Forest Cochran was just two. Much had happened in his little life. His parents separated. His mother Karen lost their home. There was no shelter for the homeless in Loganville, Georgia. But Joy Davis and her husband Wayne took them in. They have helped dozens of people get back on their feet. Once they started their single bathroom with ten strangers. Why?
Tim and Wesley Friesen think the Wright Brothers intended to open the skies to everyone, not just professional pilots. They have formed a company called Wrong Brothers Aviation to prove their point. They teach non-pilots how to fly by themselves. The...
Brian Jones bought a home 40-million people see every Christmas. He signed a check — sight unseen — for $150,000 dollars. Brian flew to Cleveland, Ohio, for the first time in his life to find it. He figured it must be just around the corner from a flagpole. His wife Beverly, a Navy navigator, had jokingly sent him an email saying someone on EBay was auctioning off the house where they filmed Brian’s favorite movie — “A Christmas Story.” She was at sea at the time. “I didn’t have time to consult her,” Brian said, “There were other bidders.” When Beverly heard how he had spent their savings, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He wrote another check for $200,000 bucks to restore the old place to its happy-ending splendor. That house was Brian’s Red Ryder dream. The couple bought another house across the street. Opened a gift shop to help pay for it all. Here you can find the movie dad’s major award, the old man’s leg lamp. “Fraw—GEE-lay,” said the dad, reading “Fragile” on the box it came in. “Must be Italian.” The first year Brian opened the house and the store, leg lamp sales totaled nearly $700,000 dollars. If you’ve always wanted to display your leg lamp and avoid “shooting your eye out,” it may be time to move. Brian just put the home for sale, along with much of the surrounding neighborhood that serves as a museum campus.
Life turns on the tiniest things. Jimmy StOlp and Andy StAlp were raised side by side in the same orphanage. Never knowing they were brothers. In 1926, the clerk at the Tennessee Home for Friendless Babies misspelled one brother’s last name. The mistake was never discovered. The Navy became Andy’s family. He was a good son. Andy Stalp saved his shipmates during World War Two. Tossed burning gasoline tanks over the side during a Japanese bombing attack at Guadalcanal. He earned a silver star.
There were no medals for the battle his brother fought. The other orphans bullied Jimmy. Thought he was retarded. But he was deaf until 1961. When doctors operated, they found rice, papers and other things children had stuffed into his ears.
Some nugget of strength prompted Jimmy to endure. He married on an Easter weekend. So did Andy. Both still wondering if somewhere, they might have a family of their own. The two wore out a lifetime looking.
Why do you suppose toys mean more to us as the years go by? Joe Daole knows. He’s got a house filled with them — more than one hundred thousand. Many are handmade and reflect their time. None are in mint condition. They’ve been loved. “Toys are not just playthings,” Daole says. “They’re memories.”
Glenda Gooch lives with a heart that beats for two families. On Christmas eve 1995, she was dying. Her only hope, a new heart to replace one damaged since birth. It came on Christmas morning with a letter from the mother of the boy who had the heart first. He was just her age. Ten. Killed by a drunk driver. Died a week after his birthday on Christmas eve.
Jimmy Deramus went out to buy his daughter a pet and came back with 18 donkeys, a backyard full of alarm clocks. The herd grew to 600. Jimmy picked the best to play basketball. In small town arenas all across the south, people came to ride his front five. The object is to pass and shoot from a donkey’s back. Most folks spend more time on the floor than the termites.
Cameras replaced most of the artists capturing conflict long ago, but not all. This is a look at the Iraq war, as you never saw it. Few of us venture out beyond the limits of our settle lives. But artist Steve Mumford paid his own way to war, just to create art. He bought his own flack jacket, his own airplane ticket and hitched a ride into battle, armed with only a press pass from an online arts magazine. He spent more than 11 months on the front lines. The world has seen more images from the Iraq war than any other conflict in history. None like his.
Gertrud Zint celebrated her 70th birthday racing the clock. She was setting new national records for swimmers her age. Gertrud was so fast, they sometimes paired her with women who are 40 years younger. She holds world records in 8 different events. She might have done even better, if she didn’t have arthritis. An American bomb fell on the hospital in Germany where she worked as a nurse during World War Two, crushing her legs. Gertrud was buried alive for two and a half hours. Athletics helped her recover, so she kept at it.
When the Renaissance Players perform in Miami, Jay Brown tunes up with a turkey baster, and in just a few minutes people hear him play Mozart on 47 brandy snifters filled with water. It’s no gimmick. Jay Brown’s instrument was once more popular than the piano.
Crane High is the only locally tax supported public boarding school in America. It was built in a part of Oregon you seldom see in the travel brochures. Out here, people remember bone grey better than rainbows. Southeastern Oregon has a desert so vast, Jerry Deffenbaugh must drive 260 miles round trip to watch his son play high school basketball. Some weeks he does that 3 times. The school draws just 50 students from a district the size of Massachusetts.
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, saw a sunrise of fire. And the memory still burns. Its sizzling seas sent the United States into World War II. Before the day bled away, 110-thousand people were arrested in America for what another country did. Most looked like the Japanese who attacked Pearl Harbor, but in Hawaii, they rounded up European-Americans too.
Elsie Calloway found a drug pusher selling cocaine in her basement. Police closed nearby crack houses, but addicts always came back, until the cops tried something different. Patrolman James Jones now lives in the house he once raided. Columbia, South Carolina, made him an offer that would godfather grin. His family got a home. Fixed up first rate for about half what other renovated houses in the neighborhood cost.
This isn’t my first rodeo. In 1981 I put on cowboy boots to find Christine Gulich. Didn’t need them. She lived in a small town south of Boston. Christine was a book keeper in Abington, Massachusetts, at the time. The only thing that says “West” in her part of the country are road signs pointing to where the sun sets. Yet Christine is the first woman from Massachusetts to compete for the title of Miss Rodeo America.
Jared Issacman became a billionaire before he could drive. He as so young, he hired his dad to wine and dine clients. His mom worked for him too. Issacman used some of his money to pilot Elon Musk’s all-civilian mission to the edge of the universe. Purchased purchased all four seats. Kept one for himself. Donated the other three to charity. He made his billions by figuring out a way for businesses to process credit cards more quickly. It all began in his basement. He was just 16. This was the first story ever done on the kid who defies the odds.
Many a man has come and gone, but Susan Sorrells stays in Death Valley, California. Her family left her a little town called Shoshone. She owns a small cafe and the Crowbar saloon. And a thousand acres of the driest land on earth. The ground is not worthless. The state liked its remote location. Wanted to build a prison. Susan was offered enough money to retire comfortably, but she said, “No.”
Few places in America are more remote. We are five hours from the nearest airport. 90 miles from a pizza. 60 from a round of golf. But people do live here because Ben Leaton had a dream. He diverted the water of the Rio Grande river and a tiny sliver of this vast desert turned green.
Stefan Albouy grew up listening to the tales the old miners had to tell. Stories of gold and silver and riches untold. As a small boy, he dug holes in the hillside behind his house. Laid track for his ore carts across his backyard. At age 11, he wrote the owners of the old Smuggler’s mine, asking for a lease. They sold him one. The Smuggler had once produced the largest silver nugget in history. But for years, it had been abandoned. Stefan restored the old mine exactly as it was in 1893 and working alone, he made a living.
30 years ago, an innovative approach dramatically lowered drug trafficking in Charleston, SC. Police snapped pictures of people who come to buy drugs, thus cutting off sales. The cops gave copies of those prints to suspected drug dealers. The dealers tossed them away. Police issued them tickets for littering. The suspected dealers threw them away too. When they didn’t pay, police arrested them on Friday nights (peak drug buying time) and held them until Monday morning court.
One of the most unusual Bed and Breakfast Inns is an old Victorian house across the street from a neighborhood church. Fred and Gloria Shepperson run Pennsylvania’s last mom and pop jail.
When my wife Linda and I returned from our honeymoon, I went to cover my first Olympics. It was in Munich, Germany. 1972. 50 years ago today. I soon became an eye witness to terror. A group calling themselves “Black September” abducted...
Ruby Walker is an inexhaustible wisp of a woman who cleans 27 houses a week. Five houses a day. Two on Saturdays. That has been her routine for two decades, since her husband died. Most are big homes, as you might expect, but Ruby also works the other side of town — for free.
Some say Rocky Stallings knows more about early Native American life than anyone in the country. He listened to the elders. Listened and learned. Where most folks see weeds, Rocky was taught to find medicine. On a hill near his home in San Antonio, Texas, he has found 197 different kinds.
Tina Allen has a date with a new day. We met her the year before, checking into an Atlanta hospice. Alone. Doctors told the young woman she’d be dead from a brain tumor in three months. But something rare happened inside her head. The tumor shrank. Fewer than 5% of patients with brain tumors as big as Tina’s survive. Doctors said it was now possible for Tina to move out of hospice and go to work. When the tumor was detected four years before, she had just graduated with a degree in interior design. Now, she’s making plans again. “Another day! Great!” Tina smiled.
Jimmy Lee Suddeth drew his first picture in the dirt. It washed he away with the evening rains. He never had time for formal training. Never went to town for art supplies. He made his own from nature. Now his paintings, made entirely of natural...
Jake Hoover was looking for gold in Yogo Creek. He discovered something more. What little gold he found was cluttered with blue stones. He tossed them into a cigar box and sent them off to Tiffany’s. The New York jewelers fired back a check. The old prospector had stumbled across what could be the world’s largest deposit of Sapphires. An usual village was planned. Home owners got the right to search for gems in their backyards, but only if they dug them out by hand.
If you want to know what’s happening at Henderson school, you don’t join the Yearbook staff. You watch a Soap Opera at lunch time. Each Friday, the kids in the cafeteria share a second carton of milk with “The Growing Years.” A show they write and produce themselves about their own problems.
Sliding through a hurricane of surf. Heartbeats clock the distance. This sport can make a young person old or an old man young again. Look beneath their wrinkles, you’ll find the beginnings of California’s surfing.
Ne Sin was born in a palace with a diamond on its roof. Her mother taught her to perform for princes and kings. She lived in splendor, a lead dancer of the Royal Cambodian ballet, a tradition that dates back 12-hundred years. During the Communist takeover of Cambodia, the Imperial performers were marked for execution. Ne Sin and her mom managed to escape to America and are trying to keep the art form alive.
Planes aren’t the only thing taking off at Chicago’s O’Hare airport. Down at the end of the runway, a bee farm is soaring. Sweet Beginnings created 360 new jobs in a neighborhood where crime is never more than a street...
Remember when personal service was not just for the rich? At Vince’s Red Carpet gas station, it has never gone out of style. It’s customers are willing to pay 20 cents more a gallon because mechanics run to help them. If you have to wait to get your car fixed, there’s a sound proof lounge. No grime covered calendars of last year’s Miss Wrench on the walls. Sparkling clean. That’s the way Vince does business, so did his father and his father’s father.
The Better Baby Institute of Philadelphia looks like a college campus. Ivy on the walls. Faculty in the halls. Walk by an open door, you hear violins and Japanese. It’s a college all right, but the average student is less than six years old. Glenn Doman, the director says, “Tiny children are starved for information. They have a rage to learn. And they understand superbly.”
For families who lived in the 1930’s Dust Bowl, “depression” was not an abstract economic term. Their farms were buried in burned out soil, and with nowhere to turn, they moved on. Florence Thompson was 27 years old when the depression started. She had five children and was pregnant with another — and her husband had died. Did she ever lose hope? “Nope, if I’d a lost hope, we never would have made it”
Carlton Garrett is a working man. Not one for museums. But on a thousand lunch hours, he has retreated into a world of his own — a world he whittles out of wood. In the fragrant closeness of his toolshed, Carlton Garrett has traced his life in toys.
A 6-year-old girl became the first African American child to desegregate an all-white elementary school in the South. Ruby Bridges always said her mother was the hero of the moment. She put her family and her husband’s job in jeopardy to open schools for...
What’s my all-time favorite story? The next one. A storyteller never stops searching. At the core of this lifelong quest lies a simple truth – the shortest distance between two people – no matter how different – is a good story. Once you know a person’s story, you begin to see how much we are alike and that helps you appreciate what each of us brings to the mix of America. That’s not always obvious at first. I was shooting a story in Las Vegas, Nevada, when I stumbled across a better one. That city’s only commerce is hope. Instant winners. Methodical losers. It is also home to the anonymous thousands who feed those dreams. And, have dreams of their own. Back home in the Philippines, Carlos Padilla is something of a legend. He has refereed 23 World Championship fights, but in between, he takes orders, as a bus boy.
Texas has always had it’s share of lawmen who took on trouble with little help. Sheriff’s deputy James Lee Harms was hired to clean up Wise County. He has had amazing success. All alone, he has tracked down more litterbugs than anyone in Texas. Detractors call him, Deputy Dump.
Willie Morris wrote 19 Best Sellers. When he died, he left something to help someone who had never read them. His corneas. Morris gave them to two men he had never met. One Black. One White. All three were born in Mississippi.
Naoma, West Virginia, is a marble shooters Mecca. This little town has had four national and one world champion. Before kids learn to tie their sneakers, they know the joy of knuckles in the dirt.
On this Veteran’s day, I remember a man who said his father was a folded flag on the mantle. Let’s remember the bill some people must pay for patriotism. Red was the last vivid image Matt Keil remembers, the day he stopped walking, the day an Iraqi sniper shot him in the neck. Matt and his wife Tracy were determined not to let that war wound limit their lives. They longed to have a baby, but were told that might not happen. They tried anyway, even as Matt battled back to health. One day their doctor showed them three tiny hearts. Tracy was pregnant with triplets.
Most days you’ll find Jay Reinke singing to the audience behind his eyelids, the one that crowds his mind, while he measures floors for a living. Thirty years ago, he started performing the songs of Jay and the Americans, a pioneer rock group that twirled to stardom with Chubby Checker, opened for the Beatles and had 23 hits. This is for all of us who sing in the shower and dream.
What is it about creativity that keeps some folks active long after the factory workers have set aside their tools. Perhaps it’s that simple urge to make something that keeps tugging them back. Telling them to keep busy and stay alive. Stanley Chappell has a profile chiseled with age. A face Charles Dickens might have dreamed up. Ebenezer Scrooge on the day after. For most of last century, he hunched over musical podiums in Seattle, Washington, pouncing on notes like a bird of prey.
Slim and Zella Mae Cox have the most listened to furniture store in the country. Some people do come to buy furniture, of course, but if you want a sofa on Saturday afternoon, you’ve got to carry out the audience that’s sitting on it. There’s a lot more rocking here than La-Z-Boy recliners.
Newspapers are the first draft of history, so it makes sense that a museum stepped up to save its small town newspaper and the story of their lives. The Silverton, Colorado, Standard & the Miner is now a National Historic site.
When George Washington took the oath of office, the presidency was a uniquely American institution. Back then, kings ruled most of the world. They believed they were divinely chosen. Of course, the first presidential inauguration changed all that. But what if the popular general had decided to become king? Who would be our king today?
My grandfather Paul Bailey was a rock ribbed, small town Republican. Former President Harry Truman, a Democrat, was his friend. Grandpa Bailey once argued a case before Mr. Truman, when Truman was a Jackson County, Missouri, Commissioner.
“You must have won,” I grinned, “if you became friends?”
“No,” he said, “I lost. But I learned something about Mr. Truman that made me admire the man. He opened a hat shop in Kansas City after he came home from the front lines of World War One. The business failed. His partner declared bankruptcy. Truman did not. He moved in with his mother-in-law, so he could pay back every penny.”
The only asset Mr. Truman had when he died was that house. His wife had inherited the home from her mother and father and other than their years in the White House, they lived their entire lives there.
As president he called home collect. Never billed the taxpayer.
“Mrs. Truman wanted Harry to buy a car,” Grandpa recalled. “He said, ‘We can’t afford one, but when we get out of this Great White Jail (the White House,) we’ll get one.”
After president Eisenhower was inaugurated, Harry and Bess bought one. There was no Secret Service following them.
President Truman retired from office in 1952. His income was a U.S. Army pension. $112.56 a month. Congress, noting that he was paying for his stamps and personally licking them, granted him an ‘allowance’ and, later, a retroactive pension of $25,000 per year.
When offered corporate positions at large salaries, Mr. Truman declined, stating, “You don’t want me. You want the office of the President, and that doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to the American people and it’s not for sale.”
One day on the way to Grandpa’s house, he stopped to show me the retired president mowing his mother-in-law’s lawn.
“Hi, Harry,” he waved.
Mr. Truman shaded his eyes and smiled when he recognized his friend. “Hi, Paul.”
Grandpa grinned and then said, “Okay, Bobby. Let’s get out of here before this Democrat stuff sticks to the tires…”
There is a side of Washington, DC, we seldom see on Nightly News. It is far removed from the ruffles and flourishes of the Nation’s Capitol. Here, survival is no global affair. Calvin Woodland’s business is begging. For decades, he hustled these streets, raising money to help the drug addicts and dead end kids who lived in his neighborhood. Home was the grimy public housing projects southeast of the Capitol. Calvin Woodland represents something in short supply around here. A hero.
Most everywhere you go out west, you find that a photographer has been there before. People didn’t always care where they’d end up, but they wanted the folks back home to see they had arrived. Glenn Altman has been taking their portraits most of his 81 years, offering his neighbors something special — a beautiful image to remind the world they had lived.
150 years ago, the plains Indians of Oklahoma were refugees of war. The tattered remains of once proud tribes who had become foreigners in their own land. Practically overnight, they were faced with a new language, new religion and a new way of life. In the struggle to survive some of the old ways were forgotten. But Katie Osage remembers. “I was born in a tent and raised in a tent. Yeah, I still live in a tent.” For nearly a century, she has lived in two worlds. And she has survived.
Think of what you drive by every day and don’t see. Douglas Geiss notices more than most. He and his cousins live in a five acre forest filled with wonder. They found a mermaid riding a yellow submarine. And a fish made out of pick axes. Created by their grandfather, Nate Nichols, a farmer who also planted art. Nate would weld together whatever he saw in worn out tools. None of them made him much money, so every day for 25 years, he hid them in his woods.
“Everybody else looks up in the clouds and says, ‘Oh, that cloud looks like a dragon,’ Nate’s son Josh said. “My dad looked down at the ground and said, ‘That wrench looks like a monkey.’”
Nate Nicholls’ sculptures so filled his heart, he felt compelled to give them life. The farmer was working on a metal frog last summer when his heart failed and he died at 52. Last fall his children buried him beneath flowers he’d made from water faucet handles.
Here’s a story about one of the most popular people on the internet. He’s not an celebrity. Just an ordinary guy. Crafting an effective visual story about him involved more than an interesting headline. After a brief phone interview with a Kyle Lindsey, a young man who had become an YouTube star, I crafted a story outline. First, I tried to answer the “So What?” test. Why would anyone want to pay attention. How does a seemingly ordinary person become an internet star? Then, I searched for the surprises in the information I had gathered during my phone interview. Those would become the twists and turns in my tale. I stacked the surprises so they would flow logically from start to finish. (For example, you wouldn’t show a child going to school and then waking up.)
Virginia Snyder looks like the little old lady Boy Scouts help across the street. You can’t always tell a book by its cover. Same with people. At retirement age, Virginia opened her own detective agency. With no prior police training, she became one of only two women in Floria to get a Class A Investigator’s license. The cases she handles are none too dainty — murders, muggings, drug sales. She keeps a trunk load of disguises for safety.
When Ethel Lehmann was young, she was never more than a pebble kick from a ball park. She quit to have 5 kids. Now, she’s the first woman to try out for the Kids and Kubs, a team whose rookies are 75.
Forty percent of the kids in this Newark, New Jersey neighborhood did not finish high school back in the 1980’s. Russell White changed that back in the 1980’s. He made thousands of street kids a startling offer. Learn to fly an air plane. For free. Some kids flew solo before they turned 12. His Eagle Flight has sent 6 kids on to the Air Force academy. The rest? 8 out of 10 go to college.
The Hoh rain forest. A cathedral of trees. It lies between Seattle and the sea. No place in the continental U.S. gets more rain. 2 feet some months. Marilyn Lewis and her daughter lived alone in this wilderness. They are the 4th generation of women out here.
A new way to bond with your boss. Forget golf. Go surfing. Out in San Diego, opportunity comes in waves. More than 300 biomedical companies now have people in that surf around San Diego. The best ideas don’t always come in labs under artificial light. Out here they can meet the kind of people who are determined not to follow the same path, but leave a wake.
Clyde Butcher lives in a wide river of grass. He is determined to save its beauty. One photograph at a time. Butcher is as comfortable in this swamp as any man easing into a bath. He spends his days deep in the Big Cyprus National Preserve searching for what others have not seen. Sometimes the place never seen is the place we simply pass by.
Dave Williams has a job that would frustrate Daniel Boone. He must find 55 surveyor’s benchmarks in a forest bigger than Connecticut. They are the size of a silver dollar.
Elvis Presley grew up listening to old blues players and used their sound to revolutionize music. Now it may be happening again in Tupelo, Mississippi. It’s not the King that got kids hopping like crickets on hot corn. It’s a 16 year old, who sings like he’s had seven wives.
We all remember what happened when two lights blinked bright in Boston’s old North Church. Paul Revere rode away and the American Revolution began, but 25 years before that fateful night, John Childs jumped from the same belfry three times, holding a big...
Lance Hershberger coached high school baseball in Fort Wayne, Indiana. In his spare time, he looked for little kids who’s abilities do not measure up to their love of the game. One year Lance watched four baseball teams tie for the Fort Wayne high school championship. Nearly every player was one he had coached.
See this guy. Abner Doubleday. Say his name. What comes to mind? Inventor of baseball. Right? Every year, nearly 300,000 people pass through the Baseball Hall of Fame in upstate New York, built to honor this Civil War Hero. ...
Time to play a football classic. No, not the Cotton Bowl. One you may not have seen. In 1977, a few Tulsa police officers saw a Burt Reynold’s movie called “The Longest Yard,” in which a jailed football player organizes a prison team to play a team of guards.
The officers were inspired to stage their own game between police and convicts. The result is Tulsa’s annual Cops-Cons Football Game to benefit Mothers Against Drunk Drivers.
Officer Ron Mayfield, a running back, said the game can have its tense moments. “We meet a lot of guys that we personally have put in jail. It makes for an interesting game, but at the end it’s like old friends” who have learned to laugh together. I was the play by play announcer back then. The memory still makes me smile.
The Cons have two big advantages: Time to practice together – two hours a day, five nights a week – and a high percentage of returning starters. Unless a player is paroled or gets into trouble, he has a lifetime contract.
Betty Kelly still cannot cross a bridge without flinching. Even now. 33 years later. On this day in 1989, Betty and her husband were driving high over San Francisco Bay, just as an Earthquake struck. A section of the Bay Bridge dropped like a deadly trapped door. The Kelly’s honked their horn to warn others. But Anna Annalonghu died. Everything Adeen Murphy owned was 4 flights up a twisted staircase. Adeen had lived through a thousand air raids in World War Two London, so she crossed police barrier and found something she had bought only a week before — $2-thousand dollars worth of Wedgewood China.
Elliot Feld would hide his dance slippers in a brief case, so his neighbors would think he had an ordinary job. He would become one of America’s finest ballet choreographers, but ballet is still out of the question for most of the kids in his old Brooklyn neighborhood. Too expensive. He did not recruit from the specialized schools for the performing arts. He traveled to the public classrooms to look for ordinary 8 year olds with potential.
I found Joe Newton on a dark night out on a dirt road, down wind from the raccoons, behind the bloodhounds. Newton was one of the most successful and least known train robbers in American history. Least known and now the last.
If you go looking for folks in Cajun country, it helps to have a nickname handy. In Beaux Bridge, Louisiana, the phone book lists people by the names they are actually known. Nicknames. Too many residents have the same last names. There are 78 Broussard’s. 45 Tibedeaux’s. And 46 different Champagne’s. 2 of them have the same first name. Nicknames here are a necessity.
Rock n Roll was born behind the glass windows of a jukebox. An evening’s pleasure for a pocket full of change. Eventually, Rock ’n Roll got its name on one of those glass boxes. Or so we thought, until we met the man behind that famous signature. Rock-ola is David Rockola. He’d been serving up hits for half a century. At 90, he was still making jukeboxes.
At 34 Paul Lutus wanted to get a way from it all, while taking it all with him. He built a cabin in the wilderness with no running water, no telephone — just a cat for company. A cat and a computer. Lutus wanted to see if he could work as well in the woods as he did in the city. He worked better. The computer programmer was a consultant for NASA before he went into the wilderness. He helped get the Viking Space probe to Mars. In his tiny shack, miles from the nearest road, Lutus created a new lighting system that is now part of the space shuttle.
Lynn Ash was a successful art. He painted memories from America’s past. One day, the canvas of his mind went blank. For more than a decade, he did not paint at all, until he sold his home in Tampa, built a cabin in a swamp and designed a sanctuary for injured animals. The wildlife he nurtured unlocked his imagination. Every artist dips into his own soul and paints his own nature.
Some folks think New York City has too many stories and too many strangers. In fact, it is a town of tight little neighborhoods where the familiar is cherished. Since 1910 the Broadway Barbershop had been a wonderful window on the neighbors of New York City. Kay Demetrios did not miss a day of work in 40 years. He’d never been on time. He was always an hour and a half early. Customers loved him so much, one walked 60 blocks every morning for a shave.
Dave Densmore fishes for words – upon a sea that took his family. That memory is written on his face. For twenty years he tried to write a poem about his family’s tragedy. Dave sought words like he searched for salmon. ...
Dr. Leila Denmark opened her medical practice in 1928. She was Atlanta’s first female pediatrician and was STILL healing children until her retirement at 104. That retirement lasted a decade. She lived to be 114, the oldest doctor in the world.
Manny Gammage creates hats that would “start a fight in a Wyoming bar.” His motto: “Quality is like buying oats. If you want good, clean oats, you’ve got to pay a fair price. If you want ones that have already run through the horse, that’s a little cheaper.” One of his hats changed Billy Bob Oafley’s life.
At the Dudley Dome in El Paso, fans used to tip Diablos baseball players for good hitting. A guy could make $160 bucks by leaning into the stands for a hug. The 1980 Double-A farm team of the California Angels was in last place, but it attracted more playing...
Avidis Zildjian lured good workers to his company in suburban Boston with a simple promise. “You take care of my family and I’ll take care of yours.” That pledge has remained unbroken for more than eighty years.
When was the last time you heard a factory worker say, “I’ve been here 26 years and I’ve never seen a layoff.”
The 70 workers on Zildjian’s production line are confident they will always have good-paying jobs, because no one has to compete with a machine. Whenever a task was automated, the employee who performed it is trained for another one worth equivalent pay.
Ausbon Sargent grew up in a time when only one American in 10 got to go to high school. Like most farm boys, Ausbon never had much money, but neighbors saw something special in him. Paid his tuition to a private academy. He spent his life there, as a care taker. The school fell on hard times. Was about to sell off the town common. Ausbon quietly bought it and gave it back. He was 96.
I have now lived more than three quarters of a century. 77 is one of those “0h Sh*t, I can’t believe I’m that old” birthdays. Filled with memories. I have a lot, as all of you who read my posts, can attest. NBC News once hired a red headed kid with a different...
Welcome to Higley Field, an old time ball park painstakingly recreated in Ed Simonton's backyard. Neighbors gather to play the game of their youth. No. Not baseball. Wiffle ball. There are no umpires to bubble the blood. Catchers...
Down in the trenches of big time football, you don’t expect to find a brain trust. During the 1970's and 80's Nebraska had more academic all Americans than Stanford or Notre Dame or UCLA. The reason? Football players point to Ursala Walsh, who gave...
An update 2 decades after El Capitan’s Courageous Climbers scaled the world’s tallest peak. One of them did it with a broken back. That inspired President Bush to sign the Americans with Disabilities Act.
A lot of us lead one life, but dream of another. By day, Jennifer Wilson is a scientist in Austin, Texas, studying water quality. At night, she becomes a meanie. Her comic book alter ego tries to squash players like bugs. Jennifer is part of the fastest growing sport...
When Stan Smagala was born, some football teams still wore leather helmets. At 43 he finally made the team. At the time, he became the oldest college football player in the country. To be able to play, Stan set aside his successful insurance...
Some farmers have been searching for a tractor that doesn’t need oil, a power source that could reproduce itself, was easy to repair and burn home grown fuel. Jim Gulbranson has a tractor that does all that and even fertilizes the soil. It’s called the horse. Gulbranson is part of a small, but growing number of farmers who quietly traded their tractors for plow horses. Nostalgia has nothing to do with it. Gulbranson can make more money farming with horses than he can with tractors. It takes him longer to do his work, but doesn’t have to pay the interest on a half million dollars worth of farm machinery or the mortgage for more land to make that machinery worthwhile. He has found that he can live as comfortably as his neighbor on a farm that is one sixth the size.
For some folks, Saturday night in Dallas means Willie and Waylon and the Cotton Eyed Joe. Don Jackson wants to change all that. Each year, when the New York Metropolitan Opera comes to town, Jackson sweeps through the city, convincing dozens of cowboys to become moving scenery, opera extras, so that a chorus of ten will look like a cast of thousands.
Polo is the sport of playboys and kings. And — a man who spreads asphalt. Glen Waterson is captain of an usual blue collar polo team. His players include a construction worker, a school teacher, a black smith and a 12-year-old rookie. They have penetrated the preserve of privilege and wealth, competing on a field that Waterson keeps in shape with a borrowed front loader. This is probably as good a definition of Democracy as any. After the games, the blue bloods and the good ol’ boys are the same.
Jamie James was the only postman in the country who still delivered the mail, house to house, by boat. Six days a week, Jamie churned the remote coastal creeks of southern Alabama. He made his 25 mile run in a boat not much bigger than a bathtub. Low hanging branches near shore kept him from using a more comfortable conveyance. His neighbors, the 175 families who depended on him, say he came when others did not, conveying the news as well as the mail.
Daufuskie Island, South Carolina, is a little piece of sand and trees near Savannah, Georgia. A thousand people once lived there, until the oyster beds died and the forest grew back. By the 1980’s there were only 85. There were no paved roads. No street lights. No bridges to the outside world. The island was so remote, the mind can be your best friend. Only the very old and very young lived there. Teenagers moved to the mainland to finish there education. The island’s elementary school had 11 kids. They put together a magazine of their thoughts. Not so unusual really, except the publisher, Shannon Wilkinson, who was working on a grant from the South Carolina Arts Commission, printed 800 copies by mistake. All 800 were sold by word of mouth, nationwide, in less than ten weeks.
There was a time when television wrestling shows in Memphis, Tennessee, pulled in more viewers than 60 Minutes. They were in TV’s Top Ten. That called for some study. College students in Blytheville, Arkansas, did just that.
Out where the mountains spill their boulders in the sun, flies sing out on nylon wire and catch a bit of heaven. Rich McIntyre is one of those blessed folks who gets to play where he works. He and his wife Sandy started a company to restore damaged trout streams. His small staff of scientists and engineers don’t just restock streams. They rebuild them, so that native fish will return naturally to Montana.
We’ve got better medicine these days, but perhaps something has been lost along the way. There’s a doctor who’s trying to bring back that personal touch. Dr. Jim Anderson drives the office to his patients. “I get less for a house call than an Airconditioning repairman,” he smiles. He does his own repairs on the mobile clinic to keep patient costs low.
Josh Powell was born in Kentucky hill country and raised on a farm. He worked his way through law school in Atlanta, landed a job with one of the city’s best known law firms and then gave it all up to run a one-man sawmill.
Most people only witnessed the tragic events of 9/11. It was my fate to live it. I moved to New York City at the beginning of the century to work full time for the TODAY Show. A year later, I was standing outside a little chapel that survived...
The Alonso’s lost their mother during the 9/11 attack in 2001. Janet went to work at the World Trade Center that morning and never returned. Her husband, Robert, was left to care for a 2-year-old daughter and a baby boy with Down syndrome. Five years later, the...
The Alonso’s lost their mother during the 9/11 attack in 2001. Janet went to work at the World Trade Center that morning and never returned. Robert was left to care for a 2-year-old daughter and a baby boy with Down syndrome. “If I was to tell you I did this by...
Americans open their hearts and wallets all the time, but rarely do we hear about what the world gives to us and that seems just as important. On the eve of 9/11 there were some villages in Newfoundland, Canada, where unemployment hovered as high as fifty...
The autumn of life brings choices. Decisions. Emil Kech was 73. Age was beginning to nag him like a bad cold. An arthritic ankle threatened to lock Keck out of the forest he loves. Emil and his wife Penny were the only workers in the U.S. Forest Service who lived full time in the wilderness.
John Coffer turned his back on modern times to wander America in a wagon pulled by oxen, stopping only to take portraits with his antique camera. Coffer traveled at two and a half miles an hour for five years. 25 states. 10-thousand miles. He crisscrossed America so slowly, everywhere he went, folks joked he was a temporary resident. Coffer captured old fashioned images of modern America.
A cow today produces three times as much milk as those that came with Christopher Columbus. The most productive sell for more than a million dollars. For that kind of money, buyers want a cow to look as expensive as it is. That’s why they call on Maggie Murphy. She poses cows to fit the cow buyers fantasies.
You ever wonder why cowboys seldom sing songs about a bus? Buses fill the lonesome spaces the stage coach left behind. Yet, there are no tales of Bus drivers derring-do. No teary eyed nostalgia. Bus drivers may not have settled the west, but they sure move it around.
Father Bernard McCoy found printer cartridges “sinfully expensive.” So he convinced his fellow monks at Our Lady of Spring Bank Abbey to form a company called Laser Monks, vowing to ship all sorts of products for less. The monks became millionaires. It didn’t last.
Who does not yearn to live life more simply? To find a place where time is not sliced too thin for thought. Daniel Stalb and his wife Kristen decided to try. They managed to live a comfortable life by doing what seemed to he impossible, living off the land in the middle of the city. They plowed up their lawn. Planted a big garden and set out to feed their family of four on what they produce in their backyard.
Pete Eckert began to see the day he went blind. Photography may be the least likely career for a man who has no sight, but Eckert believes you don’t have to see — to have a vision of what life can be. “I found that my other senses brought enough information to my mind’s eye to establish some kind of link to the outside world, a visual link,” Eckert says. He takes pictures in familiar places. Places he’d been before going blind. A braille compass helps him find the light. Eckert memorizes the room, making mental notes of where sounds bounce off corners. When he hears something, he automatically translates that into a visual image. Blindness rewired his brain to feel the sounds that bounce off bones. Sort of like an X-ray. What he “sees” is stunning.
A small town is booming after years of decline, all because of a promise made and kept. Most of us have people who set the pace for our lives. Claiborne Deming leads with hope. He has given the kids in Eldorado, Arkansas, a promise. Anyone who goes to high school for four years, can attend any college in the country on his company’s dime.
Charlie Shoefield and his friends wondered what happened to all those old computers littered along the information highway. Left to gather dust when companies upgraded their systems. They set out to find them. Fix them up and give them to charity. The kids sold some of their old computers to pay the rent on their repair shop. Started scrounging tools from neighborhood businesses. And then went out looking for more obsolete computers. Charlie persuaded 27 companies in Atlanta to give him 150 computers. He and his pals were just 15. They gave back something rare. Something most adults cannot do. “Some can,” admits Charlie, “but they’ll charge $150 an hour to do it.” That’s too expensive for the 34 charities that lined up for Charlie’s services, so many he formed a non-profit company called “Freebytes.” All together, the kids had worked a thousand hours — for free.
Mike Manteo has hung onto his childhood things. They hang in the dust-combed darkness of his electrical shop. Puppets. The last of their kind. Carved from solid oak, dressed in buffed brass. Polished and repaired by a proud man who found in them the adventure he dreamed for his own life.
Folks in Missoula, Montana, know Kim Williams well. Each season she shops the back yards and the alleys bartering for fruit and vegetables others let rot. She lives on $5-thousand dollars a year. Kim and her husband Mel don’t merely survive. They have a good time. They believe small moments of life are just as important as the big news on this planet. Not more important, but just as important.
St. Catherine’s Island, Georgia, is the last great barrier island untouched by real estate development. For nearly a century, the place was a rich man’s playground, last owned by Edward J. Noble, the fellow who made millions by punching little holes in candy and calling them Life Savers. Today, his island is saving life itself.
Franny Ward charges only $1 for breakfast at her restaurant in Yates Center, Kansas, a price unchanged for years. Coffee is dime, if that’s all you’re going to have. How does she stay in business? She sells 200 meals a day. That’s enough for Franny. If folks can’t come, she brings the food to them. Charges an extra dollar.
The mirrors seldom see movement. The doors are mostly closed. But music comes from a solitary window, six hours a day, seven days a week. Inside, Charlotte Bergen lives her life alone with the beauty she creates. Four times a year, the reclusive woman emerges from her home and heads to Carnegie Hall where she conducts the American Symphony Orchestra. It’s an expensive treat. She pays for herself.
Finis Mitchell wanders Wyoming’s highest mountains alone. He has climbed 279 peaks, so many summits so often, the U.S. Geological Survey sends him its maps to correct from memory. He has hiked 18-thousand miles. Back in the Great Depression, Finis lost his job in town and was forced to live off this land. He gave something in return. Mitchell packed in 2 and a half million trout, stocking more than 300 lakes. He was one of the few living Americans who has a mountain peak named after him. Finis had climbed nearly all of them.
The Young at Heart Singers in North Hampton, Massachusetts, have been entertaining the world for four decades. This is not your typical senior citizen chorus. They give their own take on contemporary songs at the top of the charts. You won’t believe how GOOD they are.
Bobby Henline is the kind of guy who could make the faces on Mount Rushmore grin. He fought on the front lines in Iraq during Dessert Storm. Went back after 9/11 three more times. Then a roadside bomb blew off his face. He survived. What’s he doing now? Making us laugh.
Memory is too fragile a thread from which to hang history. The old west is different from what we see in the movies. It was America’s forge, and the pioneers who passed through it had spirits of hammered steel. Mormon settlers in northeastern Arizona...
There was a time when ships chased and caught the wind for profit, carrying cargo to the world. Like skinny ties, the past is circling back again. In Norfolk harbor, Virginia, there’s a tugboat unlike any other. It’s called a Tugantine. Part tugboat. Part sailboat. It started as a joke. When her captain, Lane Briggs, noticed a 28 percent saving in fuel, the sails stayed on.
Joe Stacy seldom had a picture taken without his car. He worked all through Highschool pumping gas for no pay. Just free fill ups on Friday nights. Friday nights are still important to him. Joe and his friends cruise in the Restless Ribbon, Oklahoma City’s 39th Street Expressway. The Fonz lives.
