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.
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.”
WHAT TOY OF YOURS DOES HE HAVE?
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.
AND YOU THOUGHT YOU HAD A LONG COMMUTE.
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.
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.
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.
Chicago Bulls Hall of Famer Bob Love ended up bussing tables in a Seattle restaurant because he suffered from a life time of stuttering.
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.
SURF’S UP.
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.
Everything the monks of Waelder, Texas, touch makes a lot of money. A LOT of money. So much for that vow of poverty.
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.”
https://www.today.com/video/happy-trails-woman-travels-country-on-horseback-44515395814
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.
Native American sculptor Michael Naranjo lost his sight during the Vietnam war. He created a 17 foot sculpture by touch.
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.
The youngest members of the Hunt, Texas, Chamber of Commerce run a $20,000 a year business. Their corporate limo is a school bus.
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.