The News from Lake Wobegon

I was feeling under the weather yesterday so I took the day off to stay indoors and rest. Stephen and I had tickets to see A Prairie Home Companion live at Town Hall last night. Garrison Keillor and his old time radio show are the zenith of nostalgia for me. I remember riding in the back of my parent's station wagon looking up at the stars on the way home from Elkin from visiting my grandmother, Nanny. The soundtracks to the Eldridge family car trips were usually something blue grass or whatever was on NPR, but on Sunday evening, no matter what was playing, we tuned in to Garrison's show. His stories and the news from Lake Wobegon became interwoven with my childhood memories to the same degree of permanence that Mister Rogers and Andy Griffith had. I always wondered why we didn't buy Powdermilk Biscuits (in the red and white box). Once, before I could read, I remember asking my mom if, what turned out to be a local State Farm agency, was the Powdermilk Biscuit store - the sign had red and white ovals that looked like biscuits to me. To this day when I think of my Dad, I think of conglomeration of Mister Rogers, Andy Griffith, and Garrison Keillor. It's funny how you draw from your environment as a child to create and understanding of another person. Of course I have other memories and impressions of the man himself, but somehow these 3 fictional characters wove their way into the fabric of my memory of my father. Sitting in the theater last night watching the performers put on their show, hearing Keillor's familiar nose whistle as he recounted stories and anecdotes from Minnesota, I felt so at home that I didn't even feel much of a thrill seeing him wandering on and off the stage in his red suede shoes and bright red socks. I just felt like I was back in that station wagon zipping through the mountains watching John sleep on his side of the back seat. Hands thrust in his pockets he bantered with the sound effects man during a bit about what a tourist could do to start to look like a true New Yorker and fit in with their surroundings. He had a wonderful jazz singer and guitar and accordion duet from Texas that blew the audience away. When the show was over, we wandered back outside and strolled to the subway in the icy air. Completely content, I was ready to crawl right in bed.

Once in back home in Brooklyn, Stephen and I were walking past the corner Mobil store when we noticed a man in a blue jacket laying on the pavement by one of the gas pumps. A woman walking her dog was staring at him and two young men filling up at the pump across the way looked in his direction with mild interest. We wondered aloud to each other if he was ok, and Stephen went right over to check on him. The man was not responsive and stared out at Stephen from blank confused eyes. He smelled very strongly of alcohol. Stephen pulled the man to his feet, continually asking if he was ok - no response. He decided to help him over closer to the store to sit on the curb. So Stephen half carried the staggering man as far as the air pump where he settled him against the air canister in a sitting position. The guy just slumped over and was still unable to speak though he seemed to be trying to say something and tears and snot were running down his face. We went inside the store to let them know that he was out there and that he looked like he was in trouble - they told us to go outside and tell the gas station attendant, it was not their concern. Confused, we went back outside to tell the gas station guy. He opened the door to his Plexiglas cube and stared out at the man. He then said that he was sure an ambulance would stop by soon, since they park there periodically during the day and that he did not "need to have to be answering questions for the Police!!" "As long as he doesn't die here it will be Ok." Excuse me..? We kept asking the guy to call 911 and restated over and over that that guy looked like he was in trouble. I have seen seriously intoxicated individuals but never someone who could not speak and had their eyes wide open like this guy did. He looked scared to me. None one seemed to care. We debated whether or not to call 911 ourselves and finally saw the guy in his box pick up the phone and call for help. Satisfied that help was on the way, we headed home. For a city that I have always found to be mostly friendly and helpful, I have to say I was sort of shocked to see these employees try so hard to ignore another human being who was obviously in serious distress.