Richard Radstone 
A tough childhood and mother of 4, she lost her husband. But still, she says, “I have hope for everything.”
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Subscribe and listen to “Sidewalk Ghosts” on your favorite podcast app.
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“Sidewalk Ghosts” on your favorite podcast app.
“It’s about the kids…Real Rydaz there’s no color line…
Subscribe and listen to “Sidewalk Ghosts” on your favorite podcast app.
Subscribe and listen to
“Sidewalk Ghosts” on your favorite podcast app.
It’s Sunday morning, 4 AM. Outside, the snow is falling as, with the temperature settled at a chilling 10 degrees Fahrenheit, it’s cold enough to keep me indoors.
The window still night dark: I sit at my desk. Reflective, as sipping hot tea and wrapped in an old blanket, I journal-purge my morning thoughts. Not an out-of-the-ordinary thing for me to do, especially when I am troubled. A private, soul-soothing, and mind-clearing exercise I wholly encourage you to do. For in it, and if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll find many answers.
So it is, in the spirit of our shared search for the big why, I continue to open the doors of my heart to you.
I’ll soon be publishing a book revealing some of my whys. A why that I hope will be identifiable to a majority of us—and a why that formed over the six decades of ups and downs, and enhanced by the last ten years of interviewing strangers, has become the mantra guiding the way I strive to live, as well as the reason motivating me to continue RadstoneBLOG and Sidewalk Ghosts. Projects that dominate my time, dig into my pocketbook and pull me away from my family. And pushed forward by something I can only describe as a voice beyond myself is an endeavor that, no matter how hard it becomes, is one in which I cannot cease.
My tea is now cold, as with streaks of sunlight crawling up my office wall, I look up. My introspections listed in a sketchbook next to my keyboard, the clock reads 7:25 AM. Almost three and a half hours of meditative scribbling gone by, I pause to read what I’ve released.
In sharpie pen, two sets of words fill a page:
The first
LOOK
LISTEN
FEEL
The second
HEAR
SAY
DO
Six words that; for over a decade, I’ve explored from many angles. Discussed them with diverse people and re-imagined their actionable relevance and connecting points. And now, with the revival of RadstoneBlog, introducing them as a possible gateway for exploring the big why.
A verb-to-verb proposition that, if written in an ordered way, might offer insight to better viewing others, or more profoundly: Ourselves.
I’ll label two columns. Column A: Ingest. Column B: Result
Ingest Result
Look Hear
Listen Say
Feel Do
I know! A rather textbook perspective for looking at the complexity of the big why. Or perhaps, an academic formula far too simplified in referencing the beauty and trauma that lives within all of us. On the other hand, could it be a benchmark concept for conducting ourselves in a more empathic way? Or a way to build and heal yourself?
Back to honesty—and in question form:
Could it be if we paused our reactionary selves? Looked at what is directly in front of us in a moment, or forgivingly at the memories buried in our histories, would we better Hear our own feelings, desires, pains, and joys?
Or if we sincerely Listened to our inner selves or the spiritual things that comfort us—would we better know what to Say to ourselves or have greater esteem in our interactions with others—both the negative and positive situations?
And if we Felt the results of “look and listen,” how would the things we Do or our thoughts and actions toward others, and again ourselves, be affected?
It’s now 9:30 AM. The roosters have stopped their calls (literally). So with the day of rest and spiritual refreshment at hand, my heady reflections cast to paper, and my above excerpt published for us all to ponder, may I depart today’s entry with a meaningful thank you!
For as I look back at my history on this self-evaluative morning, the picture I see fades. The me that possessed my thinking settled as I take in refreshed visuals, whisperings, and emotions. The fatigue of my personal concerns replaced as the faces of many strangers-now-friends grew into focus. And as the realization of their hidden joys and pains strike me intellectually and spiritually, I feel ready for my day. A day I can take peace in the knowledge of not only my own worth, but more importantly, the value of every one of you.
Talk tomorrow my good friends,
Richard
Asheville, North Carolina
“WHERE WE LIVE” reach out
Please send a photo taken within 3 miles of where you live. Make it a scenic or a place representing your life and culture – you can even take a picture of your home or a room in it.
“Everyone has the potential to do good. Like diamonds get pressed into gems, so too can we all become better beings.”
Subscribe and listen to “Sidewalk Ghosts” on your favorite podcast app.
Subscribe and listen to
“Sidewalk Ghosts” on your favorite podcast app.
