“you’ve got to have respect for other people.”

“Are you a veteran!” he asked (it is not a mistake I use ! instead of ?). The question came at me as sharp as a bullet. No, I did not serve, I was between the draft and did not volunteer, I replied. He looked away as if disgusted. Left me carrying a set of mixed feelings. My chest tightened as thoughts ranging from inadequacy to defensiveness tensed me up.

“Why!” he again blasted at me. Trying to gain his trust I opened up, I was young, If I knew then what I know now, a may have enlisted.

“Are you f*#*ing stupid!” he slammed back at me as he got my face. Realizing there was no way I could get in his head, and wanting to settle things down a bit, I looked him in the eyes. “I’m speechless, there is no way I can understand what you went through.” He stepped back, “your, f*#ing* right!”

I was thinking, “it’s over, we’re done, he is out of the game. I pushed him too far.”

But there was still a draw I could not escape. I needed to know more. So I decided to risk asking another question, “will you let me interview you, you have a lot to share?” He shook his head away, “I have nothing to say!”

Off to the side was Antoinette. Who witnessing the whole exchange had been observing silently; and somehow, I think even monitored the situation. In a soft and sincere voice, she contributed to the scene, “I think you have a lot of wisdom to share, you should do it.” But again, Kevin declined. “Wisdom, right! I’ve got nothing to share!”

Once more he took control of the moment and shifted to testing me with an endless barrage of questions: California history, military facts, asked if he could have my camera. I answered all to the best of my ability and held my ground.

We went at it for about thirty minute, and as we did the mood slowly changed to a more relaxed pace. Could it have been that The Colonel was beginning to let me in to his world?

It began with simple exposures. Stating with a cracked a smile“ I’m part Sioux Indian and part Irish, watch out!” By that point, we were one hour into our chat. Then the lightening struck. “Want to see my office?” he asked.

“Sure,”I replied.

I followed him through the Laundromat as he let me know that, up until a few days prior, he worked as security for the business. “I was told my services are no longer needed,” he accused.

We walked through the facility; there were about ten people at various stations, all in different stages of their cleaning rituals, and all seemed to know the Colonel. The guy was a serious extrovert, complimented everyone with innumerable words as he flirted with the women. None looked away. Everyone engaged as if they had personal history. Even two or three customers came up to trust him with service questions. It was obvious that he was no stranger and confirmed to me his past employment.

We continued our travel through the store and ended up in the parking lot at the rear of the building, a situation where I found myself standing alone with him at the back door. His demeanor had changed. With arms to the sky, he exclaimed, “here it is!”

“You’ve got great air circulation and lots of elbow room. Great office!” I expressed. He looked at me and laughed.

Squatting by the door, he grabbed a bagged bottle and took a drink. After sitting silently for a moment taking in the sky, he stood up, “look up there, you can see Jupiter.” With one eye on him, one eye at the sky and my feet readied to take me through the door, I looked up and acknowledged his sighting.

Back at me as if weighing me up, his eye-line shifted, “what do you want to know? and promise you will not make me look like a jerk!” I gave him my word, “there is no way you can look like a jerk, you have a lot of wisdom to share. The only jerks are the one’s who judge you.”

“I used to be a terrible person, but as I get older, I have grown.” He was very specific about the word grown. I once again tried to empathize, “I understand, life has a way of changing us.” I am rebuked, “no I have grown!” He smiled again.

It was not all intense topics with The Colonel. He told me of his four marriages, loss of a home in the 1995 Northridge earthquake, and of his trials growing up. Some items were very dark, others on the lighter side.

It was then that it struck me, even though he had a very difficult life, his was a proud Veteran, a loyal American and very serious about his country and fellow servicemen and women.

I wish I could write the solemn words he entrusted to me. But in honor to him I will tell you only this in regard to Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Boal: He had great depth and a history that deserved him his vices. True, at times he alarmed me, yet at others, with suppressed tears in his eyes, he also moved me.

Ninety minutes into our time together we returned to the front of the building for a photo session, if that is what we can call it. Really, he stood for a couple of minutes, lit a cigarette and signed off.

The last lesson in military respect came as we concluded our evening. A man walked up as he took pause from his laundry duties.“ Are you a veteran?” he inquired of The Colonel.

“Vietnam,” Kevin replied.

The man went on to state his service, and even though he did not see front line, he shared, “I was scared shitless.” The Lieutenant Colonel immediately reached out his hand, and over a firm handshake, “welcome home!” They both welled up, but as fast a their tears tried to break free, they quickly hid their emotions.

A reminder to us all, as have several of the past stories shared by our servicemen and women, there is one thing we need always to do, tell them, thank you, and welcome home!

Kevin’s wisdom, “you’ve got to have respect for other people.”

In expected rough and direct form, the Colonel left me with a challenge:

“Yuwipi  is my religion.” I looked it up. If you are interested in Sioux culture and faith, research it, very interesting.

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.

“Everything is so fast paced now, you must have patience with yourself and those around you.”

Picture yourself in the passenger seat with me as we cruised through suburbia and into a corner shopping center. Radio tuned in as we chilled to our favorite tunes. Yet somehow, the music was silent. How could that be, we heard the volume, but nothing was going into our minds?

It was as if we were on some kind of autopilot, being tugged by intuition towards two figures who were talking in front of a corner Laundromat; and the closer we got, the smaller our musical background became.

We pulled into a parking slip just feet in front of them. Shut down the motor. Music extinguished, the silence grew as two incredibly interesting looking people took hold of our focus. With no pause, our sub-conscience tugged us out of the car and drove us toward them. We shared an interview pitch and quickly we got rejected. Yet even with the rejection, the conversation continued. Smitten by the moment as well as the character of our new acquaintances, it was impossible to let go of our interest. At that point, who cared if we did, or did not, take photographs, these people were intriguing!

