It’s a smaller world than I thought.
During my three decades away from Minnesota, I’ve developed a moral obligation to visit with everyone I see in Texas, Colorado, or elsewhere wearing Vikings, Twins, Gophers, Wild, or North Stars apparel.
Timberwolves? As I write this, I rarely recall seeing anyone wearing Timberwolves hats or shirts. But if I do, I’ll be sure to introduce myself.
Two weekends ago, I was biking in Washington Park in Denver and noticed a guy wearing a Minnesota Twins hat. I asked the obligatory:
“Where in Minnesota are you from?”
“Maple Grove.”
“Where are you from?”
“Two Harbors.”
“No shit. My two buddies over there are from Duluth!”
I left out the traditional “I said, he said, he responded, I replied.” I assume that you successfully followed along.
I visited with all of them for a few minutes—it was fun to connect, then we went our separate ways.
Last weekend, I was riding my bike through the trails in Highlands Ranch. On the return trip home, four people walked by on the path. One was wearing a long sleeve, gray t-shirt with “MINNESOTA” emblazoned across the front.
I hit the brakes.
“Excuse me, sir, but I’m obligated to ask the question. Where in Minnesota are you from?”
“Well, I never lived there, but my daughter, Emily, played basketball for the Gophers, so we spent a lot of time up there. She played basketball here in Highlands Ranch at Thunder Ridge high school.”
“Really? I can’t say that I’ve followed much women’s basketball, but I did momentarily cross paths with a women’s college basketball player at Duke University who played high school ball at one of the schools here in Highlands Ranch.”
“Really, who was that?”
“Abby Waner.”
“You’re kidding. Abby is one of my daughter’s best friends.”
“No shit? I wrote a story about my encounter with Abby.
“You wrote a story about her?”
I told him about my “Trespassing at Cameron Indoor Stadium” story. He asked me to email it to him, which I did while we were still on the trail. He shared the story with his daughter, Emily Fox, and Abby, then emailed me back to let me know that “they both got a kick out of it.”
Confession. None of the characters portrayed in this story said, “No shit,” during our exchanges. This was an artificial, perhaps unsuccessful dramatization of my conversations to give them more bite. I didn’t want this story to be too flowery.
The lesson is that you can’t believe everything you read.
Earlier this week, I had a pleasant exchange via Facebook Messenger with former Minnesota Vikings quarterback, Fran Tarkenton.
That’s a true story.
Really. I sent him a message to thank him for the excitement he delivered to a bunch of Minnesota kids back in the 60s and 70s. He expressed his appreciation for the kind words.
Simple exchanges with strangers. I didn’t save any lives. They didn’t save mine. Just made their day a tiny bit better, just as they did for me.
Civility.
A lost art in this country.
I vote for a revival.
That was the tentative end of this story. I was three seconds—maybe four, from publishing it to my blog site when the tables were turned right back at me.
At that moment, the gentleman at Starbucks sitting at the nearby table came over to introduce himself.
“Are you from Minnesota?”
“Yes, I’m from Two Harbors.”
“Ah yes, Split Rock Light House.”
“Yes, that’s one of my wife’s favorite places on Earth.”
“And now you have a Culver’s drive-thru in Two Harbors too.”
“We sure do. Deep-fried walleye sandwiches with a chocolate-frozen custard chaser. And where are you from?”
“Mounds View. My wife was born in Duluth.”
Small freaking world.
I assumed he approached me because of my Warroad, Minnesota hockey hoodie, and North Stars hat. It wasn’t until the next morning, when I was sitting in the same chair in Starbucks, that I realized this was his view of me while I was writing.
Between my apparel and laptop stickers, I was flashing all the Minnesota gang signals.
He sat down, and we talked for 30 minutes, 40, maybe 45. Time flew as he told me stories of October 4, 1957, when he watched Sputnik orbiting the night sky, inspiring him to launch a career path as a physics educator.
The verbal missiles then started hitting close to home. He was an accomplished writer and hockey coach. He spoke of Herb Brooks, Saskatoon, below zero temperatures, warming houses, Ken Yackel, and “The Ice Center” in Edina. He talked of the Jolly Green Giant in LeSeur, Minnesota, where his teaching career path commenced.
Sir, you had me at hello.
I’d been typing a series of nouns, verbs, and adjectives when this stranger, now acquaintance, approached. Minutes later, a tennis match broke out between us inside the coffee shop:
- He served memories of playing hockey at Augsburg University on Riverside Avenue in Minneapolis.
- I volleyed with a story of playing a game at Augsburg when I was 14.
- He lobbed a game-by-game dissertation of Augsburg’s recent run deep into the Division III National Hockey Championships.
