Thursday Night Is The New Friday Night

About eighteen years ago, I was the only person riding in the shuttle from the airport terminal to the airport parking lot.  I said to the driver, “The shuttle is pretty empty for a Friday night.”  The driver had an explanation.  He said that people who go away on business trips try to fit all their work into four days so they can go home on Thursday, rather than Friday.  That’s why I was the only passenger on the shuttle.

So, Thursday night is the new Friday night.

That was evident at the St. Louis airport last month as I waited to board a plane on a Thursday night.  I wanted to have dinner before I got on my plane; all the airport dining spots were jammed and the waiting lines were very long.  I got in line for a tapas restaurant, and started chatting with the woman behind me.  I noticed that the restaurant was seating solo diners at tables for two.  I got clever and suggested to the woman that we should share a table so we would get seated quicker.  My suggestion worked.

The woman having dinner with me was from Charleston, South Carolina.  She told me she was an attorney --- a mesothelioma attorney.  Dinner at the airport tapas restaurant suddenly became somber.

I had a high school classmate named Nancy who died of mesothelioma.  Her sister told me that Nancy suffered greatly: her sister called the disease "a deadly form of lung cancer -- asbestos related -- a virtual death sentence”.

And I had a friend in the St. Louis area named Dennis who died of mesothelioma.  Dennis had grown up in Libby, Montana, which calls itself the pride of the Kootenai Valley.  As a teenager, Dennis worked at the open-pit vermiculite mine; it was the best job a teenager could have in Libby.  However, the townspeople were not told that the vermiculite was contaminated with asbestos.  There were heaps of vermiculite waiting to be shipped out of town by railroad.  Kids played in those vermiculite heaps, located right next to the baseball fields in Libby, and there is now a memorial outside of town - a cross for every resident who died from asbestos.

I knew the answer, but I asked the attorney anyway: has the statute of limitations expired for my friends?  “Yes,” she said.

When Dennis was on his deathbed, his voice was weak, and people had difficulty hearing him.  The solution: an Aker MR1506 personal amplifier, which draped around his neck while a microphone hung from an ear piece.  People could then hear him.

After Dennis died, I was honored to be given his MR1506 personal amplifier.  When he was healthy he had been on some of my walking tours.  I was unamplified then, but I am amplified now.

Sometimes I tell people on my tours the story of how I got the device that drapes around my neck.  I think Dennis would be pleased to know that his legacy helps me show people the history and the architecture of St. Louis.

And I think Dennis would be tickled to hear that I had tapas in the airport on a busy Thursday night, which is the new Friday night, and  I dined with an attorney who works to get compensation for people who suffer from the disease that struck Dennis down.

- . - . - . -

A 4-minute YouTube video made by Janelle Bedel, a mesothelioma survivor in Indiana.  The beauty of Jason Mraz's song I Won't Give Up contrasts with Janelle's no-holds-barred photographs.
  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c_DRd0KzJ24

(The photo of Doug Schneider giving a tour using the Aker MR1506 was taken by Jess Newbury.)

- . - .- . - . - . 

NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com