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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Comments are great too. Really want to hear what you have to share.

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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She stood puzzled, “Lab, Otto Style?”

 

My eyes were watering and the room was a blur. It was 6pm and deep in pre-production for an upcoming project, I’d barely eaten on a day that was wonderfully insane. I’m a little crazy in the fact that I love days like that; they keep my mind nimble and my creativity flowing. Plus, I was fortunate to be working with my favorite collaborator, my wife; and a good friend and very talented animator and illustrator, Brandon. Together they were helping me put the finishing touches on a set of perspective sketches for an advertising project I was directing the following week.

It was day eleven of my stranger-meeting challenge. My goal of interviewing a stranger before my midnight deadline was rapidly approaching, and beyond the pressure of the work at hand, was a growing growl in my stomach. Grabbing my camera bag, (as I always did when going anywhere), I decided to take a walk to my favorite corner eatery, Lemon Grass Thai Restaurant, a cool little joint around the corner from me.

Out the door I went, wife and Brandon deciding to stay focused on their tasks, as I promised to return ASAP. Just had to eat something or who knew what my blurriness would transition into. Plus, I can get a little moody when I start to sugar crash. Thought it wouldn’t take me too long, only a couple of minutes walk, I told myself, as I prayed I would meet a stranger on the way there. I rounded the corner, paced a couple of blocks and as I approached Lemon Grass, leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette, was Otto. I looked at him apprehensively, “Who is this guy, and why is he loitering in my neighborhood?”

But there were lessons that 365 was teaching me, and one of greatest was to not assume anything about a person until I met them face-to-face, so I approached him, staying aware of my surroundings and not getting too close into his space. Introduced myself, I told him I was on my way to eat at Lemon Grass, about my project, and invited him to be part of it. He smiled an energetic smile, “I am the owner of Lemon Grass.”I tested the statement a little as we talked about the menu. He seemed legit, inviting me to enjoy the food. By that point my body was aching from the 45 pounds of camera gear on my back and I needed food, so I asked if we could take our conversation inside.

With an amusing attitude he agreed and into the restaurant we went. We sat as he told me of his signature dish, Lab (a spicy beef salad). The dining room was empty and other than the server taking my order, we were left alone to chat. The only interruption being an occasional look out of the kitchen from what looked like one of the cooks. Seemed normal enough to me as I dismissed it as their being aware of where the boss was.

Otto nodded to them as they withdrew back into the kitchen, the phone began ringing with what I guessed was a rush of incoming take away orders. He turned back to me, “Try the Lemon Grass Tea, it’s a cure for joint pain,”as he shifted to a conversation to healthy eating. A few more minutes passed, the cooks emerged again, at which point, Otto excused himself, asking if we could take the photos in 30 minutes. He disappeared into the kitchen right on queue as my food arrived.

As promised Otto returned 30 minutes later, asked if I enjoyed my meal, which by then I had devoured. He said things were starting to get busy and it was a good time to quickly take his picture. We shot a few frames, and leaving back into the kitchen, he shared his last words, “Next time you come, order to Lab, and ask for it Otto style.”

Four weeks passed and on a much more sane day, I was once again having a Lemon Grass craving. This time my wife was able to join me. We sat at our usual table. Our favorite spot right across from a tropical fish tank that I give credit for my never wanting to order seafood there. Our server arrived and offered us menus. I looked at her and smiled, I already now what I wanted to try. You guessed it: Lab, Otto Style.

She stood puzzled, “Lab, Otto Style? He doesn’t work here anymore.”

“Really?” I responded, knowing I had been duped, as I asked for a menu. A mixture of stupidity and embarrassment filled my heart. He seemed so sincere. Why the deception? Later, as we finished our meal, I found out Otto was a part time delivery person who had moved onto greener pastures, a trade that was nothing to be ashamed of. I flashed back to all the gestures from the kitchen staff, of his 30-minute disappearance, and his need to exit as the phones rang. The story unfolded and I saw clearly.

In looking back, I can’t say that I lost trust in the world that day, but rather, I realized something that has continually been refreshed through the years of Sidewalk Ghosts. After meeting and continuing to interview strangers, I see that we all have insecurities, fears, and histories—the stuff you might say are the ghosts in the closetswe all carry.

I hold no malice for Otto. Quite frankly, the opposite, for in a strange and distant way I feel empathy for a man who, most likely, was battling his own demons, and for whatever reason found me to uplift him—a fantasy he was living for his brief time with me, and if it was time that allowed him to feel recognized as a person, I’m glad I was able to be there for him. So Otto, wherever you are, I hope you are well.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

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A CHALLENGE—In authoring today’s story, and in gratitude to Shabbir and his family, I invite you to take a short break from whatever you are doing. To reach out to someone important to you by simply letting them know you care about them and just how important they are to you.

 

It was Sunday afternoon, my day for spiritual worship and family time. A day I’m sure many of us covet as one dedicated to refilling our wells. At day ten of my one-year commitment, Sunday was becoming the hardest day to get my butt moving. But there were two things I learned from my father that moved me forward: First, “There is only one way to do things. In whatever you do, be certain to do it right, and finish it.” And secondly, as many Brits would state, “Keep a stiff upper lip.”

So with full commitment to see 365 to the end, a smile on my face, and a very supportive daughter in hand, I grabbed my gear for a Sunday stroll around the neighborhood.

We walked for a few blocks, noting shops unfamiliar to us as well as a few we had frequented from time to time. As we browsed, looking through locked storefront after storefront, most closed for Sunday rest, I realized 365 was changing my perspective of how I looked at the rows of small businesses. Being a small business owner myself, and knowing how important it is to retain a customer base, I’ve always done my best to regularly patronize my fellow entrepreneur. But the new feeling was deeper than that. Something was more soulful as it glowed in my mind and heart.