There was a time when wallets were like mobile phones. They held everything. Some hold a mystery. They were stolen more than 80 years ago. 25 were hidden in old barracks around Camp Roberts, California. Thousands of soldiers have trained here since the wallets disappeared. Staff Sargent Tom Murotake has spent years searching for their owners.
Hall of Fame baseball great Reggie Jackson learned the game from a dad who raised three sons by himself. They lived above his tailor shop in suburban Philadelphia. His father did not remarry until he had put each child through college. Martinez Jackson had little money, but he had wealth. He left his sons “a whole wide world to make a living in.”
Jim Mott, a successful, middle-aged artist, traveled the country trading paintings for hospitality. He managed to safely explore twenty-nine states while traveling fifteen thousand miles. Cost him nothing but gas. Come along for the ride.
John Spirk and his best buddy, John Nottingham, have more money making patents than any other living American inventor. Thomas Edison had more, but they were gaining on him. What’s their secret?
Bonnie Joe Hunt had a dream. Everyone laughed. She was a Native American after all and Indians didn’t do that, so she decided not to talk about it. At age ten she quietly started learning languages. Eight of them. And spent a lot of time alone, practicing. No one is laughing now.
Sherrill Headrick was one of the greats, a middle linebacker for the Kansas City Chiefs in the very first Super Bowl. No ten yards there were tougher than those from his bed to his bathroom. Nine yeas of pro ball left Headrick with roving arthritis. Hands that could trip a pass receiver by the toe, can barely lift a comb. But Headrick still competes in the only game he can. He has become a professional Bridge player, one of the best in the country. The old champ is out there on the playing field, if not in body, in mind.
Lucia Madrid had one of the largest private libraries in the world. In the vast Chihuahuan dessert of west Texas there was no TV, no video games, no movies. Just her trading post. Amid the Coke cans and the candy, she stacked 13 thousand books. Books in her bedroom. In dusty shoe boxes. In milk cartons. Free for all her neighbors.
For 24 years Suzi Valadez crossed the Mexican border to feed and clothe 2-thousand children who lived in a town dump. Their parents pay $10 down to buy a lot. Another $60 to build a home. They then can earn $2.50 a day sorting garbage. They come to the dump looking for a better life.
A lot of what we love today —ice cream cones, hamburgers, hot dogs, peanut butter, iced tea, the club sandwich, cotton candy — were all introduced in a single summer in 1904. Americans also got their first glimpse of the Olympic games and the Democrats managed to shoehorn in a National Convention. All three events in one city at the same time. Never happened again.
Jerry Owens surrounds himself with the sounds he likes to hear. Eating. He runs the Black Beauty Ranch, a place with a storybook name built from a nightmare. It is a haven for nearly 5-thousand animals each year. They are rescued from ghettos of neglect. There are burros pulled from the Grand Canyon. Goats from an island used for Navy bombing practice. And horses whose previous owners only fed them when they rode them. Owens is a one man army against cruelty, a Texas constable who figured long ago that people who hurt animals eventually will hurt people.
The Okefenolee Swamp is one of the most primitive places on earth, a swamp so big, you could lose New York City inside. Every 20 years or so, in times of drought, a great purging blaze burns out the vegetation. One lasted for more than a year.
To find this business, you go west from Salt Lake City, Utah. Turn left and drive for the rest of your life. Along about middle age, you may pass a battered 1951 Ford Installer moving among the tumbleweeds. That is the Beehive telephone company.
Leroy Haynes has led a life that ought to begin, “Once upon a time…” He went to school with Al Capone’s kids. Played in the old Negro baseball league. Was an All American football player at Morehouse College in Atlanta. Made movies with Bridget Bardot. Studied for a Doctorate degree at the Sorbonne in Paris. Quit to sell Soul Food to the French.
There hasn’t been much swordplay in the south since the Yankees left. Few southern women ever fought their way onto an Olympic fencing team, until now. Atlanta’s own Nee Lee struggled for 12 years, training with no sponsors and little money. One thought, “I want to be a maiden in shining armor.”
At the beginning of this century, Rulon Gardner won a gold medal virtually no one else in the world thought he could, beating Aleksandr Karelin, a Russian wrestler so good, opponents had not scored a single point against him in 10 years. Karelin started his amazing run when Gardner was a junior in high school. Back then, Rulon didn’t make the Varsity team. He and a brother wrestled for the final spot. Rulon let him win. His brother was a senior. That would have been his last chance to compete.
Efforts to boycott the 1980 Olympic Games in Moscow did not go well. No alternative site was picked. In the midst of all this, here came Moscow, Kansas, with what it hoped was the answer. The 250 people in town started passing out bumper stickers. They wanted to keep the games in Moscow, if not Russia, then Kansas. At Moscow International airport, they expected big crowds, if they could find a plane that seats more than one. “We have a man who works at the post office,” said Doug Bell. “He knows all about air mail. And then there’s the guy who cleans the sewer tanks here. He knows all about rapid transit.”
My first job for NBC News was the Munich Olympics in 1972. Before the games began, I was sent out with a silent film camera to shoot minute-30 feature stories. Each one had to be shot — in a few minutes — on a single roll of film. Just 3 minutes of video. No natural sound. No interview.
Summer is the season of the possible, when dreams don’t seem so far away. The long summer days set a haze over the pace of our daily lives and leave us time to reflect. Come on. Lets set sail.
In the mountains west of Boise, Idaho, clouds are the only shade. The sun’s heat can evaporate a 3 gallon can of water in 3 days. Americans survive in some of the harshest places. Survive? They thrive. Some of our finest inventors have their best ideas far from the hardware store. We were passing through these mountains one day when we noticed a microphone in the desert. It’s chord led over a hill to a place where Tom Edison would feel right at home.
Henry Byrd lived on a side of New Orleans most folks never see, the forgotten side of morning. Byrd never left the city. Never followed his fame. But most modern Rock stars can trace their heritage to his pounding piano style. They call him Professor Longhair.
At age 74, Illa Loetscher attempted an evolutionary miracle. The Mexican government gave her a very special turtle to see if she could raise it, send it to sea and have it return to her. It did. For 20 years, Illa opened her home to the sick and the wounded. Turtles tossed up on the shore and left to die. Kemp Ridley’s are the most endangered sea turtles in the world. The few that remain lay most of their eggs on Mexican beaches where — for years — those eggs have been stolen and eaten as a love potion. Illa puts on shows to get neighborhood kids to help her find the Ridley’s before the poachers do. She names each turtle after the person who found it. The latest was saved by a father whose child had been to the Turtle Lady’s House.
Niels Nielsen volunteered to sling from a slender thread of steel half a mile high to repair a Great Stone Face in New Hampshire. His father once worked on the Statue of Liberty. Niel liked to think he carried a torch, too. Folks gathered below to watch and wonder: Is that the face of an old man on the mountain? It is seen from only one direction. Without people, it is merely a pile of rocks. Perhaps that is why the Old Man is so special. Real men struggled to keep him from disappearing. They failed. The Face collapsed on May 3, 2003. You can still see it here.
Alberto Munoz came looking for the Old West and all he found were K-Marts. So, he built the Old West in his back yard. As a child growing up in Spain, Alberto spent his Saturdays in darkened movie houses watching westerns. He fell in love, not with the shootouts and the sheriffs, but with the music. It was the music that brought him to the Montana wilderness. Alberto was a classical pianist. For 20 years, he corresponded from his home in Madrid with a pretty American ballerina. She went to see him perform in Los Angeles. They married 3 days later.
Legend is a word we use easily. A team wins thirteen games – legendary. A guy tosses one good season of baseball – he’s a legend. A single Saturday afternoon thrill – legendary. But what of the legends who build quietly, year in and year out, until they touch us all. For sixty summers Jimmy Porter gently coaxed the kids of Carollton, Texas, to play the game he loved.
Black history in Oklahoma is unique. Some were cowboys. Some were Indians. And all of them were pioneers. Charles Davis knew them well. Most of them he buried.
Simplicity is the mark of genius. Grayson Rothenberger is changing the world with scissors, Scotch tape and a souped up hair dryer. He’s found a way to make artificial legs look real for less. A lot less. Artificial leg covers can cost a thousand bucks. Grayson’s cost $11. He has invented a lightweight and more lifelike prosthetic leg using bubble wrap.
A young man climbed the ladder of success and found it was leaning against the wrong wall. Now he has to chose between two very different careers. A lot of us love the spotlight. Look at the explosion of personal postings on the internet. Everyone trying for their 15 megabytes of fame. Robert Gupta is different. He could be famous, but backed away. Robert was a gifted kid who performed with major orchestras all over the world. He sailed through Suzuki, Julliard and Yale. Got a Masters in music at 19. Music was supposed to be his hobby, so his dad asked Robert to follow another passion — one that could put groceries on the table. Robert began assisting medical researchers at Harvard and two other colleges, studying Parkinson’s disease, the effect of pollution on the brain and how to restore spinal cords. He received his first college degree in Pre-med — at 17. Had his choice of med schools, but decided to join the Los Angeles Philharmonic. He was perfectly happy playing second fiddle.
Jeff Steiner is building a sanctuary. He is planting trees on a hundred acres he bought after returning from the Vietnam war. Half a year after high school graduation he was evacuating wounded G.I.’s. A shell exploded in his face. After his discharge, he became an alcoholic. Got divorced. Attempted suicide. Then, he decided to do something positive. Plant one tree for each of the 60-thousand fellow soldiers killed or missing in Vietnam. He had planted 30-thousand, when I met him.
Let’s relax with some beautiful scenery, courtesy of a Navajo photographer who shows us what we might miss, even standing next to him. LeRoy DeJolie grew up on a ranch, north of the Grand Canyon. All of his life, he has straddled two worlds. Now he teaches photography to young students and helps them see more deeply.
Zade Lobo sings like it’s closing time. The 8-year-old is testing a new computer app. Adults hover over him like a rock star. They want to know how to make this app so simple — even a grownup can understand.
Faye Jones was chosen one of the outstanding architects of the last century. He built his crowning achievement — a church — out of 2 by 4’s. The American Institute of Architects ranked his Thorncrown Chapel, deep in the Arkansas woods as the best building constructed since 1980. This web of pine and glass is so functional, so architecturally pure, the building would collapse if any one part were removed. His designs seem to be variations of the spectacular tree houses he built when he was a boy. One of them had a fireplace.
Jones laughed, “That fireplace was its undoing.”
But, build a better tree house, folks will find you and ask for another.
Few people in Cabbagetown know his name. He just showed up one Sunday and has seldom missed a Sunday since. They call him simply the “Picture Man.” He is not the first photographer to come here, but he is the first to give back something of himself. Each week he passes out hundreds of prints of the pictures he has taken. He pays for the prints himself. They are photos of feeling. Orion Catlege is partially blind.
The first person to ride the rapids through the Grand Canyon was a one arm Civil War veteran named John Wesley Powell. He lashed himself to a 17 foot boat and plunged down the Colorado river in a rocking chair. For nearly a century only a handful of people dared to follow in his path. Then, came Georgie Clark. She opened the Colorado river to us all.
Ever wonder what happens to birds who are too old to migrate? Gurney Crawford did. He built a place for them to land and singlehandedly diverted the flight path of Canada Geese. How did the geese say “thank you?”
A budding Albert Einstein. Brilliant of course. But an humanitarian too. All at the tender age of 16. Andrew Soo was already working on his doctorate in Medical Research. He started early. His parents taught him to read at age 2. By 5 he was solving algebra problems. At 8 he entered High school. Finished a year later. At 12 he pushed his scooter to the University of Washington. Tutored honor students in science. His smarts brought him to campus, but charity got him admitted. The faculty was impressed by a foundation Andrew started in his spare time.
I pursued many American dreams for the TODAY show, but this was a nightmare. We were suspended eighteen stories above New York Harbor on a thin metal ladder tilted between the pedestal and the big toe of the Statue of Liberty. She approached her Centennial riddled with rust. There are holes in her gown large enough to take pictures through. And that was what Peter B. Kaplan was doing. I was climbing with him. The odds were against me.
The Statue of Liberty has been buffeted with salt water and baked with sun. She approached her Centennial riddled with rust. That had so weakened the statue, French artisans crafted a new torch gilded in gold. They ply their trade much as the original builders did nearly a 150 years ago. Brought with them two tons of hand made tools and 4 tree stumps.
The Statue of Liberty has been buffeted with salt water and baked with sun. She approached her Centennial riddled with rust. There were holes in her gown large enough to take pictures through. And that is what Peter B. Kaplan was doing.
There is more to American than just a blur out of a car window, but you must linger to see it’s details. I’ve crisscrossed this country for nearly half a century listening to your stories. While most reporters focus on life’s flat tires, I look for something far more difficult to find — what keeps the other tires rolling. I discover people who are practically invisible, the ones who make our lives better, but don’t take time to tweet and tell us about it.
America’s fight for independence was — for some — a civil war. 100-thousand Americans fought with the British. Forty thousand fled to Canada after the war. Among them, a battle-scarred man who walked with a slight limp. Everyone knew his name: Benedict Arnold. “Oh, the traitor, eh?” Steve Arnold smiled. He looks remarkably like him. Steve is Benedict Arnold’s closest living relative.
Bungee Jump Let’s celebrate summer with a story about a craze that was just taking hold in America when this story was done. I call it Bernstein’s symphony of air.
There’s an old grocery store in Detroit, Texas. Its shelves are stocked with music. Edith DeWitt’s dad opened the place in 1919. His daughter has nudged aside the can goods to nourish other needs. For 66 years she learned to play dozens of instruments so she could teach whatever her students wanted to master — piano, organ, drums, ballroom dancing, tap dancing, marimba, banjo. She also mastered ballet, acrobatic dancing, drama and voice. Her most important lesson?
Mary Smith McClain is torn between what she loves and what she feels is right. For most of her life she was known as Diamond Tooth Mary, a dazzling blues singer who performed on star studded bills with Duke Ellington and Nate King Cole. She turned her back on the blues and joined the Baptist church. Her pastor said the music was evil. And she believed him. When Mary turned 82, her husband died. Money got tight. Old blues singers don’t have pensions. She accepted an offer to sing in New York City for the first time in 42 years.
Professor Doug Brinkley was worried that his students had never seen skyscrapers made of ice. Never known a silent world. Never traveled much at all. Not even in books. He loaded 27 students into a bus and drove from Hofstra University in New York to Denali National Park, Alaska. Along the way, the library came alive.
Bill Eisenhuth watched his psychiatric patients come and go. He decided to follow them into the streets. His office became the steam vents and alleys where his patients lived.
To all of us who grew up watching pirate movies, this place is kind of special. Blackbeard had a home just off of Main Street. There were more parrots and eye patches on these wharves than on the movie backlot. In 1981 they came back. Russ Morphew ran the only school for pirates this side of Hollywood.
Jasmine Lawrence is living every kid’s dream. She gets to boss her mom. April Lawrence works for her 16 year old daughter. How’s that working out? It began with a bad hair day. The chemicals Jazzman used to relax her curls left her practically bald. She decided to create her own recipe — at age 11. Thirteen when she went off to summer camp to learn how to start a business. Eden Body Works was born with a $2-thousand dollar advance on her allowance.
At an age when most kids are lucky to get a summer job stacking shelves, Jazzman has 30 products in stores. She signed a distribution agreement with Walmart. Plans to take her brand world wide. Projected profits: one million dollars. Not bad for a kid in Williamstown, New Jersey.
Think what it must have been like. A time when only the rich could show the world images of themselves in color. The rest of us were frozen in black and white until 1935. That’s when Kodak produced a film so iconic, Utah named a state park after it. The only one in the country named for a brand of film. The company was down to its last roll, when I found this story.
If you could take Alaska and lay it over the lower 48 states, one side would touch Florida, the other California. It’s distances are so vast, travel budgets for high school sports teams can run 100-thousand dollars a year. Arch rivals often live a thousand miles away. Any high school kid who wants to perform or play music must first — learn how to pack.
Under a cotton puff sky, I met the kind of family America used to know. Wading through the wheat fields came Roger and David and their nephew Jay. Their dads work on the oil rigs. So do four older brothers — 10 hours a day, 7 days a week. They live in a home their parents bought two decades ago for $140., a home their parents rebuilt in the quiet of their evenings.
The wind can sound like Hell’s idea of music in the north Atlantic. Blizzards blow in biblical proportions; one of them taught Lanier Phillips a great lesson. Caring can come from unexpected places.
June 19th. This was the date great, great, grand daddies used to mark the calendar of their lives. In 1865 folks gathered to hear a general who came to tell Texas what the rest of the world already knew. Black Americans were now free. They called it Juneteeth, the day that changed the world. Black Texans had already turned their world upside down.
In a beefcake world, LaGrand Nielsen was a patty melt, putting on the pounds. So, at 96, he started eating right. At 97, he entered the Panhellenic Games in Greece. Won races in China, South Africa, Finland, Australia and Rome. How’d he do it?
“Bless their hearts,” Caroline Surofchek said, squeezing my hand. We were sitting together at a memorial service a few years later for the families of the men who went down with the sub. At ninety-one she was the only wife still living. “Those Abele boys weren’t nothing but little kids when they lost their dad. Thanks to them I’ve outlived the mystery of what happened to my Steve.”
MYSTERY SOLVED. TIME FOR THE FAMILIES TO SAY GOODBYE IN PART FOUR OF THE ABELE BROTHER’S SEARCH FOR THEIR MISSING FATHER’S SUBMARINE.
While the Abele brothers searched for their father’s submarine, the crewmen’s relatives looked for one another. The boys’ mom, Kay Abele, had kept them together for years, writing notes to the other sixty-nine families, week after week, until she died. Then they drifted apart, losing track of one another. The last relative was located the morning the Grunion was found.
TWO MYSTERIES. SOLVED. THIS IS THE THIRD OF FOUR STORIES IN THE ABELE BROTHER’S SAGA.
The sea holds many mysteries, but few detectives were as dogged as the Abele brothers who search a lifetime for their father’s submarine which went missing during World War Two. In 2006 they began crisscrossing the Bering Sea, probing its depths with sonar. The brothers caught a break when a Japanese historian found a lost account of the Grunion ’s last battle, which mentioned a confrontation between a cargo ship and the sub. The freighter’s crew spotted two torpedoes bubbling toward them, the first of which missed; but the second exploded and stopped the engine. Terrified, the Japanese seamen turned a deck gun on the sub, firing eighty-four times as it began to surface.
“There was a dull ‘thud’ noise and a little spout. Presumably oil, we don’t know,” John said. Their dad’s sub slid into history’s shadows, and seventy men were never heard from again.
We all make deals with our hearts from time to time, redoubling our efforts when others drop away. Sensible voices tell us to stop, but we don’t. The Abele brothers, John, Bruce, and Brad, spent a lifetime searching for their father’s submarine, long after the U.S. Navy gave up and historians closed the book on one of World War II’s biggest mysteries.
Valmy mayor Gene DeGrazia owns a gas station in the middle of a dessert. To entice motorists to stop, he built a motel, dug a pond and put up signs to his secret fishing hole. Over the years, that gas station spawned a tiny town. The new interstate highway bypassed it, so DeGrazia, who had become mayor of Valmy, Nevada, made an executive decision. If people no longer came to town, the town would follow them.
Ever heard of the Ritchie Boys? They were a group of German born Jewish immigrants who were trained and sent back to defeat the Nazis that killed their families. Their story has been hiding in history’s shadow.
Today, we’ll do a bit of time traveling. All aboard the Tea and Sugar train! Want to see our first American Story in foreign country? It aired on Halloween. Let’s see how kids celebrate in Australia’s Outback.
Pat Knisley, a swimming coach from New Bern, NC, cares more about kids than a winning team. Her enthusiasm and love have inspired thousands of young students. Despite a 20-year battle with multiple sclerosis and the loss of her husband, Knisley continues to teaches us a lesson in life.
There was a time when rush hour in Odessa, Texas, became a kind of moving McDonalds. There was more that sizzled than hot pavement. Hooked to the back bumper of several small cars were little ovens that fried eggs on the way to work and steaks on the way home. The oven’s heat came from the car’s exhaust pipe, which was shielded to keep out fumes. Bill Worrell was responsible for this culinary revolution. No matter how fast he went, there was still one problem.
Let us remember a time when Americans lived up to their ideals and those ideals helped save the world. On June 6, 1944 we set out to free Europe. The invasion began just 3 miles from the little port where the Pilgrims left for the new world. The allies too, carried a gift of freedom.
American soldier Sam Fuller returned on the 40th anniversary to find the Frenchman who saved his life during the D-Day landings.
Patrolman Bill Sample was stationed at the Philadelphia Children’s hospital. His beat took him among children who are very sick. He smiled and they talked, telling him of dreams they would not live. Bill Sample decided to provide some of those dreams. He paved the way for Make a Wish and all the other big time charities that followed. The little girl featured in the first story did not die.
Patrolman Bill Sample was stationed at the Philadelphia Children’s hospital. His beat took him among children who were very sick. He smiled and they talked, telling him of dreams they would not live. Bill Sample decided to provide some of those dreams. He paved the way for Make a Wish and all the other big time charities that followed.
This a month of memories. I remember a time when summer was served in 28 flavors. Howard Johnson’s ice cream was every where. When I was a kid, the brand was as well known as Coca Cola. I had my last taste in the state where it began. The last Howard Johnson restaurant was closing in Greenfield, Massachusetts.
A 21 year old graduating senior at the University of Virginia has developed a simpler sign language for autistic children and stroke victims, helping some to communicate for the very first time. Micki Cassagne brings life to children crouching in the darkness of their minds.
David Tatnall worked as a janitor until he saved enough to go looking for places no one else has photographed. His was not the dry Australia of foreign imagination. Tatnall hiked the high mountain forest east of Melbourne where the rain melts the landscape into a vivid softness.
It is an accident of history that old stories are recalled in black and white. Familiar, faded images. Always the same. They never tell it all. During the Great Depression of the 1930’s, farmers from half a continent funneled into California looking for work. Leo Hart helped their children find a way out of poverty. He taught arithmetic in an air plane. Children with the highest marks got to taxi it around. Those kids ended up owning mining companies and supermarkets. They became college professors, engineers and judges. Their teacher emphasized what they could become, not what they were.
West Texas has one of the most sparsely populated counties in the country, 647 square miles of nothing but sagebrush, rattlesnakes and sand. It has one town. Only 110 people live there. So few, the mayor bought something unusual to let them sleep...
Carroll Abbott was the only registered lobbyist in Texas — for wild flowers. I loved his motto: “A weed is just a flower in a place you don’t want it.”
I overheard this exchange in Walmart between two older men, one a customer and the other a greeter offering him assistance: “Can I help you?” “Sorry,” said the customer, pulling out a cart. “I don’t hear so well.” He pointed at his ear. “I flew combat during the war.”...
There is a section of Arlington National cemetery where mothers come to tend their son’s graves. They watch over them, just as they did on playgrounds long ago.
San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge was so loved when it opened in 1937 that a lot of people scribbled their names and addresses on its towers. A friend bet 14-year old Bill Hughes a quarter that Bill couldn’t write a letter to a name and address chosen at random and get a reply. The friend closed his eyes and put his finger on a name: Patricia Lucas. Bill wrote the letter.
David Rosenblum was a professional race car driver who didn’t win many races, but crashed a lot of cars. He was a drug addict, driving 130 miles an hour. Rosenblum went from riches to rags, until he met some real heroes, kids who declined a drug deal every day. Chris Serano and his friends passed up what David could not. So, he tapped their strength to control his own addiction. In return, he offered them a ticket out of North Philadelphia. He picked his pit crews from the Edison High shop class. Good kids with average grades who are often overlooked.
This story took four years to complete. We followed a family of students who were making Naval Academy history. The mom was one of the first women to graduate and her oldest children — twins — graduated in the same place and at the exact same moment 30 years later. There was still one more child in the Academy. The dad went there too. The Disher Family is the first in American history to send everyone to the Naval Academy.
For 35 years Tyrone Curry started work every morning at four. Seldom quit before dinner, but the longtime janitor at Evergreen high school in Seattle, Washington, was happy. He accepted that someone has to put out the folding chairs in life. Someone has to do the jobs we all take for granted. Besides, it left him muscled like a man who tilled poor soil and he liked that. Still, everyone wondered why he didn’t kiss his trash sack goodbye, after he won the Washington State Lottery.
For more than half a century, Mardy Murie lived beneath the spidery ice crystals and the ghost trees of the Grand Tetons. Some say she is a treasure in these mountains. She and her husband, Olaf, wrote their names across the history of conservation in America. They came to the Tetons in 1927. Raised a family in the wilderness following the dwindling elk herd. Their research saved the elks for all time.
The winter of life brings choices. Decisions. Its time to travel back looking for lost dreams. Rollie Richardson quietly gathered some of his homeless neighbors from winter’s worst. And helped them try to find those dreams. He drove them non-stop from Delaware to Disney World for nothing but a smile.
The homeless used to be people he stepped around on the way to the bank, where he was a vice president, until one day, he made the kind of choice the homeless make. Friends offered him drugs and he took them. He was 51 years old. Delores, his wife of 38 years, sent Rollie to rehab — 8 times. He finally quit for good, after a friend said, “Folks used to look up to you.”
Rollie got a new job coaching kids and started cooking up an idea with the money he made. Every Saturday, he would entice the homeless with a gourmet breakfast. Then, offer to help them solve their problems. They had heard that message many times, but in Rollie, they saw themselves — a mirror of hope in the vast uncertainty of life.
Mount Clemens, Michigan is a suburb of Detroit, not Hollywood. But for fantasy, nothing could top an evening like this. The oldest citizens mingling with its youngest at a REAL senior prom. This is not just one of those cute things kids sometimes do for older folks. Rose Dysert earned her invitation. She graduated from high school at 98.
Shanita Viera believed she could be a brain surgeon one day, but being a doctor was something few kids in her block ever considered, until the staff at New York Presbyterian hospital volunteered to teach them. Just the prescription to pull a dream within reach. Don’t you wish people could see what we wish we could be.
When people wonder about the future of this country, I tell them, “Look at our past.” In tough times we come together. Selfishness may get headlines, but selfLESSness built America. It kept many places from becoming ghost towns. Let’s celebrate a living ghost town.
One of the finest brain surgeons in the world began his journey very differently from most doctors. The hands that pluck out brain tumors once picked vegetables for $22 a day. Alfredo Quinones was a migrant worker living in an old camper top in the...
I’d like you to meet Mario Capecchi. He’s the son of a single mom, a poet, who thought she could defeat the Nazis with her pen. She didn’t, but he became one of the scientists who saved us.
After years of urban decline, the community of the South Bronx gets a boost from native Hedy Fox, who brings the skills she learned in college to the challenges of neighborhood crime.
Photographer Rex Ziak (pronounced Zeek) spent almost a decade trying to get a new National Park at the point where American explorers Lewis and Clark ended their westward journey. He tramped along the last bit of trail they blazed near his home in Southwestern...
Every generation faces terrible challenges. Wars, depressions, holocausts. Polio, Aids, pandemics. We cannot predict what will come, but it is well to remember people who play a bad hand well, over and over again. They are why America not only survives, but thrives. Let me share with you one of my TODAY Show reports that was so much more than a weather story.
The Alonso’s lost their mother during the 9/11 attack in 2001. Janet went to work at the World Trade Center that morning and never returned. Robert was left to care for a 2-year-old daughter and a baby boy with Down syndrome.
“If I was to tell you I did this by myself, I’d be a liar; I’d be a flat-out liar,” Robert said. “I got my mom, my aunt, my pop to help.”
But he never returned to work at the pizza place he owned in Stony Point, New York. His family substituted for him. “I owe it to my children to be around,” Robert explained. “If I buried my grief in work, my kids would lose both their parents.”
I remember when milk and doctors came to your house. Fred Richardson still does — in one of the toughest neighborhoods in Chicago. He is a brave man with a big heart. Dr. Richardson returned to his old neighborhood to open a one-man practice....
These guys were to hockey what the Harlem Globe Trotters are to basketball. Their goalie rode a horse named Penance. Their best player was a priest dressed as a nun, “Sister Mary Shooter.” She would distract the other team’s goalie by lassoing him with a twelve-foot rosary.
Not all my stories were done in America. I found Doug Mealing in Australia. One side of his face grew faster than the other. He was born with Elephant Man’s Disease. Mealing worked far above the whispers and stares repairing the old Sydney Harbor bridge, but could not climb above his problems, until a woman’s love earned him a job on the number one soap opera in Australia.
Most of us no longer recall or have ever heard what America did to retaliate for the destruction at Pearl Harbor that brought us into World War Two, but it changed our country as surely as 9/11. Eighty Americans volunteered to do the unthinkable. They bombed Japan, knowing they would have to ditch their planes behind enemy lines. After the war, Jake DeShazer astounded his former comrades by going back to Japan as a minister. He stayed thirty years. Started twenty-three churches, including one, in Nagoya, the city he bombed.
Long before Covid-19 made virtual classrooms a necessity, students in Australia’s vast Outback were learning via two-way radio. The Warwick family built an extraordinary life in that dessert on not much more than hope. Their ranch sits on some of the driest...
Beloved teacher Ruby Forsyth had died. The classroom where she taught for half a century was now quiet. The school she started for Black children was about to close. Her former students share their memories of what she taught them.
A special story of love and courage that reaches across color lines to touch the core of America. For 30 years, Barbara Knox beat the dawn to work. This was her last. She was worried. Her boss was retiring, closing the diner where Barbara had labored all of her adult life. The place was more than a paycheck for her.
You remember Sitting Bull who helped defeat General Custer at the Little Big Horn? He was a Great War Chief of the Lakota Sioux Indian tribe. He was also a man who cared deeply about children.
On his trip to New York City with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, Sitting Bull was moved by the orphans he saw on the streets. He spent his pay buying them food which he handed out in a back alley. Ron His Horse is Thunder told me that story. He is Sitting Bull’s Great-Great-Great grandson. Ron let me ponder what he had said. Finally, he looked up and asked, “Who’s the savage?”
One mother told me her Home Schooling curriculum includes Honors laundry and AP vacuuming. And then — there’s the Harding family who sent 6 kids kids to college by age 12. That’s right. 12. The Harding’s offer tired parents some tips.
Lewis Whirlwind Horse was the last living member of a traveling troupe of cowboys and Indians who invented the way we imagine the Old West must have been. “We were playing at the old Madison Square Garden in New York City, which is neither square nor a garden,” Whirlwind Horse said. “Buffalo Bill directed us to ride our horses around a circled ‘wagon train’ so we could show off our riding skills. My role in the act was to grab a pioneer woman and take her into a tepee set up at the other end of the arena. She was supposed to scream until Buffalo Bill came and rescued her, but we Indians were doing the screeching. You see, we played gin rummy while we were waiting for Bill to come shoot us, and she sat in on the game. She was the best card player in the show. Beat us every time. We were supposed to be killing her, but her card playing was killing us!”
Three little boys live in a magical place riddled with secret tunnels: a 35,000-square-foot building their parents are restoring, mostly by themselves.
That’s right: a home one-third the size of Downton Abbey — without the downstairs help.
TV would have us believe that “high-tech” catches criminals, but only about a third of the cases get solved with DNA evidence. The rest rely on people whose minds never retire.
BILL PETERS SOLVED THE MYSTERY TO A LIFE LONG ROMANCE.
The west of legend has so captured our imagination that the real west is often overlooked. For nearly 30 years cowboy cartoonist Ace Reid gave voice to people we thought we know, but never asked. His cartoon series “Cowpokes” was read in Gobblers Knob, Utah and Fishtail, Montana, hundreds of small towns where cowboys still challenge a hardscrabble land.
Growing up, I spent my summers in farm country — Kansas — with a grandfather who loved to tell stories. Perhaps that’s why I got into the storytelling business.
My grandfather told me that when he was 18, he was what used to be called “all hat and no cattle,” a kid with little money and no property.
“One of my biggest thrills,” he said, “was loading my buggy and best girl on a river ferry. That was like a ride at Disneyland. The ferryman would push us across with a pole and an encyclopedic knowledge of the currents. Quite an adventure in 1903!”
Grandpa would have loved Ashley Pillar, one of the last of those old-time river ferrymen.
The road out of town is the only way the road seems to go. So few families remained in McLeod, North Dakota, Jan Herbranson ran out of kids at the old one-room school. Normally, that would spell the end of a place like McLeod. The school closed in 1986. But in this village of 50, four babies born. When they grew up, children returned to her little dead school house and so did Jan Herbranson.
Each evening Dr. Mort Copenhaven drove 900 feet up the side of Camelback Mountain to his own castle. It took him 13 years to chisel his home out of a cliff. He did all the work. Mort had no formal training, but he was a dentist. Figured that building a castle on the side of a mountain wouldn’t be much different than planting a false tooth.
Sometime the best college lessons are learned outside the classroom. A young man with Down Syndrome taught a fraternity what no professor ever could. Todd Martz respected everybody the same. Black. White. Red. Yellow. Short. Fat. Ugly. Beautiful. The fraternity brothers were so taken with Todd’s approach to life, they did something extraordinary.
The Federal government gave some starving folks 40 acres and a mule during the Great Depression of the 1930’s. It saved them. I found them 50 years later.
A redwood forest 140 miles North of San Francisco is a place so bountiful and full of peace, “Nothing around here is ever killed. It always dies of old age and cholesterol,” Juanita Dahl grins. She lives miles from the nearest highway, but not alone. Each morning, a one car train rattles up from Fort Bragg on the California coast to snatch the mail and take Jaunita to the grocery store.
Fred Benson was the most successful person I ever met. He lived on Block Island, off the coast of Rhode Island. Fred was police chief, fire chief and the state Driver’s license examiner. He was also head of the rescue squad, baseball coach, teacher, builder and President of the Chamber of Commerce. Five times. Then — he won the Rhode Island state lottery. Five hundred thousand dollars. He threw the biggest birthday party anyone could remember. Invited all the children on the island and announced he’d pay the college tuition of any child who wanted to go. Fred always thought of his community first. In the Seventies there was a housing shortage on Block Island. So, at 54, Fred went to college and got a degree. He taught high school shop. The island’s four builders got their start with Fred. He never married. Never had children. But, for 82 years, he dedicated himself to the people of Block island. Fred Benson had found a safe harbor and then showed others the way.
Juan Delgadillo looked like a Shriner who had lost his parade. He cruised by my car window on a hot, dusty day west of the Grand Canyon driving an ancient convertible painted the colors of a dripping ice cream cone. It was a griddle hot morning in July, but a decorated Christmas tree stood tall in his back seat. At the top a sign read: “Follow me to Dead Chicken sandwiches.”
Paid your taxes? Dreaming of a better way to fund government? Maybe more lotteries? Back in 1986, governments were beginning to experiment with gambling to raise money. The mayor of McClusky, North Dakota mayor bet on his town’s future. He left it to chance. Friday nights down at Elms cafe, you could find him dealing blackjack. The money he won went to charity. All of it. In four years, this village of 650 people had raised $57-thousand dollars. Gambling. Players figure they couldn’t lose. If they did, their money helped paint the town’s pool or buy a new ambulance. It had been a blessing for some, a curse for others.
Florence Thompson’s picture haunted the nation. Her grandson saw the photograph hanging inside a G.I.’s tent in Vietnam. The face had been printed black and the Black soldier who owned it swore she was Black. Florence and her story had not yet been found. But that frozen moment of her life, that picture, writes its own story in each of us.
Aren’t we all dreaming of breaking out? Seeing something besides the place where we live? Sometimes in life you have to get lost — to find yourself. Roy and Anna Williams set out from their home in Florence, Kentucky, to circle the west in a car that ran on dreams.
Some of us are lucky enough to have had a great teacher. A cheerleader who changed our lives. Frank Cooper told his students something that stuck — Keep Your Promise. He said that dressed as Elvis. https://youtu.be/pMYqJ5oUmkE
When Joe Clark left home, he carried with him pictures of friends and neighbors who would set a course for his life. Joe went to work for the great news magazines, Time and Life and Newsweek, capturing the faces of common people. Seasons, like sign posts, mark the time. In the fall of his 76th year, Joe Clark decided to come back to Cumberland Gap for a harvest of memory.
27 years after my first story, artist Michael Naranjo, who lost his sight in the Vietnam War, has become a world renowned sculptor, despite his total blindness. The Native American sees more clearly than most.
No one had time for the old man squatting over a box of vegetable peelers on a New York City street corner. The crowds swirled around him on their way to work, but he didn’t seem to notice. The solitary street vendor flicked a slice of potato off his thousand-dollar suit, smiled to himself, and asked, “Why would you buy four peelers, if they last a lifetime? Because you have four friends,” Joe explained. “Never underestimate a small amount of money, gathered by hand.” For 60 years he loved the glorious uncertainty of starting every day—with nothing.
Jennifer Annable was five months pregnant when she moved to Seattle with fifty-bucks in her pocket. She worked long hours, struggling to become a teacher. Eventually, she ran a school for children with special needs. Melvin Jones was one of them. He was 16, drifting on the streets of Seattle. She made up a room for him. She had already opened her home to five kids. Why would a divorced, single mom take on such a challenge?
Chuck Taylor waved at a hawk strafing the wheat field in front of him. “There is beauty everywhere. I just want to express what I am feeling.”
He pushed up his feed company cap and began to sing louder than his farm tractor engine. Chuck’s voice boomed over that Colorado field, keeping time to the rhythm of his motor. The tractor turned into the setting sun, revealing a big man, close to three hundred pounds, haloed in the cab. Chuck Taylor was wondering why that sun wasn’t a spotlight.
Bussey, Iowa may make you homesick for a place you’ve probably never been. Just 422 people lived there the day I dropped by. But this small town has made a big difference in Todd Spaur’s life. He was in a terrible accident two decades ago when his car flipped off a bridge and lay hidden in heavy underbrush for 16 hours. He could not call for help or call out because he’d broken his back, neck and most of the bones in his face. Doctors said he would never walk.
Deborah Huddleston fell in love with Glenn Gammage. They were married out on the prairie, dreaming dreams, as if they were new. He speaks 5 languages and has circled the world with the U.S. Navy. She has seldom left Texas. They fell in love and...
No matter how far we go into the wilderness, we can seldom escape the sounds we make. There are few places where planes do not fly or foghorns cannot pierce. Just as city lights keep us from seeing dimmer stars, these noises of every day life drown out the more delicate voices of nature. Gordon Hempton searches for spots to record the earth’s chorus — without us.
New York spends more money on the arts than other city in the country, but a lot of those dollars come from outsiders. If you subtract all that out of town money, the place that spends the most per person for culture is Bassett, Nebraska.
