“not too tight or loose, gentle, like you care.”

 

It was my first attempt at going to a shopping center to meet a stranger. A destination filled with many guarded people. Made sense. After all, it is at the mall where endless unsolicited sales approaches happen; and as per what I was doing, how could anyone easily separate me from all the others who had product or services to sell.  But, I was there. Ready to follow through in an experience of discomfort. A close to end of day and desperate attempt to find a new friend to interview, and after quite a few days of close to nine p.m. outings, late evening shoots were starting to wear on me. On top of that, with an hour-and-a-half of mall time already committed, I was determined to meet someone.

Yet, even with my stubborn commitment to staying at the shopping center, I had reached my breaking point. I needed to get out of there! If I had to take even one more lap around level two I would have most likely jumped over the railing as a plea to break the monotony.

The place was a maze and, with my desire to meet anyone numbed by the buzz of countless people, all I was fixed on was finding an exit. Thinking purely of the freedom of the empty streets and getting away from the filtered air that was filling my lungs. I didn’t care if I had to shoot at eleven p.m. that night. I just wanted out of the mall!

Eyes straight ahead, I was almost to the door when I came across a different type of mall goer. A group of very edgy looking kids, chilling as they stood in a circle. At first I questioned approaching them. But as I walked past I could not ignore overhearing their conversation as they showed off their tats to those around them. Their words were aggressive, loud and disrespectful, quite the contrast to the overall shopping center vibe of canned music and conservative shoppers. My first instinct was to avoid them, but my intuition nagged at me, telling me I had to find out more.

So I listened, stopped to talk with them–my introduction a little shaky as I pushed into their gang formation. Was I nuts? Stepping head on into a bunch of tatted and signing kid standing in an unapproachable attitude. But somehow, maybe it was my blend of anxious sweat and direct-eyed confidence; I managed to break through their walls. Took only about ten minutes to get comfortable with each other. Now, not all of them were interested in being photographed, yet all were willing to hang for the ride. They had let the conservative dad-looking white guy into their tribe, and strangely, I felt safe there.

We walked the mall, and as we did I could see the looks of other mall patrons trying to figure out my fit in the group. An experience, that in a most substantial way, taught me the sting of judgmental eyes as we found an open spot to take photographs. Three of the group volunteered to be photographed.

Readers, please shake hands with Jose, Franke and Jonathan. Needing no direction, and enjoying the curious looks of the girls passing by they independently posed for the camera; when, only four frames in, security came out of nowhere and shut us down. There were no questions. No listening ear; just a very one-sided push to not only stop taking photos, but to leave the shopping center all together. It torqued us all. We were not a commercial shoot; just a couple of people taking a few harmless snap shots, and with me in the group the gang had managed to keep their tone quite low key. There was no need for the strong arm.

All guards were down as saw past the rough exterior of group of teens who perhaps were trying to figure life out; and with the degree of respect they extended to me, I wondered if they were looking at me as some type of father figure. Yes, a romantic notion on my part, but what if? In later stories an overwhelming truth to my reasoning to be there came into view. An experience that in a most humble explanation can best be described as remarkable. But I won’t let the secret out of the bag in this story. You’ll just have to stay with me to find out.

The mall cop was adamant; we had to wrap. The guys wanted to chest up, but I talked them down as we sort of complied. It was not worth turning the event into a big deal. I already had a couple good frames, so I was good to go as we accepted our interview had been cut short.

We shared departing handshakes and with they’re first smiles shown, I was accused of having a weak one. With a brotherly bond, they schooled me in the art of proper three-part handshake. The student I was as my new friends instructed, “not too tight or loose, gentle, like you care.”

In the end, there were no worries in regard to mall cop’s total annihilation of our shoot and of his breaking us up; nothing could stop us from becoming new in-the-moment friends.

My take away that day–“we should be cautious in not letting first impression overly affect us.” Even though these kids carried a tough facade, I found them warm, welcoming and genuine; and if I were to cast them off as useless gang members, perhaps my influence upon them would have never happened. They were, in my opinion, simply struggling teens. I had no window into their lives, pasts or knowledge of any pain or abuse they might have been subjected to. All I knew was their acceptance of me was real. So I’ll own my outlook. Call it my fantasy, and with optimism, I’ll keep it in my heart as such. Plus, as I mentioned earlier, in a few more essays there is a big reveal coming that will push this concept to the limit. If you need to know now, click here.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

 

“everybody can run, only one can be first, but the last across the finish really is the one who wins the greatest prize,”

 

It was high school football night as I sat on the sidelines of a family friends game. Thought I’d try an experiment and just sit. Settled in to not wander. Figured I would simple see who came into view. Twenty minutes, thirty minutes, nothing pulled at me. Until in the middle of a wave of parents, players and coaches, I saw him. It was weird how for some unexplainable reason he stood out as I first put eyes on him, standing about forty yards downfield from where I was sitting.

