YOU AIN'T GONNA LEARN WHAT YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW

The Tattoo

 

As I walked into her condo, it was immaculate.  

 

 

Clean, orderly, and proper. 

 

 

Mrs. Schein was in the late 70's or early 80's.    She had a fire and an energy that you could see and feel as soon as you were in her presence. 

 

 

"Young men, a few things -- be careful in my place, and don't call me Mrs. Schein, call me Dorothy." 

 

 

I've always felt uncomfortable calling adults older than me by their first names, but she was insistent, and I obeyed. 

 

 

As we set out to work in her condo, she stood over me -- watching every move. 

 

 

My friend Kenny and I started a business while we were each in college.   When we arrived home from school, we planned and executed a way to make some serious money working for ourselves. 

 

 

Window Cleaning.   

 

 

We hung signs around town, and placed "tear cards" at all the strip malls in our area -- and then listened as our home phone rang, and our answering machine filled up with calls from people who desperately needed their storm windows, screens, and windows cleaned and taken care of. 

 

 

We made a BIG business of marketing, "College Window Cleaning."  The name says it all, so that housewives knew we were kids, building a business. 

 

 

We learned so much those summers about marketing, customer service, execution, and pricing. 

 

 

We generally had 3 to 4 homes a day to do, and had them scheduled weeks in advance. 

 

 

Charging a homeowner $5.00 per window unit was an easy way for a customer to assess their cost, and our price.   15 windows (including storms, screens, and windowsills) would be $75. 

 

 

We showed up with buckets, ladders, and all the equipment that you would need to do a quality job. 

 

 

"Are you boys gonna make a mess here?" 

 

 

I responded, "No Dorothy, your windows will be clean, you wont even know we were here." 

 

 

The problem with this condo of Dorothy's was that it was small by our standards.   There were only a total of 7 windows for us to clean, netting us a $35 charge -- we liked homes that had 15+ windows, plus sliding glass doors. 

 

 

She had none of that. 

 

 

Her windows were all damaged, kinda frosted -- with a haze that developed from years of condensation, and weather, and heat.   

 

 

Her windows were stained, and no amount of ammonia, water, bleach, or chemicals could get out the rugged stains that had set themselves onto her windows. 

 

 

The stains were "inside of the glass" -- and we had never seen anything like it before. 

 

 

"Dorothy, this glass is damaged -- I'm not sure we can do anything for you when it comes to cleaning them." 

 

 

Her face cringed up, and she was visibily upset.

 

She retorted, "Is this some kind of bait and switch, you boys taking advantage of an old ladies to swindel money out of senior citizens? 

 

 

We were in a place called Covered Bridge in Marlboro, NJ.   A community full of seniors. 

 

 

It was our first job in this retirement community. 

 

 

I explained, "Dorothy, we will try our best, but I cannot promise anything." 

 

 

She left the room. 

 

Kenny and I looked at each other, and we knew this was going to be a problem -- with an unhappy homeowner, and a losing few hours of revenue. 

 

 

We cleaned as best we could, but in the end the windows were still foggy, and damaged. 

 

 

She yelled out from the kitchen, "Boys, come over here." 

 

 

We walked towards the kitchen. 

 

As we rounded the corner, I saw that she set the table full of food.  A loaf of bread, cold cuts, chips, soda, and utensil -- all laid out across the table. 

 

 

"You boys must be hungry, have a seat." 

 

We sat down, thanking her profusley -- and letting her know it was completely unnecessary for her to feed us like this. 

 

She reached across the table to pass the roast beef, and I saw something that to this day is enshrined on my psyche. 

 

A tattoo.    A tattoo on her forearm.  

 

It looked like this. 

 

My heart sank. 

 

Dorothy was a holocaust survivor.   

 

It turns out Dorothy's husband had died many years earlier, and she was all alone.   Her children moved far away, and she was content living alone -- almost like a recluse. 