“WORD SHARE” reach out
Please send a photo of yourself, a friend, a family member, or anyone you can find holding their written word. It does not matter what language, if the spelling is correct, or even how good the photography is…
…What does matter is that the word is honest and comes from the heart.
Off Interstate 15 she sits. Her character cemented as, since 1851, she’s been called the Mother Town of Utah. Her arms open to visitors, and her heart kindled by the spirit one would expect from a town as small as she.
Yes. A blip on the radar some might think she is. Maybe look at her as a slice of nostalgia—a quaint destination. Or a locality that, although personable, is one to pass by and slightly remember. But today, as I sit eating enchiladas and fresh salsa at her local haunt, Calvario’s, I spot him through winter-chilled windows. The expected barber pole turning as, leaned into by a tiny theater by the name of Aladdin, he pulls at me.
I gulp down the last of my Mountain Dew. Exchange pleasantries with my server as, all the while, the desire to know him gnaws at me. I decide to visit…
Across the street and through his doors, I enter. In his chair, a youthful customer. Next to him, his apprentice standing close at a second barbering station. He turns toward me: Welcome.
“Welcome.” Not may I help you. Nor what can I do for you, or any form of a sales-like statement. Simply this… welcome.
We strike up a conversation, and as we do, the shop brightens beyond the inviting gestures extended by the shops’ proprietors.
I begin to see beyond my assumptions of who the less than 5,000 population Parowan is. Once again reminded of just how close we are as breathing humans. And at the center of this review, and as our teachers for today, may I please introduce strangers-now-friends, Barber Jason and his apprentice Richard.
With customer after customer arriving, I recline only feet away from where they are working. Comfortable in what feels like a safe place to speak of both light and heavy subjects. A notion proven as they talked of the different forms of cancer they each survived, of Jason’s divorce and life rebuilt, of Richard’s burnout from living in Las Vegas, and of the priority he places on caring for his 92-year-old grandfather. Two good men they are—both of whom are honest in sharing their deep wells of life experience, as each now settled with spouses and children are living authentic and giving lives.
I ask the big why.
“Be a good person. Just treat everybody fairly and with mercy. Be aware of those standing around you and stop to see their faces. Realize that everyone is struggling in their own ways.”
“That’s a hard one,” Richard starts as he thinks about people he has hung out with, and as he reflects on his lifestyle.
“Being a good person,” he resumes. “Yes, to be a good person. Just treat everybody fairly and with mercy. Be aware of those standing around you and stop to see their faces. Realize that everyone is struggling in their own ways. If we could find out how to do that: I think we would better see what we reflect.”
Richard is relaxed, quiet, and his tone kind: The type of guy that you know has felt deeply and witnessed much. His brief statement defining his number one why: Love.
Love: The endless and unavoidable speaking point that, for over a decade, never ceases to come to the surface in many a Sidewalk Ghosts or RadstoneBLOG conversation. A word that, residing as both noun and verb, is one with reach to either lift or harm. With expansive definitions, it exists. And as I get to know Jason and Richard, I wonder if the very best of the word is the secret sauce to what I sense in the vibe of Barber J’s.
Jason brushes cut hair off a customer next. A teenager with curls that would better the fullness of even Elvis Presley’s hair. And as the next customer (or should I say friend?) sits for a beard shaping, Jason begins his whys.
“I was 30 and going through a divorce, cancer, and an IRS audit. I knew I needed to do something different, but I did not know what. ”
“I was 30 and going through a divorce, cancer, and an IRS audit. I knew I needed to do something different, but I did not know what. I grew up in Parowan and knew the barber there was looking for someone to take over his business.” A finding that eventually led Jason to buy the business, go to barbering school, and ultimately settle in the building he now owns. But in honoring what I feel is the core of who I sense Jason is, I’ll set those stories aside. Or perhaps if you are ever passing Parowan, you can think ahead, book an appointment, and find out firsthand.
The music in the background turns to rock and roll, as with a brief break in appointments, Jason turns his full attention to me.
“My why, I’m living the real life. It takes a lot of work, and it’s not a fairy tale. It’s all about our choices: The right and the wrong, and there are consequences to our choices.”
Yet in further defining his why, Jason includes his purpose as a father, speaks of his role as a husband, and shares the positive impact his spiritual beliefs have been on his life. And in them, the roots of his caring outlook regarding others.
“I knew someone who was sharing a story of one man. And he did make a negative comment about him. I said I don’t mind. I think he’s a good person. You know, because he does have some problems. We all do, and this certain one person has a lot of problems. You never know what a person is going through. They could be dealing with substance abuse and things like that. I did. But anyway, I just treat everyone the same. Any one of us could be in the same position. I try to look at things the other way. If people looked at me the same negative way, well yeah! But I came back.”