I found myself in a forest filled with forgotten lives. Their final resting places were marked, not with names, but numbered stakes, unnoticed, until Bud Merritt stumbled upon them. He found the first of six lost graveyards at what was once the largest mental hospital in America: Milledgeville, Georgia.
John Coffer turned his back on modern times to wander America in a wagon pulled by oxen, stopping only to take portraits with his antique camera. Coffer traveled at two and a half miles an hour for five years. 25 states. 10-thousand miles. He crisscrossed America so slowly, everywhere he went, folks joked he was a temporary resident. Coffer captured old fashioned images of modern America.
A surveyor from Valentine, Nebraska, was charting the land of the Rio Grande. He stopped for lunch and took a nap. When he awoke, poor people had gathered to eat his scraps. That bothered Frank Ferree. It bothered him so much he sold all his land to buy food and medicine for the poor. He kept nothing for himself. For 40 years Frank Ferree fed thousands on both sides of the Rio Grande. Five Presidents of Mexico have given him gold medals. He melted them down and bought beans.
There’s a mountain near Glenwood Springs, Colorado, the locals call “Misery Heights.” The last cowboys left there in the 1930s. It was too remote to raise horses, too cold to grow crops. Just right to teach something about life. Jack Snoble teaches a course in homesteading. Class size, one student.
There are a lot of little towns in farm country fighting for their lives. In Havana, North Dakota, the sun hasn’t set. When the town’s cafe went under, all 158 people in town volunteered to cook. It became something of a competition. They made $51,000, enough to open a new grocery store, build sidewalks and put an archery range. Now they dream of a jacuzzi.
Some folks do not see limits, only opportunities. Ed Lucas decided he wanted to broadcast baseball games, after watching the first nationally televised playoff. He ran outside to celebrate his decision. The twelve year old fired a fastball to a boyfriend...
Milton Rogovin grew old watching his neighborhood grow up, sharing the yearbook of their lives. He was still photographing them at age 100, surrounded by friends who were now taking his picture — the “forgotten ones,” who did not forget him.
In 1915, Robert Frost brought his wife and four children to a small farm in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. He was a terrible farmer. He used to milk the cows at midnight, so he could sleep late. Townsfolk figured he’d be on their welfare rolls by Christmas. Then, they read something he wrote. It inspired them to do something very special for poets.
Steven White tried for decades to save a small island for someone he’d never met. Waves were slowly whittling it away. He told me the tale as we chopped through the water in a tiny boat on Maryland’s Chesapeake Bay.
“Holland Island once held sixty houses,” Stephan pointed out as we approached what had once been a neighborhood that stretched two miles down the shore. “It was a bustling community that had sixty-eight kids in school until rising tides forced them to abandon the building. My home is all that remains above water.”
Working alone, he hauled hundred pound stones across Chesapeake Bay to shore up the place.
A caring heart is as good a measure as any, when you try to evaluate success. World-class Chef Scott Peacock once told me, “It’s always the most important ingredient.”
He was lifting a cake out of the oven. Turned and dropped it on the kitchen table next to an elderly woman.
“Tell me if it’s ready?”
Edna Lewis didn’t poke it or taste it. She cocked her head and lowered her ear to the dish.
“It’s fading away,” it’s fading away
There was a reason she was in the cookbook hall of fame. She cooked by ear.
My grandfather’s basketball coach was James Naismith, the man who invented the sport. In those days the Founding Father had not yet punched a hole in the bottom of the peach basket that was used instead of a net. “Coach,” grandpa said, “this game would be a whole lot faster if we didn’t have to climb a ladder to pull out the ball!” Few people alive have ever heard Naismith’s voice. Here’s a rare recording: https://goo.gl/s8yVK1
Basketball has always been more than a game. It brings together groups that may have no other common ground.
My first job for NBC News was at the Munich Olympics in 1972. That’s where I met legendary basketball coach Abe Lemons. He was president of the College Coaches Association that year, but told me he couldn’t get tickets to any Olympic basketball games. Instead, he scored a seat to the finals of the hammer throw.
I asked Abe: How was it?
“Well, our seats were kinda high up,” he said with a slow grin.
“How high?”
“When one of those hammer guys wound up and tossed, the fellows around me all yelled down, ‘How’d he do?’ And the fans down below would turn, cup their ears, and say: ‘Huh?’”
Janelle Barencott has never heard the bounce of a ball, the swish of a net. But on this day, she got to play against the best of the best, players dreaming of jobs in the National Women’s Basketball Association. Janelle’s dreams are silent.
March Madness gives us a chance to watch the superstars of tomorrow. Before Larry Bird became a basketball legend, he was a shy student. I covered one of his first games. Hop in my Way Back Machine for a bit of March Madness from 1979. You’ll be watching the only undefeated major college basketball team in the country back then — the Sycamores of Terra Haute, Indiana.
The black muscle car roared up. Growling, throbbing. A tiny silver skull wired to the brake lights blinked with red eyes, the same color as the cross – painted on the car’s roof. Two words decorated its side: “Bone Mobile.” Anyone looking for wonder among the world’s ordinary stuff would, as they say in old movies, “follow that car.”
In January 1957, Henry Alexander offered an innocent black man, Willie Edwards, a terrible choice while he looked down the barrel of a gun. Either run or jump from a bridge north of Montgomery, Alabama. He leapt into the Alabama River 50 feet below. Some fishermen found his body three months later.
Edwards’ wife, Sarah, was left with two children. She was pregnant with another. They never knew what happened to their father.
Before Diane Alexander’s husband died, he gave her his guilt. Clippings from his Ku Klux Klan days. The pattern for his hood. His pistol. A whip. And a stunning confession.
“He said, ‘My problem is Willie Edwards. I caused (his death.)”
Michael Najarian found his name chiseled on a list of war dead. His was one of more than 58 thousand names on the Wall of the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C. Najarian served in Vietnam, but was still very much alive.
“I just sort of sank on the ground,” he said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t believe it.”
Folks in Polk, Nebraska prefer to get their news the old fashioned way — in a newspaper, the Polk Progress. Its editor Norris Alfred is the only Democrat in the county. Why do people buy his newspaper? “I play poker with a lot of them. And I lose.” Norris loves slow news days. Gives him time to put things into perspective, something he’s done so well for 70 years.
Norris Alfred. In search of great truths. Or a minor truth. Or two.
There was a time in America where neighbors were considered part of your wealth. In Four Corners, Louisiana, they still are. Hardly a family here makes $10,000 a year. But together, they had rebuilt eleven homes. They linked up with trade people who taught them how.
There is still a little frontier in all of us. Something that urges us out beyond the limits of our settled lives. Diana Moroney shrugs off the world she lives in to find her heart in another. She races a team of sled dogs 11-hundred miles from Anchorage to Nome, Alaska, sliding through a snowy wilderness so big, it would cover everything from Maine to the tip of Florida.
In Radio City Music Hall, the years do not flow back into the past. They gather invisibly around you. Each Christmas the Rockettes dance into our memories. Doris Carie was a Rockette at 17, the youngest girl in the line. They lived in the theater from 8 in the morning until 11 at night. After a year, she was sore all over. She went home to Georgia, but she never forgot the lessons.
Television did not begin in New York or Los Angeles. It was the brainchild of a fourteen-year-old farm boy, the vision of a fellow with a funny name: Philo T. Farnsworth. Philo was plowing a field on the family farm near Rigby, Idaho, day dreaming about sending pictures through the sky, when he noticed the sun glinting off the parallel lines he had made in the dirt. In a single, blazing moment of inspiration, it occurred to him that a picture could be broken down into lines, too, beamed into space and then put back together on a television set.
There are places where the past is not past. It keeps circling back around. Many towns in America are like that. Petaluma, California, continually celebrates a magical time when kids showed up to shoot a low budget movie called “American Graffiti.” It launched some big name careers and boosted an unknown director, George Lucas, into an orbit that would lead to his epic — Star Wars. History in Petaluma is never far, far way. Sadly, this town — so tied to movie history — lost its last picture show. Kids could have just hopped into a car. Their moms would have driven them to the movies in another town.
“Oh, no!” Madison Webb looked stricken. “You’re not supposed to go with your parents!”
So, the teens created a business plan that would reopen their theater.
Oscar night. Time for little known Hollywood history. Amateur archeologists have uncovered a lost Egyptian city. Not on the Nile. Beneath the sands of coastal California. It was buried by that Pharaoh of films, Hollywood Director Cecil B. DeMille.
Bob Stanfill spent his first night in jail at age 9. For two decades he was in and out so often, he expected to die beneath prison towers. Until one day, he married into a remarkable family. They helped Bob open his own barbershop. Surrounded him with customers. And kept him out of prison for 30 years. Now he’s back. By choice.
On Betty Sullivan’s 75th birthday, her kids got together to sing for their mom in a place polished with dreams and hard work. Carnegie Hall. She was set to perform again at Carnegie Hall on her 90th birthday. Coronavirus canceled the celebration.
Jim and Betty Sullivan just wanted their eight kids to learn music. They began to teach them in an old home, now covered in weeds. Son Tim sang country songs. His sister, Heather, wrote themes for television shows. Her sister, Stacy, had a recording career, and big sister, K.T., was a world-class cabaret singer.
She sang them a song with her favorite line.
“You have never left my mind long enough to leave me …”
Come on. Take a walk with me. I want you to meet Jim and Marty Dwyer and their five boys. The Dwyers always wanted a baby girl but figured it wasn’t going to happen after those five boys. So they agreed to raise someone else’s. But she wasn’t a baby. And she...
Used to be only Seminoles wrestled alligators. The tribe lived in the Florida swamps. Gators were their major source of food and profit. But today, the 26 hundred members make big money running gambling casinos, enough for kids to afford college and dreams beyond the swamp. None of them wants to learn this dangerous, ancient skill. Chief James Billy tried to keep the tradition alive. It cost him. Big time.
Dee Follett has not seen a flower for half a century. She does not hear the bees. For her, summer is just another season of imagination. Dee is both blind and deaf, but each year she tries something no one else would dream. We found her driving a car.
Some races in life begin far from the starting line. That’s why Rachael Scdoris and her dad drove 25-hundred miles, to the top of the globe, in the dead of winter, to help her chase a dream she cannot see.
Paul Rokich grew up in the old American Smelter camp in Tooerle, Utah. Copper lay under the Oquirrh Mountains. To get it, workers nearly killed the soil. The Oquirrh’s were so polluted, experts told Rokich they could not be saved. One moonlit night, he flipped over the copper company’s fence, alone in the darkened desert with a knapsack and two trees. Let’s let Paul tell the tale.
150th celebration Yellowstone National Park. It does not give up winter easily. The geysers cough and crackle and keep their warmth inside. Old Faithful is the first to break its glass jail. Splashing in the sun like a ghost train in the Rockies. Warm rivers are the only winter fire. Snow the only blanket. Animals who survive are as stubborn as the land itself. Bison have passed through the ice and the pain, standing dark and still, trembling in the wind. Trumpeter swans preen and float. The plain begin to look beautiful. Swirling through snow on currents of ice, they spin free. The Aspens are crystal. The pines are glass. An iridescent bone yard, waiting for the world to thaw.
The more of America I see, the more I find people who are ruled by courage, love, endurance and are driven to work hard no matter what may befall them. They are often overlooked and under reported. Nick Ackerman was the first disabled athlete picked as NCAA...
I was sitting in a small cafe. At the other end of the counter was a man who looked like Lincoln. He was big and rawboned and about 80. His voice pierced and rattled like an old bugle. I couldn’t help overhearing. He was holding forth about a fellow named Paul Sykes, who arrived in Oklahoma with 600 former slaves from Alabama the year before one of those big land runs that offered up free homesteads out west.
Pete Weststein used to live in a place of blue distances, tending his dairy herd. It is now a valley of prisons. Four of them, nudging aside the cows and the quiet. His wife Frieda is raising her family next to those prisons. She wondered, what became of the babies that were born inside.
Silverton, Washington has a hang up about being in touch. Out here, rivers sparkle like winter stars. And the air smells like it was just made. Denny Boyd grew up in asphalt meadows dreaming of such a place. So 15 years ago, he left city life to open a store in the mountains of western Washington. He neglected to notice the small print in his dream. Silverton, Washington was one of the last towns in America where you cannot make a phone call.
Seth Chwast cannot hold a conversation or a complex thought. At two he was diagnosed with Autism. His mother was determined to give him a normal life. A counselor suggested that Seth consider mopping floors for a career. Instead, his mom enrolled him in one last therapy class at the Cleveland, Ohio, Museum of Art.
His eyes were turned to beauty only he could see, a gallery of gods. Native American spirits, watching over Christ.
“Some of my Zuni people won’t go along with this,” Alex Seowtewa told me, but he painted his vision on the walls of a church for more than half a century. This old mission in the heart of the pueblo was not in the heart of most Zuni’s. It reminded them of a time when Coronado came calling, looking for gold. And paid with death. The priests who ordered the Zuni’s to build the mission were found dead, buried beneath its floor.
“I was told not to look at the color of skin by my grandfather,” Seowtewa said. He dipped his brush into his own soul and painted what seemed best. For Alex, religion is a search, not certainty. He spent his life capturing clouds and sunsets to hang on a church wall. He reached into the world and found its vagrant beauty.
Jeff Hall’s buddy asked him, “Are you going?’ 290 guys, most of them from the Philadelphia area, were driving 19 hours non-stop to tryout for their beloved Phillies in Florida. Hall had pitched for dozens of minor league teams for 8 years, until a sore arm...
Macon county, Tennessee, is so lovely folks like to say, “If you stay long enough to wear out a pair of shoes, you’ll never leave.” Not everyone was given that chance. Black people used to be run out of the county. Some were hung from a tree on the courthouse square. Fred Thomas’ friends thought he was crazy when he opened a medical clinic in Macon county. “If I had listened to what people said,” Dr. Thomas pointed out, “I would have been a plumber.” Fred Thomas ignored the county’s racial history. He began to forge his own.
ohn McSherry ran a school like no others. He taught how to be UN-loved. His students were would-be big league umpires. McSherry, a National League umpire, worked his class like a drill sergeant. Get by John McSherry, the rest of the world seems like a smile.
Now you can enjoy heating your home. An inventor in Woodsdale, Ohio, gets all the warmth he needs from empty beer cans. Add a garbage pail and a copper coil buried in compost. You get heat. Wisdom doesn’t always wear a suit.
One afternoon in St. Petersburg, Florida, I stopped to watch Fred Broadwell waiting for a pitch, crouching over the strike zone, leaning into the wind, seemingly suspended. The ball floated toward the plate. He chopped it toward the shortstop and shuffled off toward first base on stiff legs. It was a big day for Fred. A couple of years ago he was sidelined with pneumonia. Now he was back at 95.
Only shadows play in the Tabor Opera house. But for Evelyn Furman, it is an attic filled with memories. They survive because of her single minded devotion to the old theater in Leadville, Colorado. She saved it from the wrecking ball until younger...
People buy more than 1-BILLION Valentines each year. Ever wonder who writes all those cards? What kind of mind comes up with “Be My Tootsie Wootsie or I’ll Break Your Armsy Warmsy?” Well, I did. Went to the center of all this creativity, to the cupids of Kansas City.
Mardi Gras comes with fancy masked balls and big parades. Thousands spent on costumes and parties. But for a Cajun in Mamou, the celebration costs only $7.50. For that, you get a beer, hard boiled eggs, sausage and the answer to the age old question, “Why did the chicken cross the road?
A third of all the paperback books sold in America are romance novels. One company has published a billion books in ten years. Enough to give a copy to every man, woman and child in China. The author of those books, Laura London, was voted “the most sensuous writer.” She is a man. His real name is Tom Curtis, a cross country trucker.
Now here’s something that Valentine cards just can’t convey — the depth of your love. In this age of social media, where anyone can be a star, here’s a consolation prize, Romance novels that let you and the one you love — or would like to love — be the main characters.
We tend to think of classical music as big city music. Oh, there may be a snatch or two out in the country, but most often classical music is something big city folks bus to the boondocks on warm summer nights. That’s the image. In Brattleboro, Vermont, it is wrong. Some of the finest classical singers in America live in this village.
A friend of mine played football for a school so small, the players changed uniforms at half time and came back as the band. There were so few girls, they borrowed cheerleaders from another town. It made for some close relationships. My pal married a cheerleader. She also played flute in the band. She also moved the yard markers. That’s the way it is with small town football — a family affair.
We all know what is, what ought to be. Few remain who remember what was. I recall a 1988 New Year celebration. It was a couple of beers before closing and the boys down at Brandy’s bar were lost on Memory Lane. John Sanderson was a bit fuzzy. He forgot the title of his favorite song. No problem today. Just ask Siri. Back then, Siri hadn’t been born yet. He had to rely on a human jukebox to help him find it.
There’s a group of kids from a tough neighborhood who stand out from the rest. They wear ties and are clean shaven — all because of an unassuming teacher named Bob Salisbury. Each day, he teaches six special education classes. After school he coaches basketball. Works hardest with those who will never be stars.
Picture this the next time you’re waiting until your knees turn numb in a doctor’s office. Patients in an Idaho wilderness have one who will fly to them. Rich Paris is the only doctor for the remote areas of Custer County, Idaho, a neighborhood about the...
The keys to history’s treasures are often discovered in unexpected places. One of them turned up in a tiny Kansas town, unlocking a story half a world away. This week let’s celebrate the 100th anniversary of a woman who saved 2,500 children. In 1940 the Nazis walled off a neighborhood near Irena Sendler’s home in Warsaw, Poland. Pressed almost half a million people into an area the size of New York City’s Central Park – with not enough food to keep them alive. Five thousand were dying each month. Sendler, a public health service nurse, devised a daring plan to save the children.
Gordon Wright was the conductor of the Arctic Chamber orchestra, a group he formed to take classical music to the remote villages of Alaska. His musicians have performed in places so cold, the violinists play wearing gloves.
Aniak, Alaska has the only Emergency Medical team serving three thousand people in an area the size of Delaware. Every EMT is a teenager. Teacher, Dave LeMaster, wasn’t too happy about letting his students cut class for all those emergency calls, until one day the rescue pager sounded and someone screamed, “Oh, my God, the principal just fell!” LeMaster shook his head in disbelief, “By the time the ambulance got here, they already had him stabilized.” And now? “It’s like Ghostbusters,” LeMaster grinned. “Who you gonna call?”
A secret room. A walled up tomb. A priceless jewel. No, not on the set of the next Indiana Jones movie. They lay hidden in America’s busiest railroad station. Train travel still thrives in New York City. Grand Central Terminal sees as many trains today as it did in the golden age of steam and steel. Picture the population of Atlanta and Buffalo pouring out of trains and subways. Seven hundred thousand travelers every day. Ten thousand pause to grab a meal, a thousand stop to ask directions. Some lose more than their way. In one month, train crews sent Grand Central’s Lost and Found three hundred cell phones, one hundred and fifty eyeglasses and an engagement ring.
John Suta bought tarnished french horn for $75 bucks. His retirement pay left little for lessons, so he found another way to learn how to play it. He showed up at Roosevelt Middle School in Eugene, Oregon, and asked to join the beginning band. Okay, the kids thought it was funny, then they heard the seventy-four year old’s first sweet note.
Marty Revellette lived his life with a single mindedness that blocked out everything but challenge. He was a man with no arms, but he pulled a women from her burning car. She survived. This story tells not only “how,” but “why.” The country owes its success to those who are willing to try regardless of disability, people who risk their lives for country, family, even strangers.
During this dark time, it is well to remember the families in this country who help others end nightmares and find dreams. It is the very core of our American story because most of us also have ancestors who risked everything for a better life. The communities they built prospered because people took care of one another. Some still do.
Dan and Susie Kellogg sold their home in Colorado. Bought an RV. And set out traveling into the unknown. They decided to live full time in a mobile home with enough kids to field a football team. 12.
Laughter echoes down Pillar Mountain. Two duffers in Kodiak, Alaska, are ice picking their way up the snow-covered cliffs. Carrying golf clubs. The course is practically straight up, fourteen hundred feet, from the valley floor to the green. Pebble Beach, it ain’t. But it is a golf tournament. One hole, par 70. That’s right. One hole, par 70.
There once lived a Prince, who became a pauper and then lived happily ever after. This year, he turned 94 and is painting his life on little bits of plastic, a life that would have been filled with pomp—if the circumstances had been different.
Andrew Romanoff was born into Russian royalty, a prince raised in a castle. That’s usually a recipe for a grand life, but he lost his kingdom in the Russian Revolution, only to find a fairy tale ending in northern California.
Lonnie Bedwell never let a handicap, handicap him. The man is lights out blind. Lives far from fast water, but Bedwell was the first blind person to kayak the Grand Canyon. He navigated the rapids listening closely, as friends called out the way.
Will Steiger searches for land that hasn’t felt footsteps, the coldest parts of our earth, where the north wind bullies and temperatures cower—to seventy below. In this vast wilderness near the North and South Poles he seems oddly out of place—plodding carefully through the massive ice, alone. Will Steger explored the unknown—one step at a time—for more than forty years. Some ice fields are now so thin, his sled dogs fall through. But science alone won’t fix this. Will thinks people coming together and working for the common good might. We may get blisters on our hands, and calluses on our dreams, but the ally he seeks is the part in all of us that knows what is right. Many preach about saving the planet. Will just puts his boots on and goes.
Five little boys rattled across America in the fall of 1922. They were part of a remarkable odyssey. One hundred thousand such children were plucked from the streets of New York City and sent west, to a new life. Most were the sons and daughters of immigrants, found starving and alone. The Children’s Aid Society swept them up and shipped them to villages all across the country. At each stop their arrival was advertised. Kids trouped off the train, lined up, and couples simply picked the one they wanted. The brothers had very different experiences, but survived — with the help of each other.
Many people in Goose Creek, South Carolina, were speechless when Braeden Kershner turned his back on celebrity. It seemed somehow un-American. Don’t we all want to be somebody special? Don’t we try to become our dreams? It’s not that Braeden...
Braeden Kirchner likes to conduct music with his eyes closed, so he can see his dream. The boy from Goose Creek, South Carolina, wanted to conduct the Boston Pops. Never mind that Braeden was just 18. To prepare for a career in conducting, he learned to play every instrument in the orchestra. He finally got his chance.
Many stories may touch your heart. Dr. George Heitzman has touched them literally. Not like an artist or a poet — like a pioneer. Heitzman was one of the first doctors to experiment with open-heart surgery, back when few expected his patients would live full lives. Susan Pingleton owes her life to what Heitzman learned from a dog.
Dr. Leila Denmark opened her practice in 1928. She was Atlanta’s first female pediatrician and was still doctoring babies at age 90. Dr. Denmark healed children until her retirement at 104. That retirement lasted a decade. She lived to be 114, the oldest doctor in...
On an island off the coast of South Carolina sits an old school with a wooden floor, smoothed by a century of sliding feet. You’ll hear reading, writing and ‘rithmetic, but this story is about another “R.” Remembering Mrs. Ruby, Ruby Forsyth
Rush hour on Memory lane. Ruby Forsythe was 85 the last time I saw her. She’d been teaching 66 years, living above her classroom on Pawleys Island, South Carolina. Her students called her Ms. Ruby. She had 72 of them that day in this one-room school at Holy Cross-Faith Memorial Church.
In her early years, Ms. Ruby was the only teacher African-American kids had on Pawleys Island. “I was mother, father, counselor, everything,” Miss Ruby said. “You got to start with little things that are not in the book.” Half a century before Yoda, she told her students never to say, “I can’t.” Always say, “I’ll Try.” Some walked miles to get to her class. Many went on to college and made major contributions to our country. Miss Ruby summed up her philosophy of teaching: “Sow the best seed into whatever soil you have.”
Working folks have always been the great voyagers of America. There were always new businesses, new jobs, new frontiers just over the next hill. But something fundamentally is changing in the American economy. Old skills don’t always fit new jobs. The American instinct to move on when times get tough can no longer solve the problem.
We caught up with Jim and Deborah Carey and their daughter Chastity once again. The bankrupt farmers still had not harvested a dream. Jim had won and lost six jobs in a year. Six jobs. In three different states. And he had a new baby. All was not bleak. Two things were about to happen that would change their lives for the better.
Bob McClain doesn’t have the kind of face that would launch a Soap Opera, but he’s a handyman with a difference. He listens. His smile crumples up the silence in people’s lives. Not everyone knows how to fix things. McClain is ready to help.
Jimmy Driftwood is an Ozark farmer who also taught history. Each evening as the sun slipped over the ridge, he set his lessons to song. One of them lifted him out of a tiny school in Snowball, Arkansas, and made him famous.
There’s an old warehouse near San Francisco Bay filled with bronze sculptures, a salute to Americans who did not dream in black and white. They envisioned a country where everyone was equal. A long line of people have tried to make that so. Mario Kyoto thinks they ought to have their own Mount Rushmore. His work is so stunning, the Oakland City council has given his giant figures a home.
Who gets the roughest weather in America. The place looks looks gentle, like a smiling stranger with an offer of candy, but more than a hundred people have died there because winter can come in any month. One day in three, hurricane force winds slap the landscape. Since 1932, a small band of scientists has struggled into this arctic laundromat to be tumbled around in search of the worst weather in the world.
Childhood should be a season of dreams, but some children awoke each morning from an American nightmare: They are born addicted to drugs. Clara Hale saved hundreds of them. One morning she found a baby by her door. Mrs. Hale took him in. Word got around. Soon her tiny apartment was jammed with cribs.
Roby Albouy spent most of his adult life in the Colorado mountains. But he carries faces from France framed in his mind, the fellows he passed on to freedom during World War Two. They were the downed crew of an America bomber. He was a fighter with the French Resistance. They never knew each other’s names. After we did a story on Albouy, the crew and their French saviors found each other again. They had all lived long enough to joke about things that once were breaking their hearts. Without each other, they may not have grown old at all.
Every veteran carries faces framed in their minds, comrades who did not return from war. Roby Albouy and I were walking through the Aspen meadows out in Colorado one summer when he pulled a yellowing snapshot from his pocket and showed me the ones he can’t forget.
Motts Tonelli enlisted in the New Mexico National Guard to play with an Army basketball team. The day after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, he traded his ball for a gun. Tonelli was captured in the Philippines in the opening days of World War Two. Forced to walk 70 miles to a prisoner of war camp. Along the way, a Japanese soldier gave Motts an extraordinary gift.
Stacey Hansen, a fire fighter in San Jose, California, found an old dog tag while vacationing in Vietnam. It belonged to Marine Corporal Steven Zucroff who died during the War – the day after Mother’s day — his 21st year. She brought Steven’s dog tag home. His brother Brad lived just an hour away, They met in a park overlooking the Pacific near Stacey’s fire station. Brad carried an old box with his brother’s things.
“You’ve seen his name,” he said, as the two walked across the bluff and sat on a bench, “Now you should see the person.”
He lifted the lid and pulled out a picture. It was not the image of a weary warrior Stacey expected.
Behind America's success story are untold tales of endurance. The people who succeed in this country come from sturdy stock, the ones who have always carried on when the going got tough. Their ancestors thought America’s streets would be paved with...
Wisdom is found in unexpected places. Tools for some of the first microsurgeries were invented in a garage. An out of work truck driver tinkered and perfected them until they changed our world. https://youtu.be/e6tI0AmehG4
The only journalism course Norris Alfred ever took, he failed. In 1980, he was nominated for a Pulitzer prize. This is what he wrote:
“The concept of progress has a firm hold. We are on the march from Worse to Better. From Cruelty to Compassion. With our bought vote, we cast a hope that the next leader will take us where we should go, confidently heading the parade of progress in an armored limousine.”
The Knight family, Laura and John and six kids, manage to survive, no thrive, on $4-thousand dollars a year. That’s something to sing about. On their farm, music is all around them. https://youtu.be/e8MQLVt7r7k
Ready for a happy puppy story? Sure you are. George Mahle takes pups on a 4,200-mile odyssey to loving arms. https://www.today.com/news/puppy-rescuer-takes-dogs-4-200-mile-odyssey-loving-arms-2D79517768
Amish Country. Most of the kids on this tiny high school basketball team are shorter than their coach, but at the turn of the century, they won 49 or their first 53 games. A record unmatched in the entire county.
Peter Holworth is a foster parent to hundreds of sick little seals that wash up on his shore. Some are near death from starvation when he finds them. Peter nurses these babies back to health.
When Private D.B. Benson decided to hide out from World War Two, he was able to disappear completely for 36 years. Benson slipped into the Kiamichi Wilderness in 1943, after a sergeant told him to go home because he could not read. He thought he was being...
Four out of five felonies are committed by repeaters, those who have been through our corrections system. Out of every 10 persons imprisoned for serious crime, four will return to that way of life again. Our failure to rehabilitate is costing us 20 billion dollars in...
Some holiday gifts for you this week. Today, one my first films. It WAS shot on film. An investigative documentary about high rise fires. We not only uncovers problems, but offer a solution, a theme my stories would follow throughout my career. Stick around for the commentary at the end of this half hour program.
Michael Carter is leaving his Fayetteville, North Carolina, school in search of a new kidney, while his teacher, Jane Smith, prepares for the biggest test of her life.
Deborah Evans looks to God for help. She says, He told her to look a little closer to home. She believes a teacher in Fayetteville, North Carolina. is the closet she’s come to the face of God.
An update to the story about Dr. Russell Dohner. 27 years later, he had raised his fee for a visit from $2 to $5. He looked after his neighbors for 55 years, charging them about what we pay for a fancy cup of coffee. Most of his nurses had been with him nearly as long as his furniture. They were paid well because Doc worked around the clock. He would go anywhere, at any time, to help those in need, often arriving before emergency crews.
We can all learn what’s going on with a touch of a thumb, but there was a time when people in Mountain Home, Arkansas, waited for Nellie Mitchell to deliver the news. She handed them their morning newspaper, 7 days a week, rain or shine. Never called in sick. Never took a vacation or a day off. At 86 she was still on her morning route, walking 5 miles a day, when trudged along with her. A gracious reminder of how life used to be.
Each evening the scruffy tabby cats listen for a single voice, the distant squeak of a rusty cart. Mary Burns, making her rounds, For more than a quarter of a century, she has fed the lost cats of Miami Beach. 8 Hours a day. Every day. Restaurants along her way give food. Veterinarians help her tend the sick. Mary has been a voyager all her life. She came from Yugoslavia. She simply took the Statue of Liberty at its word.
This story is something of a mystery. It begins on a quiet street in Rochester, New York. You won’t believe where it ends. Something strange is happening over at Dave Hickey’s house. He bought a set of drums and disappeared with his brother Bruce and their pals. Together, they helped each other find the notes that had been missing from their lives. They practiced 18 hours. Weekend after weekend. For six months. Back in the 1960’s they had a garage band called the Invictas that had one hit song.
Brenda Brock went looking for a job in a coal mine. She showed up hungry and broke on a mine foreman’s doorstep. All she had was a sleeping bag. Her work below was a trade off for her life above. Brenda had seen the ugliness that her mom and dad had escaped. “And yet, you get here and lose your heart.”
Of all the folks who went west looking for gold, one family went further, dug deeper and stayed longer. They settled in the Marble mountains of Northern California, in a region so difficult to reach, they still don’t have electricity. Each day Chet McBroom did what his father did. Pick down 6 tons of ore. If he’s lucky, he’ll find a few flecks of gold. “If I had to do it over again, you know what I’d change?” Chet asked. “Nothing.”
Dr. Russel Dohner looked after his neighbors for 55 years, charging them for a visit about what they would pay for a fancy cup of coffee: two bucks when he started his practice. Five bucks later on. Dr. Dohner worked with a broken back and after he had a heart attack — the only two times he ever closed his clinic. The morning we first met, back in 1983, Dohner had been to surgery twice, prepped a broken arm, handled two emergency cases, checked on 50 patients and delivered three babies. It was not yet 10:30.
For years artist Charles Banks Wilson crisscrossed the West stopping in small town pool halls and churches seeking faces that make each Indian tribe unique. Native Americans can look as different from one another as a Turk from a Swede, but that is changing.
Dee Newberry teaches kids in a two room school house in a vast wilderness. A billion ounces of silver were pulled from a nearby valley. Discovered after Noah Kellogg tossed one of those silver rocks at a mule that ran away. The town that bear his name once put up a sign that said, “Discovered by a jackass. Inhabited by his descendants.”
Most food critics get the benefit of dining in some fine restaurants. Not George Tumor. He reviews food that most of us eat. George sports a 280 pound resume to prove his dedication to the work. https://youtu.be/PSQIokIT_CM
Joe Carter had just turned 102, but he didn’t stand for much fuss. There was work to be done. Carter was a farmer. He still puttered about on an old A Model John Deere tractor, the one he bought in 1954, the year before farmers were brought under Social Security. As a group, people on Social Security are healthier, less frail and living longer than ever before. The year Joe Carter got married, all the Americans over 85 would have fit on his small farm. Their number has been doubling every 20 years. Twice as fast as the rest of the population. By the time today’s Baby Boomers reach that age, there could be 16-million Americans over 85.
David Edwards stood on the sidelines of life until Patricia Fulton asked him to dance. His mind is not quick. She doesn't care. Being less than perfect is the fragile thread that binds all of Fulton's dance partners. Patricia Fulton pulls them from the sidelines...
They jam the southbound lanes. 12-thousand people a month. Retired Americans. Looking for paradise. Today’s elderly are pioneers. The first generation with enough health and enough wealth to choose where they will spend their last years. Most who move come to Florida. It is unique among states. One person in five is retired. The biggest source of personal income is Social Security.
Grownups have finally found out that mud can be fun. On Sunday afternoons in Coon Mizell’s cornfield, anyone with a pickup truck worth its pull is pitted against slime in the local Boggin’ hole. The winner is the driver who goes the farthest before getting stuck.
An ancient truck carries a couple who dream of another time. Denise and Benny Reel gathered together a small group of vaudevillians. They were not kids with more ambition than ability. They were professional performers who set aside New York City careers to live in the country. And soon, people paid to see them; to sit in a frozen town hall, heated by a single stove.
We returned to San Francisco a year later to see how the survivors of a terrible earthquake were doing. Betty Kelly still cannot cross a bridge without flinching. She and her husband were on vacation in 1989, high over San Francisco Bay, just as the Earthquake struck. A section of the Bay Bridge dropped like a deadly trapped door. The Kelly’s honked their horn to warn others. But Anna Annalonghu died. Everything Adeen Murphy owned was 4 flights up a twisted staircase. Adeen had lived through a thousand air raids in World War Two London, so she crossed police barrier and found something she had bought only a week before — $2-thousand dollars worth of Wedgewood China.
Dear Mom. I’m writing this letter from the family front lines. You always said, “Just wait, someday you’ll be one.” Well, now I am. A parent. And ma, it’s rough out here. Family restaurants are different these days. They’ve got electronic games. Singing gorillas. And dancing rats. Last Saturday, I stood in line so long to get food, I could have eaten the last member of an endangered species. Parents survive on what their kids don’t eat. They wouldn’t care much for your carrot salad. A food critic from Dallas joined us for dinner the other night. He reviews the kind of food most of us eat. Fast food. “You know the difference between swill and slop?'” George Toomer asked me. ”No.” “Three days.”
For 93 years Beltran Paris has carried his home in his heart. He is the last of the old time mountain men who came from from France and Spain to take a job few people wanted. You can find him behind a moving white blanket of sheep. He still walks them 150 miles to winter pasture. In all those hours alone, Beltran Paris set a plan. He took his pay in sheep. One day, he hoped his children and his children’s children would own the valley where he walked. They do — Butte Valley, Nevada.
There is something to be said for summertime in a small town. The circus still comes in a tent. There aren’t many left that stretch their big tops like the imagination. Perhaps that’s why the ones that do, go to so many places. Seminole, Oklahoma, was the 70th city in 70 days for the Carson and Barnes Circus.
Detroit was once the envy of the world, one of its richest cities, built on automobiles and broad shoulders. In this century, it went bankrupt. But bankruptcy didn’t mean a lack of good ideas. They are still there, in the shadows. One sprang from Andy Didorosi: He discovered a way to make bus rides a little less stressful.
Children with special needs sometimes have thoughts locked locked in the darkness of their minds. But a machine can help these kids communicate. Not just their needs, but ideas.
Gurd Heindrich lives in the powdery landscape of memory. All the roses of his dreams scattered about. He was one of the world’s great naturalists, a World War One German flying ace, who later lost his home in Poland to the Communists and for a time was as one with the creatures he pursued. For five years he raised his son deep in the woods, selling stuffed mice dressed to look like Mickey Mouse. They now live in Vermont. His son is now a naturalist, too.
H. Lee Waters didn’t set out to preserve history. He was simply looking for a way to survive. People couldn’t afford his portraits during the Great Depression, so he picked up a film camera, taught himself to you use it and persuaded theater owners to show the films for free, as an added attraction at the movies. If more folks the usual showed up, he’d take a small percentage.
For six years, H. Lee never missed a show, until one night his wife called him and said she was going to the hospital and bring their first baby into the world. By the time he got there, that baby had already arrived. He decided to stay home instead of traveling. He returned to the portrait studio. At 87, he was still clicking away at life — and getting the best of it.
Want to see what I looked like when the earth was cooling? This is my 1st NBC News Investigative series on a drug that could combat epilepsy. Part one of three.
A prison without bars. Juvenile delinquents, inner city kids, have been set out on the high Sonoran dessert to see if it might break their pattern of crime. Faced with jail, they were offered a choice. They could join this unusual legion and commit themselves to traveling 2-thousand miles on a wagon train.
They are called Buffalo soldiers, an echo of the Black cavalry that once roamed the old west. For a year, there will be no smoking. No drinking. No drugs. It offers a new definition of hard time.
Since World War Two, the way to success for most Americans was to hop on that corporate wagon train, moving their families from city to city, following the economic frontier. That kind of life has taken a toll on the American family. Torn from the familiar. Far from family and old friends. Today’s families often find themselves alone. This is the story of one of the first companies to change all that.
Gary Young farms 320 acres. Not big by Nebraska standards, but on that land he is raising 30 cows and 6 daughters. That can make a man watch his pennies. He built a solar panel to dry his harvest for 2 cents a bushel instead of the 15 cents his neighbors pay for propane. Young can process 7 times the grain for the same amount of money.
The disintegration of the family farm is an old song. 20-thousand were auctioned or abandoned in just four years. There were so many family farms on the market in 1985, they gutted the value of those that remained. Marty Kleinschmidt survived by recycling.
It seems of another time. Another place. A Medieval monastery rising out of the Nebraska prairie. It was built by a priest who wants to begin the first new order of Catholic monks in this country. Father Clifford Stevens has opened an abbey like no other. In some ways it is very modern. The monks are filling a computer data bank for people seeking spiritual guidance. Yet their daily life touches traditions that date back to the 6th century.
