how all of these affects me personally, because I feel like I have no right after the horror so many others have gone through.

This is why I run. I run to turn what would otherwise be tears into sweat. To turn negative, hopeless energy and sadness for humanity into something more positive. The longer the run, the better.

long run