Starting All Over Again

The other day, while driving along the near- Brown streets of the East Side, navigating the jaywalking students, one of them, older than the rest, turned suddenly, made eye contact and popped up his thumb. Who dares to hitchhike these days? Despite my reflexive shrug — “Sorry, but no . . . ” — I found myself stopping in the middle of traffic and throwing stuff off the passenger seat. The computer bag, the camera, the metal thermos, the bunch of grapes, the scraps of paper – they all went into the back and onto the floor. I hesitated, trying to dispose of the half-eaten raspberry yogurt in my coffee holder. Someone honked. The hitchhiker was yanking on the door.
Together, we forced open the balky door of my 1993 Previa van. “A guy in a van,” he said, “you can’t be too bad.” He hopped in, leaning forward at an awkward pitch because of his knapsack. “Sorry about the mess,” I apologized. “I’ve been living in my car since I lost my job.”
We made eye contact again. “You look familiar,” I said. “So do you,” he replied, “I’m Christopher Lydon.”
THE VOICE! “Of course, you are. I’m Scott.”
I had photographed Mr. Lydon at a panel discussion at Brown a few months prior, and when he had spoken from the audience during the Q & A, I had instantly recognized his voice. As folks filtered out the door of MacMillan Hall that night, I introduced myself. “Mr. Lydon, you and I finished my basement together.” He nodded knowingly as if trying to recall the last time he had done carpentry work, and drew a blank. “You were talking on the radio,” I said, “while I was doing all the hard work.” I added a thank you. He smiled and got the hell away from me.
Now, THE VOICE was in my van.
I wanted to thank him for all the fascinating radio talk on The Connection back in the winter of 1997 while I was making a playroom. Politics, economics, literature, authors and musicians — didn’t he interview Bruce one night (that might have been Ted Koppel, I forget . . . ) while I was mudding drywall? THE VOICE introduced me to ska music and the Mighty Mighty Bosstones. Oh, the hours we spent! Me, recently transplanted to New England with a new baby on the way, hammering and sawing and plastering and sanding and painting, while he and his guests talked and talked into the late-night hours. He made me so much smarter and interesting than was my natural disposition . . . and I wish I hadn’t forgotten so much of it.
THE VOICE, however, remained.
I explained that, appearances aside, I really was not living in my car. Watching him take in the mess, I knew he was not convinced. “What did you do?” he asked. I gave him my old card. “You were somebody there,” he said. I nodded. “I thought I was.” While driving toward the train station, we started talking about Stimulus Times. “Great name,” he said, suggesting that Stimulus Times might be a good vehicle to get to the honest bottom of the economic mess. I interrupted him and our eyes met again. “Chris,” I said, “that is not us.”
“So, what is Stimulus Times?” THE VOICE asked.
I responded with vague notions of trying to have a little fun in the face of pending economic ruin . . . perhaps offering clever insights here and there . . . possibly explaining some of the big numbers in the stimulus package . . . 787 BILLION?!?!? … maybe clarifying “derivative swap” for those who didn’t get it the first time. “I’m not a big thinker, Christopher. I just want to entertain folks while they have a coffee and a sandwich.”
And, in just a few minutes, THE VOICE was gone, dropped off at the train, clutching my card, promising to email, bound for Boston.
Though still buzzing with the excitement of spending three minutes with Christopher Lydon — and kicking myself for not taking a photo of him hunched over in the passenger seat — my inability to articulate the mission of Stimulus Times left me wondering what we really are doing. What the hell, Christopher Lydon said it was a good name! We must be onto something.
Stimulus Times, while not a fully-formed idea, represents a good idea — a hundred potential advertisers have told me so as well. Whether out of mercy or charity or blind faith, enough East Side business owners have said “yes” so that we are able to launch this little newsletter on Tax Day 2009. We humbly thank them all — those who said “yes” and those who patiently listened to our pitch. They have worked long and hard to nurture their passions into profitable businesses to feed their families and to meet the needs and wants of their neighbors, and I have an ever-growing respect for all of them.
My own sudden misfortune was not of my doing. I am fond of saying that I worked hard to lose my job. Blessedly, my former employer trained me well for the challenges that my dismissal has laid before me. I perform well under pressure and am pretty certain I can meet any deadline. My gut survival instinct — my personal defense mechanism — for both my family and my country dictates that having an unreasonably optimistic attitude in the face of near-certain disaster may be the only way to dig oneself out of a mess — and have fun in the process.
So, as Barack Obama intoned during his inauguration, “Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, (come on, everybody sing along!) and begin the work of remaking America.” If you are scared of the future, get over it. What choice do we have? Attitude is infectious. Take out your wallet. Give someone a gift. Buy something nice for yourself. Stimulate somebody. Just don’t do it on unsecured credit.

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