Farmers are so tied to the seasons, they have developed a wealth of weather lore that dates back 4-thousand years. To get the temperature, they learned to count the cricket chirps. To get the forecast, they watched the insects. Ducks quacking called for rain. So it is no wonder that the most accurate U.S. Weather station is Crab Orchard, Tennessee.
Whenever Herman Coussens wants fish, he just floats out on his farm pond and calls them for dinner — theirs and his. He doesn’t have to bait a hook. They come when this catfish whisperer calls.
The beauty of this rare land masks how difficult life can be out here. The Painted Dessert is chiseled by wind. The sun leaves creek beds peeling. In this barren place, Loren Phillips seems compelled to enhance life to add a beauty of his own.
Dr. James Allen is his own best patient. He’s had more broken bones than a bucket full of chicken at a Baptist picnic. 30. He’s also dislocated both of his shoulders. Fractured his spine and collar bone, while competing in the National Calf Roping Championship. His dream may now be out of reach. A rope tore off two fingers he uses for surgery.
They say, if you listen quietly, up on Big Bend Mountain, you can still hear him hammering. Old John Henry’s ghost fighting progress with his big, broad arm. Legend has it that John Henry fought his famous battle with the steam drill near here, man against machine to see who could lay more railroad track. John Henry won, then collapsed, dead of a broken heart. His legend still clings to the valley like the mist, and its drama has inspired a unique theater in Talcott, West Virginia.
Elizabeth and Bob Williams bought their son Robert a toy camera. He preferred his dad’s. Robert’s father was a freelance photographer. He started submitting Robert’s pictures with his own. Time and again, Robert’s pictures were the ones that were chosen. The editors had no idea the man behind the camera was 3 years old.
Charles Davis hoisted his cane for attention. “Bass Reeves!” he shouted. We looked at one another for some clue as to what was to come. The only sound was an industrious bee in a honeysuckle bush. “I can tell you more about him than perhaps you ever heard.” Bass was the inspiration for the Lone Ranger.
Four little girls were murdered in an Arkansas school yard. The tragic event had been updated for days. I thought it was time to remind viewers that there was more to this tale. Looking at a school year book one day, gave me an idea: Our children are like library books with a due date unknown. These lives stopped at the start of their story. But their stories live on in friends who can tell them. Why not get students together to talk about their classmates? Those murdered children were more than what happened to them.
“Shadows chase shadows. Now and then a whisper of sliding rope. The anxious, uneven breathing of 60 people lugging one of their own to safety.” I keep an Ideas notebook. When something prompts an idea, I type it into my cellphone. These thoughts may not always fit the story I’ve been assigned, but I don’t throw them away. The next time I’m pressed for an opening line, I scroll through those thoughts. Two words “Darkness” and “Friendship” inspired that opening narration.
The shortest distance between two people is a good story. I learned that lesson back when the earth was cooling. When my hair was still red and I started telling stories of seemingly ordinary people who did extraordinary things.
The technique of memorable storytelling hasn’t changed since the first cave man painted pictures on a wall. Technology comes and goes. How to tell a memorable story is the same.
Imagine a place where folks care as much for each other as they do their lawn. At Muir Commons in Davis, California, working parents don’t have to rush home to cook dinner. Neighbors do it for them. Each small town house is privately owned, but families also get day care, a dining hall and rooms for visiting grandparents.
This is not just a commune with hair cuts. At its heart is an attempt to create an old fashioned neighborhood where folks come together to shoulder the stress of modern living.
Sailors labor on gliding high rises. Freighters are run by fewer than two dozen people. They may stop at half a hundred ports and never go ashore. For them, Boston harbor is some place special. Wally Cedarling lives here. He is a minister who has no church. Each ship is his congregation. In the few short hours between the tides, he wanders the decks offering a touch of home.
Hinsdale County, Colorado is up close to the clouds where sun and snow interchange and know no seasons. 621-thousand square miles, a mile and a half high. It is one of the largest, least populated counties in the country. Only 400 people live here. But this day, they are reopening a bank that has been closed for 69 years.
Carrie Dann lives out where clouds leave only shadows on the earth. Her people remember bone gray better than rainbows. But they have clung to that land for tens of thousands of years. Now the federal government says they are trespassing.
The Mississippi River meanders down the spine of America. Stretched straight, it would spread from New York City to Los Angeles. But it winds back on itself in great chocolate loops. Mae West was right. “The loveliest distance between two points is a curved line.”
Maurice Gordon can still hear the muffled crack of dry thunder. The memories of war. He joined 10-thousand other Americans and headed to the land of the Pharaoh’s. They formed a Jewish Legion, the first in nearly 2-thousand years to fight for a homeland.
Mickey Carroll had been writing songs for 30 years. All those years he had looked within. convinced he had the road map to success in his soul. He never figured on the detours.
Sometimes we look to the past to find something new. Most of what’s supposed to be news, we’ve seen before. It’s not really news to us. The past — because it sits in the dust bins of the mind — still hold some mystery. And there in lies the charm of Doc Nightengale’s priceless knowledge.
There once was a place called ALCOHOL Lake. It was a dusty little town with a big curse. Practically everyone was an alcoholic. Even some of the children. Then, Phyllis Chelsea decided to stop drinking and persuaded neighbors to fix up anyone’s home who stopped drinking. She also built the town’s first grocery store out of discarded lumber. 8 out of 10 of her neighbors were unemployed. She sobered up her husband and together they opened a hog farm, greenhouse and cafe. 500 people live here. All but 12 have stopped drinking.
Polio has been detected in New York City wastewater. The announcement came three weeks after a man north of the city in Rockland county was diagnosed with a case of polio that left him paralyzed. The virus we thought we had beat is back in the USA. Polio...
America’s first gold mines were not out west. The first gold strike was in the north Georgia mountains. If Matthew Stevenson had his way, Tony Bennet would be singing, “I Left My Heart” in Lumpkin County. Back in 1849, Stevenson stood in the Dalonagah town square and tried to convince Georgia miners not to follow the 49er’s out to California. Mark Twain later paraphrased Stevenson’s speech when he said, “There’s gold in them thar’ hills.”
For most of his life, A.W. Yeats never put a bolt to a nut. He was an English professor who surrounded himself with books. Rare books of great beauty and surprise. In every work of genius, he saw his own rejected thoughts.
All but 3 of the volunteer firemen in Lumberton, Texas, weren’t old enough to go to their high school prom. Most folks who lived there worked miles away at the big oil refineries along the gulf coast. Kids were trained to handle emergencies when the grown ups were gone. They had have passing grades both in school and on the fire truck. And there was one other lesson.
I found myself on a street of dead eyes. People here have all seen life go off and leave them. Cleveland was one of the toughest places in America for someone young and black to find a job. One of the roughest for someone of any color. But a program called Cleveland Works has begun to break that cycle of poverty. They only train people for jobs that pay more than the minimum wage. Lawyers clear criminal records. Doctors help them battle drugs and alcohol. Daycare watches their kids.
All that is expensive. About twice as much as other county programs, but 70% have found good paying jobs with health benefits. So, welfare savings have been dramatic. $3 back for every dollar invested in Cleveland Works.
In Texas there is an apartment complex so big, it has 26 swimming pools. It is called the Village, a small city really – ten thousand single adults, half of them in their early 20’s, hardly anyone over 34 — young, good looking and well off. Unfortunately, the things that make them happy also make them prime targets for crime. What to do? Well, remember, this is Texas. The Village did what a town’s got to do — it went looking for a lawman on horseback.
In West Baton Rouge, Louisiana, there is a legendary love story that has endured for 3 centuries. Brides receive money from a man they never met simply because they got married. His name was Julian Poydras. He died in 1824.
Loraine Metcalf was on welfare. Now she lives in a neighborhood of fine homes. Her daughter does too. No, they didn’t win a lottery. They earned it. The NEW fashioned way. Their tiny band of Native Americans — called the Siletz — does market studies to see what will sell and then bankrolls new businesses.
Summer in the high country has a sound all its own. Mountain streams unlocked by spring. Animals looking for the sun. Since 1949, the deer and the chipmunks in this valley have moved to different sounds. This is the home of the Aspen music festival. For 9 weeks each summer, musicians gather in the Rockies to study and to play.
Some Americans were fighting crime with the only weapon they had. Fear. Then, they turned to television. Police departments across the country began reenacting crimes, broadcasting them to gather information and help solve the problem. Crime Watch was an electronic extension of the old neighborhood block watch. People looking out for one another. The reenactments sometimes featured the actual victims. During the first four years, the Crime Watch program helped solve 460 major crimes in Orlando, Florida, and recover $4,500,000 in stolen property. The day we tagged along, the cops were taping a show on folks who steal alligators. If you have knowledge of the whereabouts of Al Lee Gator, a green male, 6-2, 68 pounds, contact the Orlando Police department.
67-hundred Japanese companies operate in the United States. More than 40-thousand families have moved here. It is pioneer journey that covers more than miles. They will live in a world which to them is both exotic and enticing. When different cultures manage to live together in friendship, they sometimes create something better. It has happened before. In America.
Virginia Durr, born to privilege and high place, battled intolerance whatever its form. She took a Japanese family into her home during World War Two because they had nowhere to live. Was branded a Communist for her compassion and hauled before a Senate subcommittee in the 1950’s. Successfully fought the pole tax that freed the vote for women. And was one of the few, the very few, white southerners who openly resisted the violent currents of her time.
Eric Gray worked nights as a flight attendant, so he could take pharmacy classes by day. His family pitched in to keep him in college. Five of them lived on $22-thousand dollars a year. Eric faced a hard choice. Get insurance or eat. The family opted for food.
Eric Gray got his Phd. But just days before he could take a job that would provide him with insurance coverage, he learned his son, Eric, jr. had cancer. After one hospital stay, two weeks, the bill was $43-thousand dollars.
One man’s rock climb could be another’s cathedral. 23 Native American tribes hold Devils Tower National monument sacred. In recent years their services have had to compete with noisy climbers. National Park rangers tried to help, steering climbers away. Most left. Frank Sanders did not. “If it’s going to be closed for one set of people, then we should have another week where its closed to everyone, but Frank Sanders.” Native Americans have been coming to Devils Tower for 12-thousand years. Is it protected by the Constitutional guarantee of religious freedom or should the climbers be left alone, exercising their right to keep church and state separate? The Indians feel there are plenty of places to climb. Not enough to look up to.
Jack Copley saw cutbacks coming. That was his job, reviewing budgets for a telephone company. There were 53-hundred empty desks around him. He figured his work, too, might disappear. One thing he had learned. Not to be a victim. Copley set out to find Bell Atlantic a new source of income, enough to maintain his pay. For all the hours Jack worked, he didn’t even make minimum wage. His daughter made more baby sitting. But he bombarded Bell with ideas. One stuck.
Beverly Bickle moved to the suburbs so she could have more time with her family. Trouble is, more than half of us were already there. Suburban roads were so clogged before the pandemic, most of us spent 8 weeks a year, just to commute to work. 13 trips a day are about average for suburban living. Nothing is nearby. But a small group of suburban planners were trying to change all that.
Milt Siefert was running a bit late. His patient’s appointment was for 10:30. It was noon. But folks in Excelsior, Minnesota, have a way to correct poor service. Dr. Siefert formed a patient advisory council in 1974 and has been meeting regularly with the members ever since. They do more than gripe. His patients help set his fees. Even his salary. One year, he made less than a school teacher. But, that’s improving because patients now help him collect his bills.
All John Finello ever wanted was to ride a motorcycle. It carried him away from school in the 10th grade. He never returned. That free life John chased so loudly had some unexpected snares. Heroin. Cocaine. And booze. He started stealing to support his habits. Finally, was arrested for armed robbery in Saugus, Massachusetts.
“The only thing left for me was either death or prison,” Finello said.
But a remarkable thing happened. He found a job. Got married. And became a dad. He was free of the alcohol and drugs that held him half his life. John and his biker friends decided to form a group that did not get high and began making converts. There are 70 of them now, counseling high school kids.
An aging group of friends moved to south Texas one winter because they didn’t like weather they had to lift. The friends noticed that machines only harvested one vegetable at a time. They missed a lot. On one farm in the Rio Grande Valley, 6 million pounds of vegetables — that were too small or too ripe — were left to be plowed under. So the elderly went after them, gathering left over vegetables for the poor.
Manny Cardona seeks out teenage fathers and leads them back to the families they created. He gets their girlfriends medical attention. Guides them off welfare. And tries to keep them in school. Cardona was once like them, an unwed teen father, who put himself through college, got a masters degree and a job at the Bridgeport, Connecticut, YMCA. Manny represents something in short supply this neighborhood. Success.
In the 1980’s Americans started smoking fewer cigarettes for the first time since 1913, that’s when R.J. Reynolds took a picture of a circus camel and stuck it on the side of a pack. Six years later, nearly half of the people in America who smoked cigarettes, smoked that one brand — Camels. His ads were the first to link smoking with the good life. That didn’t just sell cigarettes. That made them part of our culture. NBC’s first TV newscast gave them to lucky viewers.
One of R.J. Reynold’s grandsons, Patrick, twisted those advertising techniques to get people to stop smoking.
Focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new. That’s the key to a long and happy career. I learned that lesson in a small city, half way between St. Louis and Kansas City, where stories seldom go untold.
Out here, the alligators look like they’re sighting down a gun barrel. Survival goes to the swift. But even the fastest cannot run from the pollution that seeps from sugarcane fields. In south Florida over the years, the Federal Government drained the heart of the Everglades. 700-thousand acres were turned into some of the richest farm land in America. Now, environmentalists are battling to cleans the deadly phosphorus that the draining unleashed.
Before hi-tech medicine, death was a member of the family, something families nearly always chose to have happen at home. Today, 8 out of 10 Americans die in hospitals, surrounded by strangers. Often alone in webs of wires and tubes. Hospice care gives the terminally ill a chance to live a near normal life, until they die. A quarter of million Americans at the end of their lives have checked themselves out of hospitals and into hospice programs. In 1974 there was one hospice in America. Twenty years later there were 2,000. Mostly staffed by volunteers. That keeps costs low. On average, about $80 a day. Nearly 10 times cheaper than some hospital stays. Add in Medicaire and Medicaid, the out of pocket cost — $16 bucks a day. Nine out of ten hospice programs are in people’s homes. For those whose final choice is to go gently, they will not be forced to do otherwise.
Animal grooming products have become some of the hottest beauty aids for people. A lot of folks who’d never been inside a feed store began using them. 90 % use horse products for themselves. That pushed sales for “Main and Tail” from $500,000 to $30 million. Farm mothers have quietly used these protein lotions for years. They are about half as expensive as what comparable products cost in the beauty shop.
Most of the time Georgia Tech’s Rambling Wreck radio sounds like a three car pile up. Even among college stations, its programming is considered extreme. But stuck between “Concussion Theater” and a show called “Tongue Bath” is the station’s longest running program — Fred Runde’s Desoto Hour — the show with the most listeners. The 77-year-old disc jockey is not a Georgia Tech student. Nor a teacher. Never was. He’s been spinning Big Band magic here since Jimmy Carter was in the White House. Fred wandered through the door looking for something to do in retirement. Students swooned for his oasis of sound. Runde believes that noise is merely music someone doesn’t want to hear.
There are few traces of Rosewood. Graves hidden in the weeds of time. A fist full of photographs. Fading, like the memory of what happened in the north Florida woods. The tragedy began after a White woman, Fanny Taylor, said she was beaten by a Black man, a story she may have made up to cover a fight with her White lover. The attacker was never found. But a mob raged through Rosewood for 8 days. The sheriff did not stop them. The governor did not send help. The burnings. The beatings. The looting continued for a week. A least 8 people lost their lives. Rosewood had been a prosperous place. The families owned a turpentine plant and cut much of the Cyprus for school pencils in this country. No one was prosecuted. Ever. Fear kept Black families from returning, even to sell their land. Rosewood’s survivors became an address list of long forgotten names. Their story nearly died with them. But now, justice — a long last.
Darryl Hunt was arrested, charged, and convicted of a 1984 North Carolina murder he didn’t commit. Although DNA results proved his innocence in 1994, it took another 10 years of legal appeals to exonerate him. He was just 19.
The fate of Hugette Clark, the 104 year old woman, whose father was once the second richest man in America. She was worth half a billion dollars. Had no heirs. And hadn’t been seen in public for more than half a century.
A man has cooked up a possible cure for cancer using his wife’s pie plates. Don’t laugh. Some of the finest medical minds in the country think he might be on to something.
This was one of the first stories that aired about the mysterious Huguette Clark, a 104 year old woman, whose father was once the second richest man in America. She was worth half a billion dollars. Had no heirs. And hadn’t been seen in public for more than half a century.
Bob Dotson spent four decades as a reporter at NBC. For most of that time, he hosted a segment on The Today Show called The American Story, which created intimate portraits of Americans who wouldn’t normally make the news. In this live episode of StoryTech, Bob Dotson talks about changes in technology, from wireless microphones to home video to iPhones, changed the way he told The American Story.
Bud Kohlbrenner was enjoying an active retirement. Just 54, he traveled widely and lived well after selling a candy company in St. Louis for a sweet profit. But one day, he got a call from a couple of long time employees who needed help. Bud did something unthinkable. He opened a new candy company, hired back all of his staff and set about teaching them how to run the business. His plan? Give it to them.
There comes a time when we try to figure out who we want to be. Bud Kolbrener’s recipe for life came wrapped in chocolate. He made millions creating candy. Sold his St. Louis company for a sweet profit. Took early retirement at 54. Bud looked forward to a life of travel, but he got a call from a couple of long-time employees—Debbie and Marley Otto.
Philip Barker was cutting wood, when a tree top snapped and fell on him. Broke his neck in three places. $70-thousand later, he could work again. But he was bankrupt. Barker already owed half a million dollars. He had bought the family farm a dozen years before. Lost half his cattle herd two years later to disease. Took two more jobs to help pay off the mortgage. Half the Black farmers in North Carolina went out of business during the 1980’s. “In the White community, you can fail a couple of years and still get enough credit to keep going,” Barker points out. “But in the Black community, don’t fail one year or else your credit is ruined, not just for you. Your family too.” His three jobs don’t leave him time to go where deals are made in a small town. Bankers only see him hat in hand. “I don’t have the opportunity to go to the golf course and play golf with my banker on Saturdays. White folks have his ear. I don’t.”
A rare American story that began in slavery and blossomed into friendship. There is nothing sentimental about slavery, but this is a story unique in our history. In 1834 a white family bought a black family. At the end of the Civil War something special happened that set them together against the grain of the time.
Jeff Wright is one of those teachers students never forget. More show than tell. Exploding with fun. His science classes at Louisville Male Highschool in Kentucky are filled with odd experiments. Surprisingly, it is a lecture without props that leaves a lasting impression. The talk is about Wright’s son Adam. Born with a rare combination of genes that only about 450 people in the world have. It is a lesson on the meaning of life.
Miami has a program that requires taxpayers to pay for art in public places. It is a good idea on paper. But some say, that’s where it should have stayed.
Jim Tchaikovsky goes to work under a sun that has no heat. He is out at dawn with the windchill at 30 below, to check on cows about to calve. Jim and his wife Karen are the 5th generation on this land. They may lose it all.
The odds on favorite to win the title of world animal Frisbee champion in 1979 was a tiny dog name Toke. Just 14 inches at the shoulders. The smallest world contender ever. But he could jump four times his height.
Forest Cochran was just two. Much had happened in his little life. His parents separated. His mother Karen lost their home. There was no shelter for the homeless in Loganville, Georgia. But Joy Davis and her husband Wayne took them in. They have helped dozens of people get back on their feet. Once they started their single bathroom with ten strangers. Why?
Tim and Wesley Friesen think the Wright Brothers intended to open the skies to everyone, not just professional pilots. They have formed a company called Wrong Brothers Aviation to prove their point. They teach non-pilots how to fly by themselves. The...
Brian Jones bought a home 40-million people see every Christmas. He signed a check — sight unseen — for $150,000 dollars. Brian flew to Cleveland, Ohio, for the first time in his life to find it. He figured it must be just around the corner from a flagpole. His wife Beverly, a Navy navigator, had jokingly sent him an email saying someone on EBay was auctioning off the house where they filmed Brian’s favorite movie — “A Christmas Story.” She was at sea at the time. “I didn’t have time to consult her,” Brian said, “There were other bidders.” When Beverly heard how he had spent their savings, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He wrote another check for $200,000 bucks to restore the old place to its happy-ending splendor. That house was Brian’s Red Ryder dream. The couple bought another house across the street. Opened a gift shop to help pay for it all. Here you can find the movie dad’s major award, the old man’s leg lamp. “Fraw—GEE-lay,” said the dad, reading “Fragile” on the box it came in. “Must be Italian.” The first year Brian opened the house and the store, leg lamp sales totaled nearly $700,000 dollars. If you’ve always wanted to display your leg lamp and avoid “shooting your eye out,” it may be time to move. Brian just put the home for sale, along with much of the surrounding neighborhood that serves as a museum campus.
Life turns on the tiniest things. Jimmy StOlp and Andy StAlp were raised side by side in the same orphanage. Never knowing they were brothers. In 1926, the clerk at the Tennessee Home for Friendless Babies misspelled one brother’s last name. The mistake was never discovered. The Navy became Andy’s family. He was a good son. Andy Stalp saved his shipmates during World War Two. Tossed burning gasoline tanks over the side during a Japanese bombing attack at Guadalcanal. He earned a silver star.
There were no medals for the battle his brother fought. The other orphans bullied Jimmy. Thought he was retarded. But he was deaf until 1961. When doctors operated, they found rice, papers and other things children had stuffed into his ears.
Some nugget of strength prompted Jimmy to endure. He married on an Easter weekend. So did Andy. Both still wondering if somewhere, they might have a family of their own. The two wore out a lifetime looking.
Why do you suppose toys mean more to us as the years go by? Joe Daole knows. He’s got a house filled with them — more than one hundred thousand. Many are handmade and reflect their time. None are in mint condition. They’ve been loved. “Toys are not just playthings,” Daole says. “They’re memories.”
Glenda Gooch lives with a heart that beats for two families. On Christmas eve 1995, she was dying. Her only hope, a new heart to replace one damaged since birth. It came on Christmas morning with a letter from the mother of the boy who had the heart first. He was just her age. Ten. Killed by a drunk driver. Died a week after his birthday on Christmas eve.
Jimmy Deramus went out to buy his daughter a pet and came back with 18 donkeys, a backyard full of alarm clocks. The herd grew to 600. Jimmy picked the best to play basketball. In small town arenas all across the south, people came to ride his front five. The object is to pass and shoot from a donkey’s back. Most folks spend more time on the floor than the termites.
Cameras replaced most of the artists capturing conflict long ago, but not all. This is a look at the Iraq war, as you never saw it. Few of us venture out beyond the limits of our settle lives. But artist Steve Mumford paid his own way to war, just to create art. He bought his own flack jacket, his own airplane ticket and hitched a ride into battle, armed with only a press pass from an online arts magazine. He spent more than 11 months on the front lines. The world has seen more images from the Iraq war than any other conflict in history. None like his.
Gertrud Zint celebrated her 70th birthday racing the clock. She was setting new national records for swimmers her age. Gertrud was so fast, they sometimes paired her with women who are 40 years younger. She holds world records in 8 different events. She might have done even better, if she didn’t have arthritis. An American bomb fell on the hospital in Germany where she worked as a nurse during World War Two, crushing her legs. Gertrud was buried alive for two and a half hours. Athletics helped her recover, so she kept at it.
When the Renaissance Players perform in Miami, Jay Brown tunes up with a turkey baster, and in just a few minutes people hear him play Mozart on 47 brandy snifters filled with water. It’s no gimmick. Jay Brown’s instrument was once more popular than the piano.
Crane High is the only locally tax supported public boarding school in America. It was built in a part of Oregon you seldom see in the travel brochures. Out here, people remember bone grey better than rainbows. Southeastern Oregon has a desert so vast, Jerry Deffenbaugh must drive 260 miles round trip to watch his son play high school basketball. Some weeks he does that 3 times. The school draws just 50 students from a district the size of Massachusetts.
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, saw a sunrise of fire. And the memory still burns. Its sizzling seas sent the United States into World War II. Before the day bled away, 110-thousand people were arrested in America for what another country did. Most looked like the Japanese who attacked Pearl Harbor, but in Hawaii, they rounded up European-Americans too.
Elsie Calloway found a drug pusher selling cocaine in her basement. Police closed nearby crack houses, but addicts always came back, until the cops tried something different. Patrolman James Jones now lives in the house he once raided. Columbia, South Carolina, made him an offer that would godfather grin. His family got a home. Fixed up first rate for about half what other renovated houses in the neighborhood cost.
This isn’t my first rodeo. In 1981 I put on cowboy boots to find Christine Gulich. Didn’t need them. She lived in a small town south of Boston. Christine was a book keeper in Abington, Massachusetts, at the time. The only thing that says “West” in her part of the country are road signs pointing to where the sun sets. Yet Christine is the first woman from Massachusetts to compete for the title of Miss Rodeo America.
Jared Issacman became a billionaire before he could drive. He as so young, he hired his dad to wine and dine clients. His mom worked for him too. Issacman used some of his money to pilot Elon Musk’s all-civilian mission to the edge of the universe. Purchased purchased all four seats. Kept one for himself. Donated the other three to charity. He made his billions by figuring out a way for businesses to process credit cards more quickly. It all began in his basement. He was just 16. This was the first story ever done on the kid who defies the odds.
Many a man has come and gone, but Susan Sorrells stays in Death Valley, California. Her family left her a little town called Shoshone. She owns a small cafe and the Crowbar saloon. And a thousand acres of the driest land on earth. The ground is not worthless. The state liked its remote location. Wanted to build a prison. Susan was offered enough money to retire comfortably, but she said, “No.”
Few places in America are more remote. We are five hours from the nearest airport. 90 miles from a pizza. 60 from a round of golf. But people do live here because Ben Leaton had a dream. He diverted the water of the Rio Grande river and a tiny sliver of this vast desert turned green.
Stefan Albouy grew up listening to the tales the old miners had to tell. Stories of gold and silver and riches untold. As a small boy, he dug holes in the hillside behind his house. Laid track for his ore carts across his backyard. At age 11, he wrote the owners of the old Smuggler’s mine, asking for a lease. They sold him one. The Smuggler had once produced the largest silver nugget in history. But for years, it had been abandoned. Stefan restored the old mine exactly as it was in 1893 and working alone, he made a living.
30 years ago, an innovative approach dramatically lowered drug trafficking in Charleston, SC. Police snapped pictures of people who come to buy drugs, thus cutting off sales. The cops gave copies of those prints to suspected drug dealers. The dealers tossed them away. Police issued them tickets for littering. The suspected dealers threw them away too. When they didn’t pay, police arrested them on Friday nights (peak drug buying time) and held them until Monday morning court.
One of the most unusual Bed and Breakfast Inns is an old Victorian house across the street from a neighborhood church. Fred and Gloria Shepperson run Pennsylvania’s last mom and pop jail.
When my wife Linda and I returned from our honeymoon, I went to cover my first Olympics. It was in Munich, Germany. 1972. 50 years ago today. I soon became an eye witness to terror. A group calling themselves “Black September” abducted...
Ruby Walker is an inexhaustible wisp of a woman who cleans 27 houses a week. Five houses a day. Two on Saturdays. That has been her routine for two decades, since her husband died. Most are big homes, as you might expect, but Ruby also works the other side of town — for free.
Some say Rocky Stallings knows more about early Native American life than anyone in the country. He listened to the elders. Listened and learned. Where most folks see weeds, Rocky was taught to find medicine. On a hill near his home in San Antonio, Texas, he has found 197 different kinds.
Tina Allen has a date with a new day. We met her the year before, checking into an Atlanta hospice. Alone. Doctors told the young woman she’d be dead from a brain tumor in three months. But something rare happened inside her head. The tumor shrank. Fewer than 5% of patients with brain tumors as big as Tina’s survive. Doctors said it was now possible for Tina to move out of hospice and go to work. When the tumor was detected four years before, she had just graduated with a degree in interior design. Now, she’s making plans again. “Another day! Great!” Tina smiled.
Jimmy Lee Suddeth drew his first picture in the dirt. It washed he away with the evening rains. He never had time for formal training. Never went to town for art supplies. He made his own from nature. Now his paintings, made entirely of natural...
Jake Hoover was looking for gold in Yogo Creek. He discovered something more. What little gold he found was cluttered with blue stones. He tossed them into a cigar box and sent them off to Tiffany’s. The New York jewelers fired back a check. The old prospector had stumbled across what could be the world’s largest deposit of Sapphires. An usual village was planned. Home owners got the right to search for gems in their backyards, but only if they dug them out by hand.
If you want to know what’s happening at Henderson school, you don’t join the Yearbook staff. You watch a Soap Opera at lunch time. Each Friday, the kids in the cafeteria share a second carton of milk with “The Growing Years.” A show they write and produce themselves about their own problems.
Sliding through a hurricane of surf. Heartbeats clock the distance. This sport can make a young person old or an old man young again. Look beneath their wrinkles, you’ll find the beginnings of California’s surfing.
Ne Sin was born in a palace with a diamond on its roof. Her mother taught her to perform for princes and kings. She lived in splendor, a lead dancer of the Royal Cambodian ballet, a tradition that dates back 12-hundred years. During the Communist takeover of Cambodia, the Imperial performers were marked for execution. Ne Sin and her mom managed to escape to America and are trying to keep the art form alive.
Planes aren’t the only thing taking off at Chicago’s O’Hare airport. Down at the end of the runway, a bee farm is soaring. Sweet Beginnings created 360 new jobs in a neighborhood where crime is never more than a street...
Remember when personal service was not just for the rich? At Vince’s Red Carpet gas station, it has never gone out of style. It’s customers are willing to pay 20 cents more a gallon because mechanics run to help them. If you have to wait to get your car fixed, there’s a sound proof lounge. No grime covered calendars of last year’s Miss Wrench on the walls. Sparkling clean. That’s the way Vince does business, so did his father and his father’s father.
The Better Baby Institute of Philadelphia looks like a college campus. Ivy on the walls. Faculty in the halls. Walk by an open door, you hear violins and Japanese. It’s a college all right, but the average student is less than six years old. Glenn Doman, the director says, “Tiny children are starved for information. They have a rage to learn. And they understand superbly.”
For families who lived in the 1930’s Dust Bowl, “depression” was not an abstract economic term. Their farms were buried in burned out soil, and with nowhere to turn, they moved on. Florence Thompson was 27 years old when the depression started. She had five children and was pregnant with another — and her husband had died. Did she ever lose hope? “Nope, if I’d a lost hope, we never would have made it”
Carlton Garrett is a working man. Not one for museums. But on a thousand lunch hours, he has retreated into a world of his own — a world he whittles out of wood. In the fragrant closeness of his toolshed, Carlton Garrett has traced his life in toys.
A 6-year-old girl became the first African American child to desegregate an all-white elementary school in the South. Ruby Bridges always said her mother was the hero of the moment. She put her family and her husband’s job in jeopardy to open schools for...
What’s my all-time favorite story? The next one. A storyteller never stops searching. At the core of this lifelong quest lies a simple truth – the shortest distance between two people – no matter how different – is a good story. Once you know a person’s story, you begin to see how much we are alike and that helps you appreciate what each of us brings to the mix of America. That’s not always obvious at first. I was shooting a story in Las Vegas, Nevada, when I stumbled across a better one. That city’s only commerce is hope. Instant winners. Methodical losers. It is also home to the anonymous thousands who feed those dreams. And, have dreams of their own. Back home in the Philippines, Carlos Padilla is something of a legend. He has refereed 23 World Championship fights, but in between, he takes orders, as a bus boy.
Texas has always had it’s share of lawmen who took on trouble with little help. Sheriff’s deputy James Lee Harms was hired to clean up Wise County. He has had amazing success. All alone, he has tracked down more litterbugs than anyone in Texas. Detractors call him, Deputy Dump.
Willie Morris wrote 19 Best Sellers. When he died, he left something to help someone who had never read them. His corneas. Morris gave them to two men he had never met. One Black. One White. All three were born in Mississippi.
Naoma, West Virginia, is a marble shooters Mecca. This little town has had four national and one world champion. Before kids learn to tie their sneakers, they know the joy of knuckles in the dirt.
On this Veteran’s day, I remember a man who said his father was a folded flag on the mantle. Let’s remember the bill some people must pay for patriotism. Red was the last vivid image Matt Keil remembers, the day he stopped walking, the day an Iraqi sniper shot him in the neck. Matt and his wife Tracy were determined not to let that war wound limit their lives. They longed to have a baby, but were told that might not happen. They tried anyway, even as Matt battled back to health. One day their doctor showed them three tiny hearts. Tracy was pregnant with triplets.
Most days you’ll find Jay Reinke singing to the audience behind his eyelids, the one that crowds his mind, while he measures floors for a living. Thirty years ago, he started performing the songs of Jay and the Americans, a pioneer rock group that twirled to stardom with Chubby Checker, opened for the Beatles and had 23 hits. This is for all of us who sing in the shower and dream.
What is it about creativity that keeps some folks active long after the factory workers have set aside their tools. Perhaps it’s that simple urge to make something that keeps tugging them back. Telling them to keep busy and stay alive. Stanley Chappell has a profile chiseled with age. A face Charles Dickens might have dreamed up. Ebenezer Scrooge on the day after. For most of last century, he hunched over musical podiums in Seattle, Washington, pouncing on notes like a bird of prey.
Slim and Zella Mae Cox have the most listened to furniture store in the country. Some people do come to buy furniture, of course, but if you want a sofa on Saturday afternoon, you’ve got to carry out the audience that’s sitting on it. There’s a lot more rocking here than La-Z-Boy recliners.
Newspapers are the first draft of history, so it makes sense that a museum stepped up to save its small town newspaper and the story of their lives. The Silverton, Colorado, Standard & the Miner is now a National Historic site.
When George Washington took the oath of office, the presidency was a uniquely American institution. Back then, kings ruled most of the world. They believed they were divinely chosen. Of course, the first presidential inauguration changed all that. But what if the popular general had decided to become king? Who would be our king today?
My grandfather Paul Bailey was a rock ribbed, small town Republican. Former President Harry Truman, a Democrat, was his friend. Grandpa Bailey once argued a case before Mr. Truman, when Truman was a Jackson County, Missouri, Commissioner.
“You must have won,” I grinned, “if you became friends?”
“No,” he said, “I lost. But I learned something about Mr. Truman that made me admire the man. He opened a hat shop in Kansas City after he came home from the front lines of World War One. The business failed. His partner declared bankruptcy. Truman did not. He moved in with his mother-in-law, so he could pay back every penny.”
The only asset Mr. Truman had when he died was that house. His wife had inherited the home from her mother and father and other than their years in the White House, they lived their entire lives there.
As president he called home collect. Never billed the taxpayer.
“Mrs. Truman wanted Harry to buy a car,” Grandpa recalled. “He said, ‘We can’t afford one, but when we get out of this Great White Jail (the White House,) we’ll get one.”
After president Eisenhower was inaugurated, Harry and Bess bought one. There was no Secret Service following them.
President Truman retired from office in 1952. His income was a U.S. Army pension. $112.56 a month. Congress, noting that he was paying for his stamps and personally licking them, granted him an ‘allowance’ and, later, a retroactive pension of $25,000 per year.
When offered corporate positions at large salaries, Mr. Truman declined, stating, “You don’t want me. You want the office of the President, and that doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to the American people and it’s not for sale.”
One day on the way to Grandpa’s house, he stopped to show me the retired president mowing his mother-in-law’s lawn.
“Hi, Harry,” he waved.
Mr. Truman shaded his eyes and smiled when he recognized his friend. “Hi, Paul.”
Grandpa grinned and then said, “Okay, Bobby. Let’s get out of here before this Democrat stuff sticks to the tires…”
There is a side of Washington, DC, we seldom see on Nightly News. It is far removed from the ruffles and flourishes of the Nation’s Capitol. Here, survival is no global affair. Calvin Woodland’s business is begging. For decades, he hustled these streets, raising money to help the drug addicts and dead end kids who lived in his neighborhood. Home was the grimy public housing projects southeast of the Capitol. Calvin Woodland represents something in short supply around here. A hero.
Most everywhere you go out west, you find that a photographer has been there before. People didn’t always care where they’d end up, but they wanted the folks back home to see they had arrived. Glenn Altman has been taking their portraits most of his 81 years, offering his neighbors something special — a beautiful image to remind the world they had lived.
150 years ago, the plains Indians of Oklahoma were refugees of war. The tattered remains of once proud tribes who had become foreigners in their own land. Practically overnight, they were faced with a new language, new religion and a new way of life. In the struggle to survive some of the old ways were forgotten. But Katie Osage remembers. “I was born in a tent and raised in a tent. Yeah, I still live in a tent.” For nearly a century, she has lived in two worlds. And she has survived.
Think of what you drive by every day and don’t see. Douglas Geiss notices more than most. He and his cousins live in a five acre forest filled with wonder. They found a mermaid riding a yellow submarine. And a fish made out of pick axes. Created by their grandfather, Nate Nichols, a farmer who also planted art. Nate would weld together whatever he saw in worn out tools. None of them made him much money, so every day for 25 years, he hid them in his woods.
“Everybody else looks up in the clouds and says, ‘Oh, that cloud looks like a dragon,’ Nate’s son Josh said. “My dad looked down at the ground and said, ‘That wrench looks like a monkey.’”
Nate Nicholls’ sculptures so filled his heart, he felt compelled to give them life. The farmer was working on a metal frog last summer when his heart failed and he died at 52. Last fall his children buried him beneath flowers he’d made from water faucet handles.
Here’s a story about one of the most popular people on the internet. He’s not an celebrity. Just an ordinary guy. Crafting an effective visual story about him involved more than an interesting headline. After a brief phone interview with a Kyle Lindsey, a young man who had become an YouTube star, I crafted a story outline. First, I tried to answer the “So What?” test. Why would anyone want to pay attention. How does a seemingly ordinary person become an internet star? Then, I searched for the surprises in the information I had gathered during my phone interview. Those would become the twists and turns in my tale. I stacked the surprises so they would flow logically from start to finish. (For example, you wouldn’t show a child going to school and then waking up.)
Virginia Snyder looks like the little old lady Boy Scouts help across the street. You can’t always tell a book by its cover. Same with people. At retirement age, Virginia opened her own detective agency. With no prior police training, she became one of only two women in Floria to get a Class A Investigator’s license. The cases she handles are none too dainty — murders, muggings, drug sales. She keeps a trunk load of disguises for safety.
