It was April 7, 2008, and the Washington Nationals were playing the Florida Marlins at Nationals Park in DC. It was our home opener, and for once, I was early. I stepped off the crowded elevator into the club level, which was fairly warm—maybe from the throngs of people who had gathered for the beginning of the baseball season—despite the chill in the evening air outside.
Jeff Fried, my friend and attorney, waved at me from across the hallway. I waved back. I would be over by him in a moment so we could go into the Owner’s Box together to watch the game. It was still an hour before game time, and the Nationals were still taking batting practice. I had plenty of time to get over there. Somebody tapped me on the arm and we began talking.
I arrived at Jeff’s side, all of thirty feet from where I had stepped off the elevator, in the third inning. It had taken me just under ninety minutes to finally get to Jeff’s side. He shook his head as I greeted him—he had seen this played out before.
I just love meeting new friends and interacting with old.
* * *
Two months later I was headed to another game—my second of the season—with Nathan Whitaker, my co-author. We had four tickets, so Don and Kris, two of Nathan’s law school friends, were headed to the game with us. None of us had checked the weather.
I was driving down the George Washington Parkway when the drops of rain started to dot the windshield. As we traveled on we wondered how we thought that we were going to get a baseball game in—it was dark in every direction and now raining hard. We kept driving.
By the time we arrived at the stadium, the weather had cleared enough for them to start the game. We were, of course, late. But you knew that already.
We headed down to our seats just as the rain started again, so we decided to head up to the Lerners’s box. The Lerners had invited us to come up to visit with them and their guests, so we took them up on it, rather than go to our seats and fight the elements. We visited for an hour or so, and then finally took our leave and decided to head home. I’m not sure if the game had resumed, but I am sure that I’m an early to bed sort of guy, and my time was fast approaching.
Kris commented that they—himself, Don, and Nathan—made up the “lamest posse” ever accompanying a celebrity. I responded that I was quite all right with that. It felt like the four of us had known each other for years. As we headed back, the rain started falling heavier than before, and frogs—big, giant frogs—began jumping across the parkway, presumably from the Potomac River some forty yards away.
“Frogs are bad enough, but if locusts come next, I’m outta here,” said Don. We all cracked up, and thankfully, there were no more plagues that visited us that night.
After they dropped me off, Nathan tells me that they took him aside. “Is he always like that?” Nathan wasn’t sure what they meant.
“He spent more time talking with the woman running the elevator at the stadium than he did with Chief Justice Roberts or Michael Milken.” That was true. It was a pleasure meeting those gentlemen, but the box was crowded and others wanted to make their acquaintance (like Nathan, who looked as though he might have forgotten his name when he was introduced to the Chief Justice of the United States), so I took the opportunity to meet some other people there as well.
Then, as we were leaving, I asked the woman running the elevator her name and where she was from. As it would happen, Joyce had grown up in DC and attended Anacostia High School. I knew that school well. We had spoken for a while, and then on the way out—as it had been on the way in—there were a number of people that we passed that I needed to stop and speak with. New friends.
“He’s always like that,” Nathan told them. He told them about our trip to New York in which I knew each of the hotel staff by name—the bellhops, the front desk clerks, the housekeepers. It still seems natural to me. Why shouldn’t we get to know each other and learn about each other’s families?
Frankly, I’m not sure I see the big deal. I only share that about my mind-set so that—in case you don’t realize it already—you might realize that there is a whole world out there that would love to meet you and interact with you. People with the same needs, fears and joys, who just may have gone to high school down the street from you.
As for me, there’s no question that I’ll keep meeting those people. It’s how I was raised, to understand that people are fascinating and special. And, it’s part of the role that is mine to play—to learn about people and hopefully encourage them and lift them up a little bit higher, to shine a spotlight on them, and how special they are, for all the world to see.
It’s how I saw my mom and dad treat people. It’s how in the last few years of my mom’s life, when she was housebound and spent most of her time in bed, she conducted or performed her ministry of helping people. When she was the one battling the ravages of diabetes, she was encouraging others, strengthening them. When in the hospital the final five months of her life, hospital workers and the like found themselves coming by her room to meet this woman who met every medical challenge with a peace and confidence that only God gave her. She didn’t focus on her issues, but lifted others up, standing firmly on His Word every day. She had me read Bible verses to her every day I visited her in the hospital. They strengthened her. So, it’s not difficult or a problem for me to encourage others, to get to know them, because it’s a role that we all can play, for a lifetime.