by Mike Farrell
So much to learn, so much to know.
Arriving in Pittsburgh, the town is crazed. The hotel, directly across the street from Mellon Arena, is a zoo. The Penguins (“The Pens” to the locals) are in the Stanley Cup playoffs. Down two games to the Detroit Red Wings, both games having been played in Detroit, they’re competing here tonight and tensions are sky-high. I’m barely able to fight my way through the crowds to find a place for Mule and get into my room. Hockey fans are everywhere. If the Pens can’t take advantage of “home ice,” the bellman tells me, it’s all over, so the fever is high.
After a quick change Mule carts me down to Joseph-Beth Booksellers on the South Side. I’m excited to be back there because it’s where we shot Dominick and Eugene just over twenty years ago. The store is in a new, upscale section of South Side, just east of and quite different from the funky, down-home areas we shot in. But it still has that comfortable Pittsburgh feeling.
The crowd at the bookstore is much smaller than I’ve been finding at these events, testifying to Pittsburgh’s devotion to the Pens. Chris and Maureen, the managers of the store, are a bit embarrassed, I think, but they’re certainly not to blame. Who knew that such a critical game would take place tonight? Who knew, in fact, that the Pens would be vying for the championship? Good on them.
Despite their number, the group that has come is every bit as attentive and interested as have been the others. The group actually grows in size as the evening goes on and we end up, I think, having a good time. I certainly did.
My friend Marshall Dayan was sweet enough to come and bring his pal Mark, a former journalist who has become a respected poet. Marshall, a capital-case criminal defense specialist, came to Pittsburgh last year to join the Federal Public Defender’s office after working for many years in the South—Georgia and North Carolina. This move to the North is more than a change in climate, it puts him into a different mindset. A former chair of the National Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty, Marshall is highly respected, not to mention deeply loved, in the anti– capital punishment community and was responsible for my making the keynote speech here at an ACLU death penalty conference last March.
After I’ve said my piece and we’ve done the Q&A, books are signed and pictures are taken. People are so incredibly sweet in these brief, sort of private moments. One young couple knocks me out by saying they’ve driven here from DC today because they missed seeing me when I was there the other day! Sometimes it’s hard to comprehend the connection people make with the show, but I’m always touched by it.
Marshall and Mark agree to join me for dinner at Café Allegro, a wonderful restaurant on 12th Street in Bedford Square where we shot much of Dominick and Eugene. Antoinette, the proprietor, was so kind and generous to us during the shooting of the film that I wanted to be sure to stop in and see if she’s still there. She is, as it turns out, and as sweet and open and generous as ever. The place has expanded and the food is as good as I remember. After we talk for a while, Antoinette disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a big paste-up that she’s kept in her office, full of pictures and articles from the time we were here.
She talks about “the boys,” Tom Hulce and Ray Liotta, who played the twins, and clucks over a photo of Jamie Lee Curtis with the baby.
Sitting there surrounded by happy memories from the picture, I’m reminded of a problem that developed. Needing a baby for an important story point in the picture, we had cast local twins, whose parents were thrilled to have them be part of it. But just as we were getting ready to start shooting, someone told us there was a law in Pennsylvania prohibiting children under six from working.
We were stunned. Certainly we understood an opposition to “child labor” and the need to protect kids from being abused, but this was a movie. We needed a baby!
After going over all the possibilities, which included packing up and finding another state in which to shoot the picture, I asked if anyone knew Harris Wofford, an old friend of mine who had briefly been a U.S. Senator from Pennsylvania. Harris and I met through our mutual friendship with Al Lowenstein, another mythic figure in American politics, and grew to be friends. Yes, came the reply, he’s still involved in politics here in the state.
“Really? What does he do?”
“He’s the Minister of Labor.”
I couldn’t believe it! After a series of calls I finally reached him and explained the situation. He said, “I’ll be there tomorrow.” And he was. We had dinner together right here at Café Allegro and worked out the necessary permit process to allow us to go forward with the film, with the baby.