Without hesitation he accepted the offer to share his wisdom as he fully opened his life to me. His name was John, Born in Croatian, age 79; he came right out of the gates telling me he was a Pancreatic Cancer survivor. My knees buckled. It was very personal, maybe even the reason I was attracted to approach him. You see, my father died in just six weeks after being diagnosed with the disease. And every since then, I’ve viewed the sickness as hopeless. A whole topic in itself, one that I am still dealing with in my lack of respect for many of the health care options available to senior citizens: Perhaps I’ll address my feelings on the matter in another story one day.

John healed part of me that day, and I hope for anyone in the midst of the disease who may be reading this essay, that maybe it can give you a little faith in the possibility of surviving Pancreatic Cancer.

John, Croatian name, Ivica Vukovic, credited his miraculous healing to a special tea and not to modern medicine (taheeboteaclub.com). After a very aggressive six-and-a-half hour procedure to remove the affected tissue around his Pancreas, the doctors gave him two months max. He lifted his shirt to show me a twelve-inch scar to prove it.

Telling me all options were off the table, except one, the special tea; known for its healing properties as he insisted it was the cure to his illness. Ignoring the doctor’s predictions, he promptly began drinking it. Thirteen years later, he was still here to watch his grandson play football.

This heavy accented glowing human being had pulled at my heartstrings. A man of great positivity, his energy was duly noted by the line of bi-passer’s who, as they walked by us while we were taking pictures, harassed: “Hey John, have him photograph me, I’m much more handsome than you. So, now you’re famous? Looking good John!”

We talked of his escape from Croatia during the Yugoslavian occupation. What a blemish in human history. In speaking of such a horrific account he did not even break a sweat, and I know he had seen things too dark for many to discuss. John just kept smiling and redirected by giving me advise on making my wife happy. But I could not let go of wanting to know more about his exit of Croatia.

How did you get out, I asked. “Simply,” he said, “with a gun and not a passport.” I paused to reflect as he took a breath of remembrance. Then resuming his story he described his path: Trains to a few stops within the boarders of Austria and Germany, then footpaths over the boarders (what he didn’t share was how heavily they were patrolled). He credited our German friends for their acceptance of he, his wife and six-year-old son.

Once in Germany, he was screened for one year and finally got papers to exit the country. It took that much time to confirm that he had no criminal background or any other unsavory past. I’m sure he had lost his gun by that time.

With papers in hand, he moved his family to Toronto Canada, thirteen years later to California. He claimed, “best place on earth to live, anywhere between Santa Barbara and San Diego, I’m a California Boy!”

In closing, I asked him if there were any thoughts he wished to share with the world.

In a humble tone he spoke of concern for his grandson, “I fear we are in store for another World War. Further quoting Mark 12:31–“Love thy neighbor as thyself.”

Elaborating, “everybody can run, only one can be first, but the last across the finish really is the one who wins the greatest prize,” and lastly,“pray often for yourself, your family and your country.”

In what I quickly realized was signature John style he shared his final wisdom, something that perhaps is scalable to all of our outlooks toward others of different origins. “Canadians are a lot like Americans.” 

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

It only took me seconds to realize the place was all about respect of other persons…

 

It was starting to look like a night that was going to leave me empty-handed and alone. I had lost count of how many people I approached, all of whom I found on the streets, most very friendly and inquisitive, a few aggressive and dismissive, but none willing to step in front of the camera.

I had been driving around for hours with no clue where to go. Wandering, time burning as a severe migraine began to set in. My eyes were beginning to sag and my motivation to go forward was in question.

It was getting to the point where everywhere I looked businesses were closed and the streets were empty. Pressed to the edge of frustration, I passed the martial arts studio, Gracie Barra. Curiously, the lights were on and half a dozen or so serious looking martial artists working out inside. Even as I ripped past at 45 miles per hour (really 55), the vision of what just blurred through my passenger window forced me to rubber neck as I watched the movement of people through the open glassed store front. Knowing that might be my last chance before I missed my deadline I did a quick speed brake, an illegal U-turn, and in under a minute I was parked right in front of the place.

I grabbed my stuff, walked in, and learnt my first lesson: “No shoes on the mat!” was yelled at me. Great! I had not even opened my mouth and I guessed I was about to be thrown out to continue my hunt. How wrong was I!

Turned out my presence was welcomed as I first met Sammy (more about him below). Second lesson: It only took me seconds to realize the place was all about respect of other persons as Sammy introduced me to head instructor Juan Pablo Garcia, who was intrigued to be interviewed.

Third Lesson: Humility and perseverance are key. We’ll get to other lessons soon, but these were foundational to what I learned.

Juan was to the point. Ecuador born, world traveled, he had competed in MMA events everywhere. I really mean everywhere—globally, with two in the United States. We talked of his path, but first and foremost he admitted, “I am living the dream.”Then he told me what it took to become a nationally respected instructor and champion competitor.

Too much to write, so I’ll let you know the short answer, Juan was definitely self-made. No sponsors, family, money, or handouts. He’s worked hard and you could see the self-respect in his eyes. He shared stories of living in martial arts studios, sleeping on mats by night, and cleaning by day, all in trade for room, board, and training. It was apparent that money was not his focus, perfecting his sport was. Teaching me by example yet another lesson of perseverance and passion.