To begin, let me introduce you to Antoinette, a very humble lady with thirty years working in education, and the magnet that first caught my eye.

I sighted her as she leaned, child grandson at her side, against the front window of the Laundromat. At first it was uncertain to me how well she knew a rather edgy looking dude standing by her side. He introduced himself as “Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Boal.”

But as I settled into becoming part of their conversation, it rapidly became apparent that I had unintentionally wandered into a chance exchange between two individuals with dramatically different life experience. Captivated by the connection of humanity between them, I was taken in. There was no way I could walk away; they had captured me.

Antoinette was a woman of great compassion, who mostly listening while the three of us were together, later told me of her empathy toward the Lieutenant Colonel (I’ll tell you more about him in the next story).

Have you ever been with people who by only being in their presence make you feel good about yourself? If so, you already have an idea of what spending time with Antoinette was like.

We spoke of faith, patience and the importance of loving others. Something she had learned through her thirty years of working in elementary education. Antoinette exuded a motherly spirit and it was easy to feel her real concern for the people around her. I saw it in the way she treated our Veteran friend Kevin, even comforting him at moments that I was overwhelmed by his stories, sometimes to the point of feeling my blood pressure rise.

I could tell Antoinette was a special soul, a healer of sorts and a person of great faith. An admitted Christian, she explained the source of her character, inspiration and compassion for the world around her. “I’m a believer in Christ, I’m not perfect, but doing my best to be a good person.” She was the kind of person that set a tone worthy of mirroring. I took heed to her example.

I asked her to share her council. Simply, “Everything is so fast paced now, you must have patience with yourself and those around you.”

Truly words I needed to hear, for that night was one in which I was being tested on my ability to endure. Challenged to step to the plate in exercising my skills of empathy and ability to listen. Me, the student, then teacher, then subject, then target. Caught in a triangle of personalities and being directed by two diversely different individuals.

All in all, I spent over two hours communing with Antoinette and Kevin. We talked of many things, Antoinette and I often standing down with much of the conversation being monopolized by Kevin. But, there were no regrets from either Antoinette or myself. He was a fascinating mix of anger, questionable stories and wisdom that seemed to be authentic and hard earned.

The evening was getting late, the Laundromat emptying, it was time to depart, but after spending time with two people from completely opposite ends of the kindness spectrum, I had one profound takeaway: We all have stories, some dark, others not. But in the end–it’s all good!

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’m not really one to be photographed, plus look at me, I’m not looking too good. Best not to take pictures of me. But my mom is at Home Depot, she’ll do it when she gets back!”

I approached the house, Mike, son of the homeowner, was sitting on the porch; and as I passed by, he threw me a welcoming nod. Subscribing to a chin-up and eyes wide open to the world rule that I was starting to live by, I walked his way.

“Hello, my name is Richard Radstone. I’m working on a project that’s all about community and people. For 365 days, I’ll be photographing one stranger a day, blogging their stories and the experience. It’s been an amazing journey so far. Today I’m on day 45, only 320 more to go. I’d like to invite you to be part of the project. Would you be willing to be today’s interview?”

The door flew wide open as Mike started on a roll of his personal history. Without my questioning, and without pause, he fired at me a relentless exposition of family military history that dated back to the Revolutionary War. So-much-so that, at one point, he went into his house to retrieve a few vintage artifacts. I had barely gotten a word in edgewise, as he returned with a grouping of historical items: Stuff like an 1800’s clock, a helmet and entrenching tool used by his great-uncle during the invasion of Normandy, saved newspaper articles that linked his family to events that occurred at WWII Pearl Harbor.

For certain, Mike was a little offbeat, gave me more than I could chew on, even before I could inquire if he would be willing to be interviewed.Overwhelmed by his unyielding narrative I wonder if he would ever take break from his enthusiastic download of family heritage.

A moment came, when in transitioning to another topic, I grabbed front and center. Asked if I could take his picture. Surprisingly, he declined. “I’m not really one to be photographed, plus look at me, I’m not looking too good. Best not to take pictures of me. But my mom is at Home Depot, she’ll do it when she gets back!”

Sure, that’s going to work, I thought as I pictured the awkward moment when Mike’s mom would arrive home to a strange camera guy in her yard. Figured the story would turn to something like this. What! Are you crazy! Who is this guy you let in our yard! Especially after Mike had laid all of the family treasures out all over the front porch. But in journalistic form, and with a looming opportunity to meet his mom, for better or worse, I decided to take the risk.

Diverting away from having his picture taken, and no sooner than I could read one line of the vintage newspaper article he had placed in my hand, up drove mom.

As I anticipated, she cautiously directed her route toward us. I welcomed her (felt a little strange, after all, I was a complete stranger on her property), and presented my pitch. Without hesitation she was on board.

By the condition of the house, I assumed life was on a downward spiral for the family. Wondered, perhaps a deadbeat parent was in the picture, however, that was not the case. Instead, what I found was a stoic woman who had a purpose, in her words, “Help my children, no matter what the sacrifice.”

Please give a warm hello to Merrihelen.

Merrihelen’s stories and supporting evidence of each topic was endless. More that I could reasonably take note of (an experience that led me to begin audio recording my interviews). Tales that, prompted by Mike feeding her what seemed an endless list of starting points, were articulate and descriptive. It was with heartfelt laughter that she ran with them, and as she did, the family opened up in sharing both deep issues and lighter subjects.

A single mother, Merrihelen had spent her life working to support her daughter and two sons. A reality that, as both he and his family were very transparent and honest in revealing, was expanded with Mike being mentally disabled.

