It's Mother's Day: Meet the best person I've ever known

It's Mother's Day. And on this special day, I reflect on the best person I have ever known – Viola LoBaido. Nobody even comes close. She was the mother who adopted me. The mother who gave me everything she could during her time on Earth. The mother who promised she'd look out for me from…

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It's Mother's Day. And on this special day, I reflect on the best person I have ever known – Viola LoBaido. Nobody even comes close. She was the mother who adopted me. The mother who gave me everything she could during her time on Earth. The mother who promised she'd look out for me from the great beyond.

It was long ago. … When I was 11 years old the internet was waiting for us decades into the future. There were no iPads. No Roblox. A mouse pad was merely a hole in the wall. There were only three TV stations – ABC, NBC and CBS – and they all went off the air at midnight.

With such limited choices, at night during the summers, I would stay up late with my parents listening to baseball games. Those games were dialed in on the radio from Anaheim, California – 3,000 miles across the continent from Long Island, New York. Yankees vs. Angels.

I listened in on the exploits of my childhood heroes: California Angels pitchers Frank Tanana and Nolan Ryan. (Viola called him "Nyland Roland" for reasons we never really understood.)

Baseball was a big part of my life back then – until a horrific injury derailed me. Amid the heat and humidity of July and August, I used to mow our lawn while adjusting the height of the mower to get that special checkerboard effect I saw in the outfield of the California Angels Major League Baseball Stadium. Viola would look at the immaculately manicured lawn and say, "If I had one wish, I'd wish I had 10 sons just like you, Anthony."

The Angels' checkerboard outfield

"Nyland Roland"

Dialing in the Angels baseball games remains a salient analogy for life – how we need to tune into the ideas, thoughts, moods, feelings and tones of others, and those of ourselves. Constant micro-adjustments are required to achieve synchronicity.

It also reminds me of the promise Viola made to me just before she slipped into a coma and passed away: as noted, that she would check in on me from time to time, and watch out for me from the afterlife, if she could. Viola believed each person has a guardian angel that records our deeds, both good and bad, every night at 3 a.m. Since my guardian angel (resembling Natasha Henstridge in "Species") had appeared to me when I was a very little boy, I believed Viola implicitly. I'm not alone. PBS reports 7 out of 10 Americans believe in angels – including 94% of Evangelical Protestants and 82% of Catholics.

Time is like a river

It's the little things you remember. Things your mother made sure you had. Often they were the things money cannot buy. Viola grew up in abject poverty, so she was the master of conjuring such things.

I remember the smells: My mother's eggplant parmesan stuffed with ricotta, a dish her own mother had first made in Italy back in 1899. The (later baked) clams we dug out from the muddy bottom of the Great South Bay. Spicy Italian sausages sizzling outside on the charcoal BBQ. The freshly cut grass, as noted.

The sounds: the Fire Island surf – one of the most pristine white sandy beaches in the United States. The random bolts of lightning hitting the canal next to our lovely home, or striking the golf course beyond the canal. The opening bell of the stock market on Wall Street. The horn for the basketball substitutions.

The sights: The blinking of the Christmas tree lights. The fire crackling in the real brick fireplace. The Robert Moses Causeway in the distance. It was not unlike Huckleberry Finn – still an innocent time.

The way TV shaped us: "The Six Million Dollar Man." "The Love Boat." "The Bionic Woman." Charlie Brown's Christmas Special. Rudolph's Christmas Special. Movies like "The Robe." They all meant so much. People said "Sir" and "Ma'am.'" Great things were expected. This was because great things often happened. And they happened because the people around you were hard-working, smart, sharp, talented and positive.

My mother had one rule, "Never be unkind." My father said, "If you misuse the talents God gives you, you will wind up unhappy and in the wrong place." My grandmother, my mother's mother, Antoinette, told me, "The exact same measure you use to help others, God will use that same measure on you." She said, "Always take pride in the work you do, the risks you take and all you sacrifice in order to help others." And, "Only be ashamed if you hurt other people." Viola told me all the good in her came from Antoinette.

We were lucky. My father built our house. We had a swimming pool. Often, we had white Christmases. My mother was beautiful and glamorous like a movie star. She was trained in Italy as a chef – when my father was stationed overseas with the Military Police, running a jail without a computer.

There were athletics: New York Yankees vs. Boston Red Sox in "Game 163," the sudden death playoff called "the greatest baseball game ever played." Skating at Argyle Park in Babylon while playing ice hockey and choosing up sides as "Rangers" vs. "Islanders" of NHL fame. Football. Track and Field.

