Arriving New Orleans

It was April. 2002.

It was quite a break for me to leave Chicago in the "spring." At least that's what they call it, despite ne'er a daffodil in sight. Sorry, but being a son of the south, if I ain't lookin' at flowers in April. It ain't spring.

Seven months - post 9-11. I was still apprehensive about flying. Never used to be, but after a coupla' bad flights from Las Vegas and the September 11th tragedy, I had my white-knuckled reasons.

As I sat at O'hare waiting to board, I did some heavy profiling. I wasn't getting on the plane with anyone that looked middle eastern, had an accent, shifted their eyes nervously, or parted their hair in the middle. It was just that simple.

A few Asians, an Indian or two, three guys from the South Side with backwards baseball caps, and a dark-skinned business man with platform shoes. I said a few prayers to the four directions and boarded anyway. Praying mostly that the homies might help me kick some ass if needed. Confession - in the months following 9-11, I always wore tennis shoes and sweat pants on flights in case the requirement for more athletic endeavors ensued. And I never napped.

I couldn't really relax, but managed the flight. It was going to be great being in the South. Humidity is my friend. And New Orleans just has her way. If you have ever been there - you know. I hopped into a taxi and headed to the Hilton. I was beginning to get excited about this rendezvous. Red beans and Rice from Mike Anderson's or maybe even spicy Jambalaya from the old worn Acme Oyster Bar. Couldn't wait. But when I entered the taxi, I was greeted by a driver about seventy years old with a foot tall turban and a foot long gray beard. And I am almost positive his last name wasn't Kershaw. I felt annoyed.

In the months following 9-11, I found myself judgmental and prejudiced. I had never really felt those feelings before - especially, with any real conviction. Inside - I uttered to myself, "Who the hell is this guy? What has happened to the South? Sleeper cell out of Preservation Hall? Cafe Du Monde now serving beniets dusted with anthrax? Will I make it to the hotel alive?" Fear overtook reason.

And then, out of the blue, as if in mid-conversation, the driver says to me, "You know sir, I have saved my whole life so I could live my dream." I remained quiet. "My dream of coming to America." He peered in the rear view mirror for my reaction. What the heck just happened? Was he reading the lines on my face or my mind?

More silence and then I looked back at his flashing eyes cutting from the mirror. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" I mumbled back. "I have waited my entire life to come to America with my family." I asked if they were here with him. He replied, "Only my daughter and my wife."

So I bit. "Why did you want to come to America?" I asked. In his gravelly falsetto-ish voice He replied, "To be free. I have wanted to come to here since I was a boy. It took longer than I thought, but I finally made it."

Okay, so now I was completely busted and suddenly a student. Who was this man? Was he sent to me? This was creepy. But in my introspective curiosity, I knew there was more to the story. There always is. It was obvious this man from another world, in all his wisdom and experience, was my teacher.

We didn't talk much after that. Lesson learned and I was thankful. He dropped me off, as if he were George Burns in "Oh God," at my hotel. I waited for another sign. Another nugget. I looked in his eyes as he gave me a receipt, and he nodded his head. "Thank you, sir." The moment was over. Or was it?

Eighty degrees and humid. Very humid. I loved it. It WAS New Orleans for sure. Red beans and rice would never taste so good and if I choke on the beniets - it would just be the powdered sugar. And, yes. Daffodils bloomed. Springtime in America.

Arriving Las Vegas

Arriving Las Vegas, last Saturday to work for 3 days, I call my cohort when I arrived at the airport. He is a comedian and was emceeing this event that I was directing and was waiting at the hotel.

He asked me if I had any idea what was going on at our hotel (The Palms). I said no. He replied - The AVN awards and I needed to get my butt to the hotel.Which I responded - "What is that?" It was the Adult Video News awards that night in our hotel and the place was crawling with porn stars. After a few "No ways" and snide remarks from him and possibly one or two by me, I hopped into a taxi to go meet him.

Now - I must derail by admitting that on the flight I had been reading Fulton Oursler's "The Greatest Faith Ever Known." Reading about the early days of Christianity and Paul's conversion, this book really takes you there. So I was feeling rather "connected" after reading for a couple of hours prior to my landing in Sin City.

So - my conversation with Greg, back at the hotel, led my mind down this hyper loaded path as I waited on a taxi at the airport. My brain was racing. Blood was surging. What does a hotel lobby full of porn stars look like? Is this was "hitting the jackpot" is all about?

I get into the taxi, with the usual third world driver and told him I was going to the Palms. Deciding to be more "forgiving" I wouldn't give him a hard time when he would probably jet us onto the interstate to gain more fare miles, rather than taking the local route that is $5 cheaper. To my surprise - he automatically took the local route. That never happens. Guess they're not all crooks.

Once we were on our way - my mind still wandering toward adult "distraction," the driver turned his radio on. He kept it low and directed to his side. As I listened - I heard the tones of Chris Tomlin singing "How Great is Our God, sing with me..." A chill ran up my spine. My surging blood stopped cold.

Mr. Baltic Russian Vegas Taxi Driver was listening to Christian radio! He turned it up a bit and peered in his rear view mirror in my direction.

Immediately, I was focused on How Great my God was and his whopping me upside the head on Swenson Ave. I have taken 2 million taxis in my life, all over the world, and how many times had I heard Christian radio? Only once - today.

I asked the driver - "So you listen to Christian Radio?" He replied, "The only thing." I asked what he was doing in Vegas. He responded in a thick accent - "God's work." I hushed.

When we arrived at the Hotel Gomorrah, he let me out and I gave him the extra five bucks that it would taken to go the long way and said "Thanks Brother." He knew what I meant.

With my holy blinders on - I checked in without temptation, without curiosity, but with plenty of compassion. There is a lot of work to be done in Las Vegas - I am glad my comrade was there to do it.

Moral - There are a lot of ways to make a living in this world. But only one way to salvation I suppose. Even if it's in a taxicab.