Doing my best to take notes, I just sat in his office and listened to his history. It was almost impossible to keep up, there was just too much to write. But one thing was evident, he was careful to not take all the credit for his success, making it known that I must acknowledge his professor, Alberto Crane. I added this to my list of lessons: Respect, Honor, Diligence.

Without even stepping onto the mat I was feeling grounded.

Juan invited me behind his desk to look at a YouTube video. It was him winning countless tournaments. His specialty? Grappling. It was hard to see his face in many of the clips, the referee constantly covered it with the raising of the victory arm.

Juan was very humble, so I had to dig these facts out of him: Florida State Champion, Vegas Open Champion, 3 time NAGA Champion. I was pretty sure there were more, but he was closed lip about it. Another lesson: Humility.

All-in-all Juan was a focused and serious guy, but there were a couple of things that brought a smile to his face. In bullets:

• Where he was in life
• Thoughts of his son
• His love for teaching
• An invitation to bring myself and my family to train with him

What about Sammy?

As I promised Juan a DVD of the photos we shoot, Sammy stepped up and volunteering to come to my house to pick up the disk.

I thought I learned enough for the evening. Not even close. School was not over yet.

Sammy Stat’s taught me about focus, mature patience, and listening with the heart. Again, in bullets:

• 26 years old
• Carnegie Mellon Graduate
• Multiple Degrees: Behavioral Economics, Policy Management, Engineering Studies
• Did I say he was 26 years old
• Credits martial arts to his happiness and balance
• Blue belt, almost a purple belt, on the way to black as he was quickly advancing
• Planned to go to Wall Street but at the last moment changed his mind (He’d seen too many of his peer’s burn out too early)
• Could survive Juan pinning him in a cradle (It’s a serious pin. I watched him gasp for air as Juan tightened his hold)

Juan / Sammy, thanks for the schooling. I may one day return to take you up on those mat lessons. Although, I’ll pass on the cradle, thank you.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

They say it takes twenty-one days for something to become a habit and, at day eighteen of my commitment to interview strangers every day for a year; the project was starting to grow ingrained in all that I did. People were starting to ask me why I was doing it. At the time I had two general answers:

 

First, “I was loving meeting people and was learning a tremendous amount about others and myself,” and secondly, “I was just a bit crazy.”

Being the Taurus I am, I was committed, telling everyone I spoke with about the project and handing out hundreds of cards. I was all-in, prepared to see the whole thing to the end. Yet, it was already taking a toll on my family time, work, and every aspect of my daily living. Forty pounds of camera bag was with me wherever I went, and my mind, at many a time, was distracted and daydreaming as I looked at the people around me. But, there was a miraculous upside, something that I was only starting to understand—the full impact one person could have upon another with even the smallest gesture, word, or engagement. The core motive to the purpose of Sidewalk Ghosts and all that goes with it.

There’s a place not too far from my house that brings nostalgic dining back to life: Henri’s Diner, home to Nicke, the friendliest waitress in the area, and stranger-turned-friend of September 27, 2011.

I met her quite by chance during what was a very off-camber evening. You know the kind: call home, friend, or whoever, to coordinate the day’s end. That day it was my wife. I was in the final miles of a 7pm commute home. Phone in-hand, I called with that general question all husbands, spouses, or significant others often ask, “What’s for dinner?”—a brave request on that particular evening that proved to be the wrong conversation opener. Probably would have been much better to start with, “How was your day?” What can I say, other than, at that moment, “I was from Mars.”

Now please do not jump to the wrong conclusion. I have a lovely companion: very talented, loving, patient, and kind—a delight in my life. But the mix of that day’s stress and distraction, blended with my un-thoughtful question, “What’s for dinner?” left me feeling like Jim Carey in the bathroom scene of the movie Liar, Liar—you may know the bathroom scene that I’m talking about.

Bottom line, I put myself in the position of being on my own for the evening meal. My fallback? Meet my daughter at Henri’s where she was having dinner with a friend. I walked in, and as always, it was like walking into a room full of friendly conversation. Below, a bullet point rundown of how the evening went:

• Daughter was sitting with friend and her father (by the way, he managed Henri’s).
• It was a little slow, yet all the tables were chatting with each other.
• Nicke knew everyone.
• I ordered my favorite Tri-Tip dinner plate.
• Sat back and observed Nicke at work. It was a magical thing watching her interact with the room. All smiles and first names. Where in life do you go to eat these days where the waitress knows you by name, and asks about your family. I instantly loved this girl.
• Could not pass up inviting her to 365.
• Without a flinch, she said “OK.”
• Asked her to sit with us for a moment so we could have an informal interview.
• She said, “I’d rather stand.”
• I decided it was not personal that she did not want to sit across from me. I don’t think I’m scary (although I’m sure there are still a few who may beg to differ—read 365 Day 4 / Fish Out Of Water Saved By Francis the Key Guy).
• Took photo and chatted at counter for a bit.
• Paid bill, went home.

