The Oppenheimer Report 3/4/19

A long time ago, when I was a little boy, my mom sometimes visited a lady who lived alone in a little bungalow near Crystal Beach Amusement Park, not far from our beach house. Mom would stop in and bring her a meal, or just sit and talk with her for an hour or two. Sometimes I was with her when she visited this friend, and I never thought much of it at the time. I just assumed Mom did this because she was an old classmate from high school, and because the woman lived alone. I thought it was weird that Mom always asked her if she’s been eating. Many years later, I learned that the lady had had a difficult life, and that she had become an alcoholic. She seemed nice enough to me, and always seemed happy to see Mom, but even as a young child I thought she seemed desperately lonely. My dad used to do something similar, visiting several men who were, it seemed to me, very strange. I never knew what their problems were, perhaps mental illness, perhaps alcoholism, I only knew that Dad felt obliged to visit them. I didn’t understand it at the time, and sometimes felt uncomfortable in the company of these odd people. I never did learn the nature of my parents’ connection to any of them, only that many of them had had something to do with the horse show and/or race horse circuit. All of them had stumbled into the netherworld of addiction, obscurity, and/or silent pain, and my parents were the kind of people to give comfort to the downtrodden. There are a lot of diamonds in the rough out there, people who by their odd behavior may cause them to become alienated from the general population. The lesson my parents quietly taught me, and I think the reason they sometimes brought me along on these visits, is that everyone has worth, and that sometimes there are heroes and heroines hiding inside the alcoholics and downtrodden. Everyone has a story, and all stories deserve recognition, and sometimes respect.     

One of the results of these childhood experiences, is that I try never to take for granted a random act of kindness, large or small. The other day, our pharmacist in Huntsville hand-delivered one of Shauna’s medications to me at the radio station while I was broadcasting my show, so that I would not have to make a special trip into Huntsville later to pick it up. Years ago, at Laguardia Airport during a big storm, I remember a lady at the ticket counter going out of her way to help Shauna, when Shauna was obviously in great pain. With angry travelers all around her, yelling because their flights were delayed, this woman took the time to make Shauna more comfortable, and she helped us through that chaotic situation. I have never forgotten it. I remember thinking I’d write a letter to her supervisor, to let him or her know how much we appreciated what this woman did, but of course, I never did. What I did do is try is remember that kindness, and to return the favor, albeit for someone else. Sometimes, not always, I’ve paid it forward, but more important, I’ve tried to remember the good in people. It’s a sometimes challenging but rewarding exercise.

The other day, I watched a bit of the partisan nonsense during Michael Cohen’s appearance before the House Oversight Committee last week. It’s very easy to lose sight of the heroes and heroines in the world, when we are constantly bombarded with the worst mankind has to offer. The good people who have touched my life are in my heart forever, random angels who came to visit when things got tough. They are gentle reminders that humanity is alive and well, and thriving in the strangest and most unlikely places. We’re all on the same train, and regardless of our intended destination, and the best we can hope to do is enjoy the ride. From time to time, I don’t mind giving my seat to the smelly guy talking to himself. I keep thinking he might have saved someone’s life once. Thank you Mom and Dad, for at least suggesting that possibility.

  

 -       Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED