"People in Pittsburgh are the greatest!"

I heard that comment in a branch of the Monmouth County Library in Eatontown, N.J., a long time ago.

At that time, I was sitting in the lobby, waiting for my family as they selected books. There were two couples talking and I wanted to approach them and boast that I was born and raised in Pittsburgh, that I had the same integrity and generous spirit that were synonymous with most Pittsburghers.

Instead, I sat there and eavesdropped on their conversation. Seems as though the one couple vacationed in my hometown on a regular basis and lauded it to the other couple, who were about to visit for the first time.

Since then, I have met additional people who call Pittsburgh their second home, although they have no ties to it. Once, when I was in the hospital, the nurse assigned to me had visited the city I still call home (despite the fact that I have lived in New Jersey since 1969).

She was a rabid Steelers fan and she and a friend went to one game a year. The nurse, who was wearing a Steelers sweatshirt, told me how friendly the people in Pittsburgh are, how they made her and her friend feel at home, and she attributed it to the fact that Pittsburghers are united by their sports teams. She also said she had visited other cities but had never seen as many "hot men" as she had in Pittsburgh.

I feel a sense of pride when I hear good things about my city and the people who live there.

Last year, though, I had first-hand experience as to how generous and caring the people in Pittsburgh and surrounding areas can be. I had a brain tumor last March. It was benign, thank God, but it did interfere drastically with my life.

As a result of the surgery I had to have extensive speech and physical therapy. My handwriting was sloppy because my hands shook sporadically. I was in the rehab center for nearly a month, then the therapy continued for at least a month more in my New Jersey home.

As a result of my illness, one woman with whom I have been friends for more years than we care to admit now visits my elderly parents in their Pittsburgh assisted-living home on a regular basis. She does this because I can't.

And others...

Well, I graduated from Elizabeth Seton High School in Brookline in 1956. (Yes, Virginia, there was an Elizabeth Seton High School.) Several years ago, the class of '56 fostered a reunion and then decided to meet once a month for dinner. Being as I live in New Jersey, I have never attended. But that didn't stop them from helping me when I needed it most.

Following my surgery and rehab, I started to get checks from individual members of the class of '56. Seems a friend who is an artist, Fran Marze, took some of her artwork to a monthly dinner and sold it, with the suggestion that instead of paying her, they donate the money to me.

Now, I graduated more than 50 years ago and haven't been in contact with most of my high school class since graduation day. I barely remembered some, but they haven't forgotten me and provided most generous checks accompanied by written words of encouragement.

One wrote, "May you be blessed by the warming of the sun, tickled by the buzz of the bees and thrilled by the beautiful smell of the flowers." Another said that if I were in Pittsburgh she "would buy me dinner." And still another wrote that I probably wouldn't remember her. I did.

There were checks from close friends, the girls at my lunch table and classmates with whom I'd had a nodding acquaintance when we were innocent girls. And even one from a woman who wasn't a Setonian, but traveled in the same circle with my former classmates. The amount of the checks didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that they remembered me in such a caring way.

Granted, the graduating class of '56 was not too big, just 80-plus people, and we all knew each other. But to remember one classmate who had such delicate surgery, in my opinion, elevates the level of my former classmates to super beings.

I thank and applaud the women who have helped me by providing financial and moral support. I thank the woman who visits my parents. They truly are solid representatives of the city where being friendly and generous is a way of life.

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