I paused for reflection; a different type of empathy was grabbing hold of me. My desire to connect at a deeper level to these neighborhood co-business owners was growing much greater. It had only been nine day’s of meeting strangers and my perspective of the world around me was changing, and it was for the better.

We passed the late, Canoga Camera – closed, (they had the best ink price in town. I’m sad recession put them out of business). Caveretti’s (old-school Italian deli) – open (of course, it’s a restaurant). The Boxing Gym – closed. We past five or six other locked stores and then prepared to look through yet another unlit window, Canoga Park Florist, and with one customer entering just behind us, it was open for business.

Now for as long as I’ve lived in my house, nine years at the time, never had that store been open on a Sunday. So, my curiosity took hold and through the door my daughter and I entered.

Quickly, shop owner Shabbir, who pausing from his busy work, looked away from reviewing his on-line orders to greet us. The time was 4:45ish, store was closing at 5:00pm. Even with that he was relaxed and in no rush as I explained the project. Without hesitation he bought in, graciously giving me almost an hour, (way past closing time), to get to know him, and he I.

Shabbir was a very honorable and kind man, impressed me as he gave my eigh-year-old daughter a stuffed toy. He did not have to do that, especially as I was taking his personal time to stay late after store hours.

I could write a book about our chat, but for the sake of keeping focused on not authoring an excessively wordy blog entry, I’ll keep it short— there are so many more stories to come.

That said, let me give you the short rundown of our conversation and some things I did not know:

• Shabbir loves working with all kinds of different people: bad day pick-me-up, to hospital gifts, anniversaries to weddings, birthdays to graduations, Mothers Day to Valentines Day—all have their respective flowers. But to Shabbir it’s more than just pre-arranged product, it’s pride in knowing exactly what flowers to choose for every customer he meets.
• Gladiolas, Lilies, and Tulips. Until now I thought only Roses were the most beautiful flower for arrangements.
• Yelp really does work.
• He loves being a florist and sees doing nothing other than that for the rest of his life.
• His philosophies: Knowing your customer’s heart makes you a better business person.
• Whatever you promote – you deliver.
• His dream, to pilot a plane—life is just too busy right now.

Now, as I re-publish this story, Canoga Park Florist in no longer there. My understanding is that there was a divorce—something I about learned per the years I frequented the store after first meeting Shabbir. My heart heavy as I remember how proud Shabbir was of his business and family. I think of his daughters (he told me all about them as he showed me their photos), and of how it might have affected them. Perhaps it was the recession that shut them down, or maybe it was other reasons much too personal for me to know. But whatever it was, I am saddened every time I walk by what once was a family-run business. Still unoccupied, every time I think back to all the Valentine’s Day roses I purchased there, I am reminded of how fragile our relationships are and of the importance of taking time to recognize and love our family to the fullest.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

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She showed me photos of her eleven grandchildren and six great-grand children, and as we bridged past the pleasantries, we shifted to a darker history…

 

I was traveling from a location scout in San Diego, feeling rather tired from a long day of driving. En-route home from my dear old mum’s apartment, I dropped by her place to say, “Hi.” As all mothers do, she pulled me in for dinner, something no self-respecting British man could decline.

You have to know my mum, an amazing Brit, 86 years young at the time, her incredible history going all the way back to the WWII Blitz over London. Endless stories of a city under siege as wave after wave of bombs fell upon a civilian population; part of a mad-man’s quest to what he thought was perfecting the world. We all know how it ended and hopefully have all gleaned something from the horror it propagated. But more impactful are the tales of the brave who endured and conquered the wrath of pure evil. Enough of that for now; back we go to September 17, 2011, sitting in my mum’s apartment.

We enjoyed dinner, and over one of her 3 choices of dessert (customary in her home), I showed her the 365 project. Her eyes immediately lit up and to the phone she went to call her neighbor. Five minutes later I was sitting in Pat’s living room, meeting her and her four-legged companion, Sassy, for the first time.

We chatted for over an hour, and a little distracted by Sassy running all over the place, we still managed to have a remarkable conversation about faith and laughter. Her happiness was contagious and even though Sassy was drawing blood as she scratched on Pat’s delicate skin, Pat remained unaffected and smiling. Got to love the craziness of our pets, don’t we?

She showed me photos of her eleven grandchildren and six great-grand children, and as we bridged past the pleasantries, we shifted to a darker history as she told me of her son’s murder as well as the early death of her high school sweetheart husband. Of a tragic work injury that removed her from the workforce, and her being the only one still living out of all of her siblings. Still, she was unshaken in her optimism and positive outlook on the world. An example of light and courage she was. I was overwhelmed with a feeling in meeting her, simply this: grateful.

The night was getting late. I was getting close to my self-imposed publishing deadline and I had a big day coming. Plus, my eyes were starting to droop. I needed to get some sleep. All leading to my inability to refuse an invitation to sleep on my mums couch, figuring that I could hit the road at 5am to make it to my LA commitments. After all, it was better to feel the sting of morning exhaustion than the disappointment of a Jewish mother.

Mum asleep, I sat at the end of the couch, now made makeshift bed. Recounting the time spent with Pat, I listed what I had learned about her.

• She rolled with the punches
• Felt fortunate that she could still walk and think
• Held her hospital’s record for the most stints in a living human heart – ten to be exact
• I could not figure out how she could have had 3 hips replacements with only 2 hips
• And most amusingly, Pat had patterned her life after Betty Boop

Pat, I will always love you young lady.

Talk tomorrow my good friends,

Richard

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