Skip to main content

Rescue Me

Last week we marked the passing of Cokie Roberts, one of the "founding mothers" of National Public Radio.  Cokie was a living metaphor for honesty and integrity in political journalism and it's no wonder the tributes have been pouring in all week.  Of course this is all set in vivid relief by the current state of affairs and the relationship of the current occupant of the White House with the press corps.  In many ways we seem to be marking the passing of civility along with integrity.
Cokie Roberts interpreted the the news in a way that was free of bias and represented the product of hard work, good contacts, and a lifelong commitment to accuracy.  No wonder so many followed her stories and came to depend on her for their political news.

At the risk of being called a name dropper, I have a story to tell  the day I crossed paths with Cokie and her well-known news partner Linda Wertheimer.
A colleague of mine once served as the Director of the National Council for the Social Studies.  When their national conference was held in San Francisco some years ago, my friend was in charge of the whole shebang.  I volunteered to assist.  He promised to get back to me.  A few days before the event was to start he called.  "I've got the best job reserved for you," he said.  "Only thing is, you might have to share it with someone."
"No problem," I said.  "What do you want me to do?"
The task in question was to ride in a limo t the SF airport to meet the Keynote speakers for the conference and accompany them back to the hotel which was the conference site.  Easy enough, I thought.  Who are the speakers?
"Cokie Roberts and Linda Wertheimer from NPR."
No wonder this was such a coveted job.
On the appointed day, I met my fellow council member and together we found the limo driver and headed to the airport.  We knew who we were looking for, but when they emerged from the skyway they were almost unrecognizable because of the Levis and cowboy boots they wore.
After we settled in the limo and began to work our way to the conference site, Cokie took out a newspaper and ever the news reporter, asked, So what's new in San Francisco?"
Glancing at the front page of the Chronicle she had on her lap I related the story that seemed to capture the attention of everyone that morning.  And, a bizarre story it was.  A very San Francisco story.
It seems that in one of the topless clubs on Broadway in North Beach there had been a rescue.  Apparently a couple did an act on top of a piano that rose up and down during their performance.  Unfortunately, the piano got stuck and one of the occupant/"dancers"  was pinned against the ceiling.  The SF Fire Department came to the rescue and freed the couple much t the delight of the patrons and the club owner.  The SF Chronicle writers had a good time with the story, and it made the front page of the Chronicle that day.  I'd heard a description on the morning news so was able to explain the strange occurrence a bit more in detail.  Cokie and Linda enjoyed a good laugh and threw out a clever line or two that now escape me.  All nervousness vanished for everybody.
As promised, I met them at their room and escorted them to their speaking engagement. By that time they'd changed into professional clothing and looked smashing.  They enjoyed a standing ovation and were on a plane back to Washington DC before sundown. 
I was able t exchange business cards with Cokie who seemed genuinely interested in my budding radio career producing documentaries.  I don't think I've ridden in a limo since that day.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

To a Tee

 I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt.  They are the foundational garment of my life.  My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one.  Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business.   You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed.  You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport.  Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt.  Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices.  Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been.   I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...

Illusory

What does it take to enrage you?  That moment when your words fly on pure emotion because enough is enough.  Is it a driver that cuts you off at high speed?  What about being an eyewitness to blatant racism or on the receiving end of some obvious injustice? I know some people who never express rage.  I admire them but know full well I am not capable of such distance from that which would bring about such a strong response. Another senseless shooting and 7 people die at the hands of a mentally ill gun owner.  The father of the 20 year old college student lets it fly and somehow millions feel a new sense of relief.  He calls the politicians bastards who do nothing, he wears his pain in public.  The news media responds but we all know that nothing is going to change.  We are the gun country.  We are the place where anybody, anytime, can be cut down just for being there when somebody else snaps. Usually the perpetrators are delusional. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...