I’ll not sugar coat my observation. The house was very rundown, and it was obvious and that the family was struggling. But what was inspiring was the humor and tenacity Merrihelen demonstrated as she spoke of life and trial. It was easy to see the depth of her intellect as we talked of her family lineage, career path and stories about growing up in Los Angeles.

The most captivation thing: Every story she told was mirrored by her children. Like a passing of oral traditions, she dated her family tree all the way back to the Irish clans. Accounts that by folkloric tradition are to this day verbally forwarded from generation to generation. Seemed that some traditions did not die easily.

From her humble porch I learned of under published California historical facts and acts of military courage. Stories like Merrihelen’s great-uncle, a Corporal who charged Normandy in WWII. His accomplishment? Within the first moments of hitting the beach, all of his division’s superior officers were either killed or critically injured. For five hours, being the highest rank left able, he successfully led the advance of his division. Keeping morale and commanding all until he himself suffered intense burns to his arms and face from an exploding phosphorous grenade. Sound far-fetched? Yep, and I was highly skeptical. That was until her second son, Allan, reproved me. Brought forth his uncle’s bullet worn helmet and entrenching tool; each bearing the marks of a burning explosion. I could have argued the authenticity of the items, but something told me to just let it go as the family went on to share many other stories of war and history. Evidence assured as every one was less vague and supported by historical artifact or documentation.

From a rag-tag front yard introduction I had been entertained and enriched, and when time came to close the interview, I had not even scratched the surface of Merrihelen. For I had gotten to know a survivor who was moving ahead with grace and dignity; a woman who once honorably served California as a Highway Patrol trooper, a person who spent over twenty-five years working at customer service call centers (AT&T, Bank of America), a mother who had paid some serious dues in life, and a provider who, due to circumstance had found herself unemployed and fighting to keep her head above water.

But even in the face of adversity, Merrihelen patriotically stated, “America should remain the land of opportunity.”

All I could think was this, God be with the faithful, hard-working mothers.

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.

“whatever way life takes you, follow your inside, your persona, how you feel about your presence on Earth, and somehow let it be the guide in interfering with your choices.”

A was typical night in Radstoneland: I give you the beats.

• Taught Spinning
• Best Buy for more iPad stuff. I’m telling you, “the thing is a drug addiction.”
• Purchased new car tires. (Ended any dream for more iPad fix money. It was all gone).
• Visited camera store to look at other pricy things I could not afford.
• Went to park with daughter and friends (“Ah, released from life).”
• Bothered families at park for an interview (Daughter hooked on the project, she forced me to bug people).
• Accepted rejection from said park families. (Felt like the creepy stalker but had to respect my daughter’s starry eyes).
• Left park to heal shame for bugging families.
• Saw photo opportunity­–preacher dude on street corner, redirected path toward him.
• Got yelled at violently by preacher dude on street corner. (My bad; thought he’d want to tell the world to repent).
• Staggered back to car; happy I was intact! (Don’t worry; kids were safely in car and in my field of view).
• Set path for home: dinnertime and a serious re-think of how I would meet a stranger-now-friend.
• Wife threw me out, “go find someone to photograph, I’ve got the kids.”
• Broke in new car tires as I wandered aimlessly.
• Drove past coin operated car wash on Saticoy.
• Mind drifted, “oh my heavens, its 8pm and I’m clueless as to if I’m meeting anyone tonight.”
• Small voice in head told me to turn around and go to another coin operated wash near where preacher dude was. “OK?”
• 8:15sh, arrived at prompted car wash (Thought, “as leastI can wash my car).”
• Fought with change machine, stupid thing would not take my wrinkled bills. (Wondered, “doesn’t everyone shove wadded money in pockets? How do the clean their cars?).”
• Created friction burn on leg from straightening bill.
• Won fight, walked away from opponent, hand filled with quarters.
• Got hosed. (“$5.00 for eight minutes of paid water. You’re kidding me!).”
• Pulled out of slip, (I refused to pay $2.50 more to rinse a little soap off my car).
• Pit stopped at vacuum station to decompress from money sucking timed wash experience.
• Observed what looked like expert car washer in stall beside me. (Could not figure out why his car looked so much cleaner than mine).
• Questioned my car detailing ability?
• Submitted to my failure.
• Struck up chat with car washing expert (Thought, “perhaps I’d get pointers on where I went wrong. Should I have sprayed the degreaser first? Maybe I was too long with the soap brush? Help!).”
• He was a cool dude. Invited him to be interviewed, he accepted.
• Curtis was his name.

A recent transplant from Kentucky to Los Angeles, pharmacist Curtis began his West Coast pharmaceutical career four years prior to the night I met him. Yet as we talked, I quickly realized there was more to Curtis than simply preparing medication. He talked of the importance of patient experience, saying with smile on his face, “It’s really about making people comfortable, many of my customers don’t feel well when they come to my pharmacy. I do my best to let them know that I care.”

Above filling prescriptions, it was obvious the man had great compassion for others, something that inspired him in his greatest dream, “I want to be an entertainer.”

An emerging comic and singer, Curtis expressed his reasoning for pursuing path into such a difficult and competitive profession. He had the right perspective. “It’s about giving myself and sharing my talents.”

After thirty years as a director and photographer, it was a comment that I very much appreciated. There are so many talented people who seem to quickly burn out from self-absorption, and Curtis’ interest to give and share was about as healthy as it got.

We talked of creative mindset, linked it with the importance of being true to personal perspective and what it took to both develop and hold on to artistic point-of-view. Another topic that was very close to me.

Curtis gave us this wisdom, “whatever way life takes you, follow your inside, your persona, how you feel about your presence on Earth, and somehow let it be the guide in interfering with your choices.”

After a long day of rejections, and in a way that I was still learning, I was again guided. Directed, if you will, to a man who truly cared about people, and a person I hoped would find his voice in the world of entertainment. We need guys like him on stage.