What a wonderful time that was. And what a lovely picture came of it.
Back at the hotel, as I’m preparing to tuck in at the end of the night, a very loud burst of fireworks tells me that the Pens have taken the game before their home crowd and are still in the hunt.
DAY TWENTY
Thursday, May 29, 2008
CITY OF ORIGIN: PITTSBURGH, PA
CITY OF DESTINATION: ANN ARBOR, MI
MILES TRAVELED: 291
VENUE: BARNES & NOBLE—ANN ARBOR
EVENT COSPONSOR
ACLU of Michigan
Up early again, this time for a terrific interview with Jim Rice of WCCO radio in Minneapolis. A true journalist, Rice has just returned from Darfur. He’s been to Iraq, Kosovo, the West Bank, Gaza and other hot spots and doesn’t back off from letting his audience know about what’s happening. Off the air, Rice tells me he’s a former CIA agent and is not a fan of current U.S. foreign policy. When I tell him of my visit with Joe Wilson and Valerie Plame, it touches a nerve. He’s outraged by the Bush administration’s having outed Valerie, a NOC (nonofficial cover) agent. They are the ones, he says, who are under the deepest cover without any official support to fall back on if discovered. To betray her for political gain, as they did, is beneath contempt. I like this guy.
Pittsburgh is calm this morning. Evidently the celebrators are sleeping it off. The game was hard fought, but the Pens took it 3 to 2.
Hitting the interstate, we’re up for another long drive. I’d love to do this kind of round-the-nation trip on my motorcycle some time, but the interstates are murder when you’re on a bike, exhausting, boring and dangerous. The little roads where you can see and smell and taste the country are where the fun is. Cross-country bike trips are therapy for me and I’ve done them in different parts of the world. But for a trip like this, with limited time and a need to cover big distances between stops, the interstates that stripe the country are a necessity. And Mule is doing wonderfully, still sailing past the gas stations while eating up the miles. The only thing she’s beeped at me about lately is when we stop and I forget to pull out that hunk of plastic that pretends to be an ignition key.
Passing into Ohio, the driving becomes automatic. Can’t deal with the radio today. Rush, Sean and the Rush/Sean wannabes and troglodytes continue to spew their versions of Roger Ailes’s daily right-wing talking points. Those guys are organized, I’ll give ’em that.
But who needs the radio? I talk to Mule, talk to myself, talk to other drivers, read signs out loud, sing. I’m a regular circus. People used to say talking to yourself was okay, but if you answered you were nuts. If that’s true, I’m gone. I not only talk to myself and answer, I say funny things to myself and make myself laugh.
The mind wanders …
You know, those of us who drive the freeways, highways and interstates are used to seeing semis carting products around the country. But did you ever think of counting them? There are millions of the things! And it makes me think about the economy. I know we’re in a slump now, one that Bush won’t admit is a recession, but the economic engine is still strong, it just needs the kind of leadership these “free marketeers” won’t provide. I heard a kid on right-wing radio the other day saying that the unemployment rate was “only” five percent. Aside from the fact that the number they currently tout ignores thousands who have given up and are thus no longer factor
ed in the calculation, how is it that having five percent of our employable workforce unable to get jobs is an “only?” How is it acceptable at all? Whatever happened to the idea of full employment?
These semis are doing important work, but they’re chewing up the roads and putting more and more stress on our bridges. Remember Minnesota? The infrastructure in this country is in need of serious attention, and the money to do it, instead of creating a major government-funded jobs program, is being wasted on a mindless, destructive crusade in Iraq.
Did you happen to notice the picture on the front page of Wednesday’s New York Times? A Chinese government official is on his knees, imploring the people of his community to give up the protest against their leaders. The people were enraged by the poor construction of the schools in which their children were crushed when they collapsed in the earthquake. Quite a picture. George Bush and Dick Cheney should have been on their knees to the people of New Orleans after the failure of the levees. But no, Bush was swaggering and smirking at a fundraiser with John McCain while Cheney was snorting derisively in an undisclosed location.
