It’s about the people. That’s what makes our communities special, right? Otherwise, we’re six months of winter and “a large, rectangular blank spot in the nation’s mind,” as North Dakota native son Eric Sevareid, put it. We know what we have—and no, it’s not the Black Hills, rest of the world—and if that’s a secret, fine by me.
We don’t have everything, but we have the opportunity to get it. I’m not talking about things. I’m talking about experiences. Art. Culture. People.
My trip to Chicago last month will go down as a business trip for my CPA, but I always try to build in some extra time to experience a city that for many of us is just a place where we sprint to make a connection.
This trip was for Axpona, an annual Audio Show for the finest and newest gear in the world—Comic-Con for audiophile geeks. Our small enterprise, Darwin Cables, is just a blip among $150,000 speakers and quarter-million dollar systems. It was our job to connect advanced tube amplification from Pennsylvania’s Rogue Audio to Minnesota-made and world-revered Magnepan speakers.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to drag you down that rabbit hole. For me, these trips are about experiences, about exploring places we usually only see on the news. About the people you meet.
I took seven or eight Uber rides during my stay. I learned from a traveling companion years ago the joy of striking up a conversation with your driver.
There was the ancient chain-smoking lady taxi driver in New Orleans who became a tour guide and took us to the Metairie Cemetery and other places beyond Bourbon Street, places like Frenchmen Street where the locals congregate for the real jazz.
The petite ballet teacher who drove India and me from Pittsburgh to Morgantown, West Virginia. In New York, a few years after 9/11, a cabbie told us how much people despised Rudy Giuliani, but that he’d cleaned up the crime-ridden streets. Civil rights be damned. But I’m not there to judge. Rather to listen. Absorb. Learn. If you’re not talking to the people, you’re missing the most important part of the experience.
Just two of my Chicago drivers were Americans by birth — a computer programmer who knew every language in computerese and a retired Marine who explained to me the coming roadway improvements that would soon make it easier to get to O’ Hare. Among the others was a lovely Columbian mother of two who shared her family’s quest to better themselves. “There is so much opportunity here, so much more than in Bogota,” she said.
A driver who hailed from a place an hour north of Mumbai gave me travel trips should I ever get to India. It’s on my list. A Kenyan who claimed to be my age but looked 20 years younger, in resplendent attire with dazzling gold jewelry, told me about the family he’d raised, a son who’d become a physician.
A Mexican immigrant, a mechanic by trade, was driving to help put his kids through college. Another Latino, a contractor, provided insight into Chicago politics and his frustration with the constant unsolved thefts at his construction sites. He theorized that the police just didn’t seem to want to serve the last mayor but he held out hope for cooperation with the new administration.
My favorite driver was the Jordanian with three budding teenage daughters by his Lebanese wife. “I’ll bet you have no room on the bathroom counter,” I kidded. I was right, he allowed, and then he showed me pictures of the kids. Dark eyes, dark hair, beyond gorgeous. “Your wife must be beautiful; It can’t be from you,” I teased, employing the time-tested passive-aggressive German-Russian humor. He laughed and showed me a picture. Indeed, she was stunning.
He was blessed. And knew it.
I couldn’t help but ponder their perspectives. Their appreciation. They’re here for the opportunity, working hard, and in the process they make our lives better. Meanwhile, oblivious, we complain about the way things are. World-class ingrates, we are.
They pine to get in at our borders to fill hundreds of thousands of workplace vacancies—some 30-40,000 in North Dakota alone, and yet, some would keep them out. Threatened by “different.” Unless you’re Native American, we’re the products of immigration, a mixing pot that’s built a truly great country, flaws, sins, and all.
I always return home wiser with a broader perspective and renewed hope and faith in America’s resilience, elasticity, and yes, her greatness. The news gives us mostly the bad and the ugly. That’s the nature of the news. No crash, no news. But mostly things are good. People—even most of the the knot-heads—are good. We just need reminders.
© Tony Bender, 2023