The door opens as the next customers arrive. A sign that, perhaps, it’s time for me to go. But in closing this story, there is one last detail I know I must share. One that I hope can be translated as a metaphor for our individual circumstances—especially if you are dealing with hard things or painful secrets.
Around me, a construct of lumber, stone, and metal lives. A from that within decades past has been broken, tempered, and restored: The very building itself.
A dilapidated structure that once ignored, decayed, and weary, is now rebuilt from the dust. An old and worn down monument to experiences gone by, or better yet, a catalyst of hope for the future. Falling walls that, in 2002, are ones that Jason purchased for a mere dollar. An overlooked lot that, perhaps labeled as ugly and unworthy in the eyes of many a beholder, is now reborn. Now beautified and visible with the repurposed material of the original build, are rejuvenated and wanted. A safe haven to all who enter its doors, and a space that cared for by the hearts of its human inhabitants, can inspire us all. Or even remind us that no matter how damaged or proud we may be, we can emerge healed, loved, and valued.
So to Jason and Richard, please accept my hand of friendship. For, I was cold as I entered your establishment. Yet as I resume my drive, I realize I’m carrying the warmth of your welcome.
Talk tomorrow my good friends,
Richard
Harrogate, England
“WHERE WE LIVE” reach out
Please send a photo taken within 3 miles of where you live. Make it a scenic or a place representing your life and culture – you can even take a picture of your home or a room in it.
If you’ve followed me over the years, I’m guessing you’ve noticed my rather romantic point of view. Took in my consistent calls to action as well as the we all matter perspectives that I’ve grown to believe. In all, living up to the promise I made to share the outlooks of others as we’ve grown a community made up of diverse people I identify as one of three categories: Strangers-now-friends, strangers in our midsts, and most recently, strangers-to-be-friends.
I often speak of being transparent, encourage us all to look, listen, and feel as we determine our whys and hows as we interact with one another. All the while asking us to pause our first impressions and calm our reactionary thoughts, and to apply what we observe and temper our emotions into well intended actions as we hear, say and do.
And yes, like I said—I’m a romantic. A heady guy with an optimistic outlook. But in this statement, and in my pledge of vulnerability, I’ve got to come clean. It’s not always easy to keep my mind in check.
So today as I drive I-15 from Los Angeles to Las Vegas, and as the speed demon driver almost runs me off the road, my good intents snap.
He must have been doing three digits as he split the lane. His face staring in the rear view mirror as he pulled an abrupt lane cut that gave me little choice other that to power brake my 75 MPH pace. Behind me a semi truck honking as its driver reacted in an equally aggressive manner. Not killing me on a rain covered highway, as with a Mack truck grill inches from my rear bumper, its horn vibrated my brain to dizziness.
To say the least, my blood boiled as I screamed obscenities at the disappearing bumper that just cut me off. And I admit, if I met the driver, I know I’d hit with all the rage I could find.
My heart beating, I pull off the road. Unclench my hands from the steering wheel as at the bottom of the off ramp my imploded stomach shifts to an out of place secondary reaction—hunger.
It’s weird how life can point us to the places we find ourselves. For today, as at the very offramp were I regained my composure I welcomed the motivator who shifted my countenance: My grumbling stomach.
And as I scanned the left and right of the offramp that stopped me, I found my source of healing. The signature and freshly fried chicken of Peggy Sue’s diner. Home of the best comfort meal I’ve ever had.
But there was more than just the plate that is served to me, it was the literal spirit of the place. The 50’s music, the vintage wardrobe of the servers, and the museum like gallery of photos and memorabilia that smothered the walls. A place that pulls you away from your mobile devices, reminds you that human connections matter, and strips you of the madness of millennial living. A place that forces you to explore your why.
I finish my green beans, chow down the last of my chicken, and as I ask the staff if they are interested to be interviewed and photographed, the dining room comes into focus. It’s chairs filled with unknown road travelers face down in comfort, Peggy’s personality rises. For in the middle of the desert she thrives. Her open doors relatable to the constructs of our human exteriors. For even though she welcomed me as the angry person I was, she realized there was more than what at first met her eyes.
Dear Peggy, thanks for grounding me and looking beyond what I first presented to you.
And to the speeder who almost crashed me… I guess I need to do the same.