The Chinese government, however we might despise their human rights record, stepped up after this catastrophic earthquake, not only sending reconstruction teams and experts, not only allowing in international aid organizations, but dispatching over 100,000 troops to the disaster area to dig people out. Why didn’t Cheney and Bush send 100,000 troops to New Orleans to rescue people and rebuild their homes? Because they were in Iraq, destroying a nation.
Cheney and Bush, along with Rove, Wolfowitz, Feith, Rumsfeld, Bolton, Abrams, and the rest of their gang should be stripped naked and made to walk through every city, town and village that has lost a son or daughter in this criminal war and be bathed in the vilification and opprobrium they so richly deserve.
And what about Scott McClellan, who I always thought of as Bush’s own Pillsbury Doughboy? Think the revelations in his new book are giving them fits? Good to have some inside information, at long last, but how does McClellan justify spilling it all now to make a buck after toeing the line—promoting the line—while all those kids died?
Enough … I’m getting dyspepsia.
Skimming across the top of Ohio, the map tells me we’re skirting the southern edge of Lake Erie. Amazing. From Los Angeles’ Pacific Ocean down to the Mexican border at El Paso, the Gulf of Mexico at New Orleans, through the southeast, up to New York on the Atlantic, and now heading west across the top of the U.S.! One hell of a trip this Mule has carted me on, and we’re not even two-thirds of the way around yet.
Crossing into Michigan, we get to Ann Arbor in time for me to find a very good vegetarian restaurant—Seva, if you’re in the neighborhood—and have dinner before the event at the Barnes & Noble on the east side of town.
Once there, the event manager meets me at the door and asks if it’s true that Shelley’s not with me. When I say it is, she says she heard Shelley fell and broke her hip.
“How did you hear that?” I ask, a bit taken aback.
“Someone in the group waiting for you told me. She read about it.”
Oh my God. Does that mean someone’s actually reading this thing? I take it all back.
The crowd upstairs is quite large and very friendly. I note that a group of young kids are taking notes. Later, one of them says their teacher is a “big fan” and made being here and reporting on my remarks a class assignment. Thanks, teach.
Lots of laughs tonight.
After a stop at the Whole Foods next door, we beat it back to the hotel to cheer the Lakers on to victory in the Western Conference. The Spurs had me worried for a while, but here come the glory days!
DAY TWENTY-ONE
Friday, May 30, 2008
CITY OF ORIGIN: ANN ARBOR, MI
CITY OF DESTINATION: IOWA CITY, IA
MILES TRAVELED: 445
VENUE: PRAIRIE LIGHTS BOOKSTORE
EVENT COSPONSOR
Peace, Education, and Action Center of Eastern Iowa (PEACE Iowa)
Before we hit the road, Mule needs some oats. This is the first time on this trip I’ve paid $4 or more per gallon. This time it was either $4.12 or $4.21, I can’t remember which. I think it was $4.12, but either is too much. Michigan is being hit hard—in a lot of ways.
Heading west on the interstate again, I find myself thinking about a couple of the comments from last night. A man asked me if it was true that Shelley had starred in a movie with Elvis Presley. When I told him that in fact Shelley is the only actress to have starred in not one but three movies with Elvis, a woman called out, “Does that make you jealous?”
I said, “Nope. He’s dead, you know.”
Shelley is dearly loved. We talked about “Johnny Angel” after one man passed around a copy of the cover from a CD of one of her albums. There was talk of Coach and The Donna Reed Show, and later a young woman gave me a card to pass on to her.
It’s lovely that so many have such warm feelings for her. I do too.
Driving through the Michigan farmland I try the radio again and get a local talk show. The host is speaking about the tough economic times here in Michigan and says they’re considering a four-day work week (four ten-hour days) to cut down on commuting costs. Some study has suggested people will save thousands of dollars a year by simply eliminating that one driving day from their week.