It was now 10:33pm. Entering the door to my home I found my wife, “How was your day? I asked.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

I was growing to love my Sunday neighborhood strolls. I had lived in my house for 9 years, thought I knew the area, and after only two weeks of meeting strangers I was realizing I knew nothing about the people who live so near to me. They were, and are, amazing. A story within everyone; each personal and unique as they shared in the 365 journey. Testament to culture and diversity. Not hyped culture, but the kind with roots: individuals, families, and diverse origins. I found the streets around me a real melting pot of humanity, and it was the coolest thing.

 

It’s a funny thing how easy it is to get caught in the comfort of our own personal islands. Home is our sanctuary, but in meeting strangers who lived within blocks of my home, I was starting to accept the fact that our own residence could be isolation as well. I was only 17 days into 365 and I was blown away at what I was learning. That in my statement of keeping my chin up and eyes open, I was being shown that the world really is a small place.

So with this, I challenge you to join me in better knowing your neighbors. Not just the ones to the left and right of you. Dig a little deeper, walk a longer stride in saying, “Hello,” to faces you’ve never seen. I promise we’ll all be better for doing so.

A philosophical soapbox statement: “Water seeks its own level.” A premise that, over the almost eight years of this experience which we now call Sidewalk Ghosts, has been proven time and time again—and on September 26, 2011, it flew with flying colors.

I was out for only a few minutes, literally a two-minute walk from my front door, when I came across artist, Janet, and her co-blogging daughter, Marie. It was Marie’s birthday. She, her Mother, and baby Bichon Frise, were on a neighborly walk when I first noticed them about 100 yards in front of me. They were strolling on the same sidewalk, walking at the same pace, and in the same direction as I. The little voice in my heart kicked in, telling me I needed to introduce myself. But with the distance, I felt it would be a little creepy to speed my pace to catch up with them. I told myself, If it is meant to be it will be,as I diverted my focus to enjoying the light passing through the trees. Not noticing that just ahead Marie, Janet, and Bichon baby had stopped to chat with a neighbor who was busily watering her lawn. I grew closer, and feeling a bit like an intruder, I reached out with a neighborly introduction, sharing where I lived, my intent, and an invitation to be part of 365…now Sidewalk Ghosts.

Back to “water seeks its own level.” I found out that Marie was a very established stylist and fashion consultant who, prior to working on her own, was with Barneys New York—quite an accomplishment for a woman in her early twenties. It’s always great to meet people in supporting fields.

However, credit where credit is due. Marie came from a line of artists. Here mother Janet was an accomplished pastel artist. We talked about art for a minute and then they invited me into their home to see some of her drawings. We even figured out an on-the-fly way to photograph one of them. I would be remise if I did not show you her artwork. It went further though—Janet also has a son following in her artistic footsteps, a very successfully working celebrity photographer. Both she and Marie told me about him with great pride. I always love it when I hear of other people staying alive as photographers and artists. I was thankful for their affirmation.

The greatest thing about the experience was being invited into their home. Feeling part of the family as I was warmly greeted into a living room full of the kindest people. The home was busy with activity; family members watching TV, playing with children, and simply relaxing together on a Sunday afternoon. Even though it was their personal family time, I realized a mirror was turned. For as I quested to meet strangers in making new friends, the same was true as a most openhearted family thoroughly welcomed me into their lives. Humbled, a profound revelation came to my mind: I was not alone in my quest to better know my co-human.That day I witnessed a change of perspective I never thought of before that day. That day I realized a full circle notion…they were meeting a stranger, too.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

“We Need To Help Our Kids”

 

Heading into the third week of interviewing strangers, and the impact the project was having on my family was becoming overwhelmingly apparent—taking the majority of my time during a time when our financial situation was less than solvent. A coin collecting time when recovering from a debilitating recession had left my family looking over the edge of loosing all that we had worked hard for. All security evaporated by a barrage of bill collectors, and my time obsessed with a project that was beginning to take the major part of my life. To undertake a project the scope of 365 was a most insane commitment. But I could not turn away from it, and with abandonement to logic I pushed forward. Even to the point of halting all marketing of my struggling business.

My wife and I have been debating on the relevance of republishing the first year of this project. Debating if it is of any worth to showcase stories all ready posted, but the last few days has brought to me a powerful revelation of their merit. You see, I now realize that the first time I published my stories were a little guarded. But now, as I review them a second time, and remembering every detail of every day of the journey, I must expose that I had to keep a touch of promotional subtext within each article. My financial situation and self-esteem were every so precarious at the time. A condition that forced me to be careful not to write too heavily about the feeling of low self-worth and my financial situation. A risk that, at the time, might had adversely affected my pursuit of employment or undermined my efforts in securing assignments.

But now, years later, with the wisdom gained from the experience, and all that has followed, I am looking back on each day; seeing deeper lessons as I fill in the blanks.

In the last few posts I’ve talked about working on a project or two, and in those experiences the situations are accurate. Hidden from you was the angst that was in my life in trying to support my family, and the full scale the impact 365 was taking on my life. A conflict of waking up every day knowing that I was involved in a work of relevance and the marketing of a business that was struggling in the worst way. A decision made to not publish the depth of that chapter in my life in fear that it would alienate me in my professional life. Yet, as held true to course in prioritizing 365, literally giving less and less time to the maintenance of my business, the phone began to ring. Work began to come in. It was enough to sustain my family, and figuring it a blessing from heaven, I was compelled to give my whole to the continuation of 365.

