I’m bored, so figured I’d share a story that happened to me about 10 years ago. It’s rooted in my own arrogance, of sorts, and ended in the ultimate lesson of humility and humanity. It took place in the great state of Mississippi. Thread👇
Back around 2010, I was only working in spring & summer- I had fall & winters totally free. Despite living in cold weather climates my entire life, I QUICKLY tire of gray skies, ice & snow. So, around February, I decided to kill 2 birds with 1 stone: I’d escape to warmer weather
for a few weeks, while doing something I’d always wanted to try: building a house with @Habitat_org. I signed up for a build in Bay St Louis, MS- just outside of Kiln, MS. (Brett Favre’s hometown). The area had been wrecked 5 years earlier by Katrina, and was STILL rebuilding.
Each day was the same: I’d get up each morning, head to the build site, and perform the entry level tasks the more experienced builders showed me to do. Each day at lunch, I drove to “Dolly’s” chicken inside the one gas station in “The Kiln”. I felt like such a city slicker. I
enjoyed the get away, but could not fathom living that life. About mid way through the week, I saw a sign for some farm equipment for sale (or something like that- can’t recall exactly) that made me chuckle. I wanted to snap a picture of it, so I drive off the road into the small
field. BIG mistake. Big one. Instantly, my Grand Cherokee started sinking. The patch I pulled onto was solid mud, and was up past my wheel well. I put my car in 4X4, low- everything. Nothing worked. Just then, a pick up truck pulled up. Two guys jumped out- the exact kinda guys
that had been the source of my snickers all week. Big, burly, overalls wearin’ “good ol’ boys”. They said nothing to me. One hitched a huge chain to the underbody of my car, the other got under to asses a path. Then they yelled to me: “Neutral!”
They hopped in their pickup, got
in drive, and pulled me out. I hopped out of the car and opened my wallet. “Man, do I owe you guys! Twenty bucks okay? “ They looked at me. They were stunned. Almost offended. “Here’s what you owe us. Go down creekside to Anderson. Find our guy Mikey. Tell him u need your brakes
cleaned.” So, I did. (The street names are the names of whoever lives there. So I found Anderson’s street. There, at the end of the road was a trailer- and cars. Lots of broken down cars. Mikey came out & I explained what had happened and why I was there. He asked how long I had.
“As ling as you need, I guess.”. Mikey put my car on a lift and took apart each brake assembly. He washed them, waxed them- meticulously babied each wheel basin. There was mud and rocks everywhere. He worked about two hours. As he finished, I asked what I owed him. “Owe me?!” he
incredulously asked. “Owe me?! Here is what you owe me. Before you leave town, come here for one more look over to make sure you’re safe for the long drive.”
I didn’t get it. This man seemingly had nothing, yet was the 2nd party of the day to refuse any offering.
I asked why?
“I see that band on your wrist. (we had bands for our work site). I see your plate. You drove down from the North, to come here after that storm, to help us rebuild after that storm. No one here will ever take a dollar from you. We look out for people who look out for us.”
When I got home, I read more about the state of Mississippi. It’s one of the most impoverished states in the country. Yet, according to some studies, it’s one of the happiest. I saw why. Some things don’t require money. Some things a storm can’t erase. And sometimes, it takes a
muddy field and a big damn chain to teach an arrogant self professed interloper a lesson. Sometimes, it’s not about what you think you have. It’s about seeing what others do.