In the end, it grew clear to me why I was at that particular car wash, at that particular time, and on that particular evening. I was being whispered to by something beyond myself, and as I listened, I was taught once again.

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.

“these kids inspire me, when the kids succeed, I succeed.”

For years my daughter had, on and off, been participating in gymnastics, and with my wandering the streets looking to interview strangers, it had become the norm for my wife to stand in as her companion. But on one particular evening I tagged along, and upon arriving as parental guardian, a consideration entered my mind:I had never introduced myself to Susan, the program’s director.

In the forty-two days that preceded that evening, I had been obsessive in my focus of meeting what I called, absolute strangers. Exhausting as it was, and sometimes as heartbreaking as it could be, my perspective of others was maturing in a very remarkable way. Even my ability to communicate and write was improving. A byproduct I must give credit to the patience and support of my family as they willingly lost part of me to the time requirements of Sidewalk Ghosts. None-the-less it was on that evening of October 22, 2011 I broke a little. Took my first real breather to place the project as second priority. It was fair time to forefront my family life. At least that was my attempted goal. However, I found it an impossible benchmark to feasibly obtain. The project was far too organic to allow me that luxury. It was that night I fully realized the full impact of a commitment far beyond myself, and to be able to hold my head anywhere near the meter of integrity, I had to remain honest to the scope of the project. But like a constant healer, in it was a gift that proved priceless. A tactile realization I witnessed in the outlook of my wife, daughter and friends. Even something that was affecting the person I was. An understated educator and motivator was being given to us. Like an agent of change, it invited us on a journey to new perspectives, that in a most measureable way, were releasing us from a trap of our own making: The subtle isolation that many of us unintentionally create as we forget to pause to look at our neighbors; and on that night, in a college gymnasium I, in a unrequested way, received a profound revelation. For it was not only those I had never seen who were the strangers, it was there were strangers in my daily life, even people that I had casually known of or briefly met before.

With this brain wave as a motivator, I first really noticed my daughter’s coach, Susan. A person who although I knew by name, role and reputation, I did not know at all–a stranger in my midst.

There were kids and parents all around, and with only two assistants, Susan was up to her elbows in coaching and parent management. Her method of peaceful suggestion and firm stay on task communication was quite noticeable. It was obvious Susan was on a defined mission, to help her students excel and overcome their fears; and other than her brief acknowledgement to parents as they uncomfortably wiggled in folded chairs, she was all absorbed in coaching her students. So I patiently waited for opportunity to arise, a moment when I could invite her to be part of Sidewalk Ghosts.

Water break came, and as if a little voice from elsewhere invited her, Susan walked my way. Without smile, but within her expression of gratitude to the parental audience who had entrusted their children to her, she apparently noticed me. So, I reached out with a short hello and explanation of my goal of publishing an essay a day for an entire year. Instantly she was intrigued by the commitment, and in her coaching way, told me to keep it going. In such, and with her students back on the mat, she accepted my invitation to be interviewed, but with one stipulation, “I am about to teach, can we talk after class.”

No worries, I’m glad to wait, I assured her.

I grabbed a mat of my own and began to journal. An hour and a half passed, and other than a little chat with another new friend of the evening, Arney, father to another future Olympian, I’d been typing away in relative silence.

8:28pm arrived, class ended and the gymnasium began to empty. With one part of her mind obviously directed to all that was happening in the shutting down of the gym, she was a touch aloof in her time spent with me. But in short testaments she spoke volumes. I carefully listened and took notes.

I arrived home at 10:41pm, and even though I had made a stellar attempt at writing a story at the gym, I realized I had much more to tell. Susan’s coaching had affected me, and in fairness to her, it was my responsibility to express exactly how. I set aside my dreams for a computer free evening, and feeling beyond thankful for support of my wife, who in the other room was getting our exercised and cookie pumped-up kid to sleep, I recorded my review of the evening.

Since 1979, Susan had been involved with training youth in gymnastics. Reserved, focused and committed to service are probably the best definitions to tell you of her character. But, what really impressed me was Susan spoke nothing of herself. Her responses wonderfully selfless, and even though she emphasized the importance of the program she directed, she never spoke of herself. Choosing instead to reference the power of community and the importance of inclusion.

“This is a non-profit, a nice place to work, so kids without lots of money can have the opportunity to take gymnastics. Our classes are for the community,” Susan explained. Her countenance void of boasting and without any positioning for personal gain she comfortable redirected away from herself. Yes, Susan was a rock star coach!

Truly putting her students first, and after intently observing her coaching style, I can honestly say, all Susan desired was to see her students succeed.

We finished our interview, gym empty, I asked, are you sure you don’t have any words of wisdom to impart to the world?

In perfect Susan style, again it was about the kids and her class, “Parents need to let me do what I do, especially with the very young children. Sometimes there is a little disorderly conduct. I just go with it and real them back in. You give a little, you receive a lot; so parents, please let me do what I do.”

Her final words, “these kids inspire me, when the kids succeed, I succeed.”

Amen to that!

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.

 

Even though it has been over seven years since I first met her, the positive outlook she glowed, to this day, stops me in my tracks. Yet, under the free spirit she so happily exuded, there was a person enduring the pain of a great loss.

It was pumpkin hunting night. A Halloween tradition followed by countless families, as once a year, make shift lots fill with those in quest of the perfect jack-o’-lantern. Curbside destinations that backed by a bazaar mix of creepy music and children’s laughter, set stage for a night of costume, ghoul and candy. It was on that very night and occasion my daughter and I ran into Kimberly, who apropos to the evening that was at hand, we approached at the patch where we too sought our perfect pumpkin.