When Ethel Lehmann was young, she was never more than a pebble kick from a ball park. She quit to have 5 kids. Now, she’s the first woman to try out for the Kids and Kubs, a team whose rookies are 75.
Forty percent of the kids in this Newark, New Jersey neighborhood did not finish high school back in the 1980’s. Russell White changed that back in the 1980’s. He made thousands of street kids a startling offer. Learn to fly an air plane. For free. Some kids flew solo before they turned 12. His Eagle Flight has sent 6 kids on to the Air Force academy. The rest? 8 out of 10 go to college.
The Hoh rain forest. A cathedral of trees. It lies between Seattle and the sea. No place in the continental U.S. gets more rain. 2 feet some months. Marilyn Lewis and her daughter lived alone in this wilderness. They are the 4th generation of women out here.
A new way to bond with your boss. Forget golf. Go surfing. Out in San Diego, opportunity comes in waves. More than 300 biomedical companies now have people in that surf around San Diego. The best ideas don’t always come in labs under artificial light. Out here they can meet the kind of people who are determined not to follow the same path, but leave a wake.
Clyde Butcher lives in a wide river of grass. He is determined to save its beauty. One photograph at a time. Butcher is as comfortable in this swamp as any man easing into a bath. He spends his days deep in the Big Cyprus National Preserve searching for what others have not seen. Sometimes the place never seen is the place we simply pass by.
Dave Williams has a job that would frustrate Daniel Boone. He must find 55 surveyor’s benchmarks in a forest bigger than Connecticut. They are the size of a silver dollar.
Elvis Presley grew up listening to old blues players and used their sound to revolutionize music. Now it may be happening again in Tupelo, Mississippi. It’s not the King that got kids hopping like crickets on hot corn. It’s a 16 year old, who sings like he’s had seven wives.
We all remember what happened when two lights blinked bright in Boston’s old North Church. Paul Revere rode away and the American Revolution began, but 25 years before that fateful night, John Childs jumped from the same belfry three times, holding a big...
Lance Hershberger coached high school baseball in Fort Wayne, Indiana. In his spare time, he looked for little kids who’s abilities do not measure up to their love of the game. One year Lance watched four baseball teams tie for the Fort Wayne high school championship. Nearly every player was one he had coached.
See this guy. Abner Doubleday. Say his name. What comes to mind? Inventor of baseball. Right? Every year, nearly 300,000 people pass through the Baseball Hall of Fame in upstate New York, built to honor this Civil War Hero. ...
Time to play a football classic. No, not the Cotton Bowl. One you may not have seen. In 1977, a few Tulsa police officers saw a Burt Reynold’s movie called “The Longest Yard,” in which a jailed football player organizes a prison team to play a team of guards.
The officers were inspired to stage their own game between police and convicts. The result is Tulsa’s annual Cops-Cons Football Game to benefit Mothers Against Drunk Drivers.
Officer Ron Mayfield, a running back, said the game can have its tense moments. “We meet a lot of guys that we personally have put in jail. It makes for an interesting game, but at the end it’s like old friends” who have learned to laugh together. I was the play by play announcer back then. The memory still makes me smile.
The Cons have two big advantages: Time to practice together – two hours a day, five nights a week – and a high percentage of returning starters. Unless a player is paroled or gets into trouble, he has a lifetime contract.
Betty Kelly still cannot cross a bridge without flinching. Even now. 33 years later. On this day in 1989, Betty and her husband were driving high over San Francisco Bay, just as an Earthquake struck. A section of the Bay Bridge dropped like a deadly trapped door. The Kelly’s honked their horn to warn others. But Anna Annalonghu died. Everything Adeen Murphy owned was 4 flights up a twisted staircase. Adeen had lived through a thousand air raids in World War Two London, so she crossed police barrier and found something she had bought only a week before — $2-thousand dollars worth of Wedgewood China.
Elliot Feld would hide his dance slippers in a brief case, so his neighbors would think he had an ordinary job. He would become one of America’s finest ballet choreographers, but ballet is still out of the question for most of the kids in his old Brooklyn neighborhood. Too expensive. He did not recruit from the specialized schools for the performing arts. He traveled to the public classrooms to look for ordinary 8 year olds with potential.
I found Joe Newton on a dark night out on a dirt road, down wind from the raccoons, behind the bloodhounds. Newton was one of the most successful and least known train robbers in American history. Least known and now the last.
If you go looking for folks in Cajun country, it helps to have a nickname handy. In Beaux Bridge, Louisiana, the phone book lists people by the names they are actually known. Nicknames. Too many residents have the same last names. There are 78 Broussard’s. 45 Tibedeaux’s. And 46 different Champagne’s. 2 of them have the same first name. Nicknames here are a necessity.
Rock n Roll was born behind the glass windows of a jukebox. An evening’s pleasure for a pocket full of change. Eventually, Rock ’n Roll got its name on one of those glass boxes. Or so we thought, until we met the man behind that famous signature. Rock-ola is David Rockola. He’d been serving up hits for half a century. At 90, he was still making jukeboxes.
At 34 Paul Lutus wanted to get a way from it all, while taking it all with him. He built a cabin in the wilderness with no running water, no telephone — just a cat for company. A cat and a computer. Lutus wanted to see if he could work as well in the woods as he did in the city. He worked better. The computer programmer was a consultant for NASA before he went into the wilderness. He helped get the Viking Space probe to Mars. In his tiny shack, miles from the nearest road, Lutus created a new lighting system that is now part of the space shuttle.
Lynn Ash was a successful art. He painted memories from America’s past. One day, the canvas of his mind went blank. For more than a decade, he did not paint at all, until he sold his home in Tampa, built a cabin in a swamp and designed a sanctuary for injured animals. The wildlife he nurtured unlocked his imagination. Every artist dips into his own soul and paints his own nature.
Some folks think New York City has too many stories and too many strangers. In fact, it is a town of tight little neighborhoods where the familiar is cherished. Since 1910 the Broadway Barbershop had been a wonderful window on the neighbors of New York City. Kay Demetrios did not miss a day of work in 40 years. He’d never been on time. He was always an hour and a half early. Customers loved him so much, one walked 60 blocks every morning for a shave.
Dave Densmore fishes for words – upon a sea that took his family. That memory is written on his face. For twenty years he tried to write a poem about his family’s tragedy. Dave sought words like he searched for salmon. ...
Dr. Leila Denmark opened her medical practice in 1928. She was Atlanta’s first female pediatrician and was STILL healing children until her retirement at 104. That retirement lasted a decade. She lived to be 114, the oldest doctor in the world.
Manny Gammage creates hats that would “start a fight in a Wyoming bar.” His motto: “Quality is like buying oats. If you want good, clean oats, you’ve got to pay a fair price. If you want ones that have already run through the horse, that’s a little cheaper.” One of his hats changed Billy Bob Oafley’s life.
At the Dudley Dome in El Paso, fans used to tip Diablos baseball players for good hitting. A guy could make $160 bucks by leaning into the stands for a hug. The 1980 Double-A farm team of the California Angels was in last place, but it attracted more playing...
Avidis Zildjian lured good workers to his company in suburban Boston with a simple promise. “You take care of my family and I’ll take care of yours.” That pledge has remained unbroken for more than eighty years.
When was the last time you heard a factory worker say, “I’ve been here 26 years and I’ve never seen a layoff.”
The 70 workers on Zildjian’s production line are confident they will always have good-paying jobs, because no one has to compete with a machine. Whenever a task was automated, the employee who performed it is trained for another one worth equivalent pay.
Ausbon Sargent grew up in a time when only one American in 10 got to go to high school. Like most farm boys, Ausbon never had much money, but neighbors saw something special in him. Paid his tuition to a private academy. He spent his life there, as a care taker. The school fell on hard times. Was about to sell off the town common. Ausbon quietly bought it and gave it back. He was 96.
I have now lived more than three quarters of a century. 77 is one of those “0h Sh*t, I can’t believe I’m that old” birthdays. Filled with memories. I have a lot, as all of you who read my posts, can attest. NBC News once hired a red headed kid with a different...
Welcome to Higley Field, an old time ball park painstakingly recreated in Ed Simonton's backyard. Neighbors gather to play the game of their youth. No. Not baseball. Wiffle ball. There are no umpires to bubble the blood. Catchers...
Down in the trenches of big time football, you don’t expect to find a brain trust. During the 1970's and 80's Nebraska had more academic all Americans than Stanford or Notre Dame or UCLA. The reason? Football players point to Ursala Walsh, who gave...
An update 2 decades after El Capitan’s Courageous Climbers scaled the world’s tallest peak. One of them did it with a broken back. That inspired President Bush to sign the Americans with Disabilities Act.
A lot of us lead one life, but dream of another. By day, Jennifer Wilson is a scientist in Austin, Texas, studying water quality. At night, she becomes a meanie. Her comic book alter ego tries to squash players like bugs. Jennifer is part of the fastest growing sport...
When Stan Smagala was born, some football teams still wore leather helmets. At 43 he finally made the team. At the time, he became the oldest college football player in the country. To be able to play, Stan set aside his successful insurance...
Some farmers have been searching for a tractor that doesn’t need oil, a power source that could reproduce itself, was easy to repair and burn home grown fuel. Jim Gulbranson has a tractor that does all that and even fertilizes the soil. It’s called the horse. Gulbranson is part of a small, but growing number of farmers who quietly traded their tractors for plow horses. Nostalgia has nothing to do with it. Gulbranson can make more money farming with horses than he can with tractors. It takes him longer to do his work, but doesn’t have to pay the interest on a half million dollars worth of farm machinery or the mortgage for more land to make that machinery worthwhile. He has found that he can live as comfortably as his neighbor on a farm that is one sixth the size.
For some folks, Saturday night in Dallas means Willie and Waylon and the Cotton Eyed Joe. Don Jackson wants to change all that. Each year, when the New York Metropolitan Opera comes to town, Jackson sweeps through the city, convincing dozens of cowboys to become moving scenery, opera extras, so that a chorus of ten will look like a cast of thousands.
Polo is the sport of playboys and kings. And — a man who spreads asphalt. Glen Waterson is captain of an usual blue collar polo team. His players include a construction worker, a school teacher, a black smith and a 12-year-old rookie. They have penetrated the preserve of privilege and wealth, competing on a field that Waterson keeps in shape with a borrowed front loader. This is probably as good a definition of Democracy as any. After the games, the blue bloods and the good ol’ boys are the same.
Jamie James was the only postman in the country who still delivered the mail, house to house, by boat. Six days a week, Jamie churned the remote coastal creeks of southern Alabama. He made his 25 mile run in a boat not much bigger than a bathtub. Low hanging branches near shore kept him from using a more comfortable conveyance. His neighbors, the 175 families who depended on him, say he came when others did not, conveying the news as well as the mail.
Daufuskie Island, South Carolina, is a little piece of sand and trees near Savannah, Georgia. A thousand people once lived there, until the oyster beds died and the forest grew back. By the 1980’s there were only 85. There were no paved roads. No street lights. No bridges to the outside world. The island was so remote, the mind can be your best friend. Only the very old and very young lived there. Teenagers moved to the mainland to finish there education. The island’s elementary school had 11 kids. They put together a magazine of their thoughts. Not so unusual really, except the publisher, Shannon Wilkinson, who was working on a grant from the South Carolina Arts Commission, printed 800 copies by mistake. All 800 were sold by word of mouth, nationwide, in less than ten weeks.
There was a time when television wrestling shows in Memphis, Tennessee, pulled in more viewers than 60 Minutes. They were in TV’s Top Ten. That called for some study. College students in Blytheville, Arkansas, did just that.
Out where the mountains spill their boulders in the sun, flies sing out on nylon wire and catch a bit of heaven. Rich McIntyre is one of those blessed folks who gets to play where he works. He and his wife Sandy started a company to restore damaged trout streams. His small staff of scientists and engineers don’t just restock streams. They rebuild them, so that native fish will return naturally to Montana.
We’ve got better medicine these days, but perhaps something has been lost along the way. There’s a doctor who’s trying to bring back that personal touch. Dr. Jim Anderson drives the office to his patients. “I get less for a house call than an Airconditioning repairman,” he smiles. He does his own repairs on the mobile clinic to keep patient costs low.
Josh Powell was born in Kentucky hill country and raised on a farm. He worked his way through law school in Atlanta, landed a job with one of the city’s best known law firms and then gave it all up to run a one-man sawmill.
Most people only witnessed the tragic events of 9/11. It was my fate to live it. I moved to New York City at the beginning of the century to work full time for the TODAY Show. A year later, I was standing outside a little chapel that survived...
The Alonso’s lost their mother during the 9/11 attack in 2001. Janet went to work at the World Trade Center that morning and never returned. Her husband, Robert, was left to care for a 2-year-old daughter and a baby boy with Down syndrome. Five years later, the...
The Alonso’s lost their mother during the 9/11 attack in 2001. Janet went to work at the World Trade Center that morning and never returned. Robert was left to care for a 2-year-old daughter and a baby boy with Down syndrome. “If I was to tell you I did this by...
Americans open their hearts and wallets all the time, but rarely do we hear about what the world gives to us and that seems just as important. On the eve of 9/11 there were some villages in Newfoundland, Canada, where unemployment hovered as high as fifty...
The autumn of life brings choices. Decisions. Emil Kech was 73. Age was beginning to nag him like a bad cold. An arthritic ankle threatened to lock Keck out of the forest he loves. Emil and his wife Penny were the only workers in the U.S. Forest Service who lived full time in the wilderness.
John Coffer turned his back on modern times to wander America in a wagon pulled by oxen, stopping only to take portraits with his antique camera. Coffer traveled at two and a half miles an hour for five years. 25 states. 10-thousand miles. He crisscrossed America so slowly, everywhere he went, folks joked he was a temporary resident. Coffer captured old fashioned images of modern America.
A cow today produces three times as much milk as those that came with Christopher Columbus. The most productive sell for more than a million dollars. For that kind of money, buyers want a cow to look as expensive as it is. That’s why they call on Maggie Murphy. She poses cows to fit the cow buyers fantasies.
You ever wonder why cowboys seldom sing songs about a bus? Buses fill the lonesome spaces the stage coach left behind. Yet, there are no tales of Bus drivers derring-do. No teary eyed nostalgia. Bus drivers may not have settled the west, but they sure move it around.
Father Bernard McCoy found printer cartridges “sinfully expensive.” So he convinced his fellow monks at Our Lady of Spring Bank Abbey to form a company called Laser Monks, vowing to ship all sorts of products for less. The monks became millionaires. It didn’t last.
Who does not yearn to live life more simply? To find a place where time is not sliced too thin for thought. Daniel Stalb and his wife Kristen decided to try. They managed to live a comfortable life by doing what seemed to he impossible, living off the land in the middle of the city. They plowed up their lawn. Planted a big garden and set out to feed their family of four on what they produce in their backyard.
Pete Eckert began to see the day he went blind. Photography may be the least likely career for a man who has no sight, but Eckert believes you don’t have to see — to have a vision of what life can be. “I found that my other senses brought enough information to my mind’s eye to establish some kind of link to the outside world, a visual link,” Eckert says. He takes pictures in familiar places. Places he’d been before going blind. A braille compass helps him find the light. Eckert memorizes the room, making mental notes of where sounds bounce off corners. When he hears something, he automatically translates that into a visual image. Blindness rewired his brain to feel the sounds that bounce off bones. Sort of like an X-ray. What he “sees” is stunning.
A small town is booming after years of decline, all because of a promise made and kept. Most of us have people who set the pace for our lives. Claiborne Deming leads with hope. He has given the kids in Eldorado, Arkansas, a promise. Anyone who goes to high school for four years, can attend any college in the country on his company’s dime.
Charlie Shoefield and his friends wondered what happened to all those old computers littered along the information highway. Left to gather dust when companies upgraded their systems. They set out to find them. Fix them up and give them to charity. The kids sold some of their old computers to pay the rent on their repair shop. Started scrounging tools from neighborhood businesses. And then went out looking for more obsolete computers. Charlie persuaded 27 companies in Atlanta to give him 150 computers. He and his pals were just 15. They gave back something rare. Something most adults cannot do. “Some can,” admits Charlie, “but they’ll charge $150 an hour to do it.” That’s too expensive for the 34 charities that lined up for Charlie’s services, so many he formed a non-profit company called “Freebytes.” All together, the kids had worked a thousand hours — for free.
Mike Manteo has hung onto his childhood things. They hang in the dust-combed darkness of his electrical shop. Puppets. The last of their kind. Carved from solid oak, dressed in buffed brass. Polished and repaired by a proud man who found in them the adventure he dreamed for his own life.
Folks in Missoula, Montana, know Kim Williams well. Each season she shops the back yards and the alleys bartering for fruit and vegetables others let rot. She lives on $5-thousand dollars a year. Kim and her husband Mel don’t merely survive. They have a good time. They believe small moments of life are just as important as the big news on this planet. Not more important, but just as important.
St. Catherine’s Island, Georgia, is the last great barrier island untouched by real estate development. For nearly a century, the place was a rich man’s playground, last owned by Edward J. Noble, the fellow who made millions by punching little holes in candy and calling them Life Savers. Today, his island is saving life itself.
Franny Ward charges only $1 for breakfast at her restaurant in Yates Center, Kansas, a price unchanged for years. Coffee is dime, if that’s all you’re going to have. How does she stay in business? She sells 200 meals a day. That’s enough for Franny. If folks can’t come, she brings the food to them. Charges an extra dollar.
The mirrors seldom see movement. The doors are mostly closed. But music comes from a solitary window, six hours a day, seven days a week. Inside, Charlotte Bergen lives her life alone with the beauty she creates. Four times a year, the reclusive woman emerges from her home and heads to Carnegie Hall where she conducts the American Symphony Orchestra. It’s an expensive treat. She pays for herself.
Finis Mitchell wanders Wyoming’s highest mountains alone. He has climbed 279 peaks, so many summits so often, the U.S. Geological Survey sends him its maps to correct from memory. He has hiked 18-thousand miles. Back in the Great Depression, Finis lost his job in town and was forced to live off this land. He gave something in return. Mitchell packed in 2 and a half million trout, stocking more than 300 lakes. He was one of the few living Americans who has a mountain peak named after him. Finis had climbed nearly all of them.
The Young at Heart Singers in North Hampton, Massachusetts, have been entertaining the world for four decades. This is not your typical senior citizen chorus. They give their own take on contemporary songs at the top of the charts. You won’t believe how GOOD they are.
Bobby Henline is the kind of guy who could make the faces on Mount Rushmore grin. He fought on the front lines in Iraq during Dessert Storm. Went back after 9/11 three more times. Then a roadside bomb blew off his face. He survived. What’s he doing now? Making us laugh.
Memory is too fragile a thread from which to hang history. The old west is different from what we see in the movies. It was America’s forge, and the pioneers who passed through it had spirits of hammered steel. Mormon settlers in northeastern Arizona...
There was a time when ships chased and caught the wind for profit, carrying cargo to the world. Like skinny ties, the past is circling back again. In Norfolk harbor, Virginia, there’s a tugboat unlike any other. It’s called a Tugantine. Part tugboat. Part sailboat. It started as a joke. When her captain, Lane Briggs, noticed a 28 percent saving in fuel, the sails stayed on.
Joe Stacy seldom had a picture taken without his car. He worked all through Highschool pumping gas for no pay. Just free fill ups on Friday nights. Friday nights are still important to him. Joe and his friends cruise in the Restless Ribbon, Oklahoma City’s 39th Street Expressway. The Fonz lives.
There was a time when wallets were like mobile phones. They held everything. Some hold a mystery. They were stolen more than 80 years ago. 25 were hidden in old barracks around Camp Roberts, California. Thousands of soldiers have trained here since the wallets disappeared. Staff Sargent Tom Murotake has spent years searching for their owners.
Hall of Fame baseball great Reggie Jackson learned the game from a dad who raised three sons by himself. They lived above his tailor shop in suburban Philadelphia. His father did not remarry until he had put each child through college. Martinez Jackson had little money, but he had wealth. He left his sons “a whole wide world to make a living in.”
Jim Mott, a successful, middle-aged artist, traveled the country trading paintings for hospitality. He managed to safely explore twenty-nine states while traveling fifteen thousand miles. Cost him nothing but gas. Come along for the ride.
John Spirk and his best buddy, John Nottingham, have more money making patents than any other living American inventor. Thomas Edison had more, but they were gaining on him. What’s their secret?
Bonnie Joe Hunt had a dream. Everyone laughed. She was a Native American after all and Indians didn’t do that, so she decided not to talk about it. At age ten she quietly started learning languages. Eight of them. And spent a lot of time alone, practicing. No one is laughing now.
Sherrill Headrick was one of the greats, a middle linebacker for the Kansas City Chiefs in the very first Super Bowl. No ten yards there were tougher than those from his bed to his bathroom. Nine yeas of pro ball left Headrick with roving arthritis. Hands that could trip a pass receiver by the toe, can barely lift a comb. But Headrick still competes in the only game he can. He has become a professional Bridge player, one of the best in the country. The old champ is out there on the playing field, if not in body, in mind.
Lucia Madrid had one of the largest private libraries in the world. In the vast Chihuahuan dessert of west Texas there was no TV, no video games, no movies. Just her trading post. Amid the Coke cans and the candy, she stacked 13 thousand books. Books in her bedroom. In dusty shoe boxes. In milk cartons. Free for all her neighbors.
For 24 years Suzi Valadez crossed the Mexican border to feed and clothe 2-thousand children who lived in a town dump. Their parents pay $10 down to buy a lot. Another $60 to build a home. They then can earn $2.50 a day sorting garbage. They come to the dump looking for a better life.
A lot of what we love today —ice cream cones, hamburgers, hot dogs, peanut butter, iced tea, the club sandwich, cotton candy — were all introduced in a single summer in 1904. Americans also got their first glimpse of the Olympic games and the Democrats managed to shoehorn in a National Convention. All three events in one city at the same time. Never happened again.
Jerry Owens surrounds himself with the sounds he likes to hear. Eating. He runs the Black Beauty Ranch, a place with a storybook name built from a nightmare. It is a haven for nearly 5-thousand animals each year. They are rescued from ghettos of neglect. There are burros pulled from the Grand Canyon. Goats from an island used for Navy bombing practice. And horses whose previous owners only fed them when they rode them. Owens is a one man army against cruelty, a Texas constable who figured long ago that people who hurt animals eventually will hurt people.
The Okefenolee Swamp is one of the most primitive places on earth, a swamp so big, you could lose New York City inside. Every 20 years or so, in times of drought, a great purging blaze burns out the vegetation. One lasted for more than a year.
To find this business, you go west from Salt Lake City, Utah. Turn left and drive for the rest of your life. Along about middle age, you may pass a battered 1951 Ford Installer moving among the tumbleweeds. That is the Beehive telephone company.
Leroy Haynes has led a life that ought to begin, “Once upon a time…” He went to school with Al Capone’s kids. Played in the old Negro baseball league. Was an All American football player at Morehouse College in Atlanta. Made movies with Bridget Bardot. Studied for a Doctorate degree at the Sorbonne in Paris. Quit to sell Soul Food to the French.
There hasn’t been much swordplay in the south since the Yankees left. Few southern women ever fought their way onto an Olympic fencing team, until now. Atlanta’s own Nee Lee struggled for 12 years, training with no sponsors and little money. One thought, “I want to be a maiden in shining armor.”
At the beginning of this century, Rulon Gardner won a gold medal virtually no one else in the world thought he could, beating Aleksandr Karelin, a Russian wrestler so good, opponents had not scored a single point against him in 10 years. Karelin started his amazing run when Gardner was a junior in high school. Back then, Rulon didn’t make the Varsity team. He and a brother wrestled for the final spot. Rulon let him win. His brother was a senior. That would have been his last chance to compete.
Efforts to boycott the 1980 Olympic Games in Moscow did not go well. No alternative site was picked. In the midst of all this, here came Moscow, Kansas, with what it hoped was the answer. The 250 people in town started passing out bumper stickers. They wanted to keep the games in Moscow, if not Russia, then Kansas. At Moscow International airport, they expected big crowds, if they could find a plane that seats more than one. “We have a man who works at the post office,” said Doug Bell. “He knows all about air mail. And then there’s the guy who cleans the sewer tanks here. He knows all about rapid transit.”
My first job for NBC News was the Munich Olympics in 1972. Before the games began, I was sent out with a silent film camera to shoot minute-30 feature stories. Each one had to be shot — in a few minutes — on a single roll of film. Just 3 minutes of video. No natural sound. No interview.
Summer is the season of the possible, when dreams don’t seem so far away. The long summer days set a haze over the pace of our daily lives and leave us time to reflect. Come on. Lets set sail.
In the mountains west of Boise, Idaho, clouds are the only shade. The sun’s heat can evaporate a 3 gallon can of water in 3 days. Americans survive in some of the harshest places. Survive? They thrive. Some of our finest inventors have their best ideas far from the hardware store. We were passing through these mountains one day when we noticed a microphone in the desert. It’s chord led over a hill to a place where Tom Edison would feel right at home.
Henry Byrd lived on a side of New Orleans most folks never see, the forgotten side of morning. Byrd never left the city. Never followed his fame. But most modern Rock stars can trace their heritage to his pounding piano style. They call him Professor Longhair.
At age 74, Illa Loetscher attempted an evolutionary miracle. The Mexican government gave her a very special turtle to see if she could raise it, send it to sea and have it return to her. It did. For 20 years, Illa opened her home to the sick and the wounded. Turtles tossed up on the shore and left to die. Kemp Ridley’s are the most endangered sea turtles in the world. The few that remain lay most of their eggs on Mexican beaches where — for years — those eggs have been stolen and eaten as a love potion. Illa puts on shows to get neighborhood kids to help her find the Ridley’s before the poachers do. She names each turtle after the person who found it. The latest was saved by a father whose child had been to the Turtle Lady’s House.
Niels Nielsen volunteered to sling from a slender thread of steel half a mile high to repair a Great Stone Face in New Hampshire. His father once worked on the Statue of Liberty. Niel liked to think he carried a torch, too. Folks gathered below to watch and wonder: Is that the face of an old man on the mountain? It is seen from only one direction. Without people, it is merely a pile of rocks. Perhaps that is why the Old Man is so special. Real men struggled to keep him from disappearing. They failed. The Face collapsed on May 3, 2003. You can still see it here.
Alberto Munoz came looking for the Old West and all he found were K-Marts. So, he built the Old West in his back yard. As a child growing up in Spain, Alberto spent his Saturdays in darkened movie houses watching westerns. He fell in love, not with the shootouts and the sheriffs, but with the music. It was the music that brought him to the Montana wilderness. Alberto was a classical pianist. For 20 years, he corresponded from his home in Madrid with a pretty American ballerina. She went to see him perform in Los Angeles. They married 3 days later.
Legend is a word we use easily. A team wins thirteen games – legendary. A guy tosses one good season of baseball – he’s a legend. A single Saturday afternoon thrill – legendary. But what of the legends who build quietly, year in and year out, until they touch us all. For sixty summers Jimmy Porter gently coaxed the kids of Carollton, Texas, to play the game he loved.
Black history in Oklahoma is unique. Some were cowboys. Some were Indians. And all of them were pioneers. Charles Davis knew them well. Most of them he buried.
Simplicity is the mark of genius. Grayson Rothenberger is changing the world with scissors, Scotch tape and a souped up hair dryer. He’s found a way to make artificial legs look real for less. A lot less. Artificial leg covers can cost a thousand bucks. Grayson’s cost $11. He has invented a lightweight and more lifelike prosthetic leg using bubble wrap.
A young man climbed the ladder of success and found it was leaning against the wrong wall. Now he has to chose between two very different careers. A lot of us love the spotlight. Look at the explosion of personal postings on the internet. Everyone trying for their 15 megabytes of fame. Robert Gupta is different. He could be famous, but backed away. Robert was a gifted kid who performed with major orchestras all over the world. He sailed through Suzuki, Julliard and Yale. Got a Masters in music at 19. Music was supposed to be his hobby, so his dad asked Robert to follow another passion — one that could put groceries on the table. Robert began assisting medical researchers at Harvard and two other colleges, studying Parkinson’s disease, the effect of pollution on the brain and how to restore spinal cords. He received his first college degree in Pre-med — at 17. Had his choice of med schools, but decided to join the Los Angeles Philharmonic. He was perfectly happy playing second fiddle.
Jeff Steiner is building a sanctuary. He is planting trees on a hundred acres he bought after returning from the Vietnam war. Half a year after high school graduation he was evacuating wounded G.I.’s. A shell exploded in his face. After his discharge, he became an alcoholic. Got divorced. Attempted suicide. Then, he decided to do something positive. Plant one tree for each of the 60-thousand fellow soldiers killed or missing in Vietnam. He had planted 30-thousand, when I met him.
Let’s relax with some beautiful scenery, courtesy of a Navajo photographer who shows us what we might miss, even standing next to him. LeRoy DeJolie grew up on a ranch, north of the Grand Canyon. All of his life, he has straddled two worlds. Now he teaches photography to young students and helps them see more deeply.
Zade Lobo sings like it’s closing time. The 8-year-old is testing a new computer app. Adults hover over him like a rock star. They want to know how to make this app so simple — even a grownup can understand.
Faye Jones was chosen one of the outstanding architects of the last century. He built his crowning achievement — a church — out of 2 by 4’s. The American Institute of Architects ranked his Thorncrown Chapel, deep in the Arkansas woods as the best building constructed since 1980. This web of pine and glass is so functional, so architecturally pure, the building would collapse if any one part were removed. His designs seem to be variations of the spectacular tree houses he built when he was a boy. One of them had a fireplace.
Jones laughed, “That fireplace was its undoing.”
But, build a better tree house, folks will find you and ask for another.
Few people in Cabbagetown know his name. He just showed up one Sunday and has seldom missed a Sunday since. They call him simply the “Picture Man.” He is not the first photographer to come here, but he is the first to give back something of himself. Each week he passes out hundreds of prints of the pictures he has taken. He pays for the prints himself. They are photos of feeling. Orion Catlege is partially blind.
The first person to ride the rapids through the Grand Canyon was a one arm Civil War veteran named John Wesley Powell. He lashed himself to a 17 foot boat and plunged down the Colorado river in a rocking chair. For nearly a century only a handful of people dared to follow in his path. Then, came Georgie Clark. She opened the Colorado river to us all.
Ever wonder what happens to birds who are too old to migrate? Gurney Crawford did. He built a place for them to land and singlehandedly diverted the flight path of Canada Geese. How did the geese say “thank you?”
A budding Albert Einstein. Brilliant of course. But an humanitarian too. All at the tender age of 16. Andrew Soo was already working on his doctorate in Medical Research. He started early. His parents taught him to read at age 2. By 5 he was solving algebra problems. At 8 he entered High school. Finished a year later. At 12 he pushed his scooter to the University of Washington. Tutored honor students in science. His smarts brought him to campus, but charity got him admitted. The faculty was impressed by a foundation Andrew started in his spare time.
I pursued many American dreams for the TODAY show, but this was a nightmare. We were suspended eighteen stories above New York Harbor on a thin metal ladder tilted between the pedestal and the big toe of the Statue of Liberty. She approached her Centennial riddled with rust. There are holes in her gown large enough to take pictures through. And that was what Peter B. Kaplan was doing. I was climbing with him. The odds were against me.
The Statue of Liberty has been buffeted with salt water and baked with sun. She approached her Centennial riddled with rust. That had so weakened the statue, French artisans crafted a new torch gilded in gold. They ply their trade much as the original builders did nearly a 150 years ago. Brought with them two tons of hand made tools and 4 tree stumps.
The Statue of Liberty has been buffeted with salt water and baked with sun. She approached her Centennial riddled with rust. There were holes in her gown large enough to take pictures through. And that is what Peter B. Kaplan was doing.
There is more to American than just a blur out of a car window, but you must linger to see it’s details. I’ve crisscrossed this country for nearly half a century listening to your stories. While most reporters focus on life’s flat tires, I look for something far more difficult to find — what keeps the other tires rolling. I discover people who are practically invisible, the ones who make our lives better, but don’t take time to tweet and tell us about it.
America’s fight for independence was — for some — a civil war. 100-thousand Americans fought with the British. Forty thousand fled to Canada after the war. Among them, a battle-scarred man who walked with a slight limp. Everyone knew his name: Benedict Arnold. “Oh, the traitor, eh?” Steve Arnold smiled. He looks remarkably like him. Steve is Benedict Arnold’s closest living relative.
Bungee Jump Let’s celebrate summer with a story about a craze that was just taking hold in America when this story was done. I call it Bernstein’s symphony of air.
There’s an old grocery store in Detroit, Texas. Its shelves are stocked with music. Edith DeWitt’s dad opened the place in 1919. His daughter has nudged aside the can goods to nourish other needs. For 66 years she learned to play dozens of instruments so she could teach whatever her students wanted to master — piano, organ, drums, ballroom dancing, tap dancing, marimba, banjo. She also mastered ballet, acrobatic dancing, drama and voice. Her most important lesson?
Mary Smith McClain is torn between what she loves and what she feels is right. For most of her life she was known as Diamond Tooth Mary, a dazzling blues singer who performed on star studded bills with Duke Ellington and Nate King Cole. She turned her back on the blues and joined the Baptist church. Her pastor said the music was evil. And she believed him. When Mary turned 82, her husband died. Money got tight. Old blues singers don’t have pensions. She accepted an offer to sing in New York City for the first time in 42 years.
Professor Doug Brinkley was worried that his students had never seen skyscrapers made of ice. Never known a silent world. Never traveled much at all. Not even in books. He loaded 27 students into a bus and drove from Hofstra University in New York to Denali National Park, Alaska. Along the way, the library came alive.
Bill Eisenhuth watched his psychiatric patients come and go. He decided to follow them into the streets. His office became the steam vents and alleys where his patients lived.
To all of us who grew up watching pirate movies, this place is kind of special. Blackbeard had a home just off of Main Street. There were more parrots and eye patches on these wharves than on the movie backlot. In 1981 they came back. Russ Morphew ran the only school for pirates this side of Hollywood.
Jasmine Lawrence is living every kid’s dream. She gets to boss her mom. April Lawrence works for her 16 year old daughter. How’s that working out? It began with a bad hair day. The chemicals Jazzman used to relax her curls left her practically bald. She decided to create her own recipe — at age 11. Thirteen when she went off to summer camp to learn how to start a business. Eden Body Works was born with a $2-thousand dollar advance on her allowance.
At an age when most kids are lucky to get a summer job stacking shelves, Jazzman has 30 products in stores. She signed a distribution agreement with Walmart. Plans to take her brand world wide. Projected profits: one million dollars. Not bad for a kid in Williamstown, New Jersey.
Think what it must have been like. A time when only the rich could show the world images of themselves in color. The rest of us were frozen in black and white until 1935. That’s when Kodak produced a film so iconic, Utah named a state park after it. The only one in the country named for a brand of film. The company was down to its last roll, when I found this story.
If you could take Alaska and lay it over the lower 48 states, one side would touch Florida, the other California. It’s distances are so vast, travel budgets for high school sports teams can run 100-thousand dollars a year. Arch rivals often live a thousand miles away. Any high school kid who wants to perform or play music must first — learn how to pack.
Under a cotton puff sky, I met the kind of family America used to know. Wading through the wheat fields came Roger and David and their nephew Jay. Their dads work on the oil rigs. So do four older brothers — 10 hours a day, 7 days a week. They live in a home their parents bought two decades ago for $140., a home their parents rebuilt in the quiet of their evenings.
The wind can sound like Hell’s idea of music in the north Atlantic. Blizzards blow in biblical proportions; one of them taught Lanier Phillips a great lesson. Caring can come from unexpected places.
June 19th. This was the date great, great, grand daddies used to mark the calendar of their lives. In 1865 folks gathered to hear a general who came to tell Texas what the rest of the world already knew. Black Americans were now free. They called it Juneteeth, the day that changed the world. Black Texans had already turned their world upside down.
In a beefcake world, LaGrand Nielsen was a patty melt, putting on the pounds. So, at 96, he started eating right. At 97, he entered the Panhellenic Games in Greece. Won races in China, South Africa, Finland, Australia and Rome. How’d he do it?
“Bless their hearts,” Caroline Surofchek said, squeezing my hand. We were sitting together at a memorial service a few years later for the families of the men who went down with the sub. At ninety-one she was the only wife still living. “Those Abele boys weren’t nothing but little kids when they lost their dad. Thanks to them I’ve outlived the mystery of what happened to my Steve.”
MYSTERY SOLVED. TIME FOR THE FAMILIES TO SAY GOODBYE IN PART FOUR OF THE ABELE BROTHER’S SEARCH FOR THEIR MISSING FATHER’S SUBMARINE.
While the Abele brothers searched for their father’s submarine, the crewmen’s relatives looked for one another. The boys’ mom, Kay Abele, had kept them together for years, writing notes to the other sixty-nine families, week after week, until she died. Then they drifted apart, losing track of one another. The last relative was located the morning the Grunion was found.
TWO MYSTERIES. SOLVED. THIS IS THE THIRD OF FOUR STORIES IN THE ABELE BROTHER’S SAGA.
The sea holds many mysteries, but few detectives were as dogged as the Abele brothers who search a lifetime for their father’s submarine which went missing during World War Two. In 2006 they began crisscrossing the Bering Sea, probing its depths with sonar. The brothers caught a break when a Japanese historian found a lost account of the Grunion ’s last battle, which mentioned a confrontation between a cargo ship and the sub. The freighter’s crew spotted two torpedoes bubbling toward them, the first of which missed; but the second exploded and stopped the engine. Terrified, the Japanese seamen turned a deck gun on the sub, firing eighty-four times as it began to surface.
“There was a dull ‘thud’ noise and a little spout. Presumably oil, we don’t know,” John said. Their dad’s sub slid into history’s shadows, and seventy men were never heard from again.
We all make deals with our hearts from time to time, redoubling our efforts when others drop away. Sensible voices tell us to stop, but we don’t. The Abele brothers, John, Bruce, and Brad, spent a lifetime searching for their father’s submarine, long after the U.S. Navy gave up and historians closed the book on one of World War II’s biggest mysteries.
Valmy mayor Gene DeGrazia owns a gas station in the middle of a dessert. To entice motorists to stop, he built a motel, dug a pond and put up signs to his secret fishing hole. Over the years, that gas station spawned a tiny town. The new interstate highway bypassed it, so DeGrazia, who had become mayor of Valmy, Nevada, made an executive decision. If people no longer came to town, the town would follow them.
Ever heard of the Ritchie Boys? They were a group of German born Jewish immigrants who were trained and sent back to defeat the Nazis that killed their families. Their story has been hiding in history’s shadow.
Today, we’ll do a bit of time traveling. All aboard the Tea and Sugar train! Want to see our first American Story in foreign country? It aired on Halloween. Let’s see how kids celebrate in Australia’s Outback.