It had been two years of penny pinching, tears and prayers, and with an advance check clearing the bank, for the first time in way too long, I was looking at the opportunity to actually take my wife on a date night. It had been a month since we’d even had any “us time,” the stress of it all affecting our communication and relationship.

We decide to hit one of our favorite haunts, King’s Fish House. Hungry for rest, we arrived with an hour and a half to spare, looking forward to a little stroll to appreciate each other and to decompress. Plus, the timing was perfect, right before the dinner rush. Without a line, we easily slipped in and were seated in a cool little two top, perfect for the three of us.

“Three? You said, ‘You and your wife?’ How do you get three?” Well, it was my wife, Terri, myself, and my camera bag. Terri sat across from me on my side of the table, as I instinctually put my arm around lady camera. It had become a fixed partner in every aspect of my life, and even though we were on “us” time, 365 was still with us. Guess I am lucky that my wife is not the jealous kind. Yet even with this, it was still so early into the project that I had no idea how heavy a load, and life altering experience, the project would ultimately become.

It was only 16 days in. Out with my beloved on a first date in way too long. Yet, as we dined, I noticed a different rapport emerging between us. I was becoming a world scanner, doing funny thing like glancing over Terri’s shoulder in quest for a 365 acquaintance, or spending a little more effort in befriending the food server and restaurant staff.

Our life habits were changing. Little adjustments like walking with chins up as we looked into the faces of people we passed by. Paying a little more attention as we listened to happenings around us. Life was slowly becoming an experiment in voyeurism in a most respectful and subtle way. We were not those people who strangely peaked their eyes in uncomfortable stares, rather, we were beginning to simply acknowledge our fellow man’s existence. A subtle nod here, a relaxed, “Hello,” there—and when inspired, an invitation to be interviewed for 365.

We enjoyed our meal. I grabbed my bag and Terri’s hand and we left King’s. As we exited I noticed a little cellular accessory kiosk just outside the restaurant. Operating it was our newest acquaintance to be: The passionate Peruvian businessman and father, Nelson.

Not only did Nelson have Hollywood leading man looks, he was much the gentleman. We chatted of family, business, and heritage. I asked him to explain his culture. “In Peru,”he told me, “we are passionate. We love to love, eat, dance and enjoy life.” Qualities that radiated from him as he talked of his father’s example as a businessman and how it had influenced all of his own decisions. Nelson was truly a smart guy. He had several kiosks and a jewelry store (smartly placed adjacent to Victoria’s Secret). They say location is everything and Nelson was taking full advantage of the principle.

Our time was rushed, having to pick-up our daughter from an evening outing with friends. We quickly discussed a few more questions and toward the end of our conversation we stumbled upon Nelson’s dream.

He wanted to be in a gangsta movie. Not a street gang character, but one like Tony Montana from Scarface. We role played for a moment. He had a look. So in respect to his acting fantasy, I could not resist shooting an edgy photo for him. His alter ego: Nelson the Gansta.

But foremost as I got to know Nelson, and looking past his business acumen and gansta dreams, I saw the real man as we shared photos of our daughters. It only took a second to switch off the gears of everything else we were talking about. Shifting to a conversation about the importance of children being protected, educated and raised in a safe environment. Adding to that he suggested the importance of community supporting less privileged children—topics that highlighted the character and heart’s intent of Nelson, and a lesson in knowing that beneath every façade of what we see on the outside, might be a slightly fuller picture.

Yes, Nelson, was a handsome, edgy looking businessman, and a dreaming actor, but what he deemed as his higher purpose was of greater nobility. Simply, we was a dad working to support his family, just like me.

Nelson, hope to see you on the big screen!

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

“Be Good And Do Good”
– Mark –

 

September 24, 2011: I was directing a casting session and in doing so had the opportunity to meet 200 people. Not exactly like approaching strangers on the street. But I figured they were still strangers—people I was meeting for the first time. So I thought, technically speaking, that made them strangers.

My crew, however, begged to differ. Even after I interviewed the talented blues harmonica player and politically minded, Grandville, one of the day’s actors, my crew leaned into me, boldly telling me I was cheating as they threw my out of the studio. “He is not a true stranger,” they reproved. Arguing it was not fair to interview someone I had scheduled for a casting.  I pushed back, but after a futile debate, I lost the battle as they banished me out of the studio. I was glad they did.

It was a Saturday. End-of-day happy hour as I left the studio we were renting for the day. A windowless space situated smack dab in the center of the Helms Bakery complex in Culver City. An evening hot spot, surrounded by shopping and dining, where artists call home in setting up their shops.

The night was ramping-up with the weekend crowd. The variety of people walking around and dining was eclectic to say the least. Everyone from dad’s holding babies, to suited business people, and the hip crowd, clicked as they congregated and browsed. So many people it was almost overwhelming as to which way to turn or who to approach.