- I landed a drop shot on his side of the net by flipping my computer around to show him a video of the Augsburg vs. St. Scholastica playoff game I attended in Duluth on March 4.
John McEnroe and Bjorn Borg would have been proud of us.
His educational pursuits, funded partly by the National Defense Education Act, took him to places known for their work directly related to the civil defense sirens in our neighborhoods. The University of Washington. New Mexico. Princeton. Then the knockout punch:
Oak Ridge, Tennessee. Home of the Manhattan Project.
In 1980, he published a 700+ page book, now in at least its 9th edition and still widely used, titled “Global Science: Energy, Resources, Environment.” A variation is titled “Global Science: Earth/Environmental Systems, Teachers Edition.”
I know how to spell P-H-Y-S-I-C-S. His life is physics. I had just met the Wayne Gretzky of Physics educational curriculum in the United States of America.
John W. Christensen, it sure was nice to meet you. Civility had struck once again.
The “You Get What You Give” spirits must have been floating around Starbucks on Saturday morning, intermingling with the vapors of my Pike Place dark roast—no cream, no sugar, just black. I wasn’t sure my story was worth posting. Nobody would find this the least bit interesting.
Cosmic forces seemed to be disagreeing.
Strangers conversing. No swipe left. No swipe right. No snarky, anonymous comments on social media. Instead, disengaging from media then going out to be social. I can’t remember 99.9 percent of the Tweets I read last week, but I’ll long remember the personal encounters.
Three strangers biking in a park could relate to my childhood home.
I wrote a story 16 years ago. A stranger along a biking and hiking trail in a neighborhood I moved into a few weeks ago knew one of the central characters of that story.
One of the most famous athletes of my childhood took time to thank me for connecting with him.
A guy with a fascinating life story sitting 10 feet from me, reading the morning newspaper, had far more in common with me than I could have imagined.
Something connects all of us. We are just a conversation starter away from learning what it is.
Could it be as simple as mandating everyone wear clothing representing their favorite sports team? Or favorite band, song, book, cartoon, movie, beer, soda, ice cream, fast food restaurant, national park, video game, classic car, music video, childhood memory, old school TV show, or politician?
Scratch that last one.
I’m just happy with the reminders that we cross paths with nice people daily. Interesting people willing to engage in conversation, share stories, and be civilized.
In recent years, it has become too easy to forget that this is still possible. This neighborhood has restored my faith.
Mayberry, North Carolina meet Highlands Ranch, Colorado.
The Musical Playlist While Writing This Story
Forrest Gump Suite – Alan Silvestri
On Golden Pond – Dave Grusin
So Long, Lonesome – Explosions in the Sky
Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, Op. 95 fro the New World” – London Philharmonic Orchestra
The Game of Love – Santana w/Michelle Branch
My World – Avril Lavigne
Outlaws – Alessia Cara
Heartless – Dia Frampton
Price Tag – Xenia
Heartbreak Beat – The Psychedic Furs
Talking in Your Sleep – The Romantics
You Get What You Give – New Radicals
Good Old Days – Macklemore
Walking On a Dream – Empire of the Sun
She Sells Sanctuary – The Cult
A Million Miles Away – The Plimsouls
Silent Lucidity – Queensryche
Deja Voodoo – Kenny Wayne Shepherd
Mr. Brightside – The Killers
When You Were Young – The Killers
Somebody Told Me – The Killers
❤️
Authors through the years whose writing mesmerizes, awakens, entertains and sentence structures me along on a wonderful joy ride: Chuck Culpepper. Bill Lyon. Gary Smith. Thomas Smith. John Steinbeck. Hunter S.Thompson. Wright Thompson.
Hey Tom this is David….
I am in Lincoln Nebraska and I read everything here from top to bottom and it’s nice to know that getting out and about and meeting people still works.
I us d to travel to Denver before the SFA project then during the project and then after the project. Tom Job is a good friend of mine
I can remember I grew up on the farm and I would be out working away on the farm and I would look up in the air and I would see a jet plane going from someplace to someplace and I would wish to say just one time one day I would like to be up there in the plane looking down… Watch out for what you wish for… I really enjoyed our years of yellow page training and helping other people in our 14 states.
That was then and this is now
I now have a business where we support I T Technology to help businesses in 5 states Nebraska and the surrounding states
Tom Job tells me you like to write. If you send me a website or a link or two I like to read and stay in touch with good people.
David
402-681-7707
Hi David – good to hear from you. We all had some fun while on the road with our former team members. It’s hard to believe that none of those offices are still open. Yes, I’ve been doing a lot of writing lately–all my stuff is on the http://www.smalltownsbigstories.com site. Thanks for taking time to read some of the stories. Hope all is well. Will send a friend request on Facebook.
Tom