 

I had to bring it up, in a polite, yet unassuming manner. 

 

"Dorothy, I just saw your arm -- and the tattoo, I am so sorry that you experienced the holocaust, and I'm so honored to have met a survivor like you." 

 

Those words melted her. 

 

She got up from the table, and went into the kitchen. 

 

She thanked us for coming, paid us, and we left her house. 

 

The next day on the answering machine was a message.

 

"Boys, this is Dorothy Schein -- I'm quite unhappy with the job you did, and I demand my money back -- or for you to come right away and fix this horrendous mess you made." 

 

I called her back, and arranged to visit the next day with Kenny. 

 

We went back to try to fix her complaints and assure her that there was little we could do to fix her window situation.

 

As she opened the door, I said with Kenny by my side -- "Dorothy, this is NOT a window cleaning problem -- it's a window problem, the actual windows are damaged -- but Kenny and I are willing to give you your money back." 

 

She smiled, and said -- "Come in boys." 

 

Food was once again set up across her kitchen table.  A spread of chicken, fresh bread, salads, all prepared and elegantly presented to two young boys who came to fix her complaints. 

 

Kenny and I soon realized she was depressed and lonely.   Asking us to fix her windows was a ploy to get us over to spend time and talk to her. 

 

Over lunch, she talked a bit about her experience as a survivor.   Mostly, about how it shaped her life. 

 

It was clear from her actions and conversations, that she meant well -- but, had a difficult time throughout her life of building bonds, and forging relationships. 

 

The Nazi's could not kill her physically, bu they clearly damaged her (and many like her) emotionally, and spiritually. 

 

Dorothy continued to call us for weeks on end.  Her claims ranged from damaging her rug, to chemicals on her windowsills.   Her voice on the answering machine was pleading us to come back and fix the windows.   She was begging us to come back.......

 

I knew we could not.   

 

Soon, the calls ended.  And, we went back to college. 

 

 

I never forgot Dorothy Schein.  Out of the hundreds of houses full of windows that we cleaned those summers in the 80's -- Dorothy is certainly the most memorable, and most endearing of all.   The smallest house, but with the most spirit.    Our smallest of all window cleaning jobs we had ever had  -- only 7 windows.   

 

 

She had a tattoo that told me more about her, and her life, than any book or movie could. 

 

A tattoo.   A tattoo that was forever placed on her arm -- but, a mark that was stained on her life. 

 

 

I'm glad I met Dorothy.  Looking back, I'm sorry I did not spend more time with her. 

 

But, as we go through life -- I've found that it is sometimes that people we meet in passing, that we have no idea we will think of 25 years later......in an unlikely way. 

 

Thanks Dorothy Schein.    

 

 

 

 

 

The Top of the Stairs

 

I walked to and from school every day from Kindergarten, through 9th grade.   

 

Starting when I was seven years old, part of my daily ritual was picking up the newspaper off of the driveway, and bringing it in the house. 

 

Taking the rubber band off of "The Home News", was something I came to appreciate. 

 

I would sit at the top of the stairs, and spread out the paper -- reading it from cover to cover. 

 

I guess I was a weird kid, reading the paper every day from the age of 7, through high school. 

 

For some odd reason, I loved looking at and reading the Obituary section.   The pictures, and the stories of people who had lives, but they no longer, were alive. 

 

I read each and every one, (I still read the Obits to this day when I get a paper) - and, I tried to imagine what that persons life was like, and the impact they had on the relatives, and the people they left behind on this earth. 

 

"Maria is survived by four children, Albert, Mary, Gwen, and Martin." 

 

I thought about those children, and in each passing Obit -- I thought, (and through the words on a newspaper page), felt their loss.   I translated the words I was reading about a person's life, their accomplishments -- and their connections to others,  all the way through, to the stinging subtraction and emptiness, that their loved ones felt and experienced, with their death. 

 

I think in some small way it helped me.   It helped me understand (or comprehend) at an early age, the finality of death.  