We had a terrific Little League. Our team, the Braves, won the championship when I was 11. I was a left-handed pitcher. I emulated my heroes from the New York Mets – like Tug McGraw (father of the famous Country Western singer Tim McGraw) and All Star Jon Matlack (whose lovely and bright daughter, Jennifer Matlack, became my student when I was working on my Ph.D. and teaching at Texas A&M).

There were the random adventures: hiking the Nathan Hale Trail in the Boy Scouts. Surviving Hurricane Belle. (Our home was eventually put under the Great South Bay by Hurricane Sandy. And we returned to Long Island to visit that same house and meet the people who outlasted Sandy.) Riding our bicycles for miles to check on the "Amityville Horror" home. My mother's law firm did a real estate deal for that house – which spawned the Hollywood film and many sequels. Viola personally prepared all the paperwork.

High school years

A coed at our high school – St. John the Baptist in West Islip, New York – named Laurette Holdridge, was actually from Amityville. She was glamorous and quite the looker. My mother met her at our high school and said, "Young lady, I do believe you might be the most beautiful blonde girl in the history of Long Island." That was Viola – always praising and lifting up others while leaving an indelible imprint.

At our 20-year high school reunion, Laurette found me. I said, "There are only three times in my life my jaw dropped wide open. First, when I saw my guardian angel when I was 3 or 4 years old. Second, when I went to Victoria Falls in Africa. And third, the first time I saw you, Laurette …"

And Laurette said: "Anthony LoBaido, you have more personality than every other person at this reunion put together." And I would have to say, that might be the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me.

Karen Kennedy was a beautiful, kind, sweet and humble black girl at our high school. My mother also met her and said, "Well, I do believe I'm looking at the next Homecoming Queen …"

At Homecoming of our senior year, I caught a pass in the end zone as a wide receiver. My mother and father were there to cheer me on. That same day, Karen was voted the Homecoming Queen. There are many reasons one might see her crown at an almost all-white school as a wonderful thing. Mainly, I recall the joy Viola found in Karen's moment, as she said, "God exalts the humble and resists the proud."

Stanford vs. Arizona State

One of my dreams was to play in the Rose Bowl for Stanford University – with my parents on hand to watch in Pasadena. I ran track and won the gold medal in the 200 meters and the 4 X 100 meter relay. I was 6-foot-3 and could run the 40 yard dash in 4.55 seconds. I could jump and hang on a 10-foot basketball rim with both hands. I caught 11 out of 11 passes in our pre-season scrimmage against Sayville. Stanford really liked me as a wide receiver – but I didn't have the grades in Geometry and Spanish to get in.

My father offered his brand of wisdom; "If you're not enough without it, you'll never be enough with it."

Viola, ever positive, said, "Anthony, I promise one day you will prove you are Stanford material."

Stanford was replaced by the never-ending carnival at Arizona State. There were weekends in San Diego and at the Grand Canyon. I was working in Mexico for the Tempe Daily News and the Arizona Republic as a journalist while still a student. My first job after graduation was covering Major League Spring Training in Mesa, Arizona. I learned a lot from the Major League players, a pantheon of heroes appearing on the baseball cards I collected during my childhood and teen years. I always had the best of everything.

At Arizona State, I met our head football coach, John Cooper. He taught me one of life's key lessons – it can take decades for your dreams to come true. He explained how he grew up poor and thus had to "walk five miles towards town just to be in the boondocks." How his wife Helen had supported him by working at a bank when he was a young coach. And how he had promised Helen he would make it big in coaching (College Football Hall of Fame) and give her the world. He kept that promise at Ohio State – after he led Arizona State to victory over Michigan in the 1987 Rose Bowl. When I told him in his office that the Sun Devils were made in his image, taking on his personality and character, he couldn't help but smile. Some of these Cooper-LoBaido interactions were memorialized in the Arizona State Press school newspaper.

It is astonishing when you meet people from Ohio and ask them about John Cooper, how he is still so admired in the Buckeye State. He reminded me of my high school football coach, J. Byrne Gamble, who led us to the New York State Championship in an undefeated season our senior year. Just as John Cooper has Helen, Mr. Gamble has his lovely wife, Judy, who is also beloved and a pillar of the community.

My mother also met John Cooper. And they found common ground, as they both had grown up so poor. It was impossible to discern which one had grown up with less. Beyond that, Mr. Cooper had this stunning assistant, Mrs. Schaeffer, and she reminds me of the actress Courteney Cox of TV's "Friends" and the film "3,000 Miles to Graceland." Mrs. Schaeffer had this electrifying smile, and everyone loved her.

