Story Frame 4 – A Stranger’s Shoes

So, did I get the deserted island? Of course, I did. There was simply no way I was going to report back empty-handed to Dave Gallagher. The owners of the island graciously donated a week-long stay to WNVT’s on-air auction.

I also got lot of other interesting donations, including the hot air balloon rides. But the island was, by far, the best one. And although I couldn’t know it at the time, that same island would make another, somewhat disastrous, appearance a few years into my future.

In the meantime, a few weeks before the auction, Jim Moran, our Virginia congressman at the time, was scheduled to host a town hall meeting at the local high school. Not able to spare money for babysitters, Steve and I took turns getting out for the evening every so often, especially for civic events like this. As luck would have it, on this night it was my turn. So off I went to the local high school while he stayed home with the kids.

Having never been there before, I had no idea where to locate the auditorium in what seemed like a vast complex of buildings. Inside, I noticed a tall man, perhaps in his mid-forties, also looking around tentatively.

“Do you by chance know where the auditorium is?” I asked him. He shook his head no, and after a moment, disappeared down one of the hallways, like a lanky human version of Alice in Wonderland’s white rabbit. He looked relatively harmless. I’d noticed he was wearing a nice pair of shoes, so I decided it was safe to follow him. And eventually, he did find the right door.

Upon entering the auditorium, each person was asked to sign in. The tall stranger with the nice shoes went first, then handed the clipboard to me. I read his name, which I immediately forgot because the two words next to his name caught my attention: documentary filmmaker.

What are the chances?! I thought. He works in documentary film and I’m working for a PBS station. That seemed more than just a coincidence. I followed him down the steps and sat down uninvited in the empty seat next to him.

He listened attentively throughout the town hall meeting as our congressman representing Virginia’s 8^th district – a liberal, opinionated, and fiery Irishman from the Boston area with a reputation for getting into fisticuffs on Capitol Hill – easily held the audience in his sway.

I’d met Congressman Moran in person a few years earlier at a yard sale in a posh part of Alexandria. He was running for office at the time and strode up to me with a big smile, his open hand extended. I quickly put my hand behind my back.

“I’d rather not shake hands with you until I know your position on the environment,” I said.

He laughed. “I’m happy to tell you,” he said, then began rattling off his positions. “My opponent, on the other hand, is one of the so-called ‘Dirty Dozen.’ And so I’d love your support!” I smiled and we shook hands. Ever the kanny Irishman, he then began sizing me up.

“Do you live in this neighborhood?” he asked.

“Ahh, no,” I said. “My husband and I are renovating a small house in Hollin Hills.”

Hollin Hills was well known as an architecturally significant collection of more than 450 mid-century modern houses set amongst the wooded hillsides south of Alexandria’s Old Town area. It was also known to be quite heavily Democratic.

“Hollin Hills?!” he said, his face lighting up. “I’d love to come speak to your neighborhood! Can you can arrange it?”

And so, I did. We had a terrific turnout at the local community center a few weeks later. Moran called his opponent, Stan Parris “a deceitful, fatuous jerk” and said that he wanted to “break his nose.” The audience loved it. Moran easily won that 1990 campaign, defeating his five-term Republican opponent.

The opportunity to hear Jim Moran do a Q&A with his constituents was always something to look forward to. But as I listened to him, part of my mind was pondering how to stay in touch with the quiet stranger with the nice shoes. Something told me I should take advantage of this possible connection in our work.

“I noticed you signed in as a documentary filmmaker,” I said as the event came to an end. He nodded.

“I work at the local PBS station,” I said. “Would you like to be my guest at our Very Important Person auction reception in a few weeks?”

I filled him in on the details and he said he would try to be there. We parted ways and I went home to my husband and kids.

That simple invitation changed my life.

Which was a good thing, as I was once again about to lose a job I had thought would be mine for the foreseeable future.

What to read next: Story Frame 5 – When One Door Closes

Kristin Fellows is a published artisan writer, a world traveler, and a well-seasoned documentary film consultant. This tale comes to you from a small farming village in Portugal, where she is still surprised to find herself living.

When not writing, Kristin can often be found listening to someone’s story or behind the lens of one of her cameras.

More about Kristin @ kristinfellowswriter.com