 

It also helped me articulate, and convey words that have meaning.  Learning how to write, and understand words, by reading and understanding the OBIT section of the newspaper --- taught me NOT about death......

 

But, about LIFE. 

 

It taught me about LIFE. 

 

In some weird way, reading about the lives of people on a page, educated me on how to keep communication (written) brief, make it impactful, and layer it with a representation of a lifetime full of charm, and energy. 

 

I took it with me, and saved it -- never fully realizing that reading the newspaper at a young age, would be a habit that helped define me. 

 

After the OBITUARY section, I went to the "FRONT SECTION" of the Home News, and this part was -- "WORLD NEWS." 

 

Reading that section every day helped me in "framing" issues, challenges, and events that were happening around the world.   

 

The Cold War, Eastern Europe, our Government --- these were the main issues that interested me through the Ford, Carter, and Reagan administration, as I sat on the top of those stairs -- and read the stories of the day. 

 

Israel and the Middle East was always a topic that interested me. 

 

Thousands of years of wars, wars over land, and hatred of others -- all because of religious differences. 

 

How could this be? 

 

At a young age, I began to process and try to understand how religion, and more importantly extremism of any kind, could be used as a weapon to hurt and destroy others. 

 

Iran, and the taking of the hostages in our embassy consumed me.   

 

The daily numbers of just how long the hostages were in captivity was something that newspaper published every day -- and I will never forget it.   I kept wondering what the hostages were eating?   How were they sleeping?   How were they being treated?   

 

Would they get out alive? 

 

I followed the story (like many Americans) each and every day, searching for a kernel of good news.   Searching for leadership, and yearning for the hostages to be freed from their captors......

 

But, I saw leadership.   I saw the stark differences in just how important words, and converying them properly could be. 

 

Candidate Reagan let the enemies who held our hostages know, that when he becomes President of the US, a different administration, with a new leadership in America, that this will portend very bad things, for enemies who harm American citizens.   And, he meant it.  

 

And, that is what is missing today in the mess of our foreign policy.   

 

Strong words.   Unequivocal.  

 

Words that have meaning.  Words that define, good, from evil. 

 

Ambassador Chris Stevens was a man who represented our country in Libya.  He was killed while doing his job.  

 

He was a GOOD MAN.   No movie on Islam (as we have been told) inspired his death. 

 

To think that he was murdered on the 11th anniversary of 9-11, is both a signal, and well as a clear strike at the heart of every single American. 

 

Here is Christopher Stevens as he accepted his post as Ambassador to Libya.   This was his message to the Libyan people. 

 

 

 

 

The obituary of this man cannot be understated.   (please watch the above video). 

 

His obituary should be a testament to his accomplishments, as well as an honest assessment of why we died.  

 

Why and how did he die?   

 

As soon as we can have that conversation, led by a President who can speak the truth, led by a leader who will not seek to blame a movie, or blasphemy of a prophet -- for the death of a GREAT AMERICAN, then we can write a real Obituary. 

 

Chris Stevens entered hallowed ground in my personal "hall of fame" obituary world, that I hold dear.   People who died, but the real reason they died, was never shared in full transparency -- with the people reading the OBIT pages --  on the top stair of their house.   The kid yearning for the truth.   

 

Daniel Pearl, Ehud Goldwasser, Ron Arad, Nachsom Wachsman.   

 

Christopher Stevens is added to the list.   If you don't know the people (or victims) above, click on any one to learn. 

 

We can learn much from OBITUARIES -- words that have meaning.  Words that speak about the totality of ones life. 

 

If Christopher Stevens died in vain, then our ability to communicate, and share truths, will be forever sacrificed. 

 

Leadership means telling the truth.   Whether it is a death notice (Obit), or a message to the American people,  that each of us as Americans, are Chris Stevens's --- in an attempt to be placed by our sworn enemies, on an.....

 

OBIT PAGE.