Bobservations

WorldVision - Dominican Republic

I remember the first time I went into the home of a poverty stricken person.  It was in the late 1980's in the woods of the Appalachian Mountains in North Carolina.  I was with a TV crew doing a story on the poorest of the poor during Christmas time.  We were led to a structure that looked more like a shed than a house.  Rough hewn wood with some sort of metal roof.  The door opened as we approached.  A women stuck her head out to see who was coming.  She was told we wanted to tell the story of her suffering, which we did.  It was in the 20's outside, so she only opened the door a crack.  When we were a few feet from the door she opened it a bit wider for us to enter.  I don't remember her name, she looked about 50 but was probably in her early 30's.

What struck me right away was how dark it was inside.  There was only one light on and a little natural light streaming from a couple of small windows.  My eyes took a few seconds to adjust from the glare of the frozen snow outside.

The air was heavy with sickness, a wood burning stove fighting the cracks in the walls that were wide enough to let in cold drafts and fading daylight.

Without speaking she moved me toward an even darker room.  I stopped at the doorway not knowing what was in there.  I felt nervous.  How should I act?  I didn't want these people to think I was shocked by how they lived or that I was there to belittle them with that intimidating TV camera.  There on a bed lay an old man.  How old? 60? 70? 80? He was dressed in a gray shirt and stayed under some ratty, thread-bare blankets.  His thinning gray hair was uncombed and his face looked unshaven for several days.  He locked eyes on me and we just stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

"I am here to tell your story" I said.

He didn't respond, just continued to stare at me.

"He's real sick" the women said.  A deep cough from the man backed her up.

We took shots of the house and briefly interviewed the women who turned out to be the old man's daughter.  He was dying of emphysema, lung cancer or both.

As we left I reached into my wallet and gave her ten of the fifteen bucks I had on me.  She looked at me and nodded.  She said nothing.  I loved her dignity.

Last month Sheri and I went to the absolute poorest place I have ever been.  The slums of the Dominican Republic.  Our friend and guide walked us down a wet mud street to a tiny shack made of scrap metal.  As we approached I thought back to that freezing day in Appalachia.

Again I was worried about how we would be perceived.  The idea of other humans on display because of their despair repulses me. I didn't need to worry.

A smiling grandmother warmly met us at the entrance.  There was no door.  We walked into a two room structure.  There was a pot of something heating on an ancient stove.  Because the place was made of metal it had to be close to a hundred degrees inside.  The grandmother pulled up two chairs and motioned for us to sit down.  A little boy about five played on the bed in the only other room in the house.  He had shinny dark hair and eyes like big chocolate drops.

The grandmother told us his mother, her daughter, died of AIDS eight months ago.  The little boy was born with AIDS.  Her life was to care for her grandchild.  She made money by selling a few pieces of fruit and whatever came her way at a little stand outside the shack.  On a good day she might pull in a dollar.  On a bad one nothing.  On a dollar they could survive for a couple of days.

We visited for about a half hour, holding the boy, taking pictures, and meeting some of his friends who had gathered with great curiosity outside.  I wondered the obvious.  How long will this lovely childs path be, and how hard?

When we left, I quietly gave the grandmother the twenty-two dollars I had on me.  A little more than half of what I pay for a haircut.  She nodded her head.  I love the dignity.

What struck me was this; White, black, cold, hot, father, daughter, grandmother, son.  The poorest among us all want the same thing.  To survive.  And if God blesses them, to live with a tiny amount of human dignity.

You can learn more about World Vision and view videos and photos of our trip at www.bobandsheri.com/worldvision.

New York, New York

Novelist Truman Capote once wrote, “New York is the only real city city.” I know what he means. Nowhere else in the world does your rhythm pick up as soon as you enter it. I’ve spent time in Paris, Madrid, Rome, Cairo, and Birdsville, Australia, and nowhere else do you get the feeling “I am at the center of civilization” except New York. One of the hoods on The Sopranos said, “Boston is Scranton with clams” (compared to New York). I agree, and I’m a Red Sox fan.

Recently Kristen and I spent three days in the city. That’s what you call New York if you live anywhere near it as I did as a kid. She had not been to New York since she was 12 and didn’t remember much, so I got to do my tour guide bit, which I admit I enjoy.

I had access to a cool apartment on the East side within walking distance of Central Park, the 5th Ave stores and three hundred dogs who relieve themselves each morning on the streets. Most of the owners do a good job of cleaning up after their pets, but I never could figure out why anyone would want a dog in New York City. It’s like having a teenager at a retirement home. No one wins.

We went on the ferry ride to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. I’ve been to the Statue several times and I always am in awe of it. Say what you want about the French, but they gave us four great things: Lafayette, The Statue, French Cuisine and nasty lingerie.

Ellis Island was a surprise. It was great to see where my relatives stood in line to enter America, but it is mostly empty. The place was abandoned for many years and the furnishings are for the most part gone. Still, it is amazing to walk the halls and see the story of how so many of our people passed through this one tiny island to struggle for the freedom that allows their great-grandchildren to ignore their parents’ cell phone calls.