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If you’ve ever driven to the Children’s Museum, you’ve upassed this house 100 times. In its history is the story of a man who once went out the backdoor to avoid the Press- & they weren’t there to ask of the man he’d killed 2 years earlier. Rather, a triumph brought them.Thread👇
On July 17, 1889, in Odon, IN, Dawson was born into a family of engineers. His father worked for the Marmon motor company, the same company for which Joe and his brother would later serve as engineers. Yet it was not designing cars, but racing them, in which Joe Dawson made a
name for himself. The fledgling automobile industry used racing exhibitions to showcase their product, and Marmon found a daring pilot in Dawson. By 1910, he was winning short distance races at mesmerizing speeds. He took the 100 mile Remy Trophy at Indianapolis, and followed up
Nestled in section 36 of Crown Hill Cemetery lies the inconspicuous marker of John D. Aitken. While every marker of Crown Hill carries with it a story, Aitken’s is rooted as a pioneer in one of the most iconic venues in the city- and the world. It’s relevant today. Thread👇
“Johnny Aitken” was born in Indianapolis in 1886, and, while little is known of his upbringing, by young adulthood he became a key figure in the fledgling automobile industry- notably auto racing. Like many who became racers of that era, Aitken’s primary job was as an employee
(presumably tester/engineer) for the National Motor Vehicle Company, which was founded by Arthur Newby, an original partner of @IMS. In that capacity, Aitken as well became a trusted confidant of IMS founder Carl Fisher.
In 1909, Fisher, along w/ Newby and James Allison & Frank
So, this is the final day in Indianapolis for @RayCortopassi , as he leaves @FOX59 for his hm, Chicago. I had the pleasure of working w/Ray in the early part of his career, and have been fortunate to know him throughout.
The dude has not changed one iota. Never did. Thread👇
When I first met Ray, I was a grunt in the @wrtv sports office, and he had just been hired as a new anchor. He was walking through The Fashion Mall with his wife, and their newborn in a stroller. I walked up, introduced myself and we chatted. He was excited to come to Indy
from Las Vegas. Who is excited to leave Las Vegas for Indianapolis? Ray was, because while he was, like all of us, a driven broadcaster trying to climb the markets, he was more so a family guy. A guy closer to his Chicago roots, while planting his own right here in Indianapolis.
I’m on a group text with HS friends, & we were reminiscing about our coming of age, & the challenges their kids face today. It led to a story from Middle School, & one I hope offers a lesson for kids today. It’s long, I apologize, but hopefully you’ll humor me & read.
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I attended @EastwoodMS from 1984-87. It was a great school and we had great times. Among the many great things about Eastwood was this awesome variation of dodgeball we would play several times a week. It was standard dodgeball played in the basketball gym, but our teachers added
some wrinkles. If you hit the backboard on the opponent’s side, one of your ousted teammates re-entered the game. If you made a (half court) shot, ALL your ousted teammates re-entered. Additionally, there were two bowling pins set on the corner of the FT line on your half of the
Tomorrow’s Indianapolis 500 will be surreal without the traditional largest collection of humanity assembled in one place. There’s no denying that. However, it’s my hope we can, together from afar, illustrate, in our own ways, why this event is so special. Thread👇
I’ve shared much of this before, so if repetitive, I apologize. If you are not a fan or from Indianapolis, perhaps this will shed light on why this event is so special.
I grew up in central Indiana, and 1st attended the Indy 500 in 1981, at the age of 8. Everything about that
day was rooted in tradition. My Dad cut the starting grid from the @indystar. My Mom packed our coolers in the same fashion my grandparents had ordered boxed lunches for the races of her childhood. We parked at my Great Uncle’s house in Speedway, who prepped a chili dinner
Lately, I’ve seen a lot of comments and posts about dowtown Indy’s increasing homeless population. While I am neither a social worker or civic leader, I wanted to share my observations & possible explanations, as I understand them, based on my learnings. Thread👇
In 1994, allegations of patient abuse led to the closing of Central State Hospital, which, at one time, provided mental health programs to more than 2,000 residential patients. In fact, many of the CS patients of the 1st half of the 20th Century are still there- buried in mass or
discreetly marked graves near the hospital property. It was not uncommon, decades ago, for the family of a mental patient, to essentially surrender them to the state- making for their later life accommodations “someone else’s problem.” While the closing of CS may, in fact, have