Pat Knisley, a swimming coach from New Bern, NC, cares more about kids than a winning team. Her enthusiasm and love have inspired thousands of young students. Despite a 20-year battle with multiple sclerosis and the loss of her husband, Knisley continues to teaches us a lesson in life.
There was a time when rush hour in Odessa, Texas, became a kind of moving McDonalds. There was more that sizzled than hot pavement. Hooked to the back bumper of several small cars were little ovens that fried eggs on the way to work and steaks on the way home. The oven’s heat came from the car’s exhaust pipe, which was shielded to keep out fumes. Bill Worrell was responsible for this culinary revolution. No matter how fast he went, there was still one problem.
Let us remember a time when Americans lived up to their ideals and those ideals helped save the world. On June 6, 1944 we set out to free Europe. The invasion began just 3 miles from the little port where the Pilgrims left for the new world. The allies too, carried a gift of freedom.
American soldier Sam Fuller returned on the 40th anniversary to find the Frenchman who saved his life during the D-Day landings.
Patrolman Bill Sample was stationed at the Philadelphia Children’s hospital. His beat took him among children who are very sick. He smiled and they talked, telling him of dreams they would not live. Bill Sample decided to provide some of those dreams. He paved the way for Make a Wish and all the other big time charities that followed. The little girl featured in the first story did not die.
Patrolman Bill Sample was stationed at the Philadelphia Children’s hospital. His beat took him among children who were very sick. He smiled and they talked, telling him of dreams they would not live. Bill Sample decided to provide some of those dreams. He paved the way for Make a Wish and all the other big time charities that followed.
This a month of memories. I remember a time when summer was served in 28 flavors. Howard Johnson’s ice cream was every where. When I was a kid, the brand was as well known as Coca Cola. I had my last taste in the state where it began. The last Howard Johnson restaurant was closing in Greenfield, Massachusetts.
A 21 year old graduating senior at the University of Virginia has developed a simpler sign language for autistic children and stroke victims, helping some to communicate for the very first time. Micki Cassagne brings life to children crouching in the darkness of their minds.
David Tatnall worked as a janitor until he saved enough to go looking for places no one else has photographed. His was not the dry Australia of foreign imagination. Tatnall hiked the high mountain forest east of Melbourne where the rain melts the landscape into a vivid softness.
It is an accident of history that old stories are recalled in black and white. Familiar, faded images. Always the same. They never tell it all. During the Great Depression of the 1930’s, farmers from half a continent funneled into California looking for work. Leo Hart helped their children find a way out of poverty. He taught arithmetic in an air plane. Children with the highest marks got to taxi it around. Those kids ended up owning mining companies and supermarkets. They became college professors, engineers and judges. Their teacher emphasized what they could become, not what they were.
West Texas has one of the most sparsely populated counties in the country, 647 square miles of nothing but sagebrush, rattlesnakes and sand. It has one town. Only 110 people live there. So few, the mayor bought something unusual to let them sleep...
Carroll Abbott was the only registered lobbyist in Texas — for wild flowers. I loved his motto: “A weed is just a flower in a place you don’t want it.”
I overheard this exchange in Walmart between two older men, one a customer and the other a greeter offering him assistance: “Can I help you?” “Sorry,” said the customer, pulling out a cart. “I don’t hear so well.” He pointed at his ear. “I flew combat during the war.”...
There is a section of Arlington National cemetery where mothers come to tend their son’s graves. They watch over them, just as they did on playgrounds long ago.
San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge was so loved when it opened in 1937 that a lot of people scribbled their names and addresses on its towers. A friend bet 14-year old Bill Hughes a quarter that Bill couldn’t write a letter to a name and address chosen at random and get a reply. The friend closed his eyes and put his finger on a name: Patricia Lucas. Bill wrote the letter.
David Rosenblum was a professional race car driver who didn’t win many races, but crashed a lot of cars. He was a drug addict, driving 130 miles an hour. Rosenblum went from riches to rags, until he met some real heroes, kids who declined a drug deal every day. Chris Serano and his friends passed up what David could not. So, he tapped their strength to control his own addiction. In return, he offered them a ticket out of North Philadelphia. He picked his pit crews from the Edison High shop class. Good kids with average grades who are often overlooked.
This story took four years to complete. We followed a family of students who were making Naval Academy history. The mom was one of the first women to graduate and her oldest children — twins — graduated in the same place and at the exact same moment 30 years later. There was still one more child in the Academy. The dad went there too. The Disher Family is the first in American history to send everyone to the Naval Academy.
For 35 years Tyrone Curry started work every morning at four. Seldom quit before dinner, but the longtime janitor at Evergreen high school in Seattle, Washington, was happy. He accepted that someone has to put out the folding chairs in life. Someone has to do the jobs we all take for granted. Besides, it left him muscled like a man who tilled poor soil and he liked that. Still, everyone wondered why he didn’t kiss his trash sack goodbye, after he won the Washington State Lottery.
For more than half a century, Mardy Murie lived beneath the spidery ice crystals and the ghost trees of the Grand Tetons. Some say she is a treasure in these mountains. She and her husband, Olaf, wrote their names across the history of conservation in America. They came to the Tetons in 1927. Raised a family in the wilderness following the dwindling elk herd. Their research saved the elks for all time.
The winter of life brings choices. Decisions. Its time to travel back looking for lost dreams. Rollie Richardson quietly gathered some of his homeless neighbors from winter’s worst. And helped them try to find those dreams. He drove them non-stop from Delaware to Disney World for nothing but a smile.
The homeless used to be people he stepped around on the way to the bank, where he was a vice president, until one day, he made the kind of choice the homeless make. Friends offered him drugs and he took them. He was 51 years old. Delores, his wife of 38 years, sent Rollie to rehab — 8 times. He finally quit for good, after a friend said, “Folks used to look up to you.”
Rollie got a new job coaching kids and started cooking up an idea with the money he made. Every Saturday, he would entice the homeless with a gourmet breakfast. Then, offer to help them solve their problems. They had heard that message many times, but in Rollie, they saw themselves — a mirror of hope in the vast uncertainty of life.
Mount Clemens, Michigan is a suburb of Detroit, not Hollywood. But for fantasy, nothing could top an evening like this. The oldest citizens mingling with its youngest at a REAL senior prom. This is not just one of those cute things kids sometimes do for older folks. Rose Dysert earned her invitation. She graduated from high school at 98.
Shanita Viera believed she could be a brain surgeon one day, but being a doctor was something few kids in her block ever considered, until the staff at New York Presbyterian hospital volunteered to teach them. Just the prescription to pull a dream within reach. Don’t you wish people could see what we wish we could be.
When people wonder about the future of this country, I tell them, “Look at our past.” In tough times we come together. Selfishness may get headlines, but selfLESSness built America. It kept many places from becoming ghost towns. Let’s celebrate a living ghost town.
One of the finest brain surgeons in the world began his journey very differently from most doctors. The hands that pluck out brain tumors once picked vegetables for $22 a day. Alfredo Quinones was a migrant worker living in an old camper top in the...
I’d like you to meet Mario Capecchi. He’s the son of a single mom, a poet, who thought she could defeat the Nazis with her pen. She didn’t, but he became one of the scientists who saved us.
After years of urban decline, the community of the South Bronx gets a boost from native Hedy Fox, who brings the skills she learned in college to the challenges of neighborhood crime.
Photographer Rex Ziak (pronounced Zeek) spent almost a decade trying to get a new National Park at the point where American explorers Lewis and Clark ended their westward journey. He tramped along the last bit of trail they blazed near his home in Southwestern...
Every generation faces terrible challenges. Wars, depressions, holocausts. Polio, Aids, pandemics. We cannot predict what will come, but it is well to remember people who play a bad hand well, over and over again. They are why America not only survives, but thrives. Let me share with you one of my TODAY Show reports that was so much more than a weather story.
The Alonso’s lost their mother during the 9/11 attack in 2001. Janet went to work at the World Trade Center that morning and never returned. Robert was left to care for a 2-year-old daughter and a baby boy with Down syndrome.
“If I was to tell you I did this by myself, I’d be a liar; I’d be a flat-out liar,” Robert said. “I got my mom, my aunt, my pop to help.”
But he never returned to work at the pizza place he owned in Stony Point, New York. His family substituted for him. “I owe it to my children to be around,” Robert explained. “If I buried my grief in work, my kids would lose both their parents.”
I remember when milk and doctors came to your house. Fred Richardson still does — in one of the toughest neighborhoods in Chicago. He is a brave man with a big heart. Dr. Richardson returned to his old neighborhood to open a one-man practice....
These guys were to hockey what the Harlem Globe Trotters are to basketball. Their goalie rode a horse named Penance. Their best player was a priest dressed as a nun, “Sister Mary Shooter.” She would distract the other team’s goalie by lassoing him with a twelve-foot rosary.
Not all my stories were done in America. I found Doug Mealing in Australia. One side of his face grew faster than the other. He was born with Elephant Man’s Disease. Mealing worked far above the whispers and stares repairing the old Sydney Harbor bridge, but could not climb above his problems, until a woman’s love earned him a job on the number one soap opera in Australia.
Most of us no longer recall or have ever heard what America did to retaliate for the destruction at Pearl Harbor that brought us into World War Two, but it changed our country as surely as 9/11. Eighty Americans volunteered to do the unthinkable. They bombed Japan, knowing they would have to ditch their planes behind enemy lines. After the war, Jake DeShazer astounded his former comrades by going back to Japan as a minister. He stayed thirty years. Started twenty-three churches, including one, in Nagoya, the city he bombed.
Long before Covid-19 made virtual classrooms a necessity, students in Australia’s vast Outback were learning via two-way radio. The Warwick family built an extraordinary life in that dessert on not much more than hope. Their ranch sits on some of the driest...
Beloved teacher Ruby Forsyth had died. The classroom where she taught for half a century was now quiet. The school she started for Black children was about to close. Her former students share their memories of what she taught them.
A special story of love and courage that reaches across color lines to touch the core of America. For 30 years, Barbara Knox beat the dawn to work. This was her last. She was worried. Her boss was retiring, closing the diner where Barbara had labored all of her adult life. The place was more than a paycheck for her.
You remember Sitting Bull who helped defeat General Custer at the Little Big Horn? He was a Great War Chief of the Lakota Sioux Indian tribe. He was also a man who cared deeply about children.
On his trip to New York City with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, Sitting Bull was moved by the orphans he saw on the streets. He spent his pay buying them food which he handed out in a back alley. Ron His Horse is Thunder told me that story. He is Sitting Bull’s Great-Great-Great grandson. Ron let me ponder what he had said. Finally, he looked up and asked, “Who’s the savage?”
One mother told me her Home Schooling curriculum includes Honors laundry and AP vacuuming. And then — there’s the Harding family who sent 6 kids kids to college by age 12. That’s right. 12. The Harding’s offer tired parents some tips.
Lewis Whirlwind Horse was the last living member of a traveling troupe of cowboys and Indians who invented the way we imagine the Old West must have been. “We were playing at the old Madison Square Garden in New York City, which is neither square nor a garden,” Whirlwind Horse said. “Buffalo Bill directed us to ride our horses around a circled ‘wagon train’ so we could show off our riding skills. My role in the act was to grab a pioneer woman and take her into a tepee set up at the other end of the arena. She was supposed to scream until Buffalo Bill came and rescued her, but we Indians were doing the screeching. You see, we played gin rummy while we were waiting for Bill to come shoot us, and she sat in on the game. She was the best card player in the show. Beat us every time. We were supposed to be killing her, but her card playing was killing us!”
Three little boys live in a magical place riddled with secret tunnels: a 35,000-square-foot building their parents are restoring, mostly by themselves.
That’s right: a home one-third the size of Downton Abbey — without the downstairs help.
TV would have us believe that “high-tech” catches criminals, but only about a third of the cases get solved with DNA evidence. The rest rely on people whose minds never retire.
BILL PETERS SOLVED THE MYSTERY TO A LIFE LONG ROMANCE.
The west of legend has so captured our imagination that the real west is often overlooked. For nearly 30 years cowboy cartoonist Ace Reid gave voice to people we thought we know, but never asked. His cartoon series “Cowpokes” was read in Gobblers Knob, Utah and Fishtail, Montana, hundreds of small towns where cowboys still challenge a hardscrabble land.
Growing up, I spent my summers in farm country — Kansas — with a grandfather who loved to tell stories. Perhaps that’s why I got into the storytelling business.
My grandfather told me that when he was 18, he was what used to be called “all hat and no cattle,” a kid with little money and no property.
“One of my biggest thrills,” he said, “was loading my buggy and best girl on a river ferry. That was like a ride at Disneyland. The ferryman would push us across with a pole and an encyclopedic knowledge of the currents. Quite an adventure in 1903!”
Grandpa would have loved Ashley Pillar, one of the last of those old-time river ferrymen.
The road out of town is the only way the road seems to go. So few families remained in McLeod, North Dakota, Jan Herbranson ran out of kids at the old one-room school. Normally, that would spell the end of a place like McLeod. The school closed in 1986. But in this village of 50, four babies born. When they grew up, children returned to her little dead school house and so did Jan Herbranson.
Each evening Dr. Mort Copenhaven drove 900 feet up the side of Camelback Mountain to his own castle. It took him 13 years to chisel his home out of a cliff. He did all the work. Mort had no formal training, but he was a dentist. Figured that building a castle on the side of a mountain wouldn’t be much different than planting a false tooth.
Sometime the best college lessons are learned outside the classroom. A young man with Down Syndrome taught a fraternity what no professor ever could. Todd Martz respected everybody the same. Black. White. Red. Yellow. Short. Fat. Ugly. Beautiful. The fraternity brothers were so taken with Todd’s approach to life, they did something extraordinary.
The Federal government gave some starving folks 40 acres and a mule during the Great Depression of the 1930’s. It saved them. I found them 50 years later.
A redwood forest 140 miles North of San Francisco is a place so bountiful and full of peace, “Nothing around here is ever killed. It always dies of old age and cholesterol,” Juanita Dahl grins. She lives miles from the nearest highway, but not alone. Each morning, a one car train rattles up from Fort Bragg on the California coast to snatch the mail and take Jaunita to the grocery store.
Fred Benson was the most successful person I ever met. He lived on Block Island, off the coast of Rhode Island. Fred was police chief, fire chief and the state Driver’s license examiner. He was also head of the rescue squad, baseball coach, teacher, builder and President of the Chamber of Commerce. Five times. Then — he won the Rhode Island state lottery. Five hundred thousand dollars. He threw the biggest birthday party anyone could remember. Invited all the children on the island and announced he’d pay the college tuition of any child who wanted to go. Fred always thought of his community first. In the Seventies there was a housing shortage on Block Island. So, at 54, Fred went to college and got a degree. He taught high school shop. The island’s four builders got their start with Fred. He never married. Never had children. But, for 82 years, he dedicated himself to the people of Block island. Fred Benson had found a safe harbor and then showed others the way.
Juan Delgadillo looked like a Shriner who had lost his parade. He cruised by my car window on a hot, dusty day west of the Grand Canyon driving an ancient convertible painted the colors of a dripping ice cream cone. It was a griddle hot morning in July, but a decorated Christmas tree stood tall in his back seat. At the top a sign read: “Follow me to Dead Chicken sandwiches.”
Paid your taxes? Dreaming of a better way to fund government? Maybe more lotteries? Back in 1986, governments were beginning to experiment with gambling to raise money. The mayor of McClusky, North Dakota mayor bet on his town’s future. He left it to chance. Friday nights down at Elms cafe, you could find him dealing blackjack. The money he won went to charity. All of it. In four years, this village of 650 people had raised $57-thousand dollars. Gambling. Players figure they couldn’t lose. If they did, their money helped paint the town’s pool or buy a new ambulance. It had been a blessing for some, a curse for others.
Florence Thompson’s picture haunted the nation. Her grandson saw the photograph hanging inside a G.I.’s tent in Vietnam. The face had been printed black and the Black soldier who owned it swore she was Black. Florence and her story had not yet been found. But that frozen moment of her life, that picture, writes its own story in each of us.
Aren’t we all dreaming of breaking out? Seeing something besides the place where we live? Sometimes in life you have to get lost — to find yourself. Roy and Anna Williams set out from their home in Florence, Kentucky, to circle the west in a car that ran on dreams.
Some of us are lucky enough to have had a great teacher. A cheerleader who changed our lives. Frank Cooper told his students something that stuck — Keep Your Promise. He said that dressed as Elvis. https://youtu.be/pMYqJ5oUmkE
When Joe Clark left home, he carried with him pictures of friends and neighbors who would set a course for his life. Joe went to work for the great news magazines, Time and Life and Newsweek, capturing the faces of common people. Seasons, like sign posts, mark the time. In the fall of his 76th year, Joe Clark decided to come back to Cumberland Gap for a harvest of memory.
27 years after my first story, artist Michael Naranjo, who lost his sight in the Vietnam War, has become a world renowned sculptor, despite his total blindness. The Native American sees more clearly than most.
No one had time for the old man squatting over a box of vegetable peelers on a New York City street corner. The crowds swirled around him on their way to work, but he didn’t seem to notice. The solitary street vendor flicked a slice of potato off his thousand-dollar suit, smiled to himself, and asked, “Why would you buy four peelers, if they last a lifetime? Because you have four friends,” Joe explained. “Never underestimate a small amount of money, gathered by hand.” For 60 years he loved the glorious uncertainty of starting every day—with nothing.
Jennifer Annable was five months pregnant when she moved to Seattle with fifty-bucks in her pocket. She worked long hours, struggling to become a teacher. Eventually, she ran a school for children with special needs. Melvin Jones was one of them. He was 16, drifting on the streets of Seattle. She made up a room for him. She had already opened her home to five kids. Why would a divorced, single mom take on such a challenge?
Chuck Taylor waved at a hawk strafing the wheat field in front of him. “There is beauty everywhere. I just want to express what I am feeling.”
He pushed up his feed company cap and began to sing louder than his farm tractor engine. Chuck’s voice boomed over that Colorado field, keeping time to the rhythm of his motor. The tractor turned into the setting sun, revealing a big man, close to three hundred pounds, haloed in the cab. Chuck Taylor was wondering why that sun wasn’t a spotlight.
Bussey, Iowa may make you homesick for a place you’ve probably never been. Just 422 people lived there the day I dropped by. But this small town has made a big difference in Todd Spaur’s life. He was in a terrible accident two decades ago when his car flipped off a bridge and lay hidden in heavy underbrush for 16 hours. He could not call for help or call out because he’d broken his back, neck and most of the bones in his face. Doctors said he would never walk.
Deborah Huddleston fell in love with Glenn Gammage. They were married out on the prairie, dreaming dreams, as if they were new. He speaks 5 languages and has circled the world with the U.S. Navy. She has seldom left Texas. They fell in love and...
No matter how far we go into the wilderness, we can seldom escape the sounds we make. There are few places where planes do not fly or foghorns cannot pierce. Just as city lights keep us from seeing dimmer stars, these noises of every day life drown out the more delicate voices of nature. Gordon Hempton searches for spots to record the earth’s chorus — without us.
New York spends more money on the arts than other city in the country, but a lot of those dollars come from outsiders. If you subtract all that out of town money, the place that spends the most per person for culture is Bassett, Nebraska.
I found myself in a forest filled with forgotten lives. Their final resting places were marked, not with names, but numbered stakes, unnoticed, until Bud Merritt stumbled upon them. He found the first of six lost graveyards at what was once the largest mental hospital in America: Milledgeville, Georgia.
John Coffer turned his back on modern times to wander America in a wagon pulled by oxen, stopping only to take portraits with his antique camera. Coffer traveled at two and a half miles an hour for five years. 25 states. 10-thousand miles. He crisscrossed America so slowly, everywhere he went, folks joked he was a temporary resident. Coffer captured old fashioned images of modern America.
A surveyor from Valentine, Nebraska, was charting the land of the Rio Grande. He stopped for lunch and took a nap. When he awoke, poor people had gathered to eat his scraps. That bothered Frank Ferree. It bothered him so much he sold all his land to buy food and medicine for the poor. He kept nothing for himself. For 40 years Frank Ferree fed thousands on both sides of the Rio Grande. Five Presidents of Mexico have given him gold medals. He melted them down and bought beans.
There’s a mountain near Glenwood Springs, Colorado, the locals call “Misery Heights.” The last cowboys left there in the 1930s. It was too remote to raise horses, too cold to grow crops. Just right to teach something about life. Jack Snoble teaches a course in homesteading. Class size, one student.
There are a lot of little towns in farm country fighting for their lives. In Havana, North Dakota, the sun hasn’t set. When the town’s cafe went under, all 158 people in town volunteered to cook. It became something of a competition. They made $51,000, enough to open a new grocery store, build sidewalks and put an archery range. Now they dream of a jacuzzi.
Some folks do not see limits, only opportunities. Ed Lucas decided he wanted to broadcast baseball games, after watching the first nationally televised playoff. He ran outside to celebrate his decision. The twelve year old fired a fastball to a boyfriend...
Milton Rogovin grew old watching his neighborhood grow up, sharing the yearbook of their lives. He was still photographing them at age 100, surrounded by friends who were now taking his picture — the “forgotten ones,” who did not forget him.
In 1915, Robert Frost brought his wife and four children to a small farm in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. He was a terrible farmer. He used to milk the cows at midnight, so he could sleep late. Townsfolk figured he’d be on their welfare rolls by Christmas. Then, they read something he wrote. It inspired them to do something very special for poets.
Steven White tried for decades to save a small island for someone he’d never met. Waves were slowly whittling it away. He told me the tale as we chopped through the water in a tiny boat on Maryland’s Chesapeake Bay.
“Holland Island once held sixty houses,” Stephan pointed out as we approached what had once been a neighborhood that stretched two miles down the shore. “It was a bustling community that had sixty-eight kids in school until rising tides forced them to abandon the building. My home is all that remains above water.”
Working alone, he hauled hundred pound stones across Chesapeake Bay to shore up the place.
A caring heart is as good a measure as any, when you try to evaluate success. World-class Chef Scott Peacock once told me, “It’s always the most important ingredient.”
He was lifting a cake out of the oven. Turned and dropped it on the kitchen table next to an elderly woman.
“Tell me if it’s ready?”
Edna Lewis didn’t poke it or taste it. She cocked her head and lowered her ear to the dish.
“It’s fading away,” it’s fading away
There was a reason she was in the cookbook hall of fame. She cooked by ear.
My grandfather’s basketball coach was James Naismith, the man who invented the sport. In those days the Founding Father had not yet punched a hole in the bottom of the peach basket that was used instead of a net. “Coach,” grandpa said, “this game would be a whole lot faster if we didn’t have to climb a ladder to pull out the ball!” Few people alive have ever heard Naismith’s voice. Here’s a rare recording: https://goo.gl/s8yVK1
Basketball has always been more than a game. It brings together groups that may have no other common ground.
My first job for NBC News was at the Munich Olympics in 1972. That’s where I met legendary basketball coach Abe Lemons. He was president of the College Coaches Association that year, but told me he couldn’t get tickets to any Olympic basketball games. Instead, he scored a seat to the finals of the hammer throw.
I asked Abe: How was it?
“Well, our seats were kinda high up,” he said with a slow grin.
“How high?”
“When one of those hammer guys wound up and tossed, the fellows around me all yelled down, ‘How’d he do?’ And the fans down below would turn, cup their ears, and say: ‘Huh?’”
Janelle Barencott has never heard the bounce of a ball, the swish of a net. But on this day, she got to play against the best of the best, players dreaming of jobs in the National Women’s Basketball Association. Janelle’s dreams are silent.
March Madness gives us a chance to watch the superstars of tomorrow. Before Larry Bird became a basketball legend, he was a shy student. I covered one of his first games. Hop in my Way Back Machine for a bit of March Madness from 1979. You’ll be watching the only undefeated major college basketball team in the country back then — the Sycamores of Terra Haute, Indiana.
The black muscle car roared up. Growling, throbbing. A tiny silver skull wired to the brake lights blinked with red eyes, the same color as the cross – painted on the car’s roof. Two words decorated its side: “Bone Mobile.” Anyone looking for wonder among the world’s ordinary stuff would, as they say in old movies, “follow that car.”
In January 1957, Henry Alexander offered an innocent black man, Willie Edwards, a terrible choice while he looked down the barrel of a gun. Either run or jump from a bridge north of Montgomery, Alabama. He leapt into the Alabama River 50 feet below. Some fishermen found his body three months later.
Edwards’ wife, Sarah, was left with two children. She was pregnant with another. They never knew what happened to their father.
Before Diane Alexander’s husband died, he gave her his guilt. Clippings from his Ku Klux Klan days. The pattern for his hood. His pistol. A whip. And a stunning confession.
“He said, ‘My problem is Willie Edwards. I caused (his death.)”
Michael Najarian found his name chiseled on a list of war dead. His was one of more than 58 thousand names on the Wall of the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C. Najarian served in Vietnam, but was still very much alive.
“I just sort of sank on the ground,” he said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t believe it.”
Folks in Polk, Nebraska prefer to get their news the old fashioned way — in a newspaper, the Polk Progress. Its editor Norris Alfred is the only Democrat in the county. Why do people buy his newspaper? “I play poker with a lot of them. And I lose.” Norris loves slow news days. Gives him time to put things into perspective, something he’s done so well for 70 years.
Norris Alfred. In search of great truths. Or a minor truth. Or two.
There was a time in America where neighbors were considered part of your wealth. In Four Corners, Louisiana, they still are. Hardly a family here makes $10,000 a year. But together, they had rebuilt eleven homes. They linked up with trade people who taught them how.
There is still a little frontier in all of us. Something that urges us out beyond the limits of our settled lives. Diana Moroney shrugs off the world she lives in to find her heart in another. She races a team of sled dogs 11-hundred miles from Anchorage to Nome, Alaska, sliding through a snowy wilderness so big, it would cover everything from Maine to the tip of Florida.
In Radio City Music Hall, the years do not flow back into the past. They gather invisibly around you. Each Christmas the Rockettes dance into our memories. Doris Carie was a Rockette at 17, the youngest girl in the line. They lived in the theater from 8 in the morning until 11 at night. After a year, she was sore all over. She went home to Georgia, but she never forgot the lessons.
Television did not begin in New York or Los Angeles. It was the brainchild of a fourteen-year-old farm boy, the vision of a fellow with a funny name: Philo T. Farnsworth. Philo was plowing a field on the family farm near Rigby, Idaho, day dreaming about sending pictures through the sky, when he noticed the sun glinting off the parallel lines he had made in the dirt. In a single, blazing moment of inspiration, it occurred to him that a picture could be broken down into lines, too, beamed into space and then put back together on a television set.
There are places where the past is not past. It keeps circling back around. Many towns in America are like that. Petaluma, California, continually celebrates a magical time when kids showed up to shoot a low budget movie called “American Graffiti.” It launched some big name careers and boosted an unknown director, George Lucas, into an orbit that would lead to his epic — Star Wars. History in Petaluma is never far, far way. Sadly, this town — so tied to movie history — lost its last picture show. Kids could have just hopped into a car. Their moms would have driven them to the movies in another town.
“Oh, no!” Madison Webb looked stricken. “You’re not supposed to go with your parents!”
So, the teens created a business plan that would reopen their theater.
Oscar night. Time for little known Hollywood history. Amateur archeologists have uncovered a lost Egyptian city. Not on the Nile. Beneath the sands of coastal California. It was buried by that Pharaoh of films, Hollywood Director Cecil B. DeMille.
Bob Stanfill spent his first night in jail at age 9. For two decades he was in and out so often, he expected to die beneath prison towers. Until one day, he married into a remarkable family. They helped Bob open his own barbershop. Surrounded him with customers. And kept him out of prison for 30 years. Now he’s back. By choice.
On Betty Sullivan’s 75th birthday, her kids got together to sing for their mom in a place polished with dreams and hard work. Carnegie Hall. She was set to perform again at Carnegie Hall on her 90th birthday. Coronavirus canceled the celebration.
Jim and Betty Sullivan just wanted their eight kids to learn music. They began to teach them in an old home, now covered in weeds. Son Tim sang country songs. His sister, Heather, wrote themes for television shows. Her sister, Stacy, had a recording career, and big sister, K.T., was a world-class cabaret singer.
She sang them a song with her favorite line.
“You have never left my mind long enough to leave me …”
Come on. Take a walk with me. I want you to meet Jim and Marty Dwyer and their five boys. The Dwyers always wanted a baby girl but figured it wasn’t going to happen after those five boys. So they agreed to raise someone else’s. But she wasn’t a baby. And she...
Used to be only Seminoles wrestled alligators. The tribe lived in the Florida swamps. Gators were their major source of food and profit. But today, the 26 hundred members make big money running gambling casinos, enough for kids to afford college and dreams beyond the swamp. None of them wants to learn this dangerous, ancient skill. Chief James Billy tried to keep the tradition alive. It cost him. Big time.
Dee Follett has not seen a flower for half a century. She does not hear the bees. For her, summer is just another season of imagination. Dee is both blind and deaf, but each year she tries something no one else would dream. We found her driving a car.
Some races in life begin far from the starting line. That’s why Rachael Scdoris and her dad drove 25-hundred miles, to the top of the globe, in the dead of winter, to help her chase a dream she cannot see.
Paul Rokich grew up in the old American Smelter camp in Tooerle, Utah. Copper lay under the Oquirrh Mountains. To get it, workers nearly killed the soil. The Oquirrh’s were so polluted, experts told Rokich they could not be saved. One moonlit night, he flipped over the copper company’s fence, alone in the darkened desert with a knapsack and two trees. Let’s let Paul tell the tale.
150th celebration Yellowstone National Park. It does not give up winter easily. The geysers cough and crackle and keep their warmth inside. Old Faithful is the first to break its glass jail. Splashing in the sun like a ghost train in the Rockies. Warm rivers are the only winter fire. Snow the only blanket. Animals who survive are as stubborn as the land itself. Bison have passed through the ice and the pain, standing dark and still, trembling in the wind. Trumpeter swans preen and float. The plain begin to look beautiful. Swirling through snow on currents of ice, they spin free. The Aspens are crystal. The pines are glass. An iridescent bone yard, waiting for the world to thaw.
The more of America I see, the more I find people who are ruled by courage, love, endurance and are driven to work hard no matter what may befall them. They are often overlooked and under reported. Nick Ackerman was the first disabled athlete picked as NCAA...
I was sitting in a small cafe. At the other end of the counter was a man who looked like Lincoln. He was big and rawboned and about 80. His voice pierced and rattled like an old bugle. I couldn’t help overhearing. He was holding forth about a fellow named Paul Sykes, who arrived in Oklahoma with 600 former slaves from Alabama the year before one of those big land runs that offered up free homesteads out west.
Pete Weststein used to live in a place of blue distances, tending his dairy herd. It is now a valley of prisons. Four of them, nudging aside the cows and the quiet. His wife Frieda is raising her family next to those prisons. She wondered, what became of the babies that were born inside.
Silverton, Washington has a hang up about being in touch. Out here, rivers sparkle like winter stars. And the air smells like it was just made. Denny Boyd grew up in asphalt meadows dreaming of such a place. So 15 years ago, he left city life to open a store in the mountains of western Washington. He neglected to notice the small print in his dream. Silverton, Washington was one of the last towns in America where you cannot make a phone call.
Seth Chwast cannot hold a conversation or a complex thought. At two he was diagnosed with Autism. His mother was determined to give him a normal life. A counselor suggested that Seth consider mopping floors for a career. Instead, his mom enrolled him in one last therapy class at the Cleveland, Ohio, Museum of Art.
His eyes were turned to beauty only he could see, a gallery of gods. Native American spirits, watching over Christ.
“Some of my Zuni people won’t go along with this,” Alex Seowtewa told me, but he painted his vision on the walls of a church for more than half a century. This old mission in the heart of the pueblo was not in the heart of most Zuni’s. It reminded them of a time when Coronado came calling, looking for gold. And paid with death. The priests who ordered the Zuni’s to build the mission were found dead, buried beneath its floor.
“I was told not to look at the color of skin by my grandfather,” Seowtewa said. He dipped his brush into his own soul and painted what seemed best. For Alex, religion is a search, not certainty. He spent his life capturing clouds and sunsets to hang on a church wall. He reached into the world and found its vagrant beauty.
Jeff Hall’s buddy asked him, “Are you going?’ 290 guys, most of them from the Philadelphia area, were driving 19 hours non-stop to tryout for their beloved Phillies in Florida. Hall had pitched for dozens of minor league teams for 8 years, until a sore arm...
Macon county, Tennessee, is so lovely folks like to say, “If you stay long enough to wear out a pair of shoes, you’ll never leave.” Not everyone was given that chance. Black people used to be run out of the county. Some were hung from a tree on the courthouse square. Fred Thomas’ friends thought he was crazy when he opened a medical clinic in Macon county. “If I had listened to what people said,” Dr. Thomas pointed out, “I would have been a plumber.” Fred Thomas ignored the county’s racial history. He began to forge his own.
ohn McSherry ran a school like no others. He taught how to be UN-loved. His students were would-be big league umpires. McSherry, a National League umpire, worked his class like a drill sergeant. Get by John McSherry, the rest of the world seems like a smile.
Now you can enjoy heating your home. An inventor in Woodsdale, Ohio, gets all the warmth he needs from empty beer cans. Add a garbage pail and a copper coil buried in compost. You get heat. Wisdom doesn’t always wear a suit.
One afternoon in St. Petersburg, Florida, I stopped to watch Fred Broadwell waiting for a pitch, crouching over the strike zone, leaning into the wind, seemingly suspended. The ball floated toward the plate. He chopped it toward the shortstop and shuffled off toward first base on stiff legs. It was a big day for Fred. A couple of years ago he was sidelined with pneumonia. Now he was back at 95.
Only shadows play in the Tabor Opera house. But for Evelyn Furman, it is an attic filled with memories. They survive because of her single minded devotion to the old theater in Leadville, Colorado. She saved it from the wrecking ball until younger...
People buy more than 1-BILLION Valentines each year. Ever wonder who writes all those cards? What kind of mind comes up with “Be My Tootsie Wootsie or I’ll Break Your Armsy Warmsy?” Well, I did. Went to the center of all this creativity, to the cupids of Kansas City.
Mardi Gras comes with fancy masked balls and big parades. Thousands spent on costumes and parties. But for a Cajun in Mamou, the celebration costs only $7.50. For that, you get a beer, hard boiled eggs, sausage and the answer to the age old question, “Why did the chicken cross the road?
A third of all the paperback books sold in America are romance novels. One company has published a billion books in ten years. Enough to give a copy to every man, woman and child in China. The author of those books, Laura London, was voted “the most sensuous writer.” She is a man. His real name is Tom Curtis, a cross country trucker.
Now here’s something that Valentine cards just can’t convey — the depth of your love. In this age of social media, where anyone can be a star, here’s a consolation prize, Romance novels that let you and the one you love — or would like to love — be the main characters.
We tend to think of classical music as big city music. Oh, there may be a snatch or two out in the country, but most often classical music is something big city folks bus to the boondocks on warm summer nights. That’s the image. In Brattleboro, Vermont, it is wrong. Some of the finest classical singers in America live in this village.
A friend of mine played football for a school so small, the players changed uniforms at half time and came back as the band. There were so few girls, they borrowed cheerleaders from another town. It made for some close relationships. My pal married a cheerleader. She also played flute in the band. She also moved the yard markers. That’s the way it is with small town football — a family affair.
We all know what is, what ought to be. Few remain who remember what was. I recall a 1988 New Year celebration. It was a couple of beers before closing and the boys down at Brandy’s bar were lost on Memory Lane. John Sanderson was a bit fuzzy. He forgot the title of his favorite song. No problem today. Just ask Siri. Back then, Siri hadn’t been born yet. He had to rely on a human jukebox to help him find it.
There’s a group of kids from a tough neighborhood who stand out from the rest. They wear ties and are clean shaven — all because of an unassuming teacher named Bob Salisbury. Each day, he teaches six special education classes. After school he coaches basketball. Works hardest with those who will never be stars.
Picture this the next time you’re waiting until your knees turn numb in a doctor’s office. Patients in an Idaho wilderness have one who will fly to them. Rich Paris is the only doctor for the remote areas of Custer County, Idaho, a neighborhood about the...
The keys to history’s treasures are often discovered in unexpected places. One of them turned up in a tiny Kansas town, unlocking a story half a world away. This week let’s celebrate the 100th anniversary of a woman who saved 2,500 children. In 1940 the Nazis walled off a neighborhood near Irena Sendler’s home in Warsaw, Poland. Pressed almost half a million people into an area the size of New York City’s Central Park – with not enough food to keep them alive. Five thousand were dying each month. Sendler, a public health service nurse, devised a daring plan to save the children.
Gordon Wright was the conductor of the Arctic Chamber orchestra, a group he formed to take classical music to the remote villages of Alaska. His musicians have performed in places so cold, the violinists play wearing gloves.
Aniak, Alaska has the only Emergency Medical team serving three thousand people in an area the size of Delaware. Every EMT is a teenager. Teacher, Dave LeMaster, wasn’t too happy about letting his students cut class for all those emergency calls, until one day the rescue pager sounded and someone screamed, “Oh, my God, the principal just fell!” LeMaster shook his head in disbelief, “By the time the ambulance got here, they already had him stabilized.” And now? “It’s like Ghostbusters,” LeMaster grinned. “Who you gonna call?”
A secret room. A walled up tomb. A priceless jewel. No, not on the set of the next Indiana Jones movie. They lay hidden in America’s busiest railroad station. Train travel still thrives in New York City. Grand Central Terminal sees as many trains today as it did in the golden age of steam and steel. Picture the population of Atlanta and Buffalo pouring out of trains and subways. Seven hundred thousand travelers every day. Ten thousand pause to grab a meal, a thousand stop to ask directions. Some lose more than their way. In one month, train crews sent Grand Central’s Lost and Found three hundred cell phones, one hundred and fifty eyeglasses and an engagement ring.
John Suta bought tarnished french horn for $75 bucks. His retirement pay left little for lessons, so he found another way to learn how to play it. He showed up at Roosevelt Middle School in Eugene, Oregon, and asked to join the beginning band. Okay, the kids thought it was funny, then they heard the seventy-four year old’s first sweet note.
Marty Revellette lived his life with a single mindedness that blocked out everything but challenge. He was a man with no arms, but he pulled a women from her burning car. She survived. This story tells not only “how,” but “why.” The country owes its success to those who are willing to try regardless of disability, people who risk their lives for country, family, even strangers.
During this dark time, it is well to remember the families in this country who help others end nightmares and find dreams. It is the very core of our American story because most of us also have ancestors who risked everything for a better life. The communities they built prospered because people took care of one another. Some still do.
