Sometimes it’s fun to be a magazine publisher. Sometimes it’s sad. Every person I meet is a potential story. Every little event I encounter could be a column.

First, the fun. I got to meet Cheech Marin, the actor we featured in the last issue because his art exhibit, Chicano, is being displayed at the Indiana State Museum. The day before the exhibit opened, members of the media (and that includes me!) were invited to meet Cheech and have him take us on a tour of the whole exhibit. It was fascinating! There is a lot to learn from this kind of exhibit. The main point Cheech (right, pictured with Martha) made while he took us on the tour is that Mexican-American culture is all around us, from the names of cities (San Antonio, Los Angeles, for example) to the types of clothing and food we enjoy. His exhibit is not to put Mexican-American influence into our everyday lives; it’s already there. He wants to raise awareness and appreciation for Chicano artwork and styles.

Second, the sad. A couple of years ago, I met a kind and wonderful old gentleman named Herman Rodeffer (left) at the Blue Moon Restaurant in Losantville. He had a gentle way about him, and my husband had known him for years. Then I got to get to know him. Soon, we were sharing his table, listening to him talk about serving in the war. My stepson remembers him telling the story of how he fell out of a tree; he did the "tuck and roll" procedure he’d learned in the service and he hardly got hurt!

He had been diagnosed with throat cancer and was given three years to live. That was in 1948. Obviously he defied the medical professionals. He said he simply changed his diet. Several years ago, he was diagnosed with bone cancer. This time, like the last, he refused chemotherapy. "That’s what killed my wife," he told me. Instead he found a plant dirivative from Brazil and started taking that. His cancer cell count went down! For years, he kept on living, eating at the Blue Moon in Losantville for most of his meals.

Not too long ago, because he was feeling so well, he stopped taking his alternative medicine. And almost immediately his cancer cell count went up. His health went down. My son Spence and I went to visit him once in the hospital, where he was weak, but still smiling. He was in a lot of pain but he kept a good attitude.

It was just a matter of weeks after he was put in a nursing home that Herman was gone. The saddest part is that I had been busy with deadlines and hadn’t read the paper, so I missed his obituary and his funeral.