I’ve been writing for 42 years. Most of the people I write about aren’t famous or newsworthy.

Yet they’re the fabric of the community.

Decades in the business have taught me that big news, the stories that get all the attention, tend to blend into each other after a while. But the stories that linger? They’re the quiet ones revealing our humanity. I was reminded of this after receiving an email from the daughter of a man I wrote about.

“Hi, Tom. I just wanted to let you know that my dad, Chuck Bleeg, passed away at home on Saturday. In his last week of life, unable to stand or do much for himself, he was still talking about getting a garage built at the beach. He loved the article you wrote about him, and we’re all glad that his inspirational story will remain on the internet long after he’s gone.

Thank you,

Sarah

As the year draws to a close, I thought about some of the stories I wrote in 2018. You may have read some. If not, you’ll find excerpts and a link to full columns here.

Last week, I called Sarah Bleeg to tell her I planned to include her father on the list.

“I used part of the story in my eulogy,” she said. “Because of the story and how it touched people, we heard from people we did not know. It meant that dad mattered to other people as much as he mattered to us.”

We talked about her dad and other people I’ve written about.

“We are all part of the story,” she said. “We are all getting through life the best we can. Stories are what give us our sense of being. A story is the thread that connects us all.”

THE SALESMAN

Chuck Bleeg, pushing 97, suffered a stroke last year. The man has no reason to come to work at a business that no longer needs him. The truth is that Bleeg needs the business.

So, there he was, with a cane in his right hand and his daughter's hand on his left shoulder as he climbed the steps to his office.

He gingerly made his way to sit behind a cluttered desk and stare out the window and what he calls "The Lot," a used car lot bearing his name in the 1500 block of Northeast Sandy Boulevard.

He's owned it and worked there for 53 years. To sit in that quiet office with Bleeg, not intruding in the silence, is to be reminded that all of us, if we're fortunate, have something like The Lot in our lives.

Full story.

THE GIVERS

Earlier this year, hundreds of women pooled their money, each giving $1,000 to make a difference in the Portland community.

Soon, they'll give it away.

All $400,000.

And then they'll start again for next year.

Three nonprofit organizations each will get $100,000. Eight others will receive either $20,000 or $12,200.

Full story.

THE DRUMMER

During his long life, Frank Walsh has accomplished more than most ever will in the time given. He found great love, raised a family, served his country in World War II and taught in schools for decades.

And yet at 94, he had a crazy dream.

He wanted to play with a high school band.

Being around the students would make him feel young again.

But he had no musical background. Besides, what high school band would welcome an old man with a walker?

Full story.

THE BAKER

When she was 9 months old, doctors removed a tumor in Carina Comer's brain that left her blind in one eye and with limited sight in the other.

She was 7 when the tumor returned and she had to travel weekly from her Connecticut home to spend days in a Boston hospital for radiation treatment.

Her parents cried and raged against the unfairness of it all.

But in private.

They vowed to prove to their daughter, the youngest of two kids, that she was capable. They never allowed her to wallow in self-pity even though the world considered her just a blind girl.

Full story.

https://www.oregonlive.com/portland/index.ssf/2018/05/the_dream_that_ended_with_a_gu.html

THE PLANT

Not a day goes by in this city without someone arriving at a hospital carrying a plant as a way to show they care. Some plants leave with the patient. Some get thrown out.

This one stayed.

To find it, wind through a series of hallways and take the elevator up to 5W, the oncology wing at Providence St. Vincent Medical Center. The plant, a spindly palm about 3 feet tall, is in the corner of a small room used by families who need a place to reflect on the journey of those they love.

Long ago, a woman dropped the plant off on 5W.

And there it grew.

For 21 years.

Full story.

THE LETTER

The letter should have been mailed more than 40 years ago.

It wasn't.

When it arrived three weeks ago, it could have been thrown out.

It wasn't.

Everything connected with this letter seems a mistake.

It isn't.

Full story.

THE VOLUNTEER

Most people who sign up to do hospital volunteer work request gigs far from the gritty side. They lead tours, provide directions at the front desk and ring up purchases in the gift shop.

Two years ago, though, the volunteer services department at Providence St. Vincent Medical Center received an unusual application.

Connor Dyer, who served in the Marines, asked if he could volunteer in the emergency room of the Southwest Portland hospital. He filled out the necessary paperwork passed a background check and came in for an interview. All went well. After receiving training, Dyer started cleaning rooms in the ER.

Full story.

THE KITTEN

Big John was the guy you wanted by your side. At 6-foot-2 and a solid 290 pounds, the 64-year-old retired iron worker would enter the room and people would straighten up.

What people didn't see was John Ruby's tenderness, revealed whenever he was with the pets that he and his wife, Melodie, cared for at their home in Mosier, a small community near The Dalles.

When he had things to mull over, maybe concerns not yet ready to discuss with his wife, he'd turn reflective and seek the company of the couple's three cats, two horses and a dog. He showered them with treats, but more importantly, with kind words and a gentle touch.

He frequently told his wife that when his time came, and they assumed it was a way off, he wished to return from the afterlife as an animal. He found comfort in how they unconditionally gave and received love.

It's understandable if you don't believe in such things.

But then you don't know about the kitten they call Little John.

Full story.

THE FIGHTER

I sat in a hospital lobby to meet a woman who I believed could teach me about what it takes to survive. She got dealt a lousy hand, had every reason to quit but didn't.

In 2005, Becky Roth's dentist discovered a white spot on her tongue. It was benign, but five years later another spot led to the discovery of a tumor at the base of her tongue and jaw.

"She had what I call old-man's disease," said Dr. Bryan Bell, co-director of the head and neck cancer program and clinic at Providence Cancer Institute. "Most patients are men in their 70s who've spent their lives drinking and smoking."

Roth, now 54, never smoked, rarely drank and was in excellent physical shape.

"This was a genetic accident," Bell said. "The survival rate from this kind of reoccurring kind of cancer is low. Becky met this journey with grace and courage. The patient taught me, the doctor, something."

Full story.

---Tom Hallman Jr.

thallman@oregonian.com; 503 221-8224

@thallmanjr