Dan and Susie Kellogg sold their home in Colorado. Bought an RV. And set out traveling into the unknown. They decided to live full time in a mobile home with enough kids to field a football team. 12.
Laughter echoes down Pillar Mountain. Two duffers in Kodiak, Alaska, are ice picking their way up the snow-covered cliffs. Carrying golf clubs. The course is practically straight up, fourteen hundred feet, from the valley floor to the green. Pebble Beach, it ain’t. But it is a golf tournament. One hole, par 70. That’s right. One hole, par 70.
There once lived a Prince, who became a pauper and then lived happily ever after. This year, he turned 94 and is painting his life on little bits of plastic, a life that would have been filled with pomp—if the circumstances had been different.
Andrew Romanoff was born into Russian royalty, a prince raised in a castle. That’s usually a recipe for a grand life, but he lost his kingdom in the Russian Revolution, only to find a fairy tale ending in northern California.
Lonnie Bedwell never let a handicap, handicap him. The man is lights out blind. Lives far from fast water, but Bedwell was the first blind person to kayak the Grand Canyon. He navigated the rapids listening closely, as friends called out the way.
Will Steiger searches for land that hasn’t felt footsteps, the coldest parts of our earth, where the north wind bullies and temperatures cower—to seventy below. In this vast wilderness near the North and South Poles he seems oddly out of place—plodding carefully through the massive ice, alone. Will Steger explored the unknown—one step at a time—for more than forty years. Some ice fields are now so thin, his sled dogs fall through. But science alone won’t fix this. Will thinks people coming together and working for the common good might. We may get blisters on our hands, and calluses on our dreams, but the ally he seeks is the part in all of us that knows what is right. Many preach about saving the planet. Will just puts his boots on and goes.
Five little boys rattled across America in the fall of 1922. They were part of a remarkable odyssey. One hundred thousand such children were plucked from the streets of New York City and sent west, to a new life. Most were the sons and daughters of immigrants, found starving and alone. The Children’s Aid Society swept them up and shipped them to villages all across the country. At each stop their arrival was advertised. Kids trouped off the train, lined up, and couples simply picked the one they wanted. The brothers had very different experiences, but survived — with the help of each other.
Many people in Goose Creek, South Carolina, were speechless when Braeden Kershner turned his back on celebrity. It seemed somehow un-American. Don’t we all want to be somebody special? Don’t we try to become our dreams? It’s not that Braeden...
Braeden Kirchner likes to conduct music with his eyes closed, so he can see his dream. The boy from Goose Creek, South Carolina, wanted to conduct the Boston Pops. Never mind that Braeden was just 18. To prepare for a career in conducting, he learned to play every instrument in the orchestra. He finally got his chance.
Many stories may touch your heart. Dr. George Heitzman has touched them literally. Not like an artist or a poet — like a pioneer. Heitzman was one of the first doctors to experiment with open-heart surgery, back when few expected his patients would live full lives. Susan Pingleton owes her life to what Heitzman learned from a dog.
Dr. Leila Denmark opened her practice in 1928. She was Atlanta’s first female pediatrician and was still doctoring babies at age 90. Dr. Denmark healed children until her retirement at 104. That retirement lasted a decade. She lived to be 114, the oldest doctor in...
On an island off the coast of South Carolina sits an old school with a wooden floor, smoothed by a century of sliding feet. You’ll hear reading, writing and ‘rithmetic, but this story is about another “R.” Remembering Mrs. Ruby, Ruby Forsyth
Rush hour on Memory lane. Ruby Forsythe was 85 the last time I saw her. She’d been teaching 66 years, living above her classroom on Pawleys Island, South Carolina. Her students called her Ms. Ruby. She had 72 of them that day in this one-room school at Holy Cross-Faith Memorial Church.
In her early years, Ms. Ruby was the only teacher African-American kids had on Pawleys Island. “I was mother, father, counselor, everything,” Miss Ruby said. “You got to start with little things that are not in the book.” Half a century before Yoda, she told her students never to say, “I can’t.” Always say, “I’ll Try.” Some walked miles to get to her class. Many went on to college and made major contributions to our country. Miss Ruby summed up her philosophy of teaching: “Sow the best seed into whatever soil you have.”
Working folks have always been the great voyagers of America. There were always new businesses, new jobs, new frontiers just over the next hill. But something fundamentally is changing in the American economy. Old skills don’t always fit new jobs. The American instinct to move on when times get tough can no longer solve the problem.
We caught up with Jim and Deborah Carey and their daughter Chastity once again. The bankrupt farmers still had not harvested a dream. Jim had won and lost six jobs in a year. Six jobs. In three different states. And he had a new baby. All was not bleak. Two things were about to happen that would change their lives for the better.
Bob McClain doesn’t have the kind of face that would launch a Soap Opera, but he’s a handyman with a difference. He listens. His smile crumples up the silence in people’s lives. Not everyone knows how to fix things. McClain is ready to help.
Jimmy Driftwood is an Ozark farmer who also taught history. Each evening as the sun slipped over the ridge, he set his lessons to song. One of them lifted him out of a tiny school in Snowball, Arkansas, and made him famous.
There’s an old warehouse near San Francisco Bay filled with bronze sculptures, a salute to Americans who did not dream in black and white. They envisioned a country where everyone was equal. A long line of people have tried to make that so. Mario Kyoto thinks they ought to have their own Mount Rushmore. His work is so stunning, the Oakland City council has given his giant figures a home.
Who gets the roughest weather in America. The place looks looks gentle, like a smiling stranger with an offer of candy, but more than a hundred people have died there because winter can come in any month. One day in three, hurricane force winds slap the landscape. Since 1932, a small band of scientists has struggled into this arctic laundromat to be tumbled around in search of the worst weather in the world.
Childhood should be a season of dreams, but some children awoke each morning from an American nightmare: They are born addicted to drugs. Clara Hale saved hundreds of them. One morning she found a baby by her door. Mrs. Hale took him in. Word got around. Soon her tiny apartment was jammed with cribs.
Roby Albouy spent most of his adult life in the Colorado mountains. But he carries faces from France framed in his mind, the fellows he passed on to freedom during World War Two. They were the downed crew of an America bomber. He was a fighter with the French Resistance. They never knew each other’s names. After we did a story on Albouy, the crew and their French saviors found each other again. They had all lived long enough to joke about things that once were breaking their hearts. Without each other, they may not have grown old at all.
Every veteran carries faces framed in their minds, comrades who did not return from war. Roby Albouy and I were walking through the Aspen meadows out in Colorado one summer when he pulled a yellowing snapshot from his pocket and showed me the ones he can’t forget.
Motts Tonelli enlisted in the New Mexico National Guard to play with an Army basketball team. The day after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, he traded his ball for a gun. Tonelli was captured in the Philippines in the opening days of World War Two. Forced to walk 70 miles to a prisoner of war camp. Along the way, a Japanese soldier gave Motts an extraordinary gift.
Stacey Hansen, a fire fighter in San Jose, California, found an old dog tag while vacationing in Vietnam. It belonged to Marine Corporal Steven Zucroff who died during the War – the day after Mother’s day — his 21st year. She brought Steven’s dog tag home. His brother Brad lived just an hour away, They met in a park overlooking the Pacific near Stacey’s fire station. Brad carried an old box with his brother’s things.
“You’ve seen his name,” he said, as the two walked across the bluff and sat on a bench, “Now you should see the person.”
He lifted the lid and pulled out a picture. It was not the image of a weary warrior Stacey expected.
Behind America's success story are untold tales of endurance. The people who succeed in this country come from sturdy stock, the ones who have always carried on when the going got tough. Their ancestors thought America’s streets would be paved with...
Wisdom is found in unexpected places. Tools for some of the first microsurgeries were invented in a garage. An out of work truck driver tinkered and perfected them until they changed our world. https://youtu.be/e6tI0AmehG4
The only journalism course Norris Alfred ever took, he failed. In 1980, he was nominated for a Pulitzer prize. This is what he wrote:
“The concept of progress has a firm hold. We are on the march from Worse to Better. From Cruelty to Compassion. With our bought vote, we cast a hope that the next leader will take us where we should go, confidently heading the parade of progress in an armored limousine.”
The Knight family, Laura and John and six kids, manage to survive, no thrive, on $4-thousand dollars a year. That’s something to sing about. On their farm, music is all around them. https://youtu.be/e8MQLVt7r7k
Ready for a happy puppy story? Sure you are. George Mahle takes pups on a 4,200-mile odyssey to loving arms. https://www.today.com/news/puppy-rescuer-takes-dogs-4-200-mile-odyssey-loving-arms-2D79517768
Amish Country. Most of the kids on this tiny high school basketball team are shorter than their coach, but at the turn of the century, they won 49 or their first 53 games. A record unmatched in the entire county.
Peter Holworth is a foster parent to hundreds of sick little seals that wash up on his shore. Some are near death from starvation when he finds them. Peter nurses these babies back to health.
When Private D.B. Benson decided to hide out from World War Two, he was able to disappear completely for 36 years. Benson slipped into the Kiamichi Wilderness in 1943, after a sergeant told him to go home because he could not read. He thought he was being...
Four out of five felonies are committed by repeaters, those who have been through our corrections system. Out of every 10 persons imprisoned for serious crime, four will return to that way of life again. Our failure to rehabilitate is costing us 20 billion dollars in...
Some holiday gifts for you this week. Today, one my first films. It WAS shot on film. An investigative documentary about high rise fires. We not only uncovers problems, but offer a solution, a theme my stories would follow throughout my career. Stick around for the commentary at the end of this half hour program.
Michael Carter is leaving his Fayetteville, North Carolina, school in search of a new kidney, while his teacher, Jane Smith, prepares for the biggest test of her life.
Deborah Evans looks to God for help. She says, He told her to look a little closer to home. She believes a teacher in Fayetteville, North Carolina. is the closet she’s come to the face of God.
An update to the story about Dr. Russell Dohner. 27 years later, he had raised his fee for a visit from $2 to $5. He looked after his neighbors for 55 years, charging them about what we pay for a fancy cup of coffee. Most of his nurses had been with him nearly as long as his furniture. They were paid well because Doc worked around the clock. He would go anywhere, at any time, to help those in need, often arriving before emergency crews.
We can all learn what’s going on with a touch of a thumb, but there was a time when people in Mountain Home, Arkansas, waited for Nellie Mitchell to deliver the news. She handed them their morning newspaper, 7 days a week, rain or shine. Never called in sick. Never took a vacation or a day off. At 86 she was still on her morning route, walking 5 miles a day, when trudged along with her. A gracious reminder of how life used to be.
Each evening the scruffy tabby cats listen for a single voice, the distant squeak of a rusty cart. Mary Burns, making her rounds, For more than a quarter of a century, she has fed the lost cats of Miami Beach. 8 Hours a day. Every day. Restaurants along her way give food. Veterinarians help her tend the sick. Mary has been a voyager all her life. She came from Yugoslavia. She simply took the Statue of Liberty at its word.
This story is something of a mystery. It begins on a quiet street in Rochester, New York. You won’t believe where it ends. Something strange is happening over at Dave Hickey’s house. He bought a set of drums and disappeared with his brother Bruce and their pals. Together, they helped each other find the notes that had been missing from their lives. They practiced 18 hours. Weekend after weekend. For six months. Back in the 1960’s they had a garage band called the Invictas that had one hit song.
Brenda Brock went looking for a job in a coal mine. She showed up hungry and broke on a mine foreman’s doorstep. All she had was a sleeping bag. Her work below was a trade off for her life above. Brenda had seen the ugliness that her mom and dad had escaped. “And yet, you get here and lose your heart.”
Of all the folks who went west looking for gold, one family went further, dug deeper and stayed longer. They settled in the Marble mountains of Northern California, in a region so difficult to reach, they still don’t have electricity. Each day Chet McBroom did what his father did. Pick down 6 tons of ore. If he’s lucky, he’ll find a few flecks of gold. “If I had to do it over again, you know what I’d change?” Chet asked. “Nothing.”
Dr. Russel Dohner looked after his neighbors for 55 years, charging them for a visit about what they would pay for a fancy cup of coffee: two bucks when he started his practice. Five bucks later on. Dr. Dohner worked with a broken back and after he had a heart attack — the only two times he ever closed his clinic. The morning we first met, back in 1983, Dohner had been to surgery twice, prepped a broken arm, handled two emergency cases, checked on 50 patients and delivered three babies. It was not yet 10:30.
For years artist Charles Banks Wilson crisscrossed the West stopping in small town pool halls and churches seeking faces that make each Indian tribe unique. Native Americans can look as different from one another as a Turk from a Swede, but that is changing.
Dee Newberry teaches kids in a two room school house in a vast wilderness. A billion ounces of silver were pulled from a nearby valley. Discovered after Noah Kellogg tossed one of those silver rocks at a mule that ran away. The town that bear his name once put up a sign that said, “Discovered by a jackass. Inhabited by his descendants.”
Most food critics get the benefit of dining in some fine restaurants. Not George Tumor. He reviews food that most of us eat. George sports a 280 pound resume to prove his dedication to the work. https://youtu.be/PSQIokIT_CM
Joe Carter had just turned 102, but he didn’t stand for much fuss. There was work to be done. Carter was a farmer. He still puttered about on an old A Model John Deere tractor, the one he bought in 1954, the year before farmers were brought under Social Security. As a group, people on Social Security are healthier, less frail and living longer than ever before. The year Joe Carter got married, all the Americans over 85 would have fit on his small farm. Their number has been doubling every 20 years. Twice as fast as the rest of the population. By the time today’s Baby Boomers reach that age, there could be 16-million Americans over 85.
David Edwards stood on the sidelines of life until Patricia Fulton asked him to dance. His mind is not quick. She doesn't care. Being less than perfect is the fragile thread that binds all of Fulton's dance partners. Patricia Fulton pulls them from the sidelines...
They jam the southbound lanes. 12-thousand people a month. Retired Americans. Looking for paradise. Today’s elderly are pioneers. The first generation with enough health and enough wealth to choose where they will spend their last years. Most who move come to Florida. It is unique among states. One person in five is retired. The biggest source of personal income is Social Security.
Grownups have finally found out that mud can be fun. On Sunday afternoons in Coon Mizell’s cornfield, anyone with a pickup truck worth its pull is pitted against slime in the local Boggin’ hole. The winner is the driver who goes the farthest before getting stuck.
An ancient truck carries a couple who dream of another time. Denise and Benny Reel gathered together a small group of vaudevillians. They were not kids with more ambition than ability. They were professional performers who set aside New York City careers to live in the country. And soon, people paid to see them; to sit in a frozen town hall, heated by a single stove.
We returned to San Francisco a year later to see how the survivors of a terrible earthquake were doing. Betty Kelly still cannot cross a bridge without flinching. She and her husband were on vacation in 1989, high over San Francisco Bay, just as the Earthquake struck. A section of the Bay Bridge dropped like a deadly trapped door. The Kelly’s honked their horn to warn others. But Anna Annalonghu died. Everything Adeen Murphy owned was 4 flights up a twisted staircase. Adeen had lived through a thousand air raids in World War Two London, so she crossed police barrier and found something she had bought only a week before — $2-thousand dollars worth of Wedgewood China.
Dear Mom. I’m writing this letter from the family front lines. You always said, “Just wait, someday you’ll be one.” Well, now I am. A parent. And ma, it’s rough out here. Family restaurants are different these days. They’ve got electronic games. Singing gorillas. And dancing rats. Last Saturday, I stood in line so long to get food, I could have eaten the last member of an endangered species. Parents survive on what their kids don’t eat. They wouldn’t care much for your carrot salad. A food critic from Dallas joined us for dinner the other night. He reviews the kind of food most of us eat. Fast food. “You know the difference between swill and slop?'” George Toomer asked me. ”No.” “Three days.”
For 93 years Beltran Paris has carried his home in his heart. He is the last of the old time mountain men who came from from France and Spain to take a job few people wanted. You can find him behind a moving white blanket of sheep. He still walks them 150 miles to winter pasture. In all those hours alone, Beltran Paris set a plan. He took his pay in sheep. One day, he hoped his children and his children’s children would own the valley where he walked. They do — Butte Valley, Nevada.
There is something to be said for summertime in a small town. The circus still comes in a tent. There aren’t many left that stretch their big tops like the imagination. Perhaps that’s why the ones that do, go to so many places. Seminole, Oklahoma, was the 70th city in 70 days for the Carson and Barnes Circus.
Detroit was once the envy of the world, one of its richest cities, built on automobiles and broad shoulders. In this century, it went bankrupt. But bankruptcy didn’t mean a lack of good ideas. They are still there, in the shadows. One sprang from Andy Didorosi: He discovered a way to make bus rides a little less stressful.
Children with special needs sometimes have thoughts locked locked in the darkness of their minds. But a machine can help these kids communicate. Not just their needs, but ideas.
Gurd Heindrich lives in the powdery landscape of memory. All the roses of his dreams scattered about. He was one of the world’s great naturalists, a World War One German flying ace, who later lost his home in Poland to the Communists and for a time was as one with the creatures he pursued. For five years he raised his son deep in the woods, selling stuffed mice dressed to look like Mickey Mouse. They now live in Vermont. His son is now a naturalist, too.
H. Lee Waters didn’t set out to preserve history. He was simply looking for a way to survive. People couldn’t afford his portraits during the Great Depression, so he picked up a film camera, taught himself to you use it and persuaded theater owners to show the films for free, as an added attraction at the movies. If more folks the usual showed up, he’d take a small percentage.
For six years, H. Lee never missed a show, until one night his wife called him and said she was going to the hospital and bring their first baby into the world. By the time he got there, that baby had already arrived. He decided to stay home instead of traveling. He returned to the portrait studio. At 87, he was still clicking away at life — and getting the best of it.
Want to see what I looked like when the earth was cooling? This is my 1st NBC News Investigative series on a drug that could combat epilepsy. Part one of three.
A prison without bars. Juvenile delinquents, inner city kids, have been set out on the high Sonoran dessert to see if it might break their pattern of crime. Faced with jail, they were offered a choice. They could join this unusual legion and commit themselves to traveling 2-thousand miles on a wagon train.
They are called Buffalo soldiers, an echo of the Black cavalry that once roamed the old west. For a year, there will be no smoking. No drinking. No drugs. It offers a new definition of hard time.
Since World War Two, the way to success for most Americans was to hop on that corporate wagon train, moving their families from city to city, following the economic frontier. That kind of life has taken a toll on the American family. Torn from the familiar. Far from family and old friends. Today’s families often find themselves alone. This is the story of one of the first companies to change all that.
Gary Young farms 320 acres. Not big by Nebraska standards, but on that land he is raising 30 cows and 6 daughters. That can make a man watch his pennies. He built a solar panel to dry his harvest for 2 cents a bushel instead of the 15 cents his neighbors pay for propane. Young can process 7 times the grain for the same amount of money.
The disintegration of the family farm is an old song. 20-thousand were auctioned or abandoned in just four years. There were so many family farms on the market in 1985, they gutted the value of those that remained. Marty Kleinschmidt survived by recycling.
It seems of another time. Another place. A Medieval monastery rising out of the Nebraska prairie. It was built by a priest who wants to begin the first new order of Catholic monks in this country. Father Clifford Stevens has opened an abbey like no other. In some ways it is very modern. The monks are filling a computer data bank for people seeking spiritual guidance. Yet their daily life touches traditions that date back to the 6th century.
Farmers are so tied to the seasons, they have developed a wealth of weather lore that dates back 4-thousand years. To get the temperature, they learned to count the cricket chirps. To get the forecast, they watched the insects. Ducks quacking called for rain. So it is no wonder that the most accurate U.S. Weather station is Crab Orchard, Tennessee.
Whenever Herman Coussens wants fish, he just floats out on his farm pond and calls them for dinner — theirs and his. He doesn’t have to bait a hook. They come when this catfish whisperer calls.
The beauty of this rare land masks how difficult life can be out here. The Painted Dessert is chiseled by wind. The sun leaves creek beds peeling. In this barren place, Loren Phillips seems compelled to enhance life to add a beauty of his own.
Dr. James Allen is his own best patient. He’s had more broken bones than a bucket full of chicken at a Baptist picnic. 30. He’s also dislocated both of his shoulders. Fractured his spine and collar bone, while competing in the National Calf Roping Championship. His dream may now be out of reach. A rope tore off two fingers he uses for surgery.
They say, if you listen quietly, up on Big Bend Mountain, you can still hear him hammering. Old John Henry’s ghost fighting progress with his big, broad arm. Legend has it that John Henry fought his famous battle with the steam drill near here, man against machine to see who could lay more railroad track. John Henry won, then collapsed, dead of a broken heart. His legend still clings to the valley like the mist, and its drama has inspired a unique theater in Talcott, West Virginia.
Elizabeth and Bob Williams bought their son Robert a toy camera. He preferred his dad’s. Robert’s father was a freelance photographer. He started submitting Robert’s pictures with his own. Time and again, Robert’s pictures were the ones that were chosen. The editors had no idea the man behind the camera was 3 years old.
Charles Davis hoisted his cane for attention. “Bass Reeves!” he shouted. We looked at one another for some clue as to what was to come. The only sound was an industrious bee in a honeysuckle bush. “I can tell you more about him than perhaps you ever heard.” Bass was the inspiration for the Lone Ranger.
Four little girls were murdered in an Arkansas school yard. The tragic event had been updated for days. I thought it was time to remind viewers that there was more to this tale. Looking at a school year book one day, gave me an idea: Our children are like library books with a due date unknown. These lives stopped at the start of their story. But their stories live on in friends who can tell them. Why not get students together to talk about their classmates? Those murdered children were more than what happened to them.
“Shadows chase shadows. Now and then a whisper of sliding rope. The anxious, uneven breathing of 60 people lugging one of their own to safety.” I keep an Ideas notebook. When something prompts an idea, I type it into my cellphone. These thoughts may not always fit the story I’ve been assigned, but I don’t throw them away. The next time I’m pressed for an opening line, I scroll through those thoughts. Two words “Darkness” and “Friendship” inspired that opening narration.
The shortest distance between two people is a good story. I learned that lesson back when the earth was cooling. When my hair was still red and I started telling stories of seemingly ordinary people who did extraordinary things.
The technique of memorable storytelling hasn’t changed since the first cave man painted pictures on a wall. Technology comes and goes. How to tell a memorable story is the same.
Imagine a place where folks care as much for each other as they do their lawn. At Muir Commons in Davis, California, working parents don’t have to rush home to cook dinner. Neighbors do it for them. Each small town house is privately owned, but families also get day care, a dining hall and rooms for visiting grandparents.
This is not just a commune with hair cuts. At its heart is an attempt to create an old fashioned neighborhood where folks come together to shoulder the stress of modern living.
Sailors labor on gliding high rises. Freighters are run by fewer than two dozen people. They may stop at half a hundred ports and never go ashore. For them, Boston harbor is some place special. Wally Cedarling lives here. He is a minister who has no church. Each ship is his congregation. In the few short hours between the tides, he wanders the decks offering a touch of home.
Hinsdale County, Colorado is up close to the clouds where sun and snow interchange and know no seasons. 621-thousand square miles, a mile and a half high. It is one of the largest, least populated counties in the country. Only 400 people live here. But this day, they are reopening a bank that has been closed for 69 years.
Carrie Dann lives out where clouds leave only shadows on the earth. Her people remember bone gray better than rainbows. But they have clung to that land for tens of thousands of years. Now the federal government says they are trespassing.
The Mississippi River meanders down the spine of America. Stretched straight, it would spread from New York City to Los Angeles. But it winds back on itself in great chocolate loops. Mae West was right. “The loveliest distance between two points is a curved line.”
Maurice Gordon can still hear the muffled crack of dry thunder. The memories of war. He joined 10-thousand other Americans and headed to the land of the Pharaoh’s. They formed a Jewish Legion, the first in nearly 2-thousand years to fight for a homeland.
Mickey Carroll had been writing songs for 30 years. All those years he had looked within. convinced he had the road map to success in his soul. He never figured on the detours.
Sometimes we look to the past to find something new. Most of what’s supposed to be news, we’ve seen before. It’s not really news to us. The past — because it sits in the dust bins of the mind — still hold some mystery. And there in lies the charm of Doc Nightengale’s priceless knowledge.
There once was a place called ALCOHOL Lake. It was a dusty little town with a big curse. Practically everyone was an alcoholic. Even some of the children. Then, Phyllis Chelsea decided to stop drinking and persuaded neighbors to fix up anyone’s home who stopped drinking. She also built the town’s first grocery store out of discarded lumber. 8 out of 10 of her neighbors were unemployed. She sobered up her husband and together they opened a hog farm, greenhouse and cafe. 500 people live here. All but 12 have stopped drinking.
Polio has been detected in New York City wastewater. The announcement came three weeks after a man north of the city in Rockland county was diagnosed with a case of polio that left him paralyzed. The virus we thought we had beat is back in the USA. Polio...
America’s first gold mines were not out west. The first gold strike was in the north Georgia mountains. If Matthew Stevenson had his way, Tony Bennet would be singing, “I Left My Heart” in Lumpkin County. Back in 1849, Stevenson stood in the Dalonagah town square and tried to convince Georgia miners not to follow the 49er’s out to California. Mark Twain later paraphrased Stevenson’s speech when he said, “There’s gold in them thar’ hills.”
For most of his life, A.W. Yeats never put a bolt to a nut. He was an English professor who surrounded himself with books. Rare books of great beauty and surprise. In every work of genius, he saw his own rejected thoughts.
All but 3 of the volunteer firemen in Lumberton, Texas, weren’t old enough to go to their high school prom. Most folks who lived there worked miles away at the big oil refineries along the gulf coast. Kids were trained to handle emergencies when the grown ups were gone. They had have passing grades both in school and on the fire truck. And there was one other lesson.
I found myself on a street of dead eyes. People here have all seen life go off and leave them. Cleveland was one of the toughest places in America for someone young and black to find a job. One of the roughest for someone of any color. But a program called Cleveland Works has begun to break that cycle of poverty. They only train people for jobs that pay more than the minimum wage. Lawyers clear criminal records. Doctors help them battle drugs and alcohol. Daycare watches their kids.
All that is expensive. About twice as much as other county programs, but 70% have found good paying jobs with health benefits. So, welfare savings have been dramatic. $3 back for every dollar invested in Cleveland Works.
In Texas there is an apartment complex so big, it has 26 swimming pools. It is called the Village, a small city really – ten thousand single adults, half of them in their early 20’s, hardly anyone over 34 — young, good looking and well off. Unfortunately, the things that make them happy also make them prime targets for crime. What to do? Well, remember, this is Texas. The Village did what a town’s got to do — it went looking for a lawman on horseback.
In West Baton Rouge, Louisiana, there is a legendary love story that has endured for 3 centuries. Brides receive money from a man they never met simply because they got married. His name was Julian Poydras. He died in 1824.
Loraine Metcalf was on welfare. Now she lives in a neighborhood of fine homes. Her daughter does too. No, they didn’t win a lottery. They earned it. The NEW fashioned way. Their tiny band of Native Americans — called the Siletz — does market studies to see what will sell and then bankrolls new businesses.
Summer in the high country has a sound all its own. Mountain streams unlocked by spring. Animals looking for the sun. Since 1949, the deer and the chipmunks in this valley have moved to different sounds. This is the home of the Aspen music festival. For 9 weeks each summer, musicians gather in the Rockies to study and to play.
Some Americans were fighting crime with the only weapon they had. Fear. Then, they turned to television. Police departments across the country began reenacting crimes, broadcasting them to gather information and help solve the problem. Crime Watch was an electronic extension of the old neighborhood block watch. People looking out for one another. The reenactments sometimes featured the actual victims. During the first four years, the Crime Watch program helped solve 460 major crimes in Orlando, Florida, and recover $4,500,000 in stolen property. The day we tagged along, the cops were taping a show on folks who steal alligators. If you have knowledge of the whereabouts of Al Lee Gator, a green male, 6-2, 68 pounds, contact the Orlando Police department.
67-hundred Japanese companies operate in the United States. More than 40-thousand families have moved here. It is pioneer journey that covers more than miles. They will live in a world which to them is both exotic and enticing. When different cultures manage to live together in friendship, they sometimes create something better. It has happened before. In America.
Virginia Durr, born to privilege and high place, battled intolerance whatever its form. She took a Japanese family into her home during World War Two because they had nowhere to live. Was branded a Communist for her compassion and hauled before a Senate subcommittee in the 1950’s. Successfully fought the pole tax that freed the vote for women. And was one of the few, the very few, white southerners who openly resisted the violent currents of her time.
Eric Gray worked nights as a flight attendant, so he could take pharmacy classes by day. His family pitched in to keep him in college. Five of them lived on $22-thousand dollars a year. Eric faced a hard choice. Get insurance or eat. The family opted for food.
Eric Gray got his Phd. But just days before he could take a job that would provide him with insurance coverage, he learned his son, Eric, jr. had cancer. After one hospital stay, two weeks, the bill was $43-thousand dollars.
One man’s rock climb could be another’s cathedral. 23 Native American tribes hold Devils Tower National monument sacred. In recent years their services have had to compete with noisy climbers. National Park rangers tried to help, steering climbers away. Most left. Frank Sanders did not. “If it’s going to be closed for one set of people, then we should have another week where its closed to everyone, but Frank Sanders.” Native Americans have been coming to Devils Tower for 12-thousand years. Is it protected by the Constitutional guarantee of religious freedom or should the climbers be left alone, exercising their right to keep church and state separate? The Indians feel there are plenty of places to climb. Not enough to look up to.
Jack Copley saw cutbacks coming. That was his job, reviewing budgets for a telephone company. There were 53-hundred empty desks around him. He figured his work, too, might disappear. One thing he had learned. Not to be a victim. Copley set out to find Bell Atlantic a new source of income, enough to maintain his pay. For all the hours Jack worked, he didn’t even make minimum wage. His daughter made more baby sitting. But he bombarded Bell with ideas. One stuck.
Beverly Bickle moved to the suburbs so she could have more time with her family. Trouble is, more than half of us were already there. Suburban roads were so clogged before the pandemic, most of us spent 8 weeks a year, just to commute to work. 13 trips a day are about average for suburban living. Nothing is nearby. But a small group of suburban planners were trying to change all that.
Milt Siefert was running a bit late. His patient’s appointment was for 10:30. It was noon. But folks in Excelsior, Minnesota, have a way to correct poor service. Dr. Siefert formed a patient advisory council in 1974 and has been meeting regularly with the members ever since. They do more than gripe. His patients help set his fees. Even his salary. One year, he made less than a school teacher. But, that’s improving because patients now help him collect his bills.
All John Finello ever wanted was to ride a motorcycle. It carried him away from school in the 10th grade. He never returned. That free life John chased so loudly had some unexpected snares. Heroin. Cocaine. And booze. He started stealing to support his habits. Finally, was arrested for armed robbery in Saugus, Massachusetts.
“The only thing left for me was either death or prison,” Finello said.
But a remarkable thing happened. He found a job. Got married. And became a dad. He was free of the alcohol and drugs that held him half his life. John and his biker friends decided to form a group that did not get high and began making converts. There are 70 of them now, counseling high school kids.
An aging group of friends moved to south Texas one winter because they didn’t like weather they had to lift. The friends noticed that machines only harvested one vegetable at a time. They missed a lot. On one farm in the Rio Grande Valley, 6 million pounds of vegetables — that were too small or too ripe — were left to be plowed under. So the elderly went after them, gathering left over vegetables for the poor.
Manny Cardona seeks out teenage fathers and leads them back to the families they created. He gets their girlfriends medical attention. Guides them off welfare. And tries to keep them in school. Cardona was once like them, an unwed teen father, who put himself through college, got a masters degree and a job at the Bridgeport, Connecticut, YMCA. Manny represents something in short supply this neighborhood. Success.
In the 1980’s Americans started smoking fewer cigarettes for the first time since 1913, that’s when R.J. Reynolds took a picture of a circus camel and stuck it on the side of a pack. Six years later, nearly half of the people in America who smoked cigarettes, smoked that one brand — Camels. His ads were the first to link smoking with the good life. That didn’t just sell cigarettes. That made them part of our culture. NBC’s first TV newscast gave them to lucky viewers.
One of R.J. Reynold’s grandsons, Patrick, twisted those advertising techniques to get people to stop smoking.
Focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new. That’s the key to a long and happy career. I learned that lesson in a small city, half way between St. Louis and Kansas City, where stories seldom go untold.
Out here, the alligators look like they’re sighting down a gun barrel. Survival goes to the swift. But even the fastest cannot run from the pollution that seeps from sugarcane fields. In south Florida over the years, the Federal Government drained the heart of the Everglades. 700-thousand acres were turned into some of the richest farm land in America. Now, environmentalists are battling to cleans the deadly phosphorus that the draining unleashed.
Before hi-tech medicine, death was a member of the family, something families nearly always chose to have happen at home. Today, 8 out of 10 Americans die in hospitals, surrounded by strangers. Often alone in webs of wires and tubes. Hospice care gives the terminally ill a chance to live a near normal life, until they die. A quarter of million Americans at the end of their lives have checked themselves out of hospitals and into hospice programs. In 1974 there was one hospice in America. Twenty years later there were 2,000. Mostly staffed by volunteers. That keeps costs low. On average, about $80 a day. Nearly 10 times cheaper than some hospital stays. Add in Medicaire and Medicaid, the out of pocket cost — $16 bucks a day. Nine out of ten hospice programs are in people’s homes. For those whose final choice is to go gently, they will not be forced to do otherwise.
Animal grooming products have become some of the hottest beauty aids for people. A lot of folks who’d never been inside a feed store began using them. 90 % use horse products for themselves. That pushed sales for “Main and Tail” from $500,000 to $30 million. Farm mothers have quietly used these protein lotions for years. They are about half as expensive as what comparable products cost in the beauty shop.
Most of the time Georgia Tech’s Rambling Wreck radio sounds like a three car pile up. Even among college stations, its programming is considered extreme. But stuck between “Concussion Theater” and a show called “Tongue Bath” is the station’s longest running program — Fred Runde’s Desoto Hour — the show with the most listeners. The 77-year-old disc jockey is not a Georgia Tech student. Nor a teacher. Never was. He’s been spinning Big Band magic here since Jimmy Carter was in the White House. Fred wandered through the door looking for something to do in retirement. Students swooned for his oasis of sound. Runde believes that noise is merely music someone doesn’t want to hear.
There are few traces of Rosewood. Graves hidden in the weeds of time. A fist full of photographs. Fading, like the memory of what happened in the north Florida woods. The tragedy began after a White woman, Fanny Taylor, said she was beaten by a Black man, a story she may have made up to cover a fight with her White lover. The attacker was never found. But a mob raged through Rosewood for 8 days. The sheriff did not stop them. The governor did not send help. The burnings. The beatings. The looting continued for a week. A least 8 people lost their lives. Rosewood had been a prosperous place. The families owned a turpentine plant and cut much of the Cyprus for school pencils in this country. No one was prosecuted. Ever. Fear kept Black families from returning, even to sell their land. Rosewood’s survivors became an address list of long forgotten names. Their story nearly died with them. But now, justice — a long last.
Darryl Hunt was arrested, charged, and convicted of a 1984 North Carolina murder he didn’t commit. Although DNA results proved his innocence in 1994, it took another 10 years of legal appeals to exonerate him. He was just 19.
The fate of Hugette Clark, the 104 year old woman, whose father was once the second richest man in America. She was worth half a billion dollars. Had no heirs. And hadn’t been seen in public for more than half a century.
A man has cooked up a possible cure for cancer using his wife’s pie plates. Don’t laugh. Some of the finest medical minds in the country think he might be on to something.
This was one of the first stories that aired about the mysterious Huguette Clark, a 104 year old woman, whose father was once the second richest man in America. She was worth half a billion dollars. Had no heirs. And hadn’t been seen in public for more than half a century.
Bob Dotson spent four decades as a reporter at NBC. For most of that time, he hosted a segment on The Today Show called The American Story, which created intimate portraits of Americans who wouldn’t normally make the news. In this live episode of StoryTech, Bob Dotson talks about changes in technology, from wireless microphones to home video to iPhones, changed the way he told The American Story.
Bud Kohlbrenner was enjoying an active retirement. Just 54, he traveled widely and lived well after selling a candy company in St. Louis for a sweet profit. But one day, he got a call from a couple of long time employees who needed help. Bud did something unthinkable. He opened a new candy company, hired back all of his staff and set about teaching them how to run the business. His plan? Give it to them.
There comes a time when we try to figure out who we want to be. Bud Kolbrener’s recipe for life came wrapped in chocolate. He made millions creating candy. Sold his St. Louis company for a sweet profit. Took early retirement at 54. Bud looked forward to a life of travel, but he got a call from a couple of long-time employees—Debbie and Marley Otto.
Philip Barker was cutting wood, when a tree top snapped and fell on him. Broke his neck in three places. $70-thousand later, he could work again. But he was bankrupt. Barker already owed half a million dollars. He had bought the family farm a dozen years before. Lost half his cattle herd two years later to disease. Took two more jobs to help pay off the mortgage. Half the Black farmers in North Carolina went out of business during the 1980’s. “In the White community, you can fail a couple of years and still get enough credit to keep going,” Barker points out. “But in the Black community, don’t fail one year or else your credit is ruined, not just for you. Your family too.” His three jobs don’t leave him time to go where deals are made in a small town. Bankers only see him hat in hand. “I don’t have the opportunity to go to the golf course and play golf with my banker on Saturdays. White folks have his ear. I don’t.”
A rare American story that began in slavery and blossomed into friendship. There is nothing sentimental about slavery, but this is a story unique in our history. In 1834 a white family bought a black family. At the end of the Civil War something special happened that set them together against the grain of the time.
Jeff Wright is one of those teachers students never forget. More show than tell. Exploding with fun. His science classes at Louisville Male Highschool in Kentucky are filled with odd experiments. Surprisingly, it is a lecture without props that leaves a lasting impression. The talk is about Wright’s son Adam. Born with a rare combination of genes that only about 450 people in the world have. It is a lesson on the meaning of life.
Miami has a program that requires taxpayers to pay for art in public places. It is a good idea on paper. But some say, that’s where it should have stayed.
Jim Tchaikovsky goes to work under a sun that has no heat. He is out at dawn with the windchill at 30 below, to check on cows about to calve. Jim and his wife Karen are the 5th generation on this land. They may lose it all.
The odds on favorite to win the title of world animal Frisbee champion in 1979 was a tiny dog name Toke. Just 14 inches at the shoulders. The smallest world contender ever. But he could jump four times his height.