Viola was taken with Mrs. Schaeffer and told her, "I do believe you must be the most beautiful brunette in the entire world!" Later on, Mrs. Schaeffer told me it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

More than once, Mrs. Schaeffer asked me, "Do you think you would be having this much fun at Stanford?"

Anthony LoBaido Sr. and Viola LoBaido

Ann Bruno

My parents died within 16-weeks of each other. They were one in life and one in death. I was the sole caregiver for 18 months. My mother died of liver cancer. My father had been on kidney dialysis, but basically died of a broken heart. During those 18 months, no one helped me, even for five minutes. But that was fine. My parents and I had so many laughs and many great times, even in those difficult days.

I was able to cook and clean for them, and cater to their every need and whim. It was my honor to do so – as a man, as a Christian and as my parents' son …

I remember just before she fell into her coma and passed away. I asked Viola, if she could watch over me, help me and visit me from the other side, would she do so?

And Viola said, "Yes, of course I will …"

Viola died around Mother's Day. My father died soon after, around Halloween. One in life, one in death.

After they died, I missed my parents terribly. They were everything to me. They were the primary motivation I had to achieve the things I did in academia, as an international correspondent and photographer. Years passed. And they were hard years, as I struggled to find the strength to go on without them. There were many turning points, especially one day, when I received an email from a particular WND reader.

She wrote: "Dear Mr. LoBaido: You don't know me. My name is Ann Bruno. I have been busy reading your journalism stories. Digging up the landmines in Cambodia with Aki Ra. Helping the abused and injured elephants in Thailand with Lek Chailert. British Armed Forces Jungle Warfare Training in Belize. Noah's Ark on Mt. Ararat in Turkey. The Yeti of Nepal. Re-tracing Lawrence of Arabia's trek through Lebanon and Jordan. And many other stories …

"I have just one question for you – are you Viola LoBaido's son? I have to ask, because Viola was my best friend in high school. When I look at all of the things you have done, I have to wonder that only a person raised and nurtured by Viola could have accomplished those things – continued on that path, endured, showed resilience, kindness, courage and honor. …"

In the ensuing years, Ann and I became quite close. We met in person. She told me many stories about my mother I otherwise would never have known, like how Viola slept in the same bed with three sisters. She didn't have even one toy, and made dolls from rags and a clothes pin with faces drawn on them. (Yet Viola always made sure I had many brand new toys on our white Christmases, as she wanted me to have all the things she never had. That was Viola. She never thought of herself – even once.)

Ann recalled Viola cooking her eggplant Parmesan, fettuccini Alfredo and Cornish game hens with stuffing. How she was so much fun and so positive. As a product of the Christian-era in America, Viola had a heart for the Virgin Mary, God and Jesus Christ. She believed in the sacraments and prayed the rosary. She reflected on Bible stories like Noah's Ark and Samson blinded in Gaza, and their lasting moral relevance.

I felt that somehow, from beyond the grave, Viola had dialed in (like on that old, powerful kitchen radio) and reached out to me through Ann. That helped me to emerge from my own Amityville Horror – the thing all loving children fear most – the death of their beloved parents. (I should note Lek Chailert and Aki Ra both taught me so much, inspired me, gave me the strength to go on and finally turn the page.)

Viola often said my photographs looked like I "stole them from National Geographic." She didn't live long enough to see her son make National Geographic. But somehow, someway, I (and many others) believe she knows I finally did make it. My photographs were later auctioned off at several California-based galas for the St. Jude Children's Hospital for $4,999 each – raising monies for children suffering from various illnesses. That is something my parents would have wanted.

So with all of this in mind, on Mother's Day of 2024, if you are inclined to think of Viola LoBaido, you might dial in the timeless wisdom found in Proverbs 31:30: "Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord shall always be praised."

Viola LoBaido and Anthony LoBaido Sr.

Postscript

I must also mention that David Kupelian, the vice president of WND.com, was the last person to speak on the phone to my mother before she fell into her coma and died. I will always treasure his kindness to Viola during that time. And also his mentorship, helping to guide me through 53 nations around the world and publishing 400 stories as an international correspondent.

Without David and WND's Ron Strom and Joseph Farah, I never would have achieved what I did as a journalist and photographer and made my parents proud in that fashion. My father wanted me to become a professor. And my mother wanted me to become an international journalist and photographer – for the latter had been her dream. But her parents were so poor they couldn't afford to send her to college to study journalism.

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