Talk tomorrow my good friends,
Richard
Raining cats and dogs is more than an understatement in describing the last couple of days. As with streets and sidewalks drenched, I am grateful for the good people who I have worked with over the last couple of days. A crew of talented individuals who despite sideways rain, set crushing wind, and all the obstacles a production can expect from such, held together in losing no steam. And now, as I reflect on their efforts, my head settling from a breakneck filming pace, I feel it most appropriate to publically share my appreciation for you all. For without each of you, my job would have been impossible.
50 plus diverse people who, from young to old, mixed faiths, lifestyles, and assigned job descriptions; and despite rained-out locations and cramped conditions, managed to unify in telling a story beyond the assignment we each contracted our talents to produce.
A story that, proven to me time and time again, reveals a power greater than the walls that divide us. The existence of a bridge that, although unseen in the coldness of the storms that prevail, has the reach to pull even the divided together—That being: Positivity, acceptance of varied outlooks, and a true desire to assist our neighbors—regardless of common grounds or dissensions.
The last of the crew and cast are departing, and as I extend my day closing thank you’s, they draw me in. The two of them no longer the doctor and nurse characters they played for the day. And as I took my moment of silence, something about them captured me.
So I asked if they would like to share their whys.
They gracefully accepted.
“My mom has schizophrenia,” Katty opens up, “and because of that, I’m encouraged to just be the best person I can be. I think her mental illness has definitely affected me to a point where I’m like, she’s not able to do a lot. And it’s hard for her. I wish that her illness wasn’t on her, and it’s hard on me because looking at her suffering is hard for me.
I think that’s the one thing that motivates me to even do acting—acting is my escape.
When I was younger it was very hard to even be in the house with her. Her just crying all the time and her different changes and stuff.
I want to take her all over the world. To just show her things that she would want to experience.
I’m always looking at the bright side of things. I always make sure of that because of the environment I grew up in. It was so hard to even look at the bright side. Like I would always be like, Why me? Why me all the time?
So now changing my perspective has changed my whole life. Just changing my perspective on thinking more positively, enjoying life, and just really, you know, being the best person that I can be. So yeah, I think that is the biggest part. Just mentally being aware of who and where you are… Yeah.”
“There’s people who choose to follow or not to follow God. For me, it’s God. And I have faith in God that things go better. I know a lot of people that would say so many different things. And that’s their choice. But my choice is to believe in God and have faith that things will be better in my life.”
By our side sits co-player, the doctor of today’s scene: Gilda. A person of warmth and apparent faith, who without interruption, has been compassionately listening to Katty and me.
She asks a question.
“This doesn’t have to solely focus on career or acting?”
Not at all, I respond.
“Forget about all the stuff that we do.” Gilda resumes, “When you look at the world, you look at your life, or you look at what’s going on out there beyond you. And if you had to just fathom the reason for why is it all here? Why should we be here?
Well, being that I come from a Christian family. My father was a pastor and my sister is a pastor. And I have a lot of faith, and I believe in God. Some people don’t believe in heaven or hell. But I believe there is an evil power, which is the devil in this world right now.
There’s people who choose to follow or not to follow God. For me, it’s God. And I have faith in God that things go better. I know a lot of people that would say so many different things. And that’s their choice. But my choice is to believe in God and have faith that things will be better in my life. Or when I pray for something it will turn out that God will grant it that way for me. And I believe that we’re living in the days where people need to realize there is a God. That there is a heaven and hell, and that they need to make the right choices.”
Here we are, Katty, Gilda, myself, and you (the many who I love as strangers-now-friends, or better yet, strangers-to-be-friends).
A majority I like to call the compassionate ones who, as demonstrated to us today in meeting Katty and Gilda, have an equal stake in the equation of what we are to become as the diverse and powerful people we are.
So in bettering this tribute to the cast and crew of this day. To carry forward the linking moment shared by Katty, Gilda, and me. And in the spirit of energizing us all. I have one general request. An ask if you will: That you take yet another brief pause to absorb a notion—one that perhaps each of us can apply in our daily working schedules, as well as in deciding how we choose to view the cultures where we live. And as we do, to reflect on the premise emerging in the stories we are sharing. That being, no one fully knows what we are each carrying in our hearts and histories. For in each of us are hidden and endless stories that unaware to one another, and in their quiet ways, are driving this shared human existence.
The last lights are being shut down. The grip trucks driving away. The closing walk-through is over. And as I wrap in my jacket readying for a blast of cold outside air, I inhale my night-closing breath. In my lungs. More than oxygen. Even more, a chest relaxing truth of a peace just shared by three unique strangers-now-friends.
Katty, Gilda, thank you for your trust.
Talk tomorrow my good friends,
Richard