In front of me where two well dressed men in white shirts. At first glance, the kind of guys one might assume are gentlemen of the highest quality. Figuring they could possibly be good candidates (yes, sadly I profiled a little,) I set sights on inviting them to be interviewed. But as I approached I began to overhear their conversation. Loud laughter that projected into the air, turning head and looking at the rear end of a woman walking by him, “That one is f@#*able!” Now, being a father, a dark feeling engulfed me. All of a sudden I wanted to attack two guys who I knew nothing about. After the other responded with an equally degrading comment (I do not wish to publish), I veered away as their loud and disrespectful comments continued to fly into the air, (loud enough that most likely the woman they disrespected heard their objectification of her). My blood was a little boiling as I held back my desire to correct their behavior, and not wanting to escalate any conflict, I watched them as they continued on.

Now, as I re-author this entry, years after the day, I have become more open to share my truest feeling. With the first pass I was very romantic in my writing—typical of how I write and see the world. But after stuffing the deeper story of the day, and with years of essays, interviews, and speaking engagements behind me, I have learned to not hold back the darker details of what I witness and publish. The account being a release of a rather dark memory that taught me a great lesson about the risk of profiling at first glance.

I watched them walk on, and as they were about the disappear into the crowd, they came across a rather scary looking homeless man sitting on a bench, paper bag beside him as he ate a popsicle. His chin was down, perhaps not noticing the world as people scurried by, and as the two gentlemen (and I use this term very sarcastically and with a tint of judgment, I’m still learning about forgiveness) passed by him they reacted as if they were coming across a skunk. Purposefully going out of their way to theatrically raised their arms, jumping to the side and around him in what looking like a mix of taunting harassment and dismissal of another human.

Either unaffected or not aware of the insult that was just thrown at him, he did not respond, just sat there, eating his popsicle. I couldn’t let it go. There was something interestingly peaceful about him, and I needed to know what it was.

As I approached it was easy to see he was world-weathered, but not dirty in any way. About him a presence that I could only explain as a shroud that was strangely spiritual—instantly, I was drawn in.

It took me about a second to connect with him as he smiled with great laughter in accepting my introduction. But when I asked him if he would let me interview him he said, “You don’t want to interview me, I’ve had a bad life.”

“Yes I do,” I responded, “your words matter as much as anyone else.”

He lit up in agreeing as I sat on the ground in front of him. Felt as if a weight had been lifted off him in having someone intently interested in knowing who he was. As we got to know each other, I began to feel of the energy that he lived with. A palpable sensation radiated by a mind-bending mix of distaining and compassionate gestures that were thrown by many a passer by.

Mark was his name. His heart heavy, peaceful and resolved.

“I had a hard life, but I’m thankful for living.” You see, Mark was a recovering drug and alcohol abuser. “I have wasted most of my life, but I’m content with who I am now,” as he explained himself.

I asked him what he had done. He flinched slightly. I worried for a second that I had touched a sensitive nerve with my question. A slight tear appeared in the corner of his eye as he gave me the list.

“I have not done terrible things, just stupid things. ”He did not go into great detail, just outlined his history: “construction, scab labor, fifteen years in the gutter, ten years in jails/prisons, four years in a mental institution.”That alone would kill most men, or at least push them to fully retreat from society. But Mark had chosen quite the opposite—to look in the mirror as he fought his way back to sanity and balance.

I was impressed with his courage to change as he enlightened me to the importance of community support groups. Making no attempt to hide his gratitude for the blessings of one humble Rabbi, and the local Jewish Alcohol and Drug Rehabilitation Center, he quoted, “They saved my life.”

He offered me a popsicle, but after eating pastry at the casting, I declined. He smiled, “How about a funny face?” There was no way I could pass on that photo opportunity. Mark delivered with flying colors.

It was impossible for me to truly comprehend the full level that changed a man who had fallen as low as Mark, but one thing was certain, his heart was pure and his mind was intact.

The sun was close to setting as Mark leaned toward me, “It’s Shabbat, time for me to go to Synagogue with my girlfriend.” Repenting for past mistakes, he had devoted his life to peace and to making his girl comfortable. The final lesson was given, “She has terminal Cancer. I’m by her side.”

I asked Mark if he would like to share anything with the world. “Yes,” he said, “Be Good and Do Good.”

There is no way we can ignore this statement from a man like Mark.

Mark, for then and always, Shabbat Shalom!

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

“There is always a way, you just have to want it bad enough.”

 

Say, “Hello,” to Brian: dancer, graphic designer, and gym enthusiast. I met him at Kinko’s while printing paperwork for a casting session I was doing the following day; assisted me in restocking paper into the printer I was working at. He was a pleasant guy, so I struck up a conversation. At first it was all business, but then we shifted to more personal notes, finding out that he had suffered a back injury similar to mine, but only worse. “I’ll never forget the date, December 15, 2010,” he quoted as we shared stories. I discovered he had a true testimony of exercise and diet, something I knew firsthand after rehabilitating my lower back issues; avoiding surgery through incremental improvement in my workouts and eating habits. Without that, a serious back injury can lay you out in a serious way: weight gain, depression, and loss of interests are some of its terrible side effects.