Forest Cochran was just two. Much had happened in his little life. His parents separated. His mother Karen lost their home. There was no shelter for the homeless in Loganville, Georgia. But Joy Davis and her husband Wayne took them in. They have helped dozens of people get back on their feet. Once they started their single bathroom with ten strangers. Why?
Tim and Wesley Friesen think the Wright Brothers intended to open the skies to everyone, not just professional pilots. They have formed a company called Wrong Brothers Aviation to prove their point. They teach non-pilots how to fly by themselves. The motorized hang gliders they use are so simple, they do not require a pilots license. One big drawback. A student's first flight is solo.
Brian Jones bought a home 40-million people see every Christmas. He signed a check — sight unseen — for $150,000 dollars. Brian flew to Cleveland, Ohio, for the first time in his life to find it. He figured it must be just around the corner from a flagpole. His wife Beverly, a Navy navigator, had jokingly sent him an email saying someone on EBay was auctioning off the house where they filmed Brian’s favorite movie — “A Christmas Story.” She was at sea at the time. “I didn’t have time to consult her,” Brian said, “There were other bidders.” When Beverly heard how he had spent their savings, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He wrote another check for $200,000 bucks to restore the old place to its happy-ending splendor. That house was Brian’s Red Ryder dream. The couple bought another house across the street. Opened a gift shop to help pay for it all. Here you can find the movie dad’s major award, the old man’s leg lamp. “Fraw—GEE-lay,” said the dad, reading “Fragile” on the box it came in. “Must be Italian.” The first year Brian opened the house and the store, leg lamp sales totaled nearly $700,000 dollars. If you've always wanted to display your leg lamp and avoid "shooting your eye out," it may be time to move. Brian just put the home for sale, along with much of the surrounding neighborhood that serves as a museum campus.
Life turns on the tiniest things. Jimmy StOlp and Andy StAlp were raised side by side in the same orphanage. Never knowing they were brothers. In 1926, the clerk at the Tennessee Home for Friendless Babies misspelled one brother’s last name. The mistake was never discovered. The Navy became Andy’s family. He was a good son. Andy Stalp saved his shipmates during World War Two. Tossed burning gasoline tanks over the side during a Japanese bombing attack at Guadalcanal. He earned a silver star.
There were no medals for the battle his brother fought. The other orphans bullied Jimmy. Thought he was retarded. But he was deaf until 1961. When doctors operated, they found rice, papers and other things children had stuffed into his ears.
Some nugget of strength prompted Jimmy to endure. He married on an Easter weekend. So did Andy. Both still wondering if somewhere, they might have a family of their own. The two wore out a lifetime looking.
Why do you suppose toys mean more to us as the years go by? Joe Daole knows. He’s got a house filled with them — more than one hundred thousand. Many are handmade and reflect their time. None are in mint condition. They’ve been loved. “Toys are not just playthings,” Daole says. “They’re memories.”
Glenda Gooch lives with a heart that beats for two families. On Christmas eve 1995, she was dying. Her only hope, a new heart to replace one damaged since birth. It came on Christmas morning with a letter from the mother of the boy who had the heart first. He was just her age. Ten. Killed by a drunk driver. Died a week after his birthday on Christmas eve.
Jimmy Deramus went out to buy his daughter a pet and came back with 18 donkeys, a backyard full of alarm clocks. The herd grew to 600. Jimmy picked the best to play basketball. In small town arenas all across the south, people came to ride his front five. The object is to pass and shoot from a donkey's back. Most folks spend more time on the floor than the termites.
Cameras replaced most of the artists capturing conflict long ago, but not all. This is a look at the Iraq war, as you never saw it. Few of us venture out beyond the limits of our settle lives. But artist Steve Mumford paid his own way to war, just to create art. He bought his own flack jacket, his own airplane ticket and hitched a ride into battle, armed with only a press pass from an online arts magazine. He spent more than 11 months on the front lines. The world has seen more images from the Iraq war than any other conflict in history. None like his.
Gertrud Zint celebrated her 70th birthday racing the clock. She was setting new national records for swimmers her age. Gertrud was so fast, they sometimes paired her with women who are 40 years younger. She holds world records in 8 different events. She might have done even better, if she didn’t have arthritis. An American bomb fell on the hospital in Germany where she worked as a nurse during World War Two, crushing her legs. Gertrud was buried alive for two and a half hours. Athletics helped her recover, so she kept at it.
When the Renaissance Players perform in Miami, Jay Brown tunes up with a turkey baster, and in just a few minutes people hear him play Mozart on 47 brandy snifters filled with water. It’s no gimmick. Jay Brown’s instrument was once more popular than the piano.
Crane High is the only locally tax supported public boarding school in America. It was built in a part of Oregon you seldom see in the travel brochures. Out here, people remember bone grey better than rainbows. Southeastern Oregon has a desert so vast, Jerry Deffenbaugh must drive 260 miles round trip to watch his son play high school basketball. Some weeks he does that 3 times. The school draws just 50 students from a district the size of Massachusetts.
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, saw a sunrise of fire. And the memory still burns. Its sizzling seas sent the United States into World War II. Before the day bled away, 110-thousand people were arrested in America for what another country did. Most looked like the Japanese who attacked Pearl Harbor, but in Hawaii, they rounded up European-Americans too.
Elsie Calloway found a drug pusher selling cocaine in her basement. Police closed nearby crack houses, but addicts always came back, until the cops tried something different. Patrolman James Jones now lives in the house he once raided. Columbia, South Carolina, made him an offer that would godfather grin. His family got a home. Fixed up first rate for about half what other renovated houses in the neighborhood cost.
This isn’t my first rodeo. In 1981 I put on cowboy boots to find Christine Gulich. Didn’t need them. She lived in a small town south of Boston. Christine was a book keeper in Abington, Massachusetts, at the time. The only thing that says “West” in her part of the country are road signs pointing to where the sun sets. Yet Christine is the first woman from Massachusetts to compete for the title of Miss Rodeo America.
Jared Issacman became a billionaire before he could drive. He as so young, he hired his dad to wine and dine clients. His mom worked for him too. Issacman used some of his money to pilot Elon Musk's all-civilian mission to the edge of the universe. Purchased purchased all four seats. Kept one for himself. Donated the other three to charity. He made his billions by figuring out a way for businesses to process credit cards more quickly. It all began in his basement. He was just 16. This was the first story ever done on the kid who defies the odds.
Many a man has come and gone, but Susan Sorrells stays in Death Valley, California. Her family left her a little town called Shoshone. She owns a small cafe and the Crowbar saloon. And a thousand acres of the driest land on earth. The ground is not worthless. The state liked its remote location. Wanted to build a prison. Susan was offered enough money to retire comfortably, but she said, "No."
Few places in America are more remote. We are five hours from the nearest airport. 90 miles from a pizza. 60 from a round of golf. But people do live here because Ben Leaton had a dream. He diverted the water of the Rio Grande river and a tiny sliver of this vast desert turned green.
Stefan Albouy grew up listening to the tales the old miners had to tell. Stories of gold and silver and riches untold. As a small boy, he dug holes in the hillside behind his house. Laid track for his ore carts across his backyard. At age 11, he wrote the owners of the old Smuggler's mine, asking for a lease. They sold him one. The Smuggler had once produced the largest silver nugget in history. But for years, it had been abandoned. Stefan restored the old mine exactly as it was in 1893 and working alone, he made a living.
30 years ago, an innovative approach dramatically lowered drug trafficking in Charleston, SC. Police snapped pictures of people who come to buy drugs, thus cutting off sales. The cops gave copies of those prints to suspected drug dealers. The dealers tossed them away. Police issued them tickets for littering. The suspected dealers threw them away too. When they didn’t pay, police arrested them on Friday nights (peak drug buying time) and held them until Monday morning court.
One of the most unusual Bed and Breakfast Inns is an old Victorian house across the street from a neighborhood church. Fred and Gloria Shepperson run Pennsylvania’s last mom and pop jail.
When my wife Linda and I returned from our honeymoon, I went to cover my first Olympics. It was in Munich, Germany. 1972. 50 years ago today.
I soon became an eye witness to terror.
A group calling themselves “Black September” abducted the Israeli wrestling team. After a tense standoff, the terrorists flew away from the Olympic village in a helicopter. They demanded a plane to take them out of Germany.
The woman who owned the house where I was living and working spoke English, so I asked her on air: “Where do think the helicopter is going?” I was standing next to Mrs. Auspitz at her kitchen window. We were watching the terrorist's helicopter lift off from the Olympic village, carrying the Israeli athletes into the night.
The world press was saying it was headed to Riem, the international airport near Munich at that time. But Mrs. Auspitz said, “That’s the other way. They’re headed toward a small airport called Fürstenfeldbruck.”
I was reporting on NBC radio from her kitchen window: "Well folks, other reporters may be quoting official sources, saying the terrorists are taking their hostages to the Munich airport where a plane will be waiting, but Mrs. Auspitz lives here." She was right. The helicopter landed at the German Air Base. Later that night, German Chancellor Willy Brandt went on television to announce that the terrorists had been killed in an ambush: The Israeli wrestling team was safe. We went to bed enjoying that storybook ending.
But a few hours later, Mrs. Auspitz woke me and pointed out the window toward the Autobahn, which ran near her house. There was a long line of hearses. Each contained the body of an Israeli Olympic wrestler. They had not been saved. They all died. I left Germany with the conviction that terrorism could touch my life at any time. It did. Twenty-nine years later. I was standing outside a church one block from Ground Zero on that terrible day terrorists crashed planes into the World Trade Center, in New York City.
Ruby Walker is an inexhaustible wisp of a woman who cleans 27 houses a week. Five houses a day. Two on Saturdays. That has been her routine for two decades, since her husband died. Most are big homes, as you might expect, but Ruby also works the other side of town — for free.
Some say Rocky Stallings knows more about early Native American life than anyone in the country. He listened to the elders. Listened and learned. Where most folks see weeds, Rocky was taught to find medicine. On a hill near his home in San Antonio, Texas, he has found 197 different kinds.
Tina Allen has a date with a new day. We met her the year before, checking into an Atlanta hospice. Alone. Doctors told the young woman she’d be dead from a brain tumor in three months. But something rare happened inside her head. The tumor shrank. Fewer than 5% of patients with brain tumors as big as Tina’s survive. Doctors said it was now possible for Tina to move out of hospice and go to work. When the tumor was detected four years before, she had just graduated with a degree in interior design. Now, she’s making plans again. “Another day! Great!” Tina smiled.
Jimmy Lee Suddeth drew his first picture in the dirt. It washed he away with the evening rains. He never had time for formal training. Never went to town for art supplies. He made his own from nature. Now his paintings, made entirely of natural material, hang in art galleries and fetch big bucks.
Jake Hoover was looking for gold in Yogo Creek. He discovered something more. What little gold he found was cluttered with blue stones. He tossed them into a cigar box and sent them off to Tiffany's. The New York jewelers fired back a check. The old prospector had stumbled across what could be the world's largest deposit of Sapphires. An usual village was planned. Home owners got the right to search for gems in their backyards, but only if they dug them out by hand.
If you want to know what's happening at Henderson school, you don't join the Yearbook staff. You watch a Soap Opera at lunch time. Each Friday, the kids in the cafeteria share a second carton of milk with "The Growing Years." A show they write and produce themselves about their own problems.
Sliding through a hurricane of surf. Heartbeats clock the distance. This sport can make a young person old or an old man young again. Look beneath their wrinkles, you'll find the beginnings of California's surfing.
https://youtu.be/684JQL_ZtL8
Sliding through a hurricane of surf. Heartbeats clock the distance. This sport can make a young person old or an old man young again. Look beneath their wrinkles, you'll find the beginnings of California's surfing.
https://youtu.be/684JQL_ZtL8
Sliding through a hurricane of surf. Heartbeats clock the distance. This sport can make a young person old or an old man young again. Look beneath their wrinkles, you'll find the beginnings of California's surfing.
Ne Sin was born in a palace with a diamond on its roof. Her mother taught her to perform for princes and kings. She lived in splendor, a lead dancer of the Royal Cambodian ballet, a tradition that dates back 12-hundred years. During the Communist takeover of Cambodia, the Imperial performers were marked for execution. Ne Sin and her mom managed to escape to America and are trying to keep the art form alive.
Planes aren’t the only thing taking off at Chicago’s O’Hare airport. Down at the end of the runway, a bee farm is soaring. Sweet Beginnings created 360 new jobs in a neighborhood where crime is never more than a street corner away.
Remember when personal service was not just for the rich? At Vince's Red Carpet gas station, it has never gone out of style. It's customers are willing to pay 20 cents more a gallon because mechanics run to help them. If you have to wait to get your car fixed, there's a sound proof lounge. No grime covered calendars of last year's Miss Wrench on the walls. Sparkling clean. That's the way Vince does business, so did his father and his father's father.
The Better Baby Institute of Philadelphia looks like a college campus. Ivy on the walls. Faculty in the halls. Walk by an open door, you hear violins and Japanese. It’s a college all right, but the average student is less than six years old. Glenn Doman, the director says, “Tiny children are starved for information. They have a rage to learn. And they understand superbly.”
For families who lived in the 1930’s Dust Bowl, “depression” was not an abstract economic term. Their farms were buried in burned out soil, and with nowhere to turn, they moved on. Florence Thompson was 27 years old when the depression started. She had five children and was pregnant with another — and her husband had died. Did she ever lose hope? “Nope, if I’d a lost hope, we never would have made it”
Carlton Garrett is a working man. Not one for museums. But on a thousand lunch hours, he has retreated into a world of his own — a world he whittles out of wood. In the fragrant closeness of his toolshed, Carlton Garrett has traced his life in toys.
A 6-year-old girl became the first African American child to desegregate an all-white elementary school in the South. Ruby Bridges always said her mother was the hero of the moment. She put her family and her husband’s job in jeopardy to open schools for all.
What's my all-time favorite story? The next one. A storyteller never stops searching. At the core of this lifelong quest lies a simple truth - the shortest distance between two people - no matter how different - is a good story. Once you know a person's story, you begin to see how much we are alike and that helps you appreciate what each of us brings to the mix of America. That's not always obvious at first. I was shooting a story in Las Vegas, Nevada, when I stumbled across a better one. That city’s only commerce is hope. Instant winners. Methodical losers. It is also home to the anonymous thousands who feed those dreams. And, have dreams of their own. Back home in the Philippines, Carlos Padilla is something of a legend. He has refereed 23 World Championship fights, but in between, he takes orders, as a bus boy.
Texas has always had it’s share of lawmen who took on trouble with little help. Sheriff’s deputy James Lee Harms was hired to clean up Wise County. He has had amazing success. All alone, he has tracked down more litterbugs than anyone in Texas. Detractors call him, Deputy Dump.
Willie Morris wrote 19 Best Sellers. When he died, he left something to help someone who had never read them. His corneas. Morris gave them to two men he had never met. One Black. One White. All three were born in Mississippi.
Naoma, West Virginia, is a marble shooters Mecca. This little town has had four national and one world champion. Before kids learn to tie their sneakers, they know the joy of knuckles in the dirt.
I remember a man who said his father was a folded flag on the mantle. Let’s remember the bill some people must pay for patriotism. Red was the last vivid image Matt Keil remembers, the day he stopped walking, the day an Iraqi sniper shot him in the neck. Matt and his wife Tracy were determined not to let that war wound limit their lives. They longed to have a baby, but were told that might not happen. They tried anyway, even as Matt battled back to health. One day their doctor showed them three tiny hearts. Tracy was pregnant with triplets.
Most days you’ll find Jay Reinke singing to the audience behind his eyelids, the one that crowds his mind, while he measures floors for a living. Thirty years ago, he started performing the songs of Jay and the Americans, a pioneer rock group that twirled to stardom with Chubby Checker, opened for the Beatles and had 23 hits. This is for all of us who sing in the shower and dream.
What is it about creativity that keeps some folks active long after the factory workers have set aside their tools. Perhaps it’s that simple urge to make something that keeps tugging them back. Telling them to keep busy and stay alive. Stanley Chappell has a profile chiseled with age. A face Charles Dickens might have dreamed up. Ebenezer Scrooge on the day after. For most of last century, he hunched over musical podiums in Seattle, Washington, pouncing on notes like a bird of prey.
Slim and Zella Mae Cox have the most listened to furniture store in the country. Some people do come to buy furniture, of course, but if you want a sofa on Saturday afternoon, you've got to carry out the audience that's sitting on it. There's a lot more rocking here than La-Z-Boy recliners.
Newspapers are the first draft of history, so it makes sense that a museum stepped up to save its small town newspaper and the story of their lives. The Silverton, Colorado, Standard & the Miner is now a National Historic site.
When George Washington took the oath of office, the presidency was a uniquely American institution. Back then, kings ruled most of the world. They believed they were divinely chosen. Of course, the first presidential inauguration changed all that. But what if the popular general had decided to become king? Who would be our king today?
My grandfather Paul Bailey was a rock ribbed, small town Republican. Former President Harry Truman, a Democrat, was his friend. Grandpa Bailey once argued a case before Mr. Truman, when Truman was a Jackson County, Missouri, Commissioner.
“You must have won,” I grinned, “if you became friends?”
“No,” he said, “I lost. But I learned something about Mr. Truman that made me admire the man. He opened a hat shop in Kansas City after he came home from the front lines of World War One. The business failed. His partner declared bankruptcy. Truman did not. He moved in with his mother-in-law, so he could pay back every penny.”
The only asset Mr. Truman had when he died was that house. His wife had inherited the home from her mother and father and other than their years in the White House, they lived their entire lives there.
As president he called home collect. Never billed the taxpayer.
“Mrs. Truman wanted Harry to buy a car,” Grandpa recalled. “He said, ‘We can’t afford one, but when we get out of this Great White Jail (the White House,) we’ll get one.”
After president Eisenhower was inaugurated, Harry and Bess bought one. There was no Secret Service following them.
President Truman retired from office in 1952. His income was a U.S. Army pension. $112.56 a month. Congress, noting that he was paying for his stamps and personally licking them, granted him an 'allowance' and, later, a retroactive pension of $25,000 per year.
When offered corporate positions at large salaries, Mr. Truman declined, stating, "You don't want me. You want the office of the President, and that doesn't belong to me. It belongs to the American people and it's not for sale.”
One day on the way to Grandpa's house, he stopped to show me the retired president mowing his mother-in-law’s lawn.
“Hi, Harry,” he waved.
Mr. Truman shaded his eyes and smiled when he recognized his friend. "Hi, Paul.”
Grandpa grinned and then said, “Okay, Bobby. Let’s get out of here before this Democrat stuff sticks to the tires…”
There is a side of Washington, DC, we seldom see on Nightly News. It is far removed from the ruffles and flourishes of the Nation’s Capitol. Here, survival is no global affair. Calvin Woodland’s business is begging. For decades, he hustled these streets, raising money to help the drug addicts and dead end kids who lived in his neighborhood. Home was the grimy public housing projects southeast of the Capitol. Calvin Woodland represents something in short supply around here. A hero.
Most everywhere you go out west, you find that a photographer has been there before. People didn't always care where they'd end up, but they wanted the folks back home to see they had arrived. Glenn Altman has been taking their portraits most of his 81 years, offering his neighbors something special -- a beautiful image to remind the world they had lived.
150 years ago, the plains Indians of Oklahoma were refugees of war. The tattered remains of once proud tribes who had become foreigners in their own land. Practically overnight, they were faced with a new language, new religion and a new way of life. In the struggle to survive some of the old ways were forgotten. But Katie Osage remembers. "I was born in a tent and raised in a tent. Yeah, I still live in a tent." For nearly a century, she has lived in two worlds. And she has survived.
Think of what you drive by every day and don’t see. Douglas Geiss notices more than most. He and his cousins live in a five acre forest filled with wonder. They found a mermaid riding a yellow submarine. And a fish made out of pick axes. Created by their grandfather, Nate Nichols, a farmer who also planted art. Nate would weld together whatever he saw in worn out tools. None of them made him much money, so every day for 25 years, he hid them in his woods.
“Everybody else looks up in the clouds and says, ‘Oh, that cloud looks like a dragon,’ Nate’s son Josh said. “My dad looked down at the ground and said, ‘That wrench looks like a monkey.’”
Nate Nicholls' sculptures so filled his heart, he felt compelled to give them life. The farmer was working on a metal frog last summer when his heart failed and he died at 52. Last fall his children buried him beneath flowers he'd made from water faucet handles.
Here’s a story about one of the most popular people on the internet. He’s not a celebrity. Just an ordinary guy. Crafting an effective visual story about him involved more than an interesting headline. After a brief phone interview with a Kyle Lindsey, a young man who had become an YouTube star, I crafted a story outline. First, I tried to answer the “So What?” test. Why would anyone want to pay attention. How does a seemingly ordinary person become an internet star? Then, I searched for the surprises in the information I had gathered during my phone interview. Those would become the twists and turns in my tale. I stacked the surprises so they would flow logically from start to finish. (For example, you wouldn’t show a child going to school and then waking up.) Click to see the finished story:
Virginia Snyder looks like the little old lady Boy Scouts help across the street. You can’t always tell a book by its cover. Same with people. At retirement age, Virginia opened her own detective agency. With no prior police training, she became one of only two women in Floria to get a Class A Investigator’s license. The cases she handles are none too dainty — murders, muggings, drug sales. She keeps a trunk load of disguises for safety.
When Ethel Lehmann was young, she was never more than a pebble kick from a ball park. She quit to have 5 kids. Now, she’s the first woman to try out for the Kids and Kubs, a team whose rookies are 75.
Forty percent of the kids in this Newark, New Jersey neighborhood did not finish high school back in the 1980’s. Russell White changed that back in the 1980’s. He made thousands of street kids a startling offer. Learn to fly an air plane. For free. Some kids flew solo before they turned 12. His Eagle Flight has sent 6 kids on to the Air Force academy. The rest? 8 out of 10 go to college.
The Hoh rain forest. A cathedral of trees. It lies between Seattle and the sea. No place in the continental U.S. gets more rain. 2 feet some months. Marilyn Lewis and her daughter lived alone in this wilderness. They are the 4th generation of women out here.
A new way to bond with your boss. Forget golf. Go surfing. Out in San Diego, opportunity comes in waves. More than 300 biomedical companies now have people in that surf around San Diego. The best ideas don’t always come in labs under artificial light. Out here they can meet the kind of people who are determined not to follow the same path, but leave a wake.
Susan Smith murdered her two little boys. Strapped them into their car seats. Stepped out and pushed them into a lake. She told police she was carjacked. A black man drove away with her sons still inside. For nine days, Smith made dramatic pleas on national television for their safe return. After an intensive investigation and nationwide search, she finally confessed to drowning her two sons. Was sentenced to life in prison without a chance of parole until she was past childbearing age. I covered that sad saga for 9 months.
Clyde Butcher lives in a wide river of grass. He is determined to save its beauty. One photograph at a time. Butcher is as comfortable in this swamp as any man easing into a bath. He spends his days deep in the Big Cyprus National Preserve searching for what others have not seen. Sometimes the place never seen is the place we simply pass by.
Dave Williams has a job that would frustrate Daniel Boone. He must find 55 surveyor's benchmarks in a forest bigger than Connecticut. They are the size of a silver dollar.
Elvis Presley grew up listening to old blues players and used their sound to revolutionize music. Now it may be happening again in Tupelo, Mississippi. It’s not the King that got kids hopping like crickets on hot corn. It’s a 16 year old, who sings like he’s had seven wives.
We all remember what happened when two lights blinked bright in Boston’s old North Church. Paul Revere rode away and the American Revolution began, but 25 years before that fateful night, John Childs jumped from the same belfry three times, holding a big umbrella with wings, thus surviving one of the world’s first parachute jumps.
Nearly three centuries later, Army Ranger Monty Reed wasn’t so fortunate. He broke his back when a parachute failed to open. After decades of rehabilitation, he made an amazing recovery and then created something for those who cannot walk.
Lance Hershberger coached high school baseball in Fort Wayne, Indiana. In his spare time, he looked for little kids who’s abilities do not measure up to their love of the game. One year Lance watched four baseball teams tie for the Fort Wayne high school championship. Nearly every player was one he had coached.
See this guy. Abner Doubleday. Say his name. What comes to mind? Inventor of baseball. Right? Every year, nearly 300,000 people pass through the Baseball Hall of Fame in upstate New York, built to honor this Civil War Hero. Thank Al Spalding for that. He manufactured Sporting equipment and saw dollars draining away when an English employee, Henry Chadwick, pointed out that baseball came from Great Britain. Kids there called it Rounders. Spalding argued the game was one hundred percent American. Chadwick explained that Rounders is played with a bat and ball, a pitcher and a batter who runs counter clockwise around the bases. Case closed. Not quite.
Time to play a football classic. No, not the Cotton Bowl. One you may not have seen. In 1977, a few Tulsa police officers saw a Burt Reynold’s movie called "The Longest Yard," in which a jailed football player organizes a prison team to play a team of guards.
The officers were inspired to stage their own game between police and convicts. The result is Tulsa's annual Cops-Cons Football Game to benefit Mothers Against Drunk Drivers.
Officer Ron Mayfield, a running back, said the game can have its tense moments. “We meet a lot of guys that we personally have put in jail. It makes for an interesting game, but at the end it's like old friends” who have learned to laugh together. I was the play by play announcer back then. The memory still makes me smile.
The Cons have two big advantages: Time to practice together - two hours a day, five nights a week - and a high percentage of returning starters. Unless a player is paroled or gets into trouble, he has a lifetime contract.
Betty Kelly still cannot cross a bridge without flinching. Even now. 33 years later. On this day in 1989, Betty and her husband were driving high over San Francisco Bay, just as an Earthquake struck. A section of the Bay Bridge dropped like a deadly trapped door. The Kelly's honked their horn to warn others. But Anna Annalonghu died. Everything Adeen Murphy owned was 4 flights up a twisted staircase. Adeen had lived through a thousand air raids in World War Two London, so she crossed police barrier and found something she had bought only a week before --- $2-thousand dollars worth of Wedgewood China.
Elliot Feld would hide his dance slippers in a brief case, so his neighbors would think he had an ordinary job. He would become one of America’s finest ballet choreographers, but ballet is still out of the question for most of the kids in his old Brooklyn neighborhood. Too expensive. He did not recruit from the specialized schools for the performing arts. He traveled to the public classrooms to look for ordinary 8 year olds with potential.
I found Joe Newton on a dark night out on a dirt road, down wind from the raccoons, behind the bloodhounds. Newton was one of the most successful and least known train robbers in American history. Least known and now the last.
If you go looking for folks in Cajun country, it helps to have a nickname handy. In Beaux Bridge, Louisiana, the phone book lists people by the names they are actually known. Nicknames. Too many residents have the same last names. There are 78 Broussard's. 45 Tibedeaux's. And 46 different Champagne's. 2 of them have the same first name. Nicknames here are a necessity.
Rock n Roll was born behind the glass windows of a jukebox. An evening's pleasure for a pocket full of change. Eventually, Rock ’n Roll got its name on one of those glass boxes. Or so we thought, until we met the man behind that famous signature. Rock-ola is David Rockola. He’d been serving up hits for half a century. At 90, he was still making jukeboxes.
At 34 Paul Lutus wanted to get a way from it all, while taking it all with him. He built a cabin in the wilderness with no running water, no telephone — just a cat for company. A cat and a computer. Lutus wanted to see if he could work as well in the woods as he did in the city. He worked better. The computer programmer was a consultant for NASA before he went into the wilderness. He helped get the Viking Space probe to Mars. In his tiny shack, miles from the nearest road, Lutus created a new lighting system that is now part of the space shuttle.
Lynn Ash was a successful art. He painted memories from America's past. One day, the canvas of his mind went blank. For more than a decade, he did not paint at all, until he sold his home in Tampa, built a cabin in a swamp and designed a sanctuary for injured animals. The wildlife he nurtured unlocked his imagination. Every artist dips into his own soul and paints his own nature.
Some folks think New York City has too many stories and too many strangers. In fact, it is a town of tight little neighborhoods where the familiar is cherished. Since 1910 the Broadway Barbershop had been a wonderful window on the neighbors of New York City. Kay Demetrios did not miss a day of work in 40 years. He'd never been on time. He was always an hour and a half early. Customers loved him so much, one walked 60 blocks every morning for a shave.
Dave Densmore fishes for words – upon a sea that took his family. That memory is written on his face. For twenty years he tried to write a poem about his family’s tragedy. Dave sought words like he searched for salmon.
Dr. Leila Denmark opened her medical practice in 1928. She was Atlanta’s first female pediatrician and was STILL healing children until her retirement at 104. That retirement lasted a decade. She lived to be 114, the oldest doctor in the world.
Manny Gammage creates hats that would “start a fight in a Wyoming bar.” His motto: “Quality is like buying oats. If you want good, clean oats, you’ve got to pay a fair price. If you want ones that have already run through the horse, that’s a little cheaper.” One of his hats changed Billy Bob Oafley’s life.
At the Dudley Dome in El Paso, fans used to tip Diablos baseball players for good hitting. A guy could make $160 bucks by leaning into the stands for a hug. The 1980 Double-A farm team of the California Angels was in last place, but it attracted more playing customers than any other team in the history of the minor leagues.
Avidis Zildjian lured good workers to his company in suburban Boston with a simple promise. “You take care of my family and I’ll take care of yours.” That pledge has remained unbroken for more than eighty years.
When was the last time you heard a factory worker say, “I’ve been here 26 years and I’ve never seen a layoff.”
The 70 workers on Zildjian’s production line are confident they will always have good-paying jobs, because no one has to compete with a machine. Whenever a task was automated, the employee who performed it is trained for another one worth equivalent pay.
Ausbon Sargent grew up in a time when only one American in 10 got to go to high school. Like most farm boys, Ausbon never had much money, but neighbors saw something special in him. Paid his tuition to a private academy. He spent his life there, as a care taker. The school fell on hard times. Was about to sell off the town common. Ausbon quietly bought it and gave it back. He was 96.
I have now lived more than three quarters of a century. 77 is one of those “0h Sh*t, I can’t believe I’m that old” birthdays. Filled with memories. I have a lot, as all of you who read my posts, can attest. NBC News once hired a red headed kid with a different approach to stories. While most correspondents focused on life’s flat tires, I started looking for something far more difficult to find – what kept the other tires rolling. This was no solitary pursuit. A little band of storytellers traveled with me. We worked the neglected streets of our cities, the small towns and dirt roads, searching for folks you should meet. In the days before cell phones and satellite radios, we sometimes linked our caravan of cars with a wireless microphone and speakers so I could read “nap time” stories to the crew. Fortunately, no one fell asleep as we bounced down all those back roads. Shunning superhighways, chain restaurants, and crowds of reporters, we chatted with the locals and listened carefully to people who are practically invisible, the ones who change our lives but don’t take time to tweet and tell us about it.
Bernice Ende traveled her own path. Over 30,000 miles in the saddle. The retired ballet teacher criss crossed the country for 16 years at 3 miles an hour. No cell phone. Alone. She encouraged women to be who they wanted to be, to listen to their own voice. Bernice died on this date three years ago a month shy of her 67th birthday.This is what she wrote shortly before her passing.
“Time is not ticking away – your life is ticking away. It’s important to know where you are going and why you are headed in that direction. But most importantly does what you are doing bring you a sense of purpose? These questions rise to the top if we are seeking a fully-fledged life. Three miles an hour is plenty fast as far as I am concerned. If you can, slow down, enjoy this time as a gift. Make this a time to discover, learn and know something new about yourself. If taking a fence apart is necessary to move forward – do it. But always respectfully put it back together. Don’t let fences, road blocks or any obstacles keep you from moving forward, find opportunity, not problems in these challenging time. If you make life a race remember what the finish line holds.”
Welcome to Higley Field, an old time ball park painstakingly recreated in Ed Simonton's backyard. Neighbors gather to play the game of their youth. No. Not baseball. Wiffle ball. There are no umpires to bubble the blood. Catchers call balls and strikes and the majority determines who is safe or out. Higley Field is an attempt to catch what they don't bottle these days. Here, folks can become legends in their spare time.
Down in the trenches of big time football, you don’t expect to find a brain trust. During the 1970's and 80's Nebraska had more academic all Americans than Stanford or Notre Dame or UCLA. The reason? Football players point to Ursala Walsh, who gave up life as a nun to teach the Cornhuskers how to study. How does a Dominican nun with 20 years experience become a football coach? She began back in the segregation days, checking out library books for black children. They were not allowed. She earned 3 masters degree and came to Nebraska looking for a PhD and a new way of life.
An update 2 decades after El Capitan’s Courageous Climbers scaled the world’s tallest peak. One of them did it with a broken back. That inspired President Bush to sign the Americans with Disabilities Act.
A lot of us lead one life, but dream of another. By day, Jennifer Wilson is a scientist in Austin, Texas, studying water quality. At night, she becomes a meanie.
Her comic book alter ego tries to squash players like bugs. Jennifer is part of the fastest growing sport in America. All-girl roller derby leagues are sprouting up in cities big and small. 42 in just 5 years.
At the rink they get the chance to be something entirely different than they are in their daily lives. All of us wonder from time to time how the world would see us if we presented a different face. Roller derby women play not just for the love of the game, but for what it lets them become.
When Stan Smagala was born, some football teams still wore leather helmets. At 43 he finally made the team. At the time, he became the oldest college football player in the country. To be able to play, Stan set aside his successful insurance business and became a full time student at Moraine Valley Community. The campus malt shop had changed a bit in 23 years, but not Stan. He was convinced he could still play football. He practiced with his son until he could run 40 yards in 4.6 seconds. Stan made the team, but he broke his ribs, jammed two fingers and sprained his ankle. Football isn't his only passion. He likes to stay up until 4 in the morning, playing base in a band. Stan showed up for this first game four hours later.
Some farmers have been searching for a tractor that doesn’t need oil, a power source that could reproduce itself, was easy to repair and burn home grown fuel. Jim Gulbranson has a tractor that does all that and even fertilizes the soil. It’s called the horse. Gulbranson is part of a small, but growing number of farmers who quietly traded their tractors for plow horses. Nostalgia has nothing to do with it. Gulbranson can make more money farming with horses than he can with tractors. It takes him longer to do his work, but doesn’t have to pay the interest on a half million dollars worth of farm machinery or the mortgage for more land to make that machinery worthwhile. He has found that he can live as comfortably as his neighbor on a farm that is one sixth the size.
For some folks, Saturday night in Dallas means Willie and Waylon and the Cotton Eyed Joe. Don Jackson wants to change all that. Each year, when the New York Metropolitan Opera comes to town, Jackson sweeps through the city, convincing dozens of cowboys to become moving scenery, opera extras, so that a chorus of ten will look like a cast of thousands.
Polo is the sport of playboys and kings. And — a man who spreads asphalt. Glen Waterson is captain of an usual blue collar polo team. His players include a construction worker, a school teacher, a black smith and a 12-year-old rookie. They have penetrated the preserve of privilege and wealth, competing on a field that Waterson keeps in shape with a borrowed front loader. This is probably as good a definition of Democracy as any. After the games, the blue bloods and the good ol’ boys are the same.
Jamie James was the only postman in the country who still delivered the mail, house to house, by boat. Six days a week, Jamie churned the remote coastal creeks of southern Alabama. He made his 25 mile run in a boat not much bigger than a bathtub. Low hanging branches near shore kept him from using a more comfortable conveyance. His neighbors, the 175 families who depended on him, say he came when others did not, conveying the news as well as the mail.
Daufuskie Island, South Carolina, is a little piece of sand and trees near Savannah, Georgia. A thousand people once lived there, until the oyster beds died and the forest grew back. By the 1980’s there were only 85. There were no paved roads. No street lights. No bridges to the outside world. The island was so remote, the mind can be your best friend. Only the very old and very young lived there. Teenagers moved to the mainland to finish there education. The island’s elementary school had 11 kids. They put together a magazine of their thoughts. Not so unusual really, except the publisher, Shannon Wilkinson, who was working on a grant from the South Carolina Arts Commission, printed 800 copies by mistake. All 800 were sold by word of mouth, nationwide, in less than ten weeks.
There was a time when television wrestling shows in Memphis, Tennessee, pulled in more viewers than 60 Minutes. They were in TV’s Top Ten. That called for some study. College students in Blytheville, Arkansas, did just that.
Out where the mountains spill their boulders in the sun, flies sing out on nylon wire and catch a bit of heaven. Rich McIntyre is one of those blessed folks who gets to play where he works. He and his wife Sandy started a company to restore damaged trout streams. His small staff of scientists and engineers don't just restock streams. They rebuild them, so that native fish will return naturally to Montana.
We’ve got better medicine these days, but perhaps something has been lost along the way. There’s a doctor who’s trying to bring back that personal touch. Dr. Jim Anderson drives the office to his patients. “I get less for a house call than an Airconditioning repairman,” he smiles. He does his own repairs on the mobile clinic to keep patient costs low.
Josh Powell was born in Kentucky hill country and raised on a farm. He worked his way through law school in Atlanta, landed a job with one of the city’s best known law firms and then gave it all up to run a one-man sawmill.
Most people only witnessed the tragic events of 9/11. It was my fate to live it. I moved to New York City at the beginning of the century to work full time for the TODAY Show. A year later, I was standing outside a little chapel that survived the hell that leveled skyscrapers of concrete and steel.
Terrorists had crashed planes into the World Trade Center. A dozen modern buildings toppled all around, but St. Paul’s — pieced together with brick and timber — stood without so much as a broken window.
The Rev. Daniel Matthews, rector of the parish of Trinity Church, walked with me through the church’s graveyard, which was covered in ash. The dust of the dead had settled in the chapel cemetery.
Matthews stopped to dust off a headstone. “You know what everyone in the neighborhood is calling St. Paul’s, don’t you? The Little Chapel That Stood.” He looked up and smiled.
“The most astounding thing for me was not the soot and the dust, but the paper,” he continued. “There must have been 10 million pieces. Everybody’s desk wound up flying out the window.”
The Alonso’s lost their mother during the 9/11 attack in 2001. Janet went to work at the World Trade Center that morning and never returned. Her husband, Robert, was left to care for a 2-year-old daughter and a baby boy with Down syndrome.
Five years later, the Alonso’s spent that 9/11 anniversary in the park, near a memorial that their neighbors built to Janet and all the other parents from their New York City suburb who went to work that day but never came home.
Robby wandered to a wall filled with names as his father and sister played catch nearby. “Right here,” he said, pointing to Janet Alonso’s name etched in marble.
“This was my mommy.”
The little boy leaned over and scraped his fingers back and forth across his mother’s name. His father watched, then rubbed his own hands together, as if he could scour away painful thoughts.
Robby drew his fingers to his mouth, kissed them and gently pressed them on his mother’s name. “Mama,” he whispered.
We all think about 9/11 once a year. The Alonsos live it every day.
