Among her many friends and fellow volunteers, 77-year-old Lorraine Shearer has a reputation for spinning a good story—and her life experiences have provided her with a treasure chest of anecdotes.

Shearer entered this world on a kitchen table in San Francisco. Her mother was 45 years old, had three children from a previous marriage, and was in poor health and unable to work. Her father, a teamster who had his fingers bitten off by a horse when he was young, had tuberculosis and could not work.

"When I was little," recalls Shearer, "his hand without the fingers used to scare me."

Shearer's family was very poor. Fortunately, a man with developmental disabilities who had been taken in by Shearer's family washed dishes in a restaurant. He carried food home every day on the streetcars.

One day Shearer visited the city library and told the librarian that she wanted to read every book in the library. But the law, as explained by the librarian, stated that no child could check out books unless the parents owned a home. Shearer was heartbroken. The librarian told Shearer that she would give her a chance—but if she ever returned a book late, her library privileges would be revoked. Shearer didn't read all the books, but she never turned a book in late, either.

One memory etched in Shearer's mind was the time she "drowned." She was 7 years old and playing on the beach. She ventured too far out and an undertow dragged her out even farther. She couldn't swim. After she went under the water for the second time, she saw a head on the water.

"I thought, That man is trying to save me, I had better hold my arms up in the air so he can see me," Shearer recalls.

She went under again, and that is all she remembers until she awakened for a few seconds in a hospital emergency room. She remembers being surrounded by hospital personnel in white coats. She heard someone ask, "Do you think she is going to make it?" She heard someone else say, "I don't know."

Then, through a gap between white coats, Shearer saw a man standing in the room.

"He had black, wavy, curly hair, big round Italian eyes, no shirt or shoes, and a big hairy chest," recalls Shearer. "He was staring at me. As I stared back, I knew he was the man who saved my life. I never saw him again."

Shearer graduated from high school, landed a good job, and gave most of her paycheck to her mother. She also bought food for the family and roses for her mother.

It wasn't long before Shearer married a U.S. Marine, Ronald Shearer, who was stationed nearby. Ronald was an Iowa farm boy, and he wanted to go home. Shearer was a city girl. But she packed her high heels and, kicking and screaming all the way, dutifully followed her husband to Des Moines, Iowa. In 1980 her husband secured a management job with a large security firm, and they moved to Overland Park. Four years later, Ronald died.

After working for Humana Hospital and owning a bed-and-breakfast with her daughter in Louisburg, Kan., where she also worked at a care center, Shearer retired.

For the past seven years, Shearer's days have been spent volunteering 40 hours a week at TurnStiles, a thrift store run by Catholic Charities of Northeast Kansas. She's now down to 29 hours per week.

She loves writing and participates in a monthly writing class. From her repertoire of stories, she is writing a book about her life and the array of personalities that circulated around her family. A thick notebook records her many poems.

Shearer has three children—Lorie, David, and Linda—and one grandchild.

Smiling, and with a barely audible voice, Shearer stated, "I'm happier than I ever have been."
The following is one of Shearer's poems.

My life, once a book of empty pages
Now filled with unleashed emotions
Crammed with events and relationships
Weaving myself with intrinsic intentions
Placing importance on the miniscule
Riding with hilarity
Weeping with failure
Predicting future goals
Clutching the invisible thread
Drawing me nearer to that inevitable destiny
Chasing the pale horse.

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