There’s much talk about the price of gasoline, the rising cost of groceries and stagnant wages. A local car dealer is having a promotion that involves a giveaway of groceries and gas coupons. Hmmm. Gas coupons as an incentive to buy a gas guzzler?
Interesting, too, that amid the discussion of bad economic times there’s mention of a rash of arrests having to do with the discovery of a series of meth labs. Tough times tend to create both a need to escape and a way to make some easy money. Sad.
Weather report warns of possible “flooding rains,” thunder storms and hail, plus a tornado watch. Noting that the skies are looking pretty unfriendly up ahead of us, I listen closely. Except for some rain in New Mexico and Texas, we’ve been pretty lucky on this trip. I do remember, though, that in Austin they had had a major hailstorm a few days before we got there. The woman who hosted the fundraiser there said huge hailstones had broken seventeen windows in her house.
This report says that the bad weather is expected in this area tonight or tomorrow. Today it’s in Iowa. Lovely. Iowa City is where we’re headed.
The radio guy says the police have endorsed a petition by a group of motorcyclists asking that they be allowed to file for permits that will allow them to ride without helmets. What kind of nonsense is that? And why would the police support it? Then he says the fee charged for the permits would go to the police budget. Ah. Fine. Let these guys get their brains splattered all over the road so you can have more cops to pick up the pieces? Nuts.
Bulletin: tornado damage reported in Iowa.
Oh boy …
This weekend is the big Democratic Party conference that’s to decide the fate of the Michigan and Florida delegations to the convention. That should be interesting. I don’t understand—well, I guess I do understand, but it seems to me the height of hypocrisy—how Hillary can insist that the full delegations from Florida and Michigan be seated and allowed to cast their votes for her when 1) Obama’s name wasn’t even on the Michigan ballot, 2) both had agreed not to campaign in either state, 3) the votes came early, before Obama’s campaign caught fire and it was assumed Hillary was the nominee, and 4) both had agreed, along with everyone else, that neither state’s delegation would be seated because they had violated the rules established by the party before the primaries.
Well, I guess we’ll see what they decide …
Down we go, into Indiana, and then cut west toward Des Moines. It’s starting to rain a bit, but not bad. The wind is blowing like hell, which has Mule a bit skittish, and there are more reports of tornadoes, but I don’t see anything that looks dangerous. Chicago, which is now north of us, is broadcasting storm warni
ngs.
I keep trying to compute the miles we’ve traveled based on notes I’ve made in order to figure out how far we have left to go, but I think I’m getting stupid from too much driving or too little sleeping, or both. I keep coming up with different numbers. I’m looking for exit 244, and I think it’s in this leg, but I’ve got a 207-mile leg and a 168-mile leg and my brain is getting fried.
Wow! Cops have the left lane blocked off. This highway is divided by a wide grassy median that slopes down from each side in a kind of V shape with a trough at the bottom. It looks like the wind got to be too much for a semi and a big RV, as they are both down in the bottom of the trough. The two are upright, which is good, but judging from the tracks, the semi driver had to wrestle that sucker around to keep it from going over. It appears that no one is hurt, but it looks muddy down there, so some big tow trucks are working their way down to pull them out. This wind is tough enough on Mule; I’d hate to be driving one of those rigs in it.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m on Highway 80 West, have been for what seems like hours, looking for exit 244, and have just realized the numbers of the exits are going DOWN. They’re getting smaller, not larger! How can that be? Des Moines is still ahead of us and I don’t know how many miles we’ve traveled in Iowa, but this doesn’t make sense. I grab the almanac and try to read it while keeping Mule on the road. From what I can see with a quick glance, Iowa City is not far into the state. Does that mean I drove right past the turnoff?
Idiot! I’m completely baffled. How could I have missed it? How far back is it? How much time is left before I have to be there?