It was moments before closing time, and being careful not to ignore the shoppers and other staffers who were working, we took a quick break in finding a hay bail to rest upon. With time limited for conversation our getting to know each other was quick and playful. The small talk one might expect in any first introduction.

Stuff like her artistic talent, poetry, music and creativity in general. In doing so, she bestowed upon me a few gems of wisdom: “To design is to simplify,” and “’Never take ‘no’ for an answer.’”

“For many years I wanted to be a rap star, but now, my life is all about school and art,” she told me. A statement that probably accounted for the super-hip attitude and style sense she so seamlessly carried.

Her passion and enthusiasm was evident as she shared her wisdom for what’s to come. A character revealing part of the person she was. Choosing to look beyond herself in directing her comments towards us, “you are the creator of your life, and life is what you make of it.”

A heartwarming sentiment that delivered with her joyful and imaginative spirit warmed my heart. But, behind her eyes I could sense a held back tear; and as I did, our conversation fell silent. It was as if an Angel had reached past the darkness of scarecrows and ghosts in the closet. A whispering voice that was not originating in my own sub-conscious, but rather flowed out of the eyes of Kimberly. It ran into my emotional self.

I swallowed deeply. Compassion an understatement to that of what I was feeling, and looking at her, it seemed as if she too was touched beyond explanation. Then the emotions erupted and she burst into heartfelt sobbing. All I could do was sit quietly.

Cheeks still wet, I asked, are you OK?

A gentle smile came over her face, “last year at this time my father died,” she revealed.

The tears started again, only this time it was my cheeks that were getting wet. There were no words to share, the fullness of our connection confirmed by the intimacy of the moment.

I’m a son who had lost his father, and looking into the eyes of a youthful young woman who had lost her dad, I identified with not only my pain, but visualized forward the impact my eventual death might bring upon my daughter. All I wanted to do was give Kimberly and my girl hugs, and that’s exactly what I did. Three strangers to each other, Kimberly, my daughter and myself, each pulled at the heartstrings in what I could only be described as a healing bond. No words were necessary. The Angels had imparted their will, and we were all the better for it.

Realizing that her positive outlook was more than youthful naivety, I changed the subject. For as Sidewalk Ghosts continually teaches, there is a unique human spirit within all of us, and in regard to Kimberly, it was mature, loving and caring. The tears in her eyes, although representative of pain from loosing her father, in her words, “my best friend;” were proof she was more focused on living forward the love and example he departed onto her.

 

Kimberly’s presence was sure, her sentiments focused and kind; and even though we had opened a very fragile topic, I was taken by her strength and ability to turn sadness into tribute.

Kimberly, I will be ever grateful for the trust you had in me that brisk October night. Humbled by your sharing of a most precious part of your life–and through it, my greatest prayer is that all who hear your example might also be inspired. For I know you inspired me.

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 feels the way you do; what you do with it is up to you. You can either handle it, or you can be a victim.”

“It’s impossible to go through life without problems.” A quote that revealed the character of a remarkable young man, Aaron, who at only twenty had experienced enough life to make such a claim. Credentials he had earned all so early in his years–some self-inflicted, others by situation.

First, if you are a regular reader, the following is a common question likely familiar to you by now; and if you are new to Sidewalk Ghosts, you’ll come to enjoy the varied and revealing responses it evokes from everyone interviewed in the project, that being, If you had the stage and the whole world was listening, what words of wisdom, council or advice would you share.

As we took photos Aaron responded, “Everybody feels the way you do; what you do with it is up to you. You can either handle it, or you can be a victim.”

A very deep consideration, one that perhaps is easier to say than to live by. I questioned him back; do you mean everybody CAN feel the way you do? He clarified, “No, there is no can in it.”

We chatted about this subtle interpretation for a while; and as we did, I realized what Aaron was talking about. He was referencing the core emotions we all feel. The stuff we call love, fear, envy, joy, shame, empowerment and on and on. As he spoke Aaron related them to life in general, linked all to the second part of his statement, “What you do with it is up to you. You can either handle it, or you can be a victim.”

He clarified again, “it’s about self-respect;” a well-earned statement in which I was beginning to accept his authority to own. For hanging in his heart was a diploma received from the University of Hard Knocks. In such there was a palpable feeling of integrity that radiated from Aaron.

His story started as one we have heard many times; troubled high school years, falling away from home, and a generalized list of rebellions. But what was unique about Aaron was his willingness to change at such a young and impressionable age. An adjustment of perspective that he was not only undertaking in his own life, but one where he was truly striving to onboard his friends to follow in his footsteps.

It was in an area that I had sarcastically labeled The Hang-Out Zone, a curbside gathering spot that had become a regular occurrence, where my mind was opened. A patch of sidewalk and parked cars that, just two houses down from mine, was home to fifteen or so teens and twenty-somethingers who loitered. Boys and girls, who often tossed cigarette butts into my yard, and at times spoke out in loud obscenities, had put a real damper on our neighborhood. Even to the point to my not wanting my daughter to come anywhere close to spending time in the front yard. Especially during the daytime hours when it was beyond me as to why the youngest of the clan was not in school. I even knew a few of them from the days they were children. Thought they were mostly good kids. But still, there they were, day after day, for hours on end. Doing what looked like nothing.

I saw Aaron, sitting by himself one night. The Hang-Out Zone empty of its usual disruptive buzz as I stood in my front yard. To be perfectly honest, before I started on Sidewalk Ghosts, I probably would have not thought to approach him. Choosing to force myself, because of my relationship with my neighbors, to stand frustrated behind a veal judgmental tolerance. However, the project was shifting my outlook on life and others. My heart was expanding as I began to put myself in the other shoe. So I pushed down my uninformed assessment as I shifted my train of thought to a more resolvable point-of-view. I realized that if I had a question or assumption, or did not know the individual who prompted that said question or assumption, it was my responsibility to not ignore facing them straight on.

