MAY 23, 2021 – Over the past two days I’ve enjoyed two scintillating conversations with two neighbors. I’m amazed that it took so long to open these nearby treasure chests of knowledge, insight, and inspiration.
The first encounter occurred two doors down our alley. Mike was cleaning the inside of his car as I walked by. We greeted each other, and knowing that he’s a physical therapist, I decided to pick his brain about “back pain.” I readily discerned that Mike is “a gentleman and a scholar,” as well as the solid citizen-family-man prior encounters had revealed.
We talked for nearly an hour about . . . the world, which Mike has experienced far and wide and studied from innumerable angles. Far more than a “tourist,” Mike taught in Rwanda, and made long-haul backpack trips across Asia. Anyone with such a curriculum vitae has stories to tell.
Amidst our broad-ranging talk, Mike referenced “good journalism,” pointed in the direction of our neighbors across the street—and added, “As Josh will tell you.” With my elevated math skills (see yesterday’s post), I quickly added one-plus-one.
“You mean Josh is a journalist?” I said.
“Exactly,” said Mike.
Given my respect for good journalism, my association with World Press Institute (www.worldpressinstitute.org ), extended family members’ distinguished careers as journalists, I immediately placed “pick Josh’s brain” on my mental “To Do List.”
The opportunity presented itself the next morning. Josh was mowing his lawn while I was mowing our weeds. Despite his normally busy household—a neighborhood kid magnet—Josh looked calm. He seemed to relish the chance to listen to a podcast while attending to a central task of urban home ownership. Just after he finished mowing, I stopped my machine and sauntered over.
Prior encounters had been limited to pleasantries. Our most recent chat was several weeks ago when my wife and I greeted him over the expanse of the street. Gradually, Josh crossed over for “lawn talk.” His soft trace of a Southern accent reminded me that periodically a vehicle with Kentucky plates, owned by retirees—Josh’s visiting in-laws, it turns out—is parked out front. “I’ve never lived in a place where lawns are so bumpy,” he said. Hmmm. “Never lived in a place”? Add “journalism” to his accent and an ostensibly (somewhat) itinerant life, and you’ve got . . . a story.
My opener: “Mike tells me you’re a journalist . . .”
We enjoyed an hour-long conversation every bit as rewarding as the one that had inspired it. No “ordinary” journalist, Josh’s recruitment to the StarTribune had been preceded by fascinating positions at The Los Angeles Times and The New York Times. He’d started out as a sportswriter out of “J school” of the University of South Carolina. (He’d met his wife, a former early childhood educator originally from Kentucky, in Manhattan, where at the time both had lived and worked. They later moved to Montclair, NJ.)
People are like fishing holes. All you need is a line and a hook, and soon you’ll be hauling in rewarding conversations.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