Put this into your mind: Brian was a seasoned dancer. The kind of talent you’d see behind your favorite musical artists. For him, a back problem was a big deal that altered his future and training in that part of his life. But he managed to turn it into a sort of metamorphosis.

I was inspired by him. As always my camera was with me, and as our conversation got more comfortable he volunteered to be photographed.

We stepped outside, resuming our casual talk, to hang out for about 15 minutes. I listened to his stories of how he turned his back issues into real blessings. Brian was not one to throw in the towel. Yes, he did gain a bunch of weight with his injury, but still kept his commitment to the gym. With a lot of sweat and effort, and through a lot of pain, he lost 70 pounds in a few months, something he deemed as key to putting him on course to regaining his strength and mobility.

In the depths of his skills, he was also a video editor and used that talent to work with some of the great dancers he had always been inspired by. Told me, “Now I talk often and learn from the dancers that used to seem so unapproachable.”

That night I became a better listener as Brian and I sat on a step in front of a busy Kinkos, and that night I found the genesis to the two questions that would ultimately drive the 365 project and continue to ground Sidewalk Ghosts.

Those Questions:

First: Do you have anything you want to share with my readers? His reply, “There is always a way, you just have to want it bad enough.”

Second: What do you see yourself doing in ten years? He responded with one word, “Producing.”

Readers, if you are returning, so nice to be with you again. If you are new, looking forward to getting to know you.

To all: please comment, like, and forward. Every engagement goes a long way toward connecting us; as together, we grow a movement that betters the way we view and treat one another.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,
Richard
 

They called themselves Weird Buddies, but there was nothing weird about these kids.

 

It was 10:30pm, the day not over, completing final pre-production for a project I was producing and directing. I’d been watching the clock all day, looking for a chance to break away for a 365 outing. It was only an hour-and-a-half away from my midnight deadline and my stress was rising. I’d been aimlessly driving around my neighborhood since I left my desk at nine o’clock. It was day thirteen since the beginning of my commitment to interview a stranger and write a story everyday for an entire year. The reality of the task starting to take hold as I drove empty streets looking for anyone to engage with, I saw shadowed figures only a few hundred feet in front of me. Not wanting to seem like a drive-by threat, I opted to park a good 75-feet away from them, and as low key as I could be, pulled my gear from the trunk and in direct view of their eye-line approached. The last thing I wanted to do was come off as a creeper or aggressor, especially as I got close enough to realize they were teens.

They greeted me with the expected awareness I assumed I would receive. After all, I was the old guy who, un-invited, walked into their space. My iPad in hand, I showed them a few of the past stories. The walls dropped as I myself was now on alert in watching whom approached us, I became a protector of the moment as our trust for one another started to take hold. Of the three in the group, only one felt up to having his photo taken. But even with that, they were all accepting and engaging.

I can’t say it was awkward having had one-quarter of my first thirteen interviews turn out to be teens; I expressed from the start of the project that I’d be working in a very organic way and with no agenda, and it seemed the universe kept putting great kids in front of me. An occurrence that continued throughout the months of the project, and the more I met, I witnessed a most prepared generation. Something that I hope you also pick up on in later interviews I will be re-publishing. So, without further set-up, my I introduce you to Poet Salvador.

With the time quickly approaching midnight we were very rushed as Salvador’s ride, one of the two girls in the group, brought to attention that she needed to be home, worried that her father would be nervous if she was too late. A respect that I pray my daughter will continue to give to me as she matures.

The minutes were flying by and there was no time for a formal set of interview questions. But in the blink of an eye, I knew I did not have to ask much. By their stance and respect for each other as well as the kindness they extended to me, I knew I had run into a bunch of kids who were truly kind, smart and caring. I saw no self-agenda, only a real interest to encourage one another. They call themselves Weird Buddies, but there was nothing weird about these kids.

I was taught again, being coached via a few new slang terms, the fullest potential of our youth; and, for the sake of trivia, may I reference the It’s a Small World theory. Turned out they went to a high school where, at the time, a good friend of our family was a Dean—El Camino High School.

Salvador did share a little about himself, telling me of the English class he was taking and how he loved writing poetry. Promised me he would send me a poem to publish as soon as he got home. I waited.

Observation-

hey playground lady
stars spark attention
glazes youth
fun size with a cute smile
sweet romantic laughter
tunes your soul
“Gorgeous”
watch for a few moments
too long and you’ll go blind
elegant brown eyes
hourglass figure
sands of gold dust
drips within her
soft lips, men desired
entrance to passion and pleasure
whispers of fear
dismantles opinions
shadowed emotions
pushes strangers away
seductive touch dissipates
the brute strength you behold
soft palms enlightens demons
ornaments of nature
worth more than
sparkles of gems
young & beautiful
rainbows duel
finest gold ever wielded
that man must be lucky

Salvador and friends, thanks for the trust.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

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I asked him what he meant? He responded in telling me that people are generally good and change is possible. It just takes time…

 

365 was growing to be a big part of my life as I transitioned into the second week of the project. Its impact taking root in all aspects of my family, professional, and personal life; it was rapidly becoming apparent just how big the commitment was. I fact brought to my attention when on a Wednesday end-of-day car ride with my wife (a little ritual we regularly do as a private time to talk), I sucked her into my daily routine of meeting new people.