So I approached Aaron, and I was fully glad I did.

What was he doing about life? A very reasonable inquiry for certain: A topic that as Aaron and I spoke, it became apparent that his philosophies were deep and reflective; but was he really acting on them?

Per service to his friends? I facilitated discussion with a question, why was he sitting alone at the Hang-Out Zone? A couple answers:

ONE
“I wanted to check in on Jacob” (the kid living at the Hang-Out Zone house). With obvious concern he exposed his motivation for being there, “I just got my G.E.D and came to tell Jacob, if I can do it, so can you.”

TWO (this one is a little heavy)
He had just come from counseling another one of the group members, a kid who lived close by. Not mentioning names, and again with a signature compassion that I was starting to feel flow from Aaron, he summarized, “I talked him out of a suicide attempt.” That in itself would have shut down the average twenty-year-old.

Two reasons that, embarrassed to admit, where the farthest from my reactionary appraisals of who Aaron was, even what he was doing. My initial thought being that he was wasting time just loitering on the street. I was not even close to the truth.

The reality: Aaron had made up for high school follies in flying colors and was attending Pierce College; taking all his G.E’s along with a few music electives. He cared about every course he was enrolled in and was pulling great grades. With a smile on his face he said,  “even Sociology.” On top of that, he had independently applied for grants and financial aid and was very serious about finishing his education with a degree in music.

Coming from a line of musicians, this was not a pipe dream.

“I eat, live, breath music,” Aaron expressed; and supported by and following in his father’s footsteps, it was a well thought-out career decision. Simply, he wanted to do it right.

I had to ask, why do you have the plugs?

Somewhat frustrated by them, “It was a thing I did a long time ago, but now they are holding me back. Too many people judge me because of them, and even my tattoos.” Elaborating, “they were the width of soda cans and very offensive to many employers. I’m working hard to find a good job and need to lose them.” At that point it had been six months since he started on receding them. A process that required going from smaller to smaller ring. Almost there at a touch larger than quarters, he was saving for the last step, a surgical procedure that costs $500.

We talked into the evening, and as the sun fell, I knew Aaron was a good kid. But there was still one very important piece of business we had not discussed–a challenge that I placed directly into his hands to manage.

Yes, Aaron promised to stop all from throwing the cigarette butts and swear a little less.

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.

The Great Recession in the United States was a severe financial crisis combined with a deep recession. While the recession officially lasted from December 2007 to June 2009, it took several years for the economy to recover to pre-crisis levels of employment and output.

 

The Great Recession: Income poisoning years that put so many of us on the edge of financial ruin. From blue collar to white collar its venom respected none as homes were lost and family security destroyed. An economic downturn that carried far beyond its peak years, its residual effect redirected the course of countless individuals. A fact not only experienced in my own life, but one confirmed to me in the meeting of todays stranger now friend; a testament to the depth of how deeply our hard working citizens were hit, Miguel.

A few quick notes of introduction: Miguel had a great work ethic and paid his fair share of taxes. He communication was very clear and he spoke as a man of integrity, yet he had not worked a paying day in over a year. Not by any lack of effort or weakness of ability, mind you, rather by forces of the down turned economy. A welder by trade, he was laid off of a well-paying position; one that not only supported him, but fed and housed his single mother and six siblings. Since that time he had applied for endless employment opportunities with no results. However, it seemed with the slowdown of construction and halt of development projects, jobs were scarce and competition high. A situation I’m sure many of us have found ourselves experiencing on one level or another.

One of an endless list of hard-working Americans, Miguel was not looking for a handout, simply a respectable job. His pride to provide on the line, I could see the concern in his face as we talked about the pain of unemployment and its effects on him: Weight gain of over one hundred pounds, a bought of depression and the stress brought on by a very real possibly of loosing his home–all the while, first and foremost, expressing love for his mother and siblings.

Miguel was truly a good man!

A subtle grin came over his face as he told of how he rapidly overcame the depression. Realizing it would get him nowhere. He credited physical activity as the major contributor that kept him grounded and on path to maintaining his health as well as positive mental perspective.

Miguel stood strong, committed, unshaken and humbly willing to share his story, in which he stated, “I’ll never fall that far into that depth of depression again.” Going on to explain how it actually turned out to be a great motivator as to where he did not want to be.

No selfish words were in his vocabulary, again, only concern for his mother and siblings. It was apparent his desire to provide for family was paramount on his agenda. A responsibility he held as an honored privilege. You see, his father left when he was eight, making him the patriarch of the family; and please don’t get me wrong, this is not a poor me story, quite the opposite. There was no guile or victim in Miguel’s tone. He even went on to state, “I am wanting to find my father and talk with him, to see who he is.”

He talked of his dream, simple and to the point, “Work to kick-in, so we can keep the house, everything, and I can help my family.”

I’m telling you, Miguel was a fighter. A to-the-point man with one very defined priority: Family First. A point-of-view, that as we concluded our time together, he paused in self-inventory. After a moment of thoughtful consideration, he focused away from himself. For it would have been easy for him to ask if anyone had a job to offer. But breaking the introspective silence, he revealed yet another level to his character. Turning his eyes outward toward you and I, he wished, “I hope you don’t go through this.”

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.

“happiness is not about money or status, it’s about self-worth.”

It was day thirty-eight into the project and all those who knew me were starting to see, even feel, the impact it was having on my families life. Literally, to the point, that as I first authored this story, I was looking across the table at six of my closest friends. Who, accompanied by our children, had gotten together for a Sunday family and social night. Yet in the middle of the get together, I had a commitment at hand, to publish my daily story. With that, I took leave from the group as all settled into an evening of games and conversation. Everyone by that time used to me working, no matter where I was. However, even though they were with me in the journey, they all figured harassment was still fair game.