The view of the Financial District from the ferry is wonderful. After our ride, we walked from The Battery along the mouth of the Hudson River to a lovely area with parks, restaurants, a marina and a great view of the refurbished riverside towns in New Jersey. Lower Manhattan.  After lunch I told Kristen, “ Let’s walk a bit more, and then I’ll get a cab.” We strolled two blocks and there it is. Ground Zero. It is very easy to find, look for the tall cranes, listen for construction noise, and taste the dust in the air. It was the worst event that happened in many of our lives, and it is hard to believe that we are still looking for that ugly devil.

On Kristen’s birthday I took her to The Russian Tea Room. The place was one of the most famous spots for dinner, drinks and celebrities about twenty years ago. It closed for a while but has reopened, and the over-the-top splendor of the place remains. Bright red leather banquettes, shimmering chandeliers decorated with Christmas tree bulbs, gold painted trim, all explode visually when you walk through the door.  Portions are small, prices are high, but the food was very good.  Kristen looked great in a soft emerald green dress, which worked perfectly with the strong Christmas colors of the Tea Room. I had on my navy blazer and a white shirt with a blue and orange tie. Other people were similarly dressed, except the guy with the pretty girl at the table in front of us. They were both about twenty. She wore a simple beige summer dress and he wore cargo shorts, an old gray t-shirt, sandals and a ball cap. He probably has more money in a trust fund than I will earn all my life. There are no dress codes in America anymore. You can probably get served at the best restaurant in New York if you walked in wearing a jock strap with a cactus up your ass.

We also ate at the Grand Central Station Oyster Bar. Wonderful chowders and a look back at what life was like for travelers in the 1930’s.

My favorite new thing in the city is a large sculpture of the famous photo of construction guys taking a lunch break on a steel beam high above the streets with no safety harnesses. The photo is freaky-scary and the sculpture, which is right around the corner from Carnegie Hall, is a good likeness. It’s on the street and you can sit on it like you are one of the guys.

Just before we left I went by Bloomingdale’s to see if I could pick up a cool clothing item for the fall that you could only find in New York. I noticed a lot of waist- length leather jackets that were great looking. I picked one out, and then noticed the price. $2,300.00. That is right at the cost of a semester at college for my daughter Ally. I didn’t get it. But I bet that kid with the trust fund at The Russian Tea Room will. And he will lose it.

A Tale of Two Cities

I have been on the road a little bit this summer, and recently visited two of my favorite cities, Minneapolis and New York.

Sheri and I went to Minneapolis for a mid-west radio convention called the Conclave. I love hanging out with radio guys because you know you are never underdressed. A radio guy will walk into a fancy dinner in a chandelier-lit ball room wearing cargo shorts and a Big Johnson t-shirt he slept in the night before. This same guy will be the first to ask at a seminar,”Why is it management doesn’t take me seriously?”  It’s because you look like you run the Tilt-A-Whirl for Col. Fuzz’s Freak Show you knucklehead.

That said, some of the seminars were great, especially the one Sheri led on building a solid morning show. She was very funny as the M.C., and had many insightful things to say about our wonderful business. I overheard several people complain that she didn’t talk about me enough, but you know how petty some people can be.

Another seminar featured a fairly popular talk show host who is mostly known for being a pompous blowhard. He regaled us with his many radio exploits, including one where he played a trick on his audience by telling them he was going to throw cats out of a helicopter. Oh how the local animal lovers went nuts. He said the news and protesters showed up to cover and protest this event, and then at the last minute he told them it was all a trick! HA! HA! HA! on you audience! Stupid audience! Sheri and I didn’t know that pissing off the audience was a way to get more popular, and because he makes a lot more money than we do, we are taking a page from this great broadcaster’s book. Next month we are going to sneak-up on squirrels all over town and set their tails on fire!

Guess who I met at The Conclave….Bob Eubanks from the Newlywed Game! Wow! I remember watching him when I was a teen-ager! He was hawking a radio version of the old game show and speaking at a seminar. At one of the big parties someone walked Bob over to meet me, and it was so much fun to talk to him. Sure it was a real cheesy show, but the guy is a game show legend. We talked about how great the name Bob is, and I mentioned that even though I have five kids with two women, none of my kids is named Bob. Bob Eubanks nodded and said, “I know what you mean; my new wife and I have a three-year-old.” Bob is somewhere around seventy. When he told me he had a baby I thought of him doing the Newlywed Game.

“Couples, what word comes to mind when you hear about a seventy-year-old man having babies?”

Couple number one…..”Pathetic?”

Couple numbers two…..”Tired?”

Couple numbers three….”Awesome?”

“That’s right couple number three! It is awesome to have babies at seventy! You won a cheap washer and dryer to wash those nasty diapers in once you join me in parenthood!”

I thought Bob looked great, and I was really glad to meet him.

On my off time I ran by the Mississippi River, admired the restored mills, marveled at the city park with the sculpture gardens, saw The Mary Tyler Moore statue (her show was supposed to take place in Minneapolis), and took a light-rail train to the Mall of America. The Mall has everything your mall has times ten. The MOA even has an indoor amusement park complete with a giant roller coaster so you can throw up two times. Once on the coaster, and once at the wall pictures at Abercrombie and Fitch.
I love Minneapolis and I hope if you have never been there that you go sometime. The shopping at the mall and downtown is great, the Twins play, and the restaurants are terrific, unless you go to the Italian chain like we did. I still have heartburn.

Next time I will tell you about my trip to N.Y.C. The Mall of the World.