Warner Center Park, just a couple of miles from our home. A six block square area where, other than its Summer outdoor concerts, occasional movie nights, and a killer 4th of July fireworks show, is a hidden community secret. A little park to the side of busy Topanga Canyon Boulevard that drew a most eclectic mix of persons and culture—from India to Europe, it’s all at Warner.

The evening was cool and calm, youth were playing soccer to the left of us, a mother with son in private Karate lessons were to the right, and straight ahead, two young men were sitting in the grass. At first glance from the distance it looked as if they were holding a giant yellow garden hose in their laps. Seemed a little strange to bring a hose to a park. Immediately we were curious and the Sherlock Holmes quickly came out in me. I had to get a closer view, so we set path towards them. The nearer we approached more detail came into clarity as almost in speaking distance the hose moved on its own. Our first reaction was to dismiss it, thinking that it was some sort of practical joke. I couple teens trying to get a rise out of anyone thinking that there was a huge cat-eating snake on park grounds. We bought in. We’re always open to a little laugh, we thought, as we stepped within feet of the two young men and their fake snake.

“Hello,” we reached out, beginning an explanation of who we were and what I was doing with my project, but CHOW!! It was a snake! We stood back as we watched a 30-pound Burmese Python wrapping itself around the shoulders of one of the two young men. I’m sure in our eyes a bit of fear was recognized as the smaller of the two you men, then one with the snake looking as if it was about to choke him to death shared, “Don’t worry, he’s my pet!” Our nerves settled as fear became calm. I reached out my hand to resume our introduction.

Turned out they were students at Canoga Park High School just a couple blocks up the street for Warner Park. My wife’s Alma Mater and a topic of conversation as she asked a few questions only a graduate of the school would know. Now I won’t date my sweetheart, but it was obvious that none of her teachers were still there. Yet the bridge was made and two bright young men had we met.

Their names, Izzy and Jerahmia, and it was hard to not be wholly impressed by how articulately they were. Izzy being a recent relocate to the USA from Turkey, Jerahmia of Greek heritage and upbringing; in each a global depth of experience that was far beyond their years. I was easy to see why these two kids hung out together.

Izzy had spent time schooling in South Africa, and by the maturity he demonstrated in what he shared with us, it was apparent he had seen a thing or two of the darker side of how humans can treat humans. A topic that was very impressive for a 17-year-old to communicate in the manner he did. What he said was this, (a very simple statement, but one with great depth), “The World is the World.”

I asked him what he means? He responded in telling me that people are generally good and change is possible. It just takes time. We have to do the work and be patient. OK, at the time of the interview I was 50 (now you know), and I’ve seen and experienced a lot of things since I was seventeen. But I’m telling you, at 17 I would have never made a statement like the one Izzy shared that meaningful day in 2011.

We talked of goals and entrepreneurial perspectives. Izzy saw business opportunity in breeding snakes. Something that was out of my wheelhouse, so later I did a little research. He was on point. The reptile business was a gigantic market that spends premium dollars for the exotic pets. Jerahmia spoke of following in his father’s footsteps in wanting to build an electrical business. Smart kid; we all know how much we pay our electricians.

Grateful for the opportunity to meet Izzy and Jerahmia that day, my wife and I realized that, in a way, we had been schooled. Taught a peace-giving lesson that the future quite possibly is in good hands. Not so much by the current social and political conditions, but in the works of the youth that are coming up through these troubled times. A statement I found on the fact that in the days of streaming downloads and digital relationships, that in the middle of an unban landscape gathered two remarkable young men and a peaceful snake. No ear buds, no looking away from meaningful face-to-face conversation, and both with rich histories and plans for the future. Evidence grown over the remaining years of project 365, and continuing to come forward through Sidewalk Ghosts, that there are countless young men and women of great manners and intelligence. A rising generation, who I pray will make sound decisions as per what’s to come.

As we sat talking, we finished with a witty line of conversation. My two favorites:

One: Izzy supports the ban on domestically owned Pythons in Florida. They grow huge there in that climate, untrained they eat dogs, cats and can harm children. He went on to state, “On the other hand, they should allow domestic Pythons inNew York City and San Francisco.”I laughed loudly, as he explained his reasoning, which was not a bag on the cities or their people. The reasoning was something that I would have never considered, basically this: the cold climate limits their growth. He felt it would give a whole lot of people the opportunity to have snakes as pets. Pretty cool!

Two: I had no idea that a 17-year-old could leg press 1000 pounds. Jerahmia can! Considering myself somewhat fit, I decided to ask a few weight lifting questions, thinking I could get a pointer or two. I stopped at hearing he can chest fly 305. Lifters, humble up, you know how strong this kid is. I’m fine with sticking with my forty-five pounders.

Oh Yeah! Forgot to introduce you to the Python, “Say ‘Hi’ to Goliath.”

I’m off to hibernate now.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

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