Old Dominion Kindness

I admit to being emotionally battered and bruised while on my way to work this morning.

I spent Thursday first worrying and fretting about the latest mechanical catastrophe involving my aging car, and then getting way too emotionally involved in the U.S. Senate hearing regarding the Supreme Court nominee.

The world was feeling heavy indeed as I attempted to merge onto the Baltimore Beltway at my usual point of entry at North Point Boulevard. The view in my driver’s-side mirror told me an unusual amount of traffic was coming and I was running out of merge area.

I admit to being one of those people who actually yields to oncoming traffic when facing a yield sign, instead of playing chicken with potentially fatal objects hurdling at me at speeds of 60 miles an hour and faster. I also do not subscribe to the “I’m coming over, knowing you’ll either slow down or move over” theory of driving.

I play by the rules, wait my turn and merge and/or change lanes when and only when it’s safe to do so.

Just when I thought I’d have to come to a complete stop or ease onto the shoulder, the 18-wheeler in the right lane changed lanes to allow me over. I waved, knowing he probably didn’t see me, as I merged.

The trucker driving the Old Dominion Freight truck immediately put on his turn signal to return to the lane he had been in, so I flashed my headlights and waved again. He moved over, flashed his lights twice as witnessed by his rear lights blinking on and off twice, in acknowledgment of my gesture, and we both continued our journeys.

A small gesture, but it made my day. In a world that seems to grow angrier and more hateful by the day, the trucker’s act of kindness lifted a bit of the weight of that hateful world from my shoulders.

'Two wild and brawny guys'

Journalism is a tough business these days — with corporate buyouts and layoffs, salaries that barely keep up with basic living expenses and the President of the United States declaring journalists the “enemy of the people” as just a few examples of how the career choice leaves a little to be desired.

But community journalism is often the very heartbeat of small town America, and a source of pride and fun for both reader and writer.

Take “two wild and brawny men,” for example.

I recently wrote an article for the East County Times about a local philanthropic organization that needed to find a new free home — and quickly. A tall order, indeed.

Just a couple of weeks after writing that article, I followed up with the news that lifelong Dundalk resident Irene Spatafore had found a new home for Angels Supporting Your Troops Inc. — a care package project for troops serving in war zones — and she was in need of “some brawn” to help her move the organization’s stuff.

She found brawny volunteers in the form of Bob Runk and Dennis Angst, two members of Wells-McComas VFW Post 2678 in Edgemere. The two guys helped her do some cleaning and preparing at the new place and then helped moved supplies, equipment and furniture from the old place to the new.

On a recent visit to the VFW, Dennis, who I’ve met on several previous occasions, introduced me to fellow brawny man Bob. We were all getting a few chuckles out of the brawny reference, including Bob’s adaptive use of comedian Steve Martin’s famous line of “We are two wild and crazy guys.” Bob substituted brawny for crazy and the laughs started anew.

Two wild and brawny guys: Bob Runk (left) and Dennis Angst. Photo by Marge Neal

Just then, a woman walked by and heard the tail end of the conversation and laughed. She looked at me and said, “Do you know how big his head is because it’s in the paper about him being brawny?” 

I laughed and Cindy — it turns out she’s Bob’s girlfriend — moved on.

Print journalists usually have the luxury of moving around town incognito because our mugs aren’t plastered all over television screens or radio websites. I giggled and said to Dennis and Bob, “She doesn’t know I’m the one who wrote the article, does she?”

The guys eventually told her who I was and she came down to chat with me some more. When I took a picture of the guys and said I might get a blog post out of “two wild and brawny guys,” Cindy said, “Oh, Lord, his head will just get bigger.”

But she asked me the name of my blog and how to find it online, and I know that, in the big picture, she’ll enjoy reading it and will be proud of her brawny man, no matter how loudly she complains about “how big his head will get.”

Community journalism.

There’s nothing like it.

And did I tell you that Brawny Bob bought me a beer?

Yep. Nothing like it.