The Storyteller’s Story

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.