I recently learned of the passing of someone I consider to be an Internet personality, named Glenn Harwood. There’s an online obituary for Glenn here. If you read it, you might observe that it says nothing about him being an Internet personality. But please let me explain.
A number of years ago, I attended a special event commemorating a major milestone for some dear close friends, when I met a special person named Glenn Harwood. Glenn was probably in his late 60’s when I first met him, and he’d been battling Lou Gehrig’s disease, and with the most amazing optimism – from my vantage point, that’s how I saw it. He told me he’d been involved with the Muscular Dystrophy Association, and the Jerry Lewis telethon. He’d been to Hollywood, California and had been on the famous annual broadcast several times.
During the party, Glenn told me of his newsletter that he called “MY! Sunday Bulletin” (complete with the red letters), and it ran with the slogan “Can’t Walk or Talk, but Can Always Laugh”.
From the next several years, like clockwork, I received an issue of his Sunday Bulletin every Sunday. I had to chuckle at first, because it reminded me of my own newsletter I sent out years ago. Mine was a part of a web presence I’d created called the FIDO – the Family Internet Directory Online. FIDO was a labor of love of mine that I ran from 1995 to 1997, and my newsletter had built a subscriber base in excess of 8,000 readers at the peak, but in July 1997 I had to abruptly stop when my mother became very ill. Eventually she made a full recovery – and is still with us, thankfully. But it was a long road, and I never returned to the old FIDO newsletter.
So Glenn’s Sunday Bulletin brought back a lot of fond memories for me. And it was hysterical! Now folks – those of us who have been using email for more than twenty minutes all have friends who send us emails with jokes or something, and it’s always fun – at first – and can sometimes overload your inbox. But Glenn’s email newsletter was nothing like that. It was, well – a publication, with a body of funny stories, one-liners as “footnotes”, and cartoons in the margins. It arrived on schedule, every Sunday. He featured seasonal editions and special greetings. Glenn’s newsletter was an event, it was a part of the culture among those who knew him. I grew to love it, and quoted from it to friends, and periodically wrote Glenn to tell him so.
A few Sundays ago, the newsletters stopped. Shortly after, Glenn’s family distributed a note announcing what had happened.
And my Sundays are more somber now, as I look in my inbox for something that isn’t there, and reflect on the life of a many with Lou Gehrig’s disease who managed to overcome his physical disabilities through the power of the Internet, and reach out via email to make the lives of others happy and pleasant.
Glenn Harwood was a class act. I miss him.