That said, it would be short-changing my friends to not publish the remarks they shared. From my friend Pam, “If you’re dissing us, you better write about me,”even upstaged me, “I’m going to start my own blog on a leap year. So I’ll beat you with 366 days. Eat that!” she laughed.

The train had started, and I gladly offered myself as target. Some of the most creative jests came at me with the speed of a jabbing prizefighter. It was roast time and I was guest of honor, and as joke after joke hit me like pounding uppercuts, I lost no stride. With words flying at me faster than I could respond to, I was focused as focus could be. Yes, I was in keyboard nirvana and nothing was going to break my typing rhythm.

I give credit to who credit is due. Their effort was stellar. Monumental in fully blend of support and true effort to distract. So fairly in tribute to their efforts, thezerbert I threw to them that day still stands. A banner to their friendly harassment and loving patience, and to my ability to endure as the writing machine I was becoming.

The verbal punch fest subsided as all retreated to the living room for karaoke time, and as I worked to separate my mind from Billy Joel, The Beatles and other greats, I sat resolute in authoring the day’s story. So with the haunting sounds of lounge music behind me, I placed at center stage our new friend of that day: Jenna.

I strolled upon her as she chatted with friends outside of a little sports bar in Woodland Hills, The Corner Club. A place a touch out of my comfort zone, but there was a magnetic energy that inspired me to approach the group. As I arrived, I absorbed my first challenge; a dismissive bantering that was being tossed at me from one member of the group. A friendly enough bloke who giving me a bit of sarcastic hassle, made it obvious he had no intent of allowing me to photograph him. A few minutes passed as I compassionately listened, in a way de-escalating a situation that had potential to turn south in a destructive way. For it was not my place to correct him in his assessments of the moment, and as long as he was respecting my place to share the space we were in, and not physically attacking me, he had just as much right as I did to voice his opinion. His input expressed and his demeanor lessoned after making his position known, he quietly retreated to the solace of the bar inside, leaving Jenna and I the privacy to talk.

At first I was uncertain of where we would go with our conversation, especially after the storm of negativity that was just thrown our way. Not knowing exactly how to relate with Jenna, I simply jumped right in with a question, Is there anything you would like to share with my readers?

That was all it took. Instantly Jenna and I were deep in discussion and she had a ton to say. As was over and over being proven to me, I again knew why I was there, at that place, at that time, standing with Jenna.

First off, another lesson of the downfalls of profiling was instore for me, for sadly, due to the location, appearance and attitude of the group, I had prepared myself to hear an edgy point of view. Something that did have a partial relevance in what was to come, but in equal manner was diminished as Jenna opened-up in a sweet and accepting spirit. Sharing her insight on society she began, “Life is tough for everybody, but some make it a bigger deal than it has to be. They forget about each other, overreact and disregard the fact that we are all in this life together.”

A struggling actor, Jenna had experienced the high and lows of being an artist. Yet she was highly optimistic, quoting a piece of advice she picked up from a MartinScorsese interview, His father’s advice: “Nothing is more tragic than a wasted talent.”

She went on to tell me that although it had been an incredibly difficult year, she had reached a time where she was no longer fighting for control. Further expressing that in doing so, life had bought many new opportunities to her. She was honest with me in what was helping pay her bills, a YouTube spoof on sex advise, telling me that although it was somewhat raunchy, she drew the line at nudity. With humble admission, she exposed she took hits when people called her a porn star, but that was farthest from her values. I know, for many that line is black and white. But Jenna was resolute her show was a means to an end, and she had made the commitment to not compromise in going anywhere close to full-scale pornography.

Her stance, “you can only lose your dignity once,” and for Jenna, pornography would have been just that.

It is not our place to judge the intent of others, and after spending time chatting with Jenna, I was positive her point-of-view was of good rapport. You will absolutely see why in a moment.

She comfortably stated, “happiness is not about money or status, it’s about self-worth.” A theme that was already becoming strong, as even in these early days of Sidewalk Ghosts, it was a grounding premise to the mission we are now on. So how does a statement like this balance with smiling off the accusations of being a porn star?

Now I ask you to take off your first impression glasses and read on.

What really peaked my interest in Jenna was when she expressed her truest desire. A dedication to the future of our youth, specifically those who had special needs. A passion that was quite a change of direction from the sex talk program that was supporting her. The very unseen catalyst that stood under all of her efforts and compromises was exposed. Sex talk was a means to an end. A way open to her for making income through her acting talents, and I’m sure you realize just how hard it is to survive in the entertainment jungle, especially for the single folk.

Once again, it was not mine to judge her decisions of how she applied her skill set, nor was it mine to condemn her for the content she created, for at the end of the day, it is someone or something beyond myself who will have the last remarks as to her intent. Reality had hit me in the face upon meeting Jenna. The revelation that under the outer surface on all that we do, there is a human heart that, at first glance, is mostly hidden.

For eighteen years Jenna had dedicated her life to teaching special need children. Her nitche, working with kids roughly eleven-years old. An age that somehow, in her word, “seem to fall through the cracks with many taking no interest.” A point of view most would not entertain from a person hanging out at a grungy sports bar as they talked of a seemingly raunchy choice of content they created. I took careful notes in accessing her integrity. Observing things like the healthy Peach Yogurt she was carrying, of her not drinking alcohol or entering the bar, and of her plan of standing by while her comrade’s downed other more intoxication beverages.

We were interrupted mid interview, when politely she redirected an aggressive fellow who approached us. With grace and poise she pointed him another way, seemingly not wanting to have the topic at hand polluted by any loud distractions as she empathetically put him on another path.

Distraction settled; we resumed our conversation as Jenna expanded on what was most important to her. A balance she was striving to find in separating her acting decisions from her pursuits for helping special children to build healthy self-esteem–a theme in which she fore-fronted the importance of hard work and not being lazy. “I want them to succeed,” Jenna proposed, and as we talked of this aspect of her life, I saw great pride and compassion in her continence.

I could tell by the look on Jenna’s face that her life had not been easy, and that she was a fighter. In my time with her we spoke of many more things. Too many to fully express in short essay format, but I promise that I do share the above chosen words with purpose. You see, many of the Sidewalk Ghosts essays touch on a very common topic. One that Jenna exampled in a big way: We cannot judge a book by its cover.

It was an afternoon I approached, even interrupted, a group of friends enjoying their weekend leisure; and viewing through both side of the looking glass, perhaps I was the one to have been judged. A question that now, after over eight years of approaching and interviewing countless strangers is one that constantly humbles me. But in reflecting upon the wisdom so graciously given by Jenna, “Life is tough for everybody, but some make it a bigger deal than it has to be. They forget about each other, overreact and disregard the fact that we are all in this life together,” I am continuously grounded.

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.

As Anne and I began our interview, her phone rang, her husband with news regarding his recent deployment. In her eyes, I saw a dream on the horizon, a possible mission that would place him permanently in San Diego, giving them the chance to finally start a life under one roof.

For those of you who don’t know what spinning is. Put this in your mind: One hour of high intensity peddling on a stationary bike, ever-changing grades of resistance, high tempo music and a room full of riders pushing to burn calories; 500 to 800 to be exact. Add to that a cycling drill sergeant motivating you, and you have 50% of the picture. The other 50% you can only get by attending a spinning class. No lie, it’s an addictive and extreme workout. I know first hand, I teach it seven times a week.

Group fitness it is called, a constantly changing culture of mostly very cool and collaborative people. A healthy minded collective ranging from career athletes to part time coaches, and in all, an interesting mix of back-stories. Per me, besides the real world hill climber and sprinter, I’m the goofy and helpful one. Always willing to play strange music and help a co-instructor. An attitude that set stage for introducing today’s featured stranger-now-friend. A multi talented rider and yoga power woman, who smile was as radiant and as her story.

At first she was not excited to participate in the project, saying she did not have anything interesting to share. But there was something about her that I knew needed to be told. I just did not know what it was a first. But I couldn’t let it go. Not that I pestered her in any way, quite the opposite, I simply stopped talking about it as I allowed the spirit of the moment to take over. A feeling having experienced many times by that point of Sidewalk Ghosts was what I again submitted to. I simply let the offer hang in the air.

I focused back on helping her as we set the stereo to her preference, an as we did, somewhere in the middle of audio check, she accepted the opportunity to contribute. Seemed the little invisible voice spoke louder than my words.

Please meet Anne, a most remarkable woman. Soon you will know just how remarkable.

The time for Anne’s class to arrive was not far off, so continuing to assist her without distracting from her from her pre-class warm-up; I grabbed a few fun shots of her checking the bike. As mentioned, she was in amazing condition. Pushing like the drill sergeant she obviously was, she stood to full-out standing sprint, smile on face, she looked at me, breathed freely as she waited for my response. NO LIE, SMILE ON FACE! She was not human, most mortals in the same situation would have been grimacing and gasping.

Sprint over; she sat to test her climbing. With heavy resistance pressing back against her pedals, she comfortably relaxed her torso, and then it appeared again, that motivating smile. Oh the pain of it all! I thought. Her class had better watch out, they’d be putty in her hands before they knew it. Pulled in by her smile, but then, by the pace of the effort she exampled, I was sure they all would be on the floor by the end of her one-hour session. What a way to burn calories, being smiled into submission.

But that was only the wrapping to Anne’s story. True, she was a poster child for fitness. But deeper than her physical ability was her devotion to country and husband.

You see, Anne was a military wife, one in thousands of unsung heroes.

It’s easy for us civilian folk to recognize the men and women in uniform. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve shook the hands of those who sacrifice so much to preserve our freedom, and I ask you to please take moment of pause to thank them for their efforts.

Yet, in seeing our uniformed protectors, we are only seeing half the picture. For many of them the sacrifice is more than risking personal life and limb, they leave loving families behind as they serve. As mentioned; unsung heroes, who not always easily spotted, deserve as much praise as they’re far away spouses. For they are the selfless ones, the ones who by their faith and courage, stand side-by-side with spouses in sacrificing all to bravely serve our nation.

Unless you have served or have had a family member serve, there is no way you can completely understand this sacrifice. I thought I did, that was, until I met Anne.

As Anne and I began our interview, her phone rang, her husband with news regarding his recent deployment. In her eyes, I saw a dream on the horizon, a possible mission that would place him permanently in San Diego, giving them the chance to finally start a life under one roof. Yet, it was bad news; the San Diego deployment had dissolved.

The military life is one that changes in a moments notice. Although saddened, the spirit of Anne’s disappointment was content. I did my best to look away in allowing her privacy, but as I moved in giving her room, I could hear the love and pride of husband in every word she shared.

My eyes watered up as Anne talked with me post the phone call, held back tears in her eyes, “I am so proud of my husband, he is always smiling and thinking of others. The most positive man I know. And when things are down, he is there to pick me up. I married a good man. I am blessed and honored to be with him.”

After hearing that, I never viewed a military man or woman the same again. Sure, they will forever get my families appreciation. But one extra thing I will always be noticing. If they are wearing a wedding ring, and if so, I now know what to say, “my prayers are with you and your family.”

God Bless those who protect our freedoms; and to the angels in heaven, please watch over the families who